#vi finally scores

[ssaltlicker]

GEX

[cceana]

Arcane Highschool!AU

characters - vi, caitlyn, jinx, sevika, ekko, jayce and viktor content - 7.1k words, cliche highschool tropes, gn!reader, just pure fluff also a little reverse comfort

A/N this was so fun to do, cant believe i finished this in 1 day ahahahahhaah. this is my longest work yet so hopefully you guys enjoy it <3

— Star Athlete!vi and Band!reader

You’ve spent most of your high school life flying under the radar as the band’s flute player—quiet, responsible, and perfectly content in your niche. Your days revolve around early-morning rehearsals, sheet music, and the steady rhythm of practice. It’s predictable, comfortable.

That is, until the school’s star athlete, Vi, always in whispers and cheers, bursts into your life like an unrelenting storm.

Shes everything you’re not—loud, brash, impulsive, and dangerously confident. The type who winks at the crowd after scoring the winning goal, whose swagger fills the halls, and who’s constantly making headlines for their fiery outbursts on and off the field. You’ve heard the stories: the scuffle at last week’s game, the heated argument with the coach, the rumors of detention slips piling up.

You’d barely exchanged more than a few words with her, but that changes when the school decides to host a collaborative pep rally—complete with a showstopping performance featuring both the sports teams and the band.

When the coach volunteers them to help promote school spirit by playing a surprise number with the band, you’re horrified. So is she.

“I don’t have time for this,” she scoff when she gets dragged to the band room. “Why don’t you all just play louder or something?”

Your teacher assigns you the unenviable task of teaching them how to play an instrument. You can practically hear your friends giggling behind your back as you pull them aside, thrusting a trumpet into their hands.

Vi groans, slouching in her chair like a bored kid in detention. “What’s the point of this? Everyone’s here to watch me win, not play this stupid thing.”

You bristle at their cocky tone. “Well, if you don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of the entire school, I suggest you try.”

VI then gives you a smirk, leaning in just a little too close. “Oh, you think I can’t do it? I’m good at everything.”

It turns out, she's not.

The first few lessons are a disaster. She blow into the trumpet like she's trying to blow out a candle from across the room, their fingers fumble over the valves, and she keep snapping, “This thing is broken!” every time it makes a screeching noise.

But underneath all the bravado and eye-rolls, you start to notice something. The way she glares at the trumpet when she messes up isn’t just frustration—it’s determination. she hates failing, and she hates it even more that they’re bad at this.

“I’m not giving up,” Vi declares after her third failed attempt to hit a note. “I’m not letting some dumb piece of metal beat me.”

The more you work together, the more cracks appear in their tough exterior. she's fiercely competitive, yes, but also surprisingly quick to laugh at themselves when the trumpet sputters out the wrong notes. Her cocky grin softens when you praise even her smallest improvement, and she starts showing up to practice earlier than you do.

One afternoon, as you’re packing up your sheet music, you catch them staring at the band photo on the wall. “You guys practice this much all the time?” Vi asked, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.

“Yeah,” you say, surprised. “It’s a lot of work, but it’s worth it.”

she nod slowly, her usual swagger replaced by something contemplative. “Never thought about it like that. I guess… it’s kind of like training, huh?”

That’s when you realize she's not as invincible as she seem. Behind the hot-headed confidence is someone who works just as hard as you do, who’s just as passionate about what they love—even if they show it in a completely different way.

And when the pep rally finally arrives, with the gym packed to the rafters, she surprise's everyone—not just with how she learned to play, but with how she step aside during the performance to let the band take the spotlight.

Afterward, as the crowd cheers, she give you a lopsided grin. “Not bad, huh? Guess I’m pretty good at this whole teamwork thing.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide your smile.

The pep rally is over, and the gym is buzzing with energy as people file out, still cheering and talking about the unexpected performance. You’re gathering your things in the corner of the stage when you hear footsteps behind you.

“Hey,” she calls out, her voice softer than you’re used to.

You turn to find her standing there, holding her trumpet in one hand, the other rubbing awkwardly at the back of her neck. For once, her usual cocky smirk is nowhere to be seen, replaced by an expression that’s… almost nervous.

“Uh, so… you were pretty great out there,” she says, her eyes flickering between yours and the floor. “I mean, you’re always great, but, like, today—you really killed it.”

You blink, caught off guard by the compliment. “Thanks. You were pretty great too. You didn’t even mess up the solo.”

She laughs, a warm, genuine sound that makes your chest flutter. “Yeah, well, I had a good teacher. Guess I owe you for that.”

You shrug, trying to play it cool. “Maybe. But you did the work. I’m impressed, actually. Didn’t think you’d take it so seriously.”

She steps a little closer, her usual confidence creeping back into her voice. “Yeah? So, I impressed you?”

Your face heats up, and you roll your eyes to hide it. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late,” she teases, but her grin softens as her gaze lingers on you. For a moment, neither of you says anything. The noise of the gym fades into the background, and all you can hear is the faint hum of your own heartbeat.

She looks down at the trumpet in her hand, turning it over like she’s stalling. “You know… I used to think band stuff was just… background noise. Like, nobody really notices it. But being up there, seeing how much you guys put into it…”

Her voice trails off, and when she looks back at you, there’s something in her eyes that makes it hard to breathe. “It made me notice you more.”

Your breath catches. “Me?”

“Yeah.” She takes another step closer, so close now that you can feel the warmth radiating off her. “You’re not just some quiet band geek who hangs out in the background. You’re… amazing. And I’ve been an idiot for not seeing it sooner.”

You open your mouth to reply, but the words get stuck in your throat. She’s staring at you like you’re the only person in the world, and for the first time, you don’t feel small or invisible. You feel seen.

“I know I’ve been kind of… impossible,” she continues, her voice dropping lower. “But I don’t want to screw this up. So if I asked you to, I don’t know, grab milkshakes or something sometime… what would you say?”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a smile. “I’d say… as long as you don’t try to play the trumpet during the date, I might say yes.”

Her laugh is loud and bright, and before you know it, she’s grinning down at you. “Deal.”

The gym lights flicker as the janitor starts cleaning up, and you realize you’ve been standing there for what feels like forever. But as she walks you out, her shoulder brushing against yours, you can’t help but think that maybe this impulsive, hot-headed star athlete isn’t so bad after all.

— Childhood Bestfriend!caitlyn

You and Caitlyn were inseparable once, two halves of the same whole. Summers were spent running through sun-drenched fields, plotting grand adventures, and swearing eternal friendship under the stars. But that was years ago, before her family moved away to chase bigger opportunities, and you were left behind with only memories of her bright laugh and unshakable confidence.

Life moved on, and so did you. By high school, she’d become little more than a bittersweet memory. Until now.

When she walks into your homeroom on the first day of senior year, it feels like the air’s been knocked out of you. She’s taller now, with an effortless grace that makes the room go quiet. Her uniform looks somehow sharper on her, her long, dark hair falling in perfect waves. There’s something in the way she carries herself—poised and self-assured, like she owns the world—and maybe she does.

Her family name has become a symbol of power and wealth. She’s been in the headlines, her achievements as a youth advocate already earning her a reputation as a fierce voice for justice. And yet, when her gaze scans the room and lands on you, her face lights up with the same brilliant smile you remember from childhood.

“Hey,” she says as she slides into the empty seat beside you, her voice low and familiar. “Long time no see.”

You’re too stunned to do anything but nod.

You quickly learn that she’s not just here for nostalgia—she’s here with a purpose. Between rigorous AP classes, she’s working on a project to bring awareness to systemic issues in your town. Meetings, interviews, and late nights at the library seem to be her norm, and it doesn’t take long for her to rope you into helping.

At first, it feels surreal being around her again. The girl you once knew has grown into someone so driven, so ambitious, that it’s almost intimidating. She seems untouchable, like a shooting star too far away to reach.

But every now and then, the cracks in her polished armor show. When it’s just the two of you poring over notes at your kitchen table, she leans back with a sigh and pulls her hair into a ponytail, muttering about how she wishes she had more time to breathe. And when you laugh at her frustrations, she throws a crumpled piece of paper at you, her grin wide and mischievous.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” she says one evening, her eyes soft as they meet yours. “Still the only person who can make me laugh when I want to scream.”

It’s during one of these late-night sessions that the air between you shifts. You’re sitting on the floor of her family’s impossibly grand living room, surrounded by papers and laptops. She’s wearing a sweatshirt that’s too big for her, a far cry from the polished image she presents to the world, and you can’t help but think about how beautiful she looks like this—unguarded and real.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” she says, tilting her head to look at you. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” you lie, your heart racing under her gaze.

She raises an eyebrow, leaning closer. “I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re lying.”

You hesitate, your pulse hammering in your ears. “It’s just… I can’t believe you’re here. That after all these years, we’re… us again.”

Her expression softens, and she shifts closer until your knees are almost touching. “I’ve missed you too, you know,” she says quietly. “It’s been so hard, being away from everything I used to care about. From you.”

Her words hang in the air, heavy and electric. You want to say something—anything—but the way she’s looking at you steals the breath from your lungs. Her dark eyes search yours, and for a moment, the world seems to still.

“Do you ever think about those nights we spent under the stars?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, swallowing hard. “All the time.”

“I do too,” she admits, her hand reaching out to brush against yours. Her touch is warm, grounding, and yet it sends a jolt through you. “Back then, I always thought we’d have forever. And when I left, I realized how much I hated being wrong about that.”

You’re not sure who moves first, but suddenly the space between you disappears. Her hand lingers on yours, her thumb tracing gentle circles against your skin, and you’re acutely aware of how close her face is to yours.

“Tell me if this is okay,” she murmurs, her voice trembling just slightly.

You nod, barely able to speak. “It’s more than okay.”

And then her lips are on yours, soft and hesitant at first, like she’s afraid you’ll pull away. But you don’t. You lean into her, your hand sliding up to tangle in her hair, and the kiss deepens—sweet and full of years’ worth of unspoken feelings.

When you finally pull back, she rests her forehead against yours, a breathless smile on her lips. “I’ve waited so long to do that,” she says, her voice tinged with relief.

“Me too,” you whisper, your heart soaring.

As the night stretches on, you realize that the girl you thought you’d lost has come back into your life, not as the same person she once was, but as someone even more extraordinary. And for the first time in years, the future doesn’t feel so uncertain—it feels full of possibilities, with her by your side.

— New kid!jinx and Class president!reader

You’ve worked hard to get where you are. Every meeting attended, every speech prepared, every carefully crafted decision—it’s all been for the sake of keeping order in the chaos of your high school. As class president, your name carries weight. You’re the dependable one, the one who keeps everything running smoothly, the one who always has things under control.

Until Jinx shows up.

The whispers start on her first day. The new girl. The one who doesn’t seem to care about blending in. She strides into the building like she owns it, her uniform already disheveled, her blazer slung over her shoulder, and a wild grin on her face.

It doesn’t take long for her reputation to spread. She’s unpredictable, impulsive, and utterly magnetic. Within a week, she’s already broken half the school’s rules, talked her way out of three detentions, and somehow charmed half your classmates in the process.

And for some reason, she’s decided you’re her favorite target.

It happens during lunch. You’re sitting at your usual spot, surrounded by student council members, going over plans for the upcoming fundraiser when she walks up to your table.

“Class president,” she says, her voice dripping with mockery and something else you can’t quite place. “Mind if I join you?”

You glance up, already annoyed. “I’m busy.”

She smirks, pulling out a chair anyway. “That’s cute. You think I was asking.”

Your friends exchange uneasy glances, but she doesn’t seem to care. She leans back in the chair, her sharp pink eyes locked on you, as if she’s trying to unravel you with her gaze alone.

“You’ve got a real stick-up-your-ass vibe,” she says casually, plucking an apple from the tray in front of her. “I like that. It makes messing with you way more fun.”

You glare at her, trying to keep your composure. “Do you need something, or are you just here to waste my time?”

Her grin widens, and for a moment, you see a flicker of something wild and untamed in her expression. “Maybe I just like watching you squirm.”

She becomes a constant in your life after that. You find her waiting outside your classroom, lounging against your locker, or casually walking into student council meetings as if she belongs there.

“Do you ever stop?” you snap one afternoon, cornering her in the hallway after she’s disrupted yet another meeting.

“Stop what?” she asks innocently, tilting her head.

“Whatever game you’re playing.”

She steps closer, and for the first time, you notice just how intense her gaze is. “Who says it’s a game? Maybe I just like you.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and electric, and before you can respond, she turns on her heel and walks away, leaving you standing there, utterly baffled.

It’s not until much later that you start to see the cracks in her chaotic facade. One night, you find her sitting alone in the empty music room, the piano keys beneath her fingers. She’s not playing, just pressing random notes, her usual manic energy replaced by a quiet stillness.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you say, stepping into the room.

She doesn’t look up. “Neither should you.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then she sighs, her shoulders slumping. “I bet you think I’m crazy.”

You hesitate, caught off guard by the vulnerability in her voice. “I think you’re reckless and impulsive and… exhausting. But no, I don’t think you’re crazy.”

She finally looks up at you, her eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them. “You’re too nice for your own good, you know that?”

“I’m not nice,” you counter. “I just… I think there’s more to you than the act you put on.”

Her lips twitch into a small, almost shy smile. “Careful, president. You keep saying things like that, and I might start to believe you.”

The more time you spend around her, the more you realize how deeply she feels everything. Her chaos isn’t just for show—it’s a shield, a way to keep people from getting too close. But with you, she starts to let her guard down.

One evening, she shows up outside your house, her hair messy and her eyes wild. “Come with me,” she says, grabbing your hand.

“Where are we going?” you ask, letting her drag you down the street.

“Anywhere,” she replies, her grip tight. “Everywhere. I don’t care.”

You end up at the park, sitting on a swingset as the stars blink overhead. She’s unusually quiet, her hands gripping the chains tightly as she stares at the ground.

“You ever feel like you’re spinning out of control?” she asks suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.

You glance at her, surprised by the question. “Sometimes.”

She exhales shakily, her fingers brushing against yours. “You… you make it stop. Just for a little while.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you don’t know if it’s the raw honesty in her words or the way her fingers linger against yours, but you feel something shift between you.

It happens later that night, as you’re walking her home. She stops in front of her house, turning to face you with an unreadable expression.

“Why do you put up with me?” she asks suddenly, her voice soft.

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“I’m a mess,” she says, her gaze dropping to the ground. “I break things, I hurt people… I’m not like you. I’m not good.”

“You’re not perfect,” you admit, stepping closer. “But you’re not as bad as you think you are, either.”

She looks up at you, her eyes shining with something you can’t quite name. “You’re going to regret saying that.”

“Maybe,” you say with a small smile. “But I don’t think so.”

Before you can overthink it, you lean in, your lips brushing against hers. She freezes for a moment, like she’s caught off guard, but then she kisses you back, her hands clutching at your sleeves as if you’re the only solid thing in her world.

When you finally pull back, her face is flushed, and she’s breathing hard. “You’re insane,” she mutters, though there’s no heat in her words.

“Takes one to know one,” you reply, grinning.

She laughs, the sound light and genuine, and for the first time, you feel like you’ve truly seen her—every broken, beautiful piece of her.

—Troublemaker!sevika and Tutor!reader

You weren’t thrilled when your teacher assigned you as her tutor. You’d heard all the rumors: skipped classes, biting comebacks that left people reeling, and a permanent spot on the troublemaker watchlist.

Her reputation painted her as unteachable, untamable, and entirely uninterested in anything resembling authority. When your teacher insisted she “just needed guidance,” you couldn’t help but feel skeptical.

The first session confirmed it.

She slouched into the library ten minutes late, her bag dragging on the floor, and dropped into the chair across from you with a loud huff.

“Look,” she said before you could even greet her, “I don’t need some perfect little know-it-all telling me what to do.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I’m just here to help.”

“Sure,” she scoffed, leaning back in her chair. “Let’s get this over with.”

Her tone was cutting, her expression bored, and yet… there was something about her. A quiet intensity lurking beneath the surface, like she was daring you to break through her tough exterior.

Each session felt like a test of patience. She was sharp, no question about it, but her attitude made every interaction a battle.

“You’re not even trying,” you said one afternoon after she tossed her pen aside for the third time.

Her eyes snapped to yours, hard and unyielding. “Don’t act like you know me,” she said coldly. “You think I don’t try? You think I don’t bust my ass every single day?”

You froze, startled by the edge in her voice.

She leaned forward, her gaze cutting through you like a blade. “I don’t need this. I don’t need you. I’m here because they told me to be.”

For a moment, you considered walking away. But then you saw it—just the faintest flicker of something vulnerable beneath her defiance.

“You’re right,” you said, keeping your voice calm. “I don’t know you. But I know you’re capable of more than this.”

Her jaw tightened, and she looked away, her fingers drumming on the table. “Whatever,” she muttered.

But she didn’t leave.

Slowly, things started to shift. She showed up on time—barely. She started taking notes—reluctantly. And every so often, she’d let her tough exterior slip, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the real her.

One afternoon, after a particularly grueling session, you handed her a worksheet.

“You’re getting better,” you said, offering her a small smile.

She snorted. “Don’t get all sentimental on me.”

“I’m not. I’m just saying you’re improving.”

“Yeah, well, don’t hold your breath for a thank-you card,” she replied, but there was a hint of a smirk on her lips.

Her walls were still up, but they were starting to crack.

It happened on a rare quiet day in the library. She was hunched over her notebook, her brow furrowed as she worked through a particularly tricky problem.

“Got it,” she said suddenly, sitting up straight.

“Really?” you asked, leaning over to check her work.

She shoved the notebook toward you, her smirk firmly in place. “Told you I’m not dumb.”

“I never said you were dumb,” you replied, meeting her gaze. “You just make things harder than they need to be.”

She rolled her eyes. “Maybe I like a challenge.”

“Or maybe you’re just stubborn,” you teased.

Her smirk softened, just for a moment. “Takes one to know one, princess.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the way she said it, her voice low and almost… fond.

After weeks of late afternoons spent together, you found yourself walking her home one evening. The sun was setting, casting a warm orange glow over the quiet streets.

“You’re not as bad as I thought,” she said suddenly, breaking the silence.

You blinked, surprised. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Don’t push your luck,” she shot back, though her tone lacked its usual bite.

When you reached her house, she stopped at the gate, turning to face you. Her usual confidence wavered, just slightly.

“Why do you bother with me?” she asked, her voice quieter than usual.

“Because I see how hard you work,” you said honestly. “And because I think there’s more to you than what you let people see.”

She stared at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, without warning, she stepped closer, her hand brushing yours.

“You’re a real pain, you know that?” she murmured, her voice soft but firm.

Before you could respond, she leaned in, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that was as bold and unapologetic as she was.

When she pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, but her smirk was firmly in place.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she said, turning toward her door.

You smiled, your heart racing. “Too late."

—Artist!ekko and Muse!reader

It was one of those golden autumn afternoons, the kind where the sunlight made everything look softer, warmer, like it belonged in a painting. You’d escaped to the park during your lunch break, clutching a well-worn book in one hand and a coffee in the other. It wasn’t the first time you’d come here for a little peace and quiet, but it felt like one of the rare times you’d actually get it.

You settled on a bench near the fountain, a cozy corner of the park where the only sounds were the gentle trickle of water and the rustling of leaves in the breeze.

The moment you opened your book, however, you felt it—a faint, almost electric sensation prickling at the edge of your awareness. Someone was watching you.

Glancing up, you spotted him.

He was sitting on the grass a few yards away, sketchpad balanced on his knees, pencil flying across the page. His hair fell messily across his forehead, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to reveal forearms speckled with faint smears of paint. Despite the chaos of his appearance, his focus was absolute, his gaze darting between you and the paper as if you were some rare discovery he couldn’t afford to lose.

You furrowed your brow, unsure whether to feel flattered or alarmed. “Can I help you?” you called, your voice cutting through the quiet.

He blinked, as if snapping out of a trance, and stood quickly.

“Sorry,” he said, striding toward you. “I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

His voice was smooth, tinged with an earnestness that made it hard to stay annoyed.

“I’m an artist,” he explained, gesturing to his sketchpad. “I know this sounds weird, but you’ve got this… look. The way you’re sitting, the way the light hits you—it’s perfect.”

“Perfect?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“For a piece I’m working on,” he clarified, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Do you mind if I sketch you? Just for a little while.”

You hesitated, studying him. He didn’t look like a creep—just young, maybe a little unkempt, with an intensity in his eyes that was hard to ignore.

“I’m not really dressed for a portrait,” you said, gesturing to your casual sweater and jeans.

He smiled, and the way his face softened surprised you. “It’s not about the clothes. It’s the way you carry yourself.”

The compliment was unexpected, and it caught you off guard. “Alright,” you said slowly. “But just for a few minutes.”

“Great,” he said, dropping to the bench across from you with a grin that felt like the sun breaking through the clouds

It turned out he was a prodigy, a young artist with a growing reputation in the city. His work had been featured in galleries, and he’d even won a few prestigious awards. But for all his talent, he was surprisingly down-to-earth.

“I don’t really like the whole ‘genius’ label,” he admitted one afternoon after convincing you to pose for him again. “It just makes people think I’ve got everything figured out. But most of the time, I’m just trying to keep up with my own ideas.”

You quickly realized that his art wasn’t just a skill—it was his lifeline. He spoke about it the way others might talk about breathing. And for some reason, he’d decided that you were his muse.

“Why me?” you asked one day as he sketched you in his studio. The walls were covered with half-finished canvases, each one brimming with vivid colors and raw emotion.

He glanced up from his sketchbook, his eyes soft but focused. “You’ve got something about you,” he said simply. “A kind of… light. I can’t explain it, but when I see you, I want to create.”

His honesty was disarming. There was no pretense in his words, no calculated charm. He spoke as though his heart was an open book, and every word was written in your honor.

“Do you say that to all your muses?” you teased, trying to lighten the moment.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “I’ve never had one before you.”

As time went on, you got to know him beyond his talent. He was fiercely independent, refusing to rely on anyone for his success. His compassion, however, was what surprised you most. He spent his weekends teaching art classes at a local youth center, his eyes lighting up as he helped kids discover their own creativity.

“They’ve got so much potential,” he said once, his voice filled with quiet pride. “They just need someone to believe in them.”

It was clear that he poured himself into everything he did, whether it was a painting, a lesson, or simply spending time with you.

One evening, he invited you to his studio after hours. The space was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of paint and turpentine.

“I want to show you something,” he said, guiding you to the center of the room where a large canvas stood covered by a cloth.

With a dramatic flourish, he pulled the cloth away, revealing a breathtaking painting. It was you—your pose, your expression, every detail captured with such tenderness that it felt like staring into a mirror of your soul.

“Is that… me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, his gaze steady. “It’s not just you,” he said softly. “It’s how I see you. Strong, radiant… inspiring.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

“It’s beautiful,” you said finally, your voice thick with emotion.

“So are you,” he replied, his lips curling into a small, genuine smile.

There was no grand confession, no dramatic moment where everything changed. Instead, your relationship grew in quiet, unspoken ways. The way he brought you coffee when you visited his studio. The way he asked for your opinion on his work, genuinely valuing your thoughts. The way his hand would brush against yours when he passed you a sketchbook, his touch lingering just a second too long.

One day, as you sat together in the park where you’d first met, he turned to you, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

“You know,” he said, his voice low, “I’m not sure I’d be able to do this without you.”

“Do what?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Create,” he replied simply. “You make it… easier to believe in myself.”

You smiled, your heart fluttering at his honesty. “I think you’d do just fine on your own.”

“Maybe,” he said, his gaze never leaving yours. “But I don’t want to.”

—Bestfriend!jayce

The two of you had been inseparable for as long as you could remember. From elementary school to your final year of high school, your lives had been stitched together with countless shared moments—late-night study sessions, chaotic group projects, and lazy afternoons spent at the local diner. You were the grounded one, the planner, while he was the dreamer.

He was everything you admired in a person: ambitious, creative, and unrelentingly passionate about making the world a better place. Whether he was organizing a charity event for the school or advocating for a greener campus, he didn’t just talk about change—he embodied it.

“Alright, hear me out,” he said one afternoon as you sat in your favorite spot in the school library. His voice was alive with energy, his words spilling out faster than you could process them.

You glanced up from your notes, already bracing yourself. “This is going to be another one of your big ideas, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” he said with a grin. “It’s what I do best.”

He leaned forward, spreading out a sketchbook filled with colorful doodles and bold handwriting. Each page was a mix of blueprints, campaign slogans, and notes for an initiative he wanted to pitch to the student council.

“I’m telling you, if we can pull this off, it could really make a difference. We could partner with local businesses, raise money for community programs, and even involve the younger students—”

“You’re going a hundred miles an hour again,” you interrupted gently, a smile tugging at your lips.

“Not when I’m onto something good,” he replied without missing a beat.

That was him in a nutshell: a whirlwind of ideas and determination, always moving forward. It was both inspiring and exhausting to keep up with him, but somehow, you always did.

For all his big ideas and boundless enthusiasm, he had a softer side too—a side he reserved just for you.

One Friday night, he showed up outside your house, honking his car horn until you came outside in your pajamas.

“What are you doing?” you hissed, glancing around to make sure your neighbors weren’t watching.

“Get in,” he said with a grin, leaning out of the driver’s side window. “I need your opinion on something.”

“You’re insane,” you muttered, but you climbed into the passenger seat anyway.

He drove to a quiet hill on the outskirts of town, parking near an old tree you’d both claimed as “your spot” years ago. He pulled out a notebook from his bag and handed it to you.

“These are my ideas for the youth outreach program,” he said. “I need to know if I’m being too ambitious.”

You flipped through the pages, your heart warming as you saw the effort he’d poured into every word and sketch.

“This is incredible,” you said softly. “You’re not just ambitious—you’re inspiring. People are going to listen to you.”

He looked at you, his expression unreadable. “You really think so?”

“Always,” you said, your voice firm.

For a split second, you thought he might reach out to take your hand, but instead, he leaned back, staring up at the stars. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

After particularly grueling school days, he’d find you at your locker, holding out your favorite drink or snack without a word. When the stress of finals hit, he’d sit beside you in the library, quietly working through his own assignments while offering words of encouragement.

And then there were the moments when his usual confidence wavered.

“Do you think I’m crazy?” he asked one evening as you sat on the hood of his car, staring up at the stars.

The two of you had just spent hours planning his latest project, a school-wide fundraiser for a local shelter. Despite his ambitious plans, his voice was quieter now, almost hesitant.

“You? Crazy?” you teased, nudging him playfully. “Absolutely.”

He laughed softly, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t completely fade.

“Seriously, though,” he said, turning to you. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m aiming too high. Like, what if I can’t actually pull all this off? What if I fail?”

You reached out, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “You won’t fail. You’re the most determined person I’ve ever met. And even if something doesn’t work out the way you planned, it doesn’t mean you failed. It just means you’re brave enough to try again.”

His gaze softened, and for a moment, the air between you felt heavier, charged with something unspoken.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The moment lingered, and as he pulled back, his hands stayed on your shoulders. His gaze searched yours, and for the first time, you saw a vulnerability there that he usually kept hidden.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this for a while now,” he began, his voice soft but steady.

Your breath caught. “What is it?”

“I don’t just care about you as a friend,” he admitted, his cheeks flushing slightly. “I mean, I do, but it’s more than that. You’ve always been my anchor, the one person who gets me, who believes in me even when I doubt myself.”

Your heart raced, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. “I think I’ve always felt the same way,” you said quietly.

Relief washed over his face, followed by a smile so genuine it made your chest ache.

“Then we’re in this together,” he said, reaching for your hand. “Like always.”

From that day on, your friendship transformed into something deeper, something stronger. His dreams grew bigger, but now, they weren’t just his—they were yours too. Together, you were unstoppable, a team bound by shared passion and a love that had been years in the making.

Whether it was planning for college or brainstorming ways to change the world, one thing was certain: with him by your side, anything felt possible.

—Enemies to lovers!viktor and reader

From the moment the new kid transferred to your school, it was as if the universe had dropped a puzzle piece into the wrong spot. He was a contradiction: introverted yet razor-sharp in class discussions, quiet but with an undercurrent of passion that seemed to burst through in unexpected moments. His snarky comebacks and aloof demeanor were practically tailor-made to clash with your confident, no-nonsense approach to everything.

You couldn’t help but notice how he kept his distance from everyone else, often retreating to the farthest corner of the library or lab. Despite his unassuming presence, he somehow managed to infuriate you with his brilliance. Teachers fawned over him, classmates whispered about him, and you? You glared daggers at him every time he raised his hand in class to counter one of your arguments.

The first real confrontation happened in science class. It was a group project, and your teacher, in a cruel twist of fate, paired you with him.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath.

He barely glanced at you as he set down his notebook, already flipping through its pages. “It’s not my favorite pairing either, but let’s just get this done.”

His tone was clipped, and his eyes barely met yours.

“Oh, so we’re starting with passive-aggressive remarks? Good to know where we stand,” you shot back, folding your arms.

He sighed, finally looking at you. “Look, I don’t care if you like me or not. I care about getting an A on this project. If you want to argue, fine, but at least do it while we’re running the experiment.”

His bluntness took you off guard, and for a moment, you were speechless. But you quickly recovered, rolling your eyes. “Fine. But don’t think for a second I’m letting you take over.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he muttered under his breath, already scribbling in his notebook.

Working together was like a storm brewing in slow motion. You were both stubborn and headstrong, constantly butting heads over the smallest details.

“Why are you doing it that way?” you snapped one afternoon as he adjusted the settings on the experiment’s apparatus.

“Because it’s the correct way,” he replied without looking up.

“You didn’t even let me explain my idea!”

“Your idea would’ve blown up the circuit.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You don’t know that.”

“Let me guess—you’re the kind of person who thinks trial and error is the only way to learn?”

He finally turned to face you, a faint smirk playing at his lips “And you’re the kind of person who thinks you’re always right,”

The tension crackled like static electricity, but neither of you backed down.

It wasn’t until a late-night study session in the empty library that things started to shift. The project deadline was looming, and you’d reluctantly agreed to meet outside of school to finish your work.

He was unusually quiet that night, his usual snark absent as he stared intently at the data on his laptop.

“Hey,” you said, breaking the silence. “You okay?”

He hesitated, his fingers pausing on the keyboard. “Just tired. And frustrated. I want this to be perfect.”

Something in his tone softened your usual defensiveness. “You know, it doesn’t have to be perfect. You’re allowed to mess up sometimes.”

He gave a faint, humorless laugh. “Not really. Not when people are counting on me.”

The vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard. For the first time, you saw past the walls he’d built around himself—the pressure he carried, the weight of expectations.

“I didn’t realize you were dealing with so much,” you said quietly.

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “Why would you? We’ve been too busy trying to outsmart each other.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Fair point. Maybe we should call a truce—for now.”

He smiled, just barely, and it was the first time you’d seen him let his guard down.

As the project progressed, the two of you started to find common ground. You discovered his love for science wasn’t just about theories and equations—it was about helping people.

“Why are you so passionate about this?” you asked one day as he carefully calibrated a piece of equipment.

He hesitated, then said, “Because I want to make a difference. I has a chronic illness, and I’ve spent years struggling with treatments that barely work. I want to change that for me, and for anyone else going through the same thing.”

His words hit you like a punch to the chest. You’d always thought of him as cold and detached, but now, you saw the fire that drove him.

“That’s… incredible,” you said softly.

He shrugged, his cheeks tinged with color. “It’s just what I care about. What about you? What drives you?”

You hesitated, caught off guard by the question. But as you opened up about your own dreams and ambitions, you realized something had shifted between you.

On the night before the project was due, you were sitting in his garage, putting the final touches on your presentation. It was late, and the two of you were running on caffeine and adrenaline.

“Here,” he said, handing you a mug of tea. “You’re going to burn out if you keep pushing yourself.”

“Look who’s talking,” you teased, taking the mug.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet hum of the garage filling the space.

“You’re not so bad, you know,” he said suddenly, his voice low.

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that your idea of a compliment?”

He smiled faintly, looking down at his hands. “I mean it. I’ve never met anyone who challenges me the way you do. It’s… refreshing.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you looked away, pretending to focus on the data. “Well, don’t get used to it. I’m not going easy on you just because you’re finally being nice.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” he said, and there was a softness in his tone that made your heart race.

[princesssmars]

you sometimes forget how… slightly obsessive, violet could be. nsfw.

when you were younger you had a love hate relationship with her tendency to become so completely fixated on something. staying up for hours at night thinking about their next score, holding a grudge for years against anyone who got piss drunk and pissed off vander in the bar, planning and fidgeting over the perfect way to ask you out for weeks before you finally took the step yourself.

even if it got her into danger, got her and her siblings into a temporary struggle that made your heart stall with the thought of nearly losing them, you always reminded her that you thought her fixation on things was cute, and a useful tool about half of the time.

(you even said that the trait reminded you of powder, always blabbering to you for as long as she could talk about her new ideas for gadgets and bombs. the girl was overjoyed in sharing something in common with her big sister, immediately climbing on her back to ramble about something new.)

but then you actually you lost her. you lost all of them. and you wished you had told her that that insecurity she had, all the insecurities she had, were stupid and inconsequential to how perfect you thought she was.

but maybe you’ll get the chance to tell her (and tell jinx that yeah, you were right, i did start seeing ghosts too) because a scarily realistic replica of your ex is standing in front of you and before you can shoo it away she’s hugging you so tight you think your ribs will break.

you follow as ekko gives her the tour of the firelights base, admiring each and every way she’s changed. she’s taller, obviously stronger, wearing a prison uniform that you don’t if you’re allowed to say looks good on her and a red jacket she stole from some guy because of course she did. you stifle a laugh as she tells the story and she smiles at you, indiscreetly wrapping your hand in hers.

it’s obvious by the look on his face ekko is so going to tease you about this later, but you don’t get a chance to care when she turns to you and ask where she and her enforcer friend can sleep. and janna knows you want to offer for her to sleep with you, but it’s been years and you don’t want to make her uncomfortable so you lead her and caitlyn to the newbie dorms.

but it seems like you’ve forgotten just how damn stubborn she is, because not even half an hour later a loud banging at your draws you from your bed, her flushed and nervous face shocking you into silence.

she asks to come in, but with her it’s always more like a demand then a question. you try to ignore the burning feeling of her eyes trained on you as you lead her to your bed, rolling your eyes as she aggressively flops back onto it.

“holy fuck, i haven’t been on something this soft in years. i think i’m gonna fall asleep right now.”

“i wouldn’t be mad if you did.” well, you’d be a little upset. you have so much to talk to her about everything, anything that’s happened since she disappeared. granted a lot of it was bad but there were still a few things you think would cheer her up. she’d already told you enthusiastic she was to eat jerichos again, just wait till she found out that-

you must of zoned out for a minute because you’re shocked back to reality by soft lips pressed to yours, vi’s bandaged hand cupping your cheek like you’ll fade into dust if she lets go. you mentally kick yourself in the head for not responding quicker when she pulls away and looks at you with that sad puppy look she gets.

“i, i’m sorry. it’s just, you were staring at me for a while! and it’s been so long since i’ve seen you and i don’t even know what we are or if we’re still girlfriends but you’re even more beautiful than the last time i saw you-“

you cup both of her cheeks in your hands,(maybe a little too hard) give her a second to back away if she wants, and pull her back in. her arms wrap around your waist and she lets out a whimper when your hand travels to the back of her neck to pull her closer and closer-

and now it’s around one hour? maybe two? it’s a while later, and as her hand travels back into you for the fourth time, yeah, you’re starting to remember how obsessive she could be.

“vi, baby - oh my gods, y’know you can slow down!” your voice pitches when her fingers, her beautiful long and big fingers push up against that spot inside you, her other hand keeping your hips down when you involuntarily raise them off the sheets.

“don’t think i can, princess.” she groans into your breast as she sucks another path of bruises down your chest, slate eyes amused at how your hands grip the bed like it stole from you, how your mouth opens so cutely before you bite your lips to hold back your sounds.

her mouth finally closes around your clit and the increased sensitivity from your past orgasms combined with the almost growling sound she makes when she tastes you sends you right over the edge, thighs clamping around her head as she carries you through it.

the rubbing of her rough hands over your thighs and her gentle words of praise merry drag you into the beginnings of a soft slumber.

until you can feel the damn brute lift your legs onto her shoulders and stick her tongue inside you, laughing at your shocked squeal and resumed grip on her hair.

“besides, we’ve gotta make up for lost time, don’t we?”

writing a drabble based on the fic you’re writing instead of finish the fic i’m such a genius like 😍😍 glad her tag is coming back but i want content coming out like a factory line ok everyone get to work 🙏🏽

[thewistlingbadger]

Jinx did not purposefully kill Silco, Jinx did not "choose Vi over Silco", Jinx did not kill Silco to protect Vi, and Jinx did not kill Silco out of love for Vi.

Jinx only kills Silco out of instinct. This is demonstrated time and time again with the crows. Jinx is heavily associated with crows in arcane. Yes they're a symbol for death and the macabre but they also serve a narrative and character purpose.

Crows show up whenever Jinx is about to fly off the handle. They show up when she tries to beat Vi's score, they show up when the firelights interrupt her reunion, and they show up on the night she kills Silco. Crows are used to show us when something really fucking bad is about to happen to Jinx.

They also show us something very INTEGRAL to her character: she is willing to kill anything that so much as moves, even when she knows it's not a threat. Jinx is initially startled by a crow when she goes to the place she and her family used to hang out. She pulls out her gun, realizes it's just a bird (not a threat), and shoots it anyway. This is REALLY important and is hinting at the finale.

Jinx is someone who lives in a very dangerous and hostile environment. She's been exposed to violence all her life, and there's many things to be afraid (many things she IS afraid of) in Zaun. It's instinct to protect herself because everyone hates her and is out to get her.

In the finale, Jinx PURPOSELY and INTENTIONALLY puts her ONLY WEAPON IN FRONT OF SILCO when threatened by Caitlyn. Why? Because she knows Silco will protect her. She knows that if shit hits the fan, if push comes to shove, if she is somehow put in a position where she cannot defend herself, Silco will defend her. Always. If she was afraid of Silco or what he might do or if she was afraid for Vi's safety, she would have NOT put the gun in his reach. She KNOWS he's anti-vi, she KNOWS he doesn't like her, he is literally arguing against her in this scene. She also knows that Silco has no limits, no line unwilling to cross. Silco would EASILY and perhaps happily kill Vi if given the chance. But she puts the gun in front of him because she trusts him and knows he'd do anything for her.

And ultimately, he DOES die defending her. Vi trying to call members of the past actively and explicitly puts Jinx in a place of pain and hurt. She is actively damaging her sister and making her the most unstable we've ever seen this. VI doesn't know she's doing this because vi lives in the past and the past has always been her refuge. But the past has always been jinx's nightmare and personal hell. Silco knows this because HE was there. He was there for every meltdown and mental breakdown, he knows her and knows what she's like, which is WHY he does everything in his power to get her to stop. The amount of violence and aggression he enters just to get Vi to stop is actually insane. We have NEVER seen him act this way. He's yelling at the top of his lungs and THRASHING IN HIS CHAIR to get her to stop, because he knows A. This is hurting Jinx and B. No good will come from this. He tells her to shut up, physically tries to get her to stop, and then he notices the gun (notice how is initial reaction wasn't to just kill her? Notice how he tried other methods before physical and actual violence?). He grabs the gun, point the gun at Vi, and press the trigger. But the bullets don't come out, the safety pin activates.

Jinx hears the pin. This is the only thing that manages to pull her out of her meltdown: the threat of violence. She's not in a place to process or analyze the situation. Upon instinct, she opens fire on everyone within the room, firing at random. Her only intention to put down the threat of violence. Both Vi and Silco's chair have bullet holes, showing that this is the case.

It takes her a while to calm down but once she does, she realizes what she's actually done. She realizes the threat was no threat at all.

[idkdudethisisntpermanent]

Over the Limit

jenna ortega x female reader

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v | part vi

summary: In a town divided between two rival street racing crews, you’re caught between your cousin’s crew, the Sinners and Jenna, a mysterious girl from the Vipers who’s more than just a pretty face. Both of you need something from each other, but as the stakes rise, you’re left wondering: what makes your heart race more— the thrill of the competition or the girl who’s impossible to ignore?

word count: 6.7k

A very special thank you to @ortegalvr for giving me the very much needed nudge to start moving my work to Tumblr. And to @cobaltperun for being so patient and thoroughly answering all my questions, essentially giving me (a Tumblr noob) a dummies guide to Tumblr. Appreciate you both!

————

Why is it that some of the best feel goods in life can just as easily kill you if you indulge in it too much?

Alcohol, drugs, illegal driving... love?

Fortunately for you, you only indulge in only one of those.

There's just something so satisfying about watching your car pick up speed; watching the little arm on the speed gauge reach it's full potential.  If cars are able to reach those speeds then they should, it's a fact of the matter.  And when you're surrounded by cars all your life and the only reason you have a livelihood is because of those three thousand pounds of steel, you're bound to make some fun out of it.

You push down on the accelerator with more pressure, reaching speeds of almost 180 km/hour when you see the flashing blue and red lights in the rear view mirror.

The feds.

"Took them longer than usual." you thought out loud.

Now there could be two reasons they're after you. The obvious, speeding.  But then there's also the fact that you stole the beauty you're driving from the town's richest neighbourhood, Summer Valley.

Of course stealing it is not enough for you, so you made some tweaks here and there in the garage so this ride could be even more illegal than it already is, and now you're selling it to an off the grid buyer.

Escaping the police wasn't something new, it's become routinely. You'd be more concerned if the cops weren't on your tail during a delivery.

You make a sharp turn right into a short alleyway marking the start of this high speed chase.

Being the exceptional mechanic that you are, your work on this car has given it a larger than usual turn radius which allowed the turn to be much smoother, giving you a good head start.

"Why are these fuckers in the middle of road!" You yelled panickily, upon seeing the herd of people in front of you.

You don't know when people decided to ditch the sidewalks and walk in the middle of the road, but clearly, you missed the memo.  You were forced to sound the horn a few times, and luckily the pedestrians were responsive and didn't cause you to lose your lead on the cop, but it may have alerted them—if you were lucky enough to lose them in the first place.

Once you finally got out of the alleyway, your phone started ringing, stealing your focus from the dark road in front of you to glance down at your phone for a millisecond.

Anton. Your cousin.

Anton Y/l/n. Your older cousin of three years. He was an impulsive firecracker that has the tendency to rope you into his shenanigans, not deliberately of course.  Despite his flaws he'd do anything for family. You like to joke around and call him Dom Toretto, and those jokes have only gotten worse after he buzzed his head after an unfortunate grease spillage accident that was entirely his and your fault.

That five letter name is the most anxiety inducing noun known to man in your books and everytime you answer the older guy's call, you feel as if your gambling your mental health.  He could either be calling to tell you about a huge car gig that he scored for you both or that he owes a million dollar debt.

You legit never know.

You groan and answer the call, putting it on speaker and tossing the phone to the passenger seat.

"What now?" you yell over the sounds of acceleration and police sirens.

"Come to Chester and Dan's lane." He says straight to the point, not questioning the noises he hears on your end of the phone. "After your delivery of course." At this point he's used to his little cousin getting chased down by the cops too.

"What's happening at Chester and Dan?" You ask looking at the side view mirror, squinting at the piercing blue and red flashes.

"Sinners are doing a couple rounds before the big race tomorrow. Join us, it'll be fun."

You sigh at your cousin's billionth attempt to get you acquainted with the Sinners. He's been trying ever since he first started as a general member of the club to now, the leader of the street race club.

"We'll see, I'm kind of in the middle of something," you shout over the sound of the tires screeching from a sharp turn you just made.

"Ugh! I'm not gullible like the other fucks in your life. Don't 'we'll see' me thinking it'll keep me satisfied and off your back for a while."

"I'm busy."

"Just step on the gas you pussy, going past two hundred won't kill you."

With a roll of your eyes, you think that you've entertained Anton's wishes enough and hung up the phone with the determination to lose the cops and deliver the 1969 Ford Mustang you're driving in one piece.

Twenty minutes later, a handful full of sharp turns later and momentarily stopping to let a group of duckling cross the street, you were finally at your destination.

"Car looks good to me," the off the grid buyer who introduced himself as John said with an approving nod after surveying the vintage black vehicle for quite some time.

You let out a breath.  You've made your fair share of deliveries over the years, and just like Anton's calls, you never know the type of customer you're gonna get.

Some customers complain about the price of parts, or a scratch on the car that doesn't exist or they go back on their word and attempt to haggle the price to something ridiculous.

"Nice work kid," John says handing you the promised amount you both settled on a couple weeks prior.  You didn't have to count the stash of cash to know that all of it was there.

"Finally," you sigh, smiling at the wad of cash in your hands and running your thumb along the bills, walking towards the direction of home.

Suddenly a car pulls up. "Give me the cash or give me your life. Your choice." Before you can register the words, you're met with the barrel of a pistol pointed at you through an unrolled passenger side window.

You knew you weren't a fighter nor were you confrontational. Even though you grew up in the tougher parts of the town, your brain is what got you out of your predicaments. If you were a fighter you wouldn't be spending your life stealing, fixing and selling cars.

Laughter interrupted you from handing over the cash.  Confused, you focus on the face holding the glock, and all previous thoughts disappeared and was now replaced with relief and anger.

"What the fuck Anton!" you angrily say, hopping into the passenger seat of the car next to your laughing cousin.

You knew better than to question the fact that your cousin had a gun. When you're the leader of a street race club, you need protection. Especially when all the other club owners own a gun, and fights always break out.

"You should've seen your face," he slips out in his fit of laughter, beginning to drive off as his cousin settles in his car.

"I thought you were street smart, you know better than to walk around this time flaunting your cash."

"I can handle myself, but yeah I should've been more careful. I was just a little excited finally getting paid," You admit, recalling the rut you've recently been in and the struggles you and your mother have recently been facing to make ends meet.

Anton acknowledges the response, "You know you could always ask me for help?

"My mom wouldn't take it."

Anton let's out a loud sigh, "No offense dude, but I don't get your mom's deal.  She acts as if I'm the reason our dads are dead."

You wince at the mention of your dead fathers.  Sometimes you wonder how Anton could talk about this stuff so easily.  "You just resemble Uncle so much, and to be fair you are following the same path as him."

Anton's father and yours, who were brothers, founded the Sinner's Race Club.  Anton's dad had always been your father's right-hand man in races, often riding in the passenger seat.  During a high-stakes race meant to settle a territory dispute, the brakes on your father's car failed, and both men were pronounced dead at the scene.

Since then, your mom understandably kept you away from cars, Anton, and anything related to the race club. She forbade you from getting a driver's license and doesn't even know you have one. Hiding it wasn't difficult, though, given that your family has more pressing expenses than a car.

"Alright, we're here," Your cousin announces, snapping you out of your thoughts. "I still think you should show up tomorrow. Sleep on it."

You step out of the car, once Anton puts the money you made from your sale in a spare backpack he had. So your mom wouldn't ask questions.

"How was your shift?" your mom asks from the couch as you walk through the door.

"Fine, just sore from lifting all those boxes," you lie smoothly.

"Hmm, get to bed early tonight."

As you head toward your room, her voice calls out again. "Oh, and Y/n," she says, making you turn back. "That better not have been Anton dropping you off."

You stay silent and head to bed, unsure of what tomorrow will bring.

————

"How the hell does your mom not catch on? She really thinks some warehouse gig's got you pullin' in forty grand at a time?"

You wipe the sweat of your brow, while you grab a car wrench. "She doesn't know I make that much, I help pay the rent and get food on our table. The rest I save."

"Smart. So, what's the big plan? Get outta Brimstone? Buy yourself a mansion in Summer Valley?" Mason sneers condescendingly.

This morning, you woke up to a text from Anton that convinced you to at least help prep the cars for tonight's big race, even if you don't plan on showing up. Now, you find yourself at the Brimstone Sinner's garage, the garage where you do your car modifications which sits at the edge of Sinner territory.

The place is buzzing with other club members scattered around, working on various cars. You, Anton, and—unfortunately—Mason, a friend of Anton's, who somehow wormed his way into the conversation, are huddled by the main cars, making sure they're in prime condition for the race.

"Ay! Stop distracting my best mechanic!" Anton shouts over the hood of the car to Mason.

Before you knew it you were rolling under the car via the creeper to work on the underside of the car. As you were finishing up you suddenly heard the garage go dead silent, but you didn't know why since your view was limited.

You hear Anton break the silence, "You got some fucking nerve walking into my garage asshat."

As you were lying on your back you could see about one foot from the ground up. You couldn't see who it was, but you could tell where they were from. The grey Dior dunks paired with the most unfashionable pants ever told you everything you needed to know.

Someone from Summer Valley is here.

Then came the laugh. That short, arrogant chuckle, the kind that practically exhaled wealth. Privilege. The very thing you despised.

"Just wanted to see you pussies before you lose all your dignity—oh and your garage. I'm already imagining what I'm gonna do with the place," the voice laughs again.

The conversation around you fades as your mind fixates on a single phrase. Lose the garage? Your hand curls into a tight fist, knuckles turning white. Did your dumbass cousin actually gamble the garage for tonight's race?

You try to focus your hearing, trying to see if anyone else is upset by the fact. But it's silent, they're unfazed, indifferent to the fact that Anton—the club's supposed leader—might have just wagered the club's most valuable asset. Property. You let out a sharp exhale. This is exactly what you couldn't stand about racers. They're all thrill-seeking junkies who only care about going fast. Does no one else here realize the gravity of losing this garage?

Anton snaps you back to reality. "Percy you ain't riding tonight if you're dead. Now get the fuck out before you catch a bullet."

Percy.

Leader of the Summer Valley Vipers. Just another privileged trust fund brat, bored one summer, who saw that the kids on the wrong side of the tracks had a race club and wanted in. So formed his own club. For the Vipers, racing was a hobby. For anyone from Brimstone? It was survival.

Once the obnoxious figure in those ridiculous pants left the garage, you rolled out from under the car, wiping grease from your hands. A quick glance around told you that everyone had already returned to their tasks, like the tense exchange with the Viper hadn't even happened.

Jaw clenched, you stomped over to Anton and gave him a firm nudge—just hard enough to make your frustration clear. "What the hell, Ant?"

Anton, mid-conversation with Madison—one of the club's members—turned to face you, exhaling a cloud of smoke. His brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"What? Seriously?" you snap. "What was Pissy going on about, losing the garage?"

He let out a long, drawn-out sigh before flicking the ash off his cigarette. "Relax, Y/n. It's just to raise the stakes, nothing serious."

"Nothing serious?" you say, mirroring his words once again. "This is my fucking livelihood, I can't live without this garage Ant? Where else am I going to fix cars?!"

Anton calmy takes one last drag, puts out his cigarette, and gestures for you to follow him outside of the garage, away from the rest of the club members.

Once you were outside Anton wasted no time in getting to the point.

"I'm only gonna say this once, Y/n. Don't ever talk to me like that in front of my people again. I run this crew."

His gaze softened slightly as he added, "I know we're family, but out here, I gotta be their leader. You get me?"

You nod understanding the politics of running a club like this. It wasn't simple and it wasn't like Anton was being rude to you.

"Now kid, listen to me very closely." Anton starts, his eyes narrowing, words firm.

You hated when he called you "kid," and Anton damn well knew it.  He was only three years older, but you decided to bite your tongue this time, sensing he had something important to say.

"You don't take risks," he said, his voice steady.

You opened your mouth to cut him off, but he quickly held up a hand, his words rushing out before you could get a word in. "—hold on, let me finish! I know you think stealing cars, making illegal mods, and dodging the feds is risky—and yeah, it is... for most people. But not for you. You're too good at it. It's not a risk when you know you're always gonna pull it off. You're in your comfort zone. You don't even flinch anymore."

You crossed your arms, shaking your head. "I don't need the gamble, Ant. Why would I put myself in a position to lose something—everything?"

"But why wouldn't you?" Anton fires back passionately.

For a moment neither of you say anything.

"That's the problem, Y/n," he said finally, his voice low. "You don't take real risks anymore because you're afraid to lose. But sometimes... you gotta lose something to really win. You know what I'm saying?"

You frowned, not fully understanding. "What's that even supposed to mean? I'm not trying to play some high-stakes game just for the thrill of it."

"That's not what I'm talking about, kid. I'm saying there's more to life than just getting by. You can't just keep doing the same shit because it's easy and familiar.  You gotta challenge yourself, push yourself outta that comfort zone. That's where the real reward is."

You shifted uncomfortably, not liking where the conversation was headed. "So what, you want me to throw myself into danger for no reason? What are you really getting at, Ant?"

His gaze stayed steady, not backing down. "I'm talking about the garage. Everything we've built. If you keep playing it safe, we'll stay small. But if we take some risks?  We could grow this into something huge, we could run the city, Y/n."

His words hung in the air, heavy. You hesitated, feeling the pressure. "And what's the catch?"

A slow smirk crept onto his face as he leaned in. "The catch is, we go all in, or we lose it all."

Your head shook slightly, confused and uneasy. Anton sounded insane right now, with all this talk of taking over the city. "I don't know," you muttered, your voice wavering.

"I'm not saying you have to. Maybe this," he said, gesturing around the garage and the cars. "...isn't your thing, and that's fine. But you've got to find what is. What's your purpose, your drive Y/n/n? What makes your heart race? What's worth risking everything for?"

————

"Just get home safe, and grab me a pack of cigarettes on your way," your mom says, her tone casual.  You exhale, relieved she let you leave without too many questions.

After your talk with Anton, and spending hours tuning up cars for the race, you head home, but your mind lingers on what your cousin said earlier.  His words hit deeper than you care to admit—he was right.  You've been stuck in your comfort zone for far too long, and you can't even remember the last time you did something that pushed your boundaries.

So, here you are, lying to your mom about getting called in for a late night shift when in reality, you're on your way to the race between the Sinners and Vipers.

Anton was practically beaming when you told him you were finally coming to the race.  He couldn't wait to give you a ride to the track.

"Took me, what—six years?  Finally got you to show up," Anton shakes his head, laughing as you slide into the passenger seat.

You ignore his teasing, cutting straight to the point.  "You nervous?"

"Nah, fuck no. Pussy's a trash driver—he's got nothing on me."

Your eyes widen.  "Wait, this is a title race?"

You didn't realize the leaders of both clubs were squaring off tonight.  A title race meant more than bragging rights—both sides were gambling big, this race could mean life or death for both clubs.

You were about to ask what else Anton had on the line besides the garage, but the car suddenly surged forward, the burst of speed nearly throwing you out of your seat.

"What the hell! Slow down!" you shout, gripping the armrest tightly.

"Relax, I'm not even hitting two hundred yet—"

The older driver begins to roll his windows up, a sign that he wants to go even faster. The world outside blurred as the engine roared, drowning out the sound of your pulse hammering in your ears.

"Anton. Stop." Your voice is steady, firmer than ever leaving no room for argument.

The driver sighs, gradually slowing the car down to legal road limits.  "You need to get over it eventually Y/n."

Those were the last words said for the remainder of the ride, you didn't want to argue with your cousin before he has one of the biggest races of his life. He knew why you were antsy with the going beyond a certain speed limit. He knew. Of course, he knew. The crash. The speed. The helplessness you felt back then. You gritted your teeth, willing yourself not to dwell on it, not to bring it up again.

You finally pull into the track, and your eyes widen in awe. It's like you were stepping onto the movie set of Fast and Furious. The area is packed with custom cars, their paint jobs gleaming under the glow of neon lights and street lamps, unique to fit the personality of each driver. Engines roar and rev, filling the air with a pulse that matches the energy of the crowd. People are everywhere—leaning against cars, laughing, shouting over the music blasting from speakers.

The race course itself stretches down a wide, abandoned road, littered with warehouses and graffiti-covered walls. Smoke drifts in the air from burning rubber, and the smell of gasoline is thick. You can feel the intensity of the competition buzzing in the air. This wasn't just a race—it was a spectacle, alive with adrenaline and danger.

Anton slowly turns into beneath a large abandoned overpass that you've often heard was a hotspot for racers and ragers. You pan your eyes across the windshield and immediately spot the rival race crews: a sea of black jackets to the right and a wall of red to the left, each group eyeing each other with the tension only moments from snapping.

You were so caught up in the moment you didn't even notice Anton turn the volume up as he played I Don't Fuck with You by Big Sean while rolling past the Viper's crew. Typical Anton—always stirring the pot. The Vipers glared but didn't act, clearly aware of who you were. You both look at each other and laugh as you join the rest of your crew a bit further into the underpass.

As your cousin parks the car he grabs something from the back seat and tosses it onto your lap—a black leather jacket.

You stared at it for a moment.  The design was unmistakable. A large, detailed skull with flames rising behind it, symbolizing both danger and speed. The club's name, Sinners, arched above the skull in bold gothic, tattoo-style font. The club your father founded. The legacy you never wanted.

Your chest tightened as you ran your fingers over the smooth leather. Putting it on would be more than just an outfit choice—it would be an open declaration of association. Your mom would kill you if she ever found out.

Sensing your hesitation, Anton laughed. "Relax, I can see the steam coming out of your head from here. You don't have to wear it, alright? Just throw it over your shoulder or something. People need to know who you're with, that's all."

With that, you both stepped out of the car, and the cheers erupted. They were loud, wild, and unmistakably for Anton—he was their leader. But as the energy surged through the crowd, you couldn't help but wonder if a few of those cheers were meant for you. After all, it was your first time showing up to a race.

As you slipped into the crowd, a few familiar faces greeted you with nods and casual grins, clearly surprised to see you here.  You exchanged small talk with some of the members, their conversations a mix of race gossip, bets, and tales of past victories. The atmosphere was charged with excitement, but as the minutes ticked by, you felt the need to break away, the noise and energy overwhelming you.

Stepping out from the cluster of people, you wandered toward the edge of the underpass, taking in the scene.  The place was massive—graffiti-streaked pillars towering above, just like the one you were leaning against.

You took this moment to observe the Vipers. You've always had the displeasure of seeing the odd one or two while you were out doing your runs, but this is the first time you've seen the entire crew together. Your eyes land on a certain member. Percy. The only one that had a leader patch on the right sleeve of his jacket, an absurd attempt to assert dominance. You laugh at how lame this guy is. Anton exudes leader, he didn't need a patch on his sleeve reminding everyone he is one.

As you continue making your observations about the Vipers, from the corner of your eye, you noticed movement—someone else seeking the same kind of quiet as you. You glanced over, and there she was, leaning against the opposite side of the same pillar as you. The roar of engines and the blaring music made it easy to miss each other until now.

She was alone, her red jacket slung casually over her arm, a cigarette between her fingers. The contrast of her dark hair against the dim lighting made her stand out even more, and for a moment, she hadn't noticed you.

You tried not to stare, but there was something magnetic about her presence—like the calm before a storm. She flicked her eyes in your direction and froze, her gaze locking onto yours as if she wasn't expecting company either.

She glanced up at the black jacket draped over your shoulder, then at her own red one, casually slung over her arm. With a raised eyebrow and a playful smirk, she broke the silence.

"Guess neither of us is feeling the uniform tonight, huh?" she said, flicking ash from her cigarette, her voice low and surprisingly soft.

Of course her voice had to be the sexiest thing you've ever heard. You remained silent, not because you wanted to, but you didn't know how to respond. This is the first time you've ever spoken to a Viper—a hot Viper at that. You didn't know how to interact with a pretty girl, let alone someone who should be your sworn rival.

"Didn't think anyone else would find this spot," she sighs, not sure if she was saying it to you or outloud to herself.

You pushed off the pillar slightly, offering a small shrug. "Needed a breather."

She smirked, exhaling smoke slowly. "Yeah? Thought you Sinners thrived on chaos."

You glanced at the jacket hanging over your shoulder, then back at her. "Guess I'm not like the others." You weren't going to explain to a stranger that you technically aren't a Sinner but you also are.

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Clearly." There was a pause, then she gave you a once-over, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "So, what's a Sinner doing hiding out here, away from the action?"

You crossed your arms, feeling the pull of the conversation. "Could ask you the same thing. Vipers don't usually stray from their pack."

She let out a soft laugh, the sound almost lost in the night air. "Maybe I needed a break from all the posturing. You know how it is."

Posturing. What an interesting way to put it you thought to yourself. She wasn't wrong,  but it was an oddly honest thing to bring up barely thirty seconds into the conversation. As intrigued as you are, you're also cautious.

You glanced her over in return, taking in her outfit—black combat boots, short black shorts, and a plain white tee, almost identical to the one you were wearing. It was shocking to see a girl from Summer Valley dressed so simply. But the simplicity suited her. She didn't need to be extravagant to stand out, if it wasn't for the jacket on her arm, you would've totally mistaken her for a flag girl, the ones who countdown the race. You've always heard that they're the most beautiful girls on the track, but clearly it wasn't the case tonight.

Your eyes met again, and something unspoken hung in the air between you. Two people from rival crews, both stepping away from the world that defined them.

She held your gaze. You didn't know what it was behind those intense brown eyes. Hatred, curiosity, attraction, a cry for help? You couldn't tell, but you also didn't want to define it. Defining it may mean having to look away. And you didn't want that.  Maybe she didn't either, you doubt she would force herself to stay here with you if she didn't want to.

The universe however, had other plans. The voice of one of the flag girls crackled through the megaphone, cutting through the tension. "The big day is finally here!" The rest of her corny speech faded into the background as your focus remained on the girl in front of you.  She tore her eyes from yours, sighed, and glanced back at her club.

"I have to go.  See you around, Greaser."

"Greaser?" you echoed, raising a brow.

She smirked, giving you a slow, deliberate once-over before turning away.

As much as you wanted to watch her walk away, curiosity tugged at you, pulling your gaze down.  You glanced at yourself and chuckled softly—faded blue jeans, white tee, and a black leather jacket.  Yeah, you did kind of look like a greaser tonight.

But then you saw it.  A grease stain on your shirt.  You chuckled softly. So that's why.

You decided it was time to head back to your group. You return a bit more upbeat than when you'd left. As you approached, you noticed Anton climbing into the car you'd been working on earlier with the crew gathered around, wishing him luck before the race. That's when he spotted you at the edge of the crowd and waved you over. The group parted, and soon you were standing face to face with Anton.

"You look happy. Having fun?" he shouted over the roar of his engine and Percy's nearby.

"It's been pretty cool," you replied with a shrug, nodding along—though it wasn't the race itself you were enjoying, but who it had brought here.

Anton hummed in approval before dapping you up and pulling you into a quick hug. "I'll see you in a bit," he grinned, hyping up his team one last time before sliding into the driver's seat, Mason settling into the passenger side.

As Anton shut his door, your eyes drifted to the car next to his. You watched Percy with his crew, their energy almost a mirror of your own. But then you saw something that left you utterly confused.

The mystery girl. She was on her tiptoes, arms wrapped around Percy's neck in a hug that felt way too intimate for your liking.

Is she his girl?  Disgusting. More thoughts crept in, but you quickly shut it down. She was a Viper, and you'd only talked to her for ten minutes. You didn't get to feel some type of way about it. She was just...intriguing. Nothing more.

You shook your head, trying to dispel the thoughts. Focus on the race, focus on Anton. You told yourself.

You take a step back and settle in a spot between Madison and Hunter as the flag girls strutted to the front of the starting line, their boots clicking against the asphalt. One girl raised a checkered flag high, her red lips curled into a seductive smile as she glanced at both drivers. The other girl held the megaphone to her lips.

"Racers, are you ready?!" Her voice echoed across the lot, the engines revving in response.

"Three!"

"Two!"

"One!" Time seemed to slow. The crowd held its breath, and for a split second all that existed was the hum of engines, the gleam of metal, and the flashing lights.

Then, with a flick of her wrist, the flag girl swung the checkered flag down, and the cars exploded off the line.

Anton's car launched forward, while Percy's stayed right on his tail, neck and neck. The crowd erupted into cheers, the sheer speed of the cars leaving only a blur of metal behind them as they tore down the street.

With the cars gone you had nothing left to distract you from your thoughts. What were you genuinely doing here, you ask yourself.

Your eyes wandered back to the spot where you had last seen her. That girl—the one who had slipped into your mind with just a few words and a lingering look. Now, with Percy racing down the track, she stood with another Viper. This one was taller, with short hair, and they were both laughing, completely at ease with each other.

You laugh in disbelief shaking your head. This didn't seem like posturing to you, she seemed like she had fit right in. But again you catch yourself thinking, why were you even upset? She never said she hated her crew, she never said anything that implied she was like you, and now you wonder if you interpreted your interaction with her to something you wanted it to be rather than what it actually was.

The thought crept in, unwelcome. Maybe you were projecting your own loneliness, your desire to feel seen, onto someone who didn't even feel the same way. Someone who was just passing time in a moment. She was a Viper, fully a part of this world, while you were just an outsider passing through.

You turned to Madison and Hunter. "I'm gonna grab a drink. You guys want anything?"

They shook their heads, and you made your way to one of the cars stocked with drinks in the trunk. You opted for a soda rather than a beer.

You leaned against the car, slowly sipping your soda and trying to clear your head. The night had taken a strange turn—what started as excitement was now muddy with emotions you weren't sure how to handle. The hum of conversation and the occasional laughter from nearby crews were the only sounds cutting through the noise in your mind.

Then, suddenly, the atmosphere shifted.

It was subtle at first, a ripple of unease passing through the crowd. You heard hushed whispers and saw people glancing toward the far end of the lot. Then, like a wave crashing down, the sound of sirens pierced the night.

"Cops!" someone yelled, and the panic spread like wildfire.

People scrambled in every direction, grabbing their things and sprinting for their cars. Engines roared to life, and tires screeched as racers and spectators alike tried to escape before the police descended on the scene.

You tossed your soda to the ground, adrenaline surging through you as you looked around for Madison and Hunter, but they were already sprinting towards the opposite direction with the rest of the crew. You turned to follow, but something made you stop.

She wasn't moving.

In the chaos, you spotted her standing in the middle of the lot, frozen, her eyes wide but not making any attempt to run.  She wasn't panicked—she looked more...indifferent, like the flashing red and blue lights didn't mean anything to her.

Without thinking, you darted towards her. Your heart pounded in your chest as you weaved through the fleeing crowd, the sound of sirens growing louder by the second. When you reached her, you didn't hesitate—you grabbed her arm and pulled her.

"Come on!" you shouted over the noise, but she barely reacted, her feet stumbling as you dragged her away from the open lot.

You didn't stop until you reached the mouth of a narrow alleyway between two buildings. You pulled her into the shadows, pressing your back against the wall as you caught your breath. She was in front of you, calm in a way that made no sense considering the chaos unfolding behind you.

She gazed at you, a hint of amusement in her eyes as she was catching her breath. "You didn't have to do that, you know."

You shot her a look, exasperated. "You're welcome."

The distant sound of police radios crackled through the air as you both stood in silence, waiting for the madness to pass.

"You really should be more careful," you said, trying to break the silence. "It's not safe out there, especially with the cops around."

She shrugged, a faint smile playing on her lips. "I guess I'm just used to it. But I appreciate the concern."

You couldn't help but feel a mix of admiration and curiosity. "So, what do you usually do in moments like this? Just... stand around?"

Her laughter was light, almost melodic. "Well, not exactly. Usually, I'd just blend in and keep my head down. But you've thrown a bit of a wrench in that plan."

"Is that a bad thing?" you asked, intrigued.

"Not necessarily," she replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "But it's definitely unexpected."

You took a step closer, feeling the distance between you narrow. "And here I thought I was just being a good Samaritan."

"Good Samaritan, huh?" She raised an eyebrow, playful yet cautious. "Seems like you might be getting in over your head, then."

"Maybe I like the thrill," you shot back, trying to keep the mood light. But beneath the banter, you both knew the stakes were higher than either of you wanted to admit.

"Well, be careful what you wish for," she said softly, her expression shifting momentarily to something more serious. "Not everything is as exciting as it seems."

You paused, trying to decipher her words. There was a depth to her that hinted at more than she was letting on. But before you could ask, she turned her gaze back to the alley,

Your phone suddenly dinged, breaking the tension. You glanced at it and saw a message from Mason.

"Seems like the cops cut the race short. Your crew lives to see another day."

You chuckled, but she didn't respond, just watching you with her doe eyes. You thought about what it would be like to give in.

But just then, the light caught her wrist, glinting off the expensive bracelet she wore.  The sight of it sent a jolt through you—a stark reminder that she was from Summer Valley, a Viper, and probably a handful you couldn't handle.

The realization hit hard, and you felt a rush of uncertainty. She was part of a world you didn't want to dive into, no matter how intriguing she might be.

You decide to walk off, out of the alley.

"Hey! Where are you going?" she called out, jogging to catch up.

"Home. The cops seem to be gone," you replied, keeping your tone light, words short.

The brown-eyed girl looked confused, she thought you were building a connection. Now you were suddenly dismissive, leaving without a word, and you could see her trying to process it.

"...Wait, um..." she stammered, hesitating as if searching for the right words.

You turned back, sensing the moment hanging between you.  You had a feeling you knew what she was going to say, and a knot formed in your stomach.

You took a step back, breaking the spell. "I really should go," you said, your voice firm, not giving her a chance to speak. You turned away, leaving her standing there, a mixture of confusion and disappointment on her face.

With that, you turned and walked deeper into the night. You could feel her watching you, but you kept moving, the weight of your decision heavy in your chest. But telling her your name would mean chaos.

As you navigated the alley, Anton's words echoed in your mind. "Maybe this isn't your thing, and that's fine. But you've got to find what is. What's your purpose, your drive? What makes your heart race? What's worth risking everything for?"

You were sure it wasn't her. As much as you felt a connection, you couldn't get further involved with the race world. She was just a pretty girl you met, and seemed to have some semblance of intellectuality. You know how this ends and its not pretty. You had responsibilities waiting at home—your mom counting on you, the weight of family expectations pressing down like a heavy fog.  You had to figure things out on your own, even if it meant leaving her behind.

You can't just be the calculated person that you are and then immediately start taking risks because your cousin told you to. This was your nature. Careful.

Still, a part of you wondered if the real risk was not in chasing the girl but in denying yourself the chance to discover what could truly make your heart race.

next chapter

[woso-dreamzzz]

Natalia VI

Hardersson x Daughter!Reader

Natalia Guijarro (OC) x Hardersson!Reader

Part of The Big Adeventures Universe

Summary: An opponent gets angry at you

If you weren't so massively pissed at yourself, you could accept that the goal was beautiful.

Playing Manchester City wasn't for the weak, at least for a goalkeeper, and a pass to one of your defenders was intercepted and the shot came in quicker than you could move.

The City player came celebrating straight in your face, really rubbing it in.

That was the first straw.

The second straw came during injury time of the first half.

Another ball slotted neatly past your outstretched gloves.

She celebrates in your face again.

The final straw happens nearer the end of the match.

You save the goal on the line.

It's a near miss for you but you get it.

The City girl, the one that's been pressing you all match, doesn't think you saved it on the line. She thinks it went in.

She gets up into your face about it.

She's yelling something, hands waving around wildly.

Pernille watches anxiously.

You don't like being yelled at. You used to cry as a child whenever she and Magda so much as raised their voices. You used to keep your head down, folding your body in on itself and lowering your head. You used to sniffle for a few moments before bursting into uncontrollable sobs.

Even as Pernille yelled, her heart would break just because you seemed so broken up by it.

Not many people can match your height. You usually tower over everyone but this time you can't.

This girl seems even taller than you as she yells right in your face, jabbing you in your chest.

She's taller but you're stronger.

You square your shoulders, not even moving as her jabs get a bit more aggressive.

Pernille would be annoyed too, she thinks, if she'd already scored two goals, potentially a third and her team was still nowhere near Barcelona's six shiny goals.

Pernille would be angry too if her third shot was saved on the line.

But she'd never try to instigate anything. She would never start yelling at the keeper, trying to get needlessly aggressive.

Emotions run high on those first leg Champion's League semi-finals.

No one wants to go into the second leg with such a large deficit.

But aggression has no place on the pitch.

The girl shoves you back but you still stay strong, simply rocking back on your feet for a moment before righting yourself again.

There's a reason people call you a brick wall.

"Just shove her back," Pernille hears Magda mutter next to her.

"Magda!"

"What? That girl's gone crazy! She won't listen to reason. Fight fire with fire."

Pernille raises a brow. "Our daughter? You think our daughter will be shoving anyone?"

"Our daughter won't," Magda says confidently," But her girlfriend will."

The ref is coming towards the group from the halfway line.

So is Talia.

Talia gets there first.

She wiggles her way between the two of you and you give her the space to do so.

The City player is yelling.

Talia is yelling.

The City player shoves.

Talia shoves back.

They're up in each other's faces and it's like this referee is the slowest ref in the world.

"Go on," Magda murmurs," Get her! Get her!"

"Magda!" Pernille says again," Stop supporting violence!"

"I'm not! Just making sure she gets a taste of her own medicine! It was on the line! It didn't go in! She's just wasting time now."

Thankfully, it doesn't get any more violent than a few shoves and finger jabs but both Talia and the City girl get yellow cards.

The City girl walks off in an angry storm.

Talia takes it on the chin, a devilish smirk on her face and another goal slotted into City's net before the game is up.

"She looked a tad angry," Pernille notes as you amble towards her at the end of the match.

"Emotions are high, I guess," You say with a shrug, eyes darting to the side," Spot in the final up for grabs and all that."

"She was yelling. I know you don't like yelling. How are you feeling?"

You glance at her, shrugging again. "Sometimes, when people yell, I wonder what they'll do if I start crying at them. Like, if they continue to yell then they're an asshole but if they don't...What are they meant to do? Hug me?"

"An apology would be nice," Pernille teases," But, seriously? Are you okay?"

"I'd probably be worse if we'd lost but we didn't. We're in a good position for the second leg. Yeah, it was a good game. I'm okay."

Pernille holds your face in her hands for a moment, staring into your eyes to see if you're lying.

She can see no deceit in them so just pulls you into a hug.

"Yeah," She hears Magda say next to her," She's lucky I'm not playing anymore. Squaring up to my kid like that? I'd have swung at her."

Talia laughs. "I nearly did."

[fanbasetwo]

Ꮺ . , BEING ENEMIES WITH WONBIN !!

NOTE FROM SENA , (this is a fic in a headcanon manner) first wonbin work lesss gaurr , MASTERLIST!!

i. THE BEGINNING OF A SILLY FEUD

Your rivalry with Wonbin started over the most ridiculous thing ever: his best friend stealing a strawberry from your best friend’s lunchbox in 3rd grade.

Your best friend cried for hours about the betrayal, and you decided it was your duty to avenge her. Naturally, this meant you had to hate Wonbin by association.

“You’re friends with a thief!” you’d declared with the confidence only an indignant child could muster.

“It’s just a strawberry! You’re crazy,” Wonbin had retorted, rolling his eyes.

And from then on, you two were sworn enemies. Even as the years passed, the petty grudge somehow persisted, growing into something you didn’t even know how to stop.

ii. HIGH SCHOOL : THE RIVALRY EVOLVES

By high school, the rivalry had become an unspoken rule. If there was a chance to one-up or annoy each other, you both took it without hesitation.

During group projects, you’d fight over ideas until the teacher had to separate you.

If he scored higher than you on a test, he’d make sure you knew about it: “Better luck next time,” he’d say with a smug grin.

If you beat him in a game during gym class, you’d make a point to celebrate a little too enthusiastically, just to watch his annoyed reaction.

Your classmates were so used to the bickering that they didn’t even bat an eye anymore. “Oh, it’s just Y/n and Wonbin being Y/n and Wonbin.”

iii. THE MILK INCIDENT

The rivalry reached its peak when you heard a rumor that Wonbin had bullied one of your friends. Furious, you decided to confront him in the most dramatic way possible—by dumping a carton of milk over his head during lunch.

The cafeteria went silent as everyone turned to stare. Wonbin froze, milk dripping from his hair as he looked at you with wide eyes.

“What the hell was that for?!” he finally asked, his voice sharp and low.

“For my friend, you jerk!” you shouted back, feeling righteous in your actions.

Later, your friend admitted she’d lied, and you were mortified. But by then, the damage was done—Wonbin refused to talk to you, and you could feel his cold gaze whenever you crossed paths in the hallways.

iv. FAILED ATTEMPTS TO APOLOGIZE

Guilt gnawed at you, so you decided to apologize. Writing a note felt like the easiest option since facing him seemed impossible.

“I’m sorry for the milk thing. I overreacted. Can we talk?” you wrote, slipping the note into his locker before rushing away.

The next day, you saw him take the note out, glance at it, and toss it in the trash without even opening it. You felt your blood boil. How dare he ignore me like that?!

v. CORNERING HIM AFTER CLASS

The silent treatment pushed you to the edge. After one particularly tense class, you followed Wonbin out and grabbed him by the collar, shoving him against a wall.

“Why are you acting like this? I said I was sorry!” you snapped, glaring up at him.

He looked down at you, completely unfazed. “You think one sorry note fixes everything?” he shot back, his tone sharp.

“What else do you want me to do? Get on my knees and beg?”

“You could try thinking before you act for once,” he said, his words hitting harder than you expected.

vi. THE UNEXPECTED KISS

The argument grew more heated, voices rising as you both vented years of pent-up frustration.

“You’re so infuriating!��� you shouted, your grip tightening on his collar.

“You’re not exactly a walk in the park either!” he retorted, leaning closer as if challenging you.

In a moment of pure impulsive anger, you yanked him down by his uniform collar and kissed him hard.

For a split second, he froze, but then his hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer as he kissed you back with equal intensity. It was messy, fiery, and charged with all the unresolved tension between you two.

vii. THE AFTERMATH

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, foreheads pressed together.

Wonbin smirked, his lips still inches from yours. “Still hate you,” he murmured, but the teasing edge in his voice felt softer, almost playful.

“Good,” you muttered back, even though your heart was racing.

viii. A SHIFT IN THE DYNAMIC

After that kiss, things between you and Wonbin were… different. The bickering continued, but now there was an underlying tension that neither of you could ignore.

He started teasing you more often, but his comments were laced with a new kind of warmth.

“Don’t trip over your own feet,” he’d say during gym class, but his smirk would linger a little longer than usual.

You found yourself glancing at him in class, wondering if he was thinking about the kiss as much as you were.

ix. NEW “RIVALRY” RULES

The “hate” between you two started feeling more like a game. When he scored higher than you on a test, you’d roll your eyes but secretly smile at his smug expression.

When you outperformed him in a group activity, he’d groan dramatically but give you a subtle nod of approval.

Your friends noticed the shift immediately. “Are you two… flirting?” one of them asked during lunch.

“Flirting? With him? Never,” you scoffed, but the blush on your cheeks gave you away.

x. THE UNSPOKEN TRUTH

Neither of you openly acknowledged what had happened in that hallway, but it was clear that something had changed.

You still pretended to hate each other, but the lingering glances and subtle smiles told a different story.

And though you’d never admit it out loud, you didn’t really hate Wonbin anymore. If anything, you might actually like him. But for now, you were content to keep playing the game—because that’s just how things were with you and Wonbin.

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[wanna1be0]

part ii - a dream | part i

synopsis: vi had a nightmare that you are killed by enforcers and wakes up to realize the mistake she made in pushing you away cw: female reader, vi x reader, emotional hurt, gore? mention of death, mention of caitvi's relationship, slow burn, spoilers s2

Enforcers were burning the streets of Zaun, searching for the blue haired maniac. Vi knew you would still try to protect Jinx, even after all she had done. Vi knew that Cait had done this.

As Vi ran through the alley, making her way to your old hideout, she passed body after body, each one more charred than the last. When she finally reached the familiar room, she noticed the score board was no longer filled with her name, but yours. And for a second, she was transported back in time to when you would always complain about being the weak link in the group. She snapped out of it when she heard a raspy voice call her name.

"Vi?" It came from a corner of the room that had seemingly been burned. As she came closer, Vi's eyes widened in shock and she realized what was happening. Your eyes were bloodshot, your hair was effectively gone, and your skin was charred. You were barely recognizable.

"God [y/n], what happened? Who did this to you?" Vi asked as she rushed to you. She holds you up so you're facing her and with a piercing gaze you respond,

"You know who did this Violet. Those enforcers you were so buddy-buddy with. They did this to me. You did this to me."

"No.." She started with tears in her eyes. Holding your face in her hands she couldn't comprehend the sight unfolding in front of her. You were dying in her arms.

"You outgrew me Vi," You say as your body disintegrates into black dust.

Vi wakes in a cold sweat. She couldn't remember how she had made it to her bed and her head was pounding. With a groan she pushed herself off her bed and made her way to the mirror. As she peered into the reflection memories came flooding to the forefront of her mind. Memories from last night, from her dream, and from the past.

"Fuck," she breathes as she brings her hands to her hair, "fuck..."

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[skyfallscotland]

Professor Riorson (Remi's Version)

"Remi for once can you please—" "Be an attentive student?" I widen my eyes. "Pay attention in class?" I just my lower lip out. "Of course!" My lips curve up. "I'm so excited to have a new teacher, Vi."

Hello! After what we shall henceforth refer to as the Onyx Storm Incident, I did not know if I would ever write for this fandom again (yes, that was three days ago, I know, shut up).

Anyway, I figured I should try and push through my reservations early instead of letting my disappointment linger, so I set out to write a little palette cleanser. As usual I tried to write smut and ended up with four thousand words of feelings first 🤦🏼‍♀️

This is set in some sort of alternate (completely unbelievable) universe where Xaden never gave in to Remi's flirting when she was a first-year at Basgiath (oh and he's not a venin) everything else is irrelevant, just go with it.

It's also basically straight up erotica, so explicit content! Not for minors! Minors DNI or whatever the fuck they say over here (I really should be posting all these on AO3, but that's for another day).

Finally, I'm sorry to all the teachers out there, I hate this kink too but it's minimally emphasised (they're still them) and it was what my girl Remi deserved—why should Violet get Professor Riorson and not her, the Queen of Tyrrendor, the Angel of Death? So here we are.

PS. Justice for chairs! Hopefully you can all visualise what's going on here 😂🪑

Professor Riorson (Remi's Version)

Fraternisation between cadets and those serving in higher chains of command, including the aggregate leadership cadré at Basgiath War College, is strictly forbidden. —Article Eight, Section One, The Dragon Rider’s Codex

I tap my foot against the floor, levitating my pen above my hand almost subconsciously as Professor Devera informs the rest of the cadets just how fucked we actually are. "Welcome to the new face of battle, where we are not only outnumbered in the sky but now equally matched on the field in terms of the skill of our opponents."

Equally matched? We're not equally matched, we're absolutely fucked. It's hard to find the energy to care anymore, knowing what awaits us. Maybe if I had a signet like Violet's, I would be in with half a chance at survival, but mending? Yeah. I'm screwed.

Heads drop in the rows ahead of us, like everyone else is reaching the same conclusion.

"With that in mind, the nature of challenges will change under the supervision of Professor Emetterio to include wielding in order to better prepare you for actual combat. Death is no longer an acceptable outcome when you face your classmates. The days of settling your scores on the mat are over. We need each and every one of you to survive to graduation.”

I scoff aloud, drawing more than one person's attention. Death should never have been acceptable. The military, the system gains nothing from it, it's just a senseless waste of life.

“Easy to say when you’re not facing Sorrengail,” Caroline Ashton calls out.

My lips tilt up. I hope she ends up facing my sister.

“We aren’t going to throw you to the wolves,” Devera tells her. “The third class you’ll be adding will be a hands-on approach to prepare you for signet-against-signet combat. You’ll have a rotating roster of professors to benefit from all signet types, and the Eastern Wing has temporarily loaned us their most powerful rider to start your instruction.”

Violet stiffens beside me and I frown, glancing over at her. The Eastern Wing…wouldn't that mean…

“And on that note.” Devera gestures to the door at the back of the room, and slowly, I turn. “Look who just arrived—everyone, welcome our newest member of your leadership team. Professor Riorson.”

My heart skips a beat and my lips begin to curve into the most self-satisfied smirk I've worn in a while. This is going to be fun.

Friday comes far too slowly for my liking, but finally it's our turn to head out to the Infantry Quadrant's outdoor amphitheatre. There's a skip in my step as we descend the stairs and Violet groans, eyeing me with disapproval.

"Remi for once can you please—"

"Be an attentive student?" I widen my eyes. "Pay attention in class?" I just my lower lip out. "Of course!" My lips curve up. "I'm so excited to have a new teacher, Vi."

Ridoc snorts, bumping me with his hip as he passes.

I glance up from my feet, taking in the man standing dead centre in the base of the amphitheatre, his impatience clear. His arms are crossed over his chest and his usual dark stare is ever-present as he watches us, waiting.

"This is incredible." Sloane is saying ahead of us, commenting on the weather and the temperature inside the amphitheatre's wards. It is warm in here and as Professor Riorson's eyes dart up to lock with mine, I shrug my arms out of my flight jacket. My pulse jumps at his continued attention and slowly I shake the snow from my braid.

"You're right, Sloane." I smile, running my hand over my hair. "It's so warm in here." I reach for the bottom of my shirt and draw that up too, pulling it over my head to leave me in just my leather pants and armoured corset.

"Remi!" Violet hisses and I smile innocently.

"What?" I lift a brow. "You don't want me to pass out, do you Vi?" She grumbles something about knocking me out, which I promptly ignore, dropping my things in the first row of stone seats beside our classmates.

If there's one thing my sister has always hated, it's my infatuation with Xaden Riorson. I suppose that's fair, given she shares a mind with him at times, but it does nothing to discourage me. If I see something I want, I go after it and I've wanted Xaden Riorson ever since I first laid eyes on him all those years ago at parapet.

Too bad he doesn't want me just as badly.

“Welcome to your first session of Signet Sparring, in what I like to call the pit.” He announces as we reach the base of the steps.

"Ominous." I mutter.

“Those who can wield, keep your feet on the rock but—and I cannot stress this enough—off the mat. Those who cannot, take a seat in the first row.” He gestures to the terraced stone behind us.

I assume it has something to do with the warding, so when Aaric and Lynx move to take a seat in the rows behind, I stand to follow.

"Remi Sorrengail!" Riorson calls. "I know you can wield."

I pause, turning slightly to arch a brow. "My signet is neither offensive nor defensive, sir." The slightest, most minuscule twitch jolts his shoulders at the word and I show him my teeth. "You wouldn't want me to get hurt, would you?"

An ember of desire flickers to life in my gut and I bite my lip, letting my eyes drag over him slowly from head to toe. The tight-fitting sparring gear is reminiscent of what he always wore in the quadrant when he was our wingleader, but the swords strapped across his back…they really add to it. It's doing something for me. A lot for me.

"I'll make sure you don't get hurt, Cadet Sorrengail." He reassures. "Take a seat. Now."

I hold his gaze for a moment, wishing he could read my mind and understand exactly what that tone is doing for me. For a second his eyes flare and then it's gone; his stony, unaffected mask falling back into place as he gestures to the first row where my sister waits.

"Whatever you say, sir." I simper, flopping down onto the stone.

"Sickening." Imogen mutters, rolling her eyes from my other side, and I grin. She's never liked my obsession with him either.

First wing begin to filter in, taking their places on the adjacent seating and Riorson's eyes dart left, then right. “Let’s go. It shouldn’t be this hard to sort yourselves out."

"You can sort me out—" All the breath rushes out of me in a wheeze as Imogen's elbow plants itself in my gut. "Ok." I cough, "understood." Violet stifles a laugh.

“You done gossiping among yourselves?” Riorson eyes First Wing with what I'd classify as menace.

“We were just saying that we’re not sure someone who graduated less than a year ago makes the best teacher.” Loran Yashil folds his arms.

I laugh aloud, drawing the attention of everyone in the amphitheatre. "Because you've been doing so well with Carr." I comment. "How many dark wielders do you think he's fought? Hiding back here behind the wards like a coward?"

"Remi!" Violet groans, though the chastisement holds no sting—I know she agrees with me.

What follows is perhaps the hottest display of power and dominance I've seen in a long while. He barely lifts a finger taking the third-year down and then proceeds to do it all over again…and again, and again until there's no one left but my sister and I.

"Sorrengail, you're up!"

Violet and I glance at each other and she lifts a brow. I wiggle mine in return. Quickly, we both leap to our feet and stride onto the mat.

"I meant—"

"You should have specified then." I cut him off, drawing my daggers from my corset.

"I didn't speak in plural." He all but rolls his eyes.

"Well that's just cheating, you can't both—"

I throw my blade to the side, never once breaking eye contact with Riorson. "Shut up, Caroline!" I call. Who asked her anyway?

Drawing another dagger to replace the one I'd thrown, I let my hips sway as I stride down the centre of the mat, coming to a stop directly in front of him. "If you're too afraid to fight us both, just say Professor." I taunt. "I don't mind if you want to have our session one on one."

He sucks in a deep breath through his nose, a muscle in his jaw feathering slightly. "You're infuriating." He murmurs.

"I think you like it." I whisper, tongue darting out to wet my lips, and the ground rumbles. Lightning strikes overhead and he drags his eyes up from my lips, locking gazes with me as shadows rush out, blacking out the area entirely.

"Fuck." I mutter, taking a step back, entirely blind. I take another and another until I run clear into a hard chest and an arm brackets my middle from behind.

"What was the point of this, Sorrengail?" He asks. "If I were venin, you'd be dead right now."

"You're not venin." I counter breathlessly. "If you were, the distraction wouldn't have worked."

"The—"

Boom.

Lightning strikes mere centimetres to his left, shaking the ground, lighting up the arena. I tear myself free from his hold, ignoring the shadows that chase me, caressing my hair, my cheek—and grin slyly. "We win." I smirk as sunlight filters back through. "You'd be dead if she wanted you dead."

He frowns, like the idea of it is ludicrous. "You'd be dead. You would have died before me."

I shrug my shoulders. "And she'd be alive." I tilt my head. "Like I said. We win."

With that I turn and walk away.

"You really need to give it a rest." Violet sighs as she slings her pack over her shoulders, prepared to head down to Chantara with the others. "Remi, I'm…worried about you."

I huff, folding my arms over my chest. "Worried?"

"Worried." She confirms. "It's not healthy to go chasing after someone like this. He's not capable of loving you. There are plenty of people who—"

"Who said anything about love?" I interrupt. "I never said I wanted him to love me."

Violet looks at the ceiling like she's praying to Amari for patience. "You're you." She finally says softly, reaching out to take my hand. "I know you. You want love—and I know him—he's not capable of it."

I know she doesn't mean it critically, she's been orbiting him for quite some time now, her dragon being mated to his and all. So she knows him, better than I probably ever will as a result and she's probably right, but…

"Sometimes he looks at me and I think, just for a second…" I swallow hard.

Violet's expression softens. "I know, I see it too."

My face crumples. "Then why—"

"Because it doesn't mean he can, Rem." She squeezes my hand. "You've been chasing after him since the day you met and him liking you, doesn't mean he'll risk his heart and that's what he'd have to do—we're at war." My sister frowns. "It's all or nothing."

All or nothing.

"Fine." My voice cracks as I speak. "Fine. I get it."

My twin chews on her lip. "So you'll come to Chantara?" She whispers softly.

"No." I shake my head. "I'm going to see him, one last time." Violet's face falls. "I can do all or nothing," I whisper quietly, "but I need a chance to convince him it should be all."

"You've had—"

"No." I shake my head, my heart clenching in my chest. "I've joked and flirted and watched him spend hours of his time dragging you around, but I never made it clear…"

My sister breathes in deep, her shoulders rising like she's steadying herself. "He knows." She whispers, the words leaving her in a rush. "He knows, Remi."

I sit with that for a moment and then slowly, I nod. "Ok." I accept, my throat tightening.

"Ok?"

"Sure." I turn around, taking a seat on the edge of my bed. "I think I'll stay here anyway." I try and force a smile, but I'm sure it comes out as more of a grimace. "You go, Vi. Have fun with the others."

Her eyes are worried, but a lifetime of arguments and tears has told her when to push and when to leave well enough alone, so she leaves well enough alone. It takes a moment to collect myself, to pick the pieces of my heart up off the ground and place them back where they're meant to be, but when that's done and I've managed to still the shaking of my hands, I stand from the bed and head for the door.

If he doesn't want me that's fine, but he can tell me himself, one final time.

All or nothing.

I throw on my jacket and make my way down the hall, heading toward the school's academic wing. Pretty much everyone is either training or enjoying some recreational time, so I don't pass many people on the way there and when I raise my hand to knock, the hall is empty.

The door swings open with the help of lesser magic and I slip inside, not bothering to announce myself—the presence of a shadow curling up around my ankle tells me he knew exactly who was at his door before he ever opened it.

"Professor Riorson." I lift my eyes to his and attempt to shore up my resolve.

"Cadet Sorrengail." He leans back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. "To what do I owe this visit?"

My heart pounds against my rib cage and my pulse flutters like a caged bird. There's a desk between us and metres of clean air, but it may as well be nothing. The atmosphere in the room is charged and I absently wonder if Vi warned him I might be coming.

"I…"

He waits, lifting a brow. "Yes?"

"I'm failing!" I blurt, suddenly losing my nerve. "I'm going to fail your class and I don't know how to…" His eyes hold mine, gold-flecked onyx practically smouldering.

"Try again." He instructs, lowering his hands to the armrests on his chair. He splays his knees casually, leaning back while his eyes seem to stare right through me.

"I'm sorry?"

His lips tilt up, just slightly. "That's not what you came here for." He shakes his head. "Try again and don't lie this time."

My mouth runs dry. Suddenly every conviction I had, every ounce of bravado flees my body and I want to be anywhere but here because I know…this is about to hurt. Having your heart ripped out always does.

"I…came to ask for an extra credit assignment?" I try again, clinging to the minuscule hope he might believe me. It's nothing Vi hasn't done before. Well, before Basgiath, but still.

Riorson smirks. "And your suggestion?"

I frown.

"You're the professor. Don't you decide…?"

The hair on my neck stands on end and I shiver as something brushes the end of my braid. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" He murmurs and my eyes blow wide.

"Uh…" His lips tilt.

"Not that it matters, you're lying again."

My mouth falls open. "Ok, you can't possibly know that!" I hiss. "You're not an inntinnsic, you have no idea what I'm thinking!"

"I know you." He counters. "You expect me to believe you, Remi Sorrengail, came here for an extra credit assignment?" He shakes his head.

"You don't know me!" I frown. "I've barely even seen you since you graduated." And not for lack of trying. I've personally been deployed up and down the Eastern Wing, but every time we've been at the same outpost he's miraculously busy. Violet however, sees him all the time. A fact I've always hated.

"Why are you here, Remi?" He tries again, looking more amused by the second and I can just tell—he knows. It shouldn't be a surprise to me. I've never made my interest a secret, I'm not ashamed of it, but that doesn't lessen the disappointment that even after all this time he'll refuse to give me the time of day when I know he's attracted to me too.

I lock my jaw and scowl. "Is there an answer you'll believe?" I finally utter, shame and frustration colouring my cheeks.

"Not extra credit."

I guess the all or nothing is going to be nothing then. How disappointing. I turn on my heel, refusing to waste a second more of my time on someone who clearly doesn't appreciate me.

"Remi." He calls sternly, his shadows tugging on my braid, and when the door won't open I resist the urge to stomp my foot like a sullen teenager—I want out.

My throat tightens. "Yes, sir?" I grit my teeth, glancing over my shoulder and his expression shifts like he's only now recognising the finality in the air. No more flirting, no more games, no more anything.

He closes his eyes and I recognise the minute twitches of his brow—he's talking to his dragon. I yank on the doorknob again but it refuses to turn, keeping me trapped in a mess of my own making.

When he stands from his chair and rounds the desk, my heart begins to flutter with panic.

"Sit down." He orders and I blink.

"No."

I'd have said it anyway, just to be contrary, but this time I mean it. I don't want to be here anymore.

"Sit. Down." His voice lowers, taking on a frustrated, threatening tone and my lip peels back from my teeth.

"No."

Before I can reach for a blade to defend myself with, his arms are around my waist and he's lifting me into the air, carting me back toward the desk like a sack of grain. He kicks the chair before it out of the way with his foot and deposits me on the desk's surface, sending papers scattering.

When I lash out with my foot, aiming to kick him somewhere painful, he catches my ankle between thick, powerful thighs. "Stop." He warns, his tone glacial. "Look at me."

Fuck you. I think, and when I glance up there's a hint of a smile on his lips.

"Sor—Remi." He corrects, leaning in. He plants large, calloused hands on my knees, keeping my thighs apart as he steps between them, ensuring I can no longer lash out at him with my boot. As his fingers curl around my knees, he leans in close enough for our jaws to brush, and I suck in a sharp breath.

"Sir?" My voice shakes and he all but groans.

He lifts a hand, tracing over my cheekbone with his thumb and my heart races. Each brush of his fingers, the feel of his stubble against my jaw, all of it—it sets my soul alight.

"Everything about this is inadvisable." He whispers, his voice gruff. "You are inadvisable."

I swallow hard. "So you've said." Never going to happen, he'd told me more than once while studying here.

"And yet…"

My muscles bunch, shoulders tensing. "…and yet?" I challenge, finally finding my voice.

He takes one breath and then another, and forces me to mourn the loss of his warmth as he steps away. "Article eight, section one—"

"You are not quoting the Codex at me!" I spit, eyes narrowing into a lethal glare as he takes another step. "You? Seriously?" Fury engulfs me, anger burning my chest with tendrils of white-hot rage. "You're a gods damned separatist, even now, Duke Riorson," I sneer, "and you're wedging the Codex between us?"

Of all things, of every excuse—

"You could be—"

"I'm exempt!" I throw my hands up, lashing out with my foot once more and growling with frustration as he halts it with his shadows. "Article eight, section one of the Dragon Rider's Codex states that calling cadets into active service in times of war may only be authorised by—"

"The Commanding General of Basgiath. I'm aware." He glares.

"So I'm no longer a cadet and I haven't been since July when they sent me to the front to mend." I point out.

"That's a technicality—"

"Oh so you're allowed to call technicalities and I'm not? Got it." I roll my eyes. "Just admit you don't want to fuck me professor and let's move on."

"In-ad-visable!" He yells, a deadly glare on his face and I jolt, rearing back a little. "If you were anyone else I'd have—" He seals his lips together and spins, facing the wall as he jerks a hand through his hair, gripping the dark strands roughly. I watch wide-eyed as his shoulders rise and fall, like he's short of breath.

"You'd what?" I whisper.

I don't dare move, frozen in place on the desk as I watch him, waiting with bated breath to see if he'll finally, finally tell me why. Why he refuses to see me as anything but Lilith Sorrengail's daughter, Brennan's little sister, Violet's twin. See ME, I want to scream at him. I deserve that.

When he turns, his eyes are dark and incensed. "If you were anyone else, I'd have bent you over that desk already and taught you a lesson."

My heart flies into my throat. "What?" It's barely more than a whisper leaving my lips.

He stalks back across the room, clearing the few feet he'd put between us, and slides his hand beneath my chin, long fingers curling around the back of my jaw to pull me in, tilting my face up to meet his. "You heard me."

Heat flushes my cheeks. "Wh…why not me?" I ask and embarrassingly enough, my voice breaks. "Why anyone but me? I'm—"

"Soft." His thumb drifts, brushing gently over my lips as he cups my jaw. "You have a soft heart, Remi Sorrengail, and I'm not the kind of man who can care for it."

I scoff, baring my teeth at him. "I'm a rider, same as you." I glare. "They don't call me the Angel of Death because I'm soft."

His hand slips, running back over my hair and down my loose braid. "Well they got the first part right." He murmurs, closing his eyes. I watch, taut as a bowstring as he takes one breath, then another. "Fuck." He mutters, face twisting up like he's in physical pain.

"Xaden?" I whisper, voice shaking.

"You have terrible timing." His hand tightens on my braid and then he's pulling, tugging me forward as he grasps my chin and seals his mouth over mine. My heart leaps into my throat and my chest tightens as he devours me, the hand on my hair sliding down to rest between my shoulder blades. His fingers splay as he pulls me in, holding me close.

His teeth nip at my lower lip and I gasp, tilting my head in submission as he slips his tongue into my mouth. Oh gods. I whimper, pressing myself further into his grasp as he kisses me thoroughly. A small sound of pleasure escapes my throat and he diverts his attention, nipping gently at my jawline.

His mouth moves right to the sensitive spot behind my ear, like he knows exactly where to nip, where to suck, where to pleasure to have me liquefy. His lips are warm against the shell of my ear as he whispers, "you choose now to take no for an answer?"

He worries the skin beneath it with his teeth and I moan, arching into him. "Y-ou didn't want me." I pant. "You've never—you—"

"I always want you." He growls. "You've been taunting me for years, angel." I gasp at the endearment, tilting my head to give him more access as he works his way down the column of my throat. "It's not a matter of want."

My fingers tighten on the timber of the desk behind me and I suddenly realise I no longer have to refrain from touching. Immediately I reach for him, slipping my hands beneath the leather of his flight jacket, running them up his sides to hold him to me.

"Then what?" I whisper, lifting a hand to rake through his hair, scratching my fingernails against his scalp as he sucks a mark into my throat. I want to touch him everywhere. "Xaden, please." I whimper, bringing my legs up to try and drag him closer. I need to wrap my thighs around him.

He groans, panting into my neck. "We should not be doing this." But he doesn't stop.

I gasp, arching upward so my chest brushes his as his fingers skate beneath the line of my corset. "You've yet to give me a good reason." I say, desire coiling low in my abdomen.

"I'm your teacher." He breathes, pulse skipping as I lock my ankles behind his lower back.

"And I'll be such a good girl for you."

Just like that, his control snaps. "Fuck, Remi." He pulls me forward forcefully, dipping his head to claim my lips once more. The kiss is deep and desperate, and I moan loudly into his mouth.

"So. Fucking. Tempting." His fingers tighten in my hair, pulling slightly on the silver-tipped strands and I moan again, heart pounding as my skin gets hotter and hotter.

He kisses like a man possessed, holding me to him like he can't get enough and when we finally part for air again, it's all I can do to keep from begging. I grasp his hand, dragging it from where it rests on the side of my neck, down over my chest, past my stomach and to the button on my leathers.

He barely hesitates, slipping his hand beneath my waistband. I toss my head back, a small gasp leaving my lips as he slides his fingers over my clit and and back up again. "Gods," I whimper, "please."

"Please, what?" He whispers, slowly drawing his fingers through my arousal.

"Please, sir?" I gasp, leaning back to meet gold-flecked onyx. He chuckles.

"I meant what do you expect me to do with you, angel?" His thumb slowly circles my clit in soft, barely-there movements, "but the respect is a nice touch."

I swallow hard, a red flush spreading down my neck, but I have him right in front of me and I refuse to falter now. "Please make me come." I whisper and he groans, hips rocking forward reflexively. "I'll be good for you, I promise."

His eyes are so dark they're almost entirely black despite the light in his office, and he pushes my legs from his hips, spreading my knees further apart as he pulls me to the edge of the desk.

"These need to come off. Now." His hands are already moving, undoing the buttons and sliding my pants down over my hips, taking my underwear with them. I lever myself up on my hands as he drags them down and drops to his knees before me, fingers working on the laces of my boots.

He pulls them off one by one and dumps them on the floor, and when my pants are finally off and I'm half-naked on his desk, he tips his head back and stares. I flush deeper as he remains kneeling on the floor, slipping his hands up to cup my knees.

He rests his head on the inside of my thigh for a moment, his hair brushing my skin, and parts my legs further. Anxiety flares and I glance up at the door uncertainly, suddenly realising where we are.

"Is that door locked?" My heart skips a beat.

"Does it make you wet?" He murmurs, "the idea of being caught?"

I swallow hard. "No."

My heart flutters against my rib cage and his eyes soften, lips pressing gently to my skin. "It's locked, angel. No one's getting in." He places another careful kiss on my inner thigh. "No one can hear us. It's just you and me."

Something inside me settles and I relax enough to reach out, threading my fingers through his hair. "Ok." I murmur, admiring the silky strands as he moves closer, drawing in a sharp breath as he wraps strong arms around my legs and pulls.

"Xa-Xaden." I whimper as he lowers his mouth to my heat, parting his lips.

"What happened to sir?" He lifts a brow, glancing up at me, and my stomach swoops.

"Sir," I whisper, my voice shaking.

I watch as his mouth curves up in a smirk. "Better." He agrees, and lowers it to my clit.

"Oh, gods." I moan aloud as he seals his lips around it, wasting no time with foreplay. He flattens his tongue and I can't help but rock my hips, both my hands flying into his hair.

My back arches as he scrapes his teeth over me and I quickly slam one hand down behind me to keep from losing my balance, sending pens scattering everywhere.

"Look at you, making a mess." He murmurs between languid strokes of his tongue.

My chest heaves and I grip his hair tighter, trying to still the movement of my hips. "I'll make—a mess—of you." I pant, the last word pitched higher as he closes his mouth around me and sucks.

"Promises, promises." He murmurs as he drags his fingers along my inner thigh teasingly. "Are you going to come on my face, angel?" He asks, barely looking up as he slips a finger inside me.

I moan, arching as my heart pounds, desire coiling low and tight in my gut as I clench around his finger. "I—" I can't get a word out, entirely breathless as he sits back on his heels and waits, lips shining with the evidence of my arousal.

"Look at you." He whispers, lifting his thumb to swirl it around my clit. "So wet for me already."

"Yes," I breathe, curling my fingers tighter in his hair. "Always for you."

He drags his finger out and presses it back in again, eyes never leaving his hand. I squirm in place, wanting—needing—more. He thumbs at my clit almost playfully, finally looking up to watch my reaction and I whimper, screwing my own eyes shut.

"Can you take another for me?" He asks, moving his finger teasingly.

"I can take all of you." I whine, twisting with impatience. "I want your cock, please Xaden?" He lifts a brow and I already know exactly what he's going to say.

"Ask me nicely."

There it is. I swallow hard. "Please, sir?" I soften my voice, ignoring the embarrassment that flares in my chest. I'll beg if it gets me there. "I want to come on your cock."

"You will." He responds, stroking my inner wall with his finger. "Just not yet. Be a good girl and let me have my fun."

I manage to refrain from more than a single disgruntled whimper as he ignores my plea, starting circles with his thumb again. When he slides a second finger home beside the first and curls them up, I cry out, tugging on his hair to bring him close.

"Please, your mouth."

He flattens his tongue obediently and I gasp and whimper as he begins moving it over my clit in time with his fingers. He laps at me as he slides them in and out, curling them up to press against a spot that almost sends me over the edge.

"There! There, please!"

I decide I hate the desk. It's hard and uncomfortable, and it provides poor leverage, keeping me from rolling my hips or fucking myself against his face.

He swirls his tongue and presses his fingers up simultaneously, and the action takes me entirely by surprise, tossing me unceremoniously over the edge. "Xaden!" I cry out, jerking against him as I shatter, coming apart on his tongue.

His head is squeezed tightly between my thighs as I shudder, hips jerking, and he moans against me, sending my heart rate soaring as the vibration of it rumbles through my clit. I gasp, clenching my cunt down around his fingers.

I don't know where to look, what to hold onto as my pleasure rolls over me in waves. Sweat slicks my skin and when he finally pulls away, licking his lips in self-satisfaction, his eyes gleam. "I can't wait to get my cock in you."

I moan, tightening around the fingers still inside me. "You could have already been in me." I pant, whimpering as he finally rises to his feet, showing no signs of the difficulty I know I'd be experiencing if I were on my knees that long.

He slips his fingers free and brings them to his lips, holding my gaze as he licks them clean. My stomach swoops like I've done an aerial dive and my lips part, surprise and arousal no doubt written all over my face. Gods.

"Patience, cadet." He lectures, grasping my chin roughly. "You've been so good," he croons, leaning in to kiss me. "You don't want to ruin that now, do you?" When he slips his tongue past my lips, I can taste myself on him and I moan into his mouth, skin heating beyond comprehension. It feels like when I wield—all my power building up inside me, only now it's pleasure; building and building again until I'm ready to explode.

"We're going back to that?" I pant as we part. "You don't like your name on my lips?"

"I like you obedient." He fires back, his hand gripping the back of my neck. "You've spent years taunting me, having your fun at my expense. I think I'm owed some recompense."

I almost roll my eyes. Almost.

"You could have had me at any time." I whisper. "If you waited, that's on you." I tilt my head up, closing the gap between us myself for the first time as I kiss him sweetly. "Your room, mine, the sparring mats…" I murmur. "I've thought about us everywhere."

"And this…?" He asks, eyes heated. "What were you picturing when you came down here, all innocent, asking about extra credit?" His hands move to his own leathers and my heart skips a beat as he begins undoing buckles, removing his weaponry with quick, efficient movements.

"What were you picturing when you walked in here, Remi, and saw me sitting behind my desk?" He moves onto the button at his waistband, popping it open. I watch, breath hitching as he frees his cock, pushing his pants down slightly as he begins to stroke. "Was this what you had in mind?"

A small sound escapes me, more of a squeak than anything else, and I suddenly find myself at a loss for words. He's…sizeable. He grasps the front of my corset, dragging me up off the desk, levering me to my feet. I tilt my head back to look at him, but our eyes only meet for a second before he's pushing, turning me around and down.

I catch myself on my hands, palms flat on the desk, fingers splayed wide and gasp as he presses himself in behind me, a hand grasping my braid. He leans down, mouth warm against my ear and says, "be a good girl and spread your legs."

I obey on reflex, but I'm certain my skin is so red it looks like I've reached burnout. "Xa-Xaden…" My fingers tighten on the dark timber and I gasp as he presses down on my spine, forcing my back to bow, lifting my ass against him.

"You look so pretty like this." He murmurs in my ear and I jolt as he drags a finger up through my folds, adding a second to gently hold me open. I can feel his fingers on my skin, hear the stroke of his hand on his cock as he prepares himself, but all I can see is papers and tomes.

I gasp as the head of his cock presses against my entrance, heart fluttering wildly, and as he starts to slowly push inside, I panic. "Wait!" I call, reaching behind my back, searching for his hand. "Wait, wait, wait." I pant, anxiety thrashing in my chest as he freezes, holding completely still.

His hand closes over mine, fingers threading between my own and I squeeze tightly, trembling in place. "Not like this." I swallow hard, shaking my head. "Not—" Before I can finish speaking he has me on my feet, spun around and held against him, his cock pressing against my stomach as he spears his hand into my hair, guiding my eyes to his.

"Remi?" He asks seriously.

My lip shakes and a small, mortified sound escapes my throat. "I want to see you." I whisper. "The first time…I want to see you." I want to look into his eyes. I want to see the way his brows knit, the way his lips part in pleasure as he drives into me. I want him to see me and know it's me and no one else. I want all of him.

His gaze softens and he dips his head, kissing me softly, his movements slow and languid. It eases the pressure in my chest, the small part of me that thought speaking up might be a deal breaker, and when we part he reaches down and lifts me off my feet, carrying me in quick strides to the chair behind his desk.

"Tell me if you want to stop." He murmurs, pressing his lips to my cheek, my jaw, my throat.

My knees settle on either side of him and I hover in place for a moment, waiting for his eyes to return to mine once more. "I don't want to stop."

Slowly, I sink down on his cock, holding his gaze as I take inch after inch of him until I finally have to close my eyes, tipping my head back in rapture. "Gods, Xaden."

He exhales slowly and his voice is strained when he speaks again. "So tight, Remi." He murmurs, lips brushing my cheek. "So wet for me."

I moan, tipping my head into his neck as he jerks his hips up, pressing against all the right places. The stretch is just this side of too much and it's exquisite and entirely worth the wait. I reach around him, gripping the back of his chair as I lever myself up and drop back down again, squeezing my walls tight around his cock.

"Good girl," he praises, sliding his hands up my spine as he encourages me to move.

I blink my eyes open, kissing my way up his jaw, sucking a mark of ownership into his neck. I want everyone to know exactly what he's been up to in here—I want them to know he's taken. I lean back until I can see him properly—see every minuscule expression as I gyrate on his cock. "I've wanted this for so long." I gasp. "Wanted you."

He lifts a hand, brushing my hair from my eyes and the other palms my hip, encouraging me to move. "I know." He murmurs, shadows slipping free from his control. "I know everything, Remi. All your wants, your needs, everything." Wisps of black curl up around me, brushing my skin, disappearing beneath my clothes. "I'm just as fucking obsessed with you as you are with me." My stomach swoops.

"Are you—" I gasp, arching my spine as something cold brushes lightly against my clit. "Is—is that?" I can't even get the words out I'm so short of breath.

"Me." He whispers, thrusting harder. "All of me, all over you."

I groan, tipping my face back into his neck as I wrap my arms around his shoulders, holding on tight. I could interpret that very differently. "Do you want it harder, angel?" He murmurs, teeth nipping at my earlobe.

I nod furiously, panting as he snaps his hips up, pulling me down at the same time. "Please, Xade."

He sets a quick, unrelenting pace, slamming home inside me with the same desperation I feel, like he needs it—like he's a man starved. "You're so perfect, Rem." He praises, breath rattling out of him as his shadows circle my clit. They endless and determined just like him, slipping low beneath the neckline of my corset as he drives his cock into me over and over again.

"Are you going to come again for me?" He pants against my ear as I tighten around him. "Let me come inside you? Fill you up?"

"Yes, yes, yes—" The coil of pleasure building in my abdomen bursts and I cry out, holding on tight as fire floods my veins, nerve endings lighting up like a shooting star. "Xaden! Xaden—" I gasp and shudder, curling into him as he continues thrusting, chasing his own peak.

I'm so over-sensitised I can't help but whimper against his throat, my fingers tightening on his arms with every stroke. His thrusts grow less and less controlled as he hurtles toward the same cliff I'd just toppled over, and I clench down tight around him, sucking another mark into the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

"Fuck!" He curses, teeth lodging in my dragonscale armour as his hips give one final jerk and he spills inside me with a groan. His chest rises and falls rapidly beneath my cheek and I smile softly to myself, keeping my eyes down. "Gods." He rests his head on my shoulder, arms curling around me to hold me close, and I do the same to him, my heart swelling in my chest.

I lie my cheek on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as he presses a kiss to the back of my neck. His breathing begins to even out, pulse slowing but I hold onto him just as tightly still, keeping him close.

My knees are beginning to ache and the width of his hips isn't exactly comfortable for mine, but I don't dare move, knowing the second I do this will be over and I'll have to face reality again—awkward, uncertain reality.

I'm just as obsessed with you as you are with me, he'd said—but is he really? That seems unlikely.

"Remi." He murmurs, his arms falling from my sides, and I bite down hard on the inside of my lip, throat tightening. "Angel, we can't stay like this." He chuckles.

"Yes we can." I murmur petulantly into his neck, not loosening my grip an inch.

"I have a meeting in ten minutes." He replies, hand firm in the centre of my spine, "and while I'm happy to work with my cock inside you, I don't share."

A barely audible sound of surprise lodges in my throat. "Share?" I ask quietly, a tendril of hope curling in my chest.

He tugs gently on my braid, encouraging me to lean back so our eyes can meet. "You're mine, Remi, and I don't share my things with anyone." He says sternly.

That kind of possessive alpha bullshit should not fly with me. If it were anyone else, I'd probably punch them square in the nose for their insolence and tell them I'm not an object, but he's not anyone else and for him…

"Yes, sir." I whisper, cheeks flushing, and he groans, hips stuttering below me as his body makes a valiant attempt at an encore.

"Remi!" He chides and my lips curl up in a smirk, emboldened.

"Was that enough for extra credit, Professor Riorson? Am I passing your class?"

"Fuck." He mutters, mostly to himself. "If anyone finds out—"

"I'm happy to warm your cock while you work," I murmur, "if you still think I need extra instruction."

"Remi!" He groans, lifting me off him completely. "You're going to be the death of me." I guess he wasn't kidding about having a meeting to go to.

He sets me on my feet and I stare up at him innocently, chewing on my lower lip. "I feel so empty without you inside—"

"For fuck's sake!" He curses, sending a shadow to curl around my mouth. I go to speak further, to taunt him again, and find the dark mass blocks all sound—I can't so much as whisper in his direction for as long as he can wield. I pout, staring up at him with wide, wet eyes.

"How important is this meeting?" I sign, hands moving rapidly in the air. "I'll be lonely without your—" Shadows zip forward, swirling around my wrists to lock them tight together, binding my hands.

He finishes buttoning his pants and folds his arms over his chest, staring at my half-naked form in the middle of his office, completely unimpressed. "I suppose insecure Remi is gone then?" He asks, striding forward to cup my jaw with his hand.

That scores a direct hit and I guess he somehow knows it, because his fingers gentle as they tip my chin up. "Torment me in public and you won't like the punishment."

I'm absolutely certain I will.

Almost as if he hears my thoughts, his eyes narrow and he scowls. "I promise you won't, angel. I'll bring you to the edge over and over again and leave you there, bound and desperate while I get myself off—every day until you've learned your lesson."

I swallow hard.

"Thought so." He hums. "But if you're good, I'll help you come—on my face, on my hand, on my cock…over and over and over again." Onyx eyes glitter. "It's your choice, baby."

Baby. The word hits me like a punch in the gut and my chest tightens. "I can be good." I blurt the second his shadows disappear. "I promise."

"Good girl." The hand around my jaw curls up and he drags me in, dipping his head to place a soft, reverent kiss on my lips. "Go clean up and I'll see you tonight, Cadet Sorrengail."

I breathe in deep, a small smile touching my lips as I reach for my pants, hands shaking with relief. "Ok." His hand skates over my back as I finish dressing and he guides me toward the door to his office.

"And Rem?" He calls, halting me when my hand is on the doorknob. "That technicality is bullshit—it's not flying with anyone in leadership and you know it, so for fuck's sake keep this to yourself until this posting is over."

I bare my teeth in a grin, a joyful laugh bubbling past my lips. "Whatever you say, sir."

Who knew academia could be this satisfying?

[hellodropbear]

like she used to (VII)

alexia putellas x sister

part I, II, III, IV, V, VI

this is the final part! it is 12:30am, I got home at 11 and read over it as I ate dinner so hopefully there aren't too many mistakes!

I hope you like the final part and sorry it has taken me so long!

~~~~~~

April 12, 2013.

"Alexia!" 

My sister was standing outside by the school gates, training uniform on, her skin bronzed from the Barcelona sun. I hadn't been expecting her to pick me up from school that day, but it was always a nice surprise when she did because it meant going to her training instead of Mami's work. 

"Hola, pequena!" She lifted me easily into her arms, spinning me in almost a full circle and carrying me out towards her car, avoiding the sympathetic glances she received from the parents around. 

I think she was sick of them, our father died almost a year ago and she had been picking me up at least once a week since. Surely they should be aware of it by now?

I was placed in my booster seat in the back of the car, Alexia stepping into the front seat and smiling at me through the rear view mirror. 

"Everyone is so excited to see you, pequena! I told them all this morning and they've been waiting all day."

I nodded from the back seat before diving into chatter about my day, what I had done at school. Alexia smiled and nodded from the front seat, only adding to the conversation when I left small gaps between my endless streams of chatter. 

The chatter continued as we arrived and I skipped ahead of her before she grabbed my hand with a stern glance, warning me to be safe on the roads. 

But Alexia was forgotten as I ran into the changing rooms, straight into Leila's open arms. 

"Hola, mi amor." She planted a soft kiss on the top of my head, trying to control my energetic and wriggly body. 

"Hola, Leila!"  

My long spiel started again, this time spoken directly to Leila as the others sat and watched in amusement, Alexia rolling her eyes at my loud and persisting voice. 

But my voice was silenced as soon as they went back out onto the training pitch, sat on the rug that Alexia had laid out with some colouring books and toys. Books and toys that lay abandoned as I stared at the footballers in front of me. 

They were incredible, I always thought. They moved so quickly up and down the pitch, shooting and passing the ball with pinpoint precision that I could only imagine to possess as a 6 year old who had only started to learn to play a few months ago. 

I idolised my sisters teammates almost as much as I idolised Alexia and I constantly tried to pick up on things they did, trying to be like them, trying to improve my own abilities. 

Alba came down and sat next to me, but was unable to pull me out of my trance, instead pulling out her schoolbook and doing some homework as we waited for Alexia to finish up.

But Alexia finishing up meant I was about to start, so I ignored Alba's groan as I jumped up from the floor as the whistle blew, running over to grab a stray ball and attempting to dribble it around the patch of grass near Alba. 

It wasn't long before Marta jogged over, guiding me to the small training pitch and trying to intercept the ball and getting me to try dispossess her as she dribbled along. 

It was all fun and games until we started shooting, and I found myself incapable of getting a single goal in the back of the net. I was progressively getting more and more upset, with Marta's words of encouragement doing little to cheer me up as I remained unsuccessful in scoring a single goal. 

I was forced to give up when Alexia rushed onto the field, apparently recognising my distress and picking me up, holding me close. 

I immediately calmed down. Alexia's arms were magical in that way, they never failed to calm me down, to cheer me up. To make me warm, to make me comfortable. 

My cries into Alexia's chest were light and she ran her hand up and down my back softly, smiling at Marta as the older Spaniard planted a kiss on my head and said goodbye. 

"Pequena, why are you so upset?"

"Because, Ale, I can't even score a goal! You and your team can score a goal from ages and ages away but I can't even score one from right in front of it!"

Alexia laughs softly and I frown. 

"You are six, Elena, you are so little and you have only been playing for a couple months. We are professionals, we have to be able to do these things because that is our job, just like your job is to learn how to read and write at school, something you are very good at! You will get better as you continue to practice, we have already seen you get so much better. You got the ball off Marta today, you should be proud of yourself like I am proud of you."

"I just want to be like you, Ale. Why can't I be like you?"

I lean my head into Alexia as she adjusts her hold of me and wanders over to where my belongings were left abandoned. 

"You are just like me. When I was your age I was exactly like you are now, only less determined and less talented. You will be better than me one day, pequena, if you keep working so hard. You just need to remember that I will always be proud of you. Every day of my life I wake up and think of how proud I am, how lucky I am that you are my baby sister. I love you pequena."

"Even if I am bad at football?"

"Even if you are bad at football. Which you aren't, by the way. You are incredible."

~~~~~~

November 18, 2017.

It was game day. 

The Catalonia cup final day, and my whole family was sat in the audience to watch as I played in the final for the under 11s. I only turned 9 last week, but was invited to play with this team a few months ago. 

The game was a big deal for me, playing with people so much older, so much taller. I felt the pressure as well, a defender against a team where the top of my head barely reached the base of the necks of the attackers from the other team. 

It was nerve wracking, and I felt everything churning inside me as I walked onto the field and into my position, waiting for the ref to blow his whistle and for the game to commence. 

I didn't want to look up into the stands, hyperaware of everyone watching me, everyone waiting for me to be just like Alexia. To stand out, to be fast, to be precise, to be incredible. 

But Alexia is a midfielder and I am a centre back. I am not like Alexia, but the only one who seems to understand that is Alexia. 

To everyone else, I am a younger version of her, waiting to follow in her footsteps. La Masia, Barcelona B. Barcelona first team. 

It makes me wonder what they will think if I don't have the perfect career like Alexia. 

But I am only 9, still to young to even trial for La Masia, so the under 11s from the local team will have to do. 

The game starts out well, my team scores twice in thirty minutes and we finish the first half up two goals to none. We are happy as we sit on the sidelines with our coach for the 15 minute break, eating slices of orange and joking around. 

I sometimes wonder how different it is at half time for Alexia when she plays in her big games. I don't think they eat oranges. Or joke around. 

The second half does not go nearly as well. It starts off with a goal to us, but the other team quickly gain possession and score easily. It's upsetting, but we are still two goals up. 

When their next goal goes in, we begin to get nervous, skittish. We are still a goal up, but it is not a big enough gap for our liking, especially since they just got two very quickly. 

The scoreline remains at 3-2 until the 81st minute, when an attacker from the other team tears all the way down the pitch and into the box. I am in the right position, it is entirely up to me to stop this goal from going in. 

But I don't. I try to dispossess her, but I'm unsuccessful. She sends the ball right through my legs and into the net for the equalising goal and I bit back my tears as she celebrates with her friends. 

My teammates pat me on the back, telling me it doesn't matter, that we can get another goal in the dying minutes of the game, but I am not focussed on them. 

I am focused on my family sitting in the stands because all I can see is disappointment. 

Except Alexia, who smiles and puts her thumbs up with an encouraging smile. 

But I am a disappointment, because I allowed the other team to equalise. 

Alexia wouldn't have done that. 

My teammates were right, they score again in the second minute of added time, and we celebrate winning the cup with medals and a trophy. But it all feels tainted, because I almost ruined this for the team. 

I disappointed my family because I am a Putellas, we are supposed to be good at football. 

It is only when we return to the dressing room that the first tears slip out, but I wipe them away quickly, frustrated that I couldn't stop them from starting in the first place. 

Surprisingly, Alexia is the only family member who is outside the dressing room with the other families, and I run directly into her arms, grateful that they are already outstretched. 

Her arms are like home. Like they have done for all my life, they cheer me up, take away some of my sadness. 

"You played so well, pequena! I am so, so proud of you, my little champion!" 

She grabs the piece of metal that hangs from my neck and kisses it. 

"Another gold to add to our collection."

Our collection. 

Like we collect them together. 

I just won an under 11s Catalonia cup, after almost ruining my teams chances. She has a number of Primera division medals, copa de la reina, copa catalunya, golf medals from world championships at the youth age level. A never ending list of MVP awards, honours from spain, from Catalonia and from Mollet del Valles.

And I almost lost my team the Catalonia Cup. 

We are not the same, Alexia and I. I just wish my family would see that, understand that I won't be like Alexia because how could I ever be that good. 

Alexia seems to pick up on my negative mood, lifting me up like I am still 5 years old and holding me close. 

"I know what you are thinking, Elena."

I look at her curiously, a silent question that asks her to continue. 

"You are thinking that their equaliser was entirely your fault, that you almost cost the team your victory, no?"

I nod slowly, and she wipes away the tear that slips from my eye. 

"You never would have done something like that, Ale."

She shakes her head, chuckling slightly. 

"You don't even want to know how many mistakes I've made, how many times I've thought it was all my fault that we lost or almost lost a game. This is your first, but it won't be your last and that is ok. Football is a team sport, Elena, it is never an individuals fault. You wouldn't be mad at a keeper for making a mistake and conceding an important goal and you can't blame the striker for not shooting enough if you lose an important game. Just like you can't blame a defender for conceding. The striker had to get through the midfield first, and they all made mistakes there, and other defenders could have helped you out but they didn't, the keeper wasn't positioned well either but everyone tried their best and accidentally conceded a goal. It's a team, pequena, you win together, lose together, score together and conceded together. And look at how many clearances you made! All those tackles where you recovered the ball, prevented their attack. I am so proud of you today because you were one of the best players on the pitch."

I nod slowly, slumping into her arms. 

"I just wish I could be like you, Ale. Because you are so good and everyone knows it. I am so scared that I will disappoint everyone by not living up to what you've done, but how can I? You are so good."

She sighs, shaking her head. 

"You are my sister, but that doesn't mean we are the same on the pitch. I am a terrible defender, you are a great one. I can score goals easier than you, but it doesn't mean you're not as good, or can't grow to be a professional like I am. And nobody will ever be disappointed in you either! Whether you play for Barcelona for the rest of your life or if you go and play for a terrible team like Arsenal, or even if you quit football altogether and decide to go down another road because that is always an option too! You are smart like I am not, you are artistic like I am not and you can play that piano better than anyone else I've heard. What I'm saying is that just because we both love football, we are not the same. Everyone knows that and nobody will ever be disappointed in you if you don't follow the same career that I have."

"They all looked so disappointed when I conceded though." 

She shook her head again. 

"They shouldn't have, because they were not. But even if everyone else fails you, pequena, which they won't, but if they do, you will always have me cheering you on. I will always be there, your annoying, old, proud sister, every single day I am alive I will be proud of you no matter what you do, because I love you so much, you are everything to me."

She wipes away the tears that slipped from my eyes, planting a kiss on my head. 

"Now everyone is waiting for us, a big celebration dinner because you won today. Everyone is so proud of you, Elena. You are growing into such a talented and strong little girl, the best centre back our family has ever seen."

I smile. 

Maybe I don't need to be just like Alexia to succeed. 

Maybe Elena is alright too. 

~~~~~~

July 4, 2019.

I was invited to trial for La Masia, but I don't know if I want to go. 

I know I am good at football, but I don't even know if I want to play anymore.

Because last week I played the best game I have in a long time, but this morning I singlehandedly lost my team any chances we have of winning the under 15s title. 

It had been rough from the beginning and it was even worse considering we were on the top of the league and we were playing a team from close to the bottom. We couldn't get past their defence, but their attack was easily finding their way through our midfield and defensive line. 

We conceded three and scored none. 

All three of the conceded goals were my fault. 

Every. Single. One. 

Alba told me after the game that it was alright, it didn't matter. 

Mami hugged me and said it would be better next time. 

But it isn't alright, it does matter and who knows if it will be better next time?

Alexia was in France, relaxing after her disappointing end to the world cup, but Mami or Alba must have filled her in on the disaster that was my game before she got home, because as soon as she arrived, she was upstairs and into my room, pulling me into a hug. 

"I don't want you to tell me that it doesn't matter, Alexia, because it does. Please don't tell me that football is a team sport and it isn't just my fault, because it is. It's all my fault and now I've destroyed their chances of winning the league. So please, don't tell me otherwise."

She shook her head, her arms tightening around my body.

"Mami said you don't want to trial for La Masia anymore?" 

I shake my head. I don't think I can even face the trials after the embarrassment that was the other night. 

"That's ok. You don't have to if you don't want to."

I look up at her in confusion. 

"Really?"

"Absolutely not."

She looks right back at me, brushing the hairs out of my face. 

"You're only 11, Elena. You put a lot of pressure on yourself to be great which is not necessary. You are already brilliant. If you don't want to trial, you don't have to. You love school, you love your current team and if you don't want that all to change it doesn't have to. There is always next time if you decide you want to make that jump."

I don't know how she always knows what I am thinking, because I never told her how much I would miss my school and football team if I ended up at La Masia. 

"And what if I don't? What if I don't want to play football any more. Throw away everything I have ever worked for. Wouldn't you be disappointed?"

I don't want her to tell me she wouldn't be, because I don't think that's the truth. 

"Elena, I will never be disappointed in you. Yes, I would be upset, but that is only because it is something so special that we share, something that connects us in a way that I can't be connected to anyone else in this family. But I love you and I would get over it eventually. But today, let's think about now."

I nod, which she uses as an indicator to continue. 

"You're 11 years old, starting as a centre back in the under 15s. You are good, very good and play games so well that nobody would even notice you were so young if it wasn't for your height. You had a bad game the other day, but every other week you have saved that team so many times, so if it wasn't for you, they would have lost that trophy weeks ago. You are smart, have heaps of friends at school and love to play the piano, to read, to hang out with those friends. You love to do things outside of football, it's all equally important. You were scouted to trial for La Masia, but you are 11 and these trials happen every six months so there will be many more chances for you to trial if you decide not to this time but change your mind later. You have a huge family of support right behind you, and you have me, who will always be so proud of you. It's all laid out in front of you, Elena, you just have to make a decision."

A tear slips out of my eye but she is quick to brush it away. 

"I don't want to trial, not yet."

Her arms pull me tighter. 

"I think that's a good decision. I am proud of you, pequena. You need more time to decide what you want to do. Not want Mami wants you to do, not what I want you to do. Not what anybody else wants you to do. I am proud that you have given yourself that time. You are mature, Elena, and so, so smart."

"I love you, Alexia."

"I love you too. Always."

Her arms are so warm around me that I feel myself drifting to sleep in them, waking up when the sun rises the next morning, still with her right arm hanging loosely around my waist. 

I am lucky to have her, I decide. So lucky, because she is like a guiding light who makes everything so much clearer. I don't know what I would do without her. 

~~~~~~

I made my debut for Barcelona yesterday. I came in for Irene in the 88th minute, Jonatan said he wanted me to get some minutes under my legs before I could play for longer. 

The feeling of running onto the pitch in the Barcelona kit, my name and number on my back, alongside the players I have grown up idolising was something I will never forget. 

Something so special, a turning point in my life that could map out my entire career. 

But it was all tainted by what I have lost. What I should have had supporting me. Who I should have had supporting me. 

"I will always be proud of you, Elena."

I think she has forgotten all those times she told me that, but I certainly have not. 

It feels like a long time since I have felt emotions like this. It feels like an even longer time that I have really felt happy. Euphoric, even.

It is harder for a centre back to be subbed in, because they make the foundations of the formation. But we were up by 6 to nothing so it was a safe bet. Any mistakes I made would not lose us points. 

I didn't make mistakes though. I made clearances, I stopped the ball from going past Cata and into the goal. Jonatan was happy, Aitana hugged me as soon as the final whistle blew. 

Mami was there, of course, cheering from the crowd. 

It feels like months since I have seen her. It has been a while since we have spoken properly, although she does not bring that up as she pulls me into a hug, telling me how proud she is of me. 

Alba stands from beside her, staring at me intensely, as if worried I will run away again. 

She knows that if she brings up the last time that happened, I probably will. 

The last month has been rough. I have stayed with Mapi, only leaving the safety of my room in her apartment for training. I did my school, I trained hard and I ate every meal. My days slipped by, I felt nothing. Not happy, not sad. Not anything. 

I think I was confused. Exhausted too. I had exploded, finally, and so I had to suffer from the repercussions. 

Mapi tried her very best to help clean up after that tidal wave finally hit, but her efforts weren't enough to rebuild what had been destroyed. So I ignored her when she came into my room each night, telling me that Alexia was outside, that Alexia wanted to see me. 

I didn't want to see her because I don't think I would have been able to hold it together if she had come crying to me. 

But she is here today and I don't think Mapi will let me avoid her when she inevitably approaches me in the change rooms. 

I walk there slowly, saying goodbye to Mami and Alba quietly and trailing behind Patri and Pina who don't even notice my presence. It is because I have been so quiet, I think, they don't really know what to do with me. They don't know what to say to make me feel better. 

There's not much that will. 

The room erupts into loud cheers as I enter, most of the older players proud of me for finally making my debut. 

It would have been a dream debut, really, if things were different. 

But everything is ruined, everything is overshadowed by so many things. 

Alexia has done all this before me, made her debut, broken into the first squad. I am simply just doing what is expected of me, as a Putellas. 

She got selected because of her talent. I was selected because Mapi got injured. 

But she is right there as I get passed through the room, standing up against the doorway, a soft smile on her face. 

Mapi is the one who pushes me towards her and I can't decide whether she doesn't notice my attempts of making frantic eye contact with her, or if she just decides to ignore it. She whispers that everything will be fine, that I just need to talk to her and things will start to get better. 

I try telling her that she's wrong, that it's not that easy. 

But those arms are around me as soon as I am in reaching distance and it takes everything inside of me to not crack right there. But I can feel the parts of me that were slowly rebuilt over the past month start to fall apart again, but differently.

All those things that crashed out of me by my piano a few months ago come racing right back inside. It is like she gathered them all up in her arms and carried them around for me until she saw me next, until she would be able to give them back. 

She sort of picks me up as I start to cry, moving out and into one of the physio rooms, giving us more privacy. Away from the prying eyes of our teammates who have been so intrigued by the drama between us. 

So intrigued by the drama that has been ripping me up from the inside. 

And it looks like it has also been ripping up Alexia, if you look at the suitcases under her eyes and the severe discolouration in her face. 

"Elena." Her voice is clearly tearful, but I can barely hear it over the gut wrenching cries thatI am releasing. 

In reality, they aren't really that loud but they overcome me in a way that blocks out everything else around me. 

Because I have been void of everything for over a month, no emotions. Not happy, sad, confused, excited, disappointed. Not anything. 

But to feel those arms. Her arms that keep me safe, that shelter me from life's issues. It is a feeling like no other. 

Something I can finally feel. 

And I never want to not feel again, because even though I am not happy, at least I am finally feeling something. At least I am not so empty like I have been, a bottomless pit in my stomach that simply could not be filled. 

And with Alexia's arms around me, it feels like I can get through anything. 

I am a Putellas. I am strong. 

"Elena... I have been a terrible big sister." Her voice breaks and her head lands in my hair. 

"And I have been thinking and thinking, wracking my brain to try and figure out what started this all, and I finally remembered the other day. Elena, I do not deserve you."

I move out from beneath her, looking at her intently. 

Wet eyes meet wet eyes and I immediately pull her into a hug. 

"I have missed you so much, Ale. I have missed you so much."

"I am so, so, so sorry, Elena. Nothing I say will be enough."

We speak at the same time, tears consuming us as we both try to fix our relationship. 

Fix the relationship that has been shattered, broken, kicked, destroyed. 

Fix the relationship that I would do anything to repair. 

"Please, listen to me." 

I look up at her as she grabs my face, cupping my cheeks in her hands and wiping away the tears that have fallen. 

"I said things to you. Things that I didn't mean, things that were wrong. And then I questioned why you weren't comfortable around me as much any more. And I stopped being your sister, pequena. I stopped watching your games, picking you up from training, taking you to ice cream, helping you with your homework. I just stopped a few years ago and never even tried to explain, never tried to regain your trust."

I frown. 

"At my party, the La Masia one. When I cried. You got upset at me and I was childish about the whole thing, I used it against you for so long."

"And you have every right to, Elena, because I was so terrible and I wish I had a reason, something to excuse my words, but I do not. I was stressed, I was anxious. I projected it all onto my perfect baby sister because I didn't know what else to do. And I was a bad sister before that, too. I never should have told you that I was too busy for you because you are so much more important than anything else in my life, but I acted like I didn't care about you at all. I am a terrible sister."

"I didn't help." My voice is mousy, squeaky. Because I have been crying and I am doing everything I can to avoid another round of tears. "I didn't make it easier for you, I wasn't strong like you, like I should have been."

Alexia inhales sharply, immediately shaking her head, pulling mine back into her chest in a tight hug. 

"I never want to hear those words come out of your mouth again, Elena, because you are the strongest person I know and I am so, so proud of everything you have done. You have been brave, determined, passionate, so many things. I have been the weak one. I have been so scared of losing you, but I was the one who ruined everything and I lost you, I let you slip through my fingers and I will never forgive myself for that. You are incredible, Elena, and you won't let anyone tell you otherwise. Not me, not anyone."

"I have missed you so much."

Alexia is surprised when I lean further into her arms, but I am grateful when she tightens them around me. 

She is my older sister, and I have missed her so much. 

She is my older sister, and I lost her for a while. I lost her and my life became miserable. My days were more dreary and I began to hate everything else in my life. 

But now she is here, she has acknowledged the issues and I finally feel some relief. 

I finally feel like I am getting her back. 

Her arms are filling me up with all those emotions, warm ones, cold ones. Things I never want to feel again but things I want to feel every day for the rest of my life. 

Alexia is my sister.

And I realised, last night, that I don't have to be exactly like her, because I am not her. I am Elena, and I debuted for Barcelona at 15. 

The youngest to ever do it. 

It's pretty cool. 

But it's even better to have my sister there, cheering for me like she always said she would. She is proud, she loves me and I do think she has missed me like I have missed her. 

And I can finally feel myself mending. 

We spoke more after the celebrations, she took me to dinner, slowly patching up my insides that I once thought were beyond prepare. 

She told me over and over that she was sorry, she feels terrible and she will never let me slip away from her again. She says that I am incredible and that she wishes she had my talent, that I will grow to become the best that the club has ever seen and that I have already paved my way into the history of this football club. 

But she also tells me that I am a good person, with good values and a good heart. That Papi would be proud of the person I have become. Not just the footballer, the person. 

For the second time that day, I feel happy, full of love, completely content. 

Because Alexia loves me, and sometimes, the love of a sister is all you need. 

~~~~~~

and that's it!

Let me know if you want to see anything else from this little universe and i'll see what i can do

thank you for reading this all, i have seen all the comments and asks and they mean the world :)

hope you enjoyed

[sapphiresaphics]

I’m blocked from responding to this person (mostly because I’ve been extremely critical of their “criticism” of the show and they’re a coward), but I’d like to use these screenshots of their post dissecting an interview with Amanda Overton to show how their biases and hatred blind them to what’s really going on around them. So here we go!

———

———

^^^ What’s FASCINATING to me about this piece of the interview is that it confirms what the writers have been saying all along: That both season 1 and 2 were written at the same time and that season 2 was completed before season 1 aired. All of the relevant plot points regarding Caitlyn and Vi’a journey were crafted as early as season 1! Additionally this confirms that a lot of the stuff people liked about season 1 was from Amanda, who stayed on for season 2. That really blows the “they had 9 writers! So of course season 1 was better” nonsense out of the water. No, fam, Amanda was brought on to FIX THE MISTAKES of the people who were originally writing it. You like season 1’s writing BECAUSE of her.

Additionally saying she’s “admitting the only reason they bothered with themes of police brutality is so it would be juicy drama” is a GROSS over simplification of the entire show. Police brutality snd the duality of the two cities was always going to be part of the show, that setup just gave the dynamic between Vi and Caitlyn a lot to work with. They didn’t start with the lesbian shipping snd work backwards you numbscull.

———

———

^^^ It is telling that this person DOESN’T think that actions speak louder than words. They’re demanding words. As if Caitlyn saying “I’m sorry” would change anything realistically. That’s why Amanda confirms something else that those of us with a brain knew all along, that Caitlyn is using her actions to make up for what she knew she was doing wrong all along. She can’t take back her mistakes, but she can start to atone for them.

And it’s SO WEIRD that this person doesn’t believe that’s good enough.

Oh and they make light of her actions by reducing the crimes of Jinx too. “By letting one person go as a personal favor to her girlfriend” really minimizes that Jinx is literal A TERRORIST WHO BLEW UP MULTIPLE BUILDINGS AND KILLED SCORES OF PEOPLE. It’s also not a favor for Vi, it’s a conscious choice to let her hatred go for herself! Jesus Christ are you an idiot?

Oh also she defends a whole city and potentially saves the lives of thousands of citizens and loses an eye in the process, but yeah sure… guess that’s not good enough atonement!

———

———

^^^ Finally this part about the sesbian lex scene is really telling to me. This person is not gay, are they? Because frankly this sounds like something a homophobic person would say. If you’re not gay and you’ve never had to experience the frustration with how much your sexuality is censored by media and people around you, you wouldn’t understand why Amanda wanted the sex scene to be “more” than the STRAIGHT sex scene between Jayce and Mel. Because frankly it’s not fair that it’s okay to show that but not show a lesbian couple doing the exact same thing. And the fact that it’s been confirmed Amanda had to fight just to keep in lines like “you’re hot, cupcake” back in season 1, it’s pretty clear to ME what she’s talking about here in this interview.

I’m not surprised a straight person doesn’t understand the importance and significance of what she says here.

[andypantsx3]

SOMETHING IN THE WATER : TODOROKI SHOUTO x READER

SUMMARY: As a future marine biologist, you’ve scored big on your final internship: a summer in the tropics, researching the waters off the coast of a lush, sunny island. But what you thought would be all beach days and piña coladas turns out to be the revelation of a lifetime when you haul in a handsome merprince, and discover not everything in these waters is quite as it seems. NOTES: Part of the Teahouse server's mermay collab!! Now with incredible art (and an extra extremely cute one!!) from the deeply talented @honehonn3honey, and more amazing art by the immensely gifted @thepleasurablemushu. Special thanks to @procrastination-artist and @imptbusiness for consulting on some of the biology concepts, and to @ofmermaidstories, the OG mermaid princess, for working through the plot with me and being my #1 cheerleader. Love you!! TAGS/WARNINGS: mermaid au, interspecies relationships, mating rituals/courting behavior, (sort of) case fic, aged up characters, eventual smut, fem pronouns/afab reader LENGTH: est. 27k, STATUS: ONGOING

CHAPTERS:

part i

part ii

part iii

part iv

part v

part vi

part vii (eta tbd)

part viii (eta tbd)

READ ON AO3

[doiliedaze]

Thin Ice: part one

Hockey! Vi x reader

Warnings: none in this part

Genre: fluff, angst

A/N: okay!! so this is my attempt in starting a series about hockey Vi based on this dream I had months and the Sailor Song by Gigi Perez and Moments by MOIO okay so wish me luck!! also none of my fics are truly edited I just re-read them till I can’t and pray my grammar is good. Reader is kinda naive/one track minded and very insecure in this. I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT HOCKEY SO BARE WITH ME!!

2

───────┈ · ·

I’ve been skating since I was a little girl. It was the only place I could call home. Skating was the only place I was finally the smartest and brightest in the room since I was perceived otherwise academically…and I do lack a bit in the common sense area.

They say there’s a zone we enter when we’re aligning our energy with the activity we love. My alignment is when I soar through the air, or just don’t fall flat on my ass. I was heading to the rink when I was stopped.

“What are you doing here cupcake?”

When my eyes focus on her I was taken aback as I try to quickly study her. Why was my roommate here? “You know I practice here.” I state as I lace up.

She chuckled as she looks me up in down. I’m in a black bodysuit covered by a pink skirt and leg warmers over my matching pink skates, my coily hair put into a bun by a bow. “The practice is reserved for the hockey team. Did you not see the schedule posted outside?” She says with a small smile, I tilt my head “they changed the schedule?” Her smile flatters a bit and twitches as she points to the wall. I make an “o” shape with my mouth putting the pieces together. She pats my shoulders and skates away. In reparations of me fucking up I stay and watch.

Our college; Piltover university offers an array of extracurricular activities and in my three years of being here I’ve never known of this damn schedule changing!

Number 6, is an interesting player and my roommate. She brings an obvious aggression that the sport needs but she’s so swift and fast. I don’t know much about hockey but I do know she just scored so I might as well cheer for her right? Wrong! Getting stared at with the small but big enough snickers for me was enough to make me wanna to shrink and crawl into a hole and dissolve into a sunflower seed and sprout- well you get the point. This pushes me to attempt a swift exit.

When making my hurried exit she skates to the edge and whistles at me to get my attention. “Don’t leave, I appreciate having a personal cheerleader.” Her plump lips growing into a wolf-ish grin as she stares me down, always wanting a reaction. “Well I’m not a cheerleader I’m an ice skater! No disrespect to cheerleaders though I mean that takes a lot of courage, I know I could never-”

“It wasn’t a diss cupcake.” She stated before winking and skating away.

My face has never felt this hot before! Today is the day of utter shame and cruel unusual punishment. Now I have to figure out a new place to skate because I refuse to make the same mistake again…or read the time sheet next time who knows!

I make a routine out of avoiding the rink around 5-8 so I go during the wee hours of the morning. Kinda killing my sleeping schedule but hey pride am I right?

I don’t skate to be on a team, I prefer to be by myself and skate for me. It gets lonely sure but no one has ever supported me in doing this. All the slick comments of “oh why not be a majorette? On a step team? Why’d you stop stepping? You wanna be any race but black! Blah blah blah!” Don’t get me wrong those are beautiful activities in my culture but black girls can be everything and more at once. When I stepped it was fun and I could feel the unity but the feeling skating gave me made me feel like the most beautiful and the closest to my blackness. So when it came down to picking what I really wanted I chose skating, and been on my own since, because girls like me don’t belong here. Proving people wrong has been my biggest motivation, maybe I’m being a hard-ass but I don’t care; it feels good when I do it in the end.

This routine I was practicing was more than difficult…axels hate me and I hate axels but I’m trying to land a quadruple axel.

My mind relaxes as my chest thumps, today feels like the day…something I tell myself a lot. My momentum pushed as “Pearls” by Sade plays. I push off my left leg to project myself into the air. One…two…three…four-ish? My spin wasn’t complete and my landing was shaky, but I can try again. So I tried again and again! Frustrated I push myself, my skates cutting deep as I try to gain speed. Leaping into the air I spin one…two…three…four times! However I land flat on my ass. “Fuck!” I yell and I cover my face and I can’t control the wobble in my lip when I hear claps.

“And here I thought you were sneaking out to do something cool.” Vi states as she carefully glides over.

“I don’t need that right now.” I mutter, “company?” She lays on the ice with me.

Vi and I’s relationship is complicated. When we met in freshman year we hooked up then we ghosted each other. Sophomore year we both joined the literature club and gained a true friendship with a side of fucking whenever we’re both single. Now junior year I just feel distant with her.

She rubbed my cheek, “you don’t talk to me anymore.” I move from her touch…wishing I didn’t, I know reaching out is hard for her. “I’m sorry”

“Don’t be sorry do better” she stood up shoving her hands in her pockets. “C’mon we’re going out.” I know not to argue so I oblige.

“The library?” I scoff in a whisper, “we are English majors.” She nudges me with her shoulder and I nudge her back.

We find a cozy nook and read our respective books. The two of us haven’t hung out in so long. I didn’t realize how much I missed her. I take her book. “Hey!” She reaches over me. Her pale blue eyes stare into my dark brown eyes. A soft blush spreads over her freckled cheeks and her eyebrows soften. “I miss you” we both whisper then laugh. Vi moves from me and takes my hand.

I’ve never been the type of person to be comfortable around others, wanting to be apart of a team but with Vi…I want to try everything.

───────┈ · ·

A/N: im so excited to start this series!! I wanted to challenge myself and I hope you guys enjoy <3

(Dividers by @dollywons)

[melina-mellow]

I love Pacific Rim so I will never not combine it with my current hyperfixation to make an Pacific Rim Au... Anyway! Wanna hear me talk about a Timebomb, Jayvik, CaitVi, Melvika and Zaundads Pacific Rim AU anyone?????

Part 1 cause this is long as hell.

Jayce and Viktor:

Jayce and Viktor aren't actually Jaeger Pilots in this AU. They're a part of the research team working on understanding the Kaiju and developing ways to defeat them.

Viktor wanted to be a pilot when he was younger, but due to his disability he was never able to successfully pass the tests. So he decided to use his intelligence to aid the fight against the Kaiju.

Jayce passed the tests but was never able to attain a high enough drift compatible score to find a suitable partner. (The highest being with Caitlyn)

Jayce and Viktor meet when Jayce tries to develop a new energy source to power the Jaegers. Hextech.

Viktor is the one who tries to infuse Kaiku DNA with Hextech to cure himself. Immediately regrets it and tries to destroy it.

Jayce uses it anyway after Viktor gets critically injured caught in a Kaiju attack. Also immediately regrets after he used it to save Viktor's life.

This causes Viktor to be influenced by the Kaiju hivemind. Jayce has to pilot a mech solo to stop him.

Caitlyn and Vi:

"Piltover's finest pilots" They're Piltover's power couple (literally)

Caitlyn becomes a Jaeger pilot, despite her mother's wishes. Cait is a universal compatible drift partner, she can drift with literally anyone, which is why she believes that it's her duty to serve as a pilot.

Vi is a former pilot, current criminal imprisoned in Stillwater. She's one of the best pilots from Zuan being as young as she is.

Cait's had multiple different drift partners (including Jayce)

Vi's only had one partner, that being her adopted father: Vander, who retired after a Kaiju attack in Zaun. An attack that Vi believes killed her sister.

Like Jayce, Vi has a hard time drifting with others. Here's where Cait comes in as her partner, after she's released from prison to pilot again.

Wouldn't be Caitvi if they didn't break up at least once, so they do when it's revealed that Vi's sister is alive and is working for Silco.

Ekko and Jinx:

After the sudden attack on Zaun Ekko lost Benzo and tried to find Powder, who he never believed died in the attack. He forms the Firelight with Scar to help people after the attack and to fight against Silco.

Powder Jinx is the one responsible for the Kaiju attack on Zaun. She built a device that mimics the calls of a Kaiju which led to the Kaiju attack on Zaun.

Ekko's drift partner is Scar, the Firelights have two Jaeger's to their name which they use to fight off smaller Kaiju that may attack their home base. The council has tried recruiting the Firelights multiple times, they've always refused and stayed independent.

Jinx isn't drift compatible with anyone. Her mental state makes it dangerous for both her and her drift partner, so Silco has forbidden her from ever piloting a Jaeger (much to her displeasure) She wanted to be a pilot like her sister. So she sticks to help Silco's illegal business and making weapons.

The Firelights and Silco are eventually forced to team up because of more frequent attacks cause of Viktor. With Scar temporarily out of commission, Ekko and Jinx try to drift together. Despite them being extremely drift compatible, the first time they try it all goes to shit.

Backs against the wall and running out of time, they try to drift one more time. It starts off shit, but slowly they start to match each other's rhythm.

"Always a dance with you"

And.... That's the end of part 1!

The next part will be about the divorced dads Silco and Vander and unlikely and reluctant allies Mel and Sevika. I can finally talk about what Silco's "illegal business" is and Vander, Sevika and Mel's role in this AU.

I'm not a 100% caught up on Pacific Rim lore btw. Ntm I wanna mix in some Arcane/LoL lore too... I wanna talk about Zaundads and Melvika first before I actually delve into some world building of this AU.

But for now just know that the Piltover/Zaun struggle is still there... they're working together to stop the Kaiju, but there's still the fact that Piltover is better off and holds power over Zaun.

On a side note if anyone has any ideas or suggestions for what Caitvi and Timebomb's Jaegers should be called please share them as I suck at naming!

And as always, if you wanna use this AU idea for a fic or anything please tag me so I see!

[violetfield]

now playing .. calling all my lovelies!

by violetfield

(bruno mars, actually)

pairing: rugby player!vi x f!reader [established relationship]

college!au but this is kind of during summer break

~1.5k words

‘cause i can’t get a hold of you!

rugby player!vi who is absolutely adored by her fellow teammates. the way she carries the team single-handedly, cheers never faltering from the bleachers as vi constantly impresses the audience with the amount she’s scored. though, vi doesn’t really care when the thought of you not being one of those girls cheering for her, and how she wouldn’t have to look for you after her game and wrap her arms around you made her heart ache a little. you were the trophy she always ran to. but it hasn’t been that way since the last few games.

rugby player!vi who pushed that thought away — understanding that you might’ve been really busy with tasks — cheering, “drinks on me!” after being invited by her teammate to a celebratory after party, gathering in a dive bar. vi couldn’t turn down spending a good time with her teammates — it was well-deserved, she thinks.

rugby player!vi who’s incredibly dashing, making her enjoyable company off campus — hence why she’s always invited to parties and hangouts even after hours.

rugby player!vi who’s innocently unaware of her girlfriend spamming calls to her dead phone. your calls being sent straight to voicemail ..

“what the hell?” your lips drawn into a slight frown from vi being difficult to contact. it’s been an hour and you can’t get a hold of her, so you tried to get a hold of her teammate that you’ve talked to.. sometimes. still, she wasn’t picking up, too. you impulsively left messages, hoping she’d see them and tell vi about your messages.

you were back in your apartment, silently telling yourself you weren’t going to cry though you were left brokenhearted. you expected vi to come over to you after her match since you both haven’t seen each other that much, and you don’t know how much longer until the absence of her touch will finally end your suffering.

you both had a busy schedule — college and schtuff. you were dealing with a difficult, complicated major that demanded all of your free time — dedicating that time to something extra for your resume, while vi was occupied with her training schedules after academics and sometimes on the weekends, then partying or hanging around after with others when she figured you’d be busy finishing projects. when you did appreciate her thought of allowing you the much needed concentration, you’d appreciate vi’s presence more so.

rugby player!vi who was well-known around the campus — she wasn’t quite the social butterfly type, but rather being more of the approachable person. a person that would approach her would gain a new friend.

rugby player!vi who notices the flustered girls who try to get closer with her, but vi, being the loyal girlfriend she is, never really entertains those girls. but for you .. your face gets dusted a tint of green when you see other girls taking pictures with vi after a match.

“oh, meet my lovely girlfriend!” vi would pull you in by the waist almost instantly after the pic has been taken to somehow reassure you after noticing your expression. she introduced you to her friend. the pretty girl was definitely just a friend, but you couldn’t help and doubt it.

presently, rugby player!vi who’s seen in multiple stories, after the other, that were posted on instagram by the account of one of her teammates. vi appeared with her charming smile, usually in the center of the photos with her friends by her side. your slight frown resurfaced as you noticed the faces of the girls you were aware that has a crush on your irresistibly attractive girlfriend.

‘oh, so this is why she isn’t picking up the phone, huh? i’ll play that game too.’ you softly scoffed to yourself, calling your friends over to have yourself some company. it was only then you realized the time, a quarter till midnight, your friend alicia reminded you with her sleepy voice.

you didn’t back down, though. once you got a hold of one of your other friends and agreed to your invitation of an unusual spontaneous hangout, you dressed up in a little black dress with one of vi’s leather jackets over your smaller form. you remembered when you pleaded to vi to let her leave this jacket of hers for you to keep yourself warm, imagining it was her, whenever she was away — ‘silly but lovely’ , vi put it.

———

“c’mon ..” vi muttered in frustration, tapping away at her phone as she tried to dial you back. her knees bounced as she started to get anxious, wondering where you were if not in your apartment, until her question was answered as she checked her instagram and tapped through stories, coming across a photo that you appeared in — recognizing your all too familiar silhouette especially under the dim light of the club in a mini black dress with her jacket sliding down your bare shoulder. she realized she’s missed you too, and she was planning to prove that once you came back.

before she knew it, you came back to your apartment — finding vi hurriedly walking to the entrance once heard the muffled jingle of your keychain.

“doll — oh, you went out without telling me? are you okay?” she immediately greeted you with her arms around your waist, showering you with affection by placing multiple kisses atop your head as her hand snaked up to cup your face.

you only scoffed in return, your expression feigning slight indifference. yes, this was what you wanted — for vi to act exactly like this, but it wasn’t enough. you had to try to make her feel as hurt as how you felt from her constant absence.

“and you? what about you? how could i when i had difficulty trying to contact what seemed like you turned into a ghost, for an hour.” your voice was stern, unlikely from your usual gentle and loving demeanor only vi could witness. but your words were laced with thorns. she slightly pulled back, letting you kick off your boots and head into the kitchen.

“oh, so that’s what this is about?” she sighed, following you into the kitchen, leaning against the doorway, “darling, ‘m sorry .. i figured you were busy with your project. i remember you ranting to me about it on call ..” “honestly, i would’ve appreciated your presence hours ago.” your soft voice cut her off.

“ .. i know, cupcake —“ ‘didn’t seem like it.’ your look said as you softly scoffed. vi’s jaw slightly tensed before continuing, “— but it was the last party after our last game .. i hoped that you’d understand.” she stepped closer to you, wrapping her arms around your waist from behind and buried her face into the crook of your neck, then lifting her head, her chin resting on your shoulder. are you seriously planning to warm up cookies right now?

“you’re just .. always out, y’know. we haven’t seen each other in weeks.” as you lifted the tray, vi lifted her touch to let you place the cookies in the oven.

“as much as i hate to admit — your absence is killing me.” oh, how touch-deprived you were. it was expressed by the hurt tone of your soft voice. you missed her so much.

“yeah? well guess what, me too, cupcake.” vi admitted, and you stood straight before her after. your gaze softened the slightest, pupils dilating the largest as it ran over vi’s face, subtly admiring her features as you did. “i don’t see it.”

“let me make it up to you then.”

———

ouuhh.. this was messy.. anyway!

lemme know if u guys want the continuation :3 will contain smut ofc

[idkdudethisisntpermanent]

Over the Limit - pt.iii

jenna ortega x female reader

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v | part vi

summary: As Jenna becomes more entwined in your life, you find yourself pulled deeper into the high-stakes world of racing—looks like you've got yourself your first race.

word count: 8.4k

————

The garage is usually alive with the hum of engines, the clank of tools, and the scattered voices of the crew. Everyone has their own rhythm here, groups within the crew naturally falling into place as they work on separate projects. But today is different. As soon as you walk in, you notice the shift.

The crew is huddled around Anton who has his phone out, their laughter cutting through the usual noise. You can't see what's on the screen from where you stand, but whatever it is, it's got everyone's attention. Curiosity pulls you in closer, your brow furrowing.

As you approach, Anton's voice carries over the group, smooth and teasing. "And here she is, looking all serious and focused... but wait for it..."

The guys chuckle, and you stop in your tracks, confused. You can't quite make out what's on the screen yet, but the way they're talking—it feels weirdly intimate. You shake your head, taking a few more steps forward, trying to get a look.

Anton continues, now with a mocking tenderness. "Right there! Look at that—I believe that's what we call young love, folks."

The laughter rises again, and something clicks. A sinking feeling erupts in your stomach. Heart racing, you push through the crowd until you finally see the screen. Your heart skips.

It's you. And her. Jenna.

There it is—your encounter in the garage yesterday. The split-second moment when you locked eyes with her, the subtle smirk she flashed your way. The way your hand wrapped over hers as she was holding the wrench. It all plays out on the surveillance screen, frozen in time, but somehow magnified, more intimate than you even remember.

Shit.

"Awh, my little Y/n's all grown up," Anton coos, not missing a beat as he notices you standing there now. His voice is laced with smugness. "Didn't know you had it in you."

You clench your jaw, "Shut up, Anton."

"Oh, come on! It's cute," one of the guys calls out, nudging you as if this whole situation isn't embarrassing. "A girl like that?" another crew member hollers with a whistle. "She's no Brimstoner, that's for sure. Where'd you find her, Y/n?"

As you look around you notice that everyone is looking at you with curiosity. You let out a breath. It seems like no one was able to recognize Jenna from the race. No one knows she's from Summer Valley—that she's a Viper.

"It's not what it looks like," you mumble, trying to sound indifferent.

Anton lets out a low laugh. "Sure it's not. Admit it, you've got yourself a girl now."

The teasing hits deeper than it should, and you feel your heart pounding. They're all grinning, eating this up, but for you, it's just a reminder—you still haven't texted her. Despite knowing your answer, you weren't sure when it was appropriate to text her, it's only been about 12 hours since you dropped the girl off at her home. And you were dreading seeing her again.

"Alright, alright, enough about Y/n's mystery girl. Everyone, get back to work!" Anton says, half-joking but with a playful edge. "I need a word with my cousin."

The rest of the crew grumbles as they scatter, returning to their tasks. Anton slings an arm around your shoulder, guiding you over to the car you'd stolen the night before.

"Market value on this baby is through the roof," he says, his fingers trailing along the sleek metal. "You probably won't need to work for a while after this score."

"Yeah," you reply, your mind already preparing for the real reason Anton pulled you aside.

"So... who's the girl?"

Who is she? The question lingers, heavier than you'd like to admit. What could you even tell him when you didn't fully know yourself?

"She's just someone I met at a pub a while back," you lie smoothly.

Anton clutches his chest dramatically. "You're hitting up pubs without me now? I thought we did everything together!"

"It was after one of my sales," you say, rolling your eyes. "I needed to unwind, grabbed a drink, and met her. Simple as that."

He raises an eyebrow, grinning knowingly. "I've never seen a Brimstoner that looked like that."

"She's not from Brimstone," you say quickly, the words tumbling out. "She's from... Ridgewater."

"Ridgewater, huh?" Anton mutters, as if that explains everything. "So, she your girlfriend?"

The question catches you off guard, heat creeping up your neck and flooding your cheeks. You'd been battling that blush since you stepped into the garage, memories of the night before playing on a loop in your mind. Everything about her made your pulse quicken. The thought of being her girlfriend... it sent a jolt of excitement through you, one you weren't quite ready to face. It was too early to sort out your feelings, but you couldn't deny she was stunning, and the pull between you both was undeniable. The lingering glances, the teasing banter, the subtle touches—there was a chemistry brewing between you two that you couldn't ignore.

"We're just... talking," you reply, though a small part of you wonders why you didn't just say she was a friend. Too late now.

"Anyway, what did you want to talk about?" you ask, eager to change the subject.

"It's actually about your girl's ends," Anton begins, leaning in. "I've got some friends from Ridgewater in town, and they're looking for a friendly race with our club."

You raise a brow, not quite sure why this involved you.

"I, uh, might've mentioned your name for a race against one of their drivers," he admits, mumbling the last part under his breath.

"Anton, what the hell?!" you snap.

"Come on! It's just for fun—one race, no big deal. No stakes. You don't even have to wear a Sinner jacket."

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to keep calm, but you still end up rambling. "Anton, you know how I feel about this stuff. I... I still don't even know what I want. I've never raced before. I'm going to suck."

"You could lose by an hour, and I wouldn't care," he says with a shrug. "I just want you to give it a shot, Y/n. Like I said, no stakes—just a little friendly racing."

You sigh, unsure but softening. "I'll think about it."

Anton nods, clearly taking your indecision as progress. A week ago, you would've shot him down without a second thought. "Race is in a week today, 7 p.m., same spot as last time," he says, already walking off with a wave.

He stops just before he reaches the other end of the garage, turning back with a grin. "Oh, and invite your girl! Bet she'll find it hot!"

And just like that, your cheeks burn again.

You blame your inexperience with girls for how easily your cheeks betray you. It's just embarrassment, that's all. Now, you're apparently faking a relationship and have a race tomorrow. Perfect.

Needing to clear your head, you turn toward your workbench, ready to lose yourself in modifications to the car you'd stolen. But the moment you pick up the wrench, an involuntary smile stretches across your face.

"Oh, you've got it bad," a familiar voice chuckles behind you.

You groan, not again. Bracing yourself for another round of teasing, you turn around only to feel a sense of relief wash over you. It's just Hunter.

Hunter always seemed out of place among the crew. He was too pure to be mixed up in Brimstone—too decent. But everyone had their reasons for being here.

"You're lucky no one recognized her," he whispers, stepping up beside you.

"W-what?" you stammer, caught off guard.

"I was right next to you at the Vipers' race, remember?"

Your eyes widen, your heart rate kicking up a notch as you realize he knew who—or rather what Jenna was. Although you trust Hunter, it only takes one slip for the crew to find out about your association with a Viper.

"Relax, my lips are sealed," he says with a reassuring smile. "You were practically making heart eyes at her the whole race though—hard not to notice."

"I was not watching her like that!" you protest, maybe too quickly.

"Uh-huh, and I'm not gay. Come on, Y/n/n, let's not lie."

You drop the wrench and face him, unsure of why he was so accepting of this. "You don't think it's weird that she's a Viper? We're supposed to be, like... sworn enemies!"

Hunter smirks. "Please. That's half the thrill, isn't it? And since when have you ever avoided doing something just because it's 'not allowed'?"

You both glance at the car you stole and burst into laughter.

"We're not dating," you start. "I wouldn't even say we're friends. Last night was the first time I saw her again since the race, and that's what you saw on the camera footage." You find yourself admitting more than you planned to, trusting the older guy more than you expected.

"Do you want to date her?" Hunter asks, raising an eyebrow.

"No!" You blurt out, way too fast.

Hunter just narrows his eyes, giving you that look. "I thought we agreed no more lying."

You fumble for words. "I-I mean, I don't even know her! I've known her for what, four hours? Sure, she's beautiful—okay, really beautiful—but that doesn't mean I'm thinking about a relationship." You pause, trying to gather your thoughts. "Besides, I've got a lot going on right now. You know that."

"You and your excuses," Hunter sighs. "When are you going to start living for yourself? I care about you like a little sister, and you need to take chances before you regret it. If you keep waiting for the 'perfect time,' you'll just end up with a bunch of what-ifs. If you don't know what you want, how will you ever find out if you don't try?"

This is the third person to lecture you about your life choices and philosophy in the span of two weeks. Anton, Jenna, and now Hunter. Clearly you were doing something wrong if more than one person has called you out on it.

"Alright, I want to—I want to get to know her," you finally manage to say. "I should probably text her, right?"

"She gave you her number?" Hunter asks, raising an eyebrow.

You nod. "Yeah, last night. But it's only been 12 hours, I don't want to seem desperate."

"Oh my god, text her, you idiot!"

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you pull out your phone, search for Jenna's name, but you couldn't find her number. You go to your recently added numbers and smile at the name she saved herself as: Your Favourite Viper. You send her a text.

"What'd you say?" Hunter asks leaning closer taking a look at your screen.

"Hey? You fucking just said 'hey'?" He looks at you incredulously. "I thought lesbians were supposed to move fast. At this rate you'll maybe get a hug in a couple years."

Before you can fire back, your phone lights up, showing an incoming call.

"Holy shit," you mutter, eyes darting to Hunter in panic.

"Answer it! Oh my god, see what she wants!" he whispers urgently, practically vibrating with excitement.

You stare as her name flashes across the screen with shaky hands. It was just another call. Just another girl. Why are you so nervous?

You take a breath and answer. "Hello?"

"Hey Greaser! You busy right now?"

Even though the phone isn't on speaker, Hunter's glued to your side, frantically shaking his head and mouthing, No! Say no! His exaggerated hand gestures make you laugh.

You laugh at how insane he looks. "No, I'm free. What's up?"

"Great. Meet me at Birch and 49th."

"Why? What's happeni—"

Before you could finish your sentence you're caught off by a beep, indicating the call ended. "Anddd she hung up," you sigh.

"I like her," Hunter grins. "She's got moxie."

"Where even is Birch and 49th?" you ask, frowning.

"Hold on, I got you." He pulls out his phone, tapping around for a moment. "That's weird. It's a shopping mall in Summer Valley."

"A mall?" you echo, confused. "Is she taking me shopping. What the fuck?"

The older guy laughs and shrugs. "No one told you to go after a girl from Summer Valley."

"I'm not going after anything."

"Sure you're not," he teases, smirking. "Yet, you're still heading to this mall. Sounds like you're going after her."

You flip him off with a grin as you walk away.

"Keep me posted, Greaser!" he calls out, teasing.

You shake your head, already feeling the nerves returning. If you're really going to meet Jenna, you need to pull it together.

You decide it's best to meet Jenna with some leverage—maybe some news on Percy.

You spot Anton deep in conversation with Madison, just like the day of the race against the Vipers.

"Yo, Ant! I'm heading out!" you call, interrupting them without a second thought. You weren't in the mood for formalities.

Both of them turn, startled by your sudden presence. There's something off about them—stressed, maybe? Anton looks angry, but whatever flash of frustration you thought you saw vanishes quickly. "Oh, hey. Where you headed?" he asks, casual but guarded.

"Just heading to the Valley to look for some parts," you lie smoothly, keeping your story close to the truth. No need to risk getting caught if someone actually sees you at the mall.

Anton nods, signaling the end of the conversation, but you're not done yet. You clear your throat. "Actually, speaking of Summer Valley, what's the deal with that Percy guy?"

Anton's brow furrows, and Madison gives you a curious look. "I saw him at the race," you explain with a shrug, trying to play it off casually. "He just gave off a bad vibe, like he was up to no good or something."

The tension between them is palpable, but neither of them dives into it. Anton brushes it off, saying, "He's just a dumbass."

At the same time, Madison leans in with, "What'd you see?"

You turn to Madison, sensing she might let something slip. "He was talking to someone. It looked... heated?"

"Georgie," she whispers under her breath, barely loud enough for you to catch. But you do.

Before you can ask more, Anton steps in, commanding the conversation, clearly trying to shift focus. "Look, Y/n, he's bad news. I don't know what those Vipers get up to in their little after-school club, but I don't want you getting involved, okay? Vipers are trouble. Stay clear of them."

"Yeah, don't worry," you reassure him, hiding the fact that you're about to meet up with one very soon.

Suddenly Hunter's words echo in your head again: If you don't know what you want, how will you ever find out if you don't try? He was right. And now, you figure the best way to shift the conversation is by dropping a bombshell of your own.

"I'll do the race," you say, throwing out the unexpected decision.

Anton's eyes widen in surprise, and you can tell that you've just given him the perfect distraction from Percy and the Vipers.

————

As you start your drive, you can't help but notice the streets are teeming with more drugged-up souls than usual. Young, old—it didn't seem to matter; the drug epidemic in Brimstone spared no one. A familiar ache settles in your chest as you watch people you once called neighbors and classmates wander aimlessly, trapped in their addiction. It was an all-too-common escape in this town—a place where ambition had no room to grow, where dreams were crushed before they even started. The further you get out of Brimstone, the fewer of them you see, like the weight of the city's decay is gradually lifting.

You pull into the bustling parking lot of the mall, the engine's rumble fading as you find a spot near the back. It's just past 6 p.m., and the place is alive with activity. Cars are circling for spaces, people weave in and out of stores, and teenagers being obnoxious. You check your phone—Birch and 49th, just like Jenna said.

Your eyes scan the area for any sign of her, but there's no sight of Jenna. You cut the engine, but the adrenaline from knowing you're about to see her again hums under your skin.

The evening air is cool as you step out, leaning against the side of your car, trying not to seem too anxious. You check your phone again—no new messages, no calls. Maybe you should text her and let her know you're here.

Before you can even unlock your phone, the sound of soft footsteps approaching catches your attention. Instinctively, you straighten up, your eyes tracing the sleek black loafers in front of you. Slowly, you lift your gaze, and there she is—Jenna. That same confident smirk that's been etched into your mind since the last time you saw her.

She's wearing a flowy brown skirt paired with a black cashmere sweater, looking almost... harmless?

"You done checking me out?" she teases.

Your eyes snap up to meet hers. Despite her bold words, you catch the faint blush colouring her cheeks, and you can't help but hope it's because of you, not the cool evening breeze.

"Yeah, I am," you shoot back with a smirk, holding her gaze confidently.

She rolls her eyes, but smiles whilst doing so. "Alright Casanova, come on," she starts walking away from you, and you follow with no hesitation.

"Wait we're actually going to the mall?" You ask confused, as she leads you both to one of the entrances.

"Yes? Why else would I call you here. Tonight, I'm taking you shopping."

You didn't actually think she called you to go shopping.  You were only joking when you said that to Hunter.  Yet here you are.

You blink at her, caught completely off guard. "Shopping?"

"Yeah," she laughs, walking into the mall. "Come on, you'll need to keep up."

You follow her lead, trying to figure out how shopping was part of her plan to one-up Percy. A race? Sure. A late-night coffee run? Maybe. But shopping? This was a curveball.

"You're taking me shopping?" you ask again, almost incredulous.

"Yeah," she repeats with a teasing look. "You need a better jacket. That one's not cutting it."

You glance down at your worn-out jacket. It's not exactly new, but it's comfortable. "What's wrong with my jacket?"

"Nothing," she shrugs, her eyes flicking over you, clearly enjoying this. "But I want to see you in something that fits my vibe.  Something that makes you look like you're not from Brimstone."

Her words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you're unsure how to respond.  The idea of her buying you something feels... strange.  It wasn't like you needed new clothes—especially not from some fancy Summer Valley mall.  Your jacket was fine, and if it wasn't, you'd handle it.  But the fact that she wants to spend money on you?  It makes your stomach twist.  You couldn't help but wonder if she saw you as some kind of charity case—a girl from Brimstone who couldn't afford to keep up with her polished lifestyle.

You didn't want to be a project for her, someone she could mold to fit her world.  The thought makes you feel a bit defensive, but you swallow it down, not wanting to ruin the moment.  You glance at her again, her playful expression making it harder to argue.  Maybe this wasn't a charity thing.  Maybe she just liked you.

Still, it felt...weird.

You roll your eyes but can't help the smirk tugging at your lips. "So, what, you're my personal stylist now?"

She grins. "Maybe."

The two of you wander through the mall. The overhead lights cast a soft glow, reflecting off the shop windows as Jenna leads you into one of the higher-end clothing stores you'd probably never step foot in on your own.

She immediately heads toward the jacket section, flipping through racks like she's done this a million times.  You hang back, watching her with a mix of amusement and curiosity. There's something weirdly endearing about how serious she is about this.

Jenna pulls out a black leather jacket, holding it up and inspecting it. "This," she says confidently, turning to you. "Try it on."

You raise an eyebrow but take the jacket from her. As soon as you slip it on, you feel the weight of the leather, the way it fits snugly across your shoulders. It's different—definitely edgier than anything you'd pick out for yourself.  It resembled the Sinner's jacket only in that it's a black leather jacket, but something about it was entirely different—it was more you.

Jenna steps back, appraising you with a smirk that makes your stomach flip. "Now that," she says, her voice a little lower, "is hot."

You glance at yourself in the mirror, feeling a little out of place but... liking it.  You catch Jenna's eyes in the reflection, and for a second, the air between you feels charged, like there's something unsaid hanging between the two of you.

"Alright," you say, clearing your throat, trying to shake off the intensity of the moment. "I guess it's not bad."

"Not bad?" she teases, stepping closer to you. "You look like a Viper that got dipped in ink."

"Is that your plan?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. "Turn me into one of you?"

"Maybe," she replies, her voice light but her eyes lingering on yours a moment too long. "One step at a time, Greaser."

You laugh, shaking your head, and take off the jacket. "Okay, your turn."

Jenna raises an eyebrow. "My turn?"

"Yeah," you say, grinning now.  "If I'm trying on stuff for you, you're doing the same for me."

You have the money to spend, you just don't spend it on clothes, so one high-end purchase wasn't going to be the end of the world for you.

Jenna looks like she's about to protest, but then she shrugs, her lips curving into a playful smile.  "Alright, let's see what you've got."

You head toward a rack of clothes, picking out something you think would suit her but also give her a taste of her own medicine—something just slightly outside her usual vibe.

You hand her a dark red bomber jacket.  "Try this."

Jenna eyes the jacket before smirking at you. "I see what you're doing."

"Just trying to give you a taste of your own advice," you say, crossing your arms.

She rolls her eyes but takes the jacket anyway, slipping it on.  And of course, she pulls it off effortlessly. The red complements her dark hair and pale skin perfectly, and for a moment, you're speechless.

"Well?" she asks, spinning around with a grin. "How do I look?"

"Like you could kick someone's ass and look good doing it," you say without missing a beat.

Jenna laughs, and it's the kind of genuine, carefree sound that makes your chest tighten a little.  The two of you continue bantering, trying on ridiculous combinations of clothes, mixing high-end with completely impractical.

By the time you leave the store, both of you are laughing, arms full of shopping bags—most of which Jenna insisted on buying.

As you step back out into the quiet night and you drop off your bags in your respective cars, she turns to you, her playful smirk softening into something more genuine.

"That was fun," she says, nudging your shoulder.

You smile back, feeling lighter than you've felt in a while. "Yeah, I guess it was."

Jenna looks at you closely, searching your face, as if trying to read whether you're on the same page as her—whether you've enjoyed this evening as much as she has, and if you're not ready to call it a night just yet.

"Want to get ice cream?" she asks suddenly, her voice casual but her eyes giving her away.  There's a hint of something more in the offer, like she hopes this isn't the end.

You can't help but smile at the unexpected suggestion.

"Why not?" you say with a grin. "This one's on me."

With that, the two of you run back into the mall, a sense of urgency and excitement as you try to beat the closing time. Laughter echoes between you as you race toward the ice cream shop, determined to grab your scoops.

————

"So how exactly does shopping fit into your plan?" you ask, taking a bite of your ice cream.

The two of you ended up sitting on the edge of the now quiet parking lot, legs dangling over the curb as you chatted.  Finally, you decide to address the question that's been nagging at you all evening.

"Plan?" Jenna echoes, pausing mid-bite as she swallows her ice cream.

"Yeah, the whole thing with Percy—finding out his secrets?" you explain, slightly confused as to why you even need to clarify.

"Wait, so you're helping me?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, yeah? Isn't that why you asked me out?" you reply, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"You didn't text me back saying yes. How was I supposed to know?"

You give her a look. "...Then why'd you invite me out?" you ask, still confused.

"Because I could," she says casually, like it's no big deal. "You said you weren't busy."

You blink at her, still trying to piece it together. "So, you just... invited me out for no reason?"

Jenna tilts her head, giving you a playful smile. "Do I need a reason?"

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. The girl sitting next to you is a complete enigma.  First, she ropes you into some covert mission to gather dirt on Percy, and now she's taking you shopping and out for ice cream like it's a casual hangout.

"Well... I guess not," you mumble, feeling a little off-balance.

Jenna takes another bite of her ice cream, her gaze drifting up to the fading evening sky. "Maybe I just wanted to spend time with you.  Ever think of that?"

Your heart skips a beat at her words, but before you can react, she nudges you with her elbow, breaking the tension.  "Plus, I figured if I was going to enlist your help with the whole 'Percy situation,' I might as well reap all the benefits."

You frown, puzzled. "Like what?"

She shrugs, smirking at you. "Like seeing you in that jacket. You look good, by the way."

You can't help but laugh at that, shaking your head.  "So this was all an elaborate ploy to dress me up?"

Jenna grins. "Maybe."

You shake your head with a blush, a soft chuckle escaping you. "You'll see me in it again next week."

Jenna raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "What's happening next week?"

"I'm racing."

Her eyes widen in surprise. "Wait, seriously? You've joined the Sinners now? And you're just casually dropping that on me?"

You wave your hand dismissively. "Not exactly. It's just an exhibition race.  A week today at 7.  Same place as where we met actually. I figured it's a good chance to see if it's for me, you know?  No commitments yet."

Jenna nods thoughtfully, her expression shifting from shock to approval. "Well, it's about time you took the wheel—literally and figuratively." She smirks. "One step closer to sorting out all your issues, huh?"

"Mhmm, so you coming?"

Jenna looks taken aback by your serious tone. "How would that work? What would your crew think?"

With a sigh, you finally reveal, "They think you're my girlfriend."

She nearly chokes on her ice cream. "What?"

"They saw footage of us last night in the garage and, well... yeah. Thankfully, they didn't recognize you. I told them you're from Ridgewater."

"Ridgewater?" She scrunches her nose in disgust. "Ugh, even I can't stand those snobs."

"You're literally in the same tax bracket," you fire back, amused.

"We're way more tolerable," she insists, clearly offended. "But seriously, how could you let us get caught on camera? Don't you know there are cameras in your club's garage?"

"It's not my club. And yeah, I know, but no one ever checks them. I have no idea why Anton did that day."

Jenna sighs, the sound dripping with annoyance. The noise hits you hard, like a voice inside your head that reminds you that this doesn't mean anything, she hates being seen with you and all she cares about is risking your alliance. It stings, leaving you wondering if she's only hanging around because she needs something from you.

Wanting to shift the mood, you bring up what you overheard earlier. "Is there a Georgie in your club?"

Her eyes narrow with curiosity. "Yeah, there is. Why?"

You explain the interaction with Anton and Madison, how Madison had whispered Georgie's name when you mentioned seeing Percy having a heated conversation at the race. "I have a feeling he could help with your plan."

Jenna hums thoughtfully. "I'll get Emma to work on him," she says, already tapping away on her phone.

"Emma?" you ask.

"Yeah, she's a friend in the club. One of the few nice ones. Georgie's got a thing for her, so she'll probably be able to squeeze some info out of him."

You nod, piecing it together. That must've been the girl you saw her talking to at the race. Still, the earlier sting lingers in your chest. It bothers you more than you'd like to admit that Jenna might only see you as a means to an end.

The mood feels heavier now, so you stand up. "It's getting late. I should head back."

Jenna pauses, clearly wanting to say something more. A part of her seemed to regret driving herself here. If she hadn't, maybe this night could've stretched out longer, and you could've dropped her home like you did the previous night. But she nods, keeping her thoughts to herself. "Yeah. I guess you should."

————

The week flew by in a blur, and before you knew it, race day was here. Your first race.

You and Jenna had been texting off and on all week—mostly about the frustrating lack of progress with Percy, but there'd been some banter too, the kind that was just toeing the line between playful and flirty. At least, you hoped it was flirting.

Your nerves buzzed as you pulled up to the track, the sun starting to dip behind the skyline. The place was already alive with revving engines and the thick smell of burning rubber.

Unlike the Viper race a few weeks back, there wasn't any strict segregation going on. Sure, the Ridgewater crew—the Ravens—hung out on one side, and the Sinners were mostly on the other, but people were still mixing. Talking. No tension, no invisible lines drawn in the sand.

Stepping out of your car, the weight of the moment finally started to hit you. Anton and the crew were scattered around, but your mind kept drifting. You were thinking about the race, sure, but also about her. You hadn't seen Jenna since the mall, and even though she texted you "Good luck" this morning, the thought of her showing up was stuck in your head.

And yeah, you were buzzing to see if she'd actually come.

Hunter appeared at your side, breaking your thoughts with a friendly clap on the back. "Ready for this?" he asked, wearing that usual cocky grin of his.

You took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah. I think I am."

"Good," he said with a laugh. "Because everyone's waiting to see what you're made of." He gave you a little shove, then wandered off to catch up with the others.

With one more deep breath, you walked over to where Anton and the rest of the crew were hanging out. The adrenaline was kicking in, but so was that nagging thought in the back of your mind—Would Jenna show up?

"Sweet jacket Y/n, looks like you finally splurged on yourself huh?" Anton laughs, pulling you into a bear hug.

You grin, knowing full well the jacket wasn't your doing but Jenna's. The rest of the crew were hyping you up, throwing questions your way about the race—how you were feeling, if you were ready—typical racer small talk. You played along, but your mind kept drifting.

The group started to thin out as people dispersed, and your eyes wandered over to the pillars near the edge of the lot, the spot where you first met Jenna. It was hidden, quiet—your secret spot. Was she here?

You started walking toward it, curiosity pulling you closer. That's when you saw them—four Ravens, the Ridgewater crew in their signature blue, standing around in a tight circle, talking to someone you couldn't see clearly at first. But as you got closer, the fifth person came into view.

She did come after all.

Your heart skipped a beat, that giddy excitement rising up. But that feeling was quickly replaced by something else. Her expression wasn't one of excitement or amusement. No, she looked uncomfortable. You could see it in her stiff posture, the way she subtly shifted as the Ravens talked around her.

You step closer, the voices of the Ravens becoming clearer as you approach. One of them, a tall guy with bleach-blond hair, was leaning in a little too close to Jenna, his smirk all too familiar.

"Come on, sweetheart, why don't you ditch the pillars and hang with us tonight? We're a lot more fun," he drawls, eyeing her in a way that made your blood boil.

Jenna's eyes narrow, her body language practically screaming discomfort, though she keeps her cool. "Yeah, I'm not interested," she says flatly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Blondie chuckles, not getting the hint—or choosing to ignore it. "I don't see any affiliation on you," he retorts, motioning to her lack of a jacket. "You're no Raven, not a Sinner either. You're a free agent, sweetheart. Why stick around?"

That's when you decide you've heard enough.

Stepping into the circle, you make your presence known. "She's with me."

The guy looks at you with an unimpressed raise of his brow, but before he can say anything, you shrug off your jacket—the one Jenna had bought for you—and drape it over her shoulders. "She's mine," you say, locking eyes with him, daring him to push it further.

Jenna's cheeks flush a soft pink, her eyes darting to yours, clearly taken aback by your sudden boldness. She instinctively grips the jacket tighter around her, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the situation.

Blondie snorts, glancing at his buddies before looking back at you. "Alright, alright, no need to get possessive. We were just talking." He raises his hands defensively, but the look in his eyes says he's not completely backing down. Still, they start to shift away, slowly retreating as the tension fades.

Once they're out of earshot, you turn to Jenna, your expression softening. "You okay?"

She nods, her lips curving into a grin. "Nice save," she says, still clutching the jacket. "I didn't know you were the possessive type."

You chuckle, feeling the adrenaline from the confrontation fade. "Just making sure they knew the deal."

"Yeah, well, I could've handled it." She smiles, but there's a twinkle in her eye. "But...thanks for the jacket." Her blush deepens, and you can't help but feel a little victorious seeing her like that again.

"Anytime," you reply, feeling the weight of the moment settle in. The race may be on your mind, but right now, it's her that's making your heart race.

You glance over your shoulder to check if anyone can see you, but Anton is deep in conversation with what looks like the leader of the Ravens, drawing all the attention his way. Typical Anton.

"I didn't think you'd show up," you admit, turning your gaze back to Jenna, noticing how your jacket swallows her frame, the sleeves hanging past her hands. Somehow, it looks perfect on her.

"How could I miss your first race?" she teases, her lips curling into a smirk. "You could walk out of this a full-fledged Sinner if you end up loving it."

That thought hadn't really crossed your mind before. What if you did enjoy racing? Were you really going to add "racer" to your list of titles? And if you hated it—what then? Would you leave Brimstone behind for good? Your mind starts spinning with all the possibilities, but you stop yourself before the spiral goes too deep. "Do you think I'm doing the right thing?"

Jenna tilts her head thoughtfully. "You said this race had nothing on the line right? Just a friendly race?"

You nod, though a flicker of doubt lingers.

"Then yeah," she says, her voice firm. "I think it's fair for you to give it a shot. Figure out what you want." Her eyes meet yours, steady and reassuring. "Sometimes, you don't know until you try."

Her words calm the storm in your mind, and for the first time tonight, the weight of your choices feels a little lighter.

"I'm totally making fun of you if you lose though," she adds, giving you a playful wink.

You chuckle, shaking your head. "Of course you will," you reply, trying to play it cool, though her teasing still makes your heart skip a beat.

She smirks, leaning back against the pillar with a casual confidence that somehow makes you feel even more jittery. "Just trying to keep you grounded, you know. Can't let you get a big head if you win."

"Like I need help with that," you shoot back with a grin.

For a moment, the banter eases your nerves. But then the reality of the race looming ahead creeps back in, and you glance over to where your car is parked, engines revving in the distance. The scene is alive with anticipation, and you can feel the electricity in the air, building up to something big.

"Seriously though," Jenna adds, her tone softening, "I think you'll do great. You've got the skill, the focus. Just don't overthink it, okay?"

Her words hit deeper than you expected, and you feel a warmth spreading through your chest. "Thanks," you murmur. "I'll try not to."

She gives you a small nod, her eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer before flicking to the track behind you. "Go show them what you've got," she says, her voice soft but full of that undeniable spark.

You take one last look at her before stepping back, the jacket still draped around her, fitting like she was always meant to wear it.

She must've thought that look meant you wanted the jacket back, because she started to shrug it off.

"—no, keep it on," you quickly interrupt. "I can't have anyone else bothering you, especially when I won't be there to stop them."

————

Anton stood next to you outside the car, arms crossed, his usual smirk tempered by something more serious. The roar of engines filled the air around you, and the crowd was buzzing with energy as the race time drew near.

"You ready?" he asked, eyeing the car, then looking back at you with raised eyebrows.

"As I'll ever be," you replied, your fingers itching at your side. You tried to shake off the nerves, but it was easier said than done.

Anton clapped you on the shoulder, a rare look of pride on his face. "Remember, this isn't just about winning. You gotta feel it, the rush, the adrenaline. If you're not in the zone, it's game over."

You nodded, knowing he was right. Winning is not the end goal—it was the feeling, the test, to see if this whole world was something you were cut out for. You glanced around, spotting familiar faces from the crew and a few more you didn't recognize. The Sinners, the Ravens, and everyone else, all here to watch and see what you'd do.

"I know," you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt. "Just got to stay focused."

Anton gave you a once-over, then grinned. "You're already ahead of the game. You've got your crew, and your girl showed up to watch. Not a bad start, huh?"

You chuckled, though a part of you still didn't fully understand what you were doing here—or what you were trying to prove. But you couldn't deny the thrill of the moment.

"Speaking of which, how's she doing?" Anton asked, leaning in closer. "Saw you two getting cozy earlier."

"Don't start with that," you muttered, shaking your head.

He laughed, stepping back. "Just saying, keep your head in the game. Show them what you've got."

The loudspeaker crackled to life, announcing the final call for drivers to get to the line. Anton gave you one last pat on the back. "Oh—and Y/n? Step on it. Don't stay in your limit."

You watched him walk off with those final words. It was time.

As you slipped into the driver's seat, adjusting your gloves and gripping the wheel, you glanced out the window toward the starting line. The pit of nerves in your stomach twisted a bit tighter when you spotted the racer pulling up next to you. Of course, it had to be him—the blondie from earlier, the one who had been hitting on Jenna.

He threw you a cocky smirk as he revved his engine, clearly more than ready to leave you in the dust. You couldn't help but roll your eyes at the sight of him. Typical. He looked the part—flawless car, arrogant attitude, and an ego that seemed to fill the entire track.

Here he was, thinking he'd outshine you, thinking he had this in the bag. The thought sent a new wave of adrenaline through your veins, change of plans—winning is the end goal. It was personal now.

Settling into the driver's seat, you gripped the wheel tightly. Anton's last words echoed in your mind: "Step on it.  Don't stay in your limit." But the speed he wants? You'd never gone that fast, and you weren't sure you wanted to.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you glanced at the blond in the car next to you. He was smirking like he already had this in the bag. It The memory of him hitting on Jenna made your grip tighten even more. Then your eyes shifted to where Jenna stood, wrapped in your jacket. She met your gaze for a second, and you had to look away. God, what was I thinking? You cringed internally, remembering how you had jumped in like some hero and blurted out, "she's mine." What were you doing? This wasn't you.

The signal blared. Instinct took over, and you slammed your foot on the gas. The car roared to life beneath you, and you shot forward. The world around you blurred as the race began, the adrenaline pumping through your veins. Blondie took the early lead, just as you expected. He was gunning it, probably trying to hit that 200 mark like Anton said.

You weren't even close. And you still weren't half way into the race. The speedometer was climbing fast, but the memory of your father's crash came rushing back. 200km/h—that was the speed he'd hit before everything went wrong. Your heart raced faster at the thought. No way am I hitting that. I can't. But you didn't need to. You weren't trying to match raw speed; you had something better—control, technique, and years of dodging the cops under your belt.

The first stretch was relatively straightforward, and you stayed just behind Blondie, pacing yourself. He was fast, sure, but he was reckless. You could see it in the way he took the turns, wide and messy, eating up his speed. You kept to the inside, handling each corner with precision, hugging the pavement like you were born to do this. Blondie kept glancing in his rearview, probably wondering why you weren't trying harder to catch him. He didn't get it. He didn't know you didn't need to reach that ridiculous speed to win.

The track began to curve—the finish line in sight, and you knew this was your moment. There was a sharp turn ahead, one that Blondie was approaching too aggressively. You could already see it. He wasn't going to slow down enough, and when he hit the curve, he'd either lose control or slide wide, giving you the opening you needed.

Now, you thought, pulling back just slightly as you hit the turn. You feathered the brakes, hugging the inside of the corner while Blondie flew into it way too fast. Just as you expected, his car swerved wide, giving you the perfect opportunity. You floored it, slingshotting around him with precision. He was still fighting to regain control when you shot past him.

Your heart raced, the finish line right there for the taking. The engine growled beneath you as you pushed forward, ignoring the urge to check the speedometer. It didn't matter now. You were in control, and that was all that counted. The crowd blurred into the background as the finish line rushed toward you.

You crossed first.

The roar of the crowd engulfed you like a tidal wave. Cheers erupted from every corner, your name ringing in your ears like a victory anthem. "Y/N! Y/N!" they chanted, and the excitement surged through you, igniting every nerve ending. You felt invincible, a high unlike anything you had ever experienced. The adrenaline coursed through your veins.

In that moment, you understood why people chased this feeling. It was intoxicating, addictive even, and a part of you hated that you were reveling in it. The thrill of victory mingled with the elation of having just pushed your limits. But then your eyes found her in the crowd—Jenna. She stood there, a radiant smile lighting up her face, and all at once, the adrenaline surged anew.

It was a reckless desire that ignited within you, overwhelming and raw. You wanted to kiss her, right there in front of everyone, to pull her close and celebrate your victory together. The image flickered in your mind, vivid and enticing, and suddenly, all you could think about was her. You remembered reading an article once about bank robbers who, after cracking the vault, had sex right in front of the safe due to the adrenaline. A story you once thought stupid, in that moment, it made sense. The adrenaline, the thrill of accomplishing something audacious, the heat of the moment—it was all a cocktail of desire that was too intoxicating to resist.

But as your heart raced for both the victory and for her, a small part of your mind pushed back. You couldn't deny it any longer; you wanted Jenna. You wanted her bad. And you didn't care if the crew found out who she was or if they learned she wasn't from Ridgewater. You didn't care if your alliance crumbled under the weight of it all. But as quickly as the thought ignited, a flicker of caution settled in. I can't jeopardize it for her, she's in trouble.

The cheer of the crowd faded momentarily as you wrestled with your feelings. Was this thrill rooted in the race itself, or was it because she was watching you? The two sensations intertwined, leaving you breathless. You wanted to close that distance between you—you at the finish line her at the pillars.

You leaned against your car, grinning widely as you took in the moment, the reality of what you'd just accomplished. The rush of adrenaline, the celebration of the crowd, and the promise of what was to come. With Jenna smiling back at you, you knew you were fucked. You thought with this race now over some of your questions would be answered, but now you are left with more.

————

The celebration continued long into the night, the energy of victory electrifying the air around you. The next hour unfolded in a blur of races, laughter, and clinking beer bottles. Your heart was still racing from the earlier adrenaline, but now it was fueled by the heady mix of joy and the shared exhilaration of the crowd.

As you mingled and celebrated, your eyes continuously searched for Jenna, hoping to catch a glimpse of her amidst the people. But luck was not on your side; you couldn't spot her anywhere. It was only once everyone started leaving, and you were getting ready to leave, did you spot the girl.

"Mind giving me a ride home?" she asked, knowing you won't say no.

And so there you both were, on the highway to Summer Valley. "I knew you would win," she broke the silence. "How did you like it?"

"It was...nice." you answer, eyes straight on the road. After finally admitting to yourself your growing attraction to Jenna, you found it hard to look her way; the adrenaline was still coursing through you, making your thoughts a tangled mess.

"Nice? All you're going to give me is nice?" she fires back with sass.

You laugh, "I'm just confused. I don't know if I enjoyed racing, or the attention that came from winning."

The attention that came from you.

Jenna tilted her head, studying you with a curious expression. "Come on, don't play coy with me. You know you loved it. That rush, the speed, the crowd cheering your name—it's addictive. You can't deny that."

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you kept your eyes on the road. "Yeah, I guess it is. But it's more than just that. It's everything that came with it. The energy, the victory...and yo—." You cut yourself off before you regret your words.

Her brow furrowed slightly, "And what?"

You bit your lip, debating whether to dive into your feelings now or keep it light. But decided to can the idea as a whole. "Nothing, anyways was your friend able to make Georgie or whatever spill?" You ask trying to change the subject.

Jenna seemed upset about the change in topic, but didn't press it any further. "Actually yeah. He didn't give much context, but Percy's meeting someone tomorrow, and we are going to spy on that meeting," she smiles proudly.

"Sounds like a plan. Do we know anything about who he's meeting or what it's for?"

"Georgie just said something about Ghost Smoke. I don't know what that is—a new racing crew maybe? That name mean anything to you?"

"Ghost Smoke?" You parrot, making sure you heard her right. She nods her head.

From what you knew, Ghost Smoke was the latest drug that was being pushed out onto the streets. The one that's been causing the latest drug epidemic in Brimstone. If what you're thinking is true—then Percy is not someone that should be fucked with. You consider telling the girl in your passenger seat about what you know, but decide to keep quiet. Not tonight.

Before you knew it, you found yourself on the brown-eyed girl's street. You instinctively slowed down, stopping about twelve houses away—probably out of habit—but she didn't seem to mind. As she turned to you, her intense gaze pierced through the dim light, leaving you wondering what she was thinking. Was she going to lean in for another kiss on the cheek? Just as that thought flickered in your mind, it was swept away by the sound of her opening the car door.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Greaser," she said, her voice playful yet filled with a hint of mystery, before walking down the road, still wrapped in your jacket.

You remained parked in the shadows of the dimly lit street, your thoughts racing as wildly as your heart had during the race. That uneasy feeling nagged at you, refusing to fade. You had thought Jenna was the answer to your questions, a beacon guiding you through the chaos, but she also seemed to be the source of many new ones. Just what was this girl pulling you into, and why couldn't you bring yourself to walk away?

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