#well this took forever to write

[thesunisatangerine]

playing for keeps – chapter two

alexia putellas x barçakeeper!childhoodfriend!reader

warnings: coarse language, brief mentions of grief

(a/n in the tags) [chapters: one, two, three]

word count: 10.2k

[1]

A shiver ran down your spine in spite of the sun’s anger that bored down on you. 

You wiped your free hand on your jersey but sweat clung to your hand like glue, yet your fingers remained cold, even the ones on the hand your mother was holding. It didn’t help that your gut had coiled into a knot that you couldn’t loosen; you’d breathed deeply, you’d counted backwards from ten… and still, it remained there.

What was it about this that scared you so much? 

The fear sprung in you the moment you stepped foot out of your home, growing the more you got closer, and now that you and your mother were walking across the parking lot to the building, it threatened to claw its way up your throat. And that was something you really didn’t want to happen. 

You gripped your mother’s hand tighter. She gazed down at you with a soft look, giving your hand a slight, reassuring squeeze, and that was enough to ease that feeling a little bit. 

The door creaked long and loud when your mother pushed it open, reminding you of that old, unused shed by the garden at home that made the same sound when you entered it, and it reverberated against the walls. No one was inside except for an empty desk in front of a wall with chipped, white paint. Just beside that, there was a corridor lined with a few doors, some of which were opened. And at the end of it there was an opening that led to the sunlit grasses of the outside.

At the sound, the head of a woman popped out from one of the open doors. The woman came out, a water bottle in hand which she set on the desk, and she greeted you and your mother with a friendly smile. Even still, you took a step back and hid behind your mother.

“Hello! I’m sorry for making you wait! How can I help you?”

“No need to apologize, we just came in.” Your mother laughed as she waved a hand in the air. “My daughter is actually here for her first day of training with the club.”

“Oh, is she?” The woman gasped and clapped her hands together in delight. She beamed down at you and stooped low to offer her hand out, and then she cooed, “Hello, love, I’m Teresa.”

Heat rose to your cheeks as you took her hand and shook it, telling her your name in a whisper. Teresa smiled at you again before she straightened her back. 

“I’m so glad you got here just then. We don’t usually get people around this time so we tend to lock the front door, and I was about to head out back to bring the girls some water.” She explained to your mother and then she gazed back down at you again. “Are you excited to meet the girls?”

At your silence, your mother answered for you, “She is, it was all she could talk about. She’s just a bit shy.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that, love. The girls are just as lovely. Will you be joining us?”

“Are parents allowed to stay?” When Teresa nodded with a hum, your mother continued, “I see. Perhaps another time. I have somewhere to be.”

“We could schedule for another time.” Teresa nodded in understanding before she regarded you again, “Now, shall we meet everyone?”

Fear rose in you again and your eyes darted to your mother’s. There, you found an encouraging light that grounded you and without really intending to, you agreed with Teresa. Shortly after, your mother left but not before she told you, “Now, my little firecracker, you behave yourself. And remember, have fun and show them what you’re made of.” 

Something akin to fire lit up in your chest at your mother’s words, and its warmth spread all the way to your fingers and toes. It was a soothing calm similar to the one you’d get from a cup of warm milk and honey in winter. And when she pressed a goodbye kiss on your forehead, a sense of safety blanketed over you even long after she’d left. 

Teresa took your hand after she locked the front door, and occupied the other with holding the rack of water bottles, and she led you down the corridor. As you passed through, it became clear just how tiny the facility actually was but it held everything that you needed; Teresa had pointed and named the areas with a jut of her chin: the toilets were here, the nurse bay just beside it, and the lunch room was just across. 

“It isn’t much but it’s home for the club.” Teresa smiled but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. And her eyes were clouded with an emotion that made you feel a sudden urge to hug her. The emotion passed quickly and in the next moment, you found yourself surrounded by heat as you stepped down a threshold that led you outside. 

Squinting and putting your free hand over your eyes, the sight of the field came into focus. It was surrounded by a metal, wire fence, and its entrance opened up at the end of this path you were on to the middle of the nearest sideline. Through the fence, girls of seemingly different ages ran about in one half of the field, shouting and laughing as they passed balls to each other. And you found your nerves returning but it was soon replaced by giddy anticipation. 

You and Teresa were close enough now that your presence drew the attention of the girls. Upon catching the sight of you, they stopped and stared. And even from a good distance away, the weight of their eyes pressed on you and heat rose to your cheeks again.

A shout and a clap made the girls whip their heads–as well as your own–towards the direction of the sound. It came from a woman who said something to the girls you were too far to hear, but by the end of it, the girls resumed their training as if they never stopped. 

From the lack of attention, you sighed out a breath. 

Then the woman began her way to the sideline just as you and Teresa arrived there. Teresa set the water bottle rack down by her feet while your eyes wandered over from the walking woman to the other girls. For the most part, they all looked the same age and height, but a few towered over the rest with their great build and height, and that did nothing to quell your brewing fear. There was only one girl that was smaller than everyone else, younger too, whose height looked to be similar to yours. 

The girl was last in the line she queued for and as she stood there waiting for the ball, she had her head turned over her shoulders to look at you. She had short hair held back by a headband, and her shirt ballooned at the waistband of her shorts, which fell all the way down to her knees. Instead of fear, an urge to greet her rose in you, but as you raised your hand to wave at her, she whipped her head back to the front just in time to receive the next ball that was passed to her. 

“Ah! Our new addition to the family is finally here!”

The exclamation had you turning yours to the front, and you found the woman there with both hands planted on her hips. She towered over you–like most adults did but she was taller than most–and the angle made the fine lines around the corners of her eyes and lips look deeper from the harsh sunlight. Her blue eyes were light, inviting and warm, and they held a calming force that reminded you of your mother’s. When she stuck out her hand, you noted the way her skin clung to the surface of her flesh, almost translucent in the sun, but you found yourself unafraid to shake it immediately.

“Welcome to Sabadell Girls’ Football. My name is Catalina but you may call me Madam Cata. Remind me again, how old are you, little one?”

“I just turned eight.” You said, and you nearly forgot to add, “Madam.”

Madam Cata’s smile brightened and, to your surprise, she let out a small laugh. At her amusement, you found yourself smiling, too.

“Very young, indeed. Well then, I’ll take you from Teresa to meet the rest of the girls.”

Your heart jumped at the thought and you turned to Teresa. She must've seen a hint of your apprehension because she gave you a soft, encouraging smile and said, “You’ll be just fine. You’ll see.”

Somehow, you believed her. So you nodded and thanked her, and with another smile and a wave of her hand, she left you with Madam Cata who began to lead you away with a gentle hand against your back.

After you’d crossed the small distance from the sideline to the middle of the field, Madam Cata called out to the girls. They gathered and now that they were closer, your shoulders curled inwards under the weight of their stares, and you kept your eyes down at the red laces of your boots, which your cheeks and ears probably resembled now as they heated from the attention. 

You felt the weight of Madam Cata’s hand on your shoulder. 

She was smiling at you and then she said softly, “Don’t be afraid, little one. These are your friends and sisters. Go on. Tell them your name.”

Finally, you looked at the girls. And as if drawn by a force, your attention immediately locked on that girl, and for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, a sense of calm washed over you. 

The girl stared at you like the others did, but it was different. It wasn’t a look you found to be negative, more curious and attentive. Her head was tilted slightly to the side as if the change in angle would help her figure you out. She wasn’t quite smiling or frowning; she impressed you with a leveled attitude, an expression you typically saw on people who were significantly older than you, and you were surprised to see such a face worn by someone as young as the both of you. 

Her eyes traced an invisible path along your face all the way down to your boots. She was sizing you up, you knew this. You’d played enough games at recess and after school to know how kids scrutinized each other for weaknesses, but you felt it wasn’t the same with this girl. Her gaze was more appraising than critical, as if she was imagining how you would affect the team. You could almost see her calculations playing like a movie above her head and you barely stopped yourself from giggling at the image. 

She must’ve seen your amusement because she straightened her head in attention, and her brows knitted to a slight frown. The change should’ve given you grief but it only made you all the more interested to get to know her for reasons you couldn’t quite understand. There was just something about this girl… something that you wanted to discover. And so, right there and then, you decided that you were going to befriend her. 

Feeling a bit better, you finally introduced yourself with a wave to the others before you locked your gaze on the girl again.

The girl’s frown deepened. 

Your smile widened. 

“Now, girls, introduce yourselves.” Said Madam Cata. 

And so they did. 

A couple of the older girls gave you a smirk that reminded you of the older cousins you’d see at family gatherings, or the boys at school who thought you were easy picking whenever you played with them. The rest looked friendly and introduced themselves with a pleasant smile and a wave.

It was the girl’s turn now.

“Hi. I’m Alexia and I play as a midfielder.”

Alexia. Somehow, the name suited her just right, like she was born to be one. The fact that she was the only one who stated their position wasn’t lost to you. It was an assertion–a claim–and this again should’ve intimidated you but it only made you smile. 

Now that introductions were done, the girls dispersed as per Madam Cata’s instructions. 

“Alexia. Come here, my child.” Madam Cata called out which stopped Alexia from running away with the rest. She froze midstep, her eyes darting to you then back to Madam Cata, before she reluctantly turned and shuffled until she was beside the woman. 

“Seeing as the both of you are the closest in age, Alexia, I’d like you to make her feel welcomed.” Madam Cata began, placing a hand on Alexia’s shoulder, and then she continued, “You two are the youngest in the club and I have high hopes that you two will become friends.” 

Madam Cata smiled at you, then to Alexia. “What do you say, Alexia?”

Alexia said nothing and only stared at you. You stood your ground and stared back, waiting for Alexia’s move. In this moment, doubt crept in and your resolve wavered. Were you mistaken? Did she really not like you? She hasn’t even given you the chance, yet… You thought in disappointment. 

And then Alexia, instead of replying to Madam Cata, stuck out her open hand to you. “Let’s go?”

You couldn’t help it. You grinned.

Giving Madam Cata one last look, you took Alexia’s hand. It was sweaty and warm, and her grip was gentle. And then she was pulling you forward, easing you both in a run. And as you took off hand-in-hand across the yellowing grass of the field, Alexia turned her head to you and a tentative smile crinkled the corner of her lips, and you found the rest of your worries melting away.

You squeezed her hand, smiling.

And, this was the best part:

She squeezed your hand back. 

[2]

By the end of the day, Alexia’d introduced you to everyone, and all the other girls had warmed up to you, including the ones who’d intimidated you at first. Alexia may be young, but you saw how the other girls respected her. Despite this, Alexia remained sincere and kind, and this fact made your admiration for her grow

Training-wise, Madam Cata separated you from the rest at first, testing your stamina and evaluating your technical skills before she eventually let you join in on the 7-a-side matches that ended today’s training. You were slightly disappointed that you didn’t end up on the same team as Alexia, but it was fun defending against her. To your surprise, it didn’t even bother you that your team lost. Maybe it was because you got to witness Alexia shoot the winning goal, but of course you kept that information to yourself. It was late afternoon when you finished, and all the other girls had been taken home by their parents, except for you two.

“Are you sure you don’t want to wait inside, girls?” Miss Teresa called out from the front door. 

Alexia shook her head to answer for the both of you. 

“We’re fine here, thank you.”

“Alright. Just stay in sight, okay?” 

The both of you called out in agreement and finally satisfied, Miss Teresa returned back to her desk. There were two large trees that flanked the path towards the front door, and under their shade were benches built to wrap around their bases. Under one of those trees, you and Alexia waited for your parents to pick you up. 

You kicked your feet in the air as they hung from the bench, relishing the way the cool breeze soothed the heat around the new bruise you got on your shin. 

“The bruise is getting bigger.” Alexia muttered. She’d taken off her headband and you noticed how short her hair actually was; only the front had enough length to fall over her face, parting in the middle to reveal her eyes. Apples were high in her cheeks and the remaining sunlight that filtered through the leaves played on her skin, and made her hazel eyes look lighter, almost green. She twisted her fingers as her lips curled into a regretful pout. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to kick you.”

“Hey, come on, it was a game. It’s fine.” When the pout didn’t leave her face, you knocked your knee against hers and added, “It looks kinda cool, don’t you think?”

At that, an amused smile replaced Alexia’s pout. “Only you would think a bruise looks cool.”

“I’m different like that.” 

“Sure, you are.”

“I am. Why else are you talking to me?”

Alexia rolled her eyes and then she laughed. 

“What time are you getting picked up?” 

You looked at your watch.

 “My mom should be here any minute now. What about yours?” 

“Soon as well,” Alexia answered after she peeked at your watch. And then, she asked, “Do you live nearby?”

“No, I live in Mollet.” 

Alexia squeaked and at the sound, you looked at her and found her eyes were delightfully wide with surprise. “You do? I do, too!”

“Really?” You gasped, mirroring her in your excitement. Elation filled you at the prospect of Alexia living so close. Imagine the sleepovers, the after school football games! “Where do you live? What school do you go to?”

But when Alexia answered you and you recognised that the places she named were on the other side of town, you pouted in disappointment. When Alexia asked you what your face was about, you told her where you lived and your school, and then Alexia started pouting, too.

“I wish we lived closer. We could play football after school!” 

“Yeah! And you could stay over! Or maybe I could?” Alexia whined. “Why do you have to live on the other side of town?” 

“If I could drive a car, I would come over all the time!” You imitated holding a steering wheel, and you blew air through your lips, imitating an engine. 

Alexia slapped your arm, laughing. “Are you speeding? That’s illegal! If you drive like that, I’ll never get in the same car as you!” 

“Fine,” you sighed dramatically. “I won’t speed just for you.” 

“That’s comforting.” Alexia quipped dryly. “No, but I’m serious. I’ll ask my parents if I could stay the night some time. You should do the same!”

“I will. My parents will probably say yes as long as your parents are alright with it.” 

The sound of gravel being disturbed drew both of your attention. A car and a truck parked in the space in front of you, and you recognised the car to be your mom’s. 

“My mom’s here. Is your–”

“Papá!”

Alexia jumped out of her seat and ran towards the other car, a truck, whose door opened to reveal a man, Alexia’s father. He was tall, like really tall, towering over the truck next to him. He had long, loose gray pants on that stretched all the way up to his chest; the upper part reminded you of a bib, and the white shirt beneath was covered with what you supposed to be car oil—your own father had come into the house with the strange scent and feel of it enough times for you to know the look of it from a distance. There was some of it on his cheeks as well, but Alexia didn’t seem to be bothered by it, for she immediately jumped into his arms, and he, with a cheerful laugh, lifted his daughter up with a small grunt.

You smiled at the sight. 

Seeing as Alexia’d gone to her father, you went ahead and did the same, jumping off the bench to meet your mother as she got out of her own car. 

“How was your day, my little firecracker?” Your mother asked after she’d greeted you with a kiss on your cheek, running her hands over your forehead and temple to wipe away the remaining sweat there.

“It was really good, Mamá! I made a friend! She’s over there. Look!” 

In your excitement, you tugged on your mother’s hand and pointed her over to where Alexia and her father were, only to find Alexia doing the same with her father.

Your mother laughed. “I see you’re very much alike, the two of you.”

And then, your mother waved at Alexia’s father, who waved back, before she began to walk over where they were, and you trailed behind her. She was probably going to talk to Alexia’s father, and you were excited to spend just a little more time with Alexia.

Alexia shoved her bag inside the truck before she ran to you. When she stopped right beside you and looped her arm around yours, you told her, “Your father’s so tall.” 

“He is, isn’t he?” Alexia beamed at you, pride in her voice as she looked at her father. “Is your father tall?”

“Yes, but not as tall as your dad.” And then a thought struck you as you looked back at Alexia. There was Alexia’s father, and here was Alexia. “You know, you look like your father.”

“Yeah, I know. People say it all the time.”

“And you don’t get sick of it?”

She looked at you with a confused frown. “No, why would I be?” 

“I don’t know.” You shrugged. “I’m not really sure why I asked that.” 

Alexia just smiled at you and asked, lowering her voice with mischief.  “What do you think they’re talking about?” 

She’d begun to shuffle forward, taking you along with her because of your linked arms, and now you could hear their conversation.

“–you and your family come over for dinner. I’d prepared so much tonight in celebration of my daughter’s entry to the club. I don’t think we could handle all the food at all.” Your mother laughed, and then she added, “We could also discuss the arrangements then.”

You turned to Alexia with wide eyes and met her gaze, which brimmed with excitement. Turning back to Alexia’s father, you willed him to say yes.

Alexia’s father scratched the back of his head, his other hand on his hip. “We’d love to come over. That is, if you don’t mind having a five-year-old over, of course.”

“No, we don’t mind at all! Please, do come over.”

“Okay, then I’ll tell my wife. What time should we head over?” 

“Nine should be fine.”

Alexia’s father nodded, and that was that.

You couldn’t hold your excitement any longer. You spun to face Alexia, grabbed her hands and both of you squealed. Laughter came from the direction of your parents, but you paid them no mind because all you could think about was that Alexia was coming over for dinner. 

“All right. That’s quite enough girls. Say goodbye now.” Alexia’s father said with a light voice. “You’ll see each other again later.”

Alexia nodded, and then soon she was hugging you. “Bye, I’ll see you later.”

“Bye, Alexia.” You said, lifting your chin off her shoulder before you let her go and took your place at your mother’s side.

“Alright, Jaume, it was nice meeting you.”

Jaume, so that was Alexia’s father’s name. Jaume waved his goodbye to the both of you with a smile on his face, and then he and Alexia drove away.

On the way home, up until Alexia and her family got to your home, you were practically buzzing with excitement. You ran up to your room to bathe, changed, ran back down, and even then the clock’s hand was still not pointing to nine. 

“Honey, you peeking out through the window won’t make them get here any faster.”

A sigh escaped your lips, and pushing yourself off the window sill with a huff, you whined. “When are they getting here?”

Your mother laughed at that. “It’s only ten past eight, my love. Go to your father and help him. Maybe time will pass quicker that way, no?” 

Dragging your feet with another sigh, you made your way to the kitchen. Your father had his back turned to you when you entered through the archway as he busied himself on the kitchen counter. He stuck his hand into the bag of flour in front of him, and he spread it all over the counter, which caused a plume of white to rise in the air.

“Can I help?” You asked, shuffling closer so that you were beside him. There was flour everywhere on his side of the counter, while two empty baking trays were lined up in front of you. “What are you making, Papá?”

“This, my love, is pan de payés.” He lifted the tea towel in front of him to reveal four domes of raw dough, their surfaces taut with tension. He looked at them, and with a proud nod, he said, “Go wash your hands and help me with them.”

You did, and as you dried your hands, you asked, “Why are you making them? Don’t we have enough food for tonight?” 

“Why, they’re for our friends, of course. You wouldn’t want Alexia to leave here empty-handed, would you now, my love?”

Heat rose to your cheeks as you shook your head.

Your father smiled down at you with warmth. “Of course you wouldn’t. Now here, I’ll prepare this first one; you watch, and I’ll let you do the rest. How does that sound?” 

You nodded, and you watched. He carefully placed a dome of dough in the centre of the floured space, then took another pinch of flour and sprinkled it over the dough, before lightly running his hands over the surface to spread the flour evenly. He took out his bread lame and ran the blade over the surface of the dough, creating four gashes that intersected to form a diamond, and then he placed the dome on one side of a baking tray. 

You did as he did, albeit slower, and with the patient guidance of your father. After your father put the trays in the oven, the heat of it filled the space with warmth and light. As the two of you looked on at your work, your father began, “Remember this, my love. Food is an extension of our feelings and identities. It fills us, it sustains us, and it connects us. It makes us remember. When you eat your mother’s cooking, what do you feel? What do you think about?”

You didn’t even need to think; you answered immediately. “Warm. And I think about home, Mamá, and you.”

Your father smiled. “Good. Now, what do you think Alexia would think about if, say, she ate a piece of this bread for breakfast tomorrow?”

“Us?”

He hummed, and then a small laugh escaped his lips. He bent down slightly so he could tap your nose with his finger. “It’s going to be you, my love. How nice it is to be thought of, especially by a new friend, hmm?” 

You giggled, but a familiar warmth surged through you at the thought.

A knock resonated through the house, and you gasped, looking at your father in excitement.

“Ah, our friends are here. Go on, now.” Your father tilted his head in the direction of the front door, a half-smile on his lips. You gave him a hug, and you sprinted towards the door, only slowing down when a “No running, please!” resounded from the kitchen. 

“Oh, she’s so cute!” You heard your mother’s coo, and when you turned the corner, you saw her fussing over a little girl balanced on her father’s hip, while Alexia’s mother laughed warmly at your mother’s attention, and finally, you spotted Alexia looking up at her sister being pampered with a smile curling her lips.

You walked over to them.

“Ah! My daughter’s finally here.” Your mother placed a gentle hand behind your back. 

“Hello.” You greeted Alexia shyly, eyes fleeting from Alexia’s parents to her sister, then to Alexia herself, who was smiling at you. You stepped up to them to shake their hands, introducing yourself to them, and they did the same to you. You learned that Alexia’s mother was named Eli, and her little sister was named Alba. You offered your hand to Alexia as well, with a playful smile. Alexia caught on, and she giggled before throwing her arms around you.

“Isn’t she a dear? Oh, they seem so close already!” You heard Eli say it with a clap of her hands.

“Believe me, Alexia was all she could talk about the whole night!” 

Your cheeks heated when Alexia laughed against your ear at what your mother said, but in the end, you decided you didn’t quite mind. 

“Hello, welcome to our home.” Your father finally stepped out of the kitchen. He walked up to Jaume, shook his hand, and stooped down to press his right cheek against Eli’s. He cooed at Alba the same way your mother did, and he gave Alexia a wave. “You all must be hungry; please come join us in the dining area.” 

Once the lot of you moved to the kitchen, the evening progressed quite quickly, as it usually did when you were having a good time. Your parents got to know each other after they initially took turns talking about you and Alexia. They laughed and got lost in their conversations, while you and Alexia busied yourselves with Alba, helping her with her food, and who, after finally warming up to you, revealed herself to be a bundle of energy. 

At one point, the conversation moved to the living room, and this was when you and Alexia snuck out to the backyard. Alba’d fallen asleep not long after dinner, and she was safely pressed against Eli when the both of you took off. You’d lead Alexia to your favourite spot; it was a swing that hung from a branch of a sturdy tree, and this was how you found yourself pushing Alexia gently as she sat on it, her hands around the ropes of the swing.

“Why do you play football?” Alexia asked, breaking the silence. 

“How do you mean?”

“Like, are you only playing it for fun? Or, are you serious about it?”

You hummed as you pushed her. “I’m not sure yet. But, sometimes, when I’m in school, I find myself daydreaming about it.”

“That’s the same with me. It’s all I can think about. I dream about it, too.” 

“You’re serious about it.” It wasn’t even a question; you could hear it clearly in her voice. But she turned her head, and the look she gave you all but confirmed it. 

“I am,” she breathed out. “I really am.” 

You gave her another push. “Where do you want to end up?”

“Barça.” Her answer came quickly, like she’d thought it all through. And then she added, “One day, I’ll play for them.”

The conviction in her voice was enough to electrify you with a surge of inspiration, and as you pushed her on the swing, you had no difficulty believing that it would come true. Like Alexia said, it was only a matter of time.

One day.

You smiled, even though you knew she couldn’t see it. 

“I can see it, Alexia. And I know you’ll look great in scarlet and blue.”

[3]

“Yes, Mamá, I got it. Actually, can you text me the list?” 

“Ah, daughter of mine, have you taken so many balls to the head that you can’t even remember two things?” At your mother’s irritated response, a laugh bubbled from your throat.

“Actually, yes, Mamá. Probably a thousand by now. And I was joking, come on.” You waved back at a woman who thanked you as she crossed the pedestrian lane, and then you continued driving. As you turned the corner, you asked, “Why do you need so many drinks anyway? Are you having a party? You know I can’t drink during the season, right?”

“My girl, you have too many questions. Just make sure you come home in time, okay?”

“Yes, Mamá.”

“Okay, I’ll leave you alone. Have fun at training and give Alexia a kiss for me.”

The sentence made you tense, and you had to will your hands to loosen their grip on the steering wheel. You loved your mother, but there was no way in hell you would do that, even for her. 

You swallowed, hoping your apprehension wouldn’t show through your voice. “Okay. I’m going to go now. I love you. Tell Papá I love him, too. And Nona.” 

“I will. They’re very excited to see you. And I love you, too, my little firecracker.” 

Just as you hung up the phone, you turned the corner and found the parking lot of the Ciutat Esportiva Joan Gamper. You parked your car and took out your gym bag. The sun was high enough to blind you, so you put a hand over your eyes, and you saw the tall building that sported Barça’s logo. And as if you were greeting an old friend, you whispered, “It’s good to see you again.”

“Hello!” 

A cheerful voice addressed you from behind. You turned back, and you saw a woman of slight build, shorter than you, with short brown hair that curled just behind her ear. Some locks fell on her temple and covered her left eye, and the sun made her hair look golden. She was wearing loose, off-grey high-rise pants and a black long-sleeved turtleneck that accentuated the curve of her body.

She was beautiful.

And she was also Tori Favaro, the top-scoring forward for Roma last season and the fourth candidate for last year’s Ballon d'Or. Also, the other half of Barcelona’s new transfers this season.

Of course, you knew about her.

“Hey, Tori,” you said with a smile. 

She was now in front of you, and she grinned, which revealed the dimple in her left cheek. “I didn’t think you’d remember me!”

“How could I forget? The only other time I met you, you gave me a hard time!”

“You’re telling me! We couldn’t get past you at all! The fact that the only goal we got that day was from our own goal is still a bit embarrassing.” She laughed, followed by a sigh–wistful. The two of you walked towards the entrance of the Gamper. “I can’t believe that was more than ten years ago.”

At her wistfulness, you couldn’t help but recall the memory as well: FIFA U17’s World Cup, when Spain and Brazil clashed during the knockout stages. Tori was relentless in her attack, and you barely saved the balls that managed to get past your defenders. Even then, you—and everyone who had eyes—saw her potential, and now look how far she’d come; she was very well on track to getting a Ballon d'Or, and she was never more in her prime than now. 

“Is there any chance of you representing your country again now that you’re back in Barça?” 

“I’m not sure. I’ll just make my decision when they call me up the next time.” You shrugged, hefting your gym bag over your shoulder. The sudden urge to change the topic rose in you, so you asked quickly, “How are you finding Barcelona so far?”

Thankfully, Tori took the bait, and you happily listened to what she had to say about your city as the both of you walked through the lit, pristine corridors of Gamper, which, as you noted in passing, were strangely barren, as you reacted every now and again to whatever Tori said, even recommending her places worth going to. 

As Tori pushed the door to the locker room, a frown crossed her face, and she looked behind her. “Where is everyone?”

“I don’t–”

“Welcome to Barça!” Came the unified greeting and the cheers that suddenly erupted. 

A sign that read the same thing with the letters in alternating scarlet and blue, accented by some yellow hearts, was held between Marta and Alexia while the others stood in a semi-circle, clapping and hooting. A cake was on the centre table, and just behind it were piles of folded fabric, which you recognised to be yours and Tori’s set of training kits. Beside you, Tori wore the same expression on your face: mouth agape, eyes wide in pleasant surprise.

The semi-circle dispersed, and the next thing you knew, you were being hugged, patted on the back, and chatter filled the room.

“Look who’s back! Barça’s prodigal daughter finally returned home!” Mapi shouted, arms thrown up in the air, before she grabbed you by your shoulder to pull you into her.

“Don’t act like you missed me, asshole.” You laughed and punched her arm when she pulled away.

Mapi cradled her arm like you’d just injured her, looking at you with a look of exaggerated pain. She gasped, “Violence, already? Is that how you treat a teammate? I won’t stand for this. Alexia! Captain!” 

At that, you sidestepped around Mapi, but not after sticking your tongue out at her, as you navigated through your other teammates who welcomed you. You managed to get to the edge of the crowd, just at the end of the locker room, and that was when you saw Alexia with Tori. You were close enough to hear snippets of their conversation.

“–expect me to go easy on you.” Alexia said with a laugh, hands on her hips.

“Of course. Just because you’re my–”

An arm wrapped around your shoulder and a presence pressed up to your side. 

“So, did you get me Christen’s signature?” Patri’s voice filtered through your ear. 

You hissed through your teeth, your voice gravely low. “You know, I did ask her. She just doesn’t want to give it to you, dude.” 

Patri looked at you incredulously. “Wait. What do you mean?” 

“I’m not sure.” You shrugged, placing your gym bag on the nearby bench. “Did you say something to her the last time you saw each other?”

“Dude, the last time I saw her was what?” Patri frowned and blew air through her lips. “During the SheBelieves Cup? What–”

Grinning, you pulled something out of your bag and revealed it to her. Delight filled you upon seeing Patri’s eyes widen in recognition, her gaze fleeting between your face and down to the jersey. 

“Oh, you cheeky bastard!” She took the jersey from you, held it up in front of her to appreciate the signature down in the middle, and she embraced you with a force that made you grunt out a laugh. “Thank you!” 

A voice broke the two of you apart.

“Easy there, Patri. Don’t break any of her bones, please. She hasn’t even begun playing yet.” 

It was Alexia. 

Your heart lurched.

Patri looked at you, then at Alexia, and she put her hands up in surrender. Patri gave you one last knowing look—something that you tried hard not to think about too much—before she gave a two-finger salute to her captain, and off she went, leaving you alone with Alexia. 

“Hey,” Alexia greeted you and stepped into your space, arms wrapping around your shoulders. You tensed for a moment before you remembered to relax, snaking your own arms around her chest. “Now, I’m a bit jealous. Where’s my present?”

“I think I happened to spy it on your wrist, or am I just going blind?” You hummed. When you pulled away, you took her left hand and lifted it up. “Oh, look! There it is!”

Alexia threw her head back in laughter. 

The sight, like always, made you feel warm.

“So, I suppose you like it?” You couldn’t help it; shyness bled into your tone, and you only hoped that Alexia didn’t hear it.

“I love it. Thank you. It suits me, doesn’t it?” 

And though the silver band of the watch glinted around her wrist as it caught the light when she lifted her wrist to the level of your eye, you appreciated the way the golden flecks in her eyes shone despite the blue tint from the fluorescent lighting. 

“I’m glad you like it.” You said barely above a whisper, and you berated yourself at the softness that lingered there, but the way Alexia’s eyes became unfocused and lidded, as if she’d thought of a memory, made the slipup almost worth it.

Almost.

“Alright, good morning, everyone!” Jona’s voice pierced through the chatter, and everyone stilled, apt with attention, before sitting down on the bench. Alexia, Irene, and Marta remained standing but kept mostly to the sides. He, and two other assistant coaches, stepped into the room with their clipboards and folders in hand.

You shared a look with Tori. She snuck you a thumbs up, and you pressed your lips together, fighting a grin. 

“First of all, welcome to our new transfers.” A round of applause went around. Jona faced Tori, and he continued, “Tori, thank you for joining us. I hope you’ve settled yourself in the city, and we really look forward to playing with you.”

“I’ll do my very best to help our club. Visca Barça!” At the latter, hoots and claps erupted.

Jona laughed, but when he motioned for everyone to calm back down, the locker room grew silent again.

“And of course, this woman needs no introduction. Barça’s very own Wall has returned.”

Heat rose to your cheeks as cheers erupted once again. And it didn’t help that Alexia was looking at you with something akin to pride while clapping her hands, a soft smile on her lips.

“It’s great to be back, Jona. And like Tori, I’ll do my best to keep our club moving forward.” You caught Alexia’s eyes. “It is home, after all.” 

“It is home, indeed. Well, put your training kits on and meet us down at the fields. The rest of you, please head on over to Pitch 9.” 

Jona and the other coaches filed out. Alexia followed along with the rest, but not before giving you another look. You stared long after she’d gone, not knowing Patri remained in the changing room and saw the whole until you found her with a look of disapproval clear on her face.

She sighed, shook her head as she got up, and left.

Tori was there, too, and her eyes flicked between the door and you, then to the door again, and you could almost see the questions forming in her mind. You quickly took your training kits and entered one of the changing cubicles to spare yourself from any more confrontations. 

[4]

Training went relatively well. For the most part, anyway.

You were with the team for the warm-ups before you were separated—along with the other goalkeepers—for technical training, and then Jona called all of you back for some 5-side matches. 

At one point, your team went against Tori and Alexia’s team. They’d linked up, the two of them, keeping their touches to two at most. They were close now, and Jana was just barely holding Alexia at bay. You spotted Tori’s signal from the corner of your eye, but you needed Alexia to commit to a pass. You kept your weight on your toes. With a body feint to the left, tapping the ball to the right with her outer foot, and a quick cutback to the left, Jana was defeated, and Alexia kicked the ball.

Now!

You sprinted forward to the left, where you knew Tori was, and you leaped. The ball stuck to your gloves mid-air.

“Holy shit!” It came from a surprised Tori. 

You would’ve laughed, but you spotted an unmarked Caro who was making a run for it. You wound your shoulder back right after you landed on your feet and released the ball before Tori and Alexia could even think to get back. 

It sailed right on over to Caro, and she brought it down with her chest. Ingrid was on Caro all at once, but Esmee surged forward to follow a diagonal path from behind Caro, asking for the ball, and it only took one moment’s hesitation from Ingrid for Caro to make just enough space for her to shoot.

The ball went past the nearest post, and you pumped your hand in the air. When Caro saw you with her arm around Esmee, she gave you a thumbs up, and you returned the gesture with a clap.

It was nearing midday when all of you’d cooled down and headed to the gym. On the way inside, Tori ran up to you. 

“You nearly took off my head there.” She said, just slightly out of breath as she patted your back.

“I was going to tell you, ‘Heads up!’, but that would’ve ruined the surprise now, right?”

“Remind me not to play opposite you again.” She joked. “I forgot how aggressive you play. And I think you’ve only gotten worse!”

“It comes with the title.” You said, winking at her.

“Does it now?” She said it dryly, squinting at you. And then the both of you parted ways for your respective workouts.

It was going relatively well, but at one point, your attention moved to Alexia without meaning to. Alexia stood watch over Tori, who was lying down on the bench and lifting, attentive, and they conversed with a familiarity that transcended more than that of acquaintances. And you knew, then, that they’d probably hung out outside of sporting functions.

For some reason, the sight made you ache. 

Then a sigh came from somewhere beside you. You turned and found Patri there with her levelled expression, but her eyes were knowing with the way they looked at you. She tilted her head and patted your back before making her way to the exit. You hesitated for a moment, but, as if it had its own volition, your body stood up and followed her out to the sunlit pitch. 

Patri was further away now; she hadn’t stopped walking, and you had to jog to catch up with her. It took a moment, but you finally matched her stride, and without even looking at you, Patri began, “How are you?”

You stuck your hands into the pockets of your shorts. “Fine.”

Patri hummed, obviously unconvinced. She took a breath and let it out loudly through her teeth. Your shoulders locked at the sound, and you prepared yourself for the weight of whatever she was about to say. 

“I saw you looking at her,” Patri said, straight to the heart of the matter, and your body coiled tighter with tension. “You went through all that trouble. Yet, you’re back here again and still not over her. In fact, I think you’re—” Patri sent you a look, though this one fleeted so quickly that you weren’t able to decipher it. She blinked, returning her gaze forward. “Never mind.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course, it fucking does!” Patri exclaimed. “You were doing better! And then you ghosted me for months. The last time we talked, everything was going well with—"

“Don’t.” The word came out firm—a warning. “Patri, please, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Patri’s voice softened. “So... something did happen.”

“Patri. Drop it.”

Patri stopped walking just several metres away from the gym tent; you’d finished a lap around the pitch. She frowned at you, and you were ready to fight back if she insisted on talking about it, but she shook her head, and the frown melted away, and in its place was a look of pity.

“Okay. I hope you know what you’re doing. Just ready yourself.”

A pause and a hesitant look flashed through her face. But Patri was a good friend because she was direct, almost callous in the way she called everything as it was, and it was something you’d always liked and admired about her. Now it was no different because she said, “I think you know yourself already, but I just thought I’d let you know. Alexia has a girlfriend.” 

Despite yourself, your heart dropped. And you ached.

Oh.

Patri must’ve seen something on your face because that pitying look deepened with a hint of sympathy. She patted your back gently before she headed back in. You breathed deep, and it came out shaky, but you steeled yourself as you parted the entrance to the gym. 

Alexia’s laughter filled the air, drawing your attention immediately. And there she was in the same spot, holding onto Tori’s shoulder for support, bent over in her amusement, while Tori looked at her with a dimpled smile. 

You turned away.

[5]

A grunt escaped your lips as you got out of the car, your muscles bearing a pleasant soreness. You turned your headlights off and parked in front of your parents’ house. It was later than you’d expected, but the additional technical session and the meeting with Jona caused you to be one of the last ones out of the Gamper. 

With the cake and drinks you promised your mother to get in hand, you knocked on the door and waited. There was a lone light that filtered from the living room, which you found a bit odd, but tiredness won out, and you decided to pay it no mind. Maybe your parents were just relaxing on the couch. 

No one answered. 

Frowning, you placed the drinks on the porch step, and you balanced the cake on one hand as you opened the door with your key. 

You let yourself in, and the hallway was dark.

“Mamá? Papá? Where–”

The lights in the hallway and the kitchen flashed on in quick succession, nearly blinding you.

“Surprise!” The resonant cheer came, and the cake box jumped in your hand, nearly slipping. 

You found your mother’s face first, and you laughed, “Oh my god!” 

“Welcome home, my love!” Your mother embraced you, and you barely had enough time to angle the cake away and put the box of drinks down so she could do it properly. You leaned down, and she placed a kiss on your cheek, and then the other. 

“Hello, Mamá.” You muttered, closing your eyes, soaking in her presence and the peace that came with it. Oh, how you missed her. Another pair of arms wrapped around you; it was your father’s, and suddenly heat rose to your eyes at the warmth that seemed to blanket over you, both inside and out. 

“Let me grab that for you, my love.” Your father said, taking the cake box from your hand, but not before kissing your temple as a greeting. 

When you pulled away, you saw it wasn’t just your parents there. There were Eli, Alba, and Alexia, with little Nona in her arms. Nona’s white coat was a stark contrast to the dark shirt that Alexia wore. There was a tender smile on her lips, her eyes almost wistful as she caught your gaze. And could you really blame your heart if it ached beneath the weight of her gaze?

“Oh, sweetie, have you grown taller?” Eli asked as she stepped into you, hugging and kissing your cheeks like your mother did. 

“I’m not sure about that, Eli.” You giggled into her ear. “How are you?”

“Growing grey hair, love. You went away, and I had no one else to keep Alexia in line. Alba doesn’t help; in fact, she encourages her sister’s wiles, and Alexia does the same. Partners in crime, these two!” 

Alba’s laughter resonated in your ear when you hugged her next, and you chuckled at the exasperation in Eli’s voice. Alba retorted, “Má, how else could we keep you on your toes?” 

“I’d very much not want to be kept on my toes. Thank you very much.” 

“Eli, I’m sure Alexia couldn’t be that bad. She’s always been a good girl.” At that, you caught Alexia’s gaze with a smirk. Her eyes twinkled with recognition, probably remembering what the both of you got up to behind your parents’ backs. She shook her head slightly, mouthing, ‘You’re an asshole.’

You gave her another smirk before you added lightly, "Alba, on the other hand...”

You didn’t even finish the sentence before you got a well-deserved punch to the arm from Alba herself—a punch you knew would surely form a bruise. Cradling your sore arm, you yelped, looking at Alexia for help.

“Alba, please don’t injure our new goalkeeper. We need her.” Alexia said calmly, and you looked at Alba triumphantly. Alba opened her mouth to protest, it seemed, but Alexia cut her off. “There’s no need for that. I’ll just ask Jona to make her do some extra laps during warm-ups in our next training session.”

“Yeah, that’s right—hey!” Realising what she said, you scoffed while Alba threw her head back, laughing. Alexia’s lips were curled up in a satisfied smirk, looking much like someone who’d gotten the last word. 

“Ha! That’s what you get—” 

Eli cut Alba off. “That’s enough, you three. I swear, when you’re together, you act like you’re all still ten!” 

“It’s a bit endearing, though, isn’t it, Eli?” Your mother laughed, putting a placating hand on Eli’s shoulder. “But Eli is right. We should take this all to the dining table, no? The food is about to grow cold.”

[6]

In the two years you lived in the States, you spent most evenings alone, and the food you’d cooked from the recipes you took with you never tasted like home. It’d been so long, you nearly forgot how filling food should be—both in mind, body, and spirit. But now, in the presence of your family, with their love laid out in front of you—your mother’s arrós negre, Eli’s fricandó, and your father’s pan de payés—with their laughter and their warmth, you were finally filled again. 

You ate mostly in silence, soaking in the scene and the ruckus with a smile, and the detail of that one empty chair wasn’t lost to you either. The reminder drew your attention to Alexia. She’d tied her hair in a low ponytail and left two locks of her hair to frame either side of her face, which made her look all the more beautiful. In this light, Alexia’s image seemed to split in such a way that you could almost feel a presence in that empty seat beside her, looking on at this scene as you were.

Grief gripped at your heart, but love was quick to soothe the pain with its gentle caress. 

The minutes flew by, and many times you caught Alexia sneaking peeks at her phone, sometimes even texting while she wore a tender expression. If anyone saw it, no one called her out for it—well, maybe except for Eli, who, upon spotting her daughter on her phone, gave her a reprimanding smack against her arm, followed by a hissed scolding. Alexia looked so much like a child just then, with her wide eyes, that you nearly spat out your drink. She caught you staring, and she squinted her eyes. To that, you blinked innocently at her, curling your lips slightly to let her know you saw the whole thing. 

“So, are you in a relationship, dear?” Eli’s unexpected question made the water go into the wrong hole, and you spluttered. Alba patted your back while Alexia eyed you with concern and curiosity. Eli asked, “Are you okay, love?”

You gave her a thumbs up.

“Alright. Where was I? Right. Being in America for two years, surely you must’ve met someone.”

After composing yourself finally, you answered, “No, I’m not, Eli. I’d been so busy that I had no time for it, really.”

“What? A pretty girl like you all alone? I don’t quite believe that!” Eli exclaimed. “Come to think of it, I’ve never seen you with anyone.”

“Apart from that poor boy... What was his name?” Your father added. He snapped his fingers. “Ah! Guille! Nice boy, he was. Where is he now anyway?”

“We were never together, Papá.” For some reason, you felt the need to clarify that. “And he’s in London, finishing his PhD at York.” 

“Wow, that’s amazing. And I never knew you kept in touch.” Your mother’s brows shot up in surprise, and you thought you heard a hint of awe in her tone. Teasingly, she said, “Are you sure you’re not seeing him?”

You sighed internally, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. You smiled and said, “Yeah, sometimes. I haven’t seen him in a while, though, but the last time we talked, he and his girlfriend were looking for a new apartment.” 

“Oh, he has a girlfriend, does he? That’s unfortunate.” 

“Not for me. I’m glad he’s happy.” You shrugged before you sipped your water.

“Are you waiting for someone, maybe?” Alba teased, wagging her brows.

You tensed, and you'd paused too long, it seemed, because Alba gasped. 

“Oh, she is! Who is it?” 

“Alba,” came Alexia's warning tone.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. I’m just excited.” Then Alba sighed dreamily, “I just think it’s kind of romantic.

You could feel the weight of Alexia’s eyes on you, but you dared not look up. You kept eating.

No. It wasn’t romantic. 

It was painful.

[7]

After you helped clean up despite your mother’s insistence not to, and after an hour of sitting in the living room conversing, the exhaustion of the day finally caught up with you. You needed to be alone, so you took little Nona from your lap and into your arms and snuck out into the garden. The light that streamed out from the living room was adequate enough for you to spot your old swing. You went to it, and, after inspecting and deeming it fit to take your weight, you sat on it and began a gentle rhythm, running your hand over Nona’s head, who purred at the attention.

The sound of grass being disturbed pricked at your ears, and you knew it was Alexia even before she spoke.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

You turned your head to the side where Alexia’d rested her back against the tree trunk, half of her face bathed in the incandescent glow of the living room light. You hummed in answer.

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” 

“You’re on your swing.” Alexia spoke as if that fact held the answer to your question. “You used to come here and sulk.” 

You scoffed. “I didn’t sulk.”

“You did. You’re doing it right now!” Alexia teased.

“Now I am because you’re bothering me!” 

“Fine, I’ll leave then.” 

You knew Alexia was joking, but when she made an exaggerated move to leave, you spoke softly, “No, stay. Please.” 

Alexia froze, and after a moment, she leaned back on the tree again. 

“I’m sorry about Alba if she did cross a line.”

“She didn’t; don’t worry. Thank you, though.”

“Are you sure? You seemed uncomfortable.”

“I was uncomfortable because I happen to not like talking about my love life.” You said, a bit defensively. “Wouldn't you feel uncomfortable too if I started grilling you about who you’re with right now?” 

Alexia remained silent. You huffed, “Exactly.”

A silence settled in the air. 

You gripped the rope of the swing, and the texture felt off. You inspected it; the rope was new.

“Yeah, uh, I had them replaced.” Alexia admitted, and when you faced her, she was rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly. “I kind of broke it when I was here last.” 

Another pause. “I hope you don’t mind. Sometimes, I like to come here to think. Plus, I get to visit your parents and Nona, so, yeah.” 

“No, of course I don’t mind. This is your home as much as it is mine. We’re family.”

Alexia opened her mouth while a hurt look flashed behind her eyes. She seemed to change her mind because she closed her mouth and bit her lip before she eventually said in a hoarse voice, “Yeah, of course.” 

Alexia was standing right there, but you’d never felt farther from her than now. There was a rift between you, but it was only you who could see it—you could feel it widening and deepening. Maybe Alexia could feel it, too, but you were sure it wasn’t like the way you did. 

It didn’t cut her the way it wounded you. 

Nona meowed softly in your lap as she stood, nosing at your chin and dragging her head on your jaw. You cooed as you scooped her up, pressing a kiss into the warmth of her fur, and you giggled when she licked your cheek and began purring. Alexia kneeled in front of you, running a finger under Nona’s chin, who purred even louder from the added attention. 

“She really missed you, you know.” Alexia whispered, and as she did, she gazed up at you. The warm light made her eyes shine and her cheeks glow with an earnestness that you longed to caress, that invited you to trace the outline of her brow and to feel the soft skin just beneath her eye. 

She was so beautiful. 

She’d always been.

You could never tell her that, and it hurt.

“I missed her, too.” You breathed softly, “So much.”

And still looking into her eyes, you murmured even softer, “You have no idea.” 

[missingn000]

hey all! i wrote a what-if character study & action fic for if king fought sanji instead of zoro during the raid on onigashima. i'd really love if you gave it a read! thanks so much!

link

playlist

happy reading!

[bitterie-sweetie]

Heyyy! If you’re open for requests, there’s this TikTok that I saw where a pregnant lady had her husband lift her heavy belly for a few minutes and it gave her some relief. I somehow could see Mingyu do that. His wife having a hard time getting used to her growth and him trying his best to help her 🫠🫠🫠

baby ⇢ mingyu x reader, 1k, fluff, domestic au ⇢ warnings: pregnancy, "baby" as a term of endearment, mingyu being his usually sweet self (mostly), established relationship

"This is all your fault, you know."

At the sharp tone of your words, Mingyu looks up from his phone. 

"This," you gesture at yourself, at the unmistakable way your stomach now protrudes, a little larger each day as time creeps closer to your due date. "This baby is already huge and we're not even halfway there. It's all your fault, Kim Mingyu. You and your—your stupidly big bones and your long limbs and your giant frame and, and—" 

It's another empty complaint, that's all. Lately that's been much of what comes out of your mouth the moment your sore feet touch the floor, having to support your new weight, and when you're rushing to the bathroom again after just having left it. And when you hear Mingyu's mom lament about how heavy he was at birth, you don't even want to think about how the next few months are going to go. 

This pregnancy is both a blessing and a curse.

You get up from your chair, eager to crawl into bed and let sleep magically melt away your problems if it comes at all tonight. But before you can take a single step, Mingyu is there. It takes him two steps to cross the room and come to your side, and while he usually wears a big smile whenever he looks your way, now it's been completely replaced with a frown. A solemn expression.

"I'm sorry, baby," he says softly, gingerly pulling you into a hug. 

"W-what? What are you apologizing for?"

"All of it."

You take a step back and try to wiggle out of his arms so you can properly read his expression. "Hey, I was just joking—"

"Y/N," he says, shaking his head as he loosens his arms, "it's hard going through all this alone. You know I would help if I could." 

He's being genuine—that much you can see, but that makes you all the more concerned. Is there something going on? What does he mean? So much of your attention has been focused on preparing for the baby ever since finding out the good news that you hardly had a moment to stop and consider his feelings in all of this, and for a second your heart drops at the thought that there might be something wrong. 

Mingyu's never been one to hide anything though. He always wears his heart on his sleeve and speaks without a filter—which is only a bad thing when he showers you with overly cheesy compliments—and even now, one look in his eyes tells you exactly what you want to know. You can see the excitement floating in his eyes, the absolute adoration at the start of this new chapter in your lives, the nerves of being a parent for the first time. 

But also mixed in there is a ton of guilt. 

While none of it is his fault, you can tell that he's feeling the immense guilt of watching you suffer to bring a child into this world while he is, well, still very much his regular self. 

"Mingyu, you are helping. You've been doing all the cooking and running around to get me whatever I'm craving, which has been a lot these days. You set up the baby's room all on your own, and then there are your massages—I'm going to get so used to having this luxury that I'll be asking for them even after all this." 

His frown only deepens. "Baby, that's not enough. I hate seeing you in pain and being unable to do anything about it. I wish I could take it from you." 

"Hey, look at me." You heave a sigh, reaching to take his face between your hands. "I'm fine, Mingyu. You know how strong I am, right? I can handle it. In fact, you should worry more about what this kid might do in the future."

"Knowing the two of us, that's probably true." He wavers for a second before a smile starts to creep onto his face, but he holds it back, almost shyly. "Y/N, can I try something?"

"Like what?"

Mingyu steps closer until the space between you diminishes, leaving only your belly pressed against his. Then in one motion, he takes his hands and carefully places them under your belly, and then lifts. 

"Does this help at all?" he asks, face gleaming with tentative hope.

You slowly relax into his hands and take notice of how everything shifts. The weight pressing on your bladder is alleviated immediately, and your sore lower back feels much better. Even your feet aren't quite as in pain as before. "Yeah, actually. This helps a lot. Thank you, baby." 

"Good. Then I'll do this for you all day." Then he nuzzles even closer to you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as you wrap your arms around him as much as you can. There's still too much space between you with the baby in the way, but when you close your eyes and listen to the sound of Mingyu's steady breaths, it's enough to spread a warmth in your heart that takes you back to the early days of your relationship. 

"Hey, Y/N?" Mingyu pulls back slightly to look at you.

"Hmm?"

"Do you really think we should be worrying about how our kid might turn out? What they might be like?" 

You study him, looking beyond the spark of anxiety in his eyes. "Well, yeah, but they'll be fine. Trust me, if they have your genes, they'll basically be perfect already. You were a perfect kid." 

"I guess I kind of was." He stays still for a moment, but when he meets your eyes again, there's a mischievous smile threatening to creep across his lips. "Yeah, see, I wasn't exactly worried that the kid might turn out like me." 

"Hey, Kim Mingyu!"

[peachcitt]

from: thirteen by @anna-scribbles

art by me :)

start from the beginning // read the november chapter // read the most recent chapter (january)

hey listen. look me in my eyes. have you read thirteen by anna scribbles. i think you need to read thirteen by anna scribbles. i think if you want your life to be forever changed you need to read thirteen by anna scribbles. i think if you are a person who is breathing and alive you need to read thirteen by anna scribbles. thank you

[yukipri]

The Prime Override - Chapter 74 is up!

Obi-Wan - The Marketplace, Part I

Sorry once again for the long wait, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

(also, it's been 60 chapters since the last Obi-Wan POV, oops)

This Chapter: Vode Economics 101

Warnings: None, really, but we're finally getting back to some of that juicy identity wtfuckery <3

The Mand’alor appears too casual, leaning against the door, completely relaxed. He doesn’t perceive Obi-Wan as a threat, is what he’s projecting, Obi-Wan thinks. Though whether that’s more due to the fact that he’s accepted Obi-Wan’s loyalty, or that he’s simply secure in his own power and authority…Obi-Wan’s more inclined to believe it’s the latter. Still, there’s something about him that feels strangely…familiar. Obi-Wan first instinct is to attribute it to how, well, vod-like the man feels, strangely at home amongst the men. It’s not only that the man himself feels comfortable around them, but also how the vod’e around him also seem to accept him as one of them. He is, in a way, Obi-Wan thinks. After all, Jango Fett is their template, and the base from which their DNA comes from. But it feels odd to think about it that way, when up till recently, “Jango Fett” and “the clones” have existed in completely separate categories in Obi-Wan’s mind.

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[prince-liest]

I’m a sex-repulsed ace, and reading the latest chapter of 666 (as well as your analysis here on Tumblr) made me realize that I have been subconsciously thinking about MY OWN sexuality from an allo perspective? And that it has kinda been messing me up?? Like, ever since I learned that sexual attraction was actually a Thing and that it’s Important To People, I had been carrying around a fear of being deficient in some way and not being able to love to the same extent as allos. (1)

Even though I know logically that’s complete garbage and totally untrue, I felt left out of the loop because people seemed to care strongly about this thing I couldn’t even imagine. Whenever it looked like a relationship might happen I panicked for a reason that I couldn’t understand. But now I’m starting to realize that it’s because I was subconsciously terrified of an ‘ulterior motive’ behind the other person’s reasons for wanting to be with me. (2) That part of the reason they even cared was because of something I don’t experience. So thank you, because this realization just clicked into place while reading your work. The thing is, this way of thinking was just internalized in such a way that I didn’t even realize it was there until literally this week. And I think you’re right; one of the main reasons behind that is because I’ve always consumed media written from an allo perspective. (3) If ace/aros are shown at all, they’re depicted as “lacking” and their character development usually revolves around being “fixed” by the story. When I was ~10 years old my mom sometimes let me watch the Big Bang Theory with her (looking back, maybe not the best decision). Anyways, there was one episode deep into the series where Sheldon (who for the past nineish seasons was probably the closest thing to mainstream ace rep) has sex with his girlfriend for the first time. (4) Afterwards, he says something along the lines of “that was better than I thought it would be”, and it’s presented as a Very Good Thing and a big step in their relationship. I think a lifetime of stuff like that makes it very easy to internalize aphobia and feel like the lesser part of the relationship. Or to feel like the other partner is making a huge sacrifice to be with you. That got wayy too long, sorry. All that was just a lot of words to say that I appreciate you. Take care of yourself!(5)

The portrayal of asexuality that you see in media being almost exclusively as you described is very tedious to me because it presumes that something is inherently lacking in aro/aceness rather than that feeling of "lacking" being something that is induced by societal norms. Actually, one of the things that I find additionally alienating is that fandom spaces specifically have been getting better and better about ace characters - but got damn does fandom not jive with aromanticism. Like, a character doesn't want to fuck? That's becoming a liiiittle more fine, it's 2024, we stan consent. But not shipping someone romantically?? Not so easy, now.

I'm glad that my work has been something that resonated with you in this respect! Alastor cares a lot about his reputation as a demon but is pretty blatantly a person who could not possibly give less of a shit about being "wrong" for not being experiencing romantic or sexual attraction. The explanation Viv gave at one point for his own understanding of himself (that he thinks he's just "waiting for the right woman") actually stuck out to me a lot because it's a very "well, nothing is wrong with me for not feeling anything, it's the world that's failed to produce a suitable person" perspective.

But having that kind of confident perspective of your own rightness in the world is really not often portrayed in media, or even in fandom, which even ten years ago was still in the throes of standardizing "Oh, no! Me, gay? These feelings are so wrong!" style m/m content and is honestly not that far off from essentially that for aro/ace characters.

Anyway, all of that is to say that there's not yet much out there that doesn't frame allo/amatonormative values as the default that "even aro/ace people can (and should want to) achieve," and that it's really fun to write a fic that is unequivocally from the perspective of a character who is aroace and doesn't see it as even remotely a fault in himself. Does he have moments where he's a little confused and trying to process how things fit for him? Absolutely. But he just doesn't strike me as the kind of guy who thinks he owes romance to Vox of all people, hahaha. I've written him trying to conform to allo/amatonormativity more with Mimzy, because I think the social standards of their time could push him into it, but Vox? Absolutely not, he does not respect Vox enough for it to even enter his mind.

And then, on the other hand, writing it from an aroace perspective centers the way that romantic and sexual interest can feel like a betrayal of a good thing. With a character like Alastor, it frames romantic and sexual attraction the same alien way that we usually see aromanticism and asexuality framed as.

In the end, this is just one of a plethora of different experiences that aro/ace people can have, but it's one that I really wanted to see represented more, so I'm very happy to write it. I'm glad that you're enjoying it!

[lovesickeros]

lord its so dark in here the sahara desert of tsaritsa content you are like a shining oasis. your characterisation of her compels me & mihoyo would be hard pressed to top it imo.!! caaaaan i humbly request yr thoughts on her first meeting w a reader of any kind, or maybe even multiple kinds (sagau, sagau god au, isekai, etc) if you so desire...

it really is like a desert here. being the fan of a character we aren't getting until the last damn nation is driving me up a wall but i will persevere bc if nothing else i support morally bankrupt women in media. we r in a severe drought over here but i do my best. unfortunately nothing i say is ever coherent so pull out your translation notes its abt 2 be messy

also this got out of hand but thats bc first meetings w the tsaritsa are tricky to write + a LOT of her characterization lies in deeper exploration then just surface level yknow...NOT A DIG AT YOU this is just my excuse for rambling. gently pats the tsaritsa she can hold so much complexity i do not have the word count to delve into it completely :]

gonna talk cult au for a bit here though because that's 99% of my content. and honestly? she thrives in sub au's of the cult au like villain au + imposter au. it's basically made for her. i mean, early days, the imposter au had been going around for a little while but one of the first few ideas was the Fatui taking reader in so like. it kinda technically actually was. pretty sure cult au Tsaritsa popped up because of the imposter au. a lot of it's writers kinda left though which. man am i getting old or.

anyway.

there isn't much of a chance her first impression is all that positive. at best it's usually neutral, imo, but rarely if ever positive. specifically because i view the Tsaritsa as someone who isn't as fanatical as most of the acolytes typically are towards the creator. she's not exactly going to worship the ground you walk on unlike a certain geo lizard. which is partially why i think she thrives in the sub au's i mentioned.

imposter au, for example. she meets you at your lowest. there's no gaudy extravagance or pampering from the acolytes waiting for you because your own acolytes have turned on you. for all intents and purposes you aren't a "god" at all. which is why i don't think she meshes well with normal cult au reader. the Fatui are made up of outcasts, basically, and imposter au slots right in just perfectly. you're weak, at your lowest, when you meet the Fatui in the imposter au. and the Fatui can help you, too.

a mutual exchange, really. the Tsaritsa sees a tool she can use to one up the rest of the nations and especially Archons, and she has no qualms about you using her and the Fatui in turn. you both want something out of it, after all. whether you just want to be safe from the rest of the acolytes, or you want revenge, or whatever else..she'll give you the power to fulfill it, and she gains the strongest piece on the chessboard when all is said and done.

the best way i can describe the first meeting is "practical", i suppose. she sees an opportunity in you. the ultimate gamble. because if she "saves" you, and you dont trust anyone else because they tried to kill you, well..she holds all the cards, doesn't she?

but the Tsaritsa, imo, is just as capable of being just as fanatical towards you as anyone else. she just won't worship you as the creator. but as yourself? clawing your way back to your divine power and taking back what belongs to you? the Tsaritsa is, to me, a character who's character flourishes in long-term fics more because she changes a LOT between "just met reader" and after having been with reader for some time. she's practically apathetic at the beginning but a lot of her character, in my characterization, shines through LONG after the first meeting.

[theragethatisdesire]

hello!! 🥰 could i please get #359??

i literally do not care who it's with, i trust you to give us a tasty meal 😫 go nuts bb

hiiiii tiff <3 so i'm gonna modify this one a bit to be more in line with my personal writing style but like....why is this screaming gojo to me...and to think i'm so afraid of writing him but i think it's unavoidable here ...

359. "So desperate for it, aren't you? If you want it so bad, you'd better take it then."

nsfw under the cut per usual

-

Gojo Satoru is the Strongest.

This is a sometimes annoying, sometimes relieving, always indisputable fact, one which he never tires of reminding you. Usually when he says it, it's in reference to curses or cursed energy. On occasion, he's referencing a drunken arm-wrestling competition or a punching-bag-machine you stumbled across in a bar that he couldn't resist winning just for the hell of it, he's an asshole like that.

When you're the girlfriend of the Strongest, it's easy to feel lesser than. Sharing a bed and a goodnight kiss every night with the closest human equivalent to a god can be taxing on the insecure little part of your brain.

Satoru does what he can to alleviate the toll his teasing and status take on you, from showering you with compliments to being as much of a sweetheart as he is a menace (and that's saying something). But when you're behind the closed doors of your bedroom, spread out before him and panting, Satoru loves to remind just how unequal the playing ground you're both on is.

"So messy," Satoru hums, dragging two long fingers through the slick folds between your legs. He loves having you like this, bare before him with your legs spread while he stays fully clothed, chastising you.

"Satoru," you beg, canting your hips up towards him, seeking the touch that he's suddenly become so stingy with.

"Watch it," Satoru snaps, eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses, "thought you were going to be good, what happened to that?"

"I-I'm tryin'," you whimper, curling in on yourself in the face of his disdain. Satoru loves when you misbehave, you know that realistically, but here, in the heat of the moment, the threat of his ever-creative punishments has you squirming.

"Could have fooled me," Satoru says with a disappointed tut, pulling you to your feet and sitting on the edge of the bed. You stand between his legs, watching him curiously, until he pats his thigh, a criminally smooth smile gracing his face.

"Sit?" You go to sit across his legs, but Satoru all but shoves you back to your feet, frowning.

"Sit," Satoru says with a note of implication, gesturing to his muscled thigh again. You catch his meaning, frowning.

"But your pants-"

"But nothing. If you want it so bad, you'd better take it while you have the chance. You know how moody I can be," Satoru lowers his glasses to smirk at you, menacing and cruel.

You straddle his thigh without another thought, the threat behind his words ringing in your ear. The friction from the rough fabric of his slacks is an instant relief against your pulsing core; you shudder as soon as your hot, sticky cunt makes contact with the cool cloth. You tentatively roll your hips once, twice, a broken moan falling out of you.

"There you go," Satoru says, saccharinely sweet, "that better?"

"A- a little," you admit, eyes rolling back in your head as you begin to grind down onto him harder, already having been teased to the point of breaking.

It's shameful, really, how wantonly you moan for him, how quickly you manage to stain his pants, how harshly your fingernails are digging into his shoulders. Satoru watches you, the faintest hint of amusement on his face, and if you were just a tad less fucked out, you would consider smacking him.

But not now, no. Not when you're so close to the release you've been aching for for the last hour, not when your thighs are beginning to shake with the effort of getting yourself off, not when Satoru lands a harsh hand on your hip, dragging you against him harder.

"Sa-Satoru!" you gasp, choking on the syllables of his name, "please, please-"

"So desperate for it, aren't you?" Satoru chuckles, pinching your cheek. "I've barely even touched you pet, how are you this needy already?"

"P-please, I just- so close," you whine, recognizing all too well the chiding tone, the easy cockiness that suits him so well. He's already made himself busy edging you all night, surely he won't-

"Aw," Satoru pouts at your cry of frustration, "something wrong?"

You fruitlessly roll your hips against the cold, unyielding barrier of Satoru's infinity, unreal and unsatisfying beneath your needy cunt. You glare at him through hooded eyes, chest still heaving.

"You're so-"

"Mean? Is that really what you want to call me right now?" The amused sparkle behind Satoru's glasses glimmers out into a look of cold cruelty.

"No, I-"

"Think I'm not going to make you cum?" Satoru tosses you off onto your back, hovering over you with something dangerous and dark playing on his face. "What, are you going to tell me I can't play with my little pet anymore? Can't take it?"

"No," you feel your bottom lip tremble.

"Am I too much for you? If you can't take my games, baby, I don't know how you're going to take everything else I want to give you."

"No, I can- I can take it," you grab at his shirt desperately, eyes shining, "I need it- please, Satoru."

"Sh sh sh," Satoru shushes you, pinching at your cheek, "pathetic little thing, aren't you? So needy for me."

"Mhm," you hum, canting your hips up towards the thigh he slots between your legs, "I just need you, please, Satoru-"

"That's right," Satoru smiles down at you, a tender thumb rubbing over your lips, "just me, right? I'm the only one that can get you this fucked out."

"Just you," you whimper pitifully, trying to roll your hips up into him to no avail.

"That's what I like to hear," Satoru hisses, the first break in his composure all night, "all for me."

[sneez]

if anyone is interested, i have just posted a new (sort of) post-canon fic in which ursus et al attempt to adapt to life after the events of the book, sans the final chapter. it has taken me a ludicrously long time to write because i am very out of practice (and also i was attempting to emulate victor hugo's writing style, which was a terrible idea), so i would be very happy if anyone would like to take a look :D it is sort of sad but also happy. gwynplaine and dea get married in it :-)

[detective-and-dreamer]

Dealer's choice for Ockham, if you'd like? <3

[I've put some notes on this one! The tags would've been a mile long otherwise.]

23. a kiss influenced by alcohol/other substances (the substance in question being neathbow fuckery)

It wasn't the worst party Emory had ever been dragged to; they didn't even mind that Lenora had wandered off partway through the evening. Nocturnal artists often wanted to hear hunting stories, though he was sure they wished he'd speak of it a bit more poetically. When they tired of it, they were happy to leave him to stand near the wall with a glass of wine. The decor, however, was a bit of an issue - not something they would normally care much about, but the skeleton someone had set up as a centerpiece made no fucking sense. It was made up of three, no, four different zee-beasts cobbled together into a completely implausible monstrosity. He glared at the place where a fin didn't even attempt to connect properly to the frame. Artistic liberty was one thing, but they thought it should at least look like the creator had given a damn.

...If this was what they were focused on, they needed to make this their last drink. Gods forbid he start trying to fix the thing. Before they could give it any further consideration, though, they were interrupted by Lenora's sudden return. She was accompanied by a redhead in a deep green dress and...a wave of flirtatious joy?

"Je vais vous présenter - " whatever that meant, it was directed solely to the person beside her - "Emory, dear, this is Ockham; I fear I've essentially been holding her captive for language practise instead of making introductions to anyone else." She gestured to them, and they noted her gaze was far less sharp than usual. "This is my friend, Captain Emory Hayes."

"Nice to meet you." Ockham held out her (Emory would have guessed something neutral, but who were they to argue?) hand. He felt a hint of curiosity and wondered what Lenora had been saying about him.

This wasn't a state of mind that should have been possible without physical contact or conscious will. The only exception they had ever encountered was Parabolan influence of some kind. Yet Ockham's own eyes seemed normal, and she bore no other obvious signs of possession; just the opposite, in fact. There were flickers of reptilian instinct, now that he could pick up on such things, but they felt buried in the way a person's thoughts normally would when they weren't in full control of themselves.

Was there a polite way to ask are you from a different realm, and if so, how the fuck did you get here? Probably not. Between the nearly palpable emotional aura and the apocyanic haze encroaching on his vision, Emory could barely even think of a normal introduction.

And so, before his mind could catch up with his actions, he brought Ockham's hand up for a kiss rather than the handshake he had planned. They felt the shallow, fleeting memories skin held; the touches of others, the brush of fabric. Lenora raised an eyebrow, and he knew he was never going to hear the end of her teasing once they were alone. Somehow they doubted an explanation would help. Teratomancy made me do it? Technically, this is your fault? No, it would only encourage her.

"...It's nice to meet you, too." he said, resigning himself to his fate.

- I wanted to explore what viric would do to Emory. What I decided is that it brings on a version of the "half-dreaming" mental state he enters for teratomancy, thus making him more emotionally perceptive/receptive. They were able to catch themselves before slipping into an actual trance, though, especially since there wasn't a completely overwhelming amount of input.

- They can, in fact, tell what Ockham should look like! Sort of, anyway. It's not the same as what you'd see through cosmogone lenses. Rather than a vivid, current appearance, they're getting an impression from hishertheir own memories. Since Ockham's been in stasis for so long, though, there's probably not a lot of discernible difference. Maybe some of the details are hazy or slightly off, since you can't really conjure up a perfect image of yourself without looking? If someone else who knew was nearby, it would probably help. I'm also not sure exactly what he would remember once he'd left hishertheir presence and the effect was no longer there.

- I don't see any reason why he shouldn't be able to pick up some memories from skin - it is an organ, after all. I think it probably doesn't hold information for quite as long, though. Also, most of it is just things like "this area was touched by someone recently and this is how they felt about it" or "the pain of getting a scrape that has since healed."

- Nora knows multiple languages. I don't, unfortunately, otherwise I would have given them more dialogue together instead of having her switch back halfway through a sentence so she could include Emory. She was thrilled to have an excuse to practice, though. Also, Ockham could probably get a two for one deal here if heshethey tried; she's pretty easy to get kisses from.

[blackjackkent]

By far the most annoying thing about the battle with the Avatar of Myrkul is this motherfucker:

Fundamentally what this means is that anyone near the big boy cannot get healed, which is a problem given that Rakha has the constitution, robustness, and mental stability of a single sheet of tissue paper.

Nevertheless we persist.

MVP status for this fight goes to Lae'zel, who landed a disarming attack on the first strike of the battle and knocked Myrkul's giant-ass scythe out of its hands, then action surged four attacks on it and dazed it with a pommel strike.

Aylin continues to eat shit repeatedly every time I do this fight, which I continue to blame on her having been a century out of practice, bc she always does a lot better in Act 3. :P

In the end, Rakha gets the final blow with a barrage of magic missiles that smash in the avatar's skull mask and send a shower of bone splinters raining down around them.

-----

The monstrous form fades. Ketheric collapses at Rakha's feet, a man again, mortal. His blood soaks him from head to foot, drips out in gory spatters on the rock.

The beast screams with glee in Rakha's head, watching him die. You mocked me, but you die like all the others, whimpering, pitiful. Who is the mad dog now?

"Impossible," he wheezes. "Death cannot take me... I am its master..."

He struggles to his knees, his eyes lifting again towards the cavern's ceiling. "My Lord! Hear me!"

Silence, but for the low slap of water against the rock around them. His shoulders slump. Blood drops through his beard, along the ridges of his armor.

"Nothing..." he whispers. "I am forsaken."

She steps forward, grips the front of his armor, gives a short, sharp jerk. "Answer me before you die, Chosen of Myrkul," she growls. "Tell me what I need to know. Who am I?"(*)

His eyes drift out of focus past her shoulder. "You... have no idea what you've done..." he whispers weakly.

"WHO AM I?!" she bellows, releasing him with a jerk. He nearly topples over, all the strength gone from his body. Light begins to pour from his eyes, his mouth.

"Isobel..." he whispers, and she watches and feels the deep shuddering pleasure of the beast as the life flows out of his body.

His corpse collapses in a heap at her feet.

Silence.

Rakha's head aches. She stares down at Ketheric's body. This has been her only goal for so long, almost since the crash, almost as long as she can remember, and now it is finished. She feels empty, drained - she waits for the feeling of fulfillment and it doesn't come.

What do I do now?

Before she can muster the energy to speak, a pale white glow streaks down from above them, an avenging angel homing in on the broken body before them.

"THE VILLAIN IS DEAD!"

The Nightsong. Aylin. She slams her boot into Ketheric's head and Rakha watches as his skull explodes, brain matter spattering in all directions, coated in black, corrupted blood.

"THE WRETCH!" she howls. "TOGETHER WE HAVE CRUSHED HIM, BODY AND BRAIN!"

Rakha watches, fascinated. Aylin's eyes are alight with her goddess's magic. Her movements are jerky and frantic, desperate. She pounds her boot again and again into Ketheric's head, flattening it into the ground, into a pile of shapeless meat.

She is just as majestic in this moment as she was in her flight out of the Shadowfell - but Rakha sees beneath that facade of light. Underneath is a river of rage, the fury of the prisoner released after a century of torment. Vengeance. Animal destruction.

This is what Rakha looks like when the beast overtakes her, reflected in the form of this creature of ostensible good. It is surreal to see it in another.

Eventually Aylin calms. Her eyes lift; the light has faded from them. Rakha recognizes that look on her face, too - the weary acknowledgement of her own violence, its mindlessness, its ultimate pointlessness.

"Now," the aasimar says softly. "Now we pick our way toward our fates... unleashed."

Rakha doesn't answer. What is my fate? she thinks bitterly. A lost animal, doomed to stagger forward forever, hoping only to sink her teeth into the 'right' prey.

To her astonishment, Aylin straightens and inclines her head with a sudden air of respect. "You have my sword - my fealty."

Fealty. Rakha blinks, bewildered. Why?

She draws a slow breath and lets it out. Because there is more ahead. Ketheric is dead, but the Absolutists still live. The tadpole still sits in her head. Her vengeance isn't complete.

And she realizes she is afraid. She is beginning to learn that there is nothing good for her in the memories that are lost to her - and also that following the trail of the cult will only lead her to more glimpses of whatever dark path she once walked. She will have no rest from the beast, from the war inside her head, because the path that lies ahead will be as soaked in blood as the path behind.

But the cult marches on the city. Rakha has never seen it - but Wyll has. It was his city, once. His father is still in the Absolute's clutches. She has to keep going - for Wyll, if not for herself.

She swallows. She doesn't feel able to speak. But she meets Aylin's eyes and she nods.

Aylin returns the nod, sober and serious as the grave. Perhaps she understands something of the turmoil that boils in Rakha's head, just as Rakha understood the rage that burns in hers. "Do what you must," she says softly. "Then we fly this foul place."

[etherealperrie]

Anywhere With You

Chapter 2: "The Bolters"

Coriolanus (Coryo) Snow x Reader Word count: 1.6k Contains: pre-hunger games Coryo | buzzcut Coryo | longtime friends to lovers | Coriolanus being soft for the one he loves | mentions of minor tbosas characters | tbosas spoilers

Catching Up? Chapter 1

--

There’s a chill in the air. Your body shivers in response, a reminder that you really are here, your fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of the case you packed late last night. Wind dances across the town center, sweeping the leaves up into the air. You watch in awe as the oranges and yellows mix, their rustling the only sound at this hour. You’ll miss the changing of seasons here in the city, even though they don’t carry quite the same beauty and magic they did when you were a child – before the war. 

The sounds of footsteps catch you off guard, an instinct you weren’t aware you had, forces you back into the shadows behind a nearby building. It’s only Sejanus. You had no real reason to worry, he wouldn’t tell. In all honesty you thought he might try to leave with you and Coriolanus, but he refused. Even though he’d be the last person to try and stop you from leaving, you fight the desire to wave goodbye to him. It’s best you’re not seen. It would be easier to fade away in the memories of everyone here. Not only that, it would erase Sejanus of any culpability. To be honest you aren’t sure what the Capital will do once they realize you’re gone, but the last thing you want is for any of your friends to suffer consequences. So, instead of saying your goodbyes, you watch his figure walk away towards the Academy, noting the strength of his shoulders as he straightens up with every step. 

Your heart thuds against your chest. 

Where you’re headed is uncharted territory, really. A place you’d only heard stories about. A place supposedly far beyond District Twelve. A place with no one in sight – no civilization, just open fields and nameless land. Your heart pounds and you’re not sure whether it's out of excitement or fear: maybe both. After all, you’d been taught to fear a place like that, a lawless land. And yet, the thought of being able to live without the Capitol breathing down your neck, without the expectations and demands of your parents and professors excites you. Makes you wonder for all the things you might do, for the person you might become; to see the ways you and Coryo grow together. 

Slinking further back against the building, you glance up at the sky, the sun just beginning to rise from its slumber. When you woke this morning, Coriolanus was gone, his bed empty. Though the two of you discussed strategy mere hours before, waking up alone was frightening. What if Dean Highbottom heard word of your planned escape? What if a Peacekeeper found your Coryo out in the wee hours of the morning and took him to Dr. Gaul? Coriolanus is smart, but Dr. Gaul is calculated – who’s to say she wouldn’t catch on to your plans and punish him? 

Your worries are cut short as your body collides with something, or rather, someone. Before you have time to panic, a hand covers your mouth, another hand interlocking with yours, rubbing a soothing circle into your skin. 

Coryo. 

His eyes meet yours and you release a gasp, wilting into the strength of him holding you up. Your gaze rakes over him, noting something different about him. His hair. The soft wave of blonde curls are no longer, his hair buzzed down.

“Coryo,” you breathe, running your hands over his head. “What happened? Did they hurt you?” Your hands drop from his head down to his shoulders, feeling every inch of him. 

“I’m okay, love, I promise.” He chuckles, pressing his forehead to yours. “I figure it would be easier to maintain this way.” He shrugs. “That, and I thought it might help us slip out unnoticed.” 

He had a point, he did look different. Everyone here knew him to have those soft, gentle curls.

His hands tuck into the back pocket of his pants and emerge with a saffron yellow colored scarf. The golden thread shimmers in the early morning light. He glances at you and smiles softly, unfurling the satin fabric to drape it over your head. His fingers work to tie the ends just under your chin. 

“What’s this?” Your brow furrows and you reach up to feel the fabric now covering your hair, shielding you from the wind chill and the eyes of anyone around. 

“It was my mothers.” Coriolanus sighs, lacing his fingers through yours. “Anything to keep us out of sight.” He tugs you the slightest bit closer to him and presses a gentle kiss to your lips. It takes every fiber in your being to hold yourself back from him, to not mash your lips against his in such fervor that reflects the danger of the situation the two of you are in. Instead, you pull back as he squeezes your hand, a promise that there’s more on the other side of the two of you escaping the Capitol. 

The sharp whistle of a train in the distance brings you both back to reality, Coryo snapping up, his posture impossibly straight. 

“Come on, we don’t want to miss this one.” 

Close on Coryo’s heels, your hand in his, you make your way across the Capitol center towards the train station. As you approach, unfamiliar voices echo in the station yelling in virulent opposition to the stoic silence of the Peacekeepers as they yank small, frail bodies from the train. 

Your breath catches in your throat, your feet stopping. Coriolanus doesn’t notice at first, the way that you’ve stopped in your tracks, your hand no longer in his but lifted to your lips, the other shielding your eyes from the horror in front of you. 

The tributes. 

Peacekeepers. 

There’s no guarantee that Dr. Gaul or Dean Highbottom aren’t here as well. There’s no guarantee that you and Coryo make it out of the Capitol, let alone onto the train. You hadn’t realized everything Dr. Gaul mentioned yesterday would happen so quickly. That the tributes would be arriving this morning. Where would they go? How many would survive their welcome into the city? How could you run away while they were being carted to their untimely demise – something you’re supposed to have a hand in? 

From where you stand just behind a rusted column at the back of the station, your eye catches those of a small boy. Dark brown hair and pale skin, marred by dirt and what looks like blood, his left eye blackened. Had he been hit by a Peacekeeper? A fellow tribute? No more than twelve, he snivels, crossing his arms as he jumps down from the train onto the platform. A peacekeeper takes hold of his arm, but the boy doesn’t take his eyes off of you. It clicks then. It’s him. Your boy. The one you’ve been assigned. 

“Where did you go?” You jump at the feeling of Coryo’s breath on your cheek, his eyes wide as he takes in the sight of you stuck frozen to your place. The two of you are cramped behind this column, if a Peacekeeper so much as glanced in this direction, you’d be caught. 

Coriolanus takes hold of your hand and follows your gaze to the boy standing on the platform. More tributes stand around him now, all of them accompanied by a Peacekeeper awaiting instruction. Coriolanus sighs and brings his hand to your chin, turning your head back to him. 

“I know you want to help them.” 

You nod. 

“I should’ve warned you we might see them, but this is the only train that’s going back out to Twelve for quite some time, we have to take it.” 

“But, Cory–” 

“I know, I know.” Coriolanus places a finger to your lips. “Sejanus is going to do all he can to help them. He knows people back in Two. If he can, he’s going to help them escape – but we have to go. Now.” 

“What if we-” you begin again but Coriolanus cuts you off, placing a delicate hand over your mouth. You raise an eyebrow as the group of peacekeepers and tributes fall silent, their footsteps echoing across the platform as they begin their march toward the transport vehicle. 

“They’re going to bomb the arena,” Coriolanus whispers. “Sejanus, the rebels. They’re already in place, the minute anyone sets foot inside, the whole place will go down. They won’t even be able to hold the games. We don’t have to worry.” 

You’re not sure how to reckon with the information. When did this happen? Whose idea was it? It just might work, though, the Capitol is more than halfway out on the idea of the games overall, most people not having bothered to watch in years. A plan like this just might convince the masses that the Hunger Games are a moot point. That these children are victims to a war they never waged. 

Coryo eyes you, looking for any sign of movement. His eyes are slightly manic, bouncing between you and the train as if internally counting the seconds you have left to board. 

“Okay,” you sigh, taking one last look back at the tributes who had been shuffled into the car. A peacekeeper locks the back door and climbs inside the passenger seat just as the vehicle putters away, its engine just loud enough to mask the sounds of cries and screams. 

Your heart rips in half as Coriolanus tugs you from behind the pillar and out into the open for a singular moment before thrusting you up into the open train car, climbing inside after you. His hand rests on your hip, making sure you’re secure before turning to slide the door closed. 

It's dark. 

The train gives one last, mighty whistle as it lurches forward beginning its long trek back to District Twelve. 

“We’re almost free,” Coriolanus whispers, tucking his head to press a kiss to your neck. He rests there, on your shoulder for a long while, his fingers dancing across your thigh as the sound of the train tracks mimics the pounding of your heart.

--

A/N: I know this is many, many months late BUT I wanted to continue the story & tag those who requested it all that time ago...so...

TAG LIST: @clintsupremacy @jennifer0305 @zucchinimalfoy @marina468 @nishimura-writes @lovebyceleste @ennycutie @mjkale @tellsbabyy

[engagemythrusters]

dogma didn't want to do a portrait but tup and kix made him… and there's only so many flashes he can take before it looks like war.

[that-was-anticlimactic]

the name of someone i no longer know

“Do you like… know who you are? Like, your identity?” Tachihara asks Gin and Hirotsu one day, fiddling with the strings on his jacket.

He doesn’t know why he brings it up. Well, he kind of does. He’s just… really confused. Because he’s a Hunting Dog, he isn’t really a part of the Port Mafia. And yet…

Somehow, he feels like he’s been here his whole life even though it’s only been four months. Working with Gin and Hirotsu and even Higuchi and Akutagawa is different from working with the Hunting Dogs. It feels more natural here. And he hates it because he does love the rest of the Hunting Dogs—they’re basically his family at this point.

It scares him, how easily he slipped into this.

[or, 5 times tachihara asked someone about their identity & 1 time he knew his]

🌘4,979 words | tachihara-centric🌒

written for @zukkaoru's birthday!!! ily babes <333

[wanderingmind867]

Ever since i started posting on here a few years ago, i feel like i've posted almost daily. And in some ways, that could be seen as a bad thing. Because it seems that I really don't like to not post or something. It's hard to explain now, especially since i started writing this earlier, only to stop writing it and come back to it now. But i really do need to work on my insecurites that apparently seem to come about when i don't post often. Because i know i shouldn't feel bad when i don't post, but i can't seem to help myself.

[akikos-tribble-army]

First, when I was looking for reference pics for my very spontaneous Mori cosplay, I was like: You can't wear boots in that outfit, like, Mori... WTF.

Jokes on me. I forgot that my own damn OC Campari also wears boots in her all badass black right hand of the mafia boss outfit.

These two characters almost wear the same damn outfit. The only difference is, that Campari chose to wear a green turtle neck sweater and a hat.

I am crying and laughing.