#and then you’ll maybe be in the conversational queue

[purplereina11]

You go to your cousins wedding in Spain, and you catch the eye of the Alexia Putellas, she unintentionally becomes your plus one

Wordcount: 12.6k

You're standing in the queue at Heathrow, passport in hand, half-asleep and already regretting the jeans you chose. It’s too early to be alive, and your little brother has been humming the same four bars of a song for the past ten minutes. Loudly off-key.

Your mum's elbow nudges you in the ribs. Not hard, but enough to knock you out of your daze.

“This’ll do you good,” she says in that gently smug way she does when she’s convinced she’s right about something. “A bit of sunshine. A bit of space.”

You sigh and don’t reply, you know exactly what she’s getting at. She doesn't mention her name, your ex, but the meaning is clear. A change of scenery, to get you out of your 'mood.' As if Catalonian air can magic away the sting of being ghosted by someone you thought you were building something with.

You blink down at your boarding pass. Terminal 5. Gate B42. Barcelona.

“She wasn’t right for you anyway,” your mum continues, adjusting her sunglasses on top of her head. “Always seemed a bit… slippery, that one. Eyes like a fox.”

“Mum,” you say, through gritted teeth.

“What? I’m just saying. Bit of flirt, wasn’t she?”

“She literally met you twice.”

“Exactly.”

Your dad, mercifully, steps in before the conversation spirals into a psychoanalysis of your entire romantic history.

“Let’s not start the holiday with an inquisition, yeah?” he says, dragging your youngest brother out from behind a pillar where he’s been attempting to lick the marble for reasons unknown.

You glance around at your family two younger brothers already wrestling each other, your dad with travel pillow marks on his face, your mum clutching everyone's passports like the Queen of Organisation and you, heart slightly bruised, clothes slightly rumpled, off to a Spanish wedding that promises at least one full-blown breakdown yours or your cousin’s fiancé, you’re not sure yet.

Carmen is a professional footballer, espresso snob, and absolute beast at board games has been around for years. From the moment your cousin Ben introduced her at that bonfire party, you liked her. She’s sharp, a bit sarcastic, and surprisingly sweet when no one’s looking. You’ve had your fair share of deep chats with her during family holidays, usually while Ben’s off being loud somewhere nearby with your brothers and his own.

You’d even go as far as to call her a friend now one of the good ones. The kind of person who sends you memes at 2am and somehow remembers your favourite wine. You’ve never watched her play football, though. You always promised you would, and she always shrugged and said she understood you didn't get the appeal.

Apparently, several of Carmen’s teammates are flying in for the wedding. Some big names, your brothers are already buzzing about maybe meeting actual professional athletes. You couldn’t care less.

Well. That’s what you tell yourself, but somewhere in the back of your mind, curiosity stirs you've seen the players they've been showing your mum they hope go because they have questions they want to ask.

As the plane begins boarding, your mum gives your arm a little squeeze. “You’re going to have fun, love. You’ll see.”

You nod, but you’re not so sure. You’re jetting off to a country where you can only ask where the library is, to watch someone else marry a woman of his dreams after a lengthy relationship while yours just fell apart.

Still, the thought of warm air, Carmen’s familiar face, and a weekend away from everything you know? That has a certain appeal.

Maybe you’ll flirt badly with a local waitress. Maybe you’ll dance with a stranger. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll learn to say something more useful in Spanish than 'Dónde está la biblioteca?'

You file onto the plane with your family, shuffle into your seat, and try not to think too hard, your ear phones go in and you edit some posts and reels for your instagram account.

☀️

You’re sat by the pool, legs crossed, laptop in front of you more for show than function. You told yourself you’d catch up on a few things before the garden party tonight, maybe answer some emails, but the screen’s been idle for ages. The cursor just blinks, smugly, while your brain drifts off somewhere warmer than home but not quite relaxed either.

Your jumper lies in a crumpled heap behind you, abandoned the second you stepped into the sun. It’s still got the faint scent of Heathrow on it, rain, recycled air, something sterile. At 4:30 this morning, it had felt like a good decision, now, sitting under a Mediterranean sky in a soft cotton co-ord bralette the same pale grey-blue as your joggers and jumper you feel more put together than you intended.

The pool in front of you glitters in the heat, somewhere beyond the villa walls, a lawn mower hums faintly. Inside, you can hear your mum trying to figure out the coffee machine, and the boys are already arguing over who’s getting top bunk in the guest house.

Then a shadow falls across your laptop.

You look up.

“Hola, guapa.” Carmen smiles down at you, barefoot, sun kissed, effortlessly relaxed. She’s wearing a loose white shirt tied at the waist and denim shorts that somehow make her look like a travel ad. Her hair is up in a knot and there’s a soft flush to her cheeks, sun or excitement, you’re not sure which.

You return the smile and reach up as she leans down for a hug, the kind that lingers just a second longer than polite. Familiar, warm. She's always hugged like she means it.

“Hey,” you say, settling back again. “You ready?”

She sits on the edge of the lounger next to you, dragging a towel across her lap like she might actually get in the water but never does, “I’m nervous,” she admits, shielding her eyes from the sun. “But I just want it to happen already, you know? Then also... I want everything to slow down. Like, I want to bottle this part.”

You nod, understanding more than you expected to. “Yeah. You’ve waited ages for this.”

“Nineteen months,” she says, pulling a face. “Ben’s been counting like he’s on parole.”

You laugh softly. “It’ll all be perfect. You two are kind of annoyingly great together.”

Carmen tilts her head. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” you say honestly. “You’re weird in exactly the same ways. It works.”

She lets out a breath and smiles again, this time softer. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

You mean it, too. Whatever’s been clinging to you since the breakup, the weird quietness you carry around like a second skin, it feels lighter here. Carmen has always been easy to talk to, the kind of person who doesn’t need you to be funny or impressive. She just gets it and you like her for that.

“There’s a garden thing tonight,” she says, standing and brushing invisible specks of dust off her knees. “Family and friends. Chill drinks, some food. Nothing fancy, but come down, yeah? Everyone’s arriving.”

You blink up at her, briefly thrown. “What, like... everyone everyone?”

“Not all at once,” she grins. “But enough. My parents, your gran, Ben’s work mates, some of my teammates and friends... it’ll be good vibes. You might even enjoy yourself.”

You groan lightly and flop back onto the lounger. “I’ll come if I can wear something that doesn’t involve a bra.”

“Totally allowed,” she calls over her shoulder, already walking away. “It’s Spain. No one cares.”

You watch her disappear through the French doors and then glance back at your screen. You close the laptop.

You lean back, eyes closed, face to the sky, the breeze carries the scent of jasmine and the sound of familiar voices starting to gather, you just hoped you had an outfit you liked yourself in for tonight

☀️

The villa’s garden is bathed in early evening light, all golden edges and long shadows. Lanterns sway gently between olive trees, and fairy lights snake along the trellises like fireflies caught in ivy. The air is warm, sweet with something citrusy, and the music is low just enough to make people sway slightly as they talk.

You’re holding a glass of white wine and trying not to wobble in your heels on the uneven stone path. The dress you threw on soft blue with little embroidered daisies moves just enough when you walk to make you feel like you made the right choice. You’ve even got mascara on, minimal effort, but effort was made.

You spot Carmen deep in conversation near the buffet, her hands moving animatedly. Ben’s nearby, already slightly tipsy and laughing with his best mate. There’s an easy glow to everything, like this moment might belong in someone’s memory forever.

You wander a little, sipping your wine, exchanging polite hellos with people you half-recognise from photos. Some of them are Carmen's family, some are her friends. Some are very clearly footballers, you’re not sure which is more intimidating the ones who look like they bench-press you for breakfast, or the ones who are stunning in a terrifying, should be model kind of way.

Then someone taps your arm. “Hey! There you are.”

You turn and grin immediately. “Patri!”

Patri Guijarro pulls you into a hug, warm and soft. She’s in a flowy dress and trainers, and somehow still looks like she could outrun everyone here. You’d met her on the English hen do a couple of months ago, after a lot of prosecco and an aggressively chaotic karaoke session. She was surprisingly funny, soft-spoken, and spent half the night teasing Carmen lovingly in Spanish you didn’t understand.

“You look good,” she says, in accented but clear English.

“You too,” you reply. “I almost didn’t recognise you without a disco ball behind your head.”

She laughs. “That club was scary.”

“Yeah,” you say. “I’m still recovering emotionally.”

You drift into easy conversation, she asks about your flight, your family, your job and you ask about training, the wedding prep you knew she'd been heavily involved in, how Carmen’s been holding up. It’s the kind of chat that soothes your nervous system, friendly, just what you needed.

Your eyes wander absently across the garden, and pause and there she is. Leaning against the low stone wall, just beyond the lanterns talking to someone, holding a drink, dressed in something simple and sleeveless. Her hair’s tied up in a lazy knot, and there’s a single gold chain around her neck catching the last of the light.

She looks over, it’s not dramatic, it’s not slow motion, no string quartet starts playing but she meets your eyes like really meets them and you smile. Purely instinctively, the polite kind polished, low-stakes, casual.

She doesn’t smile back exactly but she doesn’t look away either.

There’s a beat too long that passes and you start to wonder if you’re supposed to say something. Raise your glass? Nod? Then she looks away, quickly, like someone just called her name.

You blink, flustered. Not visibly, but enough that your chest flickers like someone lit a match inside it. You glance at Patri, who’s still talking, oblivious. You nod along, try to focus, but your eyes drift back to the stone wall.

Alexia is still there, only now she’s half-turned, back toward you, someone’s laughing beside her. She’s not looking your way, but something about her shoulders, the slight stiffness, makes you wonder. Did she actually blush or was it just the heat and your imagination.

☀️

You're sat at a long wooden table under the vines, plates scattered with half-eaten tapas patatas bravas, olives, jamón, little toasted things you can’t pronounce but keep eating anyway. Your youngest brother is trying to stack anchovy tins, your dad’s telling a story you’ve already heard twice today, and the wine is just beginning to buzz behind your eyes in that soft, slow way that makes everything feel slightly tilted and golden.

You’re halfway through a garlic prawn when someone crouches beside you, lightly pressing a hand to your arm.

It’s Carmen. “Hey,” she says, voice just for you, eyes dancing a little. “Alexia just asked me about you.”

You pause mid-chew, swallow and sip your wine. “Who’s Alexia?” you ask casually, glancing at her over the rim of your glass.

Carmen’s eyebrows lift like she’s caught you in a lie. “You don’t know who Alexia is?”

You shake your head. “I don’t follow women’s football. I barely watch your team.”

She snorts. “You’re the only person at this wedding who doesn’t know her name. That’s kind of amazing.”

You raise an eyebrow, half amused. “Is that a good thing?”

“It might be,” she says, smirking.

Then she tilts her head, just slightly, and gestures subtle, practiced. Her fingers barely move, but your eyes follow the motion across the garden and there she is. Gold chain, sleeveless dress, that same loose knot in her hair. She’s standing by the drinks table now, laughing softly at something someone said, a glass of red wine in hand. The twilight’s catching on her collarbones, her expression is relaxed but not careless like someone used to being watched but never quite performing.

“That’s Alexia,” Carmen murmurs. You try not to stare, so you look back at Carmen instead, Carmen grins. “She noticed you before.”

You make a noncommittal sound and jab your fork at a tomato, trying not to overthink whatever it is you're feeling.

“She asked if you spoke Spanish,” Carmen adds, watching you closely now. “Said you looked pretty in that dress”

You scoff, “Clearly this dress is doing more for me than I realised.”

Carmen nudges your knee with hers. “Don’t act cool. She never asks about people. Ever.”

You glance across the garden again.

Alexia’s not looking she’s talking to a group, but her body’s turned slightly in your direction like she’s ready to glance at any second. “She doesn’t speak great English,” Carmen adds.

“Perfect,” you say. “Neither do I when I’ve had wine.”

Carmen laughs and squeezes your shoulder before standing. “You’re going to talk to her later.”

“I’m really not.”

“You are,” she says over her shoulder. “She’s already asked your name.”

You blink down at your wine glass, then glance back at Alexia, who, as if summoned, briefly lifts her eyes again and catches yours.

Just for a second and this time, you’re sure, she blushes or maybe it’s the wine. You've had too much wine yourself to be sure you decide.

☀️

You’re walking past the lower terrace with a family friend, Sarah, one of your aunt's old uni mates, who’s halfway through telling you about her latest yoga retreat in Lisbon when you hear your name float across the garden.

“Hey!” Carmen’s voice, light but deliberate.

You turn instinctively. She’s seated at a low table with a small group, mostly women tall, tanned, athletic, all with that relaxed energy that makes you suddenly aware of how you're walking. Her arm lifts, hand up in a beckoning wave, fingers curled in a ‘come here’ gesture that gives you no real choice.

“Sorry,” you murmur to Sarah. “The bride beckons”

Carmen’s already smiling as you approach, her eyes a little too pleased with themselves. “Sit,” she says, standing just long enough to take your hand and pull you gently down next to her, casual, in that way she gets when she’s playing matchmaker. However this time instead of you watching amused, you were the target. You’re suddenly very aware of how close you are to every woman around the small table.

Carmen doesn’t give you time to panic. “Patri, you remember Y/N from my hen do right.”

You smile, already knowing exactly where this is going. You glance at Patri, who’s mid-laugh, holding a beer with her elbow resting on the back of her chair. "Yeah, we caught up before"

You catch Carmen looking at someone over your shoulder, her eyes flicking but before you can glance around, she clears her throat.

“Oh,” she says, like it just occurred to her. “Have you met Alexia?”

You turn and there she is, right next to you. You hadn't realised, somehow she’d been quiet, watching or maybe just letting the noise happen around her. Her gaze meets yours with that same unreadable softness from earlier. Up close, her features are sharper than you expected. Her hand rests casually on the stem of her wine glass, and there's a faint glow to her skin from the last of the sun.

You blink, caught slightly off guard, “I haven’t,” you manage. “Hi.”

She gives the tiniest nod, the corner of her mouth lifting. “Hola.”

It’s a little awkward but not bad. Just aware of the slight language delay. The kind that makes you both overthink what comes next.

Carmen leans into you like a mischievous translator. “She understands more than she speaks,” she says. “Just don’t talk too fast.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” you reply, smiling, still half-facing Alexia.

Carmen leans in again, lowering her voice just enough to make it clear it’s for you alone. “So…” she begins, a teasing lilt already blooming in her tone. “Where’s your plus one? Don’t tell me you left Lily behind in rainy England.”

You blink, it’s not the question that catches you off guard, it’s the fact she doesn’t already know. You shift slightly, wine glass pausing just below your lips. “We, uh…” You glance at Alexia beside you instinctively, as if the answer might be written somewhere on her arm. “We’re not… seeing each other anymore.”

Carmen pulls a face, not a shocked one more like a satisfied shrug. “Oh.” Then, casually, “I never liked her.”

You let out a quiet laugh, caught somewhere between exasperation and relief. “Jesus, Carm. Bit late with that opinion.”

“I didn’t want to start something.” She shrugs again, unapologetic. “But she always made you smaller, like you were waiting to be approved or something.”

You glance down, tracing a condensation ring on the table with your thumb. It’s not untrue, you just didn’t realise how visible it had been “I'm honestly surprised you didn’t hear already,” you say. “Thought the family gossip network had international coverage by now.”

Carmen smirks, tilting her head. “I’ve been in wedding tunnel vision. No one tells the bride anything useful.”

There’s a pause not awkward, but still. You feel it settle in your chest a little, the quiet that comes after a name you’re not saying anymore. You catch Alexia shifting slightly beside you, as if she’s listening without meaning to.

“She wasn’t coming anyway,” you add, more to fill the silence than to explain yourself. “She made that clear before I even booked flights.”

Carmen’s smile softens. “Well, her loss.”

You glance up at her, smiling faintly picking at a piece of manchego when Patri leans forward, elbows resting on the table, and fixes you with a look that’s gentle but completely unreadable.

“So,” she says, a little softer than before. “What happened?”

You don’t pretend not to understand. You could, you could laugh it off or wave your hand like it’s all ancient history, but the way she says it makes it easier to answer. You exhale slowly, watching the wine in your glass catch the light, “She just…” You pause, tongue pressing against the inside of your cheek. “Didn’t really see me. I think she liked the idea of me, the version she imagined but not the actual human.”

Patri nods slowly. She doesn’t interrupt.

“She had this… plan,” you continue. “Everything scheduled, future-proofed. Perfect on paper and I wasn’t always… I don’t know. On script enough for her.”

You glance up, and Alexia is listening now openly, seeing Alexia watching you with that quiet focus sends a flicker of heat up your neck.

“I kept giving in to keep the peace,” you add. “And then one day I realised I didn’t even like the version of me she wanted and had create for herself.”

Patri doesn’t say anything for a beat, “That’s brave.”

You shrug. “Felt more like falling off a ledge than bravery.”

“Still,” she says, “you didn’t stay small.”

You smile faintly. “No. Just single.”

That gets a laugh, even Alexia lets out a breath of amusement soft, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to. She leans forward then, just slightly, not enough to take over the conversation, but enough to join it.

“How long… ago?” she asks, the rhythm of her words careful, eyes flicking toward Carmen for reassurance.

You tilt your head thoughtfully. “Couple of weeks? Not long about 6 weeks.”

Alexia nods slowly, like she’s translating your answer into something she can sit with. “Still… hurts.”

It’s not a question, it’s not even sympathy, just understanding. “Less than it used to,” you say honestly. “Still catches me sometimes, though.”

You’re just about to deflect the conversation change the subject, maybe make a joke when Carmen, never one to leave a moment alone, leans in with a shake of her head and a glass of wine raised in something far from a toast.

“She got what she wanted,” she says sharply. “The exposure. The followers. She’s riding that little clothing brand sponsor now like she got it on her own.”

The words land with a certain heat, not cruel, but cutting in their clarity. You blink, a little stunned. It’s one thing to think it to yourself, it’s another thing to hear it spoken aloud and learn others think it to.

There’s a short silence. Someone across from you, you think her names Mariona makes a low 'ooof' sound under her breath. Patri raises her eyebrows, even Alexia looks slightly caught off guard, like she’s trying to make sense of the bluntness.

“Wait,” one of the girls says a defender, you think, from Carmen’s club. “You’re an influencer right?”

Carmen doesn’t wait for you to answer. She turns, hand sweeping theatrically toward you like she’s introducing royalty. “She’s the influencer,” she says. “She’s modest. Very chic, very understated, but yeah she’s pretty well known back home. Go on" She turns back to you with a grin that dares you not to answer. “Tell them. Come on. How many followers?”

You laugh, looking down into your wine like it might offer an escape route. “Carmen…”

“May as well just say Alexia’s going to Google you later anyway.”

You look up slowly, cheeks warm, eyes catching on Alexia’s moving from you being caught in the cross fires, “Okay, fine,” you say, tone dry. “One point eight.”

“Million,” Carmen adds like she’s your manager. “On Instagram.”

There’s a collective little ripple around the table not dramatic, just a hum of impressed whistles, nods, raised brows. “Holy shit,” someone says. “What do you even do?”

You shrug, brushing it off. “Bit of fashion, bit of travel, some brand campaigns.”

“And the ex,” Carmen adds, never missing a beat, “was tagging along the whole time. Always conveniently in the background when the cameras were on.”

“Carmen,” you say gently.

She holds up her hands, mock-surrender. “Fine, I’ll stop, but I’m allowed to be mad. You were always too nice to say it, but she used you.”

You take a breath and let it sit, but you don't need to defend it, not anymore. “Well,” you murmur, lifting your glass again, “at least she looked good doing it. My lighting’s fantastic.”

That earns a wave of laughter, even Alexia laughs soft, behind her hand, but clearly amused.

She tilts her head slightly toward you. “I… follow now?” she says, a little uncertain, gesturing toward her phone.

You laugh, more genuinely this time. “If you like mirror selfies and badly subtitled skincare reels… sure.”

She smirks. “I like… mirrors.”

You make eye contact with her, trying not to snort into your wine.

Patri leans closer to Carmen and mutters something in Spanish you don’t catch, and they both giggle.

☀️

Later, when the sun has dipped low enough to leave the table in shadow, people start peeling away.

Carmen’s been pulled into a conversation about tomorrow’s seating chart. Patri's wandered off, still laughing with two teammates, a bottle of beer dangling from one hand. Music still playing low, something Spanish and slow, pulsing softly from a speaker tucked beneath a fig tree.

You and Alexia are still here, the last two on the table, like it was all orchestrated to leave you alone.

You’re both leaning back in your chairs, glasses half-full, watching the remaining flickers of gold light play across the garden. There’s a warmth to the air that isn’t quite heat anymore.

She shifts beside you, turns her head. “You… okay?” she asks.

You glance at her, surprised. “Yeah. Are you?”

She smiles faintly. “Sí. I mean…” She squints a little, searching for the words. “Not… ‘okay’ bad. I mean… you seem…” She gestures vaguely in the air, then gives up. “It’s hard. English is hard.”

You smile, letting your chin rest in your hand. “You’re doing fine. Better than my Spanish.”

“Your Spanish is… cute.”

You raise a brow. “Cute?”

Alexia shrugs, one shoulder up, smirking. “Like… baby goat. What’s the word—”

“Goat?”

“Sí,” she says with a laugh. “Little legs. Trying.”

You let out a helpless laugh, nearly choking on your wine. “Okay, rude.”

She leans toward you, not close enough to touch, but enough to let you see the glint in her eyes. “But funny. I like funny.”

There’s something bold in that, not flirtation, exactly, but honest and simple. You smile, slower this time. “Well… I like your necklace.”

Alexia glances down, fingers brushing the fine gold resting at her collarbone. “This? It’s nothing.”

“It’s nice,” you say. “Looks good on you.”

She tilts her head slightly, a question in her eyes. “You look… good. In your dress.”

You feel the blush rising before you can stop it. “Gracias,” you manage, awkwardly.

She smiles like she knows exactly how flustered you are and is being generous enough not to tease you about it. At the table, the tapas dishes are mostly empty now, half-melted ice cubes floating in the bottom of sangria glasses.

She’s still sitting across from you now, elbow on the table, chin propped in her hand, between you sits a shared plate of olives, a waitress had brought over.

You pick one up, chew slowly, then realise too late you’ve got the pit in your mouth and nowhere to put it. Your eyes dart toward the plate, then around the table, napkin? bowl? Earth to swallow you?

Alexia watches, blinking once. Then she gestures to her own empty glass. Taps the rim, tips it toward you slightly a signal.

You glance down at your wine glass, still with a finger of rosé clinging to the curve.

“Go on,” she says, and though the words are few, they land with an almost smug kind of confidence.

You delicately drop the pit into a glass. “I feel incredibly classy right now.”

She grins. “Very. Elegant.”

You laugh softly, covering your mouth. “You speak more English than you pretend to.”

She shrugs. “Only when… I want.”

You lift your brows, “So you don’t want to most of the time?”

She considers, eyes narrowing like she’s pretending to think. Then, very dryly “People talk too much sometimes.”

You let out a laugh. “Fair enough.”

She leans back slightly in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. Her fingers toy with the edge of the tablecloth as if she’s thinking of something but doesn’t know how to ask. “I… didn’t know who you were,” she says finally.

You smirk. “Same.”

“No football?”

“I knew you were someone,” you admit, “because of how people looked at you, but no, I didn’t know who you were.”

That makes her laugh soft, low, honest. “I like that.”

You glance sideways, picking at a grape. “Must be a relief, not being recognised.”

“Yes,” she says, then pauses, eyes flicking upward. “No. I don’t know. Is both.”

You nod. “Being seen’s not the same as being known.”

She points at you. “That. Yes. That one.” Alexia leans forward, elbow back on the table, “I try English,” she says. “Now. You laugh - not allowed.”

“I would never.” She raises a single brow. “…unless it’s really bad,” you add.

She gives you a look. “Okay. First try.”

You fold your arms dramatically. “I’m ready.”

She takes a breath, clearly building up to something. “You… have…” she squints, “very… calm face.”

That wasn’t what you were expecting. You blink. “Calm?” She nods, smiling a little, like she knows it didn’t land perfectly but still meant it. You tilt your head. “That might be the nicest weird compliment I’ve ever had.”

She nods again, more confident now. “Yes. Like… soft eyes. Not loud.”

You feel it then not the words, but the shape behind them and for a second, the language barrier stops mattering. You smile slowly, not breaking eye contact. “Thanks. You have nice eyes too.”

Alexia looks down, just briefly, brushes her hair behind her ear, the breeze picks up a little, curling along your bare shoulders. You shiver without meaning to, and before you can react, she picks up the light jacket from her lap and offers it over.

You hesitate, she gives you a look that says take it. You do and neither of you says anything else for a long time.

Alexia’s resting her elbows on the table again, chin in hand, watching you like you’re a puzzle she hasn’t quite decided whether to solve or just sit with.

“Be honest. Have you understood any of what I’ve said tonight?”

Alexia tilts her head. “Mmm… maybe thirty percent.”

You laugh. “That’s generous.”

She nods, serious. “Sí. I like your voice. Even when I don’t understand.”

That catches you, not dramatically, but enough that it lands somewhere a little too close to the centre of you. “Oh,” you say, unsure what to do with that. “Thanks. I like yours too. It’s very… Barcelona.”

She grins. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. A little rolled, a little confident. Sounds like you’re always saying something clever. Even if it’s not.”

Alexia laughs, pushing her hair behind her ear once again something you notice she does when she's obviously nervous. “I like when you talk with hands.”

You raise your brows. “I don’t—”

She mimics you instantly, hands fluttering up mid-sentence in mock frustration.

“Oh my God,” you groan, laughing. “I do that.”

“Like little bird,” she says, smirking.

“I’m gonna stop talking.”

“No, no,” she says quickly, shaking her head. “Please. Keep talking. I learn… you.”

You meet her eyes and there's a pause. It’s not flirtation, not yet. Just interest, bare, warm curiosity. You can feel it pressing gently between you like a question no one wants to phrase too directly.

So you give her something softer.

“Okay,” you say. “Lesson one.”

Alexia perks up, mimicking a classroom face. Hands folded neatly. “Sí, profesora.”

You resist the urge to laugh. “British slang. Ready?”

She nods.

“If someone’s being annoying, you call them a muppet.”

“Muppet?” she repeats, frowning. “Like the frog?”

“Exactly or the pig. All of them.”

She repeats it once more, slower. “Muppet.” Then points to herself, straight-faced. “Me?”

You grin. “Definitely not. You’re more of a menace.”

Alexia tilts her head. “That is good?”

You shrug, sipping your wine. “That depends”

She watches you for a second longer, eyes soft, almost amused. Then she leans back, stretching slightly, like she’s trying to shake something off. “Spanish slang tomorrow,” she says. “We trade.”

“Deal,” you reply, smiling. “But no football words.”

“No football,” she promises, then adds with a smirk “Maybe one. Small one.”

You roll your eyes. “Menace.”

She grins, the moment lingers light, uncertain, like something half-shaped and in the distance, someone calls your name, maybe your mum, maybe a cousin and just like that, the bubble breaks.

Alexia glances toward the sound, then back to you. “I go,” she says softly.

You nod, standing too. “Me too.”

For a moment, you both stand there facing each other, not quite sure how to part like the rhythm between you hasn't figured out its next beat yet.

So you just smile, “Good night, Alexia.”

“Buenas noches… muppet.”

You burst out laughing as she walks off, shaking your head, the warmth of it still buzzing in your chest.

☀️

The morning passes in a quiet, familiar rhythm your mother knocking softly on your bedroom door, your brothers bickering half-heartedly over hair gel and shirt buttons down the hallway. It’s all oddly soothing, being wrapped up in their noise again, since leaving the family home and moving out.

You sit cross legged on the floor with your mum, taking turns with the mirror propped up on a chair. She smooths a bit of colour onto her cheeks while you clip your hair up soft, elegant, a few loose strands left to frame your face.

Your dress is lilac, something easy and light. Strappy, with a flowing skirt and an open back that catches the breeze when you move. It’s not showy, but it feels like you.

Your dad sees you last. He blinks a bit too quickly and just says, “That’s a lovely colour, you look lovely sweetheart” like he’s trying not to ruin his own makeup with tears like mum was.

By the time you're all outside, the garden’s been transformed. White chairs lined in rows under the olive trees. Carmen’s teammates and friends milling about in tailored suits and dresses in soft summer tones, music trickling low through the speakers.

When the ceremony starts, it hits you harder than you expect watching Carmen come down the aisle, radiant and unshakable, Ben trying not to cry before she even reaches him. It’s the vows that really undo you. The way they speak to each other without flinching. No smoothing over, no shrinking, just love, in its purest form.

You feel the sting in your throat before you can stop it, blinking quickly as you dab beneath your lashes with a napkin someone hands you.

Afterwards, you’re handed a small cone of white and lilac petals. Everyone spills out toward the stone path that winds around the ceremony space, confetti station, Carmen called it. You take your place just near the front, adjusting your heels, trying not to get emotional all over again.

That’s when you feel it, just the lightest brush not a bump, not an accident a gentle nudge seemingly intentional. You glance sideways and she’s there. Alexia, standing beside you, calm and casual like she’s been there all morning.

Her dress is a kind of deep, metallic bronze sleeveless, backless, clinging like it was poured onto her. It catches the sunlight in all the right ways, like light wants to follow her. Her hair’s tucked up, makeup soft, but it’s the ink that draws your eyes.

Tattoos curl over her back in quiet lines and shapes, bold in some places, delicate in others. You catch a big cat, a few words you can’t translate, something that might be a heart. You have to look away before you stare too long.

She glances down at your cone of petals. then at your dress, “Same colour,” she murmurs.

You blink, startled slightly by the sound of her voice so close. You nod. “Lilac. Like fate.”

Alexia smiles. “Or good eyes.”

You look ahead, where the newlyweds are posing for photos, waiting for the cue. Everyone around you is laughing, distracted. You hum, adjusting your grip on your cone. “I like your dress”

She replies, “You… look happy today.”

That surprises you, you glance at her. “Do I?”

She nods. “Less heavy. Good colour for you, also.”

“Thanks.” You smile. “You’re still a menace.”

Alexia grins. “Cállate. Muppet”

You smile letting a breath out for a laugh lowering your head as you hear the photographer call out something in Spanish people raise their cones, laughter bubbling.

You lift yours too, side by side with her, ready to toss lilac into the air, her arm brushes yours, and neither of you move away. Just before the petals fly, Alexia glances sideways at you quiet, deliberate. “After confetti,” she murmurs, “maybe… drink?”

You smile, still watching the sky “Sure.”

The petals drift and fall like soft rain, laughter bubbling around you as Carmen and Ben duck under a storm of colour. You toss your handful a second too late, distracted her shoulder still pressed lightly against yours.

The applause begins to fade, the moment moving on, but Alexia doesn’t.

You glance to find her still beside you, hands now empty, her gold chain catching the sun.

“Drink” she says again, this time softer. No question mark, not quite, just an offering.

You nod before you think too hard about it. “Yes. Please.”

She takes a step back, lets you fall into step beside her without asking. You follow the curve of the garden path together, away from the crowd, past tables laid out with summer flowers and delicate wine glasses, toward the little outdoor bar tucked beside a stone wall draped in ivy.

The bartender smiles when Alexia steps forward. She orders in Spanish, clear and easy. You catch the word vermouth, and something that sounds like con hielo.

You blink at her. “Vermouth?”

She shrugs one shoulder. “My drink. Not sweet.”

You glance at the bar menu, half to avoid her eyes, half to stall. “Can I just get a rose wine?” you ask the bartender, more sheepishly than you mean to.

Alexia leans in a little. “Safe choice.”

“I usually get lemonade in it but I feel that would be bad here” you speak looking back in the direction you came you spot your mother watching and give her a look as Alexia is speaking Spanish to the bartender.

When you catch her saying, "Limonada" at the end, you turn your head back

“I ask, for you.” you give a look that she just smiles at, she picks a little umbrellas made for a cocktail off the bar and tucks into your hair making herself giggle as your drinks arrive. You both take them, then turn together like you’re following the same unspoken route. Not too far from the bar, just over to the low stone wall nearby, warm from the sun and shaded by a broad fig tree.

You sit side by side, not touching not speaking for a beat, both clearly both over thinking what to say, you take the little umbrella from your hair to inspect it, when Alexia gives you that look again that half-smirk, half-scheme expression that means she’s about to say something just to get a reaction.

“What?” you ask, wary but already smiling.

She shrugs, far too casually. “You.”

You blink. “What about me?”

“You’re such a muppet,” she says, sipping her vermouth.

You groan. “Seriously? You’re still on that?”

She nods. “It’s my best English word. Very strong. Very accurate.”

You laugh, helpless. “I should never have taught you anything.”

Alexia tilts her head thoughtfully. “Maybe. But now, I teach you.”

“Oh God.”

“No, no,” she insists, turning toward you, that gleam in her eye back again. “Is fair. You learn Spanish now.”

You set down your glass tucking your little umbrella in the glass. “Alright then. Impress me.”

She points to herself. “Yo.”

You nod. “I.”

Then she points to you. “Tú.”

“You.”

She smiles. “Very good. Now repeat.”

You go along with it. “Yo. Tú.”

She leans in a little, eyes glittering. Then she says it slower this time, like she wants to make sure it lands properly. “Tú eres muy guapa.”

You frown, trying to copy it. “Too eh-res... muy gwa-pa?”

She grins. “Perfect.”

“What does that mean?”

Alexia takes a sip of her drink, suddenly looking far too pleased with herself. “Not telling you.”

You blink. “What? Why?”

She shrugs. “Is more fun this way.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “Is it rude?”

“No.” Her voice is soft now, careful. “Is nice.” She’s watching you not just amused, but something quieter behind her gaze. Her dress catches the light, the curve of her tattoos like stories she’s letting you almost read.

“Is it a compliment?” you ask.

Alexia just raises her brows and repeats it again slower this time, “Tú eres muy guapa.”

You feel the words settle in your chest, even if you don’t understand them yet. There’s weight to them, a softness. “I’ll Google it,” you say eventually.

She smiles. “Not now.”

“No?”

“Later. When I’m not there.”

You study her, trying to read her without the help of a translation, but all you get is that familiar flutter, like something in you recognises that she's maybe flirting. You sip your wine again, trying not to smile too hard. “So what do I say back?”

Alexia taps her lip, pretending to think, then she leans closer, just enough to make you hold your breath. “Gracias,” she murmurs, voice low. “That’s all.”

You repeat it softly. “Gracias.”

She nods, eyes still on yours. “De nada.”

You sit there a moment longer in the quiet hum of the evening, in this small stretch of shade, it still feels like only you two are in existence.

Like maybe you don’t need the translation. You shift slightly on the stone ledge, setting your empty glass down with a quiet clink. You glance over at her.

You’re about to speak about it when she speaks.

“I teach you another.”

You look over, eyebrow raised. “Another mystery sentence?”

She smiles. “Sí.”

You huff a laugh. “Alright then. Go on.”

She shifts to face you a little more and says it slowly a gentle rhythm to the way it rolls off her tongue.

“Me gustas.”

You try it. “Me goo-stas?”

She shakes her head slightly, leans in, says it again, “Gus—like ‘goose,’ but softer. Me gustas.”

You mimic her. “Me gustas.” Alexia smiles, but doesn’t translate it.

“You not going to tell me?” you ask, already anticipating the answer.

“No,” she says, smug. “I like your face when you guess.”

You look at her, her knees almost brushing yours now, her drink nearly forgotten between you. “Is it nice?” you ask.

She shrugs, though her smile doesn’t fade. “Depends who says it.”

“And if you say it?”

Her gaze lingers on you, unreadable for a breath, “Still not telling you.”

You scoff. “You’re insufferable.”

She just raises her glass slightly, as if to toast your frustration, but before either of you can speak again, a shout rings out across the garden.

“Oye!” It’s Patri, grinning wide, already pointing toward a table on the lawn. “Beer pong!”

Carmen lifts two red cups in your direction like it’s a formal declaration. You can’t help the smile that creeps over your face.

Alexia stands, brushing invisible dust from her dress. “You ready?”

“Are you?” you counter, arching a brow. “I hope you’re not expecting to win.”

“I always win.”

“You’re going to be a nightmare, aren’t you?”

Alexia grins as she steps ahead, already starting to walk back toward the music, before she gets too far, she glances back over her shoulder catches your eye again, and with a faint smirk, repeats it under her breath, “Me gustas.”

You're not sure what it means, but you hope she says it again.

Someone’s set up a beer pong table near the garden wall, red cups already half-filled, teams forming in chaotic pairs. You’re pulled into the mix before you can think to resist Carmen shoves a drink in your hand, Patri’s already laughing like she knows something you don’t as you're put on her team, Alexia put on Carmens, and the crowd’s loud and loose with post-wedding energy.

Somehow, it happens every time it’s your turn to shoot, Alexia ends up opposite you, of course she does. She’s watching you with narrowed eyes and a smirk like she’s trying to intimidate you but you’re just having fun watching her lose.

She’s not... great, in fact, she’s bad and extremely not taking it well.

“This ball is too light,” she mutters after your third perfect shot lands, another cup sliding away from her side for her to drink.

You just raise your brows. “You’re joking, right?”

“No. It’s not... regulation.”

“It’s a garden table at a wedding, Alexia. Nothing is regulation.”

She glares down at the table like it’s personally offended her. Then looks up, grumpy, sulking and downs her drink. “The table’s not level either.”

You laugh. “Keep going. I want to hear the full list of excuses.”

“The cups are too close.”

“Uh huh.”

“My side is windy.”

“There is no wind.”

She doesn’t answer, just squints at you over the rim of another drink like she’s plotting your downfall.

Then it’s your turn again as it appears the rest who were playing preferred to watch you beat Alexia spectacularly so it became a 1vs1.

One easy flick of your wrist, plunk. Another cup gone from her side, Alexia groans, loud and dramatic, and turns away like she can’t bear to look at it.

“Come on!” you laugh. “Drink up, you haven’t even finished the last one!”

She glares down at the two cups now waiting for her. “This is unfair.”

“It’s literally the rules!”

“I hate this game.”

“No you don’t.”

“I do now.”

You laugh again, and she finally breaks a reluctant grin pulling at her mouth as she picks up both cups and clinks them together tipping one into the other before downing it like a woman defeated. Her nose scrunches at the taste. She mutters something in Spanish that definitely isn’t polite.

You raise an eyebrow. “What was that?”

She wipes her mouth, blinking. “I said you’re annoying.”

“Was it actually that?”

She nods solemnly. “More or less.”

“Say it again. Properly. Teach me.”

Alexia leans across the table a little, holding your gaze, and says it slowly, “Eres insoportable.”

You repeat it, with terrible pronunciation. “Eres insoporable.”

“Insoportable,” she corrects, smug again.

“And it definitely means annoying?”

She smiles wide. “You’ll find out.”

You hum, "I'm making a list in my phone to ask Patri to translate later"

She raises her eyes to yours and shakes her head, "Google. Later" she waves her hand way, "Wait til home"

It’s your turn again, another shot, another cup.

She doesn’t even pretend to be cool this time she just groans and drops her head back dramatically. “No. No, no, no. I want a new opponent.”

“Too late,” you grin. “You’ve started something now.”

“I didn’t start it.”

“You literally called me a muppet an hour ago.”

“That was affection.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes. This” she gestures at the table, then at your smirk, “this is war.”

You grin, cheeks aching from laughing, chest warm with more than just alcohol. Across the table, Alexia squints at you through mock outrage, and you just raise your drink to her. “To your downfall,” you toast.

She clinks her empty cup against yours with a grumble. “Muppet." and you both burst out laughing again.

You’re barely wiping spilled beer off your fingers before Alexia’s already pointing at the cups again.

“Another game.”

You raise your brows. “You’re serious?”

“I almost won.”

“You absolutely did not.”

“I was close.”

“You had four cups left.”

Alexia shrugs, drunk logic already smoothing her stubbornness into confidence. “I let you win.”

You laugh grabbing a beer bottle to fill the cups again, "Of course you did" You point at her, "I don't know much Spanish but.. Mierda"

You watch Alexia lean back laughing her hand clutching her stomach before you glance toward Carmen, Patri, and two more of Alexia’s teammates hovering near the drinks table. They’re watching you both now not subtly, either. Patri lifts her eyebrows at you in that 'hmm?' way that’s only half-mocking. Carmen has the smug smile of someone who’s decided she was right about something long before it happened.

You ignore them, Alexia's resetting the cups with a reckless, imprecise shuffle. “You in?”

You sigh dramatically. “Fine, but don’t start crying again when I win.”

“I didn’t cry.”

“You whined about the wind.”

Alexia doesn’t dignify that with a response just hands you the ball with a pointed gesture. “Ladies first,” she says.

You sink your first shot effortlessly, another groan from her, then she drinks and something shifts.

The more Alexia drinks, the better she gets. Her throws tighten, her hand steadies, and the smug grin on her face grows more confident with every cup you lose.

You squint at her after your third miss in a row, she gives you a look over the rim of your cup, you mutter under your breath as you drink your next penalty cup, "That wind really died down, huh?"

Alexia grins, she heard you, then plunk. Another one lands on your side and you sigh dramatically.

You glance over you still have an audience, like your increasingly ridiculous rivalry has become a full-on wedding sideshow as a couple more of the footballers have joined the little group, but you don’t care. You’re too focused on the way Alexia keeps watching you after each shot. Like each time she hits, she’s daring you to react. Like it’s not even about winning anymore.

You point at her, narrowing your eyes. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Yes.”

“You were terrible half an hour ago.”

She shrugs, cool as anything. “Motivation.” You stare at her, she just raises an eyebrow and says too casually “Me gustas, remember?”

You swallow, that familiar phrase again, still no translation, still no context but it lands heavier now.

You blink, then shoot and miss again Alexia grins wide and reaches for your next cup.

“You’re going to gloat forever, aren’t you?”

“Sí,” she says, laughing

☀️

The party sprawls out now as they set up the dinning room for the meal, games and music everywhere to occupy guests, people laughing too loudly, champagne corks popping mid-sentence, someone’s uncle challenging Carmen to a dance-off near the speakers.

You're pulled straight from the beer pong table by a group migrating toward a row of lawn games, you seem to have been adopted by the Spanish football first team. Patri tosses you a look like she’s ready for round three, but Alexia’s already trailing after you, stubbornly close, that competitive glint still alive in her wine-glossed eyes.

“Connect Four,” she says behind you, tapping your shoulder as you slow near the oversized version on the grass ahead.

You look back. “You sure? That’s a thinking game.”

“Exactly.”

You smirk, slotting in a red disc. “You’re really brave.”

Alexia raises her brows but doesn’t bite. She drops in a yellow one, eyes locked on the grid like she’s plotting world domination. You counter, she counters again. People are watching, not quite cheering, but hovering, definitely amused.

You lean sideways, pretending to inspect the board. “Your poker face is slipping.”

She doesn’t look up. “This is me focused.”

“Right.” Another move, then another, then click you drop the winning disc and let out a triumphant gasp. “Boom!”

Alexia steps back, blinking. “No.”

“Yes!”

She squints at the grid like it personally betrayed her. “That doesn’t count.”

You laugh. “What doesn’t count?!”

“I was distracted.”

“By what?”

She pauses, her cheeks flush, then she speaks, “Your… elbows.”

You almost choke on your drink. “My elbows?!”

“They were distracting.”

You’re laughing so hard now it’s almost embarrassing. “Just when I thought you couldn't be any more of a sore loser. This is worse.”

“I will win something tonight,” she insists, looking around like she’s about to challenge you to an arm wrestle, or chess, or a race to the drinks table.

“Nope,” you grin. “I’m on a streak.”

“I hate your streak.”

“You love it.”

“I hate it,” she repeats, but she’s smiling, her eyes lit up with the thrill of it all the game, the drinks, the way you keep meeting each other in these little pockets of the night where it feels like it’s just the two of you.

Someone calls your name, a cousin waving from the karaoke setup now forming near the terrace.

Alexia hears it too. “No,” she says immediately. “Not singing.”

“Oh, now you’re scared?”

“I fear nothing.”

“You fear losing.”

“I fear karaoke.”

You grin wide, stepping toward her like you might drag her there anyway. "I thought you feared nothing.

She steps back, holds up a finger. “If you make me sing,” she warns, “I’ll say more things in Spanish that you don’t understand.”

You pause, then lean in, just slightly. “I’m not sure that’s a threat anymore.”

Alexia blinks once then smirks and you catch sight of the Jenga tower across the lawn, tall and precarious.

You nudge Alexia’s arm. “Jenga?”

She raises her brows. “You want to lose again?”

“You lost last time.”

“Did not.”

“Did so.”

You’re already walking, Alexia follows, of course she does, brushing a hand along your arm briefly as she passes you. You pretend not to feel your whole body register it.

The tower’s almost your height, you face off like it’s a championship final. A few people hover again Carmen and Patri, drinks in hand, clearly watching from a distance, doing a poor job of pretending not to whisper about you both, but the rest of the world fades out when Alexia picks her first block.

The game begins slow, careful pulls, little smiles, narrowed eyes, utter silence between you and then it starts getting risky.

“You’re wobbling it on purpose,” Alexia mutters as you nudge a centre piece loose.

“I’m strategic,” you counter, not looking up. “Big difference.”

The stack sways slightly Alexia watches your hand like she’s studying a match replay.

When you finally slide the block free, she lets out a low whistle, “Lucky.”

“Skilled.”

“Lucky.”

Then it’s her turn, she kneels down slightly to reach one of the lower blocks her backless dress shifting as she moves, the shimmer of metallic brown catching the fairy lights strung above. Tattoos peek out like secrets across her shoulders and down her back. She glances up once, catches you watching her, and smirks. “Distracted?” she teases.

“By your elbows,” you shoot back.

She laughs, actually wobbles the tower with her shoulder, gasps, and steadies it again with the most dramatic gasp you’ve ever heard.

“See?” you say. “That was luck.”

“Cállate”

You grin and lean in closer, both of you now circling the tower like cats. “Careful,” you say as she reaches again. “Jenga’s a cruel mistress.”

“That’s dramatic.”

“So are you.”

“I’m passionate.”

“Right,” you say. “Passion’s what made you yell about the wind earlier.”

She pulls the block free clean and impressively quickly, she stands slowly, eyes bright, close to you now, close enough that your shoulders brush. Neither of you move. “You’re going to knock it over,” she says.

“I am not.”

“I can feel it.”

“You just want me to.”

“Maybe.” Your hand is on the next block, it slides, a hair’s width and sticks. You freeze Alexia leans in close to your ear, lowering her voice. “Muppet…” you giggle, the block slips from your grip the tower sways violently and crashes to the grass.

Laughter erupts around you, but you barely hear it. Alexia’s got that smug, dangerous grin again like she planned it all along.

She leans in and whispers something in Spanish slow, deliberate, impossible to understand but definitely smug.

You groan. “Not fair.”

“Very fair,” she says. “Me gusta ganar.”

“Translation?”

She shrugs innocently. “Guess.”

You narrow your eyes. “I swear if that means ‘I win’…”

Alexia’s already walking off with a victorious sway in her step, tossing a wink over her shoulder. You just shake your head, smiling helplessly.

She walks off like she’s just won the World Cup chin high, victorious strut, that smug little grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. You stand there a second, stunned by her dramatics, then you walk with pace after her. You never chase women and yet here you were literally chasing after one you didn't even know 24 hours ago.

“Hey,” you call, catching up to her just as she grabs another drink from a tray someone’s weaving through the crowd with. “Do that again.”

Alexia looks over her shoulder, amused. “Do what?”

“That” you mimic her wink, squinting one eye dramatically, “your little victory wink.”

She tries to keep a straight face, but her smirk betrays her. “You liked that?”

You’re already laughing, folding your arms. “Do it again.”

She turns fully toward you, drink in hand, eyes locked on yours then closes both eyes at the same time, you burst out laughing.

Instinctively you reach forward and touch her forearm at her side, “That’s not a wink, Alexia!"

She shrugs, fake-casual. “Yes it is.” She does it again with so much confidence.

“You’re malfunctioning.”

“Muppet.”

You nudge her arm, she bumps you back but doesn't pull back anywhere near the distance she had been, you lift your drink to her, eyes still dancing. “To your terrible wink.”

She taps hers against yours gently, her voice low, her gaze not leaving yours. “Eres muy guapa.”

There it is again that same phrase from earlier. You pause, holding her eyes. “Still not translating that one?”

She smiles, tilting her head. “Nope.”

You sip your drink. “Rude.”

Alexia leans a little closer, lowering her voice just enough for it to feel secret. “Maybe later.”

☀️

You hadn’t planned on dancing not in heels, not in this heat, not after at least three different games involving alcohol. But when the music shifted to something warmer, something with a heartbeat, Alexia found you effortlessly amongst your family, tugged your hand gently and tilted her head toward the garden dance floor.

You hadn’t said yes, but you also hadn’t said no and put up no fight whatsoever.

Now here you are her hand in yours, the lights strung above flickering golden, the music thudding faintly underfoot. She’s not a great dancer not in the traditional, spin you like a film scene way but she’s confident and playful, and that’s better.

She twirls you once, clumsily, you both laugh, “You’re going to dislocate my shoulder,” you tell her with a smile seemingly permanently fixed to your face when she was near.

Alexia just grins, you sway together in that loose way that isn’t quite a slow dance but definitely isn’t friendly distance anymore. One of her hands finds yours again not tight, not formal, just there. Holding it like she has every right to.

Your fingers slip together easily, her hair’s falling loose around her shoulders now, her dress still catching the light like copper fire. Every time she leans in close to say something in your ear, you feel the warmth of it curl down your spine.

It’s almost disappointing when you hear Carmen’s voice calling your name through the music.

You turn, laughing, she waves you over, she notices your smile fade ever so slightly, and beckons you like a mother would, you give Alexia a look and leave her on the dance floor one of her friends happily taking your place

“Oh, finally!” she says, eyes wide and dramatic. “I thought we’d have to physically separate you two with a broomstick.”

You roll your eyes. “We’re not—”

She lifts a brow. “Joined. At. The. Hip?”

“She made me dance!”

“She made you laugh. A lot.” Carmen folds her arms, mock stern. “You looked like teenagers. Very flirty teenagers.”

You try to dodge it, but you’re smiling too much to be believable. “We’re just messing about.”

“Mmm.” Carmen is not buying it.

You blink at her, suddenly curious. “Okay, serious question.”

Carmen perks up. “Finally. Go on.”

You lower your voice a little, keeping it light, casual. “What does ‘me gustas’ mean?”

Carmen stares at you. “Who said that?”

“Hypothetical question,” you say, holding up a hand. “Just tell me.”

She eyes you. “It means ‘I like you.’ Like… I like you. Not like ‘I like pizza,’ but you-you.”

Your stomach does a weird little flip, you cover it with a sip of wine. “Okay. Interesting.”

Carmen leans closer. “What else?”

You hesitate. “What about ‘eres muy guapa?’”

“Oh,” she grins. “That means… ‘you’re very pretty.’” You stop sipping Carmen squints at you. “Why are you asking these?”

“No reason.”

“Mmhm.” Her grin grows, all too knowing. “Just, you know, collecting phrases for your Spanish textbook?”

“Exactly.”

Carmen’s already backing away into the crowd, smug as anything. “Well, maybe your Spanish is better than you think, guapa.”

You glance back toward the dance floor Alexia’s dancing there, half-lit in the string lights, your breath catches as you realise the most stunning women you've ever seen thinks your pretty.

☀️

The dinning hall is now set up for the evening meal, round white-clothed tables stretch under woven lanterns, the sun setting into a gold haze over the hills. You’re sat with your parents and brothers, all of you a little sun-flushed and half full from the first two courses. Your uncle is telling a long-winded story you’ve already tuned out of twice.

You’ve got your phone hidden in your lap, screen dimmed low, lazily scrolling through your own Instagram feed mostly old holiday posts, blurry selfies, the odd sunset you’d thought looked profound at the time. You hadn’t expected to get a notification, but there it is at the top of your screen.

alexiaputellas liked your photo.

And not just any photo it’s from two years ago, she was scrolling your instagram, you blink, smile and tilt your screen slightly away from your brother clearly looking for some entertainment.

Your thumb hovers over the notification, and then instinctively you glance across the tables just casually. She’s over on the far side with Carmen’s teammates, half turned in her chair, laughing at something, her hand out as a women opposite handed her phone back over the table. She doesn’t look at you, which makes it somehow worse, or better, you can’t tell, but you were a topic of conversation amongst her friends.

You open your DMs and click on Patri’s name, you and her had shared polite messages after the hen do.

You: Tell Alexia she’s real smooth for liking a picture from two years ago

You barely have time to look up again when you hear it a burst of laughter from the table across the way, sharp and sudden. You catch sight of Patri, cackling as she shoves her phone toward Alexia. A few others are craning to see, all of them delighting in your digital callout.

Alexia's face is a picture, you can see the blush from here, you try not to smile. Fail and look back down at your plate like you didn’t just throw a spark into a very flammable situation.

Your phone buzzes again.

Patri: She’s gonna kill me but she says fue un accidente.

Patri : She also says you’re still a muppet.

You snort softly, enough for your brother to glance at you. “What’s so funny?”

You shake your head. “Just something stupid.” But your heart’s beating a little faster now, and when you risk another glance up Alexia’s watching you from across the tables.

You look back at your phone, thumb hovering over the keyboard, biting back a grin as you type.

You: Can I ask you to translate something for me?

It’s harmless, mostly, you know it'll get a reaction, you hit send, then glance up briefly, only to feel another buzz almost instantly.

Patri: Alexia said come here.

You look up properly this time, sure enough, Alexia’s watching you from across the way, her arm draped over the back of her chair she tips her chin toward you not quite a beckon, not quite a challenge and you know exactly what she’s doing.

So you stand excusing yourself and heading through the tables, a few heads turn as you approach, Alexia doesn’t say anything as you approach. Just points at you with a single finger and says, through a grin “No translation. You Google. Later. In home. In England.”

You can’t help the laugh that slips from you and without thinking or maybe very much with thinking you step in a little closer, gently grab that pointed finger, and hold it between yours. “You’re not my captain, darling,” you say, smiling up at her, “you can’t tell me what to do.”

She blinks, smiles wider, like she’s just been challenged and loves it, she leans a little closer her voice low and full of wicked amusement, “You don’t listen very good.”

You raise your brows. “I do when I want to”

“Stubborn.”

"I prefer determined"

You hear someone behind her whisper something someone else stifles a laugh but you’re not paying attention to anything now except the look she’s giving you. Finally, you release her finger with a little flick.

“Fine,” you say, stepping back. “But I’m still Googling it.”

“Later,” she says.

“At home?”

“In England,” she echoes nodding, laughing.

You walk back to your seat with your pulse dancing somewhere in your throat and the ghost of her hand still between your fingers.

You slide back into your seat, smoothing the skirt of your dress and reaching instinctively for your wine. Your cheeks are warm whether from the alcohol or Alexia’s grin, you’re not sure, probably both.

You lift your glass and take a sip, trying not to let the smile tugging at your lips give too much away, but your mum is already looking at you and not in the vague, distracted way she looks when she’s trying to figure out if the canapés had goat cheese in them. No this is the look.

She leans in gently, voice soft so only you can hear. “Is that the girl who’s been taking all your attention all day?”

You blink, then laugh quietly. “What happened to pretending not to notice things?”

“I gave up after child number three.” She nudges your arm. “So?”

You glance across the garden Alexia’s listening half-heartedly to something Patri is saying, but her eyes flick to yours over her shoulder the moment you look. She smiles just slightly and then pretends to be fully engaged in whatever story is being told.

You look back at your mum, exhale a breath through your nose, half-laughing. “She’s…” You shrug, a little helpless. “She’s nice. Funny. Annoying”

Your mum tilts her head. “Pretty.”

You nod. “Very.”

There’s a pause. You toy with your napkin, you’ve always been open with her. She was the first one you told about you liking girls. The first one you told when you first kissed a girl to.

So you don’t bother pretending now. “I think I like her,” you say, your voice a little smaller than before. “But it’s probably just the wedding. The sun. The wine. I've just got caught up in it all, it’s not like I’ll see her again, is it?”

Your mum gives you a knowing look the one she saves for when you pretend you’re being logical but your heart’s already halfway over the fence. “Stranger things have happened,” she says gently. “And you’ve always been a sucker for a complicated smile.”

You laugh. “Thanks, Mum.”

She pats your hand. “Just don’t let your head talk your heart out of something fun.”

You nod, quietly, you try to change the subject as dessert menus are being passed around, someone’s arguing about whether churros count as wedding cake, and Carmen is gracefully making her rounds in her sleek, glittering gown, hugging relatives and posing for photos.

But your mum isn’t letting this go. “Alexia,” she says again, as if you haven’t already been over this. “So she’s Spanish?”

You blink at her. “We’re in Spain, Mum.”

“I meant from here. Local.”

You nod reluctantly. “Barcelona.”

“Ah.” She smiles, too casually. “And is she…?”

You give her a look. “Yes, Mum. She’s gay.”

“Just checking.” She takes a sip of wine, but you can see her brain still turning. “So she plays for a team?”

“Yes.”

“Is she any good?”

“Mum.”

“What! I’m just trying to build a picture!”

Before you can answer, Carmen appears at your side, radiant and flushed from all the attention, crouching down slightly between the two of you. “Are we gossiping without me?” she asks, eyes darting between you and your mum with a knowing grin.

“Oh good,” your mum says brightly, turning to Carmen like she’s been waiting for backup. “You’ll know. Tell me more about this Alexia. She seems lovely.”

Your stomach sinks slightly. “Mum—”

But Carmen just lights up with mischief. “Oh, Alexia?” she says, pretending to think. “Captain of Barça. National treasure. Stubborn. Competitive. Terrible loser.”

“She’s been very sweet with my daughter,” your mum says.

Carmen glances at you. “Oh yes. Very sweet.”

You shoot her a warning glare. She ignores it.

Your mum continues, relentless. “Is she seeing anyone?”

“Mum!”

Carmen laughs, delighted now. “She’s not. But she is very picky, I'm not aware of her dating many people at all, the bigger she got the less she did it.”

Your mum leans in conspiratorially. “She liked one of her photos from two years ago.”

"How do you even know that?" You asked, your mum simply pointed to your brother beside you.

Carmen’s face lights up like Christmas. “No she didn’t.”

“She did!” your mum confirms, like this is a joint investigation. “And then this one had the nerve to act like it wasn’t a big deal.”

You hide your face in your hands.

Carmen pats your shoulder. “It is a big deal. That’s the Instagram version of writing someone’s name in a notebook and drawing hearts around it.”

Your mum nods solemnly, “Exactly.”

You peek between your fingers. “Can you both please find another hobby?”

Carmen grins and gets back to her feet, smoothing her dress. “I have to go be charming again but don’t worry, I’ll let Alexia know she’s already passed inspection.”

You groan. “Carmen”

She walks away backward, grinning, and says, “Your mum likes her. That’s basically marriage in Spain.”

You drop your head to the table, your mum just pats your back, smug as anything, “I’m good at this,” she says. “Admit it.”

You mutter into the tablecloth, “I should’ve sat at the kids’ table.”

☀️

The laughter still carries on behind you a soft chorus of music, chairs scraping, someone yelling out a slurred toast in Spanish as your family begins to slip away from the glowing lights of the wedding. The night has worn on, the heat finally giving way to a cooler breeze, and the sky overhead is scattered with stars.

Your heels click softly against the stone path as you walk alongside your parents and your middle brother, all of you drifting slowly back toward the house.

Your mum’s arm is looped around your dad’s, and she’s humming some old wedding tune under her breath. Your brother’s rubbing at his neck like he might have pulled something during the earlier, aggressive limbo game.

You’re quiet, restless in your own skin, because you’d been waiting.

You hadn’t said it out loud, not to them, not even to yourself really, but somewhere in the slow moments between dancing and dessert and that sun-drunk laughter, you’d been hoping that you might catch her one more time.

A glance, a word, a stupid half-argument about who actually won Jenga. Something, but as you all say goodnight to lingering cousins and sleepy toddlers being carried back inside, you glance around one last time, and she’s not there.

The chair she’d been sitting in earlier is empty, the space by the bar where you'd sat together after the ceremony is dark now.

You slow a little behind your parents as you near the main house, your steps soft on the old terracotta tiles, one last glance over your shoulder. Still no sign of her.

Your mum looks back at you, noticing the lag. “You alright, love?”

You nod, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Just tired and my shoes are hurting”

She gives you a look that says she doesn’t believe you as you take your heels off but she lets it go.

As you step inside, the coolness of the villa brushes over your bare shoulders. You’re holding your shoes in one hand, dress swinging lightly around your legs. You tell yourself it’s silly, you barely know her, you won’t see her again. You weren’t expecting anything, but still, you were hoping.

And when you crawl into the big unfamiliar guest bed, in the quiet hum of night, you stare up at the ceiling for a long while the sounds of celebration muffled now through thick walls.

You don’t cry, you don’t ache, but the pillow still smells like sun cream and wine and a day you weren’t ready to let go of.

☀️

It’s well past 3am, the villa is silent now, thick with the hush that only comes after a long, sun-soaked day of celebration. The kind of quiet that hums just beneath the surface, like the air’s still catching its breath.

You’re lying on top of the sheets, in your tank top and soft cotton shorts, scrolling aimlessly, light from your phone casting shadows on the wall and then tap. You freeze. Tap. Tap-tap.

You sit up slowly, the curtain flutters as you move it aside and then, with a confused squint, you push the window open.

There she is, Alexia, standing below in the garden, where moonlight pools across the grass like spilled milk, hands clenched, shoulders slightly hunched like she’s not sure if this is a good idea or a very bad one.

You lean against the sill, still a little dazed. “Can I help you?” you ask, a soft smile playing on your lips.

She tilts her head, that familiar smirk tugging at her mouth. “I wanted to say… was nice, meeting you.”

You rest your forearms on the window frame, chin tilted just slightly. “You threw rocks at my window to say that?”

“Yes.” A pause. “Romantic, no?” You bite back your grin and your brows lift Alexia shrugs below you. “Maybe not romantic or smart.”

You huff a laugh and shake your head. “What would you have done if I didn’t hear you?”

She grins, wolfish. “Climbed.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re wearing heels.”

She holds up her hand, fingers spread. “Footballer legs.”

You rest your cheek against your arm, watching her. Her hair’s pulled back now, messier than it was earlier, her dress still clinging to her but a jacket slung over her shoulders since the temperature had dropped.

There’s a pause, then you say it, soft, teasing. “You’re not very good at goodbyes, are you?”

She kicks a bit of stone with her foot. “No.”

“I was looking for you,” you admit before you can stop yourself. “Earlier.”

That catches her off guard her eyes flick up quickly, like she wasn’t expecting you to admit it. “I know,” she says.

You smile slowly. “Stalker.”

Alexia smiles back. “Romantic.”

Then she steps back one pace, eyes never leaving yours. “Okay. I go now. Let you sleep. My lift home is waiting”

You don’t say anything right away. Don’t want to break it, but as she turns slightly, you call softly, “Alexia?”

She looks back, you hesitate then grin. “I lied. I’m totally Googling what you said to me earlier.” Lying again that you didn't already know

She shakes her head, laughing silently, then calls up “You won’t find it right. Not if you spell it how I said it.”

You gasp dramatically. “You tricked me?”

Her grin widens. “Always.”

She starts walking away, then throws one last glance over her shoulder. “Sleep good, muppet girl.”

You watch until she disappears behind the trees, then you close the window softly and slide back into bed. This time, when your head hits the pillow, you’re smiling and sleep comes easy.

[pucksandpower]

The Girlfriend Test

Lando Norris x girlfriend!Reader

Summary: no new LN merch is deemed ready for sale unless it passes the girlfriend test (or in which you are Lando’s favorite hoodie thief and the sight of another driver’s brand on you drives him just a little bit crazy)

You hear the front door open and close, followed by the sounds of Lando rummaging around in the entryway. “Babe, I’m home!” He calls out.

You’re curled up on the couch in his latest hoodie design, a soft charcoal grey number with black sleeves and his LN logo embroidered over the heart.

“In here!” You reply. Lando comes into the living room and smiles when he sees you wearing his new creation.

“Well hello there, hoodie thief,” he says, leaning down to give you a quick peck on the lips before flopping down on the couch next to you. “So I see you found my newest sample.”

You grin and snuggle further into the super soft fleece. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is my hoodie now.”

Lando laughs and tugs lightly on the hood. “Oh is it now? I could’ve sworn this was a prototype I brought home from my design meeting a few days ago.”

“Nope, definitely mine,” you say cheekily. “It’s so cozy I don’t think I can ever take it off.”

“In that case, I guess it passes the girlfriend test with flying colors,” Lando declares. At your confused look, he elaborates. “Oh, I never told you about the girlfriend test? I can’t launch a new LN design until you have stolen it out of my closet. That’s how I know for sure it’s comfy enough for my fans.”

You raise an eyebrow in amusement. “You’re telling me every hoodie so far has passed this supposed test?”

“You got it,” Lando grins. “I’ll leave the samples laying around and if you end up snagging one and wearing it all the time, I know it’s prime merchandise.”

You think back and realize it’s true — Lando’s hoodies have a habit of migrating into your wardrobe. The papaya one is your go-to for grocery store runs. The tie-dye version is your favorite for lazy Sundays. Even the bold purple hoodie he released last month has already earned a permanent place on your desk chair.

“So you mean to tell me this was all part of your master plan?” You ask in mock offense. “And here I thought I was sneakily stealing your comfiest clothes.”

“Baby, if I really didn’t want you wearing my stuff, I wouldn’t make it so tempting to take,” Lando says sincerely, wrapping an arm around you. “But it makes me so happy to see you in my designs, wearing my brand.”

You cuddle into his shoulder. “That’s really sweet, babe.”

“Anything for my number one fan and favorite hoodie model,” he says, planting a kiss on the top of your head.

You snuggle together in contented silence for a few minutes, your head tucked perfectly under his chin.

“So, how was the simulator today?” You ask. “Get some good practice in for Monza this weekend?”

Lando nods. “Yeah, had a really solid session. Tweaked a few things with the setup that I think will help with the low downforce.”

“Nice,” you say. “Maybe another podium this week?”

“We’ll see,” Lando replies. “Ferrari looked quick in Spa so it could be tough. But I feel good going into the weekend.”

“Well, I know you’ll kill it babe,” you say supportively. Lando smiles gratefully and pulls you closer.

“But anyway, enough about F1. How was your day off?” He asks.

You launch into a recap of your relaxed day — sleeping in, catching up on chores, and working on some creative projects you’ve had on the backburner. Lando listens intently, asking questions and commenting on the new songs and recipes you’re dying to try. The conversation flows easily, as it always does between you two.

Before you know it, Lando’s stomach rumbles loudly and you both crack up. “I guess that means it’s dinnertime,” you say, checking your phone. “Pizza sound good?”

“You read my mind,” Lando replies. While you call in the usual order from your favorite local pizza joint, Lando queues up Netflix and scrolls through options for tonight’s viewing.

Thirty minutes later you’re back on the couch, the coffee table littered with pizza boxes and cans of soda. Lando hits play on an episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine and you settle in, toes tucked under his legs to stay cozy.

You’re only halfway through the episode when you feel Lando’s gaze on you. You turn and find him staring at you wearing his newest hoodie creation, a small smile on his lips.

“What’s that look for?” You ask around a mouthful of pizza.

Lando shakes his head, the smile growing wider. “Nothing really. Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

You tilt your head curiously and he continues. “I have my dream job, getting to race cars for a living. And then I come home to you and … I don’t know. It just feels really good. Like everything is kind of falling into place.”

You set down your pizza slice and cuddle up to him. “Aww babe. That’s so sweet.” You give him a greasy kiss on the cheek. “I’m the lucky one you know. I get to see you living your dream every day. And then I get to be here to celebrate the wins with you and cheer you up after the tough days. It’s pretty amazing.”

Lando wraps both arms around you in a hug. “Love you so much,” he says softly.

“Love you more,” you whisper back, your head tucked perfectly under his chin once again.

***

The next evening, you’re sprawled across the bed browsing on your phone when you hear Lando come home.

“Honey, I’m home!” He calls out in a sing-song voice. You grin, expecting him to come give you a kiss. But instead you hear his footsteps stop abruptly.

“Babe, what … is that?” Lando asks slowly.

You look up confused. “What do you mea-”

Then you spot what he’s staring at in horror: the soft teal hoodie you’re wearing with an embroidered Enchanté logo across the front.

“Oh this?” You say casually. “It’s from Daniel’s new merch drop. The fleece is so soft, I couldn’t resist snagging one.”

Lando’s jaw drops open. “You … you bought a hoodie? From a competing merch brand?”

You stifle a laugh at how seriously Lando is taking this. “Well yeah, you gotta support your friends right? And I told you how comfy it looked in his posts.”

Lando just blinks slowly, looking utterly betrayed. You almost feel bad for riling him up.

“Babe, come on, don’t look at me like that! You know I’m your number one fan.” You get up and go to hug him, but Lando dodges you.

“Nope. No hugs until that … that enemy hoodie comes off,” he says dramatically.

Now you really have to hold back your laughter. “Lando, don’t be silly.”

But he crosses his arms and sticks his chin up. “I’m dead serious, Y/N. My own girlfriend, wearing another man’s merch!” He shakes his head in despair.

You bite your lip, trying not to smile at his antics. Time to have some more fun with this.

“Well if you’re going to be like that, maybe I’ll just keep it on,” you say nonchalantly, snuggling back into the ridiculously soft fleece.

Lando’s eyes go wide. “You wouldn’t dare!”

You raise your eyebrows challengingly. “Try me.”

You stare each other down for a few tense moments, before Lando huffs loudly.

“Fine then. Desperate times call for desperate measures.” And with that ominous statement, he lunges forward and lifts you up, tossing you over his shoulder.

“Lando!” You shriek through laughter. “Put me down!”

But he marches down the hall determinedly, you still slung over his shoulder. He brings you into the living room and gently tosses you onto the couch. Before you can react, he rips the Enchanté hoodie up over your head in one swift move.

“Lando!” You squeal, trying to reach for the hoodie, but he’s quicker. In a flash, he has the offending article of clothing in his grip.

“How could you bring this … this enemy propaganda into our home?” Lando accuses dramatically. He holds the hoodie between two fingers like it’s contaminated.

You have to press a hand over your mouth to contain your giggles. Lando looks utterly scandalized at the sight of you in his rival’s merch.

“I’m sorry babe, but you left me no choice,” Lando says solemnly. And with that, he crosses the room, opens the fireplace, and tosses the hoodie in.

You gasp loudly. “Lando Norris, did you just burn my hoodie?”

“I had to protect the sanctity of this home! Can’t have you falling for another man’s branding,” Lando exclaims. But you can see his facade cracking as he fights back a smile of his own.

You get up from the couch and poke him in the chest. “You’re absolutely ridiculous, you know that?”

Lando grins sheepishly. “Maybe. But you love me.”

You roll your eyes but can’t fight back your own smile. “Debatable at the moment,” you joke.

Lando pouts and gives you his best puppy dog eyes. “Come onnnn, you know I’m your favorite driver.”

You pretend to think about it for a moment. “Hmm well Daniel does give the best hugs ...”

“Hey!” Lando exclaims and tackles you into a bear hug. You dissolve into giggles as he squeezes you tight and sways you back and forth.

“Nope, absolutely not allowed,” he declares, still holding you captive.

You lean back to look up at him with a smile. “Oh yeah? And why’s that?”

“Because you’re my girl and I don’t share,” Lando states matter-of-factly. His eyes are soft now as he gazes down at you.

You feel your heart melt a little. You stand on your tiptoes to give him a sweet kiss. “You’re right, I’m all yours Lando.”

His answering smile is dazzling. But then a thought seems to occur to him and a grin spreads across his face.

In one smooth motion, he strips off the neon green hoodie he’s wearing, leaving just a black t-shirt underneath. Before you can react, he pulls it down over your head, enveloping you in soft fleece that smells like him.

“There. That’s better,” Lando declares satisfied.

You snuggle happily into Lando’s worn hoodie, his warmth still lingering in the fabric. Looking down, you recognize it as the exclusive design he wore constantly last season.

Lando’s eyes crease with happiness as he looks at you swimming in his hoodie. “That’s my girl,” he says softly, pulling you close again.

You nuzzle into his chest, perfectly content.

“Am I forgiven for my momentary lapse in loyalty?” You ask cheekily, peering up at him.

Lando pretends to consider this for a moment. “Hmmm, I guess I can let it slide this one time,” he teases back. “But only because you look so damn cute in my clothes.”

You smile and tighten your arms around him. You sway together slowly, Lando humming tunelessly under his breath. The fireplace crackles gently beside you.

After a few moments, Lando speaks again, his voice quiet. “You know I was only joking around before, right? You can wear whatever you want babe.”

You lean back to meet his gaze. His brown eyes are warm but serious now.

You touch his cheek softly. “Of course I know that Lando. Your hoodies might be the comfiest, but they’re not the only clothes I own.”

Lando nods, looking relieved that you understand. “I just never want you to feel like you have to choose between me and your own style or interests.” His voice is earnest. “I want you to always feel free to be yourself.”

Your heart swells at his words. You reach up and kiss him tenderly. When you pull back, Lando is smiling again.

“Thanks babe,” you say. “That really means a lot to me. And same to you, obviously.”

Lando grins. “Of course, it’s you and me against the world! Oh, and McLaren against the other teams,” he adds cheekily.

You laugh and snuggle back into his chest. “Yes, McLaren over all,” you agree, just to make him happy.

“That’s my girl,” Lando says again, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co

[dakusan]

First Song First Love

Seungmin x Reader | fluff, karaoke, soft rizz

🎤 synopsis: You didn’t expect anything life-changing when your friends dragged you to a chaotic karaoke night. But then Seungmin walked in—quiet, sharp-eyed, devastatingly charming—and sang a ballad that made the room go silent. An unexpected duet, a shared laugh, a late-night conversation… and suddenly, you’re not just singing for fun. You’re singing your way into something real. Maybe even love. A soft, slow-burning story about spark at first sight, stolen moments between fame and real life, and the boy who gave you a Puppy.M plushie—and a kiss you’ll never forget.

💌a/n: this was supposed to be a little karaoke fic and then seungmin opened his mouth and suddenly we’re kissing in a café with a plushie in our lap and a crush in our chest. i don’t know what to tell you. the man sang ONE (1) emotional ballad and everyone folded. including me. especially me. please imagine he sent you a voice memo at 1AM and now your pillow smells like delusion and vocal line supremacy. thanks for reading 💘 ps. reblog so that Puppy.M can haunt you

📍credits: @cafekitsune for the diver.

🎶Now Playing: "Polaroid Love" – Enhypen

You were already regretting the heels.

The strap was digging into your ankle as you trudged up the narrow stairs of the karaoke bar, the neon-pink sign above flickering with half-lit Korean characters. The muffled thrum of bass-heavy music vibrated through the walls, mixing with the chaotic chorus of drunken laughter and off-key singing. Somewhere inside, your friend group was already warming up for a night of questionable decisions and even worse vocals.

Your phone buzzed.

[Jisoo]: Room 5! We’re starting without you! Run!!

You huffed out a laugh, finally reaching the hallway lined with sliding doors and colored lights. Room 5’s door was slightly ajar, the soft glow of a big screen leaking into the hall. You could already hear Jisung screaming a ballad like his life depended on it.

Sliding the door open, you were hit by the familiar wave of heat, perfume, and fried snacks. The room was packed—your friends piled on couches, tangled in each other’s limbs and laughter, drinks in hand. Some waved when they noticed you, others too busy arguing over the next song.

Your best friend stood, practically bouncing.

“There you are! Took you long enough,” she said, grabbing your hand and pulling you deeper into the room. “Okay, okay—before you sit, you have to meet someone.”

You barely had time to react before she stopped in front of a guy lounging in the corner of the couch, a half-empty drink in one hand and an amused look in his eyes. He was dressed in simple black—hoodie, jeans, rings glinting on his fingers. His hair was soft, a little messy, and he had this calm presence like the storm of energy around him didn’t touch him at all.

“This is Seungmin,” she said. “Jisung’s friend. He joined last minute.”

He looked up—and your breath caught for a second.

It was subtle, nothing dramatic. Just a glance. But it was like the moment his eyes met yours, the rest of the room dimmed just a little. Warm brown eyes. Sharp, slightly teasing smile. A quick flicker of recognition in a face you’d never seen before.

“Hey,” he said, nodding.

You blinked. “Hi.”

Your best friend was already moving again, shouting about soju bombs and how someone needed to queue a TWICE song, but you were still standing there, not quite sure what had just happened.

Someone patted the seat next to Seungmin. “Sit, there’s room!”

You hesitated for a second—then lowered yourself onto the cushion beside him. Close enough to feel the heat of his arm, but not quite touching. He didn’t shift away. Just looked over, calm and unreadable.

“You new to the group?” you asked, hoping your voice didn’t sound as breathy as it felt.

“Kind of,” he said. “First time I’ve hung out with this many of them at once. You?”

“I’m here for the chaos,” you smiled.

“Clearly,” he deadpanned, nodding toward Jisung, who was now on his knees dramatically singing into the mic like a man possessed.

You laughed, and Seungmin’s lips twitched—not quite a full smile, but close.

As the night spun on, drinks were poured, songs were shouted more than sung, and someone passed you a mic with no warning. “Your turn!”

You groaned. “Do I have to?”

“Yes!” everyone chorused at once.

You scrolled through the playlist and picked something safe—a feel-good track you wouldn’t butcher too badly. As you sang, the nerves melted off with every line. It wasn’t perfect, but it was fun. When the song ended, you glanced around and found Seungmin watching you again. Not in a creepy way. Just… noticing.

“You sing well,” he said casually.

You smiled, tucking the mic away. “You’re just saying that.”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” he replied, tone unreadable.

That shut you up for a second. Then, Jisung clapped Seungmin on the back. “Your turn, man! You’re not getting out of this.” Seungmin sighed dramatically, but he stood and grabbed the mic anyway. He walked toward the screen, brows furrowed in concentration as he picked a song.

He didn’t look nervous. He looked like he knew exactly what he was about to do. And you suddenly had the feeling you were about to learn something unexpected.

The room buzzed with playful heckling as Seungmin scrolled through the playlist, chin tilted slightly, brows furrowed like he was reading a secret message only he could decipher. You weren’t sure what kind of song to expect—something upbeat, maybe, something fun to match the mood. But then the opening notes hit, and the room shifted.

Soft. Slow. Raw emotion wrapped in every piano chord. The kind of song that didn’t ask for attention—it demanded silence. A few people started murmuring in surprise. Someone whispered, “Wait… he’s doing this one?” But their voices quickly faded.

Because then Seungmin started to sing. And it was like everything else just… fell away.

His voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It was rich, smooth, like velvet pulled tight over a storm. Perfect pitch, but more than that—feeling. Like the lyrics lived somewhere deep in his chest and were only now being let out, piece by piece. There was a quiet ache in the way he shaped the words, almost too gentle to be real. You swore the room was holding its breath. No drunken shouting. No off-key backup vocals. Just him.

And you?

You were frozen.

Eyes locked on the way his lips moved, how his lashes lowered as he hit a falsetto so clean it sent actual chills down your spine. His hand rested loosely at his side, mic held steady like it was second nature.

You’d been to karaoke a hundred times. Heard a hundred voices.

But not like this. This wasn’t just singing. This was intimate. Like you were being let in on something personal. Like every word he sang was carefully chosen for this exact moment—and maybe, somehow, for you. By the time the final note faded, the silence that followed was almost reverent.

Then—applause. Loud, messy, full of disbelief.

“Dude,” Jisung laughed, tossing a napkin in Seungmin’s direction. “You’ve been holding out on us!”

Seungmin just shrugged modestly, handing off the mic. “Didn’t feel like singing earlier.”

But when he turned to sit back down, his eyes found yours first. A little flash of something in his gaze—playful, knowing. You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but all you could manage was a soft, “That was… wow.”

He smiled, barely. “Thanks.”

And somehow, that tiny smile wrecked you more than the high note he’d just nailed. “He’s so unserious for pulling out his idol voice like that,” someone muttered as Seungmin sat back down beside you, drink in hand like he hadn’t just vocally ruined the entire room in the best way possible.

You couldn’t stop staring.

Not in a weird way. Just in a what the hell just happened kind of way. Everyone knew he was an idol, but it was one thing to know, and another to hear first hand, not at a concert, but in a karaoke room.

“You’re staring,” he said quietly, not looking at you.

“I’m allowed,” you whispered back. “That wasn’t fair.”

That made him glance your way, amused. “What, the song?”

“The voice,” you said before you could stop yourself. “You came here to hang out and decided to assassinate us instead?”

He laughed—a real one this time, not just the polite idol chuckle. “I was being nice. I held back.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was still thumping. Then Jisung, clearly thriving off the chaos, grinned and shouted, “OKAY. DUET TIME. We’re pairing up, and I am not accepting no’s—y/n, you’re up with Seungmin!”

You froze. “Wait—what?”

Seungmin just looked sideways at you, one brow raised like he was waiting to see if you’d run or take the mic. Your fingers twitched. “Unless you’re scared?” he said, teasing.

You narrowed your eyes. “I was going to be nice. Guess I’ll sing for blood.”

The group ooh’d at the fake rivalry as someone queued up a familiar, upbeat duet—something flirty and fun with alternating verses and a dramatic chorus. You stood up, heart pounding, and took the mic. Beside you, Seungmin rolled his shoulders out like he was warming up for a concert. “Ready, partner?”

You snorted. “Try to keep up.”

And then the beat dropped.

You started the first verse, playful and light. The words came easier now, riding adrenaline. He jumped in with the second line, voice smooth, pitch perfect, of course—but now with a new edge. He leaned into the teasing lyrics, eyes flicking to you like he was trying to make you break.

You held your ground. And that’s when the magic happened.

There was this flow between you—passing the mic back and forth like it was a game, matching each other’s energy without even trying. He leaned in on a harmony, and your voices fit like puzzle pieces. It didn’t feel rehearsed. It felt right. Someone started filming. By the time the final chorus hit, you were both practically laughing, bodies angled toward each other, eyes locked even as you sang the last line together.

When the song ended, the room exploded.

“Okay, wait, do we need to give you two the room?”

“That was unreasonably hot—hello??”

You flushed, suddenly too aware of how close he was, how easy it had felt. Seungmin looked at you, smile lazy, voice low. “You really aren’t scared, huh.” And just like that—you were in trouble.

The chaos of the room faded to a dull buzz in the background—laughter, drinks clinking, someone screaming lyrics in the next room over. A few of your friends had spilled out to grab snacks, others were too busy arguing over who got to sing next. The energy had shifted into something looser, sleepier. Like the night had finally exhaled.

You were still sitting next to Seungmin, the heat between you warm but not overwhelming anymore. Just… steady. Comfortable.

He took a slow sip of his drink, eyes fixed on the screen even though it wasn’t playing anything. “They’re wild,” he said, nodding toward your friend group.

You chuckled. “You’re saying that like you’re not used to Jisung.”

“I’m used to Jisung. Not ten Jisungs at once.”

You laughed again, and he smiled. Not his idol smile. Not the curated one. A real one. It was quiet for a beat after that. Not awkward. Just… unspoken. You glanced at him, then at the mic still resting near his knee.

“That song earlier,” you said softly. “The solo. Why that one?”

He didn’t answer right away. Then: “It’s one I never get to sing on stage,” he said, voice low, fingers absently tracing the condensation on his glass. “Too slow for a live set. Too quiet. Not exciting enough.”

“But it meant something.” His gaze flicked to yours—sharp and surprised. Then thoughtful. “Yeah,” he admitted. “It does.”

There was something gentle about the way he looked at you then. Like he wasn’t just seeing you—he was choosing to let you see him. Not the idol. Not the polished version. Just the boy who liked slow songs and quiet moments.

“Do you ever wish it could all just slow down?” you asked before thinking.

His shoulders lowered slightly, like the question had knocked the air out of him in a good way.

“All the time,” he said. “But it’s rare. I forget how to sit still.”

You nodded. You got that. Maybe not in the same way, but you understood the exhaustion of always having to be on, to perform, to keep up with the people around you even when your body begged for stillness.

“That’s why I picked that song,” he added after a moment. “Not because I thought anyone would notice. Just… felt like I needed to hear it.”

You blinked slowly, feeling something tighten in your chest. He didn’t say it for effect. He wasn’t trying to charm you. He was just being honest. And somehow, that honesty felt more intimate than the duet, more vulnerable than all the shared glances and teasing smiles. You leaned back a little, nudging his shoulder with yours. “Well. I noticed.” He turned to look at you—soft eyes, lips parted like he was about to say something else, something more. But he didn’t. He just nodded, and the silence between you felt full instead of empty.

Eventually, the rest of the group stumbled back in—laughing too loud, arms full of convenience store snacks and another round of drinks no one really needed. The energy picked back up, a final burst before the inevitable crash. Someone attempted to sing again, terribly. Another person fell asleep mid-verse.

The night had peaked, and now it was coasting on the afterglow.

You checked your phone—past midnight. Your voice was hoarse from laughing, and your cheeks hurt from smiling. Most of the group was starting to collect their things, slowly accepting the fate of early morning hangovers and sore throats.

Seungmin was still next to you, his thigh brushing yours when he shifted to grab his phone. You should’ve said goodbye. That’s what normal people did, right? Say thanks for tonight and see you around and maybe let fate take it from there.

But something tugged at you. A little ache. A little no, not yet.

And maybe he felt it too, because before you could move, he cleared his throat and said, almost casually:

“Hey.”

You looked at him. “Yeah?”

“Can I…” He paused, tapping his phone against his palm, not quite looking at you. “Can I get your number?”

Your stomach flipped.

“Only if you promise not to ghost me,” you said, recovering quickly.

That got a laugh out of him—quiet, but real. “I think I owe you at least a duet rematch,” he said, handing you his phone with the contact screen already open. You typed in your number, added a little mic emoji next to your name before handing it back. “Nice touch,” he said, glancing down at the screen. “I’ll remember you by your stage presence.”

You smirked. “And your ballad era will haunt me forever.”

He looked at you for a beat—longer than necessary. And in that moment, the karaoke room, the noise, the people, all of it blurred. Just him. Just you. And something new. Something beginning. You stood, grabbing your coat, heart still racing.

“Goodnight, Seungmin,” you said, soft but certain.

“Goodnight,” he replied. “Text you soon?”

You nodded, already walking backward toward the door. “I’ll hold you to it.”

And when the door slid shut behind you, you were smiling like an idiot. Because you knew. This wasn’t just a fun night. This was the start of something you couldn’t name yet—but wanted to.

The texts started the next morning. Nothing over the top. No grand good morning message or three-paragraph essay.

Just:

[Seungmin]: you survived the chaos?

And then, when you didn’t respond right away:

[Seungmin]: or are you still recovering from my devastating vocal power

You grinned like an idiot in bed and typed back:

[You]: emotionally and spiritually, yes. physically, still in shock.

It continued like that—daily check-ins, flirty sarcasm, the occasional voice memo that made your heart do things. You’d hear his voice and remember that night too vividly: the way he looked under the neon glow, how he sang like no one else was in the room.

But between all the teasing, there were real moments too. You found out he liked rainy days but hated soggy socks. That he collected stuffed animals people gave him, but he’d never admit it publicly. That his schedule was hectic, but he always replied, even if it took a while.

And then, one Friday afternoon:

[Seungmin]: are you free this weekend?

You stared at the screen. Paused. Typed. Deleted. Then typed again:

[You]: depends. is this a duet or a solo performance?

[Seungmin]: …it’s a café date, smartass. i’ll even buy you a drink.

[Seungmin]: and maybe a muffin if you’re charming enough.

The café was tucked in a quiet street, the kind of place that smelled like espresso and fresh flowers, with soft jazz playing through hidden speakers. It was a total contrast to the karaoke bar—slower, quieter, somehow closer. Seungmin was already there when you arrived, wearing a navy hoodie, baseball cap, and black mask. Still somehow completely recognizable. He stood when he saw you, pulling his mask down just enough to flash a smile. “You’re late.”

“You’re early,” you said, narrowing your eyes.

“I didn’t want to risk you ghosting me.”

You snorted. “As if.”

He ordered your drink before you could argue and handed you a paper bag with a smug look. You opened it—inside was a small Puppy.M plushie. Soft. Perfect. A little derpy in the cutest way.

Your heart squeezed.

“No way,” you whispered, cradling it gently. “You carry these around?”

“I had a spare in my bag,” he said, avoiding eye contact. “Don’t make it weird.”

“It’s very weird.”

“It’s limited edition,” he muttered. “You’re welcome.”

You looked at the plush, then at him. “So… I get a plushie and a muffin?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

But he was already reaching for the display case. The two of you sat near the window, sun spilling across the table as you talked about everything and nothing. His voice was softer here—no cameras, no loud music. Just him.

He asked about your dreams. Listened like he cared. Told you stories from trainee days, his voice dipping low when he got serious, then shooting back up with a dry punchline that made you laugh out loud.

It was… easy. And when you reached for your drink, your fingers brushed the plushie instead—and caught him watching you.

“What?” you asked. He looked away, then back again, almost like he hadn’t meant to speak.

“I felt it,” he said simply. “That night. When I saw you.”

You blinked. “What?”

He shrugged, as if it wasn’t a confession. “At karaoke. I looked at you and thought, ‘Yeah. She’s gonna ruin me.’”

Your chest tightened. You tried to play it cool. “Too late for that?” He smiled—slow, genuine, completely unguarded.

“Way too late.”

The café dimmed as the sun dipped lower, turning the windows gold and the air warm with that quiet hush of early evening. Most of the tables had emptied, but neither of you had moved. The drinks were long gone, your muffin reduced to a few crumbs, and Puppy.M sat between you like a tiny, smug third wheel.

It was the kind of silence that didn’t need filling. Just... comfort. And something else. Something buzzing beneath the surface.

You turned to him, chin resting on your hand. “So. Are you always like this on first dates?”

Seungmin raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Thoughtful. Mysterious. Surprisingly soft?”

He pretended to consider it. “Only when the other person sings on key.”

You snorted and nudged his foot under the table. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” he said. And then, quieter, “But... no. I’m not always like this.”

You met his gaze—and this time, he didn’t look away.

“I wasn’t planning to meet anyone that night,” he said, voice low, like he was afraid if he said it too loudly, it wouldn’t be true. “I almost didn’t go. But then you walked in and looked at me like you already knew me.”

You swallowed. Hard. “Maybe I did,” you said. “Kind of felt like I’d been waiting to meet you. Is that stupid?”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Really stupid.”

And then he leaned in. Not fast. Not dramatic. Just close enough for you to feel the shift in the air between you. For his eyes to flick down to your lips. For your heart to crawl up your throat.

You could’ve pulled back. You didn’t.

Your lips met his like the softest sigh—like a secret finally spoken out loud. He kissed you gently at first, warm and tentative, one hand brushing your jaw like he was afraid to move too fast. You melted into it without meaning to, lips slotting perfectly with his, eyes fluttering shut.

It wasn’t perfect. It was better. Honest. Quiet. Real.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours and exhaled like he’d been holding his breath the entire day.

“Your stage presence is still better than mine,” he murmured.

“Liar.”

He grinned, eyes still closed. “Maybe. But I got the encore, didn’t I?”

You laughed, your hand slipping into his under the table, fingers lacing easily.

“You really did.”

[kyri45]

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 07/12✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

Anonimo ha chiesto: Ok hear me out, what if Mac and Wukong talk about how afraid of dying Wukong is and how that fear now also applies to MK and maybe even Mac too

aaaaahh how about the fact that now Wukong is MROE afraid of MK dying than himself (since that's basically what happened in S5)

Anonimo ha chiesto: I am just imagining how will shadowpeach relationship improve that they will start courting each other and mk is like.. :0 DAMN U SURE UR THE SAME MONKEYS AS WHEN YOU WERE TRYING TO KILL EACH OTHER!!!

BOY SURE THEY ARE!!!

@kristea9ay ha chiesto: Love your last post! I need more Spicynoodles content ISTG 😭 but the last post got me thinking, has anyone told Red what MK attempted to do? Or did MK just randomly mention it during a conversation. MK: oh yeah, I found out I could teleported right before I was about to sacrifice myself- Red: YOU-WHAT?! MK: right?? I didn't even know I could do that! Do you know how much easier delivering noodles would have been? Red: no- you- NOODLE BOY-!

LMAO POOR RED SON EVERY DAY MK PULLS OUT A NEW SHENANIGAN

Anonimo ha chiesto: Please show us Macaque courtnapping wukong in the past 🙏🙏🙏 Anonimo ha chiesto: Can, can we see what Macaque actually DID to courtnap Wukong? Please? Please and thank you? With a cherry on top? AND with an ice cream sundae!!!

I wasn't lying when I said it really was the tickle war. A very jealous tickle war.

@beanspassin ha chiesto: OMG I just had a thought!!! What if when MK finally gets the hang of his shadow powers, shadow portals to be specific- ITS WHEN HES COURTNAPPING REDSON!!!! >:3c

AAAWW THAT COULD BE ADORABLEE!! Unfortunately MK is not able to make shadow powers at all, there are certain powers that just he didn't inherit

Anonimo ha chiesto: What will we see first Shadowpeach marriage OR spicynodlles marriage??

Oh man I don't know, I want to say Shadowpeach since Spicynoodle is still a pretty new couple. They are both young (I mean, MK is) and still need some times to know each other.

Anonimo ha chiesto: I need more of wukong and Mk picking up there boyfriends like there bags of grapes. love me some stronk boyfriends

THEY ARE STRONKKKK I would see Wukong just lifting the whole fam

Anonimo ha chiesto: 1st- I LOVE YOUR COMIC! Is so good! Your stories make me want to draw and create and I really want to thank you because they do inspire me. I love your linework and your use of shape and YOUR EXPRESSIONS!?? Ugh! they are lovely 💕 With that said. And I am sorry if this is a weird question but with MK and Swk being trans and Mac seemingly not, I was wondering if you had any hcs with Mac’s gender? I’ve seen a bunch of the fandom hc mac as either nb, genderfluid or a trans woman. And I found it funny that he is now the cis monkey 😂. So I though I’ll ask. Also totally fine if you hc him as cis! Is just that at least with the fandom I interact with the one that tends to be the trans one is Macaque so It was honestly nice se SWK for a change! But I still wonder, you know? Anyways! Have a good day!

mmmm nope I don't. I don't have any preferences either so any of you can feel free on giving them any kind of headcanon. Anonimo ha chiesto:

*Jumps through window* OW OH HI JUST WANTED TO POP IN AND SAY I LOVE YOUR SHADOWPEACH SERIES OKAY BYE *runs through a wall* @honktraband01 ha chiesto: OUGHHHHHH YOUR ART AND STORYTELLING IS PHENOMENAL!!!! I CAN’T GET ENOUGH!!! (Especially the ShadowPeach AU omg) and I’m so excited for whenever the next part comes out I practically screamed when Mac dropped part of his glamour omg. I may or may not have decided to finally start binging LMK because of this au… and may also be working on various bits of fan art…. So THANK YOU!!! I’ve been in-between hyperfixations and this fixed it :33 @mistress-of-nightmares ha chiesto: So I discovered your Shadowpeach bio parents AU two weeks ago on a sunday evening and my weekly phone screentime thingamabob came this Monday and. My tumblr activity has tripled in a single week. Bc I re-read your comic like four times. Jsyk 👌 Anonimo ha chiesto: I just wanted to let you know that your art is amazing, and your shadowpeach AU is the reason I binged the entire LMK series in 2 weeks. Anonimo ha chiesto: This is not a question. I just want to say I love your shadowpeach bio dad au, and I hope you have a good life and be happy and never give up what makes you happy and I know I like it because when something makes me feel less tired and more happy I know it is a great thing to have so keep it going 💜💜💜

majoraofmask ha chiesto: I LOVE YOUR ART AO MUCH! Both of your comic series have my brain in a chokehold and I do not want to let go! Your art and character writing is so tasty! Gradients my beloved ♥️♥️ zazzalonies ha chiesto: Your comic brings me life, I was drifting out of the fandom until I found this and it’s the best thing I’ve found on tumbler, that you for your work 🥰🥰 m4delin ha chiesto: I have never seen the lego monkey kid series, but I'm super hooked onto the bio dad au. it's amazing

AJCCBOADCB THANK YOU FOR ALL THE LOVE GUYS!!!

@dragonaboni-blog ha chiesto: Hi! I'm thinking of doing a redraw of a scene from Shadowpeach AU (I won't say which one, it's a secret ;3) But I'd like to know if you have a color reference of Redson, pretty please~ OwO

If you wait just a little more I might draw him with colors, but until then very sorry but not at the moment.

Anonimo ha chiesto: So Umm since we got macaque being under moonlight shall we get wukong with sunshine??

Well he is most of the time under the sunshine but maybe we will see him absolutely shining.

Anonimo ha chiesto: does Mac experience anything else during esclipes? Mood swings? Angst? 👀 Hormones? 👀👀👀👀👀 I suspect SWK would be right there for him. It would be so cute to see him help Macque. 🥰

I guess he does have mood swings and also tirediness. He's more sleepy but at same time can't sleep. It doesn't hurt him but he feels the fact that he is weaker.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Ok but in ch.14 of vol.1 of JTTW, Wukong pilfers one of Tripitaka's old shirts and Tripitaka sees him wearing it and says he can keep it. Canon Wukong steals clothes from the people around him!!

AWWW HE GOT A COLLECTION OF LOVED ONES CLOTHES!

[knavesflames]

Hello please read it’s important love you all

You may have noticed the lack of posting.. again. I am so sorry😭 but chat, I’m so sick, it’s not even funny. I got fanfic writer curse.

I’ve been sick since June this year, went to the hospital for the first time in September, spent two days in a coma type thing back in October, and… yeah, it’s not good. It’s the sickest I’ve ever been.

I am Trying to live as normal for now, but I need to have a surgery to be able to do so, and the surgery keeps being delayed due to new problems arising. My surgery was supposed to be this month, actually, but I fell ill again at Christmas (and subsequently spent both my birthday and new years in hospital grrrr), and because of how many times I’ve been ill with this specific thing— I would have died if they operated. I’ve almost died four times since September, I’m a bit bored now LMAO

Each infection I get almost kills me and the surgery they need to do was too risky to complete now in the hospital I was at. I’ve been living with this kind of drain coming out of my body to make sure I don’t get infection riddled again. But if I’m not sick with that, there’s something else. It’s just never ending. I got told “we can operate now, but you’ll die. Are you willing to risk that?” And a lot of other things, but yes. Dark shit. Scary shit. (I pretend I’m not but I feel like a scared child weee)

Tomorrow I have an appointment to take lots of tests and have a conversation about when my surgery will be, but honestly? This is the closest we’ve gotten to actually recovering, and I’m not trying to stress myself out more than I have to. I’m often tired and I use most of my energy with education and talking to the people I love dearly (which, I admit, I’m slacking on too) and writing just… has barely been on my mind.

I do come on this blog and feel very guilty and i feel like i have an obligation to post SOMETHING even if its an explanation as to why my posts have been less and in worse quality because of the sheer number of you.

I shall return to my once weekly posts soon. For now I shall try to post when I can. Maybe I’ll queue a couple for when I know my surgery date. Yes. Mwah. Love you all.

Also, if you read this far, give me ideas of what I can call you guys in my box!! Other than chat. I use chat too often, something more this tumblr centric

(And don’t be silly like teenager me and not eat— it causes a multitude of problems, it caused THIS problem. I take accountability for my actions but my LORD it has opened my eyes guys please for the love of god take care of yourselves)

[eddiesghxst]

PRICE OF FAME (PART 10/12)

helloooo, here are these two messy cuties once again, i hope you enjoyyy

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader

summary: time is almost up but who could deny a good karaoke session?

contains: enemies to lovers trope, alcohol consumption, mentions of drug use, sexual themes, slight angst, those awkward/cringey scenes where they're singing (i apologize in advance), and lots of mixed feelings <3

word count: 3.9k

| previous part | next part |

| series masterlist | -main masterlist- |

song inspo for this chappy hehe:

Steve and Robin love karaoke. 

Nancy had warned you that the friendly pair practically fiend for a good karaoke sesh, but you hadn’t expected them to be as enthusiastic as they turned out to be.

For some odd reason, the city seems less busy today, so you, Eddie, and Eddie's friends can take up as much room as you’d like on the sidewalk. 

In front of you, Robin and Steve are seriously debating what the first song on the queue will be. Walking just a few paces behind them is Nancy, who’s quietly taking in the city's bright lights; and next to you, palm burning a hole through your hand with his addicting touch, is Eddie.

It’s stupid, you think. The way Eddie has seen you stripped down and bare, whining and quivering for him at what could arguably be your most vulnerable state, yet you still find your heart racing 100 miles a minute with this soft gesture of holding hands.

Sure, you’ve held his hand before, but not for this long. Not in public when it’s not the heat of the moment and you’re simply walking around. It’s weird and new, and it makes your stomach twist in a good way, but fuck— you chicken out when Robin and Steve turn to face you, Nancy, and Eddie.

“Steve wants to start karaoke with Queen— like any karaoke amateur would.” Robin huffs as Steve rolls his eyes. You slip your hand from Eddie’s hold before either of them can clock the gesture, and you avoid looking at Eddie when he clears his throat.

“Because it’s the perfect opener!” Steve stresses. “Everybody always does, Queen, Steve! Plus, I’m not even sure I can physically pull through with how long their songs are.” Robin argues. 

Steve’s jaw dropped as if Robin had just said the most foul thing he’d ever heard, “Their songs are not that long. And even if they are, they’re fucking amazing, so what’s your point.” “My point is we’re not starting the night with Queen.”

They’re an interesting group of friends, you’ll admit. Interesting in the sense that you swear they could be a part of some sitcom with how funny and unpredictable their conversations and interactions are.

By the time you reach the karaoke bar, Steve and Robin have an entire list of songs mentally queued up, and they make a beeline to the DJ operating the music as you and Nancy snag a table towards the middle of the room. The bar is to one side of the room while the stage is at the front, and the DJ booth is at the back; the rest of the room is full of tables where people chatter, laugh over drinks, and sing along with whoever is currently doing their performance. Eddie had split off to get drinks the second you entered the bar, so it’s just you and Nancy as you settle at the wooden table.

“Are you going to sing?” Nancy questions from the other side of the table. You pull a face, shrugging your shoulders up to your ears, “I’m not sure, maybe once I get a few drinks in me. How about you?” Nancy softly laughs with a playful roll of her eyes, “Unfortunately, I doubt Robin will let me escape this one.”

As if summoned, Robin slides into the seat right next to Nancy. “I put you down together, but there’s a few people ahead, so start thinking of the song you’ll sing.” She gestures between you and Nancy. You shrug, accepting defeat, and before you can pitch an idea for a song to Nancy, Robin is leaning her elbows against the table and blinking at you, “So, let’s cut to the chase. What’s going on between you and Eddie?” She asks.

Nancy’s eyes widen as she instinctively jabs her elbow into Robin’s ribs, “Ow!” “Rob, you can’t just ask people that— god.” You softly laugh as Robin rubs at her sore side. “Sorry if I’m interested in keeping tabs on my friend!” Robin sarcastically argued.

Nancy rolls her eyes and sends you an apologetic look. “Look, I’m just guessing— based on the fact that you two were in the back of a fancy restaurant— that something is going on. Oh— unless this is, like, a business thing, then you can totally ignore me.” Robin rambles.

“Robin,” Nancy stresses. Your cheeks seem to ache from the amused expression on your face as Nancy turns to you, “You don’t have to answer either way since it’s none of our business.” She says, voice raising near the end as she glares at Robin. Robin rolls her eyes, and you laugh with a shake of your head as you shift in your seat. “No, it’s fine, I understand, but um,” You shrug, “It’s just a business thing.” You finally answer.

And, technically, you’re not wrong. There is a business transaction going on between you and Eddie… and the rest of the band, which is primarily the basis of your relationship, but you’re not sure how appropriate it would be to say, ‘Yeah, I mean, Eddie hated me, but now he doesn’t, so then we fucked yesterday but then his manager basically told us to squash whatever that was, so now we’re kind of in a weird spot because we don’t hate each other but we can’t like each other. Oh yeah, and here’s the kicker, Eddie’s been a total asshole this entire time, and it’s fucked with my head a bit. But apparently, he wants to change!’

It’s a colorful mess of loopholes and twists and turns that probably nobody will fully understand aside from you and Eddie, so…. business thing it is. 

Robin seems to take that as an answer, but Nancy is now intrigued by your tone, “That didn’t sound very sure.” She playfully raises a suggestive eyebrow. Robin hums, “What happened to it being none of our business?” She points out, to which Nancy just waves a dismissive hand in response. “It’s a business thing, but…” Nancy prods. Your face warms as you lift your shoulders in a shrug, “I mean, it’s… it’s complicated.” 

Nancy nods with a shrug as she shifts in her seat, “So, how did you two meet?” 

You take a deep breath as you lean to rest your elbows on the table, “Well, I’m a writer for Rolling Stone magazine—” Robin gasps, grabbing your attention, “No shit? Nancy’s a journalist too— ow!” She turns to look at Nancy with a disgruntled look as she rubs her thigh, “Would you stop bullying me?” She frowns.

Before either of them can get far into bickering, Eddie and Steve come waltzing back to the table with drinks in their hands. Eddie snags a seat beside you and passes a drink to you; you smile as you gratefully take the glass and softly thank him. Steve plops down next to Robin, sliding her and Nancy their drinks as he says, “Alright, I hope everyone has their songs picked out because I plan on battling each and every one of you.”

Although the weather outside is on the more chilly side of summer days, you find your body warm with liquor and laughter as you, Nancy, and Eddie watch a tipsy pair of Steve and Robin sing a surprisingly good rendition of Huey Lewis’ Heart and Soul. You’ve shrugged off your sweater and tossed it over the back of your chair— and you’re thankful to have thrown on a tank top underneath because, most of the time, you hardly bother to wear anything beneath sweaters.

It’s their fourth song of the night, Eddie and Nancy have both gone up at least once, but you’ve been on the observant side mostly, enjoying the ongoing conversations you’ve had with Nancy. There’s a bowl of chips and salsa in the middle of the table, and Eddie’s arm is draped across the back of your chair, heat pouring from him and seeping all around to wrap you up in an Eddie-scented bubble— it’s nicer than you’d care or like to admit.

Nancy has turned around to watch and cheer on the performance; she’s become more animated and loose after a few drinks, and you laugh as Robin practically serenades her from the stage. You lean back in your chair, softly giggling as you slightly lean into Eddie, “So,” you grab your drink and glance at the boy on your side, “What’s the dynamic here?” You ask with a jut of your chin towards his friends.

Eddie hums, leaning further into his chair, and in turn, pressing himself closer to you. His breath is warm against your ear and cheek, curly strands brushing against your skin as he speaks, “So basically,” He dramatically sighs, and you smile at his dramatics as he gestures between his friends, “Nancy and Steve are exes from high school and Robin and Steve are best friends.” You nod, gaze darting between the friends as you connect the dots. “But,” He raises a finger over his glass, “Robin and Nancy are dating now.” Your eyebrows raise at the full circle of events, but you nod as your suspicions are finally confirmed. 

Eddie leans closer, voice dropping to a lower volume, “But at this rate, it’s safe to say Nancy’s playing third wheel for Steve and Rob since they practically share one brain cell.” You tilt your head, “Okay, I see it now.”

Nancy glances over her shoulder to glare at you and Eddie from her seat, “I heard that, assholes… you’re not wrong.” She grumbles. You and Eddie laugh as she turns back to face you both now that Steve and Robin are hopping off the stage.

“Steve’s actually seeing a girl now; she’s in nursing school.” Nancy pipes up, grabs a chip, and pops it into her mouth. Eddie leans forward at that, keeping his arm on your chair as he uses the other to grab a chip for himself,  “Nursing school?”

Nancy nods as she sips her drink, “He goes down to see her like every other weekend. And they run our phone bill up like hell.” 

Robin plops down into her seat, “What are we talking about? Steve’s hot nurse babe?” She asks, humming when Nancy nods. Robin scoffs as she turns to Eddie, “Can you believe they’ve been dating for, like, four months, and we have yet to even see a picture of her? They see each other every week!”

Eddie snorts, “Then who’s he talking to on the phone?” Robin shrugs, “Who knows at this point.”

Steve returns as if on cue, sitting down with a sigh as he glances at the table, “What’d I miss?”

“Nothing, just talking about your imaginary girlfriend.” Robin teases.

Steve groans, eyes rolling before glaring at his giggling friends— your cheeks hurt from smiling. “She’s real, okay? She’s real, and her name is Cassie, and the only reason you haven’t met her yet is because she’s literally in nursing school— she has a busy schedule!”

And although you wish Eddie and you had been able to finish your discussion without the abrupt interruption, you find yourself growing fond of this shade of Eddie— sure, you’ve seen him having fun and being unapologetically himself with Gareth and Jeff and even on stage, but this side of Eddie is softer— kinder, brighter— homey. 

You realize as you watch him singing his heart out to some mainstream pop song that Steve somehow talked him into doing. You’re more surprised that Eddie knows the lyrics, but you’re too tipsy to dwell on it because Nancy’s scooting onto the chair beside you and asking what song you two should sing because, “We have to outsing them, obviously.”

And, well, you hardly have the time to stop your lips before you lean in and tell her the song you’d like to sing. Nancy snickers, giggling at the obvious undertone of the chosen song, and she eagerly agrees because “He’s gonna shit his pants.”

You go back and forth on who will take which role— who will sing Tom Petty’s key, and who will sing Stevie Nicks's key— but then you eventually land on just singing together for the entirety of the song. When the boys finish their song, Nancy drags you up to the DJ to request the song and magically persuades him to let you skip the queue of people to go next. She’s a good flirt, that’s indisputable.

You should probably thank Nancy at some point for agreeing to this song regardless of how little information she has about your situationship with Eddie, but before you even get the chance to, you and Nancy are already singing the first line of the song— Baby, you'll come knocking on my front door. Same old line you used to use before— and well, Eddie’s head has never turned his head faster, but you avoid his gaze for as long as you can.

And you’re doing good; you’re doing so good, and then you get to the second chorus and lock eyes with Eddie as you sing along to the track with Nancy— Baby, you could never look me in the eye. Yeah, you buckle with the weight of the world. Stop draggin' my, stop draggin' my, stop draggin' my heart around— and, well… you think you made your point clear.

You and Nancy have a blast singing to Nicks and Petty, and when the song ends, the bar claps and cheers as they do after every performance, and you’re all smiles as you waltz back to the table, sitting next to the fidgeting boy you’d just indirectly serenaded. Steve and Robin are telling you and Nancy how well you did and teasing each other over specific parts of the performance, and they’re all so caught up in one another that they hardly notice as Eddie leans into your space, voice low and gravely as he speaks, “That was cruel, princess.”

You look at him, eyes falling to the ghost of a smirk that dances across his lips before you reach forward to grab your drink, wrapping your lips around the thin, black straw, maintaining eye contact as you shrug, “Did you get the hint?” You tease.

Eddie huffs around a laugh, shifting in his seat, left arm back to barricading the back of your chair, and you don’t fail to notice the tent in the crotch of his jeans. He rolls his tongue over his teeth, snickering when you raise an eyebrow, “Yeah… Yeah, I got the hint.” He nods, and you think you might see a pink tint dusting across his cheeks.

You smile, liquor making you bold as you blink up at him, “Good.”

It’s a long trip to the hotel with a pair of drunk best friends.

They ramble a lot— Steve and Robin— you come to find out, and Nancy and Eddie have become experts at handling them with ease. You realize this as you watch them get their friends tucked into bed. Nancy is tipsy, but Eddie informed you that she has a weird thing with tequila where she becomes highly functioning, so she’s moving about the room with grace and precision.

When the drunk pair is finally tucked into bed, Nancy walks you and Eddie to the door of the hotel room, thanking you for taking the time to make sure they got in safe. “I would say see you at breakfast, but I doubt these two will have crawled from the grave by then.” Nancy gestures back to Robin and Steve. 

You don’t blame them; they’re basically on holiday, and you would do the same.

Your and Eddie’s rooms are on a different floor, and it’s a long ride up to the top, especially with the burning desire for one of you to say something— what, you’re not sure.

“I like your friends.”

That was you talking, you realize when Eddie turns to you with a smirk, “Yeah? They didn’t scare you off with their incessant shithead behavior?” He jokingly questions. You hum with a laugh, “I’ve dealt with worse.” You tease.

Eddie walks you to your room, his intoxicating smell and presence hovering around you as you unlock the door before stepping in. You turn around, hand resting on the edge of the door as you look at the curly-haired boy, “Good night, Eddie.”

Eddie hums, leaning against the door frame, eyes flickering to the twist of your mouth before reaching your eyes again, “Not gonna finish our conversation?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, “I hardly believe you’d be doing much talking if I let you in right now.” And you don’t think you’re ready to travel down that path again. Not so soon when you have the events of tonight to digest, not to mention the gift sitting in your bag.

Eddie shrugs with a small smirk, “I can multitask.”

His gentle smile is beautiful. Alluring and unique, and his eyes are taking you with such an intensity that you think you might melt if you stay a minute longer. “I didn’t choose that song for the hell of it, you know?” You ask. “Stevie’s got a mean fucking range. Lord knows if I’ll be covering her again.” You grumble. And really, how high can the woman go with her rasp?

Eddie laughs, turning his head and glancing at the empty hallway before looking back to you, “Yeah, I know,” He softly replies.

You nod and he takes a deep breath, nodding towards your bag slung over your shoulder, “Listen to the tape.” He reminds you.

You tilt your head, clenching the strap of your bag before speaking, “Are you under the impression that this would make up for everything?” You ask.

And you don’t mean for it to sound harsh or hurt his feelings, but you have to let him know that if that’s what he’s hoping, then he’s wrong. This doesn’t fix everything. This doesn’t fix the confused feelings and the harsh words. It’s a start, but it’s not a finish as well.

And although Eddie’s expression falters, he shakes his head, “No. But I still want you to listen.”

You nod quietly, gazing at each other and wishing you could start on a different foot. You clear your throat, straighten your stance, and step back. “Good night, Eddie.” You softly say.

By the time you finish showering and getting ready for bed, the only thing running on your mind is the pending need to sleep. The maids had changed out the seats so they’re not doused with the ghost of Eddie’s cologne and shampoo— but you don’t go long with Eddie out of your mind because there’s a hard object that pokes into your arm when you settle into the bed.

You groan, twisting your arm around your frame to dig out the small object from below you, and when your fingers wrap around the plastic case, you immediately remember the task you’d had for tonight— listen to the tape.

The sleep that weighed down on your body is suddenly gone as you sit up to grab your walkman and headphones before settling back into the comfy sheets.

You try your best to ignore the swirling feeling of nerves and excitement in your gut as you put on your headphones and slip the tape in, but you find yourself nipping at the skin of your nails as the tape winds either way.

It’s silent for a moment, the sound of shuffling and the soft thud of what you think might be someone setting a glass down. There’s a clearing of a throat— it’s Eddie, you can tell— and your stomach twists in anticipation at the first ring of a piano chord. 

The beginning chords are soft and slow, gentle enough to lull you to sleep if you sink into it, and the recording is so vivid that you can hear the dull thud of each key beneath the press of his fingers.

Your heart races when Eddie’s voice seeps into the melody. It’s a ballad, something Corroded Coffin doesn’t have much of, and you wonder why because the softness of Eddie’s voice is arguably one of the most heavenly sounds to have ever touched your ears.

I'm feeling a way, off some kinda drug

Maybe it's lust, maybe it's love

I know I said I'd straighten out a week ago

I'm fiending though, 'bout to reach my peak, you know

The city's got me falling now

It’s… fuck, it’s fucking good, and you haven’t even gotten to the chorus, but god, your heart skips a beat at the following line because it’s a direct callout to you.

I'm fading away, I'm losing my head

I know you said leave, but fuck what you said

As much as you wish you could say you hate it… you don’t.

Even though the song is about you and your twisted relationship with Eddie— which definitely aids to your feelings towards the track— it’s genuinely a good song. Which, okay, is slightly annoying, but you can’t find it in yourself to care as the song carries on.

The future's never looked so bright, it's blinding me

It's hard to see, I'm swimming through dopamine

Your body looks like heaven and

I wanna give up, I just wanna leave

I'm floating away, I'm caught in the breeze

The outro of the song comes and slows down, a softer sound than before filling your ears, and shit— you’re at the edge of your seat now because Eddie is singing so gently, and it has your mind swirling. 

I can't believe this is happening

What did I do? What did she do to me?

…

Mending my brain again

Please don't give up on me

This hurts tremendously

How will this end for me?

When the song dies off, you can hear shuffling again before the track ends, and you’re left with spinning thoughts as you take your headphones off and let the silent and dark room envelope you.

You have to take a moment, yanking the string of the bedside lamp to light up the room so you can see your thoughts more clearly because— how do you feel? You’re not sure, honestly, and the thud of your heart beating in your chest only clouds your judgment even more because— isn’t this what you asked for? For Eddie to be open and honest with you, to tell you his true feelings and where he’s at when it comes to you. And is it enough?

Would it ever be enough for Eddie to give you one simple, stripped-down track to allow him the chance to mend what he’d ruined? 

Your heart wants it to be enough, but realistically, it’s not. Eddie has only just begun his journey to forgiveness, and you have to remind yourself that it’s not wrong to be hesitant to let him in, neither is it bad for you to want him as badly as you do. You’re both learning, and you’re both trying to fix the damage that’s been done, and it might take time, but if you both want it— if Eddie really wants you— then the time and work it takes to fix things won’t be a bother.

You listen to the song two more times, maybe more than twice, and you let the words sink into your bones until you practically have it engraved into your mind, lulling yourself to sleep with the haunting echo of Eddie’s voice and words bouncing in the walls of your skull.

And in your dreams, you meet Eddie, and for the split second you have with him there, everything is perfect— and by the time you wake up, the ticking time bomb to make your choice is now louder than it’s ever been before.

————

part eleven

————

a/n: OMG HIII, you made it to the end again !!! i would just like to specify that the song eddie has written and sang for birdie in this chappy (23 x chase atlantic) is not entirely a nod towards their relationship! reader is not specifically 23 years old nor is she struggling with any type of substance abuse, the lines that were used in this chapter are the lines that actually adhere to them imo, OKAY I THINK U GET IT I'LL SHUT UP NOW.

also, this is not the last of the songs that eddie has written abt birdie btw🫣

i hope u enjoyed and i love love love reading any and all feedback as well as ur silly thots <3 AND AS ALWAYS, TY FOR READING, I LOVE U SO BIG MWAH <3

————

cutie lil taglist: @mastermindmiko @whataboutbibi @ryanmxrie @ihatepeanutss @tlclick73 @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @ye0nvibezzn @eddiesguitarskills @bibieddiesgf @chloe-6123 @micheledawn1975 @demxnicprxncess @emma77645 @sidthedollface2

@daddyhetfield @s-u-t @hereforshmut @mmunson86 @welcometohellsock @lma1986 @birdsinmywalls @animechick555 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @spideydreams00 @lorosette @prestinalove @sirensleepingsoundly @nabiiturner @catherinnn @mossiswriting

[brianwashere]

hello!! saw your writing today in my tags and got interested, read some more and you seem really cool :D i got one fic stuck in my head though, the one you posted earlier today with the 7 foot spider reader! it was really cool but i kind of thought about a follow up (and I made sure to check your rules before this)

i was thinking, m/n is really big, intimidating and generally a badass- however. in bed (nsfw) he’s inexperienced, shy af, and ends up just being really submissive (you actually didn’t specify if you prefer dom or sub reader, i assumed you mind neither, but if u don’t feel comfortable with this then just ignore)

thank you, and keep up your great works so far :D

Anon, you’re officially my favorite fucking person ever. Oh my god. This req. warmed my heart. Idek what. It just did. Thank you for reading my other fics too. Wow. I’m reeling rn.

Also you didn’t specify who with so I just did HCs for Noir and Miguel

Pls req again soon! You’re so sweet

**I do not own any characters or part of the franchise from marvel or sony **

Summary: look at req

Tw: explicit activities ehehehehe, language

-Miguel-

The first time you two try anything he’s expecting you to be all dominant and get his ass blasted

Y’all two are making out and he’s ready to take it to the next level

And you’re nervous cause you know he’s expecting you to be this super experienced “knows how to make you scream immediately” kinda guy

The truth is you haven’t had much experience because while people may be into the whole “huge man” thing they’re too scared to actually come up to you and even have a conversation

And you’re also scared of hurting your partner

Just a mix of things that led you to little experience

It doesn’t take long for Miguel to figure it out

As soon as you glanced at his face nervously he knew something was up

At first Miguel is surprised bcc he would’ve expected men and women to practically be hanging from you

Once he recovers from the initial shock he’s down with topping and showing you the ropes

It’s a bit of a boost to his ego, not to mention a massive turn on for him

He never lets you shy away from him/cover your face. He loves seeing you. He knows he’s not stronger than you but he’ll still pull your hands away/pull you closer

But sometimes he does wanna be on bottom

Queue very erotic teaching sessions

When you do something he likes he’ll definitely over exaggerate so you’ll know

He also loves marking you up in more…intense ways because he knows it won’t really hurt you

Clawing your back. He’ll claw the SHIT out of your back.

Biting you too. Sometimes he just can’t help it

He finds out you have god tier stamina and impecable recovery time and will definitely use that to his advantage

*cough cough* Overstimulation and denial *cough cough*

He’s down to do whatever you’re comfortable with but sometimes he really needs some stress relief i.e. getting a blowjob or just fucking you senseless

He won’t admit it but he likes when he’s the little spoon after you two are done

~Noir~

You got nervous and told him the first make out session that you had practically no experience

He was a little taken aback, again, you’re so big and so hot how could people not be lining up for a piece of you

It makes him feel even more lucky to be with you though

“Oh…that’s ok, dear. We’ll take it slow, then.”

Then he finds out your submissive too and he’s pretty sure he has a heart attack

Now he was pretty vanilla at first but then he found the internet and stumbled upon some kinks and did some…research

Behind. He loves seeing your back muscles move and twist under him

He likes tying your wrists together with some of his webbing

It’s strong enough that it could actually hold you if you tried resisting, maybe not for very long, but it wouldn’t snap like thread at the slightest pressure

He loves praising you. Praise. All the time. Always praise. You could breathe and he’d be on his knees for you

Every time he does something new he asks if you’re ok with it

He’ll be gentle if that’s what you want but he figures out that’s usually not the case

Usually you want everything he’s got, as much as he’ll provide you

He does love soft romantic nights with you though

Where he gets to enjoy your large beautiful frame and your contrasting shyness

When he gets to slow down and drink in ALL of you

The noises you make, the small movements, your incoherent mumbling

He loves ALL of it

He’s so down bad for you not even a joke

A little guilty pleasure for him is kissing you senseless

He loves being the big spoon for you, even if it just feels like a backpack is attached to you

[teshadraws]

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Seekers of Soul

[Chapter 53]

<< First | < Previous | Next >

-

After a tense conversation in the cafeteria, Nia and Tobias make plans with Team Evergreen for a team-up mission.

-

Conversation bubbles up naturally between Team Scarlet and Team Shellshock as they head down the Lexym Tree in search of food. Nia is delighted when Tobias even joins the conversation of his own volition, bantering with Xander about nearly taking him down with dragon rage during their joint training session. When the group stops by the nursery to grab Xander’s siblings to join them, the shinx cubs tackle first Xander and then Tobias with shrieks of excitement, rubbing their faces against the two with loud purrs.

On the cafeteria floor, Xander’s team splits off to the far end of the room to join the other food line, calling that they’ll grab a table. Nia and Tobias enter the closer line, picking up trays and stepping into the queue behind a weasel-like Pokemon balancing on two paws. Her long fur is tan with streaks of darker brown, and her blue eyes are sharp. The Pokemon scowls at Nia as she gets into line, muzzle twitching, before looking forward again.

Nia tries not to let the brief look bother her, but lowers her voice as Tobias plots how to beat Kry the next time the two of them spar. As the two of them chat, the line slowly moves, Nia holding out her tray to accept food from the grass type behind the counter. She hasn’t noticed the fiery chicken Pokemon working as a chef since the first time she ate here. Maybe they were just working here temporarily? Tobias is still the only fire type she sees regularly around the Haven.

The humanoid Pokemon behind the counter today has olives in her hair (or maybe they are her hair?), and plops two large spoonfuls of something onto Nia’s tray. Usually, Nia doesn’t even question the guild’s meals anymore since the cooking is always delicious, but the food today throws her. Rice, paired with what looks like veggies or berries in an orange-brown sauce.

“Is this…curry?” Nia whispers, just loud enough for Tobias to hear. She pulls her tray closer to eye it. The rich smell of the sauce makes her mouth water.

Tobias squints at his own serving, then shrugs. “Dunno. Smells good.”

Nia hums, fascinated, and shuffles sideways to keep up with the line. “Any idea what it’s made of? The smell kind of reminds me of—"

She’s so distracted that she bumps into the weasel Pokemon in front of her.

Before she can apologize, the weasel bares her teeth in a snarl. “Watch it!”

Nia jumps back a step, startled by the animosity in the other Pokemon’s voice. “S-Sorry! Sorry. I didn’t mean to bump into you. I wasn’t paying attention—”

“Clearly!”

“Sorry! I was just, um. I’ll be sure to look out better in the future so I don’t bump into anyone. I mean, I wasn’t trying to right now, of course, but—"

“Just watch where you’re walking, human.”

Human. While Nia is long since used to eager Pokemon running up to ask if she really used to be human, this feels…different. This feels like Ghatha. Like Fort Asra. Maybe there’s a reason why this Pokemon seemed to drop into a foul mood as soon as Nia stepped into line.

“Lay off,” Tobias says, tuning into the conversation. “She already apologized.”

“I wasn’t talking to you, wisp!”

There’s a notable drop in volume from the voices around them.

…Wisp?

Tobias’ expression darkens further. “Oh, so it’s gonna be like that. You really want—"

“I-I’ll be more careful!” Nia cuts in, ready for this conversation to be over. “I’m really sorry again.”

“Stop apologizing!” Tobias hisses. “You didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Her being here is wrong,” the weasel snaps. “And if you’re really sorry you’ll go back where you came from and leave us alone.”

Nia takes another panicked step back, nearly toppling both her and Tobias.

“That’s it,” Tobias says, a bit louder. He shoves his tray towards Nia. “Nia, hold my tray.”

“What?! No!”

She doesn’t want this to escalate. Already Nia can hear the quiet murmurs around them growing louder, can feel a tension building in the air as the weasel’s striped fur spikes. So Nia panics and backs out of line, pulling Tobias with her despite his protests. They’re only missing dessert, anyways.

Even if that is her favorite.

The weasel snorts something that sounds suspiciously like coward before continuing forward in line like nothing happened. Nia's eyes stay glued to the weasel’s back as she moves away. Her heart beats loud and nervous in her ears.

She…wasn’t ready for that. Wasn’t ready to for that kind of hostility in the guild. Sure, it was from someone who clearly wanted a fight, but still. The weasel had decided that Nia being human was enough to make her a target. That because she's human, she's allowed to be a target.

Nia thought it was safe here.

They've ran into scared Pokemon taking their fear out on humans a couple of times now, namely in Ghatha and Asra. But not here, where everyone has been neutral towards her humanity at worst. She heard August, she knows the sentiment has been spreading, but…

It isn’t even our fault, Nia thinks, hollowly. Now that she’s talked to Giratina, now that she knows it isn’t anything the humans have done, knows that their displacement is just an unfortunate side-effect of the dimension’s borders breaking down, the accusations hurt even more. They aren’t doing anything wrong. They’re just existing. Trying to fit in and find somewhere to belong until they can go home.

Nia sniffs, blinking back tears. Her throat is tight. She stares down at her tray and the cooling curry. She isn’t so hungry anymore.

Tobias, who had been grumbling insults at the weasel’s back, turns to Nia. “C’mon, you can’t take anything that idiot says to heart. She was a jerk to both of us so she probably walks around everywhere with that terrible attitude.”

That does remind Nia of a beat in the conversation that had confused her more than it had upset her.

She frowns at Tobias. “You mean when she called you…wisp? Is that bad?”

Tobias' expression twists. “Maybe don’t say that too loud. It doesn’t bother me anymore, but it’s, uh…kind of an insult for fire types. Like…saying that we’re so weak our fire got snuffed out.”

Nia’s eyes widen. “That’s horrible! B-But Azami calls you Spitfire. And Andyn calls you flame-brain and stuff—are those..?”

Tobias snorts a laugh and shakes his head. “Nah, those are fine.”

Nia knows she looks as unsure as she feels. Tobias elaborates.

“Seriously, Nia. You’d know if they were actually insulting me. It’s more…playful than that, I guess? They poke at me being a fire type, sure, but they aren’t really implying anything…bad with it.”

“Flame-brain doesn’t sound very nice.”

“Neither does ‘kindling,’ but Arceus themself will not stop me from calling your stupid deerling friend that. It’s not any worse than us just calling each other dummy. Wisp just has…a different tone to it.”

Nia slowly nods, brow knitting. So it’s something about the social context that makes it different. Makes one worse than the others. She supposes human slang is equally confusing, if she really thinks about it.

“C’mon,” Tobias says with a jerk of his head. “We still need to eat.”

Nia takes a breath and nods. Not like they can do much about the weasel right now anyways. They could go tell Maggie or August, she supposes, and August did say long ago to let him know if anyone gave her trouble, but…

“Should we tell August about this?” Nia asks.

Tobias shakes his head immediately. “No. August means well, but all that would do is make that linoone angrier. Much as I’d love to set her stupid pelt on fire, we don’t need to be dealing with a fight on top of everything else.”

“But he could tell her to stop, right?”

“Trust me. When I was younger, telling only made them get better at doing stuff like this quietly.”

And isn’t that a loaded statement. Nia stares at Tobias for a moment, suddenly far more upset about how easily he brushes off any insults thrown his way. It speaks of practice.

She thinks of his aura earlier, of how desperately he wanted to hide it away from her, afraid she would hate him. Does he even realize how much his isolation from the rest of the guild these past eight years has affected how he sees himself?

Tobias raises a brow at her, so Nia gives a weak smile and gestures for him to lead the way. She’d been so excited to come down here to eat with everyone, and now it feels like her heart is hanging heavy in her chest. But they might as well join their friends.

Tobias takes the lead and Nia trails after the charmander to the table, where Xander’s team and the shinx kids are already sitting with their food, talking as they eat. Tobias moves around the table to sit by Laine, giving the cub a noogie as he sits that makes her shriek and duck away.

Nia heads for the empty spot on the closer side, next to Felix. The wartortle is seated oddly on the wooden bench, one short leg thrown over it so he’s perched sideways as if he’d been about to get up. He meets Nia’s gaze as she approaches, his usual jovial expression subdued.

Felix leans closer as she sits, brow furrowed. “You all right?”

Nia blinks, surprised. Is it that obvious that she’s still upset?

“Heard what happened in line,” Felix whispers. His fluffy ears wiggle. “These aren’t just for show. So. You okay?”

The concern make Nia smile a bit more genuinely, some of the tightness wound up in her gut loosening. There may be rude people even here in the guild, but at least there are also sweethearts like Felix.

“I’m all right,” she murmurs. “Thanks for checking in. It just…caught me off-guard, you know? I’m used to the guild being a place I don’t need to worry about that. It’s getting worse, I guess.”

Felix returns her smile, though there’s a crook to his brow that belies his lingering worry. “Well, let us know if anyone starts giving you trouble. Xander and I would be happy to put them in their place—" He winks. “—and I have a feeling we could do it a bit more subtly than your partner.”

Nia laughs and nods. Felix turns back to his food, but Nia sees him send Tobias a covert look, as if to check on the charmander while knowing he wouldn’t want to be fussed over. Nia smiles, warmed by the concern, as she starts picking at her meal—the curry is good, even if it takes her a moment to get used to the soft texture.

Soon enough, both Nia and Tobias are swept into the conversation at the table. Kry is slamming a fist against the wood, the fraxure arguing that yache berries are objectively better than nanab berries, and Avery is fighting an uphill battle against her. The kirlia offers up well-worded reasoning for why nanab berries are superior, but Kry shoots down each argument with counterpoints of, “But they’re pink!” and “They taste like rotten river water!”

Avery stops pointing out that those are subjective opinions after the fourth rebuttal, changing strategies instead to point out the physical benefits of each berry. Xander gives Kry a scolding look (that she promptly ignores) after the third table-rattling slam of her fist, and the shinx cubs laugh and laugh as Felix jumps in to suggest mago berries are actually the best choice, making both Avery and Kry turn to him with offended expressions.

Throughout the lively debate, Nia glances at Tobias to try checking in on him. He seems all right, although Nia can’t help noticing that he isn’t using his flames to cook his berries like he sometimes does. Maybe he just isn’t feeling like cooked berries today, or maybe that Pokemon’s comment got to him more than he wanted to admit.

Eventually, Felix moves the conversation on to regaling both the shinx kids and Nia and Tobias with the daring tale of Team Shellshock’s latest dungeon crawl. Nia has a feeling a few embellishments were made to make their team sound extra cool—Xander rolling his eyes and Kry’s snort all but confirm it—but she enjoys it all the same.

“I wish we could go exploring already,” Laine sighs when the story is done.

“We’ll be a team soon too!” Luca says, little paws on the table so he can stand up in his seat. “Me ‘n you, Lainey!”

“Oh? What about Leor?” Avery asks.

As all eyes turn to the shyest shinx cub, Leor squeaks and huddles down on the bench, wide gold eyes peering over the table.

“He’s gonna be a medic,” Luca says, chin tilted proudly.

“Like Fen!” Laine adds.

Xander looks as surprised about this news as Nia is, leaning down to meet his younger brother's eyes. “This true?”

Leor looks nervous, but glances over at Tobias before giving the barest nod.

Xander grins, one giant paw squeezing the cub closer. “That’s great, Lee! You would be a fantastic medic.”

“Really?” Leor asks, looking unsure.

“Of course! You three can do whatever you set your minds to. And I’m not just saying that because I’m your brother.”

Luca and Laine cheer while Leor leans into Xander’s side. The luxio purrs and nuzzles the top of his little brother’s head.

It’s a sweet moment, but Nia can see the instant Leor’s eyes crack open and he registers most of the table watching the exchange. He squeaks and wriggles free of Xander’s hold. Xander laughs and lets him go, and the cub almost tumbles himself right off the bench.

“Leor’s gonna train under Fen, and Laine and I are gonna make a Seekers team together!” Luca says, little tail lashing. “Team Thunderspark! And we’re gonna be stronger than any other team!”

“Even ours?” Felix goads, grinning.

“Duh!” Laine says. “You’re a water type! You won’t stand a chance!”

Felix laughs, then tilts his head towards Kry. “True, but our team’s also got the meanest ‘mon this side of the continent.”

Kry looks torn between taking that as a compliment and an insult, and eventually just flicks a piece of rice at the wartortle as punishment.

“You’re going to be great Seekers,” Xander agrees, popping a berry into his mouth. “When you’re old enough.”

Laine and Luca whine in unison, the latter plopping his chin down onto his tray.

“Do we have to wait that long? We’re already strong!” Laine protests.

“Yeah! We should be able to make our own decisions by now,” Luca grumbles, batting a berry around his tray.

“Those are the rules,” Xander says, giving them both a stern look. “It’s only a few more years. If you two can stay out of trouble and stop tormenting poor Arlo, that is.”

The kids groan again, and Nia bites back a smile as she chews. Xander is sweet with his siblings. Sometimes he acts more like a father to them than a brother, but Nia supposes that’s to be expected, between how they were brought here and raised in the nursery their whole lives, plus Xander’s protective nature. It reminds her of her own brother, in a bittersweet way.

Nia feels lighter by the time they finish eating and part ways with Xander’s team. Both Avery and Xander give her a hug before leaving, and Felix offers a fist bump and an easy grin. Kry lightly smacks Nia’s legs with her tail as she passes, and outright punches Tobias in the arm. He glares at her back, but Nia thinks the exchange is a friendly one, somehow.

After the stressful morning talking to Maggie and August, aura training with Val, and the moment in the cafeteria—not to mention the exhaustion still present from their journey—Nia is ready for a nap when they finally make it back to their room. Tobias starts unpacking their bag and taking inventory of their items, so Nia forces herself to write back to Hazel before crashing. She thanks the raichu for the offered discount on a human bed, but explains that they’re pretty busy right now and need to save on money. She’ll absolutely be buying one in the future, though! She also mentions meeting up with Beck and asks her to tell the floatzel and his crew hi.

By the time Nia is finished, her letter sealed up and placed back into the mailbox with the flag up, she's practically asleep on her feet. Tobias has moved over to the window, leafy curtain pulled high to let fresh air and sunlight flood the room. He’s propped against the wall and framed by blue sky, guitar in hand as he starts plucking at scales.

Nia yawns. “I’m gonna take a nap.”

Tobias spares her a glance. “I’ll wake you for supper.”

Nia hums her thanks and moves to their nests to flop down, wiggling to get comfortable on the bed of moss and straw. It’s soft enough, not scratchy at all with her fur as a barrier, and her muscles relax.

Quiet falls over the room, save for Tobias’ playing and the whistle of the wind. A gust blows directly through the window and skims over Nia’s side, making her skin prickle with goosebumps. It’s a little chilly, with fall in full swing and winter fast approaching. Over the past few weeks, even sleeping outside hasn’t been a problem, but…well. Usually Tobias is sleeping at her side, and he gives off heat like a little campfire.

Whining, Nia picks up her head and looks at Tobias, squinting against the bright light of the window. Normally she would be more hesitant about being so needy, but she’s tired and she’s cold so she pushes herself to her feet and stumbles over to him, rubbing her arms. It’s even chillier by the window with the wind wrapping around her.

Tobias stops his playing, looking up.

Nia shifts on her feet. Her brain is mushy with fatigue and tantalizing snatches of sleep. All she manages to say is, “Cold.”

Tobias snorts. He glances at the window. “Want me to close the curtain?”

He doesn’t sound upset about the prospect, but Nia can guess that he likes the chill of the breeze combined with the heat of the sun. His orange scales glow in the light, like embers. Even with her fur, Nia just isn’t built to stay warm like a fire type is.

Nia’s mouth presses into a line. “Can I just sleep by you?”

Tobias blinks, and a flush rises to his cheeks. They usually sleep next to each other nowadays, and Nia hasn’t made it a secret that she enjoys the warmth he puts off, but she admittedly doesn’t usually…ask. Out loud. Somehow putting it into words does make it sound more embarrassing.

But she’s tired, dang it!

After a moment, Tobias wordlessly flicks his tail over to make room. Nia doesn’t let herself hesitate before sinking into the empty spot, curling heavily into his side. Immediately, heat seeps into her fur to warm her up.

“Sure, just make yourself comfy,” Tobias grumbles, no bite to his voice even as she accidentally elbows him in the ribs.

Finally, she settles, melted against his side with a happy hum. It’s like falling asleep cuddling a heater. Even lying closer to the window, she’s immediately warmer.

“Why don’t you guys use blankets?” She mumbles. “We had blankets in Asra. I miss blankets.”

Tobias snorts. “We do use blankets. We just keep them in storage until the end of fall when they’re actually needed.”

Nia picks up her head to give Tobias a despairing look. “I could’ve had blankets this whole time?!”

Tobias visibly bites back a smile. Jerk. “We’ll get you a blanket later if you’re that upset about it, you big baby. I didn’t realize it was a problem.”

“Stupid warm fire types,” Nia gripes, flopping back against Tobias. She’s absolutely getting herself a blanket. For now, Tobias’ heat will suffice.

Slowly, sleep washes over her brain like bathwater, soothing and inviting. Before she slips under completely, she hears Tobias start playing his guitar again, shifting his posture just enough to accommodate her. The cords he picks at are slow and gentle.

She’s asleep in seconds.

She feels like she’s only been asleep for seconds when the door to their room slams open with a bang. A harsh note from the guitar follows, as well as a yell of, “Nia!”

Nia bolts up. She blinks away the haze of sleep, cringing at the late-afternoon sunlight painting their room in bright tones and deep shadows. She must’ve been asleep longer than she thought.

“Ever hear of knocking?” Tobias hisses.

Nia rubs at her eyes, following his voice to look at the doorway, where Andyn, Ezra and Jaz are frozen in the middle of what looks like a grand entrance. The sneasel and stufful seem remorseful despite their comically stiff poses. The deerling, on the other hand, seems strangely flustered, gaze flicking from Nia to Tobias.

“Sorry,” Jaz finally says. “Are we, uh…interrupting?”

“Nia was asleep, you idiots,” Tobias says, sitting back and clutching his guitar close.

Nia yawns. “‘S okay. I shouldn’t nap too long or I won’t sleep tonight.”

The trio that makes up team Evergreen still seem oddly hesitant to enter the room. Nia laughs at the shy behavior and waves them in.

Finally, slowly, they do, sitting down in front of the window as well and getting comfortable.

Ezra’s ruby eyes land on Tobias’ guitar and stay there, going wide. “Whoa, you play guitar?!”

“No,” Tobias lies, removing the instrument from his lap and tucking it behind himself.

“Aw, c’mon!”

“I think it’s great to have a hobby outside of Seeker duties,” Jaz says, meeting Tobias’ sour expression with a smile.

Andyn just looks weirded out, although Nia can’t tell if it’s from the idea of Tobias playing an instrument or something to do with how she keeps looking suspiciously between Nia and Tobias.

Tobias crosses his arms. “What do you want?”

Ezra and Jaz turn to Andyn. The deerling jolts. With a stomp of her delicate hoof, she says, “Right! Since someone didn’t even bother to tell us she was back—honestly, Nia, I had to find out from Kry of all ‘mon—we decided we’d come see you instead!”

“We haven’t even been back a day,” Tobias huffs.

Nia shrugs with an apologetic smile. “I figured you'd still be on a mission."

Andyn narrows her eyes, then lifts her nose into the air with a dainty hmph. “Fine. You’re forgiven.”

“Forgiven?” Tobias says, annoyed. “For what? Not checking in? You’re not our mom.”

Andyn gives him an acidic look. “That attitude is why Nia is forgiven and you are not.”

“You have to be trying to pick a fight. Is Kry kicking your tail on the daily not enough for you, you masochistic little—"

Nia claps her hands together with a single sharp sound. “No fighting until I’m awake enough to deal with it!”

Her voice is firm, but she’s more amused than irritated now that she knows Tobias enjoys the bickering on some level. Andyn has to enjoy it too, considering how often she instigates.

“We didn’t come here for Andyn to pick a fight, believe it or not,” Jaz sighs.

“We wanted to see you as soon as you got back!” Ezra adds. “I feel like you two travel a lot more than most low-level Seekers.”

There’s a question in that sentence, subtle enough to decide whether they want to answer it or not. And for a moment, Nia wants to share everything, just like she wanted to with Xander and Avery in the training hall. It would take some weight off her shoulders, to be able to vent about it. To get her friends’ reassurances.

But those same fears hold Nia back. She doesn’t want to be the reason these three lose that playful spark of adventure they bring to every room they enter. She doesn’t want them to feel weighed down as heavily as she does every time she recalls Giratina’s words.

So Nia just smiles and says, “I-I like getting to see more of the Pokemon world, that's all. You know, since I’m not very familiar with it.”

Which isn’t strictly untrue, but the words still leave a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Are you planning on heading out again soon?” Jaz asks, either not catching onto the half-truth or choosing not to call her out.

Andyn sticks her lip out in a pout and drops her ears, giving Nia the most pitiful baby deer expression possible. Oh no. She’s like Bambi but even sadder. How can you be sadder than Bambi?

“We are,” Tobias says, totally unaffected by the face. “We plan to stick around for a few days and do some missions. Then we’re heading back east.”

Andyn’s pout drops for a genuinely worried expression. “Ghatha again?”

Ezra shifts uncomfortably. “Didn’t you two get caught up in that fire last time you were there?”

“Not Ghatha,” Nia says. “We’re going to find Will. The yamask I told you about? We’re hoping he can help us with something. Um. Human stuff.”

Andyn’s gaze slides to Tobias, as if expecting him to protest. He’s too busy glancing over his shoulder to notice, probably debating whether or not to get his guitar back out even with their current company. Nia knows he’s been trying to get comfortable with the basics again and he hates leaving things unfinished.

“Safe travels,” Jaz finally says. “Especially over the sea. The winds have been rough lately.”

“What hasn’t been rough lately?” Andyn groans. “The world’s unhappy and she’s letting us know it.”

Nia swallows against the lump in her throat. “We'll be careful. But enough about us! What’s going on with you three? What have you been up to?”

Ezra sighs. “We've been even busier than usual. Since more and more disasters and dungeons are popping up, it feels like we're constantly on the go.”

Nia gives the sneasel a sympathetic look.

“We’re racking up Seeker points, though,” Ezra adds with a grin. “And cash.”

“We would have more than enough points to reach C-rank if we could just get another team mission finished,” Jaz says, her dark little eyes trained on Andyn.

The deerling looks away, frowning.

“Oh!” Ezra sits up, feathery red ear flicking. “Right! Remember what we talked about last time you were home? While you’re around, you guys should do a team-up mission with us! I know you’re only E-Rank, but you still need both of your team-ups, right?”

“D-Rank, actually,” Tobias corrects, smug.

“What?!” Andyn’s jaw drops, outraged. “You’re already D-rank? How?!”

“Got an upgrade from the second-in-command in Ghatha,” Tobias says, clearly enjoying every second of this exchange. “For helping in the fire.”

Andyn glares at him, looking like she wants to snap something rude. Then her gaze flicks to Nia and she backs down, huffing.

“Well, congratulations then,” Jaz says, giving her teammate an amused glance. “That’s impressive, considering how recently you formed your team.”

“This means you definitely need to do a team-up with us!” Ezra says, leaning forward. “Since we’re the same rank now we don’t need to worry about trying to find a mission ranked somewhere in the middle!”

“We do need to do our team-up missions at some point,” Tobias grumbles, clearly reluctant. “Cordelia wasn’t impressed by our rank and most other ‘mon won’t be either. We need to keep rising so we don’t get turned away from anything important.”

“Awesome!” Ezra says. “We could—"

“I didn’t say we’d do it with you,” Tobias growls.

“Yeah, Ez,” Andyn agrees. “I mean…technically they’re D-rank but they’re still pretty new, so—"

Uh-oh.

Tobias straightens up at Nia’s side. “You think we can’t keep up with you?”

Andyn scoffs. “I didn’t say that, but if you’re thinking it—"

“You didn’t say it but you sure meant it—"

“Stop,” Nia and Jaz say at the same time, exasperated. Tobias and Andyn shut their mouths.

“Are you really worried we won’t be able to carry our weight?” Nia asks, a little hurt. “I know we’re new, but we are still the same rank as you guys.”

Not to mention Nia and Tobias been through a lot more than most other Seekers their rank. At least from what Tobias has said.

Ezra and Jaz look to Andyn, clearly the one taking issue with the idea. The deerling winces, posture uncharacteristically small.

“It’s not…I do want you there, but it’s just…”

Ezra speaks up. “Andyn’s parents are a bit, uh…tough on her. High expectations. If we ever mess up a mission, then…”

All three members of Team Evergreen shudder.

Nia blinks at them, surprised. “Your…parents?” Honestly, Nia had never given them any thought before.

Andyn nods, looking miserable but trying to hide it. “Yeah. They’re great, really! Just, um. They’re really high-rank Seekers so they kind of expect me to uphold their legacy, you know?”

“Who are your parents?” Tobias asks, brow furrowed. “I’ve been here eight years and I don’t think I’ve ever seen them.”

“You have,” Andyn sighs. “Just…not often. And probably not, um. With me. They’re both sawsbuck so they kind of blend in with all the grass types. They’re Team Sequoia.”

The name doesn’t ring any bells for Nia, but Tobias’ brows lift. He almost looks impressed.

“Yeah,” Ezra laughs. “Big prints to fill. They’re pretty strict, too, so we have to make sure we do our missions well or Andyn gets an earful. Sometimes all of us get it.”

Andyn shoots Ezra a look that clearly says to shut up, so he does.

“That…seems like a lot of pressure,” Nia murmurs, doubly glad now that she didn’t tell Andyn anything about Giratina or the dying world. The deerling clearly doesn’t need more things to worry about.

Andyn suddenly seems to register the gloomy atmosphere and Nia’s concerned expression, because she sits up with a strained laugh. “Sure, but it’s really cool, too! Everyone knows my mom and dad since they’re such amazing Seekers.”

Nia frowns.

“But since they’re so great and they expect me to be great too,” Andyn adds. “That means you two have to keep up with us if you’re going to join us on a mission. Got it?”

Nia wants to push, but Andyn is clearly trying to move the conversation along, so eventually she just nods. Tobias rolls his eyes and finally pulls the guitar out to settle in his lap again, but he doesn’t argue. He refuses to look up from his tuning as he asks, “What kind of things do you even do for a team-up mission?”

“Pretty much anything,” Jaz answers. “At least for D to C rank. It can be dungeon work, cleanup, construction, escort missions, foraging, even guild tasks. As long as both teams do the mission together, it counts.”

Tobias gives her a doubtful look. “That seems...”

“Too easy?” Ezra laughs. “That’s what I said. But I guess they save combat missions as a team-up requirement for B to A rank. This is just getting teams used to working with other ‘mon they usually don’t.”

“That makes sense,” Nia says, purposefully not looking at Tobias as he starts plucking at the guitar strings in a scale. Ezra didn’t get the memo and is watching Tobias’ hands like a transfixed cat, his claws twitching like he wants to try it too. “What kind of mission should we do, then?”

“Easier missions would be, well. Easier. But my parents wouldn’t be impressed.”

Something about that sentiment rubs Nia the wrong way, but she doesn’t interrupt as Andyn goes on.

“And a dungeon would look good but that’s a bit of a risk if we aren’t already familiar with each other’s fighting styles. I don’t trust flame-brain here not to char me to a crisp.”

Tobias stops playing long enough to shoot Andyn a glare.

“So something in the middle,” Nia surmises.

“I guess that would work,” Andyn hedges.

“One average mission will be fine, Anne,” Jaz says. “We don’t need to take on the most difficult mission on the board every single day. Even with your parents.”

Andyn visibly stops herself from retorting, probably with something sharp. She sighs. “Fine. Just don’t be late! Meet us at the job boards at dawn, okay?”

Nia snorts. “I wish I could make Tobias sleep in past dawn. He’s a morning person.”

Ezra’s face screws up. “Gross. So is Andyn. Must be a grass and fire-type thing.”

Andyn and Tobias look disgruntled about being on the same side of something for once. Nia laughs.

With their plan in place, Team Evergreen heads out soon after for an early supper. Nia, now wide awake but not yet hungry enough to eat, turns to Tobias with her best puppy dog eyes.

“What?”

“Blankets?” She says, hopeful.

Tobias seems unimpressed by her pleading expression, but after a moment he sighs and puts his guitar aside to get up. “Fine, fine. Come on. We’ll have to go down to storage to pick ‘em up.”

Nia cheers and hurries to follow him out of the room. They're only halfway down the hall when a thought occurs to her, and she steps up to his side to better see his face.

“Hey, storage is on a lower floor, right? Could we stop stop by the archives on the way back? I bet they have some music books you could check out."

Tobias has been figuring out the basics of his guitar-playing pretty quickly, and she can only imagine he'll want to move on to more actual melodies soon. He just looks so content when he plays that she can't help wanting to encourage the renewed hobby, even with the world teetering on the brink of destruction. Maybe especially because of that. She wants to make sure he takes the time to check out some books before they have to leave again.

Tobias looks thoughtful at the suggestion. Hesitant, but definitely interested. "We could.”

Nia beams.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

That night, Nia wakes to the ground rumbling beneath her.

For a split-second, she thinks she’s back in Asra, the desert town cracking like broken porcelain beneath her and bringing buildings down with it. She scrambles to free herself from the net of her blanket. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Tobias doing the same from the wild movement of his tail flame.

But no—the sliver of moonlight peeking out from the bottom of the curtain isn’t right. The room smells of forest instead of dusty desert. The sound is different, too—a distant rumble, a loud creaking, muted cries of alarm from next door that are higher than Granite and Takeo’s voices.

It takes Nia a few seconds while her brain rattles around inside her skull to realize that they’re at the guild, in the Lexym Tree. It takes a beat longer for her to register that the slowing vibrations are, however, still an earthquake.

Slowly, so slowly it’s hard to tell if it has actually stopped, the earthquake stills. Nia, heart racing, looks wide-eyed at Tobias. The charmander stares back in the dim light of his tail, brow furrowed and expression cautious.

“You okay?” He whispers.

She nods. “You?”

“Yeah.”

Voices start up, quietly, in the hall. Wordlessly, Nia and Tobias stumble to unsteady feet and poke their heads out the door.

Many of the Seekers who live on the floor are standing in the hallway, talking to one another. Some have shaken expressions, while others just look quietly concerned. Nia picks out a few sentences amidst the babble.

“—earthquakes now. I thought the winds were bad enough. How—"

“Do you think there’ll be any aftershocks? What if some ‘mon were down in the tunnels? I don’t—”

“—I’ll be all right. Just scared me, mostly. Terran bumped his head but—"

“What if they get worse? I can’t—"

Nia tunes out the conversations then, everyone else’s nerves and uncertainty only piling onto her own. It looks like in this hall at least there weren’t any serious injuries, but what about everywhere else?

“What should we do?” Nia whispers to Tobias. “Seekers…help, right? Are we supposed to go check on everyone?”

“I don’t know,” Tobias admits. “Nothing like this has happened at the guild before. At least that I can remember.”

The reminder of the increasing number of natural disasters makes Nia’s stomach sink. The linoone’s words from earlier echo in her head. It’s not her fault. It’s not any of the humans’ fault.

(But the other Pokemon don’t know that, do they?)

“Can we go check on Xander and Andyn’s teams?” Nia whispers. “A-And maybe Maggie?”

She won’t be able to sleep if they don’t.

Tobias nods, then leads the way out the door and down the hall. Nia can’t tell if she’s imagining the way some of the other Pokemon send her wary looks as they spot her. She steps closer to Tobias regardless.

Thankfully, everyone seems to be physically fine, save for Felix startling himself right into Team Shellshock's cabinet and knocking off some knick-knacks. The rest of Xander’s team—down one luxio after he ran off to check on his siblings—is unusually quiet and pensive. Andyn, Ezra and Jaz seem equally rattled, trying to cover up their unease with light tones and jokes that fall painfully flat. The tight hug and comforting smile Maggie gives Nia and Tobias helps a little, but not enough.

Eventually, Nia and Tobias try to get a few more hours of sleep before dawn. Their floor of lower-level Seekers was assured by Verene a few minutes prior that the higher ranking ‘mon would take care of checking on the Haven for now. Lower ranks will take the dawn shift.

Nia almost wishes they were asked to head out now. She can’t seem to get her mind to settle despite the exhaustion tugging at her fur and the soft warmth of the blanket around her. From the way Tobias shifts throughout the night at her side, she doesn’t think he gets much rest either.

[aylen-san]

If You Die Today, What Will You Do Tomorrow?

Good question.

Elves usually don’t think about such things. We’re immortal, right? But let’s be honest: in a world ruled by Morgoth, where his loyal hounds (both literal and figurative) are always eager to tear you apart, death isn’t a matter of philosophy—it’s just a matter of time.

So if you happen to die today… what will you do tomorrow?

Step One: Accepting the Fact

First, you’ll have to realize that it actually happened. And here’s an interesting thing: death, like everything else in this world, is highly personal. Some get killed quickly—one moment, and that’s it, darkness. Others, like me, get to experience the whole process—the tearing of flesh, the pain becoming the only state of existence. Some don’t even realize they’re dead and just wander around their body, complaining about the bad lighting.

But sooner or later, it will hit you: you are dead.

And that’s when things start to get really interesting.

Step Two: Meeting Námo

Now, this depends on who you are. If you’re an elf, welcome to Mandos. You’ll be greeted—maybe even politely. Most likely, you’ll be offered a place in the queue—don’t worry, there are always plenty of the dead, especially in recent ages.

If you’re a human… well, I’m not the one you should be asking. But say hello to Eru for me. We still haven’t figured out what exactly happens to you after death, but I suspect it’s not worse than what we get.

Step Three: Processing What Happened

Now you’re sitting in the Halls of Mandos. Or standing. Or floating, if that’s more comfortable for you. Time flows strangely, thoughts come and go.

First thoughts:

“Why did I even get into this mess?”

“Would it have hurt less if I had died differently?”

“I wonder who’s cleaning up my mess now?”

Next thoughts:

“How are my friends doing?”

“Will they even remember me, or was my sacrifice meaningless?”

“A drink would be nice, but I’m not sure the dead have a need for alcohol…”

If you died heroically, you’ll get some praise. But you won’t be reincarnated immediately—rules are rules.

If you weren’t exactly the best person… well, that’s a different conversation. You’ll get a gentle hint that it’s time to reflect on your actions. For a long, long time.

Step Four: Attempts to Change the Situation

At some point, you realize you’re stuck here for a while. Naturally, the thought arises: “Is there a way to speed this up?”

You could try:

Complaining. (Not recommended. The door to the Halls only works one way.)

Convincing Námo to send you back immediately. (Unless you’re Glorfindel—good luck.)

Starting a rebellion. (Pointless, but could be entertaining.)

Some try writing memoirs, but since there’s nowhere to record them, they usually forget everything they wanted to say after a couple of centuries.

Step Five: Accepting the Inevitable

Time passes, and you realize there’s no rush. Mandos isn’t the worst place—it’s quiet, peaceful, and no one is screaming about oaths and war. You can think, reflect, and come to terms with things.

And then, a realization dawns on you: maybe death isn’t the end.

If you’re meant to return, you will be called. If not… then a new purpose awaits.

So if you die today—tomorrow, a new story begins.

Let’s just hope it’s not a dull one.

[thelastofhyde]

i. sea-day 1.

pairing. tourguide!joel miller x fem!reader. series synopsis. on the brink of undergoing a life-altering change, you runaway from your problems in the only way any sane person can: embarking on a mediterranean cruise. there you meet joel miller, a grumpy, private tour-guide, who just so happens to be tasked with touring you through each stop on your cruise. from greek goddesses to roman ruins, you have ten days to avoid your fate. maybe a frowning, southern, sex-on-legs of a man is just what the doctor ordered. chapter summary. as the ship sets sail, you search for help. at the bar, you encounter a familiar stranger. series warnings. no use of y/n, set in 2015, no apocalypse au, cruise!au, rom-com, enemies-ish to lovers, sunshine!reader, tour-guide!joel, unspecified age gap, depictions/discussions of grief, angst, fluff, a whole load of smut, a lot of cheesy stereotypical romance tropes bc i just wanna see joel not suffer ( too much )&lt;3 chapter warnings. alcohol, mentions of class/wealth themes, implications that the reader has underlining mental health issues, convenient plot-devices that would only ever happen in a rom-com bc this is fun silly fiction baby!, joel suffers from acute insuferable-bastarditis :( word count. 3.7k hyde’s input. let's all hold hands and agree to ignore the fact both parts so far have opened on the reader panicking in a bathroom, okay? maybe she's a stressed girlie with a flare of ibs, you don't know her life. feeling a little insecure abt this chapter and lowkey don't wanna post it, but i promise the actual fun begins in chapter two, where we finally get to see tourguide!joel in action. previous chapter - next chapter - series masterlist

“What time did you say you boarded?”

Your mother’s voice travels from where your phone lays, abandoned upon the bed, all the way into the decadent bathroom.

Eyes moving a mile-a-minute, as if you're rushing to take in every jaw-dropping detail.

There’s the sink area, a double-vanity that’s centred with an array of lotions and soaps, and overlooked by an overwhelmingly large mirror that makes up half the wall, lined with a golden hue of light. A shower, with glass curtains and enough room to fit your whole wardrobe in it. Then, there’s the bathtub you’re already envisioning yourself sinking into. Marble lines the floor, and the outer wall is made up of three window panes, gifting you a view of pure blue, the sea and the sky melting into one another across the horizon. It’s making you nauseous, this looming feeling of imposter syndrome the interior brings you.

You don’t belong in this, a fancy room designed for fancy people.

An iteration of your name, back on the bed, drags you away from your own troubled reflection.

“Seven,” you call out, inching your way back into the main area of the suite.

“In the morning?!” She’s just as shocked as the first time you answered her question, fifteen minutes ago, and the second time, seven minutes ago.

Humming in approval, you give a sweeping gaze over the plush carpeted floor, the wall-mounted television displaying the cruiseship’s logo, the king sized bed that’s calling out for you, seducing you with the promise of a mattress that won’t be stabbing at your back the whole night. As if on queue, there’s a sharp pain in your lower back, a lasting reminder of the hostel you’d found little rest in last night.

“Well, there goes my jealousy!” Lacklustre replies aside, your mother continues her ramblings, used to filling the void of conversation with the sound of her own voice. “Can you imagine? Me, awake at that time? You’ll be glad you’re travelling on your own, honey.” Usually, you admire the positive spin your mother tries to bring to life. Your being alone upon this trip, however, is not a topic you want her to address, much less find the good in. “I mean, I don’t think even your sister-”

“I think they’ve made a mistake,” you cut her off, eyes zeroing in on a pair of glass doors. Snatching the phone off the bed, you turn off the speaker and press it to your ear just in time to hear your mother’s confusion, questioning what you mean. Focus on those doors, you slowly make your way over to them. “The room,” you clarify, fingers curling around a handle to unlock it, prying the doors apart. A wave of salty fresh air, hits your face as you step out onto wooden decking. You find yourself upon a balcony, facing off into the deep blue distance. To your left, there’s two sun loungers and a glass coffee table, mounted by two champagne flutes and a simple welcome note sprawled out in black ink. “I think they’ve given me the wrong room.”

It’s the next best thing to a reasonable explanation you can find, no chance on earth you were ever listed to stay in such a suite. No, a room like this is meant for a wealthy businessman and his uptight wife to overindulge themselves on gold-trimmed furniture and a fur-lined bed for a week, in which they do everything but address the lipstick stains that keep lining his collars or the chauffeur who keeps himself parked between her legs.

You can already picture such a pair now, storming over to some poor, unsuspecting deckhand, red on both their faces as they begin to berate him over the fact they're in a cabin the size of a cupboard, with a communal restroom and a bunk barely fit for one person.

“Why? Is something wrong with it?”

“No,” it’s an answer you reluctantly give, more than aware of how ridiculous it sounds. “It’s… nice. Perfect. Too perfect, like I should feel lucky to stand in it, nevermind live in it for the next few days.”

It’s with caution that you glance over each shoulder, taking note of the seemingly never ending row of balconies that line the ship, a sizable gap between each one. Guts twisting a little at the thought, you peer ever so slightly over the right edge and are greeted with views of more balconies. Beyond that, there’s only blue. Waves crash into the ship’s side and bounce off in white foam. You renew the distance between you and the ledge, unable to stop yourself from glancing both ways, confirming there’s no neighbouring balcony that finds itself occupied.

Then bend down, clasping a hold of one of the champagne flutes.

You take your first sip like it’s a crime, wearily, eyes darting back and forth, waiting to be caught in the act and dragged out of this room, down to whatever poverty loft you really belonged in.

Or, maybe they’d just toss you overboard, rid themselves of any possible hassle. People go missing all the time at sea, right? People go missing all the time on cruises. You’d just be another blip in the system, an error that can be overwritten with a simple-

“I can hear you thinking through the phone, sweetie.”

You take another sip, and let a weight fall off your chest, dragging in a breath large enough to make up for the moment or two you’d stopped breathing. “I’m just… tired. Don’t worry, I’m perfectly fine. No big freak out on it’s way, again.”

“Honey, you know how me and your father feel about you calling it a freak-” she must be able to hear your eye roll through the phone, cutting herself off before she can keep going. “Just, try and enjoy this trip, okay? Maybe you’re in that room because where you’re supposed to be. Maybe you’ve been awarded some free upgrade, like that time your dad got bumped up to business class!”

Bless her for trying, though she may fail. It’s enough to bring a smile to your face.

You swallow back what remains of the bubbled liquid.

Through the phone, you hear a door burst open and the entrance of a loud, excited little voice. Something akin to granny rings down the line, and it’s enough to have you frozen where you stand, bones rigid and unable to move. Something seems to smack into the microphone, a rustling of fabric as you envision your mother making room for little limbs on her lap.

“Hey, my little munchkin! How was soccer?” You can’t make out what the voice tells your mother, heart too busy beating louder than any drum, inching its way further up your wind pipe and threatening to choke you on it. “Guess who I’ve got on the phone?” The tiny voice squeals out your name, bile joins your heart inside your throat. Maybe this is how you find out you get seasick. “Do you wanna say hi-”

“Mum, I, uh… I’ve gotta go,” you’re eyeing the remaining glass on the table, the rising bubbles enticing you to hurry up, drink it before it goes flat. “I should go find the help desk, get this room thing sorted out.”

“Just a second, let E-”

“I’ll call you later,” you hang up.

You’re left with just the raging waters below, a caw from seagulls up above. Eyes slipping shut, you pull in a deep breath and push out a silent plea for that sting in your eyes to be from the salt in the air, not a set of unfallen tears. A few more breaths and it feels safe enough to open your eyes again, glancing down as your phone vibrates in your hand.

Two texts, each from your mother.

09:38 - She says hi, and that you better bring her back a cool souvenir. 09:39 - Doctor Anderson says she’s showing improvement and they’re finally starting to get somewhere. Just thought you’d want to know x

Giving in to temptation, you snatch up the champagne glass, bring it up to your lips and- pause, interrupted as you make eye contact with a man one balcony over. He’s older, a well-rounded gut fit into a light blue shirt and tailored trousers. With a rolex on one wrist and set of bright white teeth smiling right at you, there’s no mistaking he belongs in one of these suites.

You wonder what he thinks of you and your frayed sweater, no jewellery on your wrists.

He nods, politely, and raises his own glass towards you. A silent cheer, a recognition that you’re both here, living life in luxury. You meet it, raise your own glass, and try to smile as brightly as him.

Then knock back your second drink and saunter back inside.

“Miss, there’s been no mistake.”

In spite of it being an excuse to hang up, you stay true to your word.

Come early noon, you’re standing within the help centre. Against all odds, accidental nap and wild goose chase upon the ship deck be damned, you’ve found what you were looking for.

Or, well, an older woman with sweet smile on her face and a squinted nametag pinned to her chest found it, pointed you in the direction of the ship’s atrium. What you’re looking for is the Purser’s Office, dear.

“See? The booking under your name lists you as part of our excelsior guests.” The desk clerk turns her screen towards you, acrylic nail pointing at your booking information. Sure enough, in bold letters, your full name accompanied by a golden badge at the end. Excelsior Status, checkmarked and approved by the cruise. “This grants you access to one of our excelsior suites and all private excelsior lounges.”

In all honesty, you’re tuning her out a little.

You don’t mean to, sincerely, but you’re just so caught up in reading both your name and excelsior suite, over and over and over again, that you forget to really listen, mind running just a few seconds behind the speed of her mouth.

When you finally process what she’s saying, all you can manage is dumbstruck look on your face and a muttered, “oh.”

Paper rustles as your hands wring, the pristine pamphlet you’d been flicking through to fill the time as she’d searched up your details now rumpled, thin white cracks of paper peaking out beneath printed ink.

“I also see that you’ve added the excelsior tour package onto your booking, though I’m willing to change that for you, if you’d prefer signing onto one of our team tours instead.” Confused by her offer, you glance down and read over the pamphlet’s title- All-Aboard Tour Trips, Fun for all the Family! “Would you like to hear what your current tour package grants you?”

“If,” as if you’ve not embarrassed yourself enough with your cluelessness towards your own booking, your voice cracks under the pressure of being used, more squeak than actual intelligible words. You swallow back the lump of shame in your throat and push through. “If you don’t mind, please. This, uh- The ticket, it was a gift, so I’m just a little out of the loop of what’s been booked for me.”

“Not at all! So, the excelsior tour package gives you access to your own private tour-guide, for all seven stops we’ll be making on this cruise!” Already, you feel a little queasy at the thought. A private tour, no one but you and some stranger. It’s not exactly your dream scenario. “Your guide’s purpose won’t just be to walk you through all the memorable sites, but to curate your visits to your liking, helping you explore foreign land with a familiar taste. Where the tours in team are restricted to allocated timeslots and a set route of sites to visit, having a private tour-guide grants you the privilege of exploring where you want, for however long you want. The private tour also provides more time for you at each stop, as your timeslot to board will be the latest available, making your whole trip less of rush and more of a thrill.”

The clerk, without a doubt in your mind, is quoting a script she’s already said hundreds of time- word for word, beat for beat. Yet her voice is animated, her smile is kind, and you admire her a little for getting through it without a single laugh at the corniness of it all.

You, however, fail the challenge, glancing off to your side and biting back a giggle that you hope she takes no note of. The last thing you want is for her to mistake the laughter as directed towards her.

Weighing your options, you nervously ask, “but, you could change me over to a team tour?”

She says of course, with a smile that doesn’t waver, and the tension in your shoulders lessens, the ice cold feeling of inconveniencing her melting away at her warmth.

Her nails clack as she types away on her keyboard. A double click and then, a hiss. She’s no longer smiling, a grimace taking it place. “I’m sorry, but all of our tours are fully booked.”

“Oh. That’s- It’s okay.”

“But, I could add you to the waiting list! If there’s any cancelations for any of the stops, you’ll be the first to know. This won’t affect your excelsior tour package, so either way you’ll have some kind of guide.”

With nothing to lose, you figure why not and let her throw your name in the metaphorical hat.

Mid-typing away, eyes glued to her screen, you watch as her brows shoot up. “Oh, while I’ve got you here, there’s one more thing. With our excelsior guides, it’s customary that they meet with you on the first night, to touch base on simple things, like your interests or any goals for this trip, and to plan out tomorrow’s official first stop, which is in Santorini. Your guide has left you this, detailing where you’ve to meet him.”

With renewed hesitation, you grab at the folded note she slips over the desk. It’s small, with half an inked fingerprint burnt into the top left corner.

As you thank her for her help and bid her goodbye, she interrupts you before you can turn to leave.

“I know private tours can seem daunting but, you’re in good hands. Joel will take care of you, he’s our top-rated guide.”

The note remains folded as long as you can control your curiosity, which appears to be only until you’re back on the deck, sun shinning directly in your eyes and forcing you to squint as you read over faded blank ink.

10 pm, the Tipsy Byson bar.

Below that, in a bolder blue ink, wear something green for me to find you, JM.

You’re awfully overdressed, and painfully aware of it.

The Tipsy Byson is nestled between the arcade and the casino, a balance of childlike shrieks harmonizing over outraged yelling of men cheated out of their hands. Brown wood lines just about every inch of the place, from the walls, to the tables, to the bar. There’s an outrageously large Stars and Stripes flag hanging on the wall, and memorabilia of all things Texas Roadhouse. The place is themed, down to the cowboy hat that sits atop the bartender’s head, and clearly everyone is aware of this, decked out in scruffed up boots and worn out denim vests.

Everyone but you, dark green silk clinging to you in the shape of a laced-back midi dress, dainty black heels tucked into the footrest of the barstool you occupy.

It’s the only green thing you brought and- wear something green for me to find you- you’d had no choice.

It was a quarter to ten when you got there, earlier than you were requested, but a gentle buzz of something shooting through your nervous system left you impatient, unable to wander the ship’s halls any longer.

It was fine, you figured, gave you a chance to get a drink, cool your nerves a little. Sticking with the theme of green, you’d yelled over the line music for a midori sour, please, and even cracked a little smile at the cute bartender.

By twenty past ten, you’re still alone, no tour-guide in sight, and your glass is empty, a sole ice-cube all that remains. You order another glass, given him another smile, and return your eyes to the entryway as you sip back the taste of the dewy melon goodness.

The doors opened, your hopes rise and- a couple walks through the door, adorably dressed in matching jackets.

Another sip.

The doors open again, this time you watch as a few women walk in, party hats and bachelorette signs dripping off them.

Half your drink, gone again.

Two, three, four more times the door opens and you watch as strangers filter in and out, pretending you don’t notice the way some of their eyes linger on you, sticking out like a sore thumb.

It’s as you throw back the last sip of your cocktail, eyes catching the time- 22:36-, that you watch a grin overtake the bartender’s face.

The door shuts with a slam, buried beneath the layers of stomping feet across the dance floor and the twang of a country song, yet you hear it all the same, twisting in the stool.

A man stands by the entry, salt-and-peppered hair a little tousled and a scowl etched into his forehead. He moves like water, slipping through the cracks in the crowded bar with minimal effort. All the while, eyes seem to follow him, the occasional head turning in his direction. He spares no glances, to anyone.

Instead, he’s staring right at you.

And heading your way, frown and all.

There’s something in his face that feels familiar, and you swear that this is not the first time you’d stared into those eyes. Broad, scruffy facial hair, his irritation as some drunk girl slams into him so palpable, you almost taste it on your tongue.

You mumble something to the bartender, a request for another drink, a parched feeling stirring in your loins.

He’s inching closer, and closer, and closer- and, only as he’s a mere three bar stools away from you, do you realise who he is.

You’re in the way.

Signore Miller.

The rude man from the airport!

God, you can’t wait to see what this is about. He must recognise you, must feel the shame licking at his wounded ego, driving him to come over, apologise, beg for forgiveness to a stranger he unnecessarily berated.

“Look what the cat dragged in!” It’s not Signore Miller that speaks, nor is it you. It’s the bartender, arms crossing over his chest, smirk widening on his face. “Thought you said last season was your last!”

“You know me,” his eyes are still glued to you, an intense stare, even as he replies. There’s so little space between you now, you manage to notice the wrinkles in his flannel shirt. You choose to ignore the fact it’s green. “Ain’t no good at stayin’ away from the things I hate.”

“Wasn’t what you were saying at the staff party last year, Mr. Blubber-face. Took two whiskeys to get you crying ‘bout how you were gonna miss the cruising life.”

Another midori sour lands your way, yet you don’t even manage a single sip of it before he’s opening his mouth.

“Well look at you, all dressed up with nowhere to go,” his eyes still pierce into your own and, this time, it is you he’s talking to.

You’d have half the mind to throw your drink on him, if it weren’t for the fact you’re too busy taking a stabilizing gulp out of it, a sweetness to counter-attack his sour persona.

“Excuse me?!” You final sputter out, face burning too hot and pride too scorned to begin to feel even more out of place.

He seems unfazed by your outrage, turning away from you to acknowledge his friend behind the bar at last. “Do me a favour, Luke, don’t give her too much to drink.” Condescending tone perfectly intact, Signore Miller doubles down on your initial impression of him: an absolute asshole. “Last thing I need is to spend all day draggin’ around some prissy hungover diva.”

The man- Luke- scoffs back a laugh, shaking his head in bewilderment. “Quit teasin’ the poor girl, ‘fore she runs for the hills and ruins your five-star rating.”

An uncomfortable feeling creeps down your spine. It’s cold and alarming, and has your straightening your back, sitting a little tenser in your seat, realization rising in you like the dawn.

It can’t be.

He can’t be-

He’s stepping all in your space, face leaning down till his mouth is at the level of your ear. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t even come close to it, yet there’s goosebumps littering your arms and hairs standing at the back of your neck.

Like touching a live wire, his proximity feels electric.

“Best be on that deck by 7 am, darlin’, or I’ll be dockin’ without ya.”

“Wait, you’re-”

“Joel, tourguide. At your service.” He’s pulled back, just to thrust his hand in your face. By the time you reach to shake it, he’s retracting it, that grating quirk in his lips moving higher up his cheek. “Oh, and do yourself a favour. Wear somethin’ a little more… practical. Santorini ain’t the place for dainty heels like those.”

You knock back the rest of your drink moments after he leaves, only to find Luke’s already placed a fourth glass at your side.

“Our little secret,” he faux-whispers, pressing a finger to his pursed lips. “Besides, you look like you could use it.”

Signore Miller.

Joel, tourguide.

Joel Miller.

He’s already making your trip unbearable, and it’s hardly begun.

+ extra hyde. sorry if that was a little boring it was a necessary part to get the ball moving, i promise chapter two gets right into it. again, updates to this fic happen every other friday! i'm bad at describing spaces, so if anyone is curious to know what reader's suite looks like, here are some reference pics:

taglist. @auteurdelabre

[pareidoliaonthemove]

Flying the 'Friendly' Skies

Summary:

Ochre and Magenta encounter a problem when they fly the 'friendly' skies.

“I hate flying commercial,” Captain Ochre grumbled as he and Captain Magenta shuffled up the check-in queue.

Magenta shrugged. “It’s not so bad, at least we were allowed to contribute personal funds to upgrade from cattle class.”

That was, Ochre conceded, an unexpected blessing. At least they would have some leg-room. Commercial air-liners were most decidedly not designed with people taller than 6 foot in mind. And maybe, he considered, that was an overly generous estimation of the threshold on his part. But still…

“Guaranteed there’ll be a baby screaming its head off the whole way–”

“Poor wee things can’t clear their ears,” Magenta said comfortably. “They’re in pain, don’t understand why, and can’t do anything about it.”

“Or some fat slob that takes up half my seat–”

“You try holding down a full time office job, with overtime, and get enough time – and have the energy – to do the amount of exercise you need. I used to be a lot heavier, you know. Be thankful you’re paid to attend the gym.”

“Or there’s some stranger asleep, using me as a pillow and drooling all over me–”

“Just be gentle, and you can sit them up straight, no problem.”

“Or there’s some asshole behind me kicking the seat, or the one in front put their seat back all the way down–”

“Just be polite, Rick. People respond to politeness. Use your words. Ask nicely.”

By now they were at the front of the cue, and Magenta turned on his dubious Irish charm to the harried-looking girl at the check in desk, while Ochre continued his grump. By the time they were leaving, with Magenta’s exaggerated Irish accent wishing her “A bonny day” the girl was giggling brightly.

“See?” Magenta said, resetting the personalised messenger bag Fawn had gifted the senior staff with last Christmas on his shoulder. “Just be nice. People respond to nice. You’re not a cop now, Rick. You are allowed to be a decent human being.”

Ochre humphed. And then … he poked Magenta in the ribs. “Cop joke. You owe me coffee.”

Magenta grinned brightly. “And so I do. Figured you were too deep in your sulk to notice. Oh well, let’s get you caffeinated, grumpy.” A sly grin. “If you’re a very good by, there might even be a doughnut.”

“Two coffees,” Ochre said flatly.

Two hours, two coffees, and, yes, a doughnut – he liked doughnuts, so sue him – their flight was called and Ochre and Magenta were once again queuing, this time to board their plane.

Magenta was still teasing him. “You should have gone to the bathroom,” he smirked. “Two coffees in two hours? That’ll run right through you, and you’ll be looking to use the restroom, oh, about the time we’re starting our descent. Probably about two minutes after the seat-belt light comes on.”

An elderly couple in front of them chuckled indulgently. “Oh, I hate it when that happens,” he chuckled.

She gently slapped his forearm. “You boys, you all have no idea. Try and maintain fine bladder control after three pregnancies ending in babies between 12 and 15 pounds!”

Behind Ochre and Magenta, a young woman in a chic business suit, fashionable hairstyle that gave off strong smell of a hair salon, with handbag and jewellery that screamed ‘I’m expensive’, sniffed in disgust. “That’s hardly a suitable conversation for a public place. You all ought to be ashamed of yourselves.”

The four ‘miscreants’ exchanged glances, and stifled more laughter. It generally wasn’t a good idea to antagonise someone you were about share a plane with. But there was a clear agreement between them: this woman was a pain, and hopefully they wouldn’t be seated near her.

Once boarded Rick was pleased to find that the elderly couple were seated across the aisle from them. There was the chance of some interesting conversation, at least. Less pleasing was the young woman who had chastised them sitting directly in front of Magenta. Ochre offered him a commiserating look, but Magenta merely smiled back with serene innocence. Long experience had taught Ochre to fear that look.

She did little to cause them for to reassess their initial assessment of her, huffing impatiently all the way through the steward’s safety briefing, drumming her fingers through the taxi-roll, and trying to order a complicated coffee that the stewardess was never going to be able to fulfil when the poor woman tried to complete her cabin check.

The take off was unremarkable, and Ochre and Magenta settled happily into chatting across the aisle with the elderly couple, George and Marnie, who were on their way home from an anniversary gift cruise.

Magenta gracefully dispelled the assumption that they were a couple, explaining that they worked together, and offering up the cover story that they were an investigative team from a high-end security contracting company that investigated possible embezzlement or fraudulent financial practices. It was a good cover story. It explained why they couldn’t talk about their work, covered for anything people might overhear as they talked between themselves, allowed them a measure of authority without having to reveal themselves as Spectrum Captains, but wasn’t intimidating enough that people felt uncomfortable talking to them. Whoever from Spectrum’s Intelligence Services had dreamed it up had earned their pay that day.

Comparing lists of towns they had visited, and Magenta happily extolling the virtues of Ireland as an international holiday vacation – “And be sure you visit the Republic of Ireland, south Ireland. The British still have the north, and it’s pretty miserable there.” IOchre mentally file that little quote away to drop in front of Scarlet or Rhapsody next time Magenta messed with his files.) – got them through the climb out.

Things went south after that.

The second the seatbelt lights went out, and the stewardess announced that passengers may remove their seatbelts, adjust their seat backs and that the first drinks service would be commencing shortly, the trendy young woman in front of Magenta snapped “Finally!”, fumbled with her seatbelt and, throwing the heavy buckle to score a direct hit on the sensitive area of her male neighbour’s lap sent the seat hurtling backwards until she was laying almost flat on Magenta’s lap.

A flurry of questions ascertained that the seatmate, bending forward at the waist with breathless curses, was not severely injured and, thank you, no, he didn’t need an ice pack, only elicited a pointed “People are trying to sleep, you know,” from the cause of the injury.

Five people gave her displeased looks. Ochre glanced at Magenta. He glanced pointedly at the seat back resting on his lap, and jiggled his leg in suggestion. Magenta shook his head.

He reached out and tapped her shoulder. “Excuse me, Ma’am,” he began tentatively.

“I’m trying to sleep,” was snapped back at him. “And don’t touch me.”

“Fair enough,” Magenta said evenly, “It’s just that you’ve got your chair reclined a long way back, and I’m pretty cramped up and trapped here…”

He didn’t get to finish. She twisted around to glare up at him. “I paid my money, and I’m entitled to use all the facilities here, same as everyone else. If these chairs aren’t supposed to lie back this far, they wouldn’t be able to recline back this far. If you’ve got a problem, take it up with the airline. I’m not doing anything wrong here, so kindly stop harassing me, or I’ll report you. Understand me?”

Magenta nodded, smiling amiably. “Certainly, I understand.”

“Good.” She turned back and settled back into her severely reclined chair, flipping her long hair over the back to brush against Magenta’s stomach.

Ochre raised an eyebrow at Magenta, and pointedly jiggled his leg again.

Magenta shook his head. “Rick, could you grab my bag from under my seat?”

Rick grinned and bent down groping around under Magenta’s seat for the bag, ‘inadvertently’ jostling the offending seat as he did so. This elicited a grumble from the front, but Ochre ignored it. Sitting back up he offered the bag to Magenta.

“Thanks.” Magenta propped it on their shared armrest, and started ferreting around in it.

“I know you were going to go over that file again,” Ochre began, “but seeing as you can’t see your own thighs, let alone the tray, what are you going to do?”

Magenta grinned and pulled out his mechanical counter. “I was telling you how my cousin is an entomologist doing a study on human lice? Well, seeing as how this young lady has so thoughtfully put her hair in close proximity to me, I’m going to count the nits in her hair. It’ll really help her study.”

Ochre blinked and couldn’t help the recoil, even as he vaguely noted that Magenta had obviously been spending too much time with Fawn, he had evidently learned the Doctor’s trick of projecting his voice without raising it.

All around the cabin, people turned and glared at the woman in front of Magenta. The stewardess passed the drinks trolley off to her colleague, and quickly made her way to the side of the seat where the woman was starting to splutter indignantly, even as one long-nailed hand started scratching at her scalp. “I do not have nits!” she eventually screeched.

Sparing Magenta brief glance, the stewardess addressed a stern glare at the miscreant. “Ma’am, you need to sit your chair up. You are causing discomfort to other passengers.”

The woman started spluttering again, this time at the stewardess. “That nice young man did ask her to sit up some,” the elderly lady chimed in. “She was very rude, told him that if the seat wasn’t supposed to be reclined back so far, they wouldn’t be able to recline back so far.”

“And don’t forget, Marnie, she threw the heavy end of the seat belt right into that poor young man next to her’s sensitive parts. Poor boy must still be in pain.”

“Yes, George, I was just getting to that.”

Marnie turned back to the Stewardess, who held up a hand, and addressed the unfortunate seat mate in question. “Are you all-right, sir? Can I get you anything? Shall I arrange for a medic?”

Embarrassed, the young man, shook his head. “It sure smarted, Ma’am, and I wouldn’t mind a stiff drink to anaesthetise it some, but I think I’ll survive to contribute to future generations.” A shy grin. “If I can find a young lady in agreement.”

A signal and the drinks trolley made an express trip down the aisle, delivering a stiff scotch to the injured party, before zipping back to it’s appointed place.

While the liquid first aid was being achieved, the head Stewardess had forcefully sat the seat back up, as all the while it’s occupant scratch furiously and denied any wrong doing or infestation.

The Stewardess again glared her into submission. “Ordinarily, if an infestation,” the word was infused with disdain, “is suspected, the source is isolated. Unfortunately this flight is fully booked.” She gestured towards the back of the cabin, and another stewardess made her way forward, clutching a small plastic package. It was handed to the miscreant. “As such, you are required to wear this.” She held out the package. Ochre caught a glimpse of the label, it was–

“A shower cap!” the woman screeched. “I am not wearing a shower cap! Do you have any idea how much it cost to get my hair salon styled for today?!”

The Stewardess stood firm. “If you refuse me, then the Captain will come back to ask. If you refuse him, he will divert the plane to the nearest airport and you will be removed from the flight. If you attempted to resit removal, you will face criminal charges.” She offered the package again. “Your choice.”

Snarling, the woman took the package, and under the Stewardess’s instruction put it on over her hair, making sure it was all tucked up under the protective plastic. As the Stewardess returned to her normal duties, she received a round of applause from the cabin who had been appreciative of the in-flight entertainment.

The rest of the flight went smoothly, with no further upsets. As soon as the plane came to a stop at the terminal and the door was opened, the now humbled occupant of the seat in front of Magenta jumped up and fled the airplane.

Ochre and Magenta, along with George and Marnie, and the Gio, the young man injured in the seat-belt incident, waited until everyone else had cleared the aisles before getting out of their seats.

It was the head Stewardess who guided them off the plane, and she took Ochre and Magenta aside. “Thank you for your help today, gentlemen. That situation could have easily become a dramatic scene.” As they began to deny any great effect on their part. “But, I must warn you,” the Stewardess continued, “Please do not use the infestation protocol like that again. This plane will need to be taken off-line for decontamination.”

They both nodded at that, chastened; and the Stewardess smiled. “And, unofficially? She’s a well-known problem. There’s a lot of cabin crew who will want to buy you gentlemen drinks, if you happen to be staying at the International Hotel.”

Magenta smiled, “Unfortunately not, but hopefully, she will be more considerate the next time she flies.”

“It can be but hoped. You gentlemen have a good day, and please remember us the next time you fly the friendly skies.”

Ochre grinned. “We won’t be forgetting you any time soon, you enjoy your day, too.”

They departed the plane and, collecting their checked luggage, started heading out to the main concourse. “So how did you know to do that?”

Magenta grinned. “The ‘infestation protocol’? You need to spend more time with the girls. Melody was just talking about a lawsuit that particular airline just got hit with because some runway model or another got an infested from contamination on the seat. Apparently it went all around the Paris fashion show she was to work at and it all got ugly. The shower cap is a new policy that a lot of airlines are adopting to try and prevent a repeat.”

“Sneaky,” Ochre said, approvingly.

Magenta shrugged. “The best way to get away with things is to not break the rules,” he said. “You were a cop, you should know that.”

Ochre jabbed him in the ribs. “Cop joke. You owe me coffee.”

Notes:

This is caused by a combination of binge watching documentaries on airplanes, and my brothers two feral kids being allowed to run wild at my parents place, rubbing their heads against everyone, and into all the soft furnishings for three hours, before their mother casually drops that they’ve both got nits and she hasn’t got any products to deal with it.

I’ve been scratching for three days.

[hannahssimblr]

Full email below the cut.

Beginning // Prev // Next

Jude!

So nice to hear from you. Wow! Your life sounds great! Everything is happening all at once, haha! See, didn’t I tell you that things would get better and that everyone would love you? I knew it. Look at you, having the best time ever. I can’t say I’m not jealous, but I felt really good reading about what you’ve said about college. I feel positive that things are going to be as good for me as they are for you when I go next year. I can’t wait to meet really cool, like minded people. 

I’m so curious about what happens in that club… surely you can at least tell me about what you’ve heard. A little bit of gossip? I googled it and not much has come up. Seems like everyone is pretty tight-lipped about what it’s like in there… mysterious.  

Haha. That’s so funny about the bouncers picking you out of the queue. I wonder was it your outfit, or something. From what I learned on Google, the dress code is pretty… gothic? Maybe? I can’t imagine you dressed like that. Honestly, I can’t even imagine you in long trousers. I swear every time I’ve ever seen you, you were wearing those football shorts. Do you still have them? I don’t know why I want to know that haha, I was just curious about whether you wore them to the gym, even, or if they’re relegated to the back of your wardrobe now that you’ve become a Berlin Boy. Stupid question. I’m just kind of amused at the image of you wearing them in the queue to a goth club, and then being perplexed about not being allowed in…

That’s a pity about Halloween. I have no plans either. I’m not really in the mood to make a costume and go out and all that. It seems a bit pointless, and now that it’s only Claire and I, it’s like, who would we even talk to? Claire has other friends, of course, the girls she hung out with before she became friends with Kelly and me in 5th year, but I guess they’re not really my kind of people. They’re nice, but… I don’t know how to describe it. They just don’t seem like they’d be up for talking about things in the way that I prefer to. You know what I mean? Like, you and I have great conversations. I feel like we always reach a really deep level together, and that you really understand what I’m saying and how I feel. It’s difficult to replicate that with other people. Still, I’m glad we can still chat, even if it’s not exactly the same as it was last summer. 

I’d love to come to Berlin in spring. I’ll keep it in mind, if you just let me know in advance about the dates that suit you. If I book early enough then the plane tickets won’t be so expensive. Scary, though! Flying alone for the first time! 

Good luck with your project! Please let me know how it goes! I’m sure you’ll do amazing. 

E.

[writteninerised]

Through the Maze of Desire

Draco Malfoy & Hermione Granger

Read on ao3

Summary | Hermione attends a New Year’s Eve masquerade ball, where a mysterious man in a hooded cloak keeps his gaze fixed on her all night. (Inspired by Pride and Prejudice / Bridgerton) 

Warnings/Tags | No warnings. Intense yearning and angst. No smut, but you’ll be satisfied.

Word count | 5.4k

The stranger in the dark cloak had been watching her all night.

She couldn’t see his eyes beneath the shadowed hood, but Hermione could feel them—sharp and unrelenting, like a tangible weight pressing against her. A shiver ran across her skin, and the air seemed heavier around her, thick with tension.

When the hood tilted in her direction as she moved toward the bar at the far end of the dance floor, it made one thing abundantly clear—whoever he was, he wanted her to know he was watching.

Hermione turned away, forcing herself to take slow, steady breaths as she slipped into the queue behind a couple of chatting guests. She swirled the last remnants of champagne in her glass, her mind racing to identify the mysterious man.

Padma Patil certainly knew how to throw a party—and her guest list was extensive enough that Hermione couldn’t be sure whether she’d ever met the man beneath the hood. And she knew a lot of people, but she would have remembered someone with a prescance you could feel across a room.

The line shuffled forward, and she stepped closer to the bar, but the prickling sensation along the back of her neck only grew stronger. She tried to shake it off, tossing back the last sip of champagne in a bid to calm her nerves.

Hermione was no stranger to being watched; people had stared at her often enough over the years. Since leaving school and growing into herself, she had become accustomed to the occasional lingering gaze. But this? Bloody hell, this was entirely different.

She told herself she wouldn’t look again. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of her curiosity. But her resolve faltered. Maybe it was the champagne thrumming faintly in her veins, or the heady mystique of the masquerade ball itself, but she couldn’t stop herself. She had to look.

Her gaze drifted casually across the swirling crowd of elegantly dressed guests, over the gleaming snowflake ice sculpture glistening in the soft glow of enchanted lanterns, until it landed on him.

Someone in a sleek black mask and a Slytherin green suit stood beside him, deep in conversation. But the hooded stranger remained unwavering, he was facing her direction as though he could see nothing and no one else.

It nearly made her breath catch, the sensation of being so thoroughly seen.

There was something about him—perhaps the way he stood, tall and poised, embodying a calm, unspoken power. Or maybe it was the way he held his firewhisky, cradling it loosely in his long fingers, every movement deliberate, almost hypnotic. Whatever it was, she couldn’t pull her gaze away.

Slowly, he raised the glass to his lips, the rim disappearing into the inky shadow beneath his hood. Her attention caught on his pale hands again—elegant and precise, his fingers curling nearly around the entire glass.

As if he sensed her gaze, his finger gently tapped in time with the rhythm of the music drifting from the band.

“Enchanting, isn’t it?”

Hermione jolted, her champagne glass slipping slightly in her grip. She turned sharply, heat rushing to her cheeks as though she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. “What?”

Luna Lovegood stood beside her, smiling serenely, her gaze lifted to the sky. Her ice blue mask glittered in the glow of the heat-charmed lanterns that floated overhead, radiating gentle warmth against the crisp winter night.

“The moon,” Luna said dreamily, gesturing upward. “It’s lovely tonight, isn’t it?”

Hermione exhaled a shaky breath, forcing herself to focus. “Oh. Yes. Beautiful.” She glanced at the moon, its pale light cutting through the enchanted snowfall drifting lazily over the dance floor.

When it was her turn at the bar, the bartender refilled her glass and handed Luna a fresh one.

"Happy New Year," Hermione said, clinking her glass against Luna's in a quiet toast, trying to shake off the lingering tension and act as though everything was normal.

She took a deep sip, hoping the drink would calm the thrum of energy in her chest. For a moment, she felt as if she had been in a trance, and then, a wave of embarrassment washed over her. She had been staring at a complete stranger, completely oblivious. Ridiculous. Another sip cooled the heat rising in her cheeks.

“Have you danced yet?” Luna asked.

Hermione hesitated, her fingers tightening around the stem of her glass. “No, I don’t think I will,” she admitted, resisting the nagging urge to glance over her shoulder. Instead, she focused on Luna. “Are you here with Rolf?”

Luna’s face lit up, her cheeks pink from the cold, though her smile remained unwavering. “Yes, I am. There he is,” she said, tilting her head toward the crowd gathered near the edge of the dance floor. “Coming this way now.”

Hermione turned, her gaze landing on Rolf Scamander, who was weaving through the crowd with a natural ease. He looked polished in a suit that complimented Luna’s icy blue dress, but her attention snagged on the familiar figure beside him.

Ron Weasley.

His steps were less certain, his hands jammed into his pockets as though trying to ward off the cold. When his eyes found Hermione, they brightened briefly, though his posture tensed.

“Ron,” Luna called, her voice carrying easily over the soft hum of conversation. She waved them closer, her grin widening.

Rolf gave Hermione a polite nod as they approached. “Happy New Year, Miss Granger,” he said, his tone warm and reserved.

“Happy New Year,” Hermione replied, smiling faintly.

“Hermione,” Ron said a beat later, his voice awkward but warm. His eyes darted to her red dress, lingering for a moment. “You look… really nice.”

“Thank you,” she said, offering him a small but sincere smile. “So do you.”

He wore deep burgundy robes that hung just a touch too loosely on his shoulders, the gold trim catching the light with each step. His mask, a simple bronze piece with a faint shimmer, fit snugly across his face, highlighting the freckles scattered along his nose. Despite the formality of his attire, there was something endearingly familiar about him—his awkward movements and the way he tugged at the cuffs of his sleeves spoke of a man far more comfortable in a jumper than evening robes. Years have passed and yet he has still not grown into himself. Still, the effort he’d made was clear, and Hermione found herself smiling softly as their eyes met.

Ron flushed as he rubbed the back of his neck.

The pause that followed was short but heavy. Hermione could feel the shadow of their past conversation lingering between them—the one where he had confessed, and she couldn’t reciprocate. Though they’d made an effort to move past it, things were different now, the ease of their old friendship elusive. Guilt that she knew she shouldn’t carry tightened in her chest.

“It’s such a magical night,” Luna said, breaking the silence, her voice light and ethereal. She reached for Rolf’s arm, her gown fluttering softly in the cold breeze. “Don’t you think?”

“Indeed,” Rolf agreed, his tone steady. “The fairy lights are a fine touch. And the charmed snowflakes—they never melt, you know.”

“They’re beautiful,” Hermione said, glancing up at the enchanted flakes drifting lazily from the starlit sky.

Ron shifted awkwardly beside her. “Yeah. Nice. A bit cold, though,” he muttered, huffing into his hands to warm them.

Hermione stifled a laugh but allowed herself a small smile. “It’s winter, Ron.”

“Oh, let’s dance!” Luna’s sudden, cheerful exclamation cut through the soft music floating across the garden, blissfully unaware of the lingering awkwardness between Hermione and Ron.

Hermione shook her head, already thinking of excuses. Dancing wasn’t part of her plan—not tonight. She’d only come because Padma had practically begged her, insisting that she attend at least one of her parties. Hermione had always declined in the past, using her workload as a convenient excuse. But it was New Year’s Eve, and the late hour made her usual reasons feel flimsy. So, here she was, doing her best to be a good friend.

She’d already made her rounds, chatting politely with other guests and complimenting Padma on the beauty of the evening. But the clock was ticking, and Hermione’s mind was on her escape plan, sneak out before the stroke of midnight, curl up on the couch with Crookshanks, and warm herself by the fire.

What wasn’t in her plan? Dancing.

Luna’s eyes were gleaming with enthusiasm. “It’s the perfect night for it. Rolf and I haven’t danced yet either, but I think we’ll start now.” She turned to Ron, her ever-present smile growing even brighter. “You and Hermione should join us!”

“I don’t know about that…” Ron mumbled, trailing off.

Hermione hesitated, her gaze drifting across the dazzlingly decorated lawn to where she had glimpsed the cloaked figure earlier. The pull lingered, like a magnetic thread gently tugging at the edges of her awareness. But she willed herself to shake it off—especially when her eyes met Ron’s. The sadness in his expression was unmistakable, and it stirred her guilt, rising uncomfortably to the surface once more.

“Come on,” Luna said brightly, already leading Rolf toward the dance floor. Around them, couples gilded gracefully under twinkling lights and glowing lanterns, their steps weaving seamlessly with the enchanting music.

Ron turned to Hermione, his face caught between hope and uncertainty. “What do you think? One dance?”

One dance wouldn’t hurt—not as much as the look in his eyes did.

“Okay,” Hermione said softly.

They stepped onto the makeshift dance floor—a circle of glimmering frost beneath an open sky. The soft strains of the waltz filled the air as they took their positions. Ron’s hands were hesitant as they settled on hers, his movements awkward at first.

“You’re doing fine,” Hermione murmured, guiding him slightly as they started moving.

“This isn’t as bad as I thought,” he admitted after a moment, managing a crooked smile.

She gave a small laugh. “No, it’s not.”

For a brief moment, the tension between them dissipated, and they moved together with surprising ease. Hermione tried to anchor herself in the present, yet a faint tug at the edge of her awareness refused to let go. She resisted the urge to glance back at the cloaked figure, keeping her focus firmly on Ron instead.

Still, she couldn’t shake the thought that the unsettling sensation of being watched stirred something deeper within her than Ron ever had.

His cold hands gripped her waist as he spun her around. Despite the absence of real feelings for him, it was nice to see him again, and the dance, she had to admit, wasn’t entirely unpleasant. At the very least, it was warming her up from the chill of the winter night.

As the violins soared into a new melody, the enchanted orchestra seemed to take on a life of its own, the air shimmering with an expectant hum. Above the crowd, a luminous clock hovered, its hands inching closer to midnight.

A rich, magical voice rang out over the hall, “Ladies and gentlemen, the Turning of the Year Dance is about to begin. A tradition to welcome renewal and connection. Take your places!”

Hermione looked up at Ron, her brow furrowing. “What’s the Turning of the Year Dance?”

“I dunno,” Ron muttered, shifting uncomfortably as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Sounds… complicated. Maybe we should just get off the dance floor before—”

“Oh, you’ll love it!” Luna’s airy voice interrupted as she appeared beside them, her mask glittering. She twirled a strand of her hair, as if the music had already enchanted her. “It’s a dance for discovery. You’ll find it’s not about knowing all the steps. You just… follow the magic.”

Before Hermione could protest, the music surged, pulling her into its rhythm. The dancers moved around her like ripples in a pond, and she suddenly found herself across from Ron, his face hesitant but resigned as Luna gently nudged them into place.

“Er… guess we’re doing this,” Ron mumbled, his hands awkwardly at his sides.

Hermione nodded, suppressing a nervous laugh. As the melody swelled, the magic seemed to guide her movements. Her deep red dress swirled around her ankles as her feet moved with a grace she hadn’t expected. Ron followed clumsily at first, but the enchantment made even his stumbles seem deliberate.

The spell of the music began to shift the dancers, their partners changing with each step and twirl. Hermione’s hand brushed others—brief, feather-light touches—but her gaze lingered on Ron as they were briefly separated. There was no longing in her glance, only a lingering comfort, a familiarity she had always taken for granted.

But then, the music turned again, and her body spun with it. Her long dress fanned out as she twirled, and when she stilled, the world around her seemed to hold its breath.

He stood before her—a figure cloaked in black and silver, his mask intricate and sharp, casting shadows across his face. For a moment, Hermione could see nothing else but him. Their hands hovered just above one another, the faintest spark of magic flickering between their fingertips.

Her breath caught as her gaze traveled up, past the edge of his mask, and locked on his eyes—stormy and gray, piercing through the shadows. There was something achingly familiar about them, but she couldn’t place it.

Neither of them spoke as the music swirled around them, a magnetic current pulling them closer. Hermione’s heartbeat quickened, though she couldn’t explain why. They moved in slow, deliberate circles, their hands hovering just apart, the warmth between them palpable. Their gazes locked, and the air around them crackled with tension.

Then, as suddenly as the spell had drawn them together, it shifted, tugging her away. Hermione stumbled back into reality, breathless and shaken. Ron was in front of her again, his face familiar and grounding, but her gaze drifted past him, drawn like a moth to a flame.

Her stranger.

He was gliding across the dance floor, partnered with a girl in a feathered gold mask. They mirrored the same moves she and Ron had just made, but the stranger’s eyes were fixed on Hermione, piercing through the crowd like a beacon.

The music swelled, and in one seamless spin, Hermione found herself turning toward him again. Her pulse quickened, racing faster than the tempo of the song. She didn’t spare Ron a glance, her focus entirely consumed by the hooded man whose presence seemed to draw her in like gravity.

Their hands hovered closer, the air between them vibrating with an electric charge. The sensation buzzed through her body, intensifying with every step. Neither of them spoke, but their eyes said everything.

His fingers brushed hers—a fleeting, almost imperceptible touch—but the ache it ignited in her was undeniable. Hermione’s breath hitched, her lips parting as she sucked in a sharp breath. He noticed, the corners of his mouth curling into the faintest smirk, and her cheeks burned in response.

Then, just as quickly, she was back where she started, in front of Ron. The spell shattered, and the sight of him felt like being plunged into ice water.

The music ended, and Ron still held her hand. Hermione smiled politely, making a subtle move to adjust her dress, reclaiming her hand in the process.

“Thank you for the dance,” she said, stepping off the floor with him.

“Yeah. It was nice,” Ron mumbled, his voice uncertain.

The next song began, a lilting waltz that carried couples back onto the floor. Hermione had barely taken a step toward the edge of the dance floor when a hand caught hers. She assumed it was Ron at first—until the spark that coursed through her skin made her freeze.

She turned, her breath catching as she looked over her shoulder.

The cloaked stranger stood behind her, his tall frame looming as his hand gently but firmly held hers. His gaze burned into her, and his voice, low and velvety, sent a shiver down her spine.

“Dance with me,” he said, the words more command than request, yet laced with an undeniable allure.

For a moment, she was entirely captivated, her world narrowing to just him. She had nearly forgotten Ron until his awkward throat-clearing pulled her back.

“Everything alright?” Ron asked, his voice cutting through the haze.

She glanced between the two men, uncertainty clouding her thoughts. She wasn’t here with Ron, but for some reason, she felt a pang of guilt over what she truly wanted to do. And what she wanted, more than anything, was to be closer to the stranger standing at her side. She hadn’t planned on dancing at all—she had promised Ron just one dance, which had led to more—but with this masked man, she hadn’t even questioned the idea.

She didn’t owe Ron anything, no matter how guilty that made her feel. She reminded herself of that. She was a grown woman, capable of changing her mind and making her own choices.

“Yes, everything is fine. Enjoy your night, Ron.”

Ron stared at her, dumbfounded, but she didn’t linger on his expression as she turned toward the man beside her. Her fingers curled around his hand, gripping it tighter in a silent agreement to the dance, even though he hadn’t asked her directly.

Without a word, the stranger led her to the dance floor, effortlessly spinning her into his arms. She gasped as she tumbled back into his chest.

His fingers brushed the strap of her dress, adjusting it as it slipped off her shoulder, then slowly traced the curve of her back to rest on her waist. A flutter of warmth spread through her at his touch. She couldn’t decide if it was the champagne or the intensity of the stranger’s embrace, but she felt dizzy with something far more intoxicating.

“Who are you?” she asked softly as they began to sway, her voice barely audible over the music.

“Whoever you want me to be, Granger.”

Her mouth opened to respond, but her words caught in her throat as he dipped her low. Their gazes locked and held, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to disappear.

“How do you know who I am?”

“Do you really think a little mask could hide you from me?” he murmured, his tone low and knowing. “I’d recognize you blind.”

Hermione wasn’t sure whether it was the warm glow of the enchanted lanterns or the heat building between them, but she suddenly felt flushed all over.

He pulled her up slowly, the soft melody of the song swirling around them. They moved together, their bodies pressed close in a way Hermione had never allowed a stranger to be before. Was she losing her mind? Had someone slipped Amortentia into her champagne?

His hand found the nape of her neck, fingers trailing through her braided hair. “Let me see all of you,” he murmured, his wrist flicking with a swift, practiced motion that loosened her hair. It cascaded free, tumbling over her shoulders as he spun her out. Her dress and hair swirled around her like a delicate whirlwind, fanning across the dance floor. For a brief moment, it felt as though they were the only two people there, the world narrowing to just this connection.

When he pulled her back into his arms, his breath brushed her ear, and he whispered, “Beautiful.”

Her knees went weak, and she could hardly catch her breath.

But then, the music shifted into something faster, more energetic, and Hermione broke away from him, as if breaking a spell.

She needed space, needed distance to clear her head.

What was she doing? She didn’t even know this man.

“Excuse me,” she murmured, her voice shaky, and she slipped away from him, hurrying off the dance floor.

As she made her way to the bar, she cursed herself under her breath. She was acting like someone else, someone she didn’t recognize. Now, she wasn’t just disappointed that Ginny and Harry hadn’t come—she was angry. Without them, there was no one to anchor her, no one to remind her of who she was and keep her steady.

When she reached the bar, she was relieved to find there was no line. She ordered a drink, watching closely as the bartender poured from a bottle of champagne. Thankfully nothing else was added.

She needed to make sense of what had just happened, but nothing added up. Hermione was not the type to be hypnotized. Yet, she could still feel the warmth of his touch, the intensity of his presence, and the strange, magnetic pull between them.

She took a long sip of her drink, hoping it would ground her, but instead, it only left her more disoriented. Setting the glass aside, she breathed in the cool night air, her chest rising with the effort as she tried to steady herself.

Then, an announcement came over the speakers, reminding everyone that there were only a few minutes left before midnight. The thought of the impending celebration made her stomach tighten. She had to leave. She needed to get away from this stranger who seemed to be consuming her thoughts.

She didn’t act like this. This isn't normal.

Avoiding any curious glances, Hermione made her way through the crowd. She should probably say goodbye to Padma and the others, but there was no time for that. She couldn’t risk getting caught up in whatever this was. She couldn’t let him pull her back in.

But just as she thought she might escape, her heart skipped a beat. She looked up and saw him across the lawn, heading straight toward her. Her pulse quickened, her body aching to move toward him, but she forced herself to resist.

She wasn’t going to head toward him. No matter how much her feet seemed to want to betray her, she wouldn’t let herself be swept away again. She needed to leave—but she couldn’t just walk past him. But then she looked around and saw a path through the garden, softly lit by the glow of a dozen floating lanterns.

Hermione remembered a path through the hedge maze that would lead her out unnoticed, a quiet escape from the crowd and away from the man who seemed to haunt her thoughts.

She turned toward the garden, ready to slip through the hedges and vanish from the party, but as she did, something in the corner of her eye caught her attention. He had seen her. He’d noticed her turn into the garden.

Would he follow? Part of her hoped not. Or did she?

Her heart picked up pace as she quickened her steps, moving past the flower bushes and the large fountain that marked the garden’s entrance. It was a beautiful place—she’d been here before, once with a few other ladies for an afternoon tea—but it felt entirely different under the cloak of night.

She took a turn, her confidence wavering as she found herself deeper in the maze of tall hedges. She thought she knew where the exit was, but the familiar garden was now a labyrinth, and she quickly realized she was lost.

The sound of a bush rustling behind her made her stop. She turned over her shoulder, and her breath caught in her throat.

There he was.

He’d followed her into the maze.

She should feel fear, shouldn’t she? After all, a stranger was trailing her, and she was completely alone out here. The distant sounds of the party and music were fading as she ventured deeper into the garden. She could scream, call for help, but instead of panic, she felt… something else.

Adrenaline surged through her. Her stomach fluttered with butterflies, and her heart beat hard and fast in her chest, a wild rhythm she didn’t quite understand. She found herself smiling, not even knowing why.

He was still cloaked in dark clothes, his hood up, but his pace quickened as he closed the distance between them.

Hermione didn’t stop. She made a sharp left, uncertain of where she was going but driven by the need to keep moving. She wouldn’t let him catch her.

But even as she thought that, a strange excitement filled her.

What would he do if he caught her?

Another sound behind her made it clear he was gaining on her. Her heart raced as she made several more sharp turns, weaving through the maze. The enchanted lanterns flickered softly, casting a gentle glow that illuminated her path just enough to keep her from tripping while keeping the air warm enough to prevent a chill from setting in.

Suddenly, a loud clicking sound echoed in the distance. Hermione glanced upward and saw the massive clock that had once hovered above the dance floor now rising into the sky. Its hands clicked ominously closer to midnight, each tick echoing in her chest, syncing with the pounding of her heart and the sound of his footsteps closing in. Her breathing quickened, each inhale shallow as if she might burst from the tension.

The hedges parted, and she bolted into the clearing at the heart of the maze. There, a larger fountain stood, spraying water in the center, adding a cacophony of sound to the night air.

She didn’t realize she’d slowed down, caught by the beauty of the statue at the fountain’s heart, until her heel sank into the soft ground, throwing her off balance. Before she could regain her footing, strong arms gripped her around the waist, and she stumbled, crashing into the stranger.

They both tumbled to the ground. Her breath caught—not because he had finally caught her, or because she was now sprawled on top of him, but because, as his hood fell back, she recognized him.

Draco Malfoy.

Her mouth went dry.

"You!" she gasped, pressing her hands into his chest as she scrambled to sit up, still straddling him. She hadn’t even realized she was still on top of him until the words left her mouth.

"Say it," He teased.

In one swift motion, Hermione tore the mask from his face. Her breath caught as recognition washed over her like ice water. It had been years, but there was no mistaking him now—the moonlit blonde hair, pale skin, and piercingly familiar eyes that once haunted her thoughts. How had she not seen it before? The hood and mask had deceived her entirely. Maybe she was convinced their paths would never cross again—especially not here.

He was still unmistakably Draco, but time had changed him. He was taller, more refined, and—much to her irritation—far more handsome than she remembered. He carried himself with an effortless confidence that made her stomach churn.

Hermione shoved down the unwelcome memory of how, in their final year at school, she’d caught herself stealing glances at him. She’d buried those foolish, forbidden feelings deep, knowing they were never meant to see the light of day. Even now, after everyone had moved on, building lives beyond the petty rivalries of their youth, she couldn’t deny that he’d crossed her mind more often than she cared to admit—though she convinced herself he didn’t deserve it.

Draco hated her. He always had. Hadn’t he? This had to be some cruel game, some twisted joke at her expense.

But why, then, had his gaze been fixed on her all night?

A bitter knot twisted in her chest. She felt like a fool. Whatever this was, it couldn’t be real. He was toying with her—he had to be.

"Malfoy," she spat, her voice laced with disdain. "What—?"

He groaned, “Come on, Granger.”

She ignored him, her frustration boiling over. “What do you want?”

Before she could blink, Draco moved with surprising speed, flipping her onto her back in the grass. He loomed above her, his hands flat on the ground beside her head, caging her in. Her breath came faster now, louder than it had been when she was running from him. His long fingers slipped beneath the edge of her mask, lifting it away and leaving her feeling exposed—though he had always known exactly who she was.

He leaned in, his face hovering just above hers, his voice a low murmur, heavy with intent. “You. I want…you.”

The answer stunned her. Everything he had done tonight had left her reeling, but this? This confession shook her to the core. Even with the anger surging at the revelation of his identity, there was something undeniably magnetic about him—something that drew her in, no matter how much she wanted to resist. She couldn’t admit it, not in the face of his audacity. But in the quietest corner of her mind, she knew. He must feel it too. Why else would he be so relentless?

An announcement echoed through the air, the voice ringing clear, “One minute until midnight.”

“You want this too, don’t you, Granger?”

Her throat went dry, her words escaping in a breathless whisper, barely audible. “What?”

Draco’s gaze intensified. “Tell me you don’t feel it,” he said, his voice rough and low. “And I’ll walk away. We’ll forget this ever began.”

Hermione stared up at him, his face hovering so close she could feel the heat of his breath on her skin. How could she lie? He knew. He’d seen the way she’d watched him all night, the way her body reacted when he touched her. He knew—and he was calling her out. She would look more foolish trying to deny it than admitting the truth. But still, the truth stuck in her throat, refusing to form the words she knew she should say.

The distant sounds of the countdown filled the air.

"Ten..."

"Nine..."

“Or…” Draco murmurs, his voice dropping to a soft, irresistible whisper. “Show me,” he holds her gaze, his tone unwavering, “and I’ll know you do.”

There was something in his expression—an unguarded mix of longing and desperation—that struck her deeply. It mirrored the very feelings she had once recognized in herself, the same haunted look she had seen in the mirror years ago when thoughts of him refused to leave her.

With his mask removed, no longer hidden from her, she could see it clearly now. It was undeniable—Draco Malfoy wanted her. Needed her. It was etched into every line of his face, woven into the cadence of his words, and unmistakably lingering in the depths of his eyes.

"Six..."

"Five..."

"Four..."

Her heart thundered so loudly in her chest she was sure he could hear it. Her eyes fell to his lips, drawn to them, unable to look away. He was right there, so close—closer than anyone ever had been. The seconds ticked down, and for a brief, wild moment, she could barely hear the countdown over the pounding of her pulse.

And then, in the silence that followed, Draco’s voice, barely a breath, slid through the tension between them. "Go on, Granger." He leaned in just a fraction, his lips a hair's breadth from hers. "I’m yours."

“Two…”

“One…”

Hermione swallowed her pride and tilted her head, offering him the undeniable answer he’d been waiting for. But Draco pulled back just enough to make her heart falter. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, flashed with something darker—until a flicker of surprise passed through them, quickly morphing into unmistakable desire. In an instant, his lips closed the gap between them.

It was as though the world around her exploded in sync with what surged through her own veins—fireworks burst in the sky, and distant cheers echoed through the night. But she didn’t give a damn about the new year or the celebration; all that mattered was that she was kissing — “Draco,” she moaned against his mouth, breathless with the intensity of it.

He smiled against her lips, his voice a hushed murmur, "Hermione," as if it were the only response he needed to give. As if, all along, he had been waiting for her to call out to him, to bring him out of the shadows and into her reach.

His hands threaded through hers, guiding them to the soft grass above her head, where they tangled together, grounding her in the moment. With a subtle shift, he deepened the kiss, drawing her closer, as if they were two stars pulled inevitably into orbit. Time seemed to stretch, fragile and suspended, as if the universe had paused to witness this. The distant cheers of the new year faded into the background, leaving only the warmth of his lips and the electric pulse of something more—something that felt like it would last long after the clock struck midnight.p

[acreaturebythewater]

hello!

call me forget! (used to be forget-me-maybe)

she/they • late 20s • europe • swears a lot

this is technically a personal blog it just so happens that simping is my personality

feel free to send an ask!!! and dear god i love tag games tag me in everything.

i'll probably join your discord server and proceed to not say a word (can't keep a conversation going for the life of me)

i don’t really tag things in a proper order and most likely won’t change that (though if we’re mutuals and you need some trigger of phobia tagged, tell me and i’ll do my best).

the queue is on and untagged.

bg3 (which is what you’ll see the most of here)

writing

art

stardew valley

rogue trader

the magnus archives

pixels (among them some very questionable pixels)

music

hot takes. cold takes. good takes. bad takes.

nature

my ao3

#forget writes for shop talk and the occasional drabble

BG3:

you keep showing up: raphael/f!tav. NSFW. WIP - 6 months after tav killed him, raphael shows up for revenge. #tav: ester fic pinterest

a change of heart: aradin/f!tav. NSFW. WIP - a series of one shots that didn't want to stay one shots. #tav: xeni fic pinterest

au shenanigans: aradin/f!tav. NSFW. series of one shots set in alternative universes (modern for now). updates when the muse takes me. same tav as in a change of heart.

look after me: rolan/f!tav. NSFW. WIP. on hiatus and will probably stay that way.

RT:

fire escape in space: abelard werserian/f!rogue trader. NSFW. abelard wants to fuck the new rogue trader so much it makes him (look) stupid. #rt: ophelia

[kyri45]

✨ISAT Sky: Cotl!AU Q&A (22-09)✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the ISAT Sky: Cotl!AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

@spec7rejay ha chiesto: First, for the lmk au: oh my god, they were roommates. Second: this may be a bit of a stretch, but I was listening to Lindsey Stirling and her song Foreverglow made me think of the ISaT S:CotL AU Third: your art and AU’s are amazing and I hope you have a nice day! :)

Aww you're right! It is kind of fitting! :D

Anonimo ha chiesto: Hi! I have a question about your Sky x ISAT au In your au, does Aurora exist? Would she be a preformer or something closer to the version of her in queendom?

AURORA in the AU is more similar to a performer who's also a seasonal guide, and the songs they play during the concert where you get teleported and become a bird or a jellyfish are like a collective meditative experience.

da3gr3d ha chiesto: Im finishing to play sky cotl at light speed just so i can read your au comic without spoilers of the game bc im obsessed with the lmk bio parents one and now i wanna read the other one as well bc you are so good at drawing and scripting the comics

(i said it and ill say it again i LOVE your stories im obsessed)

Anonimo ha chiesto: ur isat x sky:cotl au made me pick up sky <3

AAAHHH TY!! Hope you like the game as much as I do!

Anonimo ha chiesto: god your s:cotl isat comic has been making me absolutely completely insane im so obsessed with it. it's so so beautiful and so so good and im just auugughhhh

@queenofskys5 ha chiesto: I hope everyone who came for LMK is enjoying ISAT x Sky:COTL the way I'm enjoying LMK after basically learning of its existence from here

hehe glad you liked the LMK one as well!

Anonimo ha chiesto: the. the pararel between him and siffrin. that doesn't mean anything right haha I'm proooobably looking too deep into it def and it's def not because I think the king is siffrin in some way and I'm totally not looking at the same placements of their three eyelashes and the way they both have their left eye covered. I'm going. insane. tell me I'm insane please. love your art btw! :D

Ah yes, the 2 school of thoughts about Resh in the Sky fandom: either you are team Resh is you/you are part of resh or Resh and Alef are two different beings

@melodyofthevoid ha chiesto: Since in the new COTL event there's a spell that makes you a crab... if the gang got hit with that on the island... It'd truly be their worst nightmare /j

But it would also be so fuckong funny

Anonimo ha chiesto: TEY SIAD TEH THIHGBTEHYSA ISAID TEH THING IM SCREAMING OH MY GOD how long did it take for you to think of that dialogue, siffrin being from ISAT saying that and resh being from COTL saying that, people saying their respective game title names puugghhgh I'm gonna eXPLODE

Ahah since May I knew I was gonna add the name of the game (Sky) into that conversation. As I was drawing the chapter I thought that maybe I could also add the ISAT name as well

Anonimo ha chiesto: (regarding your current update on the ISAT cotl au) I SCREAMED. I SCREAMED. LOOOOPPP. OH MY GOD THEIR FAMILY. IM SCREAMING IM GONNA THROW UP /POS

LOOP! THEY WILL SAVE THE DAY!

[lapsthings]

BLLK OPTIONAL MATCHUP EXCHANGE WITH @tigreblvnc

Delivery for Suo 📦📦📦

Sae-chan…it was a bit of a challenge to write for him because this guy is, well, something.

Where do I even begin?

Both of you are quite alike, actually, sharing similar likes and dislikes. Which is great because it makes you two quite compatible. And being compatible with Sae is like finding a diamond in the rough.

Like you, he has no patience for dull, unambitious people, considering them ‘lukewarm,’ to put it simply. Which is precisely why you caught his eye. Why he supposedly “tolerates” you. Why he kept in touch after your first meeting. Why he found himself longing for you…

and eventually, why he fell for you.

He drops hints unintentionally—like asking you to be his plus-one at events that he needed to attend (much to his dismay), giving you items that reminded him of you, and sending you tickets to every one of his matches. He’s unfamiliar with these feelings, but he’s not clueless; it doesn’t take him long to realize he’s romantically interested in you.

Sure, #football4eva, but he figures a relationship won’t harm his goals. In fact, pursuing you might finally get rid of that strange flutter in his stomach that’s been nothing but a hindrance in his daily activities.

Sae is straightforward, blunt about his feelings and his confession. Not exactly textbook definition of romantic

Boo tomato tomato 🍅🍅🍅

Look, he would've just told you outright, but he figured he should put in some effort for you.

He brings you to the seashore after a fancy dinner at a high-end restaurant, where he confesses.

Whether he realizes it or not, even if just a little, this is a rare vulnerable moment for him. And when you reciprocate his feelings, you catch a faint glimmer of his lips turning upwards.

Ouhh

Yeah, caught his ass smiling 😂🫵

After this, you find yourself visiting the sea more often—whether it’s after a date or one of his games, you both will end up by the familiar waves.

It’s calming, he thinks. A nice way to unwind with his beloved

He’s not a fan of the rainy season; it’s not just inconvenient, but it also keeps him from seeing the sea or bringing you along.

Sure, he could grab an umbrella, but it’s just not the same. The experience would be pointless if neither of you enjoys it.

Same goes for winter—how can he appreciate the beauty of the flowing waves when they’re frozen solid?

He appreciates that you’re not overly clingy and that you can handle yourself just fine—after all, he’s not one to babysit.

Sae feels most at peace with you; both of you respect each other’s space and don’t rely on each other too much. But at the same time, he genuinely enjoys your presence.

You’re his safe haven.

Another thing you both dislike is waiting. He doesn’t outright hate it, but he’d rather not deal with it.

I can see him buying those queue-skipping passes at Disney—insignificant money to him if it means avoiding sweaty crowds under the hot sun.

Sae’s a busy guy who travels a lot. You once jokingly asked if he’d take you along, and to your surprise, he agreed.

Travelling with him then became a regular thing. Business class? Forget about it—you’re traveling in first class now.

He has this odd talent for being unintentionally funny. He doesn’t mean to be, but he’s just too sassy and too much of a smartass.

Unfortunately, he has no humor to back it up...

He doesn’t know how to have fun either, so that’s something you’ll need to teach him.

You can talk to him about almost anything; he’s more of a listener, but if you ever want a discussion, he’ll engage with his own insights.

I can picture the two of you deep in conversation on a date, while the waiter is just like, “???”

And funny enough, he’s actually great to chat about philosophy with. Do you remember that deep quote he dropped when he was just, what, ten?

“Toys aren’t like people—they don’t bleed, but if they break, they don’t get better.”

Ok bro, maybe finish your homework first

He is a foodie too, he tends to think about his celebratory meal if he wins

And now, he started thinking about where to bring you to chow down as well

Food dates are quite more common actually

He recommends pairing your dish with salted seaweed

You both love analyzing things, though he’s more into breaking down football players' data. Perhaps you’d like to join him?

And while you’re at it, please help him make some friends.

Much like his brother, he doesn’t have any. With that attitude, it’s not exactly shocking.

But it wouldn’t hurt for him to have at least a few—quality over quantity, after all. Even he knows that; he just doesn’t see the point of having them.

I hope you smack him into oblivion

As for love languages, your way of showing them aligns with him quite well. Sae rarely initiates physical contact, especially early on in the relationship, but he’ll reciprocate whenever you do.

He thinks it’s cute. Don’t worry—he’s secretly touch-starved too.

You can tell when he practically melts in your embrace

Not so nonchalant anymore huh

As for him, he lavishes you with gifts from his sponsors

He casually hands you one of his credit cards

Doesn't matter how pricey it is. You want it? Just swipe

Go all out for all he cares

Sae is a solid companion in your quest to find the best burger in the world. He’s quite the food critic—he can instantly gauge the quality of ingredients and their nutritional value.

Overall, you two are a match made in heaven.

When Sae first entered a relationship with you, he didn’t have many expectations. But as the days go by, he can’t help but cherish your presence more and more.

...

..

.

Maybe he should start asking for your ring size