#if it is blurry or something like that i just delete it...

[anhedonyan]

Good news: tkinter program where you can click a button and a camera filter is applied OR you can do a hand sign and the camera filter is applied... works.

Bad news: it won't predict hand signs well... I'm not sure yet whether it is overfitting, bad quality photos, illumination... I have no idea and my classmates seem to be in the same boat as me. I'll try retraining again tomorrow. :'(

[theonlyonesora]

Paddock Whispers

Max Verstappen x Reader

It had started with a single photo.

Blurry, yes—but undeniably you. Wrapped in Max’s oversized hoodie, hair up, sleepy-eyed and barefoot in the background of a now-deleted Instagram story from one of Red Bull’s junior mechanics. You’d been handing Max a mug of coffee, his hand low on your back, and the caption had read:

“GOAT treatment only 😤☕️”

Naturally, the internet had imploded.

By the time the next Grand Prix weekend rolled around, speculation was wildfire, crackling through social media, F1 TikTok, and every gossip account from Paris to Singapore.

Now, you stood just inside the paddock at Suzuka, badge lanyard swinging gently against your chest, sun warming your shoulders, and a camera lens or two—hundred—pointed directly at you.

“I told you this would happen,” you muttered under your breath.

Max, walking beside you in his dark Red Bull kit, tossed you a side-smirk, annoyingly unbothered. “You look too good. That’s your fault.”

“You look good. I’m just… present.”

He stopped, took a step back, and looked at you in that way that made your knees soften. “You think that’s just presence?” he murmured, tipping his sunglasses down to scan you properly. “You’re the entire press conference right now.”

You nudged him with your elbow, cheeks warm. “They’re all staring.”

“So let them stare,” he said simply, and then—without hesitation—slipped his hand into yours.

Not on accident. Not for show. Just because he wanted to.

But the cameras clicked faster.

From the other side of the paddock, you spotted Charles and Pierre watching with smirks. Pierre leaned into Charles and said something, earning a laugh and a pointed look in your direction.

“Oh no,” you groaned.

Max followed your line of sight. “Ignore them.”

“I can feel Lando’s grin from here.”

“He’s jealous,” Max replied dryly. “Because you’re mine.”

You arched a brow. “Oh, I’m yours now?”

He stepped in close, leaning down just enough so his breath kissed the shell of your ear. “You’ve always been mine. Now the rest of the grid knows.”

Before you could fire back with something sarcastic—or worse, sincere—he pulled away like nothing had happened, squeezing your hand as he walked toward the Red Bull garage.

"You're blushing," he added over his shoulder.

"You're annoying," you muttered back—but you were smiling.

And yes, when Lando walked past a few minutes later and said “You really let Verstappen pull you, huh?” with a crooked grin, Max very calmly replied, “She wasn’t pulled. She jumped.”

Twitter/X, five minutes later:

@F1GirlsUnited: the way max said “she’s mine” and then walked off holding her hand like that… help I’m unwell @charlesbabydoll: y/n is literally one of us and she bagged max. Queen behavior. @RedBullTea: Charles and Pierre’s faces watching it happen was HILARIOUS, they were so ready to gossip 😭 @simps4max: if she ever lets go of that man I’m RIGHT HERE READY

.

The Tokyo skyline shimmered through the tall glass windows of Max’s hotel suite, city lights flickering like stardust scattered across the night. You sat curled up on the plush hotel bed in one of Max’s old race t-shirts, sleeves too big, hem brushing your thighs, watching him pace shirtless across the room with his phone to his ear.

He was still flushed from qualifying—P1, but barely. That Verstappen fire lingered under his skin, thrumming beneath the muscles in his back as he muttered into Dutch with his race engineer. You watched the little droplets of water trail down his spine from the shower, curling into the dip above his towel-covered hips.

“Are you even listening?” you asked softly.

Max turned, eyes sweeping over you with a lazy grin. “No, not really.”

He ended the call mid-sentence, tossed his phone onto the nearby table, and stalked over to the bed with that quiet confidence that always made your pulse stutter. He leaned over you on his hands, hair still damp, face so close your noses almost touched.

“You look good in my shirt.”

“You say that like it’s a surprise.”

He hummed low in his throat and leaned down, kissing the corner of your mouth first, then your jaw, then your collarbone—slow, languid, like he had all the time in the world.

Your hands threaded into his wet curls. “Still wound up from quali?”

“Hmm,” he nodded, lips grazing your throat. “Can’t sleep.”

“Need help with that?”

He laughed, a breathy sound against your skin. “Only if you’re offering.”

Your giggle was soft and sinful all at once. “I am wearing your favorite shirt.”

“And nothing else?”

You tugged him down fully on top of you. “Guess you’ll have to check.”

Ten minutes later…

Well. Maybe twenty.

You were curled into his chest now, both of you still catching your breath, a sheet tangled around your waists and the lights of Tokyo spilling across your bare legs. Max reached blindly for his phone, eyes still half-lidded.

“Don’t post anything,” you warned.

“I’m not,” he smirked. “Just checking who out-qualified me.”

But the second his screen lit up, you gasped.

“Max—what is that?”

He squinted. “What?”

The Instagram app was open. On his story. A still photo—taken God knows when—of you straddling his lap on the hotel bed, laughing, both of you flushed and rumpled and way too obviously post-sin. He must’ve tapped post by accident.

“Oh my God—delete it!”

“I’m trying!” he fumbled with the screen, but the damage was done.

Five minutes later, the internet:

@F1FanaticNews: MAX VERSTAPPEN ACCIDENTALLY POSTED THE MOST CHAOTIC COUPLE PHOTO WE’VE EVER SEEN. @horny4f1: not Max posting a post-sex pic like he’s in love. I’m gonna cry @charlesgirlie: THE WAY SHE’S LAUGHING ON TOP OF HIM 😭😭😭 THEY’RE IN LOVE @landoenthusiast: who knew Max had rizz @yngridverstappen: I just know Helmut Marko is crying in a corner rn

Max tossed the phone aside with a sheepish grin. “Oops?”

You were burying your face in a pillow. “We’re trending, aren’t we?”

“Probably.” He leaned down, brushed a kiss against your temple. “Worth it.”

You peeked up at him, still breathless and blushing. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re still in my shirt.” His smile softened. “Which means you’re mine.”

You groaned and pulled him back down with a laugh. “Then take responsibility for your public horniness, Verstappen.”

“Oh, I will,” he whispered into your neck. “All night.”

.

The Suzuka sun blazed above the track, golden and unforgiving. The crowd was a sea of red and orange, thunderous and chanting, and Max—Max stood at the center of it, champagne-soaked and grinning like he owned the world.

He did, in that moment.

And you were there, just past the barrier, watching him.

The moment his eyes found yours, there was no delay. No “let me thank the team first,” no sponsor-polite smile. He jumped off the small step of the podium like he had nothing but tunnel vision and walked—no, strode—toward you with his fireproofs unzipped and hanging off his waist, his torso still gleaming under the sun.

He grabbed you by the waist without a word and pulled you into him, kissing you like there weren’t thousands of people watching, like the cameras weren’t already zoomed in, like the world hadn’t been speculating for weeks.

Your fingers slid into his damp hair. His hands clutched your hips. And he kissed you like he’d been waiting for this exact moment—lips hungry, tongue teasing, breath caught between laughter and something much darker.

“Max—” you breathed when he pulled away just slightly.

He only smirked. “That should make tomorrow’s headlines.”

Press Conference – Thirty Minutes Later

He sat front and center, fresh shirt, hair slightly damp, watch glittering under the lights. Charles and Lewis flanked him, answering their questions politely.

And then it came.

A reporter, too smug for his own good, leaned forward with a little smirk. “Max, your driving was on point as always today, but fans seem very curious about that kiss after the podium. Any comment on the, uh… surprise guest in your personal life?”

Max didn’t miss a beat.

He leaned into the mic, voice low and amused. “You mean my girlfriend?”

The room went silent, pens stalling mid-scribble.

He shrugged casually. “She’s amazing. Beautiful. Smarter than all of you. And she’s the reason I slept more than four hours this weekend.”

Charles choked on his water.

Lewis burst out laughing.

The room erupted.

And Max just leaned back with a satisfied smile, looking directly at the camera—your camera, the one you were watching from backstage.

.

“Smarter than all of you?” you teased, straddling his lap as he sat on the edge of the bed, still warm from the shower.

Max smirked, hands on your hips. “They needed to know.”

“You mean they needed to know I keep you rested?”

His lips brushed your neck, soft and slow. “Among other things.”

You giggled as he pressed you down against the mattress, his voice dropping to a whisper near your ear.

“I win races, but you make the victory feel real.”

The night unfolded like silk—hot skin against cooler sheets, whispered laughter, a kiss for every lap he’d driven like the devil himself was chasing him.

And this time, no phones. No posts.

Just you. Just him. Just the sound of breathless hearts and the weight of all the things he couldn’t say in front of cameras.

Only for you.

[purplereina11]

Part 2

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

Wordcount: 13.7k

It had been a few weeks since Carmen’s wedding.

A few blurry, grey skied, coffee fuelled weeks of trying to convince yourself you hadn’t romanticised the whole thing. That it wasn’t just the Spanish sun and wine and heat of the moment. That the version of her you’d held onto in your head, sharp-m eyed, smug, soft when no one else was looking wasn’t just some dream your brain stitched together in the haze.

London felt particularly grey today. The sky was heavy with that pre-storm pressure, and your scarf kept sliding off your shoulder as you wandered through Soho with a paper bag full of takeaway dumplings and zero plans for the evening.

You were halfway to the tube when your phone buzzed in your coat pocket. You didn’t think anything of it at first just another group chat, probably Carmen sending details of the girls trip you’d been invited to. Hen do 2.0 for one of her friends who couldn’t make either, but when you glanced down at the screen, your feet actually stopped moving.

alexiaputellas followed you

You blinked looked again. Yup. Still there.

Your heart jumped in your chest in a way you hated admitting to some involuntary thrill you couldn’t quite suppress, like your body had been waiting for it even when your mind had given up hope.

You tapped the notification like it might vanish if you waited too long.

There it was, her profile, blue tick a thousand posts and now, that tiny line of text at the top

Follows you

You stared at it for a moment, standing on the edge of the pavement as people brushed past, your dumplings going lukewarm in the paper bag.

It wasn’t a message, It wasn’t a like from 2019, but still.

Your thumb hovered, then you flicked back to her profile, stared at that stupidly cute profile picture, and smiled before muttering under your breath “…Took your time, menace.”

You waited, not because you wanted to play games, but because the tube was packed and you were standing elbow to elbow with a man chewing gum like it owed him money, and it didn’t feel right not the moment you wanted to follow her back in.

So you waited, walked home, scarf looped twice around your neck, headphones in, the sky cracking open just a little on the walk from the station. You could still smell the rain on the concrete by the time you unlocked your flat door and dropped your keys into the bowl.

And then you did it casually, quietly. Followed her back.

You threw your coat over the chair, kicked off your shoes, turned toward the kitchen and Ping.

Your phone lit up almost instantly.

One message.

alexiaputellas: Hola, Muppet 🧡

You stopped right in the middle of your kitchen and let out a breath of a laugh. Of course she messaged first, you stared at the screen like it might wink at you.

You typed… and deleted. Typed again. Paused, then finally sent

Didn’t know Barça did background checks that slow.

Another couple messages appeared in quick suggestion,

alexiaputellas: We had to run yours twice alexiaputellas: Very suspicious. alexiaputellas: Too pretty to be trusted.

Your heart stuttered a little at that one. You took a slow step back until you were leaning back against the counter, the phone warm in your hand.

You still owe me translations, you know.

alexiaputellas: No alexiaputellas: I said… in England alexiaputellas: You home now, no?

Are you tracking me??

alexiaputellas: Romantic. Not weird.

You snorted, fingers flying now before you could second guess it,

What’s the Spanish for cocky bastard?

There was a pause, you could picture her face so clearly the slow grin, the narrowed eyes, probably showing her phone to someone smugly like she knew she had you hooked.

alexiaputellas: Translate it yourself alexiaputellas: Google. Later. In bed. Alone. alexiaputellas: Like you did with very beautiful 👀

You paused, feeling the blush creep to your ears,

Can I ask you something?

alexiaputellas: You already are alexiaputellas: But okay alexiaputellas: Yes alexiaputellas: I think about you too alexiaputellas: Was that the question or no?

You covered your mouth with your hand, like that might keep the grin from splitting wider, no, it hadn’t been but it worked just the same.

You toss your phone onto your bed, half-laughing, half-panicking at that last message. Yes. I think about you too. It stares up at you from your duvet like it’s dared you to reply and now you have to pretend you’re calm.

You turn on your bedside lamp, take off your socks, and tug your hair up into a messy bun as you pad to the bathroom, phone in hand. The screen keeps lighting up as you turn the tap on to wash your face.

Another message flashes,

alexiaputellas: Are you blushing?

You lean on the sink, dripping, as you type with your pinky,

Obviously not. I’m completely composed. Washing my face like a normal person. Not pacing. Not checking the mirror, not smiling.

Your phone buzzes again as you’re dabbing at your face with a towel.

alexiaputellas: You are cute when you lie alexiaputellas: I can feel it alexiaputellas: Like heat waves

You laugh, shaking your head, your smile caught in the mirror.

Back in your bedroom, you pull your tank top over your head and swap it for a worn hoodie, tugging it on with one hand while still typing with the other.

What are you doing right now then, poet?

alexiaputellas: Stretching alexiaputellas: not a joke alexiaputellas: Recovery session in the morning alexiaputellas: We have yoga alexiaputellas: I’m very bendy

You stop mid-motion, one knee on the bed as you read that.

…Is this your version of flirting?

alexiaputellas: What gave me away 😇

You snort and shake your head, crawling under your duvet with your phone still in hand. You reply,

I liked you better when you were grumpy losing at beer pong.

alexiaputellas: Liar. alexiaputellas: You like me more now. alexiaputellas: Admit it

You pause.

Roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling for a second, lips pressed together in a half-smile, wondering if maybe this isn’t just harmless fun.

Then, you type

I admit… I liked you then I like you now

Another pause.

But I still would’ve crushed you in a rematch.

This time it takes a little longer for her to reply.

alexiaputellas: I want to see you again. alexiaputellas: I mean it.

Your stomach dips a little. You sit up slightly in bed.

You type slowly

I’d like that.

alexiaputellas: Then we’ll make it happen. alexiaputellas: I’ll find an excuse to be in London alexiaputellas: Or you come back to Spain alexiaputellas: Or we meet halfway alexiaputellas: but somewhere with beer pong

You laugh, biting your lip.

You look around your room soft lamp glow, quiet hum of the city through your window, the warmth under the blanket flicking on your TV to watch the latest episode of love island from the comfort of your bed.

☀️

You didn’t think turbulence could last an entire flight, and yet.

By the time the plane finally skidded onto the runway in Mallorca, your arms were stiff from white knuckling the armrest and your mouth tasted like overpriced airport coffee and regret. You hadn’t slept, the man behind you had sneezed every five minutes without covering his mouth, and the toddler across the aisle had kicked the seat rhythmically, like a metronome designed by Satan.

You were not your most glamorous self as you trudged through arrivals, hoodie creased, suitcase wheel squeaking every few steps and then you saw Patri.

Leaning casually against a pillar just past the barriers, sunglasses perched on her head, holding up a cardboard sign that read,

Muppet the beer pong queen

You burst out laughing the moment your eyes landed on it and her face lit up. She grinned as she shoved the sign behind her back and opened her arms wide. You didn’t hesitate you walked straight into the hug.

She pulled back and looked you over. “You look like hell.”

“Gracias.”

“De nada.” She smirked and took your suitcase from you. “Come on. Carmen’s already on the yacht. I left her with too much rosé and too few snacks, so we’ve probably got a tipsy captain situation by now.”

The warmth of the island wrapped around you as soon as the terminal doors opened not just the heat, but the hum of Spain again. Loud voices, the smell of sunscreen and ocean and that undercurrent of something fizzy and alive.

You glanced sideways at Patri as you walked toward the car. “So. This whole thing’s just a bonus hen do for the friend who couldn't make either of the first two?”

Patri shrugged, loading your bag into the boot. “Any excuse, really. We don’t need much.”

“Clearly.”

“And…” She glanced at you quickly before slipping into the driver’s seat. “Carmen said you needed a break.”

You raised an eyebrow. “From what?”

Patri grinned. “London. Work. Thinking too much.”

You shook your head and climbed in beside her, but she wasn’t wrong, snd as she pulled out onto the sunlit coastal road, your phone buzzed softly in your pocket.

You didn’t need to check.

You had a feeling who it might be, you pulled it out, the screen lighting up with a message from Alexia.

alexiaputellas: Hola, muppet. alexiaputellas: Did you survive the flight? alexiaputellas: I was going to say I missed you but that might be too much for one message.

You smiled, fingers already moving.

You’re too smooth. But yes. I survived. Barely. And I missed you. But that’s definitely too much for one message.

Her reply came almost instantly.

alexiaputellas: Good. alexiaputellas: Because I’m counting on seeing you again soon. alexiaputellas: You better not be hiding in a hoodie and avoiding me.

You laughed softly to yourself as you typed back.

Hoodie is essential armor, you should know that. But maybe I’ll risk it. Depends on how convincing your ‘counting on’ is.

Her response was quick, teasing.

alexiaputellas: Very convincing. alexiaputellas: Also, I’ve been practicing my English so I insult you better next time.

You grinned.

Can’t wait, but you’re already winning at that.

You tucked your phone away, heart fluttering just a little.

Patri glanced over with a knowing smile. “Someone’s got you grinning like a fool,” she said.

You shook your head, trying to look casual. “Just a friend.”

☀️

The yacht rocked gently beneath your feet as you stepped aboard, the sun hanging high in the sky, casting a glow over the turquoise water. Laughter spilled from the deck, mixing with the faint clink of glasses and the distant call of seagulls.

Carmen was already there, perched on the edge of the boat, her smile bright and effortless as she greeted you with a quick hug. Around her, the group buzzed with energy friends from Spain, England, and everywhere in between, all gathered for one last celebration.

Carmen waved you over, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You made it! Finally! We thought you’d been eaten by the airport demons.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Barely survived.”

The day unfolded with sun drenched swims, shared stories, and endless rounds of sangria. Someone started a playlist, and soon the deck was alive with music.

You found yourself talking to one of Carmen’s teammates, swapping funny wedding stories and learning a few Spanish phrases that made everyone laugh when you butchered them spectacularly.

Between the chatter and the splash of waves, you caught a glimpse of Carmen watching you with an amused expression, shaking her head but clearly pleased you were slotting into her group despite your apprehension to come.

You’re sitting on the deck in your shorts and bikini top, the sun warming your skin as you hold your glass of wine loosely in one hand. The laughter from the girls playing games in the ocean drifts up to you, carefree and infectious. You smile, watching them splash and compete, their joy contagious.

You glance down at your phone and realise it’s the quietest it’s been all week. You scroll through your messages, but nothing new from Alexia. You sigh softly, almost disappointed, 4 hours was the longest you'd gone without hearing from her, she always found a reason to message you. The silence was noticeable but suddenly, the volume level spikes dramatically, breaking through the relaxed atmosphere. You look up, squinting toward the dock, and spot Alexia striding confidently toward the yacht with a few of her teammates trailing behind her. Your heart skips a beat, you had no idea she was coming.

You lean on the railing, taking a slow sip of your wine to steady yourself, trying to play it cool. Carmen catches sight of Alexia and moves over to greet her warmly. You can’t hear their conversation over the hum of the party, but you notice Carmen’s eyes flick up to you and a small smile plays on her lips as she points you out.

Alexia’s gaze follows, and for a moment your eyes meet. She offers a quick, teasing smirk before turning back to Carmen, who nods and gestures for her to go join you. Your pulse quickens as she makes her way across the deck, and you feel the familiar flutter of excitement mingled with nerves.

She’s going to come up the stairs, you don’t even pretend not to notice, she saw you watching her. One hand curled around your wine glass, the other resting casually against the warm railing, eyes fixed subtly, you hope, as Alexia moves across the lower deck, sun lighting up the streaks in her hair and that chain she seems to always wears catching the light with every step.

She laughs at something one of her teammates says effortless, that low, raspy kind of laugh that carries and then she glances up.

Right at you.

Your stomach dips, sharp and sudden, and you almost choke on the last sip of your wine. She takes the stairs slowly, deliberately, her hand sliding along the rail as she climbs. Her top is simple, black, paired with loose cream shorts that hang low on her hips. She’s tanned, relaxed, glowing in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with the Mallorca sun.

Your grip tightens slightly on your glass as she reaches the top deck and stops in front of you. She grins and then, with that accent that makes the word softer, almost affectionate, she says, "Hola, muppet."

Your laugh slips out before you can stop it. “Do you ever greet anyone normally?”

She shrugs, brushing hair off her shoulder. “Only the boring ones.”

You tip your glass at her. “Lucky me.”

“Very,” she says, stepping closer. Her eyes scan your face, like she’s making sure this is real, like she didn’t just spend days talking to you but still needed to see you to believe it.

It’s quiet up here, just the breeze, the water, distant shouting and music below. You feel like you're standing in a bubble with her like time’s paused for a second. You smirk. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.”

“You didn’t either.”

Touché. You lift a brow. “Are we keeping secrets now?”

Alexia smiles, slow and unreadable. “Surprises,” she corrects. “Better word.”

You look at her for a beat longer. “Yeah,” you murmur. “Some are.”

Alexia tilts her head slightly, her eyes flicking down subtle, but not that subtle. You watch her take you in.

From your loose shorts, to the bikini top clinging to your sun-warmed skin, to the lazy way your wine glass tilts in your hand. Her gaze lingers just long enough to make your chest feel a little tighter. You shift your weight, heat blooming under your skin not from the sun.

“Have I passed inspection?” you tease, lifting your brow.

Her eyes meet yours again, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I already knew what I’d find.”

That makes you grin surprised, flustered, flattered all at once. She steps beside you, close enough that you feel the brush of her bare shoulder when the wind tugs her hair across her face. She tucks it behind her ear, then glances at you.

“I didn’t think you’d be here,” she says quietly.

“Neither did I,” you admit. “Last minute decision.”

She nods, gaze still on you. “Good decision.”

Your heart kicks hard against your ribs, as there’s a beat of silence between you, and then she adds, more lightly, “Though… I was not told about the uniform.” She gestures toward your bikini top. “You’re showing off. Is this on purpose?”

You laugh, playful but a little breathless. “We're on a yacht in Mallorca don’t pretend this is a surprise.”

“It is,” she says, deadpan. “Because now I have to focus.”

You bite your lip to stop the grin from spreading. “Focus on what exactly?” you ask, sipping your wine, eyes on hers.

She shrugs. “Not falling in love.”

You choke on your wine actually choke, coughing once into your shoulder as she smirks, completely unbothered. “Oh my God,” you say, wiping your mouth, laughing. “That was so corny.”

Alexia shrugs. “You like it.”

You narrow your eyes, trying to hide the smile now clawing at your cheeks. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

Her smirk softens, just slightly. “You think I'm pretty?”

“Shut up menace.” you mutter before sipping your wine trying to deflect, but there’s a moment where her eyes hold yours, and neither of you says anything.

“Do you want to stay up here?” she asks, after a beat. “Avoid the chaos for a little longer?”

You nod. “Yeah. I think I do.” You’re thinking up something sarcastic about her 'not falling in love' comment, because you will get the last word when a voice bellows as someone's rushing up the stairs behind you.

“OI!” Carmen’s voice barrels across the top deck, followed by a chorus of laughter and the unmistakable sound of flip-flops slapping wood. “Are we boring you two? Or are we witnessing a seduction?”

You roll your eyes, groaning under your breath as you turn around, “Absolutely nothing’s happening,” you say, a little too quickly.

Carmen arches a brow. “Hmm. Your body language says something is.”

Alexia, maddeningly unbothered, just leans back against the railing with her arms crossed, smirking as the others begin to flood the space towels draped over shoulders, glasses clinking, swimsuits still dripping from the sea.

Patri trails in behind them, eyes immediately darting between you and Alexia before she sidles up to your side and whispers, not nearly quietly enough, “So. Just friends, huh?”

You glare at her. “I hate you.”

She clinks her glass against yours. “No you don't”

You look at Patri as Alexia walks to go claim a spot on the large day bed, "Can two gay girls not just have a conversation now?"

Patri smirked leaning in, "What were you talking about?"

You stared at Patri plotting your get out strategy, your brain was short wiring so all you could think of was to say, "Shut up!" like a petulant teenager and walk away.

Someone’s dragged a speaker up, shouting about needing 'a proper playlist,' and another girl is rifling through the drinks cooler like she’s on a timed challenge show. Just like that, the top deck is full of voices bouncing, music swelling, feet kicking off wet sandals and hands reaching for sangria.

You should feel annoyed, maybe, or self-conscious, but you don’t.

Alexia’s still watching you. Even as she talks briefly with one of her teammates, her gaze keeps sliding back to you like a thread pulling taut. She catches your eye and gives you the smallest, most knowing smile and your stomach turns to glitter.

Carmen’s holding court, retelling the story of how Patri somehow fell into the sea while trying to take a selfie, when you catch her eye and lift a flat, hand-decorated box from under the table like you’re revealing buried treasure.

“What is that?” she asks, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

You grin. “Something I made.”

You set the box down and lift the lid. Inside: twenty-eight little printed cards, all neatly laminated, and a matching board fitted with tiny windows. All the cards are photos of players Spanish players, Carmens brow furrows as you wait for a reaction you deemed worthy for the effort

“…Is that—?”

“Spanish Women’s Football Guess Who,” you announce proudly, like it’s your greatest achievement to date. “I spent hours printing and cutting these out. Don’t act like this isn’t impressive.”

There’s a beat of silence, then Carmen shrieks with laughter, immediately grabbing the board and turning it to show the rest of the girls. Patri gasps, someone yells “NO WAY,” and another yells back

“Oh my god look at Pina’s face on this one!”

“I’m obsessed with you,” Carmen says, genuinely delighted. “You are so unserious and I love it.”

Behind her, Alexia appears, casually glancing over Carmen’s shoulder, her mouth twitches as she spots the game.

She locks eyes with you and smirks. “Is that another game for me to beat you at, muppet?”

You shoot her a bored look, resting your chin in your hand. “This again?”

Alexia walks forward, slow and theatrical, pulling out a chair across from you. She sits, tilts her head slightly, and pats the table between you. “Set them up,” she says with mock authority. “I make it quick and painless for you.”

You raise a brow as you reach for the second board. “You’re awfully confident for someone who still thinks the wind sabotaged her at beer pong.”

“It did,” she says, deadpan. “You saw no?.”

You’re grinning as you slide the windows up, your board clicking into place. Around you, the noise has shifted Carmen’s taking pictures, Patri’s already trying to look over your shoulder, and someone is calling for drinks to be refilled because “this is about to get serious.”

Alexia leans forward, resting her elbows on the table as you shuffle the deck between you.

She picks her card, eyes scanning it before she places it facedown.

Then looks up at you, all confidence and challenge.

“Preparada?” she asks, low and smug.

You smirk, "Vamos"

The corner of her twitches as her eyes lower, "You ask first"

“How kind,” you deadpan. You glance down at the grid of faces, flicking through potential eliminations. "Does your player have blonde hair?"

"Si"

Alexia watches with mild alarm as you flick down the first row. Then the second. Then half of the third.

“Qué?” she blurts, leaning forward to look at your board like you’ve just performed some sort of witchcraft. “Wait, wait, how many gone?”

You give her a smug look as you sip from your drink, board now nearly bare. “Math’s not your strong suit, huh?”

She narrows her eyes at you like she’s already plotting revenge, “Okay,” she mutters, dragging her finger across the little plastic windows of her own board, clearly stalling. “Hmm. Let see…” She looks up at you with a glint in her eye. “Do yours…” she draws out the pause, “…have tattoos?”

You grin. “Yes.”

“Ha!” she exclaims, flicking down a measly five faces, the rest still proudly standing. She glares at the board like it betrayed her. “There are too many tattoos on this team.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

Patri snorts from the side, muttering something in Spanish you don’t understand but makes Carmen nearly choke on her drink laughing.

Your turn again.

You squint at your board, already whittled down to six faces.

You glance at her across the table, feigning sweetness. “Is your player wearing a headband?”

Alexia’s mouth pulls into a tight line. She doesn't answer right away, Carmen groans. “Just say goodbye, Ale.”

Alexia sighs, “Yes.”

You flick down two more windows. “Three left,” you announce, smug as hell.

Alexia squints at you, eyes narrowed. “You cheat"

“Oh I’m sorry,” you say, leaning across the table like you’re letting her in on a secret. “I thought you were gonna make it quick and painless for me?”

The table explodes with laughter Alexia kicks at your foot under the table, which only makes you laugh harder. “Alright,” she says, determined now. “Is yours… defender?”

You consider, then look at Patri over your shoulder who smiles and shakes her head. “Nope.”

Alexia groans and dramatically flicks down another few faces, her confidence has officially cracked.

You stare at your board, three faces left, you look at her, she’s chewing the inside of her cheek now, watching you too carefully. You smile sweetly. “Is your player…” You draw out the tension, grinning. “Is your player... Ona?” You glance to Ona standing mere feet away.

She stares you down. You stare right back, then she exhales sharply, slapping her card face up.

Ona.

You raise your arms in victory. “YES!”

Alexia collapses back in her chair, groaning as the girls around you burst into applause and jeers. Someone starts clapping slow and mocking and Patri reaches over to high-five you.

“You’re so dramatic when you lose,” you tease.

Alexia shakes her head, but she’s smiling as she points at you. “You are not allowed to make games anymore.”

“Oh, I’m making every game now.”

She leans in, smirk pulling wider. “Muppet, I destroy you next time"

“You already tried.”

“I was distracted.”

You give her a look. “By what?”

Alexia just shrugs, nonchalant, eyes dancing as she holds your gaze and your heart does something stupid again. You shuffle the selection deck, "You really should know your team better capitana"

She leans forward again, resting her arms on the table, a cocky tilt to her chin. “I know my team,” she replies, slow and sure, the accent curling soft at the edges of each word. “Just… not with your face smiling all the time.”

You freeze halfway through shuffling the deck. “What?”

Alexia grins wider, clearly proud of herself for making that land. “You are” she waves a finger at you, squinting like she’s trying to translate something in her head “how do I say… not helpful for brain.”

You laugh, caught off guard. “Not helpful for brain?”

She nods firmly. “Exact.”

Carmen passes behind you and drapes an arm dramatically around your shoulders. “Ay dios mío, are you two flirting or arguing, I can’t tell anymore.”

“Both,” you and Alexia say at the same time, and Carmen just laughs and ruffles your hair before disappearing again.

You slide her a new draw card from the deck. “Here, distraction. Try again.”

Alexia picks it up without looking, tapping the back of it against the table like she’s preparing for war. “Okay, but… you do not smile so much now,” she warns, deadly serious. “No smile. Very serious.”

“I’m always serious.”

“You are never serious,” she shoots back, grinning.

You glance around most of the group has now filtered toward the bow of the boat, distracted by music and the sudden reappearance of food. The buzz of conversation shifts away from your table, leaving a small pocket of quiet between you two again.

Alexia rests her chin in her hand, watching you with soft eyes that still hold something sharp underneath. “Okay, you ask.”

You lift your brows. “Oh, so we’re playing again?”

“I must win,” she says with mock solemnity, placing her hand over her chest. “For… pride. For Spain. For… honour.”

You smile, propping your chin on your fist. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You are ridiculous,” she says back, lips twitching. “But… maybe cute also.”

Your pulse kicks up a little. You shake your head and look down at the board, trying not to give her the satisfaction of seeing the effect she’s having.

You flick the first card down, but your focus is all wrong now. The air between you has changed quieter, softer, charged with something unspoken.

Alexia’s watching you, head tilted slightly, fingers idly tapping the table like she’s not entirely sure whether to keep playing or say something else. Her knees nudge against yours beneath the table, barely there, but she doesn’t move them. Neither do you.

You clear your throat, trying to sound casual. “Alright. Blonde hair?”

Alexia glances down at her card, then back up at you. “No.”

You flick a few cards, but there’s no rhythm to it. Your hands move slower now. She notices because of course she does. “You okay?” she asks, voice low and quiet.

You look up, and something in her expression hits you harder than it should, concern, but not just that. Curiosity, a kind of tenderness that doesn’t match the teasing grin she usually throws around. You nod, offering a little smile. “Yeah.”

A pause, then, softly, “Are you sure?”

Your throat tightens. “I just… forgot how warm Spain is,” you joke, but your voice doesn’t quite carry the joke.

Alexia hums, not calling you out, not pushing, but her eyes stay on yours, steady and searching.

After a beat, you look down at the table, trying to collect yourself. “I didn’t expect you to be here,” you admit, quietly again, "It never crossed my mind to be honest"

“Mallorca?” she says, her accent turning the word into something prettier. She shrugs. “Carmen say come.”

“I thought you had… training"

“I ask.”

You blink. “You asked to come?”

Her mouth curves. “Carmen said you be here. I say… okay, maybe I have time.”

Something in your chest tightens, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s something sweeter. You look at her for a long moment, sunlight catching on the gold chain around her neck and the small curl of hair escaping the bun at the nape of her neck. “I don't think this trip is going to be what I expected it to be,” you murmur.

Alexia smirks. “Good?”

You smile faintly. “Yeah. Good.”

She leans in again, conspiratorial now, like you’re sharing something secret. “Wanna know something?” You nod. “I don’t care about, game,” she says. “Just wanted to sit here. With you.”

Your breath catches slightly at the bluntness of it how honest she is, even with broken English. You look down at the game between you and then back up at her. “Well,” you say, your voice soft, “we can stop pretending, then.”

Alexia reaches over, slow and deliberate, and flicks all the tiles on your board down. “I win,” she says, but it’s a whisper now.

You laugh, barely, under your breath. “Sure you did, Capitana.”

She nods, "Si, you forfeit" you giggle sitting back as she smoothes her loose hair watching you

Neither of you move, you just sit like that close, quiet, the rest of the world soft and far away until a shout from the other end of the yacht cuts through the moment.

“Y/N ALE WE LEAVE IN TEN MINUTES!” someone screams.

Alexia groans, leaning her forehead against her hand. “I must win again!,” she says dramatically.

You stand slowly, grabbing your drink, and glance at her over your shoulder. “Yeah?” you smirk. “You’ll need all the help you can get later" and when you walk away, you don’t have to look back to know she’s following.

☀️

You step off the boat and onto the pier, shoes in hand, the heat still clinging to your skin from the sun-soaked deck. The group’s laughter carries through the breeze as you all wander barefoot up a dusty path, Carmen leading the way like she’s got some grand surprise up her sleeve.

You follow, sipping what’s left of your drink, eyes squinting against the late afternoon light until, the path opens up.

A football field, real grass, proper goals, painted lines, you stop dead in your tracks.

“…Are you actually kidding me?” you ask, blinking at the sight of several girls already kicking a ball around. Your gaze sweeps over the pitch like maybe it’ll magically disappear if you blink enough times. “You’re on a hen party and you want to train?”

Alexia jogs past you in shorts and a tank top, ball at her feet, ponytail swinging. “I warm up only,” she calls, not even glancing back, like that somehow makes this more normal.

You look to Carmen. “Seriously?”

Carmen just grins, shrugging like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “What? We got itchy feet. You don’t keep a player still too long.”

You shake your head slowly, dragging your towel out of your bag and dropping it right there at the edge of the pitch. “You lot are actually insane.” Then you flop down onto the grass, stretching out dramatically. “I’m sunbathing,” you declare, lying back with an exaggerated sigh. “Y’all can kick each other and pretend this is 'just a warm up'. I’m getting a tan and minding my business.”

You hear Patri laugh somewhere nearby, the sharp thud of a ball being passed between feet. Then Alexia’s voice drifts over again, “Muppet is scared.”

You lift your head, squinting toward her. “I’m not scared, I’m sane.”

“Same, same,” she says, but the grin she throws you is anything but innocent. She spins the ball on one finger before catching it again and pointing it toward you. “One shot. If you score… we no run.”

You raise your brows. “If I score, you wait on me this entire trip.”

Alexia’s grin widens. “Deal.”

You groan, pushing yourself up slowly, “Fine, but after this, I’m retiring.”

You pad barefoot onto the pitch, knowing full well it’s a trap, but you’re already smiling. You trudge reluctantly onto the pitch, wiping your palms on your thighs as Alexia spins the ball lazily in her hands, waiting for you. Just as you reach her, she looks past you, calling out, “Patri, muppet on your team!”

Your head snaps toward her, scandalised. “Are you serious? I thought we had something special.”

Alexia just smiles sweetly, tossing you the ball like she didn’t just betray your trust in broad daylight.

Patri jogs over, already amused. “Perfect. Y/N, you’re in defence.”

You blink. “Defence? That’s… near the back, right?”

“I need you to man mark Alexia.”

You stare blankly. “Cool, yes, because I totally understand what that means.”

Alexia steps in, hand brushing your arm as she leans close enough that her voice rumbles just by your ear. “You follow me. Always.”

Your eyes widen slightly. “Like… wherever you go?”

She grins. “Yes.”

“Oh.” You smirk. “So like a shadow, but annoying.”

“Exact,” she says, eyes gleaming, "You just be yourself"

Your mouth drops as the game kicks off, "You'll regret that comment Putellas"

You immediately ignore the ball and just wrap your arms around Alexia like you’re a child latching onto its mother's side. “How’s this for marking?”

She bursts out laughing, twisting as you cling to her like Velcro. “You are bad at this.”

“I’m great at this,” you say, tightening your grip as she tries to step around you. “You’re just mad because I’m winning.”

“There is no ball,” she points out, wheezing through her laughter.

“Semantics,” you reply, as she breaks into a short sprint and you trip slightly trying to keep hold.

The ball does finally roll your way, and just as you’re about to shout something vaguely helpful, Alexia turns, grabs you by the waist, and lifts you clean off the ground like you’re made of feathers.

“WHY ARE YOU SO STRONG?!” you shout, kicking your feet mid-air.

She laughs, breathless. “You are small!”

You flail as she sets you back down, ball already passed off. “That’s rude. I am compact.”

“You are problem,” she says through a grin, nudging your hip with hers.

You stumble, but catch yourself, grinning. “Still man marking though. Pretty sure I’m nailing it.”

She steps closer, that same familiar glint in her eye. “You are not football player.”

“No,” you agree. “But I’m very talented at being annoying.”

“You are… very good, yes.”

And neither of you notice the goal scored behind you, too busy laughing, limbs tangled and rules forgotten just you, Alexia, and the kind of game that doesn’t need scoreboards.

You’re both still half-heartedly pretending to play football, but really it’s devolved into something much sillier wrestling like kids, arms looping and dodging, feet tripping over each other as the rest of the pitch carries on the actual game somewhere in the distance.

You’ve been holding your own surprisingly well, mostly by using the tactic of clinging to Alexia and refusing to let go but she’s sneaky. Smirking like she’s up to something, like she’s winding herself up for revenge, her fingers drift too casually to your side and then disaster.

You squeal, loud, louder than necessary really, it escapes you like an involuntary alarm, sharp and high and completely humiliating, as her fingers graze just under your ribcage. That awful, ticklish spot you forgot even existed until she found it with sniper precision.

You jump back like she’s electrocuted you, eyes wide in betrayal, “Don’t!”

But it’s already too late Alexia’s gone. She doubles over, laughter cracking out of her like thunder, stumbling in a circle before crouching down to the grass, arm wrapped around her middle as she practically sobs with laughter at the noise you made.

You stand there, half horrified, half laughing yourself, cheeks flushed. “It wasn’t that funny!”

Alexia gasps for breath, eyes watery, voice cracking. “You scream, like, pequeña rata!”

“Like a what?”

“Little rat!” she manages through tears, curling forward again, face flushed and delighted.

You pout, crossing your arms. “I cannot believe this. You’re bullying me on a field. There are witnesses.”

“No,” she wheezes. “Just me. Just you.”

You glance around none of the others are even paying attention, too busy actually playing. Of course they are. It’s just you two, tangled in your own private chaos on the edge of the pitch.

Alexia looks up from where she’s crouched, wiping tears away with the back of her hand, still grinning. “I win.”

You drop beside her, breathless. “You cheated.”

She shrugs innocently. “Is not in rules. I check.”

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, leaning back onto your elbows as you breathe in the sunset-warm air beside her, “you keep playing like this, I'll get you back.”

Alexia flashes you that cheeky, dimpled grin. “Promise?”

Patri scores with a clean shot, and the others on the pitch let out a chorus of cheers, but she barely celebrates she throws a hand up, exasperated but smiling. “Look at these two.”

Everyone glances over.

There you are, perched back on your hands in the grass, face tilted toward Alexia, who’s lying on her side next to you like it’s a picnic, not a football game. You’re both in your own world, grinning, animated, lost in some conversation that clearly has nothing to do with football. You laugh at something she says, shoulders shaking, and Alexia’s eyes light up like she’s never heard a better sound in her life.

“You think they know we’re still playing?” Ona says, arms crossed, amused.

“They don’t even know we exist,” Patri replies, shaking her head with a fond sigh. “We could light fireworks over their heads and they’d still be like, ‘Anyway, do you put ketchup on pasta in England?’”

On the pitch’s far edge, you shift your weight and bump her with your knee playfully Alexia nudges back with her foot and you both laugh again. Totally oblivious.

“I’m telling you,” Patri adds, glancing at the others, “we could call full-time, go back to the yacht sail off, and they’d still be lying there an hour from now, pretending to argue about who's more competitive.”

Behind her, Carmen just smirks knowingly. “Leave them. They’ll figure it out.”

Alexia turns her head then, just for a second, catching Patri’s gaze across the field. Patri raises her eyebrows pointedly and gestures at the ball like, hello? remember this?

Alexia waves her off without even hiding her grin, then turns back to you, you’re still smiling, still talking, still utterly unaware of the small audience watching you like a romcom scene they never agreed to be extras in.

The girls come wandering over, the game having naturally fizzled out because honestly, what was the point when their star striker and your half-baked defender were giggling in the grass like it was a sleepover?

Patri folds her arms, looking directly at you, mock stern. “Seriously?”

You blink up at her, all wide eyes and fake innocence. “What?”

She points at Alexia, who’s now lazily tossing blades of grass at your knee like she hasn’t a care in the world. “You told me you didn’t know football.”

“I don’t,” you protest, brushing off a bit of grass. “But you told me to man mark her and I did exactly that. I think I’ve been incredible, honestly. She’s been absolutely useless this entire game. I think you should be thanking me.”

Alexia lets out a breath of laughter beside you, not even trying to defend herself.

“I’m the best defender you’ve got,” you continue confidently. “Better than Ona running around like a lunatic.”

“Oye!” Ona calls out, laughing but offended enough to squint at you. “I’ve been playing two positions!”

You grin. “Yeah and I’ve been playing Alexia out of the game. I’d say we’re even.”

“She didn’t even touch the ball after the first five minutes,” Carmen says, trying not to smile.

“Exactly!” you shrug, “I was just doing my job very well. I was basically Velcro.”

Carmen’s shaking her head, laughing as she throws an arm around Ona. “Honestly, I’m giving Y/N player of the match just for commitment.”

Alexia finally chimes in, glancing up at Patri with a smug little smirk. “She is very... sticky.”

You hold your hand up for a high five. “Thank you. I take that as a compliment. I think”

Ona narrows her eyes playfully. “I will nutmeg you next time.”

“Wouldn’t even notice,” you grin, “I’ll be busy man marking the captain.”

Alexia leans in, voice low with a smirk, “You like to follow me, eh?”

You flash her a grin. “You wish.”

Patri groans. “Dios mío, we’re not playing football anymore, we’re watching flirting with extra steps.”

Carmen’s laughing. “That’s generous. There were no steps. Just vibes and poor defending.”

The sun had started to dip lower in the sky, as the impromptu match fizzled out into nothing but laughs, teasing, and sweat-slicked hair clinging to sun-kissed skin. Someone shouted something about drinks and showers back on the yacht, and slowly everyone began to head for the gate.

You stretched your arms overhead, groaning dramatically. “That was exhausting. I was man-marking the most chaotic player on this field. I deserve an award.”

“You did nothing,” Ona called over her shoulder with a grin.

“I did plenty, I rendered your captain useless,” you said, tossing a thumb toward Alexia beside you.

Alexia, still glowing with that half-smirk of hers, crouched slightly in front of you, glancing back over her shoulder. “Get on, Muppet. You cry too much.”

You blinked. “Wait—seriously?”

She didn’t answer, just wiggled her fingers expectantly and without thinking you grinned, ran a few steps, and hopped onto her back, arms slinging around her shoulders.

She rose with ease, steady, strong, her hands slipping to your thighs to hold you in place as she began to walk back with the others.

You let out a surprised little laugh. “You’re going to regret this when your legs give out.”

“I carry trophies,” she said smugly. “You are lighter than Champions League.”

You tried not to let that go straight to your chest. “Well then, I’m honoured. Shall I sing as we go? Serenade you?”

“Please don’t,” she muttered, but her voice was smiling.

You rested your chin on her shoulder, eyes closing for a second, just feeling the sun on your back, her warmth under your hands, the rumble of her laugh in her chest as someone ahead cracked a joke you didn’t catch.

“Is this a normal hen party tradition in Spain?” you asked, lifting your head. “Kidnap your opponent and carry them to sea?”

“No,” she said. “Just for you.”

You rolled your eyes, but the blush crept up your neck all the same, behind you, Carmen was definitely watching and smiling. A picture secured for future use.

☀️

The sun was melting into the horizon now, all burnt orange streaking across the sea like someone had taken a paintbrush to the sky. The heat of the day had cooled into something softer, and the laughter had quieted down to that mellow kind of content that follows a good meal and too much wine.

You were stretched out along the cushioned area at the back of the boat, legs pulled up, arms folded loosely across your chest. You’d only thrown your bikini top back on after the shower and were still in your shorts, goosebumps forming slowly on your arms with every passing minute. The sea breeze picked up, curling around you and making you shiver slightly not enough to get up and change, but just enough that you rubbed your hands over your arms absentmindedly.

Carmen sat beside you, legs folded beneath her, drink in hand. The others, Patri, Pina, Ona, Jana were still up front somewhere, music playing low and distant. Only a couple of Carmen’s old friends lingered nearby, chatting quietly, a couple of metres away.

Which is probably why Carmen struck now. She leaned in, elbow on the back of the seat. “So.”

You turned your head lazily. “So…?”

She gave you a look, the older cousin one. “Are we going to talk about the fact you’ve been glued to Alexia’s side since she got here?”

You blinked. “Glued is a strong word.”

Carmen arched a brow. “She gave you a piggyback. You’re not ten.”

You laughed, cheeks warming. “Okay, that was a little unhinged.”

“And sweet,” Carmen added, voice softening. “Very her, too. She's quiet, but when she decides to like someone…”

You blinked, caught off guard. “You think she likes me?”

Carmen tilted her head. “Do you?”

You didn’t answer right away. You bit the inside of your cheek, then glanced down at your fingers where they were tangled in your shorts’ drawstring. “I don’t know. She’s fun. Surprising. Funny even though we barely understand each other half the time and it’s been nice... being around her.”

Carmen smiled, her tone gentle now. “That didn’t sound unsure.”

You gave a small, helpless laugh. “It’s just… this bubble. The wedding, the yacht, the Spanish sun. It doesn’t feel like real life.”

“But you wish it was?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

You didn’t say anything, you didn’t have to, she reached over, squeezing your knee gently. “Well, if anything were to happen... she’s one of the good ones.”

You smiled, something soft in your chest stirring, before you could say more, footsteps sounded behind you.

You turned slightly Alexia stood at the edge of the deck, a soft hoodie in her hand.

She didn’t say anything as she stepped forward and gently draped it over your shoulders, her touch feather-light.

You looked up at her, eyes wide, and she just said, “You cold.”

Not a question, just a quiet statement of fact you nodded once, lips quirking. “A little.”

She smiled, just barely. “Better.” she sat beside you, her thigh brushing yours.

Carmen, without a word, stood up and slipped away into the shadows of the boat, leaving you two alone beneath the glowing sky.

You slipped your arms into the sleeves of the hoodie, the fabric warm. It smelled faintly like salt, sunscreen, and something distinctly her. It hung off you like a blanket, the sleeves far too long, but you didn't care.

Alexia didn’t say anything, she just sat beside you, close but not overwhelming, the two of you facing out over the sea in a rare, easy silence. You scrolled lazily on your phone, the gentle sway of the boat and the last gold streaks on the water lulling you into a kind of soft quiet that made everything else, London, real life, feel impossibly far away.

She shifted beside you a moment later, sitting forward to grab a cushion from in front of her. As she moved, you got the first clear look at her back tattoos. You tilted your head a little, curious.

“What’s this one?” you asked gently, reaching forward without thinking.

Your fingers brushed her lower back, just along the ink, and you didn’t miss the way her skin instantly prickled beneath your touch goosebumps, but she didn’t flinch or move away.

You ran your fingers lightly over the edge of the tattoo, a detailed little portrait. the lines were delicate, fine, intimate.

“That’s you?” you asked, tilting your head. “As a baby?”

Alexia nodded, glancing over her shoulder. “Mm. Me and my papa.”

You stilled a little. The way she said it, my papa, soft and full of something deeper, something quieter.

“From a photo,” she continued. “I was maybe… couple weeks old?”

You smiled, fingers still resting lightly against her skin. “It’s a beautiful tribute.”

She hummed, a small smile tugging at her mouth, but she didn’t speak. You didn’t ask more, you just let your hand fall gently away, giving her space, but your knee bumped hers again like a silent reassurance.

She sat back again, hugging the cushion to her chest this time, the hush between you settled like a blanket, you sat still, scrolling idly on your phone, though your attention wasn’t really on the screen. The hoodie helped, but your legs were still curled tight to your chest, your arms wrapped around them. You were colder than you wanted to admit, but you didn’t say anything, didn’t want to ruin the quiet.

But Alexia noticed, of course she did. She shifted slightly beside you, and without a word, her hands touched your knees, nudging them gently. You let her move you, slowly, without hesitation, until your back pressed lightly into her chest, your body guided to rest between her legs. She was warm against you, solid and unhurried, and she wrapped her arms around you without asking, one resting across your stomach, the other looping just under your shoulders.

“You’ll be warmer like this,” she murmured, her voice low against your ear.

You exhaled softly, something unspoken settling in your chest, “Is this part of the captain’s duties?” you teased, voice quiet, eyes still fixed on the water.

“Only… special cases,” she replied, her English slow but sure, the smallest smile in her voice.

You could feel the steady rhythm of her breathing behind you, the faint brush of her knuckles against your side. You leaned back just a little more, letting yourself melt into her, hoodie sleeves pulled down over your hands now, her warmth seeping into your skin, your chest, your thoughts.

From the far end of the boat, tucked in a corner of the upper deck just out of view, Carmen leaned against the railing with a glass of sangria in hand. Patri stood beside her, sipping hers more slowly, while Ona and a couple of the other girls lounged nearby, all of them speaking in quiet voices now that the sun had dipped and the air had settled into a cooler, calmer stillness.

Their attention wasn’t on the water, or the music, or even their own conversation anymore. It was on the back of the boat, on the two of you.

You, leaned into Alexia, her arms wrapped around you like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her chin rested lightly against your shoulder, no kissing, no obvious display just quiet closeness. The kind that said more than loud affection ever could.

“They’ve been like that for almost half an hour,” Ona whispered, smiling into her drink.

“She looks so smug,” Jana muttered playfully. “Like she won something.”

“She did,” Carmen said under her breath, but there was a fondness in her voice.

Patri glanced at her. “They both did. Not that either of them would admit it.”

Carmen huffed a laugh, brushing her fingers over the rim of her glass. “You know what’s funny? They both really like each other… and yet somehow both are completely convinced the other doesn’t.”

Patri raised an eyebrow. “You’ve spoken to both of them about it?”

“I don’t need to. You can see it.” Carmen gestured with her glass. “Y/N acts like it’s just wedding bubble magic and Ale? She’s all nerves under that whole too cool to care thing. We've known her for years when have we ever seen her like this with anyone.”

Ona gave a knowing smirk. “She didn’t even bring her phone to dinner. You know how rare that is?”

“She’s pretending to play it cool,” Carmen said, half-laughing. “But then she shows up with her hoodie, sits behind her like a human radiator, and acts like that’s normal.”

They all looked over again.

Alexia was now leaning in slightly, saying something low near your ear. You smiled, eyes closing briefly as you shook your head in amusement. Whatever she said, it made you laugh soft and genuine. She rested her chin back on your shoulder, her eyes still on you like she was watching something she couldn’t quite believe was real.

Patri tilted her head. “You think either of them will say anything?”

Carmen let out a quiet sigh, eyes never leaving the two of you. “Honestly? I don’t know, but I hope so. They look like they forgot the rest of us exist.”

“Yeah,” Ona agreed, almost wistful. “They look happy.”

☀️

The night had fully draped itself around the yacht, the stars scattered across the sky, the only sounds now the gentle lap of the water against the hull.

The others had gone to bed or slipped inside, but neither of you had moved. You stayed out at the back of the boat, still resting against Alexia who was know laying down, her ribs your pillow. The string lights above cast a warm glow across her face, softening the sharp lines, making her look almost unreal. She still hadn’t asked for her hoodie back, and you had no plans to give it up.

“You’re very quiet,” she said suddenly, her Spanish accent curling around the words.

You looked over at her, the smallest smirk tugging at your lips. “Maybe I’m just shy.”

Alexia raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “No. No shy. Liar.”

You laughed, shifting slightly so your knees brushed. “I’m not lying. I’m just… mysterious.”

She leaned in a little, eyes narrowing like she was studying you. “Mysterious. Hm.”

You nodded solemnly. “Exactly. Deep, complicated, unreadable.”

Alexia hummed, unconvinced. “No. You are… how do you say…” she paused, thinking, then pointed a finger at you, “Trouble.”

That made you grin. “I’ve been called worse.”

Her smirk widened, and she looked far too pleased with herself. “You like when I call you that.”

“You call me a muppet most of the time.”

“Because you are.” She shrugged, casual, but her eyes were gleaming. “But… pretty muppet.”

You gave her a look, trying not to laugh. “Wow. That’s the smoothest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Wait,” she said, holding up a finger. “I have better.”

You leaned in, amused. “Do you?”

Alexia shifted so she was facing you more directly. “Tu… eres muy bonita.”

You blinked, smiling slow. “That’s the same one you wouldn’t translate last time.”

She just gave a lazy shrug. “Still won’t.”

You tilted your head. “Why not?”

“You already know.” The air stretched between you, electric and easy all at once.

“I think you like being mysterious too,” you said softly.

“I think…” she began, then reached forward to tug playfully at the hoodie sleeve, “you like me.”

You raised a brow, pretending to consider it, lips barely hiding your smirk. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” she echoed, mock-offended, hand to her chest. “After you stole my hoodie?”

“You never stole it,” you said, nudging her leg with yours. “You gave it to me."

She grinned, leaned up on her hands, your head naturally moving to rest on her stomach. “Still counts.”

You tilted your head, letting your eyes linger on her. “What are you going to do if I don’t give it back?”

Alexia’s gaze flicked to your lips, then up to your eyes. “I come to London.”

Your heart stuttered but you didn’t let it show, you only smiled wider. “Just for your hoodie?”

“Maybe.” She grinned, eyes dancing. “Or maybe for the trouble.”

You leaned back beside her, bumping her shoulder. “You’re such a flirt.”

“You love it,” she said, barely above a whisper and God help you, because you really did.

The hours slipped by unnoticed, as if time had stepped back to give the two of you space.

You and Alexia stayed there, tucked into the back of the boat beneath the stars, the yacht swaying gently on the dark sea. The air had gone cool but not uncomfortable, and you were still wearing her hoodie, legs pulled up beneath you as you sat facing her, a blanket shared between you.

The flirty energy had quietened into something softer intimate, you’d both stopped trying to impress each other. You were just talking, learning, listening.

She spoke slowly, sometimes pausing to find the English, other times slipping into Spanish when her emotions outran her vocabulary and you didn’t mind. You were patient, you’d ask again if you needed to, or you’d just watch her hands move as she tried to explain. Sometimes the way her eyes lit up said more than her words could.

She told you about her family how close she was to her mum, her sister, the memories that came sharp when she talked about her dad.

“I was eighteen,” she said, staring out at the water, her voice quieter now. “He… he loved football. He is why I love football.” She glanced over at you. “He never see me play for Barça, he love Barca, he wanted me to play for Barca”

You didn’t interrupt, just gently reached out, your hand brushing over hers where it rested between you.

“But… I feel him,” she added, tapping her chest lightly. “Always.”

You nodded, your throat a little tight. “I think he’d be proud. Probably wouldn’t believe what you’ve done.”

She smiled, soft and knowing. “Sometimes, I don’t believe.”

Then she told you about when she was little playing with boys in the street, ruining shoes, getting in trouble for coming home muddy. About her first time putting on a professional jersey, about the World Cup both the heartbreak and the victory. How it felt to wear the armband for Barcelona.

“You make it look so easy,” you murmured.

“It’s not,” she said honestly. “But… it’s my life.”

You admired that about her how she never glamorised it. She wasn’t chasing fame, it was about the game, the work, the love, to you it came across that the fame was a burden she bore to enhance the game.

Between the heavier parts, there were moments of laughter, she told you a story about her first red card how it was completely unnecessary and she’d gotten sent off because of a stupid tackle when they were already winning by four.

“I was… how do you say… idiota.” She laughed, rubbing her hands over her face.

“You still are,” you teased. “But like, in a charming way.”

Her smile came easy now. “Muppet.”

Eventually she leaned her head back, eyes closed as she breathed in the sea air. “It’s late.”

You nodded. “Very.”

“Still want to talk.”

“So do I.”

Alexia cracked an eye open and looked at you, her voice a little hoarse now from hours of talking. “You make me… feel calm. It’s… strange.”

You smiled, your hand finding hers again without thinking, “Not strange,” you said. “Just rare.” You don’t know how it happened but at some point, you both burst into quiet, tired laughter, faces lit by the first pale strokes of dawn brushing across the sea.

“The sun is rising,” you whisper, eyes wide with disbelief as you glance out toward the horizon. “We’ve literally talked the entire night.”

Alexia leans her head on your shoulder, yawning softly. “Oops.”

You laugh again. “I can’t believe neither of us noticed.”

She turns slightly, "I never see sunrise before,” she says, like it’s nothing, like she hasn’t just dropped a little bomb into the moment.

You pull back slightly, looking at her. “Wait. Never?”

Alexia shakes her head, sleepy eyes blinking. “Always… sleep. Or travel. Or game. Never this.”

You gape at her, exaggerated. “You’ve never stayed up and watched the sun rise?”

She shrugs. “Maybe from plane. But not… like this.”

You glance back at the soft glow pushing up over the edge of the sea, golden light washing everything in soft, dreamy colour. The water glistens, the world still, quiet, and unreal. “Well,” you say gently, nudging her side. “Now you will.”

You lay in silence for a few minutes, shoulders touching, eyes fixed on the horizon. Eventually, Alexia lets out a sigh so relaxed it almost sounds like a lullaby. “This is nice.”

“It really is.” You glance at her to find her blinking slower, lashes heavy over her eyes. She’s trying to stay awake, but failing beautifully. She tilts further toward you, head resting just beside your shoulder as she moves to lay on her side. “Don’t fall asleep on me,” you whisper, even though your own eyelids are heavy now too.

“I stay… for sunrise,” she mumbles, already halfway gone.

You smile, your cheek resting on your own shoulder toward her, the suns slowly climbing higher, but your eyes flutter shut. There, in the soft orange glow of a brand new day, with Alexia’s slow, steady breathing warming your shoulder, you both fall asleep, the sound of the sea your lullaby.

☀️

The sound of footsteps and soft chatter starts to filter into your half-dreaming mind, but you're too comfortable too warm and weightless in the cocoon of Alexia’s arms to really react.

Up the steps come Carmen, Patri, and a few of the other girls, all blinking against the light and clutching coffees in oversized mugs.

Carmen stops first, mouth parting in quiet disbelief as she nudges Patri. “Are you seeing this?”

Patri follows her gaze and lets out a sleepy laugh. “No jodas… they’ve been there all night?”

“Still in the exact same spot,” Ona adds, sounding both amused and concerned. “Have they moved at all?”

“Nope,” says Pina, peeking around Carmen. “Same position.”

Carmen crosses her arms, a wide grin forming as she takes in the sight of you, curled gently away from Alexia, her arm wrapped securely around your waist, her head nestled perfectly behind yours. There’s a cushion half-draped over both of you and her hoodie still snug on your frame.

“I said they liked each other,” Carmen mutters, shaking her head. “They just don’t believe it yet.”

“Should we wake them?” Patri asks, raising an eyebrow.

Carmen smirks. “Let them sleep. They’ve clearly had more important things to do than sleeping anyway.”

“Talking?” Ona suggests.

Another round of quiet laughter rolls through the group as they move quietly past, trying not to disturb you. But one of the girls, Jana probably whispers a little too loud,

“I give it two days before they finally kiss.”

Still half-asleep, Alexia shifts a little behind you, burying her face more against your shoulder.

You mumble, barely conscious, “Is someone talking?”

“Shhh,” Alexia says, her voice groggy but affectionate. “Ignore. Dreaming.” And with that, you both drift right back off, leaving the girls now above deck in collective awe and maybe a little smugness as they head for coffee and breakfast, quietly placing bets on how long it’ll take for the two of you to finally admit what everyone else already knows.

☀️

The sun is high and unforgiving now, glinting off the calm sea and warming every surface of the yacht. You step out from below deck in nothing but a bikini, your hair piled messily on top of your head, sunglasses half-slipped down your nose as you squint into the light.

Patri's the first to spot you and waves you over. “You finally ready for the day, sleeping beauty,” she grins, sipping her iced drink.

You roll your eyes playfully. “I blame your captain. She talks so much.” You stretch your arms overhead with a quiet groan, and the motion draws more than just a few eyes not that you notice.

You walk over and join Carmen, chatting softly as the two of you start to wander toward the front of the boat, leaving the others behind, but the others are watching.

Patri’s smirk is practically feral as she nudges Alexia, who hasn’t even tried to hide the fact that she’s staring and not in a subtle way, no, Alexia’s eyes have been shamelessly following the sway of your hips, the line of your spine down the middle of your back, the way your laugh lingers in the air behind you.

“She is walking away,” Jana mutters behind her shades. “You want to follow with tongue dragging or...?”

“Shut up,” Alexia murmurs, finally blinking and tearing her eyes away.

“She’s hot, we get it,” Ona adds, grinning. “But so are you. Go talk to her.”

“I did talk,” Alexia says, crossing her arms like it’s a winning argument.

Ona, lying stretched out in the sun nearby, scoffs, “You fell asleep with her. That counts as more than talking.”

“It was just… talking,” Alexia mutters, cheeks pinking.

“No, no. That was emotional intimacy, amiga,” Patri chimes in. “You two are dangerously close to soft launch territory and you haven’t even kissed her yet?”

“She’s British,” Alexia argues weakly, still watching the direction you walked in. “They flirt like… like joke. You know? Maybe it’s not real.”

Patri squints. “She literally fell asleep in your arms and was walking around in your hoodie like it’s her favourite possession.”

“She’s not wearing the hoodie right now,” Alexia says quickly.

Pina raises a brow. “But you noticed.” That shuts her up Patri leans in, serious now. “Ale, she’s not playing with you. I saw how she looks at you. If you like her… just do something.”

Alexia hesitates, glancing again toward the bow of the boat where you and Carmen have disappeared behind the sunshade and she doesn’t say it out loud but her mind is already made up.

She just needs the right moment.

☀️

You’re sat on the curved white cushion at the very front of the yacht, knees pulled up loosely to your chest, sunglasses still perched on your nose as the wind tousles strands of your hair. Carmen lies next to you, propped up on one elbow, eyes scanning the horizon but her attention keeps flicking back to you.

“You’ve gone quiet,” she says, nudging your foot with hers. “That usually means something’s brewing.”

You shrug, smiling faintly. “Just thinking.”

“About football?”

You snort. “When have I ever been thinking about football?”

She raises a brow. “About a footballer, then?” You give her a look, biting your lower lip to hide your smile, Carmen laughs knowingly, tipping her head back. “Right, there it is.”

“It’s stupid,” you murmur, fingers tracing absent circles over your shin. “We barely know each other. It’s all wedding magic and sea air and too much rosé. That’s not… real.”

Carmen shifts a little closer, eyes narrowed in mock scolding. “Don’t be thick. You think I haven��t seen the way you two look at each other?”

You roll your eyes behind your glasses. “We flirt. That’s not the same thing.”

Carmen tilts her head. “No, but the way she looks at you when you’re not even talking! That’s not just flirting.” You fall silent, staring out to sea. You hadn’t thought anyone had noticed. You didn’t think she would actually, “She told me she’s nervous,” Carmen continues gently. “Which is wild, because I’ve seen her captain Spain in a World Cup and she didn’t blink, but with you? She’s clueless.”

Your stomach twists in that infuriating, wonderful way it always does when Alexia’s name comes up now. “So what do I do?” you ask, voice quieter, unsure.

Carmen smiles. “Be honest. She’s not going to risk something unless she knows it’s safe.”

You exhale, leaning your head back against the sun-warmed railing behind you. “She makes me feel like a teenager.”

“That’s probably a good sign,” Carmen says, nudging your foot again with hers. “Or a terrible one. Either way, you’re in trouble.” You laugh despite yourself, Carmen grins. “And now I’m going to leave you right here so you can figure out what you want.”

You glance sideways. “You’re abandoning me?”

“Absolutely,” she says, standing up and stretching, “I’ve done my part. I’m going to pretend I need a drink and let you sit with your feelings.”

She pats your shoulder, dramatic like she’s imparting some ancient wisdom, and walks off, leaving you alone with the breeze, the sun, and a head that suddenly feels too full.

You pull your sunglasses back down and lean into the railing again, watching the water sparkle.

Something makes you glance over your shoulder just a flicker of instinct, Alexia’s there, by the side rail on the mid deck. She’s got a bottle of water in one hand, talking casually with Ona and Jana, but her eyes flick to you and linger. Only for a second. Just enough for your breath to catch, then she looks away with a small smile, brushing hair behind her ear as she says something to Jana, and you watch the way her shoulders shake lightly with laughter.

☀️

The sun is at its highest point in the sky now, casting everything in a warmth, glittering across the waves around the yacht. The music has mellowed, some of the girls are dozing in the sun or sipping drinks, and you’re back near the railing, lazily watching the sea roll beneath you.

You hear the soft patter of feet before you feel the light splash of water flicked your way.

“Hey,” Alexia says, her voice a little breathless. She’s slightly damp, her hair messy from the salt water, a towel thrown over one shoulder. “Come swim.”

You tilt your head. “Your friends stop playing with you?”

She shrugs, smirking. “Yes. Jump with me.”

You glance at the ocean, then back at her. “You’re not gonna throw me in or something stupid, are you?”

Alexia holds up both hands innocently. “I swear. Together. Come.”

You hesitate for only a second. “Fine, but if I belly flop it’s your fault.”

Alexia laughs. “No belly flop. I teach you perfect jump.”

You both climb to the top deck railing, she stands close, shoulder brushing yours, both of you looking down at the water below.

“On three?” you ask, your heart kicking up.

She grins. “Uno, dos… tres!”

You jump. For a second there’s only the sound of rushing air, then the cold, wild shock of the sea and it swallows you whole. You surface with a gasp, blinking away water, laughing breathlessly as you smooth your hair from your eyes, but she’s not next to you.

You spin in the water, treading, scanning, “Alexia?” Then you feel it her hand grabbing your thigh underwater, lightning quick. You yelp, nearly jumping out of your skin and suddenly she bursts up in front of you, close, eyes bright, laughing with reckless joy.

“Muppet!” she says between laughs, wiping water from her face. “You scream like little child!”

You swat water at her. “You psycho! You scared the life out of me!”

Her grin only widens. “Worth it.”

The two of you float closer together, feet kicking lazily beneath the surface, the water cradles you both, the laughter fades, leaving behind the hush of waves and your quiet, steady breaths.

Alexia floats closer, eyes never leaving yours. You don’t speak neither of you needs to. Her hand finds your hip beneath the surface, fingers light but certain, and your breath hitches.

There’s a stillness between you now, a moment stretched thin like glass, you glance down her mouth, then up again and she sees it.

Her brow lifts a fraction, asking permission without words and when you don’t pull away, when your fingers lightly skim the water between you, her head tilts forward until her lips touch your own.

The kiss is slow, warm, her lips soft and unsure at first, like she can’t quite believe you’re letting her, but then she deepens it, just slightly, and it feels like you’ve never been kissed properly before this.

There’s nothing urgent, nothing messy, just the sun, the sea, her hand on your hip, and that one perfect, heart stopping kiss sweet and surprising and unbelievably careful.

When she finally pulls back, eyes still half-closed, she exhales softly like she’d been holding her breath the whole time and you’re smiling.

You’re still close, water lapping gently around you, your heart doing wild, clumsy things in your chest. You try to play it cool, but the warmth blooming across your cheeks gives you away.

Alexia notices instantly, her lips twitch, the corner of her mouth pulling into a soft, amused smirk. “Ay,” she says, voice low, teasing, “you shy now?”

You glance away, biting your lip, trying not to grin. “I’m not shy.”

She raises an eyebrow. “No?” You shake your head, even though you absolutely are. Alexia hums, brushing a wet strand of hair from your face, fingers feather light against your cheek. “Muppet… you are very red.”

You splash water at her face. “I hate you.”

She wipes her face dramatically, laughing. “No, no… no you don't.”

You squeal as a splash of water hits your face way too aggressive to be accidental. “Alexia!” you cry, laughing as you swipe water from your eyes, spinning in the sea. “I’m literally not bothering you!”

She’s already grinning, smug, floating a few feet away now with her brows raised like she’s done nothing wrong. “What? I swim. The water is free.”

“You’re so annoying.”

Before you can splash her back, she darts forward, faster than you expect, and suddenly both her arms are around your waist from behind after she turned you, lifting you slightly in the water as you shriek and kick.

“Muppet, stop crying,” she laughs in your ear, holding on tightly while you flail in her grip. “So dramatic.”

“You’re a menace,” you giggle, wriggling but not really trying to get away. “I’m gonna drown and it’s gonna be your fault.”

“You don’t drown. You float,” she says, her lips brushing close to your temple, voice warm with laughter. “You float and complain.”

You laugh harder, leaning back into her slightly, your hands resting over hers as she holds you above the gentle sway of the sea. The water sparkles around you, her chest pressed to your back, both of you breathless and giddy.

She rests her chin on your shoulder for a beat. “You’re really fun,” she says, more quietly this time, like it slipped out by accident.

Your smile softens. “You’re really annoying.”

Alexia just squeezes you gently in response. “Still… you don’t let go.”

You’re still in her grip, laughing and kicking lazily, the warmth of her breath near your ear making it far too easy to forget you're supposed to be retaliating.

So, you strike. Quickly twisting in her arms, you push down on her shoulders and dunk her under with a triumphant shout. “That’s what you get!” But the moment her head disappears beneath the surface, something shifts. You know that you’ve made a huge mistake, you feel it a second later, her hands sliding firmly up your legs under the water, gripping your thighs. Then your hips and waist, she uses your body for leverage and shoots up with shocking strength, resurfacing right in front of you, water dripping from her face, eyes sharp and locked on yours.

Your breath hitches, because you felt all of it, every inch of her touch. The way her fingers trailed, the way your skin lit up like fire when she moved. Alexia’s close now you’re treading water but it feels like you're floating without control.

She pushes wet hair back, smirking. “Bad move, muy mal.”

You’re still catching your breath, blinking at her. “I… yeah. Regret.”

Her grin spreads, lazy and far too knowing. “You okay, muppet? You look…”

“Don’t say it.”

She leans closer, brushing her nose against yours playfully. “Nerviosa.”

You groan, half embarrassed, half giddy. “I hate you.”

She hums like she doesn’t believe you at all and she’s right, because right now, all you want is to dunk her again… or kiss her again, maybe both.

☀️

You’re sprawled out on the lounger, sunglasses on, drink in hand, all the ingredients of relaxation at your disposal and yet, you are absolutely not relaxed.

The girls have discovered the makeshift shower hose at the back of the yacht, and one by one they’ve started copying your photos Carmen was taking from earlier. You watch them giggle and pose dramatically under the stream of water, the whole scene chaotic in the most endearing way.

But now it’s her turn, you’d clocked Alexia’s bikini hours ago, burnt orange, minimal, and devastating but now, standing under the soft arc of the shower hose at the back of the yacht, she’s basically committed a personal attack.

Your stomach tightens, you sip your drink, but it might as well be sand with how dry your mouth suddenly is.

She moves slowly at first, fixing the hose, laughing as Jana gives her chaotic instructions in a mix of Spanish and Catalan. You watch a droplet run down the slope of her collarbone, between her breasts, and lower, okay, yeah, this isn’t just heat from the sun.

Her front is mostly to you, all smooth skin and muscles shifting gently beneath golden tan, the curve of her waist impossible to ignore. The bikini bottoms sit low on her hips, and the top, it clings in a way that makes you cross your legs without thinking.

You can’t look away, like your brain is gone and all that’s left is instinct and want.

You fan your neck with your free hand, entirely defeated by how smug she somehow looks while doing absolutely nothing. Her stance is casual, but confident one hand lost in her hair, the other adjusting the water flow, the tattoo on her ribs catching glints of light.

It should be illegal and then her laugh rings out, husky and sudden, like someone had said something actually funny, you feel that sound. Deep in your chest, like a ripple of heat.

Carmen catches your expression, you glance at her, and she just raises her brows like, yeah. I know.

You flush, but don’t deny it. How could you? The woman looks like she was carved by Mediterranean gods and dipped in sunlight and now she’s refusing to smile for the camera.

You sit up a little straighter, pressing your thighs together and calling out, “Smile, Alexia!”

She doesn’t, just tosses you a glare over one perfect shoulder, eyes shaded by wet strands of hair, the sun catching the droplets still clinging to her skin.

She doesn’t smile, so you make her. “Alexia, smile, it’s cute!” you call again, biting your lip as she visibly tries to suppress it. Still nothing, you swing your legs off the lounger, leaning forward. “You're cute when you smile!"

Still nothing and so you do it, loud and unapologetic, with all the flair of a karaoke queen with no shame,

"Hey sexy lady, I like your flow, your body's bangin', out of control!"

The girls burst into laughter Patri actually collapses against the railing Alexia turns, giving you the most unimpressed look she can muster but her mouth twitches, the corners betray her and there it is, the smile, soft, beautiful and real.

It curls across her face and your heart actually skips. You soak it in, her lips, parted slightly, the dimples you hadn’t let yourself stare at too hard before, the gentle crinkle at the corner of her eyes.

You want to bottle the image, or maybe frame it, or possibly throw yourself overboard to cool off. She shakes her head at you, the hose forgotten. “Muppet,” she mutters, that smile still dancing there like she can’t get rid of it even if she tried.

You grin, cheeks burning, probably blushing head to toe, she turns back to pose, more relaxed now, a little sassier, and maybe her next smile is for the camera, but you swear the one before it was just for you.

Jana’s still directing, crouched low to get the angle just right, Alexia tipping her chin, shifting her weight like she doesn’t know how good she looks which somehow only makes it worse.

She’s standing under the shower again, rinsing off salt and sun, water gliding across the dip of her waist, tracing the lines of her abdomen, catching on the hem of her bikini bottoms.

Your throat tightens and it hits you, just like that, what happens after this?

The laughter, the sun, the sweet kisses, the way her hand had fit on your waist like it had always been meant to be there. The flirting, the games, the look she gives you when she thinks you’re not watching.

It’s all happening in this capsule of perfect time, but what happens after? After the yacht docks, after the bags are packed, after you’re back in London, and she’s in Barcelona living her life with cameras in her face and teammates who see her every day. You're just the girl she met at a wedding.

You shift your weight, uncomfortable under the weight of a thought you didn’t want to have.

Will I get to see her again?

You don’t dare say it aloud, not to Carmen, not even to yourself.

You feel it instead in the way you try to commit every detail to memory. The way Alexia leans into the sun, half smiling. The outline of her tattoos scattered over her back. The way she laughs when Jana nearly drops the phone.

You want to press pause, to stretch this moment just a little longer, because what if this is the last time?

---

Where do you think these two would meet again?

[astars-things]

“why are we cuddling on the floor” with luke please 🫶🫶🫶

Drunken Cuddles

You blinked, your vision slightly blurry as you registered the warmth wrapped around you. Your head was resting on something firm yet comfortable, and there was an arm draped lazily over your waist. Your body was tangled with someone else's—Luke.

“Why are we cuddling on the floor?” Luke's voice was groggy and confused, his face half-buried in your shoulder.

You barely had time to process his question before another voice cut in. “Because you two got too drunk,” Jack said, arms crossed as he stared down at the two of you with a mix of amusement and judgment.

You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to recall how you ended up like this. The last thing you remembered was you and Luke deciding it would be a great idea to have a little drinking competition. Well, more like you challenging Luke, and him—being the competitive guy he was—accepting without hesitation.

“I don’t feel drunk,” Luke mumbled, tightening his hold on you and nuzzling into your neck.

Jack snorted. “Yeah? Tell that to the fact that you guys are literally spooning on my living room floor like two love-drunk idiots.”

You peeked up at him, blinking slowly. “Well, the couch looked uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t even try the couch!” Jack shot back, exasperated.

You and Luke exchanged glances before bursting into giggles, the alcohol still making everything feel funnier than it actually was.

Jack sighed dramatically. “Unbelievable. I leave you two alone for one night, and this happens.”

“We’re not hurting anyone,” Luke reasoned, his voice muffled as he rested his head back against your chest. “Just vibing.”

Jack groaned. “You’re not ‘vibing.’ You’re passed-out drunk on the floor of my apartment. Do you know how ridiculous you look?”

You grinned up at him. “Nope. But I bet we look cute.”

Jack gave you a deadpan look before pulling out his phone. “Oh, don’t worry. I already took pictures. Plenty of them.”

Luke groaned, attempting to swat weakly in Jack’s direction but failing miserably. “Delete them.”

Jack laughed. “Not a chance, buddy. These are getting saved for blackmail purposes.”

You pouted. “Jack, that’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair,” Jack shot back. “Now, do you two plan on getting off my floor anytime soon?”

Luke hummed thoughtfully, hugging you even tighter. “Mmm. Nope. Floor is nice. Y/N is warm.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “God, you’re so whipped.”

You laughed, but instead of arguing, you only snuggled further into Luke’s embrace. He was warm and comfortable, and your fuzzy brain decided that you had no desire to move.

Jack huffed. “You guys are impossible.”

“Love you too, Jack,” you mumbled sleepily.

Jack groaned. “That’s it. I’m stepping over you. Don’t be surprised if I ‘accidentally’ kick one of you.”

You and Luke barely reacted, just letting out sleepy giggles as Jack muttered to himself about how annoying you two were.

As you started drifting off again, Luke squeezed your hand. “Best drunk decision ever.”

You hummed in agreement. “Definitely.”

Jack, from across the room, groaned. “I hate both of you.”

[maplesyrupsainz]

˖⁺｡˚⋆˙baby fever | GR63˖⁺｡˚⋆˙

pairing: george russell x wolff!reader y/n (she/her)

genre: social media au

warnings: jus insanely fluffy, some sexual innuendo

summary: in which your boyfriend becoming an uncle sends your hormones into overdrive

a/n: idk who the baby is irl btw HAHAH jus guessing & im too lazy to find out doing whatever i want for the plot sooo jus allow it

request!!!: could i request something with george russell dating wolff!reader? anything cute and fluffy tbh

my masterlist

fc: various brunette girls on pinterest

instagram ->

ynwolff

liked by georgerussell63, lilymhe, and others

ynwolff what i've been up to

view all comments

user1 "i have a crush on him" LOL same girl same

user2 omg yay a y/n post who cheered

user3 so aesthetic

lilymhe miss you!

liked by ynwolff

user4 y/n being a simp for george is jus so real

user5 hahah i bet toto loves it

user6 do u think she made that 5th pic

user7 oh 100% she did

user8 biggest gr63 simp on planet earth

susie_wolff the first picture is blurry, y/n

ynwolff i know lol

susie_wolff oh interesting choice

ynwolff 🤨

user9 LOL

georgerussell63 i have an even bigger crush on you x

ynwolff riiiight 🤨

twitter ->

messages ->

instagram ->

georgerussell63

liked by ynwolff, lewishamilton, and others

georgerussell63 ☀️

view all comments

user15 y/n is gonna love this

user16 this is so romantic

user17 vacation george >>>>>>

user18 dog, gf, baby? he's somehow got it all

susie_wolff such lovely pictures

georgerussell63 only because y/n is in them!

user19 number 1 y/n simp goes to.....

user20 me tbh

ynwolff delete this. a lot of people are crying

georgerussell63 you okay?

ynwolff no you know how i feel about this

user21 LOLLL

user22 "i need him to impregnate me stat"

ynwolff dont remind me of this

georgerussell63 😂 no comment

user23 oh y/n how we love you

user24 y/n best & most realest wag ever

user25 y/n is so lucky

messages ->

twitter ->

messages ->

instagram ->

ynwolff

liked by susie_wolff, yourbff, and others

ynwolff daddy

view all comments

user30 hahahahahahahahahahahaha

user31 the caption 😭

user32 she's so real oh my god

user33 hope toto doesn't know about all this 😂

liked by susie_wolff, georgerussell63

user34 HAHA Y/N STOP

user35 "daddy" 😭 what hahahaha

georgerussell63 behave

ynwolff 😇

yourbff Y/N

ynwolf 🥹

yourbff ur gonna get in trouble

susie_wolff i wont be showing your dad this

ynwolff i have no regrets

alex_albon the media training is working then?

ynwolff for sure!

user36 LOLLL alex

messages ->

twitter ->

instagram ->

georgerussell63

liked by ynwolff, lilymhe, and others

georgerussell63 dont worry everyone she's alive and told me to tell you that she meant what she said ....

view all comments

user38 oh thank god

user39 our girl is back

user40 one of us always

alex_albon george all of your posts are just y/n fan pages

ynwolff as it should be tbh

georgerussell63 yea & what about it

lilymhe you should give it a go alex

user41 LOLLLLLL

user42 the selfie w toto hahahahaha

user43 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

landonorris has y/n ever considered a private account?

georgerussell63 now where's the fun in that?

ynwolff wait why does he have a point

user44 LOL

user45 nooo y/n

ynwolff SHUSHHHHH

ynwolff my dad hates you

ynwolff i dont though

THE END 🩵

[ninisdollie]

request !! 𓈒ིུ ❤︎

“In which your boyfriend Heeseung punishes you hard, but you love it anyway”

‎ ‎ ⁺ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ❤︎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧ content: +18MDNI

fem! reader x heeseung, established relationship, spanking, pussy slapping, degradation, coming undone, short drabble.

hate comments will be deleted and blocked, likes and reblogs are appreciated !!

The bedroom was quiet, a silence stretched between you two like a live wire. You could feel his thigh under your stomach, rigid and warm, the denim rough against your bare skin. Your heart was pounding so loud that it reached your ears. Then you tried to push yourself up, maybe ease the tension, say something. 

But Heeseung’s palm pressed down hard on your lower back, holding you down, forcing you to stay there, bent over his lap while he sat on the edge of your bed, like a brat caught red handed. 

“Don’t move until I say so.” He said with rough voice, dangerously calm “You wanted to act like a little slut in public—now you take your punishment like one”. 

The air was heavy against your skin, your panties bunched at your thighs, and your ass was completely bare to him. You could feel his gaze dragging over every inch of you, burning hot like fire. You squirmed, just reacting to the weight of it all. 

The first slap made your body jolt, the sting blooming fast and vicious across your skin. A soft gasp ripped out of you before you could stop it. 

“Count” He ordered, his voice sharp. 

“O-One.” 

Another slap, harder. 

Your thighs tensed, your back arched, your cunt clenched around nothing, throbbing with a pulse you couldn’t even control. 

“T-Two.” 

You were already dripping, you could feel it, slick leaving out of you, smearing the inside of your thighs, impossible to hide now. Heeseung saw it too, and it only pissed him off more. 

“You’re fucking soaked” he growled “Getting off on this?” 

Shame showered you, your face turning red, but it wasn’t bigger than the arousal of him touching you like this. He landed another, and another, and another. The sting layering over itself, hot and raw and unrelenting. You couldn’t even count properly anymore, just babbling between moans, your face flushed, your vision hazy as tears started to accumulate. 

Heeseung grabbed your chin, forcing your head back, and looked down at you, eyes blown wide and dark with lust and fury. 

“Look at me when I break you.” 

His other hand dipped between your legs, sliding two fingers through your folds, groaning low when he felt how wet you were. 

“Fuck” he hissed “You like this. You like when I treat you like this, don’t you?” 

You couldn’t speak. You tried, but your lips where parted and nothing came out, just a pathetic, high whimper. Every nerve of your body felt lit up, burning, too much. 

Then he shoved two fingers in, fast and deep, knuckles brushing your dripping entrance, the stretch perfect and dizzying. Your back arched again, a cry spilling from your lips as your walls clenched around him instinctively. 

“You’re so tight.” He breathed, mouth along your jaw. 

Your body was trembling. You were pulsing around his digits, moaning helplessly as he pumped them deep, curling them in a perfect way that made your vision even more blurry. Your clit was throbbing, untouched and aching, and you started grinding down on his lap without realising, chasing something you knew you didn’t deserve. 

His other hand came down on your ass again, hard, and you screamed, but the pleasure was so tangled with the pain that you couldn’t separate the lines between them. 

You couldn’t stop shaking, you where gone, every inch of your skin flushed with heat, marked up and hot to the touch. His handprint was seared into you, over and over again, and it only made you need even more. Your mascara was smudged, cheeks wet with silent tears that started to fall without you noticing, somewhere between the fifth and tenth slap. But you hadn’t said stop, because you loved it. 

And Heeseung knew. 

“Look at this” he panted, voice low with desire, fingers dragging through your soaked and aching folds just long enough to coat them, then slap, he smacked your pussy with those same fingers and you jolted, crying out so loud it echoed through the room “You’re fucking crying and your cunt’s begging for more” 

You whimpered against his thigh, breath hitching, mouth open and soaked with your own spit and tears. 

“You like being used? Like when I fuck you up until you’re dripping and shaking and can’t even speak?” 

Your hips twitched, body trembling, brain barely holding on. You weren’t sure what you were saying anymore, words slurring between sobs and cries and helpless moans. 

“Please… Please…” 

He shifted under you, tightening his grip on your waist and pulling you up slightly, just enough to arch your back even more, push your ass higher for him, creating a much better angle. His gritted his teeth, eyes locked on the red, swollen skin that was already hot and raw. 

“Take it.” 

Then he slapped you again. One after the other, merciless. His palm landing in rhythm, loud and sharp, until you were sobbing, body jolting with every hit, but your hips kept rocking back into his hand, chasing it, needing it. Your clit throbbed with every slap, you were so turned on it hurt. The ache was unbearable, you could feel slick running down your inner thighs, making a mess on his jeans. You swore you were going to come just from this. 

“You’re crying and it’s making you wetter? You’re such a fucking mess for me.” 

Your face burned, you were shaking, drooling, tears and spit and slick everywhere, but you didn’t want him to stop. 

Then he moved again, shifted you off his lap and flipped you onto your back, hands gripping your sore thighs and forcing you wide open. You whimpered at the friction, the sting of your skin brushing against the sheets. 

“Look at you.” He whispered, gaze roaming over your wrecked body, your tears, your ruined makeup, the way your cunt pulsed around nothing. “Fucked out from spanking, and you still want more, don’t you?” 

You nodded frantically, biting your lip. 

But he didn’t fuck you yet. 

His fingers just grazed through your folds, spanking your pussy, your ass, manhandling you like you’re nothing but his favorite toy to break. And it was working, you were so far gone you couldn’t stop crying, moaning, grinding your swollen clit into the air. 

“God.” He breathed, laughing a little as he watched you rock your hips into nothing “You’re gonna cum just like this?” 

Your breath was shaky, weak, your lashes heavy with tears. 

“Hee— I—Please”

He slapped your pussy again, sharp and fast, enough to make you arch your back off the mattress. 

“Oh my god” You cried, voice high and broken, and then you’re there. Just sudden uncontrollable release slamming through you like a storm. 

Your vision went white. Your thighs snapped shut around nothing, your body convulsed, you let out a strangled sob, legs clenching tears striking down your face as you came hard, soaking the sheets beneath you with nothing but the force of it. 

Heeseung’s hands were still on you, watching every second of it. Your cunt clenching like crazy, twitching, leaking, overstimulated and ruined without a single thrust inside of you. 

“Fuck me” he whispered under his breath, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, like he was so close to lose it watching you fall apart like this. 

His voice came out cocky, smug, filthy as hell. 

“You really came from getting your ass beat, huh?” He chuckled darkly, dragging his fingers through your messy folds, teasing. “Fucking crying and moaning like a slut, this is what gets you off?” 

You nodded, dazed, head spinning and eyes unfocused, chest heaving. 

“You’re so fucking filthy, baby” 

He kissed the corner of your eye, tasting your tears like reward, then pressed a lingering kiss to your thigh, right above the reddened skin, tender from the punishment. 

“Gonna clean you up…” he murmured, voice barely a breath “Then I’m gonna fuck you so slow, so deep, just how you like it” 

But for now, he just touched you gently, whispering praise and filth at once, staring at the mess you made on the sheets and knowing that no one else gets to see you like this, only him. 

[etherealval]

dating chris headcannons | a/n: these were actually so fun to write!! let me know if you guys want more :))

⭑𓂃 he’s the type to always have a hand on you, no matter what. whether it’s resting a hand on your thigh when you’re sitting together, intertwining your fingers absentmindedly, or draping an arm over your shoulders when you walk beside each other. he just likes the reassurance of your touch

⭑𓂃 he loves calling you “baby” more than your actual name. it just rolls off his tongue naturally, and half the time, he probably doesn’t even realize he’s saying it. “baby, pass me that?” , “baby, c’mere.” , “what are you doing all the way over there, baby?” he drags it out when he’s whining, murmurs it when he’s half-asleep, and says it so sweetly in passing that it makes your heart flutter every time.

⭑𓂃 he’s so dramatic about missing you, even if it’s only been a few hours. if you haven’t texted him back in a while, you’ll get something ridiculous like, “i’m wasting away over here, baby. do i even exist to you anymore?” he’ll call you just to sigh dramatically into the phone, groaning about how “life is so boring without you.” and when he finally sees you again, he makes a whole show of it, pulling you into a crushing hug, rocking you side to side, whispering, “never leave me again.”

⭑𓂃 he loves taking pictures of you, even when you’re not paying attention. his camera roll is full of you, some of them are cute, some of them are blurry mid-laugh, and some are just straight up ridiculous. he’s got a whole folder dedicated to candids of you, and he refuses to delete a single one. when he’s traveling without you, he scrolls through them just to feel close to you. and if you ever catch him taking one? he just smirks and says, “can’t help it, you’re my favorite view.”

⭑𓂃 he loves watching you get passionate about something. he could listen to you talk for hours, especially when you get really into it, whether it’s about a book, a movie, or some random niche topic you love. he’ll just sit back, watching you with this soft grin, nodding along, even if he has no clue what you’re saying. and when you realize you’ve been rambling and apologize, he shakes his head. “nah, baby, keep going. i love seeing you like this.”

⭑𓂃 he hypes you up like it’s his full time job. any outfit you wear? “damn, baby, you’re really gonna make everyone jealous today, huh?” any new project you take on? “they don’t even know how lucky they are to have you.” even if you’re just doing something simple, like making breakfast, he’s watching you like you just cured world hunger. “look at my girl, being all talented and shit.”

⭑𓂃 he randomly texts you the most unserious things. sometimes he sends cute messages, like “miss u, come over” or “thinking about u rn , just thought u should know.” but other times, it’s complete nonsense. “if i were a worm, would u still love me?” or “just saw a dog that reminded me of u.” and if you ever ignore him for too long, expect an “hello????? do u hate me now????” followed by an influx of dramatic emojis

⭑𓂃 he loves pulling you into his lap, just because. doesn’t matter if you’re in private or in a room full of people, he’ll pull you onto his lap the second he gets the chance. wrapping his arms around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder, acting like he’s just getting comfortable, when really, he just wants to feel your hips against his. and if you so much as shift against him, he’ll exhale sharply, fingers digging into your hips as he mutters, “you tryna test me right now, baby?”

taglist: @heartsforvin , @sturncakez , @matts-myloverboy , @mattsbitchh , @ilyttmatsa @sturniolosluttt , @emely9274

[beenbaanbuun]

skirts w/ jeong yunho

words - good question…

genre - nsfw

warnings - perv!yunho, boyfriend!yunho, afab!reader, semi-public indecency, upskirting, yunho is just a creepy little guy

not proof read // mdni

——————————————————————————

i am of the belief that if you were yunho’s girlfriend, you’d never be able to wear a skirt in public. not because he’s the jealous type, but because he simply would not be able to keep his hands to himself.

it doesn’t matter if you’re walking through a crowded mall, his hand will find his rightful place beneath your skirt, cupping your ass like it belongs in his palm. it lifts the fabric of your skirt, showing all too much of you to everyone around you. it makes you hot, a deep seated embarrassment that goes as deep as bone. and you can push his hand away as much as you want; it’ll always find its way back home.

fingers play with the elastic of your panties, taunting you with the idea of snatching them away from you right there. you know he won’t — he’s a perv, but he’s not quite that bad — but that doesn’t stop the strange anxiety that fills you from head to toe. it’s not a bad anxiety, as such! after all, can ‘bad’ anxiety really make the seat of your panties stick to your folds like this? make them so wet that when a breeze brushes past you, a shiver runs up your spine.

and maybe he’s merciful. maybe he decides he won’t torture you with the threat of putting you on show for everyone else to see! it doesn’t mean he’ll keep himself entirely in check.

his phone has a camera for a reason, right? and it’s not difficult to just sneakily tuck it beneath your skirt for a quick shot of what he would be seeing if the two of you were at home. he keeps these images in his camera roll for later use; when he can’t be by your side and needs something to spur him on. there’s something so delicious about your obliviousness to the whole thing, and even if the photo isn’t the best — too blurry and shadowy to even really make anything out — he still can’t help but cum extraordinarily quick at just the thought of you not knowing.

if you did, you probably wouldn’t mind. at least not enough to make him delete them, that is. sure, you’d pout and whine about it, all pouty and flustered, but he knows you. you’re soft. too shy to snatch his phone away and delete them yourself. too submissive to insist that he do anything he doesn’t want to.

god, maybe one day he’ll tell you, just so he can get off to the image of you all upset with him. you look so sweet like that, after all.

[dakusan]

How skz texts you when they're in love.

stray kids ot8 x reader | comfort, soft angst

🌙 synopsis: how skz would text if they were your boyfriend and down bad. i’m talking unhinged voice notes, emoji abuse, and random deep confessions between memes.

💌 a/n: After seeing how much love the mini shots I did yesterday got, I was like... why not make more! Plus I was brainrotting about how skz would text if they were like… hopelessly in love with you. Might make this into a series, like how they text when they're jealous, etc etc. ps. reblogs = love pss. if u want jealous/skz texting you at 3am or other versions… say less. or, if u want another mini fanfic like I did for Hyunjin's bday, idk, whatever you want, send me your prompts might as well advertise my songs too lololol leave me alone T.T

📍credits: @cafekitsune for the divider

🎶 Now Playing: "Unwind" — VX

Bang Chan // 방찬

type: text-after-text typa guy

response time: fast unless he’s in the studio, then apologizes like you ghosted HIM

voice notes? yup, especially for soft rambles or late-night confessions

emojis: overuses the 😂, ❤️, sometimes the 💀

chaotic habits: sends memes at 2AM, randomly asks deep life questions mid-convo, follows up a heartfelt message with “ignore me lol”

texting vibe:

"yo" "wait" "i saw a puppy n thought of u wtf" 2 min voice note about how your laugh is stuck in his head "don't replay that i'll actually combust"

Lee Know // 리노

type: dry until he’s obsessed—then he gets lowkey clingy

response time: elite. replies instantly unless he’s annoyed (playfully)

voice notes? rarely. only when teasing or if he has something to prove

emojis: the cat ones. 👍🏻. dramatic use of dots (…)

chaotic habits: sends photos of his cats and says “this is us.”

texting vibe:

"do u even like me" "jk unless" "come over. soonie wants to see you" "also me. i want to see you. but soonie first"

Changbin // 창빈

type: tries to act chill but texts like a man who's in deep

response time: fast. suspiciously fast. like he had the convo open already

voice notes? yes. raspy and low when he's tired = danger

emojis: lots of 🐷 (ironically??), 😭, 💪, and the occasional 🖤

chaotic habits: pretends he's not clingy but sends 10 messages when you don't reply in 4 minutes.

texting vibe:

"are you eating?" "no i'm not checking up on you shut up" "but also don't skip meals or i'll show up" sends gym selfie with the caption: 'working out so i can carry your future' "delete that last msg. i was joking. (i wasn't)"

Hyunjin // 현진

type: romantic poet in a silly man’s body

response time: varies—he’s either blowing up your phone or forgot what a phone is

voice notes? yes, and they’re beautiful, emotional, and sometimes dramatic as hell

emojis: 🌟, ✨, 💘❤️, random aesthetic ones

chaotic habits: sends blurry selfies with “do i look like ur soulmate or”

texting vibe:

"i dreamt of you again" "you were dancing in the clouds" "and then u tripped over a squirrel lol" "still romantic tho" sends 37 Pinterest boards dedicated to your aura

Han // 한

type: overshares. overshares again. disappears. comes back with a meme

response time: fast but forgets mid-convo then apologizes with a TikTok

voice notes? only unhinged ones

emojis: chaos. 🍥 . 🤡, 😭, 🙈

chaotic habits: texts “i love you” at the most random times, like when he’s eating cereal

texting vibe:

"babe" "i just saw a frog and it reminded me of ur ex" "anyway what u doing" "miss u so bad it's medically concerning" sends 12 memes in a row "btw did u know u're my entire world okay bye"

Felix // 필릭스

type: sunshine in text form, but gets lowkey flirty when he’s really into you

response time: pretty fast, unless he’s baking something (which he tells you about in detail)

voice notes? yes, and his voice is so soft you’ll play them 20x

emojis: ✨, 🌞, 🤍, sometimes random food emojis

chaotic habits: sends selfies with “do i look cute enough for u today?”

texting vibe:

"hey angel" "just made brownies and i wish i could feed u one rn" "missing you more than coffee and you know that's serious" sends a selfie with hearts drawn on his cheeks "rate my cuteness out of 10 (be honest but also lie)"

Seungmin // 승민

type: sarcastic menace until he realizes he’s obsessed

response time: elite. scary good.

voice notes? sometimes, especially to roast you

emojis: very minimal. he’s a punctuation man.

chaotic habits: says “you’re so annoying” when he actually means “i miss you”

texting vibe:

"you're insufferable" "also i got u something, check ur door in like 2 mins" "don't cry. i'll block u" "jk. kinda" "be safe. i love you. don't make me say that again"

I.N // 아이엔

type: cute chaos. teases you constantly but gets shy when you flirt back

response time: quick, unless he’s gaming

voice notes? yes, but he re-records them 5 times before sending

emojis: 🥺, 😭, ✨, chaos combo

chaotic habits: sends TikToks that are somehow always lowkey him confessing

texting vibe:

"hey loser" "jk i like u a lot please don't block me" "wanna vc? i need to hear ur voice to survive" "do u think we'd survive in a zombie apocalypse or would u trip and make me die" "nvm i'd save u"

[yois2aki]

𝑪𝑨𝑳𝑬𝑩 𝑺𝑴𝑨𝑼

how would his behavior on social media derive?

caleb isn’t obnoxious about it, but when he’s in love, it shows—especially on social media. he’s the kind of guy who acts like he doesn’t care about posting, like it’s just something he does when he’s bored, but his account lowkey turns into a shrine dedicated to you. at first, it’s subtle—just pictures from his day where you just happen to be in the background, or a blurry shot of you laughing with no context. maybe he captions it something stupid like “why she laughin.” but everyone in the comments is already onto him.

but the second he realizes he no longer has any shame to lose? oh, he’s hopeless. suddenly, his story is full of posts that make it painfully obvious he’s obsessed with you. he’ll post your conversations—usually the ones where you’re roasting him just to prove you’re “bullying” him (even though everyone can tell he loves it). sometimes, it’s a screenshot of you saying something dumb at 2 a.m. with a caption like, “this who I chose to love. :p” other times, it’s a picture of you doing literally anything with the most unserious caption, like “somebody get her.” but then, just when people think he’s all jokes, he drops something that makes everyone lose their minds—maybe a picture of you with the softest “yeah. she’s it.” and no one can even clown him for it because you just know he means it.

he’s also the type to be annoyingly proud of you. if you so much as breathe in a mildly impressive way, he’s posting about it. did you cook something? best believe he’s taking a picture before even trying it, saying “chef” with the little hands-up emoji. did you achieve something? he’s reposting it like he’s your biggest fan, because he is. he’d post you on his story just because you looked good that day, with some cocky caption like “she’s literally unreal. don’t talk to me.” and if anyone tries to joke around in the replies, saying something like “caleb bro u lost” he’d just be like “nah, I won actually. ;)”

if you post pictures—especially if you’re looking really good—caleb is on it immediately. he’s the first like, the first comment, and if he’s feeling extra, he’ll repost it to his story with something cocky like “y’all see what I get to look at?” or just a simple mine. if he’s in a teasing mood, he’ll reply to the post with something like “aight. take this down. >:(” just to see if you’ll react, but everyone knows he’s eating it up. and if you don’t send him the pictures first before posting? he’s offended. “so you're just gonna post this without warnin’ me?? unbelievable.”

oh, and if anyone dares to flirt with you in his comments? deleted. blocked. gone. one time, someone tried to be slick replying to one of your posts with a flirty comment, and caleb replied immediately with just, “?” and that was enough. he doesn’t even need to say anything—he makes it clear you’re his without even trying. and the best part? he doesn’t even think he’s being that obvious about it. he’s just showing you off the way he thinks you deserve.

[bioblsm]

WHAT DOES THEIR CAMERA ROLL LOOK LIKE?

❀ ꒰warnings꒱. boothill backstory spoilers, not proofread ಥ_ಥ

𖧷 characters. jing yuan, blade, dr ratio, ruan mei, aventurine, sunday, boothill

☆彡 notes. aventurine 🤝 boothill — being some of the most gay ass mfs i’ve seen in a hyv game (apart from bronya and seele) seriously their flamboyance still gives me whiplash…anyways this has been on my mind for months now but i’ve never gotten around to writing it!!! >_<

JING YUAN 𐚁 景元

[◉"] 2,304 photos, 83 videos

⌖ if you scroll really fast down or up his gallery, all you’ll actually manage to see is splotches of pink, blonde and silver

⌖ everything ranges from cute candid shots of yanqing (he takes multiple if yanqing’s fallen asleep while on duty), to sneaky pictures of fu xuan as she’s working where he’s in the foreground doing peace signs — the final picture of course being her looking at the camera lense directly to glare up at him

⌖ reaching weekends when he’s slightly a little more free or allows himself a small break to stroll around town, his camera roll is either filled with pictures of food he’s eaten or swords that yanqing may or not definitely ask about that he’s now more inclined to buy as he’s seen them in person (he’s a boy dad who loves spoiling his child, alright?)

⌖ the large majority of his photos unfortunately are work related, only really the recent ones being deleted from his gallery to clear up some space

⌖ however, while his photos are preoccupied with either his two kids or random scrolls with messy and rushed handwriting, each video is of you; jing yuan thinks a picture would belittle your beauty too much.

⌖ he needs something a little more real, a little more active and animated to help him quell the chirping loneliness that creeps up on his heart whenever you’re away from him for a prolonged period of time; if he’s feeling particularly mischievous he might sneak a quick but blurry picture of himself to send to you ♡

BLADE 𐚁 刃

[◉"] 9 photos, 2 videos

⌖shit is BARREN. literally a complete EMPTY VOID. if you snatched his phone somehow you’d assume he just got it despite him not having changed it ever since he received one

⌖ perhaps on the occasion you’ll find a cameo picture from one of the stellaron hunters as his phone is left unoccupied and someone decided to blast his entire gallery with their face (silverwolf specifically just hacks into his phone to keep putting random screenshots he’s never taken in his gallery to make him believe he’s taken them)

⌖ maybe sometimes he’ll screenshot different ways to die or health clinic locations he can avoid when he’s fortunately bleeding out but otherwise? nothing.

⌖ if you’re a massive yapper and love sending him pictures, he won’t go out of his way to download them for later usage (whatever that may be…) but he also won’t go out of his way to delete it if it’s accidentally automatically downloaded on his phone — maybe elios intended for it to be there?

⌖ it’s quite nice having a reminder of his significant other where he doesn’t have to actively listen to their voice… that’s a little exaggerative; but he loves just mapping out the features in your face, it helps him sleep just the slightest bit better with no ailment if he’s able to trace your features like a constellation on his blank, dark wall

DR RATIO 𐚁 真理医生

[◉"] 1000 photos, 100 videos

⌖ call it a form of ocd, but he NEEDS to have a decent ratio (i didn’t even mean for this to be a pun i’m so sorry) of his photos to videos; he doesn’t care if it’s 10:1, 2:1 1:5, he needs something that’s at least somewhat pleasing to the eyes

⌖ ratio immediately deleted anything he doesn’t need or thinks he won’t find use in for at the very least the month (this includes every single cameo shot aventurine or you have taken of yourselves on his phone without his permission, which by the way, he didn’t hesitate to scold you two for)

⌖ maybe if he’s feeling particularly loving (when is he ever?) he’ll allow ONE picture to stay.

⌖ his camera roll is purely filled with test results, written exams, student emails he needs to read over, things concerning the guild or the ipc and secret purchases of ducks he’s made (he’s not ashamed, he just doesn’t want you to know he’s buying ducks that are bigger in size every time so he can fill your shared bathroom)

⌖ realistically, maintaining such a perfect ratio of photos:videos is rather impossible unless you’ve got impeccable timing with things you save and delete so, in order to bypass this, ratio made a photo library to help serve as a base number of sorts

⌖ that photo library is of course a secret and locked haven filled with pictures and videos of you, none of which you can even recall taking. all of them hold at least some sort of significance to the both of you, but the ones that dr ratio loves the most is the ones that are just natural

⌖ the ones that show you being yourself, whether it’s where you’re cuddled up near a blanket reading something with a leg hiked up over the sheets or where you’re sleeping with your mouth wide open because you’re sick and unable to breathe through your nose properly; he loves it all

RUAN MEI 𐚁 阮•梅

[◉"] 505 photos, 28 videos

⌖ she tries to keep it as neat as possible; that means no sneaky pics taken of her by you, accidental blurry shots she’s taken (god forbid, those ones are immediately scrapped and done anew especially if related to an experiment of hers) thought that doesn’t mean she clears it in the regular

⌖ ruan mei actively saves any photo you send her, sometimes she’ll even screenshot the chat itself if she finds herself clutching at her heart as she swoons over a few lines of flirting that apparently you couldn’t hold yourself back from due to how much you missed her

⌖ she’s not someone really sentimental so despite having photos of her little cake-cat hybrids, she rarely ever rechecks them unless the trailblazer sent another report on their status to match

⌖ honestly her memory is impeccable to the point she doesn’t even need screenshot reminders of things like dates and experiments saved (would it even be called machine reductionist to call her a walking computer model at this point?) therefore, anything she saves that’s work or science related probably has more intricacies that she can account for

⌖ her gallery is a little boring otherwise. for someone of her morally grey standards you’d expect at least something worth mentioning, maybe even something dumb like a secret recipe she uses to make the sweetest (anti-truth serum…) pastries but no— nothing.

yet the reason for that is very blatant; not even her beloved has the privilege to witness her mendacity.

AVENTURINE 𐚁 砂金

[◉"] 8,793 photos, 777 videos

⌖ it’s a complete and utter mess to say the very least; dr ratio refuses to so much as glance at it whenever he’s near and topaz just gets an ick:

“how do you even manage to find anything?”

“luck.”

⌖ his photos range from absurd, to sweet to egotistical. things that remind him of you such as random rocks he finds, alcoholic beverages that have the same colour scheme of an outfit you wore the night before, an animal he saw that he swears if reincarnation was real would so be you

⌖ he has a specific library for just solely screenshots based off your chats, most of them including a significant amount of “i love yous” and goodbyes that promised a little something more when you met up next; everything that aventurine utterly cherished and craved

⌖ …and then the rest was either him showing the background of him photobombing others, pictures he took to send to you (or one of the ipc members to piss them off, sometimes even the trailblazer for a cheeky laugh) and on the even more popular occasion, all his extraordinary wins whether it be in poker, pool or uno

⌖ compared to his photos, his videos are slightly more interesting. a near 50/50 split that ranged between him telling dumbass jokes to piss off his coworkers, recordings of the back of dr ratio’s and or topaz’s head just for the future laughs (he likes the reminder that he does actually have friends and they aren’t just deliberate hallucinations born of loneliness).

⌖ but of course, all his “favourited” videos involve you somehow. sometimes it’s just a slip of your name while he’s sneakily recording a meeting, him telling you he misses you or vice versa, other times it’s just when he feels like he has a home. you snuggled up on his chest, hands intertwined together as your breathing nearly synchronises with him…moments where he feels as though he could forget the trademark imprinted onto his neck.

SUNDAY 𐚁 星期日

[◉"] 777 photos, 111 videos

⌖ now as much as i want to say “oh it’s all you! he has a special folder for you <3” i unfortunately can’t.

⌖ it’s almost most definitely videos of robin’s concerts, solo shows, videos he stolen off of audience members with good seats when he wasn’t available to personally hide in the crowd…a lot of the photos are also the same way; robin’s promotional pictures, screenshots from her recent advertisements and negative hate comments or news stories that he’s going to personally deal with later

⌖ that doesn’t mean he values or priorities you over his sister, absolutely not. you two are the only people in his life who he would unironically take down the skies and survive utter torment for if it meant your voices were the last things he heard as bellowing winds sliced past his eardrums to tune the world out in order to hear his own final breath

⌖ he tries his best not to be sentimental or nostalgic, as he’s been told as he grew up into the bright and maybe just slightly tragic and guilt-infested man he is today, those things in his eyes are an innate weakness of humanity. clinging onto something thats not tangible anymore.

⌖ but he can’t help but hold on to every video you send him. every picture of you smiling, laughing, every text of you saying i love yous, quoting love songs to him or showing him pictures where you jokingly said “that’s us” (did he tilt his head a few times when you kept sending animals to him with that particular correspondent message? perhaps, but it never made him blind to the intentions).

BOOTHILL 𐚁 波提欧

[◉"] 12,113 photos, 191 videos

⌖ he truly doesn’t gaf (give a fork) about how messy it is, all the things that are genuinely important are already locked and loaded into his noggin’, there’s no point in being frugal with the space he’s been given on a little cellular device

⌖ you wouldn’t believe it, but he rarely uses it unless it’s for emergencies. there’s plenty of trouble that comes around when you’re a galaxy ranger, which means having a constant tracking device on you like a phone that you update daily is a stupidly bad idea; which is precisely why his photo gallery is a mess

⌖ he quite literally can’t go in and clear it out otherwise it risks giving out sensitive information.

⌖ not applicable to you, that is. in boothill’s eyes, you’re an “emergency”. if you’ve texted him, it’s obvious you want his attention, which potentially means you could be in danger and he has to rush to the rescue like the flamboyant cowboy he is (no he absolutely knows you don’t need help, but there’s always that nagging “what if” factor, you know?)

⌖ he inwardly blesses whoever invented screenshotting because it would be an understatement to say that little as half of his gallery is littered with you. he’s just a bit of a boomer when it comes to technology like this, despite being a whole walking charging port himself ehem, so a lot of the pictures he has saved of you that you sent over whenever he cutely pleaded;

“missing ya, send me a lil’ somethin’ wont you?”

unfortunately are uncropped and framed with the outline of whatever messaging app you’re on.

⌖ if he lets you scroll up far back enough, maybe you’ll get to see just a glimpse of how similar his adoptive daughter’s smile was to his

© BIOBLSM ✮ do not copy steal or repost

[itneverendshere]

Rafes screensaver being a pic of you and baby Autumn when she first comes home from the hospital, she’s just against your chest, and while you don’t think you look good, he looks at you like you’ve hung the moon

lockscreen shenanigans

Rafe never cared much for his phone’s lock screen before. It was usually something default, a picture of the beach, or a grainy photo Kelce sent in a group chat once. 

That changed the minute he started dating you.

The first time he changed it, you’d only been together a few weeks.

He had secretly taken a photo of you sitting cross-legged on his bed in one of his shirts, eating fries from the bag while humming along to the music playing on his speaker. The lighting was shit, and your hair was a mess, but you were laughing at something stupid he said, all sunshine in your eyes.

That’s my girl.

He didn’t say anything and silently made it his lock screen, his little secret.

After that, it was always you. Over the years, he swapped it out for different versions of you—sneaking a sleepy photo of you curled up in his chest, a blurry snap of you dancing in the kitchen, your profile in golden hour while you poured a drink behind the bar. You were always there, greeting him every time he picked up his phone.

Now, the first thing he saw when he picked up his phone was the love of his life and the tiny miracle they created together.

It was a photo he’d taken when you first brought Autumn home from the hospital. She was asleep on your chest, her cheeks pink and warm, her tiny hands curled into fists. You were sitting on the edge of the couch, hair pushed back lazily, bags under your eyes, an exhausted look on your pretty face.

You’d told him to delete it.

“Don’t even save that. I look like shit." You’d muttered, voice soft so you wouldn’t wake her.

He had smiled, kissing your temple. “You look like a fuckin’ angel.”

You had rolled your eyes, retorting something under your breath, but he’d kept the photo anyway, made it his lock screen. And he stared at it constantly.

He subtly started posting it. Rafe, who barely touched social media unless it was to like a meme or accidentally reply to his friend's story with a fire emoji, suddenly turned into a guy who posted. It made his friends roll their eyes, sure. Topper gave him shit.

“You turned into a Facebook mom, bro.”

Rafe didn’t care, this was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

You. Autumn. His little family. He couldn’t believe you picked him to build a life with. Now he had something worth showing off.

Sometimes at work, he'd unlock it to look at the two girls who had flipped his whole world upside down, and he’d grin like an idiot. Didn’t care who saw.

Every now and then, you’d catch him doing it—on the couch while Autumn napped on his chest, or at 3 a.m. during a bottle feed, phone propped up on the armrest beside her socks—and he’ shrug, a little sheepish, getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“You’re obsessed,” You’d tease, flopping down beside him. “You’re worse than me.”

“Damn right I am.” He’d kiss the top of Autumn’s head and then yours. “I'm always gonna stare at you like you hung the moon.”

He said it so casually, full of sleepy, reverent affection, that it made your heart ache in your chest. Rafe wasn’t just in love—this new chapter had taken all the hard parts of him and melted them. He still had his days, sure—he was Rafe, after all—but when it came to you and Autumn, he was all heart.

Protective and tender in equal measure, he’d rock her for hours just to let you get a nap, talk to her like she understood him, whispering about how strong her mama was and how lucky they both were.

The man who never got tired of holding you close and saying, “Baby, you’re unreal.”

Some weeks, you didn’t feel beautiful. Your body was still healing, the dark circles on your eyes felt permanent. But Rafe made sure you never forgot how loved you were. He worshipped you with every glance, with the brush of his hand against your back, whispering “thank you” into your skin.

Even now—months in—he still looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were real. You’d be standing in the kitchen, bouncing Autumn on your hip while you stared into the fridge, saying something about not knowing what to make for dinner. Hair up in a bun, wearing one of his old tees and the softest pajama shorts you owned. And behind you, Rafe would just… stop.

Mid-step, mid-sentence, mid-breath sometimes. The curve of your shoulder, the rhythm of your swaying, and the way Autumn's tiny fist curled into the fabric near your collarbone were all he could think about.

That’s my whole damn life, he’d think. Right there. 

He’d be caught red-handed. You would look over your shoulder and blink at him, half-smiling, unsure.

“What?”

”Nothing,” he would say with a hoarse voice.

You’d scoff or shake your head, but the corners of your mouth would twitch. And that just made it worse—better, somehow. He was constantly in awe, even when you were pissed off at him—when you were snapping for leaving the wet laundry in the machine once or for forgetting to thaw the chicken—you were still beautiful to him.

Still, the woman who changed his life. Still the girl in the blurry photo on his bed, laughing at nothing while eating fries.And some nights, when everything was quiet and the world had finally gone still, he’d lie there with you asleep beside him, the baby monitor low, and he’d whisper to you.

“You saved me,” he’d breathe into your hair.

Rafe didn’t need the lock screen to remember what he had, but he liked the reminder. 

[kunareads]

how you talk so sweet when you're doing bad things

actor!satoru x popstar!reader

you and satoru fulfill the prophecy (he picks you up, pulls them down, turns you around).

prev / next

series masterlist / full masterlist

wc: 4.7k

satoru "filthy mouth" gojo!!! i had to stop writing this multiple times because of what he does to me. PART 3 VALENTINE'S DAY (comment for taglist)

content: fluff and SMUT! even more tension, you and satoru are once again the subjects of internet speculation, making out, 69, oral (m! and f! receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v sex, pronebone, cowgirl, he's very much in control here

18+ please <3

the internet does what it does best: fill in the blanks.

neither of you say anything. no statements, no denials, no acknowledgments. but speculation spreads like wildfire.

it started small. the blurry afterparty photos, the red carpet chemistry dissection, the think pieces about hollywood's most unexpected flirtation. the usual.

then you post an instagram story.

nothing special. just a close-up of a wine glass, city lights blurred in the background. no context, no caption. but the fans? they think they know.

twitter erupts.

@/satorumess: not to be crazy but i mapped out their locations based on timestamps and—

@/fulltimeshipper: this is worse than when the CIA redacted half that UFO document

@/ynupdates: y/n posting a cryptic story the same night satoru is spotted downtown… oh we are in the trenches forreal

then, satoru likes a tiktok.

a slow-motion edit of you in your red carpet and afterparty looks, set to some dramatic song, captioned this woman is dangerous, your honor.

he doesn't comment, doesn't follow the account. just leaves one single like. and the internet implodes.

@/fandomedits: nah this isn't pr this is a man down BAD

@/popcultupdates: GOJO SATORU LIKING THIRST EDITS IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT WE HAVE LOST HIM COMPLETELY

@/ynstan: this man saw a slo-mo thirst edit and said "yeah let me cosign that"

but it gets worse.

an old clip resurfaces. a red carpet from last year. you and satoru, near each other but never interacting. a moment that meant nothing—until now.

fans slow it down, zoom in, analyze every tiny detail:

satoru steps onto the carpet, and your eyes flick toward him, barely noticeable.

he glances in your direction.

there's a beat where he exhales, seems to collect himself—something no one caught before.

and suddenly, it's evidence.

@/fathergojo: why do their interactions feel like deleted scenes from a romcom

@/yninvestigator: guys. GUYS. what do you MEAN she looked at him FIRST. what do you MEAN HE TOOK A BREATH AND LOOKED AWAY.

@/stanwars: suddenly i believe in fate. suddenly i understand greek tragedies.

apparently, none of this is new.

you and satoru are just catching up.

+++

+++

satoru isn't good at waiting.

patience isn't exactly his strong suit, but when the reward is this good? he doesn't mind.

you walk in like the last week never happened. like the chaos never even registered.

the rooftop lighting catches the silk of your dress, the shine of your jewelry, the sheen of your lips. it makes you look untouchable.

attention follows you effortlessly. heads turn, backs straighten. someone says something, you smile—polite, charming, distant. you're impossible not to watch.

and satoru watches.

he's become acquainted with the effect you have, but it hits harder tonight than it did a week ago.

because now he knows how you taste.

the glass in his hand is cool, condensation falling between his fingers. he takes a sip, tracking you, cataloging details no one else would catch.

the way your shoulders shift, subtle, as you get closer.

the flick of your gaze toward him before you fully reach him.

you stop beside him, close enough for the scent of your perfume to settle between you.

a pause before you meet his eyes.

"so… how's your week been?" you ask, tone light, a smile gracing your features.

satoru exhales a laugh, tipping his glass like a toast. "surprisingly quiet. you?"

as you talk, your fingers trace the rim of your glass. he watches. you let him.

he leans in when he speaks. you don't move away.

he notices the way the waiter lingers, the way you dismiss it with a polite, distant smile.

you notice the way his expression shifts at that, just slightly. neither of you acknowledge it.

"you're kind of a nightmare," you tease.

satoru grins, unbothered. "funny. some people call me a dream."

you laugh and roll your eyes at him. he takes his time with his next sip, letting the tension settle. you're watching him watch you.

it would be easy to let you play this game, to see how long you can act like you're not as impatient as he is. but he leans in, voice quiet, just for you.

"you gonna make me wait?" low, taunting.

you could, but you don't. instead, you lean in too, meeting him halfway. you set your glass down carefully. he mirrors you.

someone—a bartender, another guest—tries to pull you into conversation, but you don't reply.

you lean into him, your voice calm but sure.

"let's go."

+++

streetlights skim over sleek black paint as the car pulls up, satoru swinging the door open. you barely take a step before his hand finds the small of your back, fingers pressing just enough to guide you.

he grins lazily. "last chance."

you roll your eyes as you step in. "so dramatic."

he closes the door after you and circles the car, the driver pulling off.

the backseat feels too small.

you cross your legs. his knee brushes against yours, and he doesn't move away. his hand rests on his thigh, relaxed, too close to yours. deliberate.

you pretend not to notice, but he knows better.

the silence is louder than words. the city blurs past the tinted windows, neon bleeding into the dark. the hum of the engine, the distant murmur of traffic, the faint pulse of something unsaid.

satoru exhales slowly, gliding his tongue over his teeth, thinking. he pushes a button, the partition rising.

you're both quiet, but it's a silent signal: stop pretending.

the second it clicks into place, he moves. or maybe you do. it doesn't matter. he's closer now, facing you, and you're already leaning in.

a beat. a sharp inhale.

his fingers skim your thigh, higher this time.

"i was trying to be good," you say quietly.

his voice drops, tight with restraint, and your breath catches. "don't."

the second the word leaves his lips, you're on him. a hand finds the back of his neck, drawing him in.

the first kiss is slow, but not reluctant. he drags it out because he can. he tilts his head, deepening it. he hums against your lips when you press closer, pleased.

his fingers tease higher. yours twist into his hair, nails scraping just enough to make him sigh into your mouth.

the car rolls to a stop.

neither of you move. not right away.

satoru's grip tightens, like he's considering pulling you onto his lap. like he could keep you here a little longer, let the city blur beyond the tinted glass while he takes his time.

instead, he drags his lips down your jaw, then lower. he breathes you in before murmuring, "upstairs."

+++

the door clicks shut, sealing you in. no music, no distant hum of the city, just quiet, dense and charged.

neither of you break the silence.

satoru steps in first. the air seems to crackle around him here the same way it does everywhere else.

you hold his stare, challenging. he waits.

a test. a game.

then, finally, you reach for him. his grin is lazy, knowing. like he was waiting for you to break first.

this kiss is purposeful. his lips brush yours—once, then again. a silent question, just the slow press of his mouth, the barely-there slide of his hands down your waist.

your fingers slip under his shirt, nails grazing skin, just enough to pull a slow, amused breath from him.

his hands find your hips, insistent, pulling you in until there's no space left. the shift makes you gasp into his mouth, and he drinks it in, looking smug, like he expected it.

like he's been waiting for this all week.

his grip tenses, like he's about to pull you closer—but then he's gone. his heat vanishes, his lips just a ghost of pressure before they disappear completely.

he barely moves when you chase him a bit, just tilts his chin, smiling. like he knew you wouldn't let him go. like he was counting on it.

you inhale, frustration sparking low in your chest, and you move before you think. your hands find his shirt, tugging him back in—but before you can, his fingers close around your wrists, catching you with ease.

his grin is knowing, his grip firm but teasing. he tilts his head, amusement spreading across his face.

"easy, princess," he murmurs, voice low, eyes flicking to your lips. "what's the rush?"

you arch a brow, fingers flexing in his grasp. "you did haul me out of the car."

his grin widens. "not like you put up a fight."

you push.

you press into him, backing him towards the wall. he lets you. lets you kiss him deeper, hands still wrapped around your wrists but relaxing, giving you room to move.

for a second, you think you've won.

then the world tilts and your back meets the wall with a gentle thud, your head tipping back slightly as he crowds you.

he smiles at you, eyes sparkling, enjoying himself too much. his hands settle at your waist, keeping you where he wants you.

you should be annoyed. instead, you match him and smirk right back.

you like the way he handles you.

his touch is maddening.

his fingertips skate over your ribs, your stomach, but never where you need them. it's intentional and exploratory, like he has all the time in the world.

and he does. his apartment is a sanctuary from the mess of the last week. no prying eyes or a disgruntled kento to interrupt here.

you shift, trying to lead him downward, but he only chuckles, barely making a sound.

"you can be patient for me, can't you?" his voice dips lower, "or are you already too far gone?"

he's mocking you, and reflex kicks in—your thighs squeeze together, and you feel the heat creep up your neck when he notices.

his fingers ghost up your inner thighs, teasing warmth into your skin before retreating. every near-touch is calculated, just enough to remind you of how easily he could give you what you want.

he watches as impatience builds in your expression, as your breath stutters when his hands graze your waist again.

your nails press into his shoulders, a silent dare. before he can smirk, before he can gloat, you roll your hips against him, slow, deliberate. the response is immediate.

his breath falters, a groan through gritted teeth. his jaw tightens like he wasn't expecting you to test him. for a split second, he stills entirely.

you smile at him. message received.

"if you wanna ruin me, do it right, satoru." a taunt disguised as a whisper, just enough to chip at his restraint.

his hold turns bruising, like he wants to leave something behind. the teasing tone vanishes, his smirk dissolving into something darker. your breath catches—not in surprise, but excitement as something kindles in your stomach.

because suddenly, it's not a game anymore.

the realization barely registers before he has you pinned, wrists above your head, mouth at your ear.

"hope you know what you're asking for," he murmurs, hips flush against yours. his voice is different now—rough, heat twisting through every syllable. you shudder at the sound, your body responding. he makes good on his words immediately.

his hands find the backs of your thighs—then, suddenly, you're weightless, gasping, clutching at his shoulders. your legs draw around his hips, heat pooling fast.

a startled breath leaves you, but he's already moving, carrying you across the room like you weigh nothing at all.

he drops you onto his bed, grinning at the glare you send him when you bounce.

you don't even get the chance to scold—his hands are already on you, pulling your panties down.

his teeth graze your inner thigh before he bites down, sharp enough to make you whine, hips squirming. he exhales with a smile. "thought so." his tongue follows—slow, indulgent, a promise to ruin you.

you've barely found your breath when he shifts, broad hands pressing into your thighs, spreading you open. his gaze lifts, dark and teasing.

"comfortable?" he asks, lips skimming the inside of your knee.

you roll your eyes, about to retort—but your fingers curl into the sheets instead when his mouth finds your core, hot and devastating.

your hips shift, back arching, and he hums against you, content.

you move the moment he adjusts—quick, decisive, hands pushing into his shoulders. he lets you shift the balance, rolling onto his back, breath catching when he opens his eyes to find you above him.

your fingers work fast, tugging at his belt, yanking it free with a sharp pull. you work on the button, the zipper, pulling the fabric down just enough to free him.

he was so fucking cocky a second ago. now, he's not even breathing right, body taut under your hands. so you stroke once, then twice, then take him into your mouth.

no warning, no reluctance.

his grip tightens on your thigh, breath punching out like you knocked it loose. his head tilts back, jaw tensing, a soft "fuck—just like that, baby" escaping him.

you hum around him, pleased, tongue teasing, and he swears again under his breath. his hands fist into the sheets, trying to ground himself.

but satoru doesn't like being outmatched.

his fingers skate up your thigh, squeezing. and then his mouth is on you, tongue dragging through your folds, slow and deep.

you gasp against him, body tensing, and he grins.

"that's better," he mutters against you, lips brushing sensitive skin before his tongue circles once, twice.

the sound you make is muffled around him, and he groans in response, the vibration rolling through you both.

you try to keep a rhythm, fingers curling at the base as you sink down, but every time his tongue moves just right, every time he sucks at your clit, you falter.

he notices, and he loves it.

his hands tighten on your hips, keeping you still as he buries his face deeper, determined, fucking into you with his tongue, sending you to the edge without mercy.

you try to keep going, try to keep your lips wrapped around him, but every nerve in your body is on fire, pressure winding as you moan around him.

he grins against you. "that's it, princess. lemme hear it."

his fingers dig into your skin, tightening as he licks into you with purpose, drawing desperate sounds from your throat.

it's too much. you pull your mouth off of him, panting, lips slick and hips twitching against his face as the bliss hits all at once, unraveling you from the inside out.

"satoru, fuck," you gasp, the words nearly unintelligible through your moans. you can't do anything but let it consume you, your body seizing before the release finally drives through you.

you gasp, sharp and unsteady, his name tumbling past your lips again, voice cracking into a whine.

satoru doesn't stop until you're shaking, your legs weak, pleasure rolling over you in dizzying, tormenting waves.

only when your thighs twitch, too sensitive, does he finally pull away. his face is wet, and he's breathless. he presses one last kiss to the inside of your thigh before looking up at you, eyes dark and lazy.

"you're fucking perfect," he murmurs, voice hoarse, before flipping you onto your stomach, pressing you into the mattress.

you're still coming down when he lifts your hips, tucking a pillow underneath them.

his breath is warm against your shoulder, steady and grounding. his lips trail down your spine, flirting, savoring the way you squirm. a hand settles on your hip possessively, making sure you don't slip away.

his other hand trails lower, sliding between your legs, fingers pressing in—gradually, unhurried, teasing the mess he left behind.

"fuck, baby—you're dripping for me." his voice is all rough edges and satisfaction, murmured against your ear. you shiver. his fingers slide through your folds, spreading your slick, teasing the spot he knows will make you gasp.

"been thinking about this all week," he mumbles, kissing the curve of your neck. his fingers dip lower, pushing inside, slow and deep. "bet you have, too."

you whimper, and he smirks against your skin.

"should've had you like this that night. should've fucked you right up against that wall."

his fingers move at an unbearable pace, curling, pressing into the spot that makes your knees weak. your hips jerk, but he holds you still.

"needy, huh?" his breath is burning against your ear, teasing, smug. "tell me how bad you want it, baby."

your fingers clutch the sheets, patience fraying. you should fight him— push back, make him work for it—but you're too far gone for games.

"satoru—"

his fingers stall. "mm, not good enough."

"want you," you gasp, growing desperate. "need you inside me."

he groans like you just hit him where it hurts. he pulls his hand away, leaving you empty for barely a second before the thick of him replaces them.

he slips the tip through your folds, slick and teasing, but doesn't push in. "this what you wanted?" he asks, rougher now.

"yes."

"say it again."

your breath stutters, but you give him what he wants. "yes. please," you gasp.

his hands flex against your hips, keeping you still as he pushes forward, stretching you open with an unrelenting drag that knocks the air from your lungs. it's almost too much—almost—but you want all of it. you take all of him.

he moves in slowly, and a shaky gasp escapes as he bottoms out, deep inside you, holding himself there, letting you feel it.

his breath is ragged now, his exhale hot against your skin. "fuck."

his hands slide up your sides, guiding you, holding you where he needs you.

"you feel so fucking good," he breathes, voice dipping into something ruined.

his hips roll, deep and slow, like he wants to feel everything. like he wants to make this last.

you think for a second that you won't survive at this pace.

satoru brings his body lower, pressing his chest flush against your back, all heat and tension, breath ghosting over your shoulder as he sinks in.

his arms slip under yours, palms spreading over your shoulders, drawing you into him. not just pulling you back, but owning the space between you.

hi thrusts are indulgent, stretching, coating himself in you. his breath is uneven, satisfaction humming in your ear.

you push your hips back into him, matching his rhythm.

satoru exhales a sharp breath, fingers digging in. "you trying to make me lose it?"

you don't answer, just push back harder on instinct.

his response is immediate—a sharp, precise thrust that knocks the air from your lungs, ripping a moan from your throat before you can swallow it down.

"thought so," he murmurs, lips grazing your shoulder.

his pace turns deep and steady—controlled, measured. he brings his face close to yours, wanting to watch you react, to feel you tighten around him with every movement.

but you're impatient. you shift, pressing up onto your elbows, angling your hips just enough to take him deeper.

his pace stutters. he swears under his breath, voice raw, and one arm locks around your waist. he holds you in place as he fucks into you now, hard enough to leave you trembling, helpless against the bed.

his name leaves your lips, breathless and desperate.

"fuck—it's so good," he groans, half-choked, messy. his face buries into your neck, hands gripping like he's holding on for dear life. "let me hear you, baby."

you can barely think, barely breathe. his hand slides between your legs, fingers finding that spot, pressing slow, teasing circles.

"satoru—"

he chuckles, low and smug, but there's an edge to it now, a tension in the way his hips stutter, his movements losing their precision.

and then you tighten around him, body seizing, pleasure cresting all at once—

"fuck," he bites out, breathless, grip tightening like he's trying to hold on.

and then—he pulls out.

a sharp inhale, the loss making you gasp, but before you can even form a thought—

he flips you over.

"not done with you yet," he mutters, voice rough, gaze dark as he hovers over you.

and just like that, everything shifts.

his hands find you the second he pulls out—a sharp, dizzying shift as he flips you over, settling beneath you. his hands slide up your ribs, brush over your breasts, then slide back down.

his fingers splay wide on your hips, steadying you, but it's his gaze that pins you in place. "wanna see you like this," he murmurs, voice low, still rough from before.

your lips part, but the way he looks at you makes it hard to tease. instead, your nails drag down his chest, unhurried, feeling his abs tense beneath your touch.

"yeah?" you breathe.

his fingers flex, tightening just slightly. "yeah, baby. show me how bad you want it."

you wrap your fingers around him, stroking once, slow and teasing, just to watch him squirm.

his jaw clenches, but he doesn't push. he lets you take your time, lets you set the pace, struggling to hold back.

you don't make him wait long.

you line him up and sink down, savoring the stretch—the way he exhales, sharp and shaky, fingers digging in.

"fuck," he breathes, watching you, eyes dark, half-lidded, all heat.

one of your hands finds his shoulders, nails scraping lightly as you start to move. the other moves down to where you're connected, feeling just how far he spreads you open.

at first, it's slow—like you're figuring each other out all over again. a careful roll of your hips, tension simmering, teasing at something deeper.

but it doesn't last.

his grip firms, guiding you down, matching your rhythm. he thrusts up to meet you with a force that knocks the breath from your lungs.

"you feel me, princess?" he asks, pulling you down harder, deeper.

you answer him with a desperate little whimper that makes him melt.

both of your movements are messy, desperate—like you both know exactly where this is going and you need to get there.

your fingers tangle in his hair, nails scraping, tugging just slightly, and he hisses, eyes squeezing shut for a second.

his hands slide up your spine, pulling you closer, his forehead pressing to yours, breathing hard.

"you feel so fucking good," he murmurs, almost a whine. "so wet for me, so fucking perfect."

you can't even speak. your thoughts blur, pleasure winding tight, breath coming in short, uneven gasps.

he shifts beneath you, angling deeper, hitting exactly where you need him. the sudden jolt of pleasure makes your whole body tighten, makes you let out a sound you didn't mean to make—

a loud, broken moan, breathy, helpless.

his head snaps up, eyes wild, something cracking behind them—like he just lost his last thread of control.

"oh," his breath shudders, grip tightening. "oh."

and then he's gone.

he snaps his hips into yours, his hands gripping, guiding, setting a pace that's relentless, that has you gasping, nails biting into his shoulders.

your vision goes hazy, body tightening, winding up unbearably fast. you try to tell him you're close, but all that comes out is a shaky, broken "satoru—"

"oh, fuck—there it is," he breathes, voice dropping, eyes dark and triumphant. "knew you'd sound so fucking sweet falling apart for me."

his hand finds your clit, pressing just right—teeth gritting as he holds on, watching you break first.

and you shatter.

it slams into you, sharp and consuming, a shockwave rolling through your body. your breath stutters, a broken gasp stumbling free as you tighten around him, locking him in.

he feels it—the way you pulse around him, the way you tremble, how your moans dissolve into something helpless. it undoes him. his arm slides your waist, his other hand finding the back of your neck, and he pulls you closer like he needs you.

he curses as you tremble against him, holding you close, burying himself deep in you as he falls apart.

your name leaves his lips like a prayer, breathless, reverent. he groans against your skin as he finally spills into you. pleasure crashes through him, and for a moment, all he can do is feel **the heat of you, the way you throb around him, the way your body takes him like you were made for this.

for a second, you both stay still; the only sound between you is the sharp, uneven puff of breath.

your hands shake against his chest. his fingers are still locked around your waist.

he exhales a wrecked laugh, warm and lazy against your temple.

"so fucking worth the wait," he murmurs, voice low, sated. he kisses all over your face, palm smoothing down your spine. "knew you'd be perfect for me."

+++

morning light spills through the curtains, golden and soft, warming tangled sheets and bare skin. everything is still. quiet, but not empty. satoru is warm against you, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. at some point in the night, your leg found its way between his, one of his arms draped lazily over your waist.

you shift, stretching slightly, and his fingers flex at your hip, like some part of him refuses to let you go.

he murmurs something unintelligible, voice low and drowsy. then, with a slow, easy smile against your skin, "stay."

you huff a quiet laugh. "clingy."

"mmm," he hums, voice is thick with sleep. "you're warm."

he still hasn't opened his eyes. he just shifts a little, nestling deeper into you. his fingers pressing idly into your hip, like he's memorizing the shape of you beneath them.

you stay like that for a while.

you steal a button-up from his closet when you finally get up, slipping it over your shoulders before following him into the bathroom. he doesn't comment, just flicks his gaze over you, lips twitching, before rummaging through a drawer. a moment later, he presses a spare toothbrush into your palm.

"definitely took you for the clingy type."

he grins, stretching lazily against the counter. "not my fault you're so soft."

you brush your teeth side by side, bleary-eyed in the mirror. he stands just a little too close, bumping into your arm like he can't help himself.

and when you head back to bed, he follows, catching your wrist just before you climb in, guiding you back under the covers with ease.

"wait." his lips brush your shoulder. "just stay there."

"i am staying," you point out, amused.

"good," he hums, pressing one last kiss to your head before disappearing into the kitchen.

satoru returns minutes later, two mugs in hand. he sets yours on the nightstand before wordlessly disappearing back to the kitchen.

you wait until you smell breakfast, then you get up and follow the scent out to his kitchen island.

he doesn't ask if you're hungry. he just plates your food and sets it in front of you without a second thought.

you steal sips from his juice between bites, and he lets you, just watching, amused, eyes flicking toward you over the rim of his glass.

soft touches happen naturally, thoughtlessly.

his palm finds the small of your back when he moves past you, warm and steady.

your fingers brush when you both reach for the same thing.

his knuckles graze your thigh when he leans back against the counter.

none of it feels unfamiliar.

you stay longer than you expected to. he doesn't call you out on it.

the goodbye is unserious, drawn out in a way that makes it obvious neither of you is in a rush.

"try not to miss me too much," you tease, pulling on your shoes with a grin.

he smiles, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. "oh, i will."

his tone is playful, but something about the way he says them makes you hesitate, just for a second.

and as you step out, just before it closes behind you, he calls after you.

"i'll be thinking about you, y'know."

tags (ongoing): @moonchhu @httpstoyosi @lavnder311 @harryzcherry @perkypeony @katecupcakekate @hellicify @oh-my-god-donald @jupiterbinnie @i88b0nten @satxoru @chuuminn @moncher-ire @r0ckst4rjk @flwerie @raendarkfaerie @pinksdump @blkmystery @pearlessance @satoruxsc

[heeluvv]

PERFECT FOR ME.ᐟ

pairing ᝰ.ᐟ yandere/psycho! kim sunoo x student! reader

warnings ᝰ.ᐟ stalking, possession, masturbation (slight), forced love, obsession, etc.

natty’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

sunoo never meant to fall this deep.

he was just watching. studying. learning.

he memorized your schedule, your favorite snacks, the exact way your lips curved when you smiled.

at first, he was content with the distance. watching from the back of the classroom. listening when you spoke—soaking in every word like it was meant for him.

then, he started following just to make sure you were safe. just to protect you.

but then—he saw you with them. laughing. touching. letting someone else be close to you.

something snapped.

you were his.

you just didn’t realize it yet.

he thought he could be patient. he thought he could wait for you to see him but watching you with them—watching their hands touch what was his—he couldn’t take it anymore.

so he took you.

your head feels heavy. clouded. wrong. when you try to move, your wrists won’t budge. your vision is blurry, the dim light in the room barely enough to make sense of your surroundings.

and then—you hear it.

soft breathing. close. too close.

“you’re awake.” your stomach drops.

sunoo.

he’s sitting beside you, watching. waiting. loving. his glasses are slightly fogged, his lips parted in quiet relief. he reaches forward, fingers brushing over your cheek.

“you slept for so long, baby.” your blood runs cold.

“let me go.” his smile softens—as if you just said something silly.

“i can’t do that.” he tilts his head, eyes filled with something too dark. too tender. too in love.

“you’re finally where you belong.”

you struggle. scream. beg.

but he doesn’t move, he doesn’t react. he just watches because he knows you’ll break eventually.

one night, you hear it.

soft, shaky breaths.

the quiet sound of frustration and want.

you turn your head—and freeze.

sunoo is sitting in his chair, his back is to you, but you can see the tension in his shoulders.

his head tilts back slightly, a soft, broken sigh slipping past his lips.

“baby…”

his voice is wrecked. desperate. longing.

his fingers tremble against his skin.

you don’t have to see to know.

he’s thinking about you. he’s touching himself to the thought of you.

your stomach twists.

you want to look away but you can’t. not when he breathes your name like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. not when you realize—he’s been waiting for you to love him, but he can’t wait any longer.

the room is too quiet.

except for him.

except for his breath hitching, his soft, broken sighs, the quiet sound of frustration and want.

your hands tremble against the restraints. you shouldn't look but your body betrays you.

the way his shoulders rise and fall, his muscles tense as his fingers curl—digging into his own skin, his body tight with something unbearable.

his head tilts back slightly, a breath escaping in a soft, shuddering moan.

your name slips past his lips—raw, wrecked, desperate.

your stomach twists.

he's thinking about you.

no—he's consumed by you.

you move too much.

a soft creak of the mattress beneath you.

his breath catches.

he stills then—he turns his head.

your stomach drops.

his glasses slide down his nose, his wide eyes locking onto yours—lips still parted, pupils blown, face flushed with heat.

the room is too hot. too heavy. too much.

but sunoo? he smiles like he's won.

like you just gave him exactly what he wanted. his breathing is still uneven, his fingers still shaking, but his gaze never wavers.

"you were watching me." his voice is soft. breathless. smug.

you shake your head, your throat too tight to speak but his smile only deepens.

"don't lie, baby." he steps forward.

"you saw, didn't you?" your pulse races. he moves closer, until he's standing at the edge of the bed—so close, too close. his fingers reach out, brushing against your cheek, trailing down your jaw. his touch is warm. lingering. inescapable.

his voice drops to a whisper.

"it's okay."

his forehead presses against yours, his breath fanning against your lips.

"it just means you're finally starting to love me back." but your body betrays you. your breathing hitches. your fingers twitch. you feel trapped in his warmth, drowning in his scent, his touch, his presence.

his lips hover just above yours, teasing, waiting.

"see, baby?" his fingers trace down your throat, pressing just lightly against your racing pulse.

"you can't hide from me." his lips brush against your skin—your temple, your jaw, down to the base of your throat. his hands slide over your wrists, fingers grazing your pulse as if to remind you that he owns it now.

"don't fight it, baby." his breath is warm, intoxicating.

"i'll love you enough for both of us."

natty’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ okayyy i hope you guys like it or something, i appreciate you all for the likes and reblogs, tysmm!! (also if you guys have any request please send them in!)

[sixeyesonathiel]

in which you, the fierce journalism club president, corner satoru gojo, the carefree photography club president, over a stolen photo.

previous. | highschool au | wc — 966 | next. | masterlist.

you corner him by the water fountains, snapping your folder shut like it’s a weapon. the slap of paper echoes off the tile walls, sharp as your glare. the hallway’s mostly empty—just the faint murmur of a vending machine humming in the background, a distant shout from the gym, and the quiet scuff of shoes on linoleum as a couple of underclassmen hustle past with their heads ducked low.

satoru doesn’t even flinch. he just adjusts his glasses with one hand, sliding them up the bridge of his nose, and beams down at you like you didn’t just vow his public execution two meetings ago.

“you’re deleting that photo.”

your voice is clipped, a warning undercut with venom. your nails drum against the folder now, restless, rhythmic, like a fuse burning down. there’s a smudge of ink on your wrist, your lip gloss has smudged slightly from chewing at your bottom lip in irritation, and the hem of your blazer is wrinkled from being yanked off in frustration earlier. he notices it all.

his grin stretches wider, his lips curling slow with infuriating ease. “you’ll have to be more specific, sweetheart. i have a lot of photos of you.”

your brows twitch. your jaw tightens. you look like you’re about to combust. satoru watches you closely, like he’s waiting for the sparks to catch. there’s something about the way your nostrils flare, the way your foot taps like a ticking time bomb. it’s mesmerizing. poetic.

he’s probably the only person who thinks so.

but he would know. he does know. he has albums of you tucked in a password-protected folder on his hard drive—candid snapshots from meetings, out in the courtyard, blurry captures of your scowl as you argue with your staff, the tilt of your head when you’re about to contradict someone, the way you chew on pen caps when you’re deep in thought. blinking, pouting, rolling your eyes. every version of you but the one he wants most—the soft one. the part of you he knows you’d never let him have. not on camera. maybe not at all.

“you took a picture of our board,” you seethe, “from behind the door.���

“i was getting the lighting.” he shrugs, shifting his weight to one leg. the strap of his camera bag digs into his shoulder, but he doesn’t move it. there’s a faint gleam of mischief in his pale blue eyes, obscured just barely by the reflection in his glasses. “it’s called photography. you should google it.”

“you’re spying!”

“and you’re paranoid.”

“you’re sabotaging the paper.”

he lets out a low whistle, leaning against the wall like this is all a performance put on just for him. a lock of snowy white hair falls into his eyes. he doesn’t bother brushing it back. “oh, baby,” he coos, tilting his head down so his glasses catch the light, “if i wanted to sabotage the paper, i’d join it.”

your gasp is sharp enough to cut glass. your hands clench the folder tighter, crinkling the corners. your stance has shifted, foot turned toward him, like your whole body wants to throw itself into an argument. satoru can practically see the steam rising off you, like a kettle whistling. he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

he should probably be worried. but you always get like this around him—loud and bristling, all fury and fire. maybe it’s the closest you get to vulnerability. maybe he likes that a little too much.

“you think you’re so funny,” you mutter, crossing your arms with a flourish that wrinkles your blazer sleeve higher up one arm.

he tilts his head. “i know i’m funny. what i think is that you like arguing with me because it gives you an excuse to talk to me.”

you scoff, half a laugh, half a growl. “you’re delusional.”

he shrugs again, exaggerated and slow, his fingers brushing through his hair like a model in a shampoo commercial. “i like the attention.”

“it’s not attention. it’s rage.”

“same difference.”

“you’re such a—”

“heartthrob? menace? future love of your life?”

you hiss, “—nuisance.”

the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s won a prize. a couple of students emerge from a nearby classroom, glancing your way before deciding it’s safer not to get involved. your cheeks are puffed in restrained irritation, your breath coming quick through your nose.

and then, in a tone quieter than the rest—careful, almost reverent—he says, “you’d look so pretty if you stopped glaring at me for five seconds.”

you freeze.

the hall goes still. a breeze slips through the open windows down the corridor, stirring loose flyers on the bulletin board nearby. a paper flutters down beside your shoe. your breath catches audibly. the color hits your cheeks fast—spreading in a slow, traitorous wave. wide-eyed. stunned. your mouth parts, but nothing comes out. for once, you’ve lost the words.

he didn’t expect it to work. he meant it, sure, but he didn’t think it would land like that. but here you are—glaring replaced with something wide and blinking, like a deer caught in the sun instead of headlights. your grip on the folder loosens. a corner of paper slips out.

satoru’s heart stutters. his fingers twitch, inching toward the camera hanging from his neck. not because he wants to win. not even to tease.

because he wants to remember you like this.

soft. human. beautiful.

but he doesn’t lift it. doesn’t break the moment with a click. it’s not time. not yet. he knows you’d hate that. knows that the second the shutter breaks, you’ll shove him, curse at him, run. maybe all three.

so he holds still, heart thudding, just watching you.

because for the first time, you’re not the one caught.

he is.

and it’s beautiful.

[rhyrhy]

⋆.˚｡ The Shallows—Teaser ✯ ⋆ ˚

⋆.˚｡ pairing: fratboy! Abby x dealer! Ellie x fem reader

synopsis: Ellie Williams on speed dial, Abby Anderson on your voicemail. but beneath the smoke breaks, late-night hookups, and jealous glances at house parties, it was never really about love. It was about control. Who could care less. Who would fall first. Who’d say sorry too late.

content: ･ﾟ✯ ⋆ modern au, Love triangle Ellabs, mention of cigarettes, alcohol and drugs, cursing, violence, afab!reader, MDNI yummy angst. Mean! Ellie. Just a teaser while i finish this longer fic. 1.3k words.

Her truck smelled like weed and vanilla body spray.

The windows were down. Wind threading through your hair, your throat still sore from screaming into a pillow just hours earlier. Ellie drove one-handed, arm slung out the window like she didn’t feel the weight in the air.

Like she hadn’t had her face buried between your thighs this morning.

Like you weren’t still sore—but not from the sex.

From the text you’d seen. the way she looked right through you lately. From the night she ripped your heart out and called it mercy.

“You’re the one who caught feelings,” she mumbled. “Don’t make that my fault.”

You hadn’t said much since.

The city blurred past—storefronts buzzing neon, taillights bleeding red.

The hum of the tires filled the silence.

You scrolled, pretending. You didn’t even know why you got in the car. You’d stopped buying from her weeks ago. Couldn’t even look her in the eye.

Until you stopped—Thumb frozen over a story post.

Abby.

Crop top. Gym mirror selfie. Tongue out. And the unread DM Ellie had deleted before you ever saw it. Your stomach twisted uncomfortably You hadn’t spoken to Abby in months—not since that blurry night after finals, the one Ellie never knew about. Not since she called you babe in a comment once and Ellie started muting her posts.

Ellie always hated Abby. Too loud. Too flirty. Too into you.

She never said it outright—but her jaw would lock. Her voice would tighten. “She’s not your type,” she’d say like it was fact. Like she could wish it true. But this time, it wasn’t just her insecurity. It was fear. Because Abby never wanted to be a secret.

She noticed. She always did.

“You sleeping with Abby now?”

You blinked. “What?”

Ellie kept her eyes on the road. Knuckles white. “Saw that crap she posted. All those gym thirst traps. You been reacting, or what?”

You scoffed, tossing your phone into the empty cup holder. “Didn’t know you cared.”

“I Don’t,” she snapped—too fast, too sharp. Her jaw worked like the words burned on the way out.

You turned to the window. “It was ‘just sex’, right? What do you care who else I’m screwing?”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was electric. Tight. Like thunder right before it splits the sky. The truck slowed at a red light. The glow drenched her face in blood. Her reflection glared at you in the window. You looked like something unraveling.

“Right,” she muttered. “Just sex.”

Your pulse climbed into your ears. “You say that like it didn’t mean anything.”

Ellie bit down on her lip. Shook her head like she couldn’t stand to look at you. “God. You—” she started. “I’m trying to stay patient, but I swear—”

“What?” you pushed. “Say it.”

“Drop it.”

“No,” you snapped. “Say it.”

The light turned green. She hit the gas too hard. The truck lurched. Then she broke. “You want the truth?”

“Yeah. I actually do.”

“You’re exhausting,” she spat. “Clingy as hell. Acting like I owe you something just ‘cause I like the way you taste. That it?”

Your breath stuttered. Your whole chest caved so You went for the kill.

“And I’m not her. That’s the real problem, huh?”

Her head whipped toward you. “Don’t bring Dina into this,” she growled. “You don’t know shit—At least she never made me feel this cornered.”

“No?” you hissed. “I know she didn’t have to beg for scraps every time she spread her legs.”

That was it. Ellie’s face hardened—eyes sharp, mouth curled.

“I never should’ve touched you,” she said, quiet now. Sharp. Meant. “You were just… easy.”

Your hand moved before your mind caught up. It cracked across her cheek with a sound like a firecracker. The sting bloomed red on her freckled skin.

Ellie didn’t flinch. Just stared out the windshield. Breathing through it.

“Pull over,” you said, breath jagged.

“What, are you serious?” she barked. “You’re gonna act like I’m the villain? After you just hit me?”

“Ellie. Pull. Over.”

She stared straight ahead. Fingers tapping the steering wheel like a clock ticking down. She hit the gas harder.

“You’re being dramatic,” she muttered. “Can we just talk about this later—”

“Stop the car.” You demanded once more.

“Look, you’re tired, you’re pissed, I get it—”

“Stop. The fucking car, Ellie!” Voice ringing out into the small space.

Her jaw flexed. Tires screeched. The truck swerved over. You flung the door open as soon as it unlocked.

“Where the hell are you going?” she shouted.

You didn’t answer, not even sure yourself. Just walked. Fast. Heat crawling up your throat. Hot tears burning down your cheeks. The truck crept behind you.

“Get in the damn car.” She sighed deeply “Jesus—I’m not leaving you here like this.”

“Just leave me alone, Ellie!” The wind bit at your nose, inhaling the air so teary eyes didn’t get the best

“I didn’t mean it, okay? You’re not—fuck, just get in—”

“Fuck you!”

“Seriously? Fuck you too!”

You turned to scream— But she beat you to it. The passenger window rolled down further. Your bag flew out. Landed hard on the pavement, the zipper clacked against the toe of your shoes.

“Wow. Okay. So, She left you and you waited like a dog! I leave, and you throw my shit out of a moving car?!”

No answer, No looking back. She just drove off. Brake lights vanishing into the dark.

Smoke curling like a ghost. And you stood there, mascara streaked, heartbreak loud under the buzz of a flickering streetlamp.

Your knees buckled before your voice did. You sank onto the cold curb. So Tears poured—silent. Endlessly Not because she left.

Because you still wanted her to turn around.

To fight for you, fight for whatever this was. To say she was lying. But she wouldn’t. Not this time.

Not for you