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purplereina11 · 8 hours ago

Text

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?

#alexia x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas fanfic #woso fanfics #alexia putellas #woso #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas imagine #woso imagine #alexia putellas x y/n #alexia putellas one shot #fcb femeni

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dykeriver · 2 days ago

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there’s just something about the concept of loser!ellie stumbling across your camgirl stream one day as she looks for something to… help her, if you know what i mean. mouth dropping a bit, eyes widening. she can’t get over the the soft flutter of your eyelashes through the slightly grainy camera quality, the curves of your body in your pretty, sheer babydoll lingerie. she can see your pert nipples through the material, and immediately she’s squeezing her thighs together. and ellie simply has nothing to say about the fact that she bookmarks the link to your site, keeping it in her private browser with a sheepish look on her face.

she starts watching at least one stream of yours a week, always ready with her hand shoved down her shorts, wet around her fingers as you dirty talk the camera about what you’d be doing to her (and your other 300 viewers) if you were there right now. it becomes this pathetic little crush after a while, to the point ellie is willing to spend her hard earned money (read as: money she got from getting into the top ten of a gaming tournament) on a solo call with you.

when you greet her, ellie’s mouth gapes like a fish out of water. her glasses fall down her face and a loose grey hoodie is pooling around her neck. her eyes are wide as she takes in the sight of you, scanning her screen up and down. i’m no better than a man, ellie thinks to herself when her eyes get stuck on your breasts. “um,” she starts, “h-hey.”

“hey yourself,” you smile, unfazed. “what’s your name?”

“uhhhm,” ellie says again, this time trailed out a little longer and even more awkward than before. “uh… ellie.” she averts her eyes, looking everywhere except the screen. ellie picks at the sleeve of her hoodie, staring down at it to avoid looking at you again. and she’s so shy as she responds to all your questions about why she decided to book an appointment, prominent pink blush showing even through her blurry camera

and poor ellie is just so inexperienced, and so damned cute — she’s never even been talked through it by another person. she hides her face in her hands when you ask to take care of her; when you offer to talk her through an orgasm. “i’ll make you feel so good, pretty thing,” you sing promises to her, “like nobody else ever has before.” and already at this point you can’t deny it, she’s starting to get to you, too, with those wide puppy eyes and cute little button nose. the genuine awh in which she looks at you. it makes you feel fucking powerful.

sooner or later you’ll have convinced her to have taken off her pants and boxer shorts, leading ellie’s hand between her slender thighs with your words alone. “wh-what do you want me to do next?” she whispers, voice thick and choked up. and you tell her to keep touching herself, just how she likes. to slide a finger in if she wants, but to imagine it’s you doing it. and the moment ellie pushes her fingers into her pussy, you can tell. her jaw goes slack in relief, a sweet little oh! escapes those soft pink lips.

“yeah…” you murmur, “that’s it, ellie. take my fingers like the sweet, obedient girl you are.”

ellie straight up gasps at this, fucking into herself faster, harder. “keep… keep talking,” she pleads abashedly. ellie looks so needy, so fucking erotic that your cunt clenches around nothing. so you obviously do, you don’t think you’d be able to not give this sweet girl what she wants. you tell her all about how pretty she is, how handsome. how perfect she is, and how well she’s doing for you. you call her your girl, your sweet girl. and when she whimpers out i’m close, hushed and overwhelmed, you tell her to let go for you. you tell her to cum around your fingers, to get them and her pussy all messy.

you… may or may not give her your personal phone number by the end of the call.

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mooningningg · 1 day ago

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notes, a very fun request.

★ Roommate!Sukuna when the bottle lands on you.

You had one rule when you moved in with Ryomen Sukuna: don’t catch feelings.

Which was easy, actually. Super easy. Totally fine.

You only shared a bathroom, sometimes a bed, his hoodies, your fries, a few backhanded compliments, and like… a soul-level tension that felt like a lit cigarette between your teeth.

But feelings? Never.

That’s why you both ended up at Nobara’s party, obviously.

It started normal. Music blaring, drinks poured too strong, your feet already sore from standing too long in boots you had no business wearing. Sukuna was lounging on the arm of a couch, beer bottle in hand, all tattoos and tight jaw, pretending not to watch you dance like you weren’t the only thing he’d been looking at all night.

Then someone suggested spin the bottle.

Of course someone did.

You didn’t think much of it. Just dropped into the circle, laughing, feeling warm and light and stupid.

Sukuna didn’t join.

He leaned back against the wall with a red cup in hand, one brow cocked, looking every bit like a man above it all. Watching. Glowering. Bored.

Until some random guy spun.

The bottle clicked, clacked… and landed on you.

The crowd howled.

The guy smirked, already leaning forward.

That’s when Sukuna moved.

Fast.

Beer slammed onto the counter. Crowd split like the Red Sea. He strode through the circle, sneakers thudding, expression unreadable—but pissed.

“Back the fuck up,” Sukuna said coolly, staring the guy down.

Laughter died. Even the music seemed to quiet.

The guy blinked, confused. “Bro, it’s a party game—”

“She’s not kissing you.” Sukuna smiled without warmth. “Spin again. Or I spin your fuckin’ jaw.”

The guy looked at you, then at Sukuna, clearly re-evaluating all his life choices.

“Dude, what’s your problem?”

“You breathing near her,” Sukuna snapped. “That’s my fuckin’ problem.”

Someone from the back of the crowd muttered, “Damn…”

You stared up at him from the floor, eyes wide. “Sukuna—”

“What?” he barked, not looking at you. “You gonna kiss him? Go ahead. I’ll wait. Right here.”

The guy scrambled to his feet, muttering “not worth it” as he walked off.

Sukuna turned to you finally, jaw tight. “You good?”

You glared. “I was until you pulled a WWE entrance in the middle of a dumb party game.”

He didn’t budge. “If you wanted to kiss some mouth-breathing finance major named Brad or whatever, you could’ve stayed home and swiped right.”

You stood up, brushing yourself off. “It was just a game.”

He leaned in, just enough to make your heart thump. “Then spin the fuckin’ bottle and land on me next time.”

You blinked. “What?”

Sukuna stepped back. “Nothing. Game’s stupid anyway.”

Then he turned and walked off like he hadn’t just blown up the party and dropped a confession-bomb in the same breath.

From behind you, Nobara whispered, “...Your roommate is unhinged.”

You stared at his back.

Yeah. Unhinged. And probably yours.

Eventually.

Taglist, @humeysaga @williamafton26 @aranisbaee @probablynotleahhhh @probablynotleahhhh. @beaniesayshi @levifiance @rinofcike @fushiguroooozzz @gojoscumslut @bellsoftheball @kunascutie. @after-laughter-come-tears

#jjk #jjk x you #roommate jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk x reader #sukuna #roommate sukuna #sukuna fluff #sukuna scenario #sukuna imagines #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna drabbles #sukuna ff

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sloaneispunk · 3 days ago

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“the vote”

frontman!in-ho x you

after the second game, it was time to cast your votes- “x” or “o”. although the team had agreed on ending it then and there, in-ho had betrayed you. overwhelmed by deceit, you refused to talk to him after that, making him desperate to win your trust back.

“78 million per person, that’s good enough right?” dae-ho ran towards the team, enthusiastically pointing at the scoreboard.

“to be honest, i don’t care if it’s not enough, i just wanna get out of here.” you half-heartedly joked. in-ho looked up from the floor, catching your gaze. he could see past the facade you were putting up.

at that moment, in-ho wished that he could reveal his real identity to you, show you exactly who he was and the power he had. he wanted to help you.

there was nothing in the world he wouldn’t give for you to make it out of here alive, but it wasn’t that easy. afterall, you weren’t suppose to be his prime objective, and he couldn’t let the games end just like that.

“we will start with player 456. please proceed to the podium.”

“gi-hun, you’re up!” jung-bae said, grabbing the man.

“we can end this right now.” jun-hee added, making gi-hun nod, his eyes filled with determination.

everyone held their breaths as gi-hun stalked closer and closer to the two buttons. with one final look at everyone, his hand came down hard on ‘x’, making the team cheer loudly.

“y/n.” you heard a familiar voice call out to you from behind. it was in-ho, or should you say, young-il.

you gave him a small smile, quietly slipping away from everyone else to take your stand beside him.

“are you okay?” you asked, making him chuckle.

“i’m okay, y/n.” he replied throwing his arm gently around your shoulder.

“then why are you acting so weird?”

he sucked in a breath, shaking his head. “it’s just… i-i don’t know-are you sure ending the games right now is the right thing to do?”

your eyes narrowed. “what are you saying?”

“i just think, i mean, the 78 million can barely cover your debts. how are you going to continue on? you don’t want those loan-sharks coming after you again, do you?”

“young-il, whatever’s going on with you right now, it’s not making you think rational-”

“but y/n-”

“-no, young-il! what if you die in the next game?! what if we die?!”

“player 289, please proceed to the podim.”

that was your number.

“i hope you make the right choice.” you muttered under your breath before slipping out of his hold and walking away from him.

in-ho watched intensely, full of guilt and shame as you hit the “x” button. he gazed longingly as you headed to the other side of the room with the others who wanted to leave, head never lifting up from the ground once to look at him.

“you know she only reacted that way because she cares about you, right?” jung-bae awkwardly shifted to in-ho’s side, nudging his elbow.

but in-ho was having none of it. he shot jung-bae a look that pierced through his soul, sending shivers down his spine. jung-bae gulped and raised his hands in defeat, backing off.

when it finally came down to the last number, player 001, in-ho was ready. however, you already knew deep down he was planning to stay, but you had a small sliver of hope he would change his mind.

but of course, he didn’t.

the “o’s” had won. again.

you couldn’t believe it.

with a huff, you walked back to your bed, ignoring in-ho who chased after you.

after that, in-ho didn’t see much of you. even ehen the team had gathered for meal time, you didn’t show up. in-ho thought that by now, you would’ve came to your senses, or at least cooled doen enough to talk to him again. but he was wrong.

as the team chattered about what they think the next game might be, in-ho grabbed another serving. then, he looked up and down for you.

eventually, his eyes landed on a small figure on the other side of the room. crouched down and slumped on the cold cement floor with your back against the wall.

“y/n, sweetheart. do you wanna come back and sit with us?” he tried to ask nicely, his figure hovering above you, but you refused to look up. “are we really gonna do this?”

still no reply.

in-ho sighed, kneeling down, placing the food on the floor beside him. he placed a hand on your knee, the other gently grabbing your face, forcing you to look at him.

“can you at least eat?” he beckoned, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper.

your eyes were cold. that warm, inviting look you once had now gone. in-ho didn’t like that.

“i’m not hungry.” you told him flatly.

“y/n.” he said in a warning tone. “eat.”

“no thank you.”

in-ho didn’t know what came over him. it was like a protective drive that made him want to take control of you. so he grabbed your arm and pulled you along with him as he walked back to the group, picking up the extra serving along the way.

“what-?! let me go, you psycho!” you raised your voice, trying to wriggle out of his grip but it was tight.

he had dragged you all the way back to your team.

“now sit.” he instructed.

“w-what?”

“sit, please?” contradicting his tone, his gaze softened when he looked at you. his eyes almost begging.

after much hesitation, you slowly sat down. in-ho made sure to take the empty space beside you.

“now, will you please eat?”

“i-”

“or do you need me to feed you?”

that question caught you off guard, you nearly choked as no words came out of your mouth.

you simply nodded, picking the food up and eating silently as in-ho engaged in the conversation the team was having.

after few minutes later, you had gobbled down the lat of your food. in-ho smiled to himself, he knew you were starving afterall, he saw pass your little white lie.

“hey.” he whispered, nudging your shoulder causing you to look up. “are you still hungry?”

“a little, but i’m okay.” you replied, but your stomach failed you, grumbling as your eyes trailed down to in-ho’s uneaten food.

“finish it.” he said, offering you what was left.

“you’re kidding.” you laughed, but it dropped when he didn’t falter. “seriously?”

he nodded. “you need all the energy you can get, sweetheart. i can’t have you passing out on me mid-game.”

“i might just do that to get your attention.”

“you already have all my attention, y/n.” in-ho said lovingly, ruffling your hair. “so, does this mean you forgive me?”

“nope.” you said, popping the ‘p’. in-ho couldn’t believe it.

if that wasn’t enough to win you back he didn’t know what could.

but in-ho loved a good challenge.

the next day, a new game was introduced.

mingle.

“oh, we are so dead.” you moaned as you stepped into the arena. this game was set to eliminate and everybody knew that.

“what the hell kind of game is this?” dae-ho groaned, coming to your side.

“we just have to stick together, we’ll make it out alive.” said jun-hee.

then, in-ho scooped you over to him easily by taking your arm. “i want you by my side the whole time.”

he was dead serious. looking at him, there was not one single fiber in his body that was kidding.

“understood?”

“yes.” you complied.

and just like that, the game had begun.

as the platform beneath you started to move, panic shot through you.

‘9’

the lights dimmed.

a blaring alarm sounded.

flashing lights of red and white engulfed your vision.

“that group over there!” you heard gi-hun yell amongst the chaos. your eyes shot to where he was pointing.

you grabbed them and without wasting any time, the nine of you dashed to the nearest room, closing the door shut behind you.

there was a moment of silence, everyone trying to catch their breath.

“is everyone alright?” the old lady from the other team was the first to speak up.

when everyone was accounted for, she turned to you. “thank you, young lady. without you i don’t think we would have made it on time.”

you shook your head. “it’s no problem, miss. i’m glad everyone is safe.”

in-ho stood beside you, watching the exchange. his heart warmed at the sight of your kindess. even in a place like this you had the heart to think about others.

that was something he could never have.

“good job, y/n.” in-ho praised you, placing a kiss to your temple.

a few rounds had passed and gi-hun speculated that this would be the final round.

“how do you know?”

“final round. they’re going to seperate us into twos.” gi-hun explained as the platform started to spin. “there’s only about a hundred of us left and less than fifty rooms. it’s the easiest and most efficient way of getting us to turn against each other.”

he was right.

one glanced at the players and you could see the change in demeanour. it was every man for himself. no one was willing to make a sacrifice for another.

when the platform came to a halt, low and behold, it was the number 2.

you searched around for jun-hee. if anyone should make it out of that place, it was her and her unborn child.

just as you spotted her among the crowd, a hand grabbed your waist, hauling you away from everyone. you looked up to see in-ho.

despite wanting to ensure jun-hee’s safety, one glance at the timer made you realise that you didn’t have the time to. so, you followed in-ho’s lead into the nearest room.

just as you thought you were clear from the danger, you came face to face with the most obnoxious person in the games. thanos.

“señorita!” he exclaimed, yanking you out of in-ho’s embrace. “come with me.”

“young-il!” you screamed, thrashing and kicking but thanos’ hands only tightened.

at the lost of your warmth, in-ho immediately went back for you.

there was only 40 seconds left.

he ran right up to thanos, drew his fist back and with all the energy he could muster up, threw a punch straight into his face.

“jesus! what’s your problem, old man?!” thanos yelped out in pain, his hands flying to his face.

in-ho didn’t stop there. he practically pounced on the man, grabbing him by the collar and landing blows left and right. you stumbled away from the mess, eyes growing wide after the violence you didn’t know in-ho was capable of.

quickly, your crawled back to them, pulling in-ho away from thanos as the timer continued to go down.

“young-il, let go!”

but he wouldn’t listen.

“young-il, that’s enough!”

it wasn’t until in-ho locked eyes with you, then he stopped. with tears nearly spilling from your eyes, he stopped in his tracks, turning his attention from thanos to you.

10 seconds

he immediately scooped you up from the ground, not waiting for you to protest before he headed straight for an empty room. with you in his arms, he could feel your body trembling.

when the two of you got into the room safely, he placed you carefully on the ground. he too sank to the floor, he opened his mouth to say something but before he could, you buried yourself to his side, catching him off guard.

nevertheless, he opened his arms, wrapping them around you.

you felt like a little kid, hugging their plushie when they got scared. except this plushie was someone who you knew deep down you shouldn’t be with or even feel safe with. but you loved the way he protected you, looked out for you. there was something so intimate about every single thing in-ho did for you. even almost beating thanos into a bloody pulp because he took you away from him.

you were snapped out of your thoughts when you heard in-ho’s voice call out to you. “hm? what?” you asked, still not moving from where you were.

you felt him let out a deep chuckle. “i said, are we even now?”

you felt his finger threading through your hair, playing with the different strands, making you hum. “definitely.”

holy shit i’m so excited for s3 (& and all the new LBH fics i’m gonna write)

stay tuned!

#lee byun hun x you #lee byun hun x reader #lee byung hun #squidman frontman #squidgame #squidgame season 2 #frontman x you #frontman x reader #frontman #hwang inho x you #hwang inho x reader #inho x reader #inho x you #hwang inho

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peasack · 12 hours ago

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Yesterday I Accidentally called my chemistry teacher dad and I was so embarrassed.

So that lowkey got ne into thinking what if you'd call the thunderbolts-men dad? So I brought that into reality, enjoy!!

Thunderbolts x Gn!Teen!Reader

✦Thunderbolts Accidentally Calling Them Dad Headcanons ✦

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

✦ John Walker

You were in the kitchen trying to open a stubborn jar of pickles when John passed by, towel slung over his shoulder, still sweaty from his morning run.

“Need help with that?” he asked, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge.

You held out the jar with a grunt. “Yeah, it’s like Fort Knox.”

He cracked it open easily, handed it back. You mumbled a thank you under your breath before saying—

“Thanks, Dad—uh. John. I meant John.”

Silence.

Your face went crimson as John blinked at you. You looked anywhere but at him. He set down the water bottle and tilted his head.

“…You called me Dad.”

“Yeah. Slipped out. Sorry.”

John was quiet for a second. Then he gave a small chuckle, half a breath, more real than most things he said.

“Well,” he said, voice softer than usual, “I’ve been called worse.”

You glanced at him, surprised. He looked a little flustered himself, lips twitching like he was trying not to grin.

“You want me to… stop calling you that?”

He shook his head. “Only if you want to. But if you do it again, I’m claiming the Father’s Day card.”

You rolled your eyes. “Deal.”

✦ Bucky Barnes

It was late. You were exhausted after school and halfway through asking Bucky something when it slipped.

“—and can you sign this field trip thing, Dad?”

You froze. He froze.

He looked up from his book, eyebrows raised slightly. His expression didn’t change much, but you could feel the tension in the air.

“I—sorry. I didn’t mean to. It’s just—habit. Or...brain slip. You know.”

Bucky didn’t speak for a beat.

Then, slowly, he nodded.

“…You sure that’s a bad thing?”

You looked at him, brows knitting. “What do you mean?”

He gave the tiniest smile. “You calling me that.”

You hesitated. “You don’t mind?”

“I think… it’d be nice, actually,” he said, voice gruff but honest. “If it came from you.”

Your heart thudded. You didn’t say anything, just quietly handed him the form. His metal hand brushed yours as he signed it.

Later, he left the signed paper on your desk, folded with a sticky note on top.

“Next time, just ask your old man directly.”

✦ Bob Reynolds

You were crying.

Not the loud, messy kind—just the quiet, brittle sort, tucked into the corner of the couch with your sleeves covering your face. Bob had come to check on you when he noticed you didn’t come down for dinner.

He sat next to you gently, not asking questions. Just offering a tissue and setting down a mug of tea.

After a while, when your voice finally returned, it cracked like glass.

“Thanks for… being here, Dad.”

It was a whisper. A whisper you didn’t realize you said until Bob’s breath caught.

You looked up at him, startled. “I didn’t—oh. I didn’t mean—”

He was looking at you with that soft, stunned expression. The one he got when something beautiful happened unexpectedly.

“…You sure?”

You blinked. “About what?”

“Calling me that. Do you want me to be?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Nodded.

He smiled. Small. Fragile. But it reached his eyes.

“Then I’ll be here. As long as you want.”

✦ Alexei Shostakov

You were yelling.

The TV was too loud. Alexei was hogging the remote. You just wanted to play your game without hearing an entire Russian action movie blaring in the background.

“Alexei, please turn it down—”

“No! Is dramatic climax! They are in helicopter with no fuel!”

“For the love of—Dad, please—!”

Silence.

The movie kept going, but neither of you heard it.

You clamped a hand over your mouth. “I didn’t—I mean—I’m—”

Alexei turned to you, eyes wide.

“…You called me Dad.”

You winced. “Yeah. Sorry. Reflex.”

He grinned like a kid who just won a prize.

“I am the dad! Yes! Finally!”

You groaned. “Don’t make it weird—”

“I will not! I am honored! You hear this? ‘Dad, please!’” He mimicked you terribly.

You threatened to throw a pillow at him. He caught it mid-air and gave you a one-armed hug, ruffling your hair like a proud giant.

“Is good day,” he said with a smile. “Very good day.”

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

AAAAAAAAA

oml I loved writing this, was highkey smiling the whole time.

If you guys want me to make one of calling the others mom leave a request! <3

#marvel #alexei shostakov #alexei shostakov x reader #bob reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #bob thunderbolts #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #john walker x reader #john walker #thunderbolts #platonic thunderbolts #thunderbolts x y/n #thunderbolts x reader #domestic thunderbolts #thunderbolts headcanons #Thunderbolts x teen!reader #marvel x reader #marvel x teen!reader

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stillalivebydemand893 · 7 hours ago

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Too Many Nights

(hot)

An innocent spin the bottle game didn’t just break hearts,it blew the damn roof off.🤭

It was that time again,the annual Campbell Lake Trip, where brain cells go to die and dignity gets left in the driveway. Booze was stacked in the back of the Jeep, the aux was already plugged in, and Metro Boomin was hitting harder than your childhood trauma.

"LEEEET’S FUCKING GOOOOO!!" Julia howled with four different flavored vapes in her hand, puffing the clouds away .

"Bro, no. Don't smoke that banana ice garbage in my car," Erik groaned, already done with her. "I don’t want the backseat to smell like a tropical diaper for the next month."

You were on the hood of the Jeep, pre-gaming like it was the Olympics and vodka was your sport. Exams were DONE. Summer was HERE. Life was FUN.

"Do we have to leave Paco at home?" Bobby whined, stuffing bags in the trunk like a freshly divorced dad saying goodbye to his toddler. "What if Mom cooks him by mistake again?"

"You know in some countries, that’s considered a delicacy,” you giggled, throwing on your sunglasses already feeling the buzz.

“Get in the car, princess, or he’s gonna cry,” Erik chuckled, holding his hand out like the cocky bastard he was.

You jumped into his arms and oh hellooo??was it the booze, or did his hands linger just a little too long on your waist? Hot. Steamy. Illegal-in-some-states level hot.

“Damn, Campbell. Who made you king of this clown car?” you smirked, still nestled in his arms.

“Brat,” he grinned, letting you go with a tap on your ass as he turned to start the engine.

Your skin was on fire. But not like a rash,like, good fire. You’d crushed on Erik since the day you moved in next door four years ago,but you never said a word. The Campbells were your safe space. Your emotional support chaos crew.

“PEACH. AUX. PLAY CHARLI XCX,” Julia shrieked from the backseat already with a beer in her hand.You slid into the front seat.

“Hell no,” Erik said, smacking his hand over yours before you could grab the aux cord,like some kind of playlist police. He left his hand there, warm, dominant, suspiciously sexy.

“C’mon, Kiki,” you pleaded, batting your lashes like a Disney princess .

He lifted his hand only to grab your face and squish your cheeks. “I’ll drop your ass at the train station if you try that again.”

“COME ON, YOU JACKASS. Peach—show him your boobs!” Julia yelled with the subtlety of a car crash, now halfway through her second beer.

“WHAT?!” you and Erik yelped in unison, turning to look at each other in complete panic/horny confusion.

“Girl, do you even know how to manipulate a man?” Julia snorted.

You looked at Erik. Erik looked at the road, praying for strength .

You leaned over, mischief in your grin. “Fine. I’ll show you my boobs if you let me play whatever I want.”

He blinked. “Are you buffering?”

“HELLO??” you snapped.

“Deal,” he said way too fast. Then smirked. “Only if I get to pierce them.”

OH. OH. Devil? Is that you?

“You sneaky little motherfu-” you began, but let’s be real: having Erik Campbell pierce your nips was top 3 on your “do before death” list. “Deal,” you grinned.

“You guys are FREAKS,” Bobby sighed from the backseat, watching Paco on the home cam .

“You haven’t seen us yet,” Erik fired back, tossing a wink your way that had you considering sin.

Was this heaven? Was this hell? Who cares,you were on your way either way, with Charlie XCX on the aux and Erik’s devilish smirk burning holes in your soul.

After what felt like a six-year road trip powered solely by vape clouds and siblings figths you finally pulled up to the lake house.

The cousins were already down by the lake, beers in hand, making questionable playlist choices. A few of the Campbells' high school friends were pre-gaming hard on the porch like it was frat formal 2012.

“LET’S GET THIS PARTY STARTED, BITCHES!” Bobby screamed as he yeeted himself out of the Jeep .Turns out Julia had laced his protein shake with straight vodka. Again.

“Let’s LIT this party, Campbell,” you said, lighting a joint .

Erik put on his sunglasses, fist-bumped you like a bro with secrets, and boom: the party was officially unhinged.

You started floating through the crowd, saying hey to old faces and new bad ideas. Meanwhile, Erik was busy being charming,a little too charming,with his high school crush, freshly single, freshly annoying.

You’d heard that from Jules earlier and yeah… jealousy? It showed up like a clingy ex. You pretended you were chill. You were not chill.

To distract yourself from combusting, you grabbed their younger cousin and dragged him into the cabin to help with bags.

“C’mon, kiddo. You’re my emotional support now” you said, patting his back like a coach before the big game. It was his first invite ever, and he looked like he might cry from excitement,or fear. Same difference.

Then the sun went down, and the feral switch flipped.

Beer pong was raging. Teams were set. You and Erik vs. his crush and Bobby.

This was WAR.

“Don’t mess this up, Kiki. I’m already on my last brain cell,” you hissed at him.

He cracked his neck like a dramatic little shit. “Watch me, Peach. I’ve been training for this since the womb.”

He sank the last cup like a god. Victory.

“THAT’S MY BOY!!” you shouted, making eye contact with the Barbie doll across the table and drinking in her passive-aggressive glare.

“Told ya,” Erik smirked.

You ruffled his hair and swore you saw him blush,but it could’ve been the booze… or the emotional whiplash. Unclear.

“Victory piggyback. Pay up,” you demanded.

He crouched, and you jumped on like it was your Roman chariot. Legs around his waist. Arms around his neck. Dangerously close. Questionable choices? Activated.

He was laughing. You were swaying.

“Easy, princess. You’re gonna get us both killed,” he giggled, tipsy as hell.

You kissed his cheek. Just a quick peck.

Then froze.

What. The. Actual-

His ears turned bright red. You stared. He stared back.

You panicked.

So naturally… you did it again.

This time, slower.

“Why are you so cute all of a sudden?” you whispered into his ear .

He turned his head, and that SMIRK? That cocky, I-know-what-you-want smirk?

“Now I’m cute?” he said. “Wasn’t I a loser ten minutes ago?”

“You still are,” you whispered. “But you’re my loser.”

He groaned. Not fake. Not joking. Like he was actively fighting off a decision that would ruin both your lives in the hottest way.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Before you could say “then die madly in love”, Julia screamed from the backyard like a drunk war general.

“SPIN THE BOTTLE IS HAPPENING! IF YOU'RE NOT KISSING STRANGERS IN FIVE MINUTES, YOU’RE DEAD TO ME!”

Erik looked at you. You looked at him.

And just like that,you both knew.

Tonight was about to get so, so illegal.

Everyone crowded into the living room like horny sardines. Half the room was sitting on the floor. The other half? Already tipsy, already yelling, already one dare away from getting banned from family events.

Julia had somehow turned spin-the-bottle into a spectator sport.

Rules? None. Boundaries? Absolutely not.

The bottle spun in the center like it had a personal vendetta.

You sat next to Erik, still riding the high of your piggyback-kiss stunt, until Julia clapped and screamed:

“ALRIGHT, WHO WANTS TO TRAUMA BOND?”

First spin. Chaos. Second spin. A dare that may or may not have resulted in someone licking sunscreen off a cousin's abs. Third spin? Erik’s turn.

You were sitting pretty, thinking:

“No way fate’s that evil. No way it lands on her.”

It landed on her.

The blonde. The crush. The Barbie bitch.

His high school dream with the waist of a Coke bottle and the face of a girl who cries in a cute way.

You laughed it off. Totally chill. Not even bothered. (You were so bothered.)

“Go on, lover boy,” Julia grinned, already filming. “Seal your middle school fantasy.”

Erik blinked. Looked at you. Looked at her.

Then,he kissed her.

You saw red.

Like, actual fire-nation attack red.

It was a short kiss. Innocent, maybe.

But not to you. Oh no.

To you, it was a declaration of WAR.

And the bottle? Oh, the bottle KNEW.

Next spin? Yours.

It landed right. Back. On. Erik.

The room lost it.

Everyone was screaming. Julia dropped her vape. Bobby yelled, “OOOOH NOOOO” like it was the Super Bowl.

You looked at Erik. He looked at you. There was tension. No, it was heat. The room could’ve been on fire and you would’ve blamed it on whatever was happening between your legs.

“You gonna kiss me, Peach?” he smirked, clearly thinking he was winning.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you said.

And then you kissed him.

No,you made out with him. Right there. In front of everyone.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was a public service announcement.

It was a “that kiss with Barbie meant nothing and this means everything” kind of kiss.

Your hands in his hair. His arms locked around your waist.

Your bodies pressed together like the only air left was in each other's mouths.

People were screaming. Julia was waving a beach towel like a flag. Bobby was filming and chanting “SPIN THAT TONGUE.” One of the cousins screamed, “IS THIS ALLOWED?!”

Erik groaned against your lips, pulled you closer, kissed you like he’d been starving for four summers and you were the last cold beer on earth.

You broke the kiss. Eventually. Maybe. (Time was fake.)

You looked at Barbie. She looked like she’d just witnessed a crime.

Good.

“Fuck me,” Erik breathed, completely dazed. “What the hell was that?”

You wiped your lip with your thumb. Smirked.

“That? That was me winning.”

The second your lips left Erik’s, the air shifted.

The room was still loud, people were still shouting,but it all felt muffled.You could still taste him. You could still feel his hands on your hips like they were claiming something.

And the worst part? The blonde was still watching.

You turned your head, slowly. She looked like she wanted to hang you. Good. She should.

But the second Erik stepped back, just a little,just enough,a knot twisted in your stomach.

Because it wasn’t supposed to feel like that.

That kiss? It was a dare. A joke. A game.

Except it wasn’t.

And the way Erik looked at you now,like he was still trying to figure out what the hell just happened,made it worse.

You shoved past him, beer still in your hand, walking toward the kitchen like you weren’t seconds away from combusting.

“Peach-”

You didn’t stop.

He followed. Of course he did.

“What was that?You fucking kissed me like you meant it,” he said behind you, voice low, tight.

You slammed your beer on the counter, spun around.

“You kissed her first.”

“Because I didn’t have a choice-!”

“No,” you snapped, stepping closer, “you wanted to. Don’t play dumb, Erik. She was your dream girl in high school, right? So congratulations. You got your kiss.”

He stared at you, breathing hard. “She’s not my dream girl anymore Peach.And it felt like nothing.”

You blinked.

“What?” you whispered.

He stepped closer. “You wanna know what that kiss with her felt like? Nothing. I felt nothing. And then you looked at me like you hated me. And then you kissed me and I haven’t been able to think straight for a goddamn second.”

You should’ve walked away. You should’ve said something smart. But you didn’t.

You grabbed his shirt, pulled him in, and kissed him like you were punishing him.

You didn’t even care anymore. Not about the people. Not about his blonde high school crush watching from the living room. Not about the fact that this was supposed to be a dumb game and a joke.

No.

You were past the point of caring.

You wanted him to feel what you felt-

That heat. That ache. That jealous, angry, horny madness burning you alive from the inside out.

Erik grabbed your hips like he owned them. Like he’d waited years to touch you like this. You kissed him like you were punishing him for making you wait.

He bit your bottom lip.

You gasped.

Your hands fisted in his shirt.

He pulled your legs up, hooked it around his hips.

And you nearly lost it.

“This is so bad,” you breathed against his mouth.

“Yeah?,” he growled. “So stop me.”

You didn’t.

You devoured him. Kissed him like revenge. Like hunger. Like the only way to kill the feeling was to climb inside his skin.

He picked you up like it was nothing,and sat you on the counter like it was his kitchen and his rules.

You moaned into his mouth. He swallowed it.

“Still jealous?” he whispered, lips dragging across your jaw.

You grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back just enough to look him in the eyes.

“You think this is about her?” you hissed. “I’m not jealous, Erik. I’m obsessed.”

His breath caught. His fingers dug into your thighs. You felt everything,every inch of him pressed between your legs.

“Fuck,” he muttered, forehead against yours, voice wrecked. “Say that again.”

You kissed him instead. Sloppier. Hungrier. He groaned so deep it vibrated through your whole body.

Your lips moved to his neck. You bit.

He hissed.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he gasped.

You smirked, licking the bite.

“Then die on your knees.”

He groaned, buried his face in your neck, hands everywhere now,spine, ribs, under your shirt, up your sides like he wanted to learn you by touch.

You only stopped when Bobby walked into the kitchen, froze, and just muttered:

“I’m gonna go eat rocks outside.”

Except Erik, who didn’t even lift his head from your neck. He just muttered, deadpan, “Lock the damn door next time.”

You bit back a laugh, still drunk on adrenaline, lips swollen, heart racing. You looked Bobby dead in the eye.

“Good. Chew slow.”

He backed out of the kitchen like he saw Satan himself.

You finally peeled yourself off Erik, skin buzzing, brain short-circuited.

“Okay,” you said, straightening your top like it mattered. “That… escalated.”

He stepped back just enough to let you breathe but kept one hand on your waist like he wasn’t done with you.

“Yeah,” he said, voice low, eyes dark. “And we’re not even close to finished.”

Your stomach flipped.

He kissed your cheek. Innocent. Dangerous. Deadly.

“Room. Ten minutes. If you’re not there, I��m coming to get you.”

He didn’t wait for a reply.

He just walked off, shoulders tense, jaw clenched.

You blinked. Exhaled. Tried to fix your lip gloss, but your hands were shaking.

Part 2 my loves?🤭

#erik campbell #erik campbell fanfiction #erik campbell final destination #final destination #erik campbell x reader #final destination bloodlines #final destination au

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littlejoels · 2 days ago

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notes: hi guys! this is my new account (old acc was littlesoulshine/littlejackles) where i’ll be posting more jackles + other content. i wasn’t really feeling motivated on my old account and, honestly, it just started to feel draining; so here we are on a new acc! if you have any jackles or jared ideas or requests, my ask box is open! i hope you guys enjoy!!

𝜗ৎ dean mentioned early in the morning that he had a surprise, and that alone meant you should’ve put a helmet on. instead, you followed the sound of the electric air pump whirring in the backyard, and found him hunched over a deflated kiddie pool. seeing your figure near him, he leaned back on his heels and grinned up at you. “okay, now go put on your swimsuit.”

𝜗ৎ you blinked, trying to wrap your head around the scene: a full-grown man, dead serious, inflating something clearly made for toddlers. a minute later, sam rounded the corner with two heavy bags of sand slung over his shoulders. he caught your eye and raised an eyebrow, the kind of look that said 'i have no idea what's going on either,' but also 'screw it, let's see where this goes.'

“he’s serious,” sam said, dropping the bags by the plastic edge. “he’s calling it ‘project beach’.”

𝜗ৎ dean made a dramatic pssshhhhh noise with his mouth and slapped the side of the pool. “that’s ‘project bitchin’ beach’, actually. and i need you two in swimsuits. now.”

𝜗ৎ you tilted your head, squinting at him despite the glare of the sun, then spun on your heel and walked back inside without a word. fine, if he wanted to play whatever bizarre game this was, you’d play.

𝜗ৎ you went straight for the smallest bikini you owned—shimmery black with a micro-triangle top that tied behind your neck and bottoms were as cheeky as can be. barefooted, you strutted through the bunker halls ready to tease dean and sam out of their swim trunks.

𝜗ৎ from the open patio door, the smell of cut grass and cheap rubber pool toys floated in as you walked through the opening. dean’s jaw dropped as soon as you came out. “jesus christ.”

𝜗ৎ sam didn’t gawk—he just let out a small sigh, somewhere between a groan and a laugh, like here we go again. he knew you. while dean looked like his brain had short-circuited. his tongue darted out over his bottom lip before he even realized he was doing it.

𝜗ৎ you strolled right up to the edge of the kiddie pool. it had a few sad inches of water and was surrounded by those bags of sand sam had lugged in earlier. honestly, it was dumb and adorable.

𝜗ৎ you stepped one foot into the cool water, watched it ripple around your ankle, then dipped the other in and turned around, water lapping at your calves. “what now, project leader?”

𝜗ৎ dean stood there like he’d forgotten how his legs worked. “fuck—get in here.”

𝜗ৎ sam muttered something about needing a drink, but you caught the way his eyes lingered a second longer on the curve of your ass as you bent to sit in the pool. the water barely reached mid-thigh, sun-warmed and just a little slippery from that cheap plastic feel.

𝜗ৎ you leaned back on your hands, stretching your legs out in front of you, toes brushing dean’s shin when he finally climbed in. his swim trunks were blue with black palm trees all over it—but that's all that you noticed until your gaze traveled to his meaty thighs as he settled in. the younger winchester came back with a beer, and a damp white tank showcasing the abs he worked hard for.

“this is ridiculous,” he said, yet he didn’t leave.

𝜗ৎ you looked up at him through your lashes, “then take your trunks off and make it worth the setup.”

𝜗ৎ sam blinked with the bottle paused just shy of his lips. you smiled as dean rubbed a hand over his jaw, eyes going dark.

“getting to the point huh," you nod with a smile at his remark. "you serious, baby?” he asked, but he already knew.

𝜗ৎ you pushed yourself up onto your knees, water sloshing over the sides of the plastic rim. “dead serious.”

𝜗ৎ you leaned in to kiss dean first—your fingers curling into the waistband of his trunks and tugging them all the way down. he groaned into your mouth as you straddled him, knees sinking into the pool bottom, water slapping against your thighs. your bikini bottoms were gone with a flick of his fingers, tossed somewhere onto the damp sand.

𝜗ৎ you could feel sam watching, the bottle he so desperately wanted was forgotten at his side. you held dean’s cock in your hand, then sank down onto him in one smooth motion, water rippling in low, gentle waves. your mouth fell open with an ‘o’ expression at the feeling—a moan curling from your throat as dean grabbed your hips and grounded you on to his.

“fuckin’ hell,” he growled. “you feel good, sugar.”

𝜗ৎ you rolled your hips, letting him watch your face twist with every motion. once you started getting use to his cock, hands—sam’s hands—slid around your waist from behind, pulling your body back, pressing his chest to your spine.

𝜗ৎ you didn’t stop moving. well you couldn’t, dean's eyes fluttered closed, and his grip was tightening so much, your movement away was limited. you instantly felt sam’s cock, nudging between your cheeks—so, as the best girlfriend that you are (or the horniest) you reached back, lined him up, and helped him push in; the full feeling of them making you moan loud enough the neighbors would’ve called the cops if they weren’t so far away.

𝜗ৎ you were filled and full. dean’s cock in your cunt, sam’s pushing into your ass, both stretching you open like you were a toy made just for them. your legs shook as you rocked forward and back, caught in the pressure between them. the pool squeaked under the motion, water splashing up over the rim, soaking the sand.

𝜗ৎ dean was panting, groaning out lewd words, “jesus, you’re gonna make me cum just lookin’ at you—fuck—move, baby, c’mon, just like that—”

𝜗ৎ sam whimpered against your neck. “you take both of us so good. fuck, this tight little ass—shit.” you continued to ride them despite the creaking plastic and the water slapping against all three of you and to be honest, you were enjoying every second.

#tags below

@soldiersgirl @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze @cherrygirlfriend @bruisedfig @sunsbaby @ambiguous-avery @bocadelinfierno @sunnyteume @bejeweledinterludes @zepskies @k-slla @lunaleah @pieandflannel @liiiilsss @that-stanford-girlie @lanasgirlfr @angelicjackles @mostlymarvelgirl @nymphet-quenn @thesevnthseal

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missmadella · 1 day ago

Text

Caught in the Fall (Chishiya x Reader)

Summary: “You shouldn’t have come back to my room.” - “You didn’t stop me.”

In the deadly chaos of Borderlands, trust is a luxury no one can afford—especially not with someone like Chishiya.

After barely escaping a brutal game, you find yourselves trapped in a crumbling building, forced to share a single threadbare blanket to survive the cold night.

What starts as necessity soon sparks something unexpected—secret kisses, quiet moments, and small acts of care breaking through the walls you’ve both built to survive

Words: 5925

You don’t even know how you ended up in this situation.

One moment you were both buried under a collapsing building, the next you’re cuddling with a person you swore never to be close with.

It wasn’t part of the plan.

Then again, nothing ever is in the Borderland.

The air inside the ruined structure is still thick with dust. Every breath feels like inhaling static—dry and bitter. Outside, the wind howls through the fractured walls, echoing against broken concrete and twisted rebar. The sky’s gone dark, not from nightfall but from the smoke and ash kicked up by the chaos.

And here you are—pressed shoulder to shoulder with him, under a scratchy emergency blanket salvaged from what’s left of a supply box. You’re both bruised and scraped up, the sharp sting of minor injuries flaring with every twitch. Blood crusts on your temple. You’re fairly sure something in your ankle isn’t right. But none of that compares to the surreal reality of being this close to Chishiya.

Shuntaro Chishiya, the infuriatingly brilliant man who rarely speaks unless he’s dissecting your every move. The man who plays games with people’s lives like he’s playing chess in his head. The one who always made it clear—he doesn’t do attachments. Doesn’t trust anyone. Certainly not you.

And yet... here he is. Lying beside you. Sharing body heat. Letting the silence stretch without breaking it.

You glance at him from the corner of your eye.

He’s on his side, facing the ceiling—or what's left of it. His silver hair is dusted with debris, and a thin trail of dried blood runs from the edge of his brow into his hairline. His arms are pulled close to his chest beneath the blanket, and you notice the way his fingers flex every so often, like he's testing for pain without making it obvious.

He’s trying to stay composed. Of course he is.

You shift slightly to ease the pressure on your side, and the movement draws his attention. His eyes slide toward you—calm, analytical, and yet... softer than usual.

He says nothing.

Neither do you.

For a moment, the world is just your breathing, his breathing, and the way the thin blanket does barely anything to keep out the cold seeping in from the broken floor beneath you.

"This wasn’t supposed to happen," you mutter, more to yourself than him.

He’s quiet for a second, then replies, voice low and even: "Neither was surviving that game."

A flicker of something passes through his expression—dry humor, maybe. Or fatigue. Or something he won’t name.

You huff a tired laugh through your nose. “That’s comforting.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.” He shrugs slightly, and you feel the movement through the blanket. “You’re the one who insisted we go back for the injured players.”

You glance down. “And you didn’t stop me.”

“I was curious how far your altruism would get you.” A pause. “Apparently, buried.”

You shoot him a look. “And cuddled.”

He doesn’t smirk—doesn’t even blink. But the faintest crease touches the corner of his mouth. “Unavoidable,” he murmurs. “Unless you’d rather freeze to death.”

You want to say something sharp, something that puts distance between you again. But you don’t. Because the truth is, it is freezing. Your fingers are already numb, and the warmth of his body against yours is the only thing keeping your teeth from chattering.

Still, it’s not just the cold that’s getting to you anymore.

It’s this… strange comfort. This closeness. His heartbeat, steady and human beneath all the armor he wears.

You’ve never seen Chishiya like this—silent, still, not calculating his next move like everyone else is a pawn. Just… being.

And you can’t help but ask, quietly, “Why haven’t you moved away?”

Another beat of silence.

Then, without looking at you, he replies, almost too soft to hear:

"Because... you're warm."

It’s the kind of answer you expect from him. Evasive. Simplified. But underneath it—layered between every carefully chosen word—is something else.

Something real.

And for once, you don’t question it.

You just let the silence stretch again, this time not uncomfortable, not heavy. Just there.

Like him.

Beside you.

You shift slightly under the blanket, feeling the dull ache in your shoulder and the weight of exhaustion finally settling in your limbs. Chishiya is quiet beside you, not asleep but still. Calm in the way only he can manage after everything collapses—literally and otherwise.

The silence brings memories with it, uninvited but not unwelcome.

And before you know it, you’re remembering the first time you saw him.

___________________________________________________________________________

It started simple. Almost forgettable.

A Diamonds game in a dimly lit tower where trust and logic were pitted against each other in equal measure. You worked in silence, scanning patterns on the wall, sorting false clues from real ones. Most players panicked. Some shouted. A few cried.

He didn’t.

You spotted him across the room—silver hair like a slash of moonlight, hands casually tucked into his hoodie pocket as if this whole life-and-death puzzle was mildly annoying rather than terrifying.

He didn’t try to lead. Didn’t bark orders.

He just watched.

Not the game.

The people.

And then he looked at you.

Only for a second. But it was enough. His eyes flicked to where you’d already solved one of the riddles before he had, and for a moment—just a flicker—his mouth quirked upward in the smallest, subtlest twitch of recognition.

You didn’t smile back.

But you didn’t look away either.

___________________________________________________________________________

Days later, you were sitting alone on the floor of an abandoned metro station, legs stretched out, the sting of shrapnel embedded in your calf making your breath catch. You’d just barely escaped a Hearts game that left more bodies than survivors.

He walked in from the far end of the platform, dragging a half-empty backpack, silent as ever. He looked around once, then spotted you. Paused.

No words.

He pulled out a medical kit—clearly from a previous win—and tossed a roll of gauze toward you with a lazy flick of his fingers.

You caught it midair, confused.

Before you could ask, he just said, “I had extras.” Then walked past you like it meant nothing.

You almost let him go. But something inside you—something stubborn—made you dig into your pack the next day and leave a water bottle in his usual spot on the upper balcony of the observatory. You didn’t wait to see if he took it.

But the next time you were out of supplies, you found a protein bar on your bag when you returned from the restroom.

No note.

But you knew.

___________________________________________________________________________

The shift came in a Hearts game.

You were both unlucky enough to get pulled into it. The rules were convoluted—classic psychological manipulation. One player could sabotage the rest, and the only way to win was to figure out who before time ran out.

Everything went sideways.

A panicked player pulled a concealed knife after being accused. Everyone scattered. The room became chaos.

You saw it before Chishiya did—he was focused on decoding something on the wall, the glint of the blade catching your eye just in time. Without thinking, you lunged. Your hand hit his shoulder, and the two of you went down hard.

The blade caught your back. Not deep, but enough to burn.

The pain didn’t register until you saw blood soaking through your shirt. Chishiya blinked up at you, stunned—more by your action than the fall.

You remember the look on his face.

For once, the usual calm calculation was replaced by something else.

Something like disbelief.

He didn't say thank you. Didn't joke. Just tore a piece of his hoodie sleeve and pressed it to the wound, his hands steady even as his jaw clenched.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said eventually, voice low.

You laughed bitterly. “Neither did you—when you tossed me that gauze.”

He said nothing else.

But when the game ended, and the smoke cleared, he walked beside you the entire way back to the safe zone.

Didn’t ask. Didn’t offer.

He just did.

After that, you never questioned why he kept showing up.

Or why you didn’t mind.

___________________________________________________________________________

Now, lying beside him again, that memory feels closer than it should. You wonder if he’s thinking about it too.

His voice is barely above a whisper when he finally speaks.

“You remember that game?” he asks, like it’s an afterthought. But you can feel the tension in his voice, the careful way he phrases it—as if asking means something.

“The 7 of Hearts?” you ask, keeping your own tone neutral.

A slow nod. “Why did you push me?”

The question hangs in the air.

You swallow, heart ticking just a little faster, surprised he’s asking after all this time.

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “Instinct, maybe. Or maybe I just didn’t want to deal with this place without at least one familiar face left in it.”

He hums softly, thoughtful.

Then, a beat later, his voice quieter:

“You could’ve died.”

You let out a breath. “So could you.”

There’s a pause.

Then you feel it—a small shift. His hand, resting between you both under the blanket, brushes against yours. Not intentional. Not overt.

But not accidental either.

You don’t say anything.

And he doesn’t move away.

___________________________________________________________________________

The hours stretch on. You're not sure how long you lie there, pressed against Chishiya beneath the thin blanket, but your body aches less from injury now and more from stillness. Your limbs are stiff. The air has only gotten colder, and you can see your breath in the pale morning light sneaking through the cracks of the broken ceiling.

Neither of you has spoken in a while.

But that’s never made you uncomfortable with him.

Eventually, Chishiya shifts beside you, slow and quiet. His breath hitches, like the movement strains something. You glance over and see him clench his jaw, eyes flicking down to his ribs.

He’s hurt. Worse than he let on.

“You’ve been hiding that,” you say gently.

He doesn’t deny it. “Didn’t seem relevant at the time.”

You sit up slightly, brushing off dust and broken drywall. “It’s relevant now if we’re going to get out of here.”

Chishiya doesn’t argue. Just nods once and watches you with that sharp, observant gaze of his—calculating even in silence.

You crawl to one of the fallen slabs of concrete blocking the doorway. It’s shifted a little since the collapse, probably unstable. You test the edge of it carefully with your fingers. It’s heavier than you expected, but movable. Maybe.

You glance over your shoulder.

He’s already beside you.

“I’ll lift,” he says. “You wedge something under.”

You pause. “You sure?”

He nods, already rolling his sleeves up, teeth grit against the pain. You don’t waste time arguing.

You move in sync—wordless, efficient.

It’s not easy. The slab grinds against the floor with a low groan, and dust rains down from above. Your muscles scream from the strain, and you hear Chishiya suppress a quiet grunt of pain.

But he doesn’t stop.

Not until the slab tips enough for you to wedge a twisted metal pole beneath it. It holds, barely.

There’s just enough space now for the two of you to squeeze through.

“You first,” he says.

You raise a brow. “You're injured. You should go.”

He eyes you, unreadable. “And let you stay behind and do something reckless again? No thanks.”

It’s… the closest thing to concern you’ve heard from him.

You don’t argue. Just crawl through the gap, careful of the jagged edges, until the rubble gives way to open air and biting wind.

Freedom.

You turn to offer your hand—and to your surprise, he takes it.

His grip is warm despite everything. Solid.

You pull him through slowly, his teeth clenched as he drags his body past the debris. He winces when he’s fully out, but the tension in his shoulders loosens once he’s free.

You both sit there for a moment in the grey light of morning. Exhausted. Filthy. Alive.

He exhales, leaning back against a broken concrete pillar, and closes his eyes for a beat. “Well,” he mutters, “that wasn’t ideal.”

You huff out a breath. “And yet, we survived.”

He glances sideways at you, something unreadable in his expression again. “We always do.”

The way he says we doesn’t go unnoticed.

It’s not gratitude. Not affection. Not even a confession.

It’s… acceptance.

Of your presence. Of your place beside him. Of the fact that, somewhere along the way, you stopped being someone he just noticed—and became someone he trusted.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out what looks like a crushed energy bar, snapped in half. Without looking at you, he holds one half out.

You blink. “Is this your idea of breakfast?”

“Unless you want to fight a tiger next,” he replies flatly. “Take it or leave it.”

You take it.

Your fingers brush again—just briefly—and this time, he doesn’t pull away.

And neither do you.

___________________________________________________________________________

The sun begins to dip below the skyline, setting the shattered city in hues of gold and rust.

You’ve both walked for hours, navigating broken roads and hollow buildings. By the time you stumble across the half-collapsed hotel, your body aches in places you didn’t know could ache. Chishiya walks beside you, a little slower than usual—his side must still be bothering him, though he won’t admit it.

The hotel looks unstable, but familiar enough in its decay to be worth the risk.

Inside, the air is stale but dry. The lower floors are ruined, the lobby reduced to cracked tile and broken glass. But upstairs—after climbing past crumbled staircases and stepping over a dead vending machine—you find the jackpot.

Beds. Real ones.

Dusty. Lopsided. But beds nonetheless.

The rooms are mostly intact. There’s even a functioning door that clicks softly shut when you try it. Two rooms side by side. No threats. No other signs of life.

It almost feels like peace.

You spend the next hour scavenging. Chishiya finds a half-full medical box in what used to be a spa room. You dig through supply closets and snag a few protein bars and two bottles of mostly-clear water. One is slightly expired, but Chishiya just shrugs when you point it out.

“We’ve had worse,” he says.

Which is true.

You both return to the room you picked—the one with a window that still opens—and divide the supplies without speaking much. There's no debate over who gets what. No bargaining. Just an easy, automatic understanding.

As the last of the sunlight filters through the dust-streaked glass, you glance over at him.

He’s seated on the edge of the bed now, arms loosely folded, head tilted toward the window. There’s a faint orange glow along his cheekbone, catching in his pale hair, making him look unreal. Like he doesn’t belong in this world.

But somehow, you’ve never felt more grounded.

You break the silence after a long moment. “Do you miss it?”

He turns toward you slowly. “Miss what?”

“Before.” You motion vaguely toward the city. “The real world. Whatever your life was.”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Then: “Not really.”

You blink. “Seriously?”

“There’s nothing to miss,” he says simply. “Most people just survive pretending they’re alive. Here, at least, there’s no illusion.”

You stare at him, unsure what to say to that. The cynicism is pure Chishiya—but something about the way he says it makes your chest ache. Like maybe, despite the indifference in his voice, there's a quiet thread of loss buried under it.

After a pause, he turns the question back at you.

“You?”

You exhale slowly. “Yeah. I miss… having music in the background. Late trains. Stupid things. The smell of clean laundry. Having somewhere to go that wasn’t life or death.”

Chishiya watches you, eyes narrowed slightly. Not mocking. Not judging. Just… listening.

You offer a tired smile. “And I miss sleeping in a bed that doesn’t try to kill me.”

At that, the corner of his mouth twitches.

Progress.

___________________________________________________________________________

Eventually, night settles fully over the ruins.

Chishiya stands up and stretches, moving toward the door to the room next to yours.

“There are two beds this time,” he says lightly, one hand on the doorknob.

You nod, feigning nonchalance. “Yeah. Guess we don’t have to cuddle tonight.”

He pauses—not long, just for a breath. “Guess not.”

The door clicks softly shut behind him.

You lie down in your bed, adjusting the blanket around you. It's not bad. The mattress sinks in just enough to feel something like comfort. The room is quiet, still.

But it's cold.

And it’s worse, somehow, than last night.

You turn onto your side. Then your back. Then your stomach. Nothing helps. Your thoughts churn restlessly.

Last night… was warm. Peaceful, in a way nothing has been for a long time.

You hadn’t planned to fall asleep next to him, but once you were there—wrapped in that makeshift blanket, with the heat of his body close—you’d slept deeper than you had in weeks.

And now?

Now you're just cold and annoyed at your own neediness.

You stare at the cracked ceiling.

You wait ten minutes. Maybe fifteen.

And then, finally—quietly—you rise.

You don’t bother putting on shoes. Just cross the hallway in your socks, listening for any sound from inside his room. You pause with your hand on the doorknob, nerves fluttering in your chest.

Then you turn it.

The door creaks slightly as you open it. The room is dark, lit only by the city glow bleeding through the window. The bed creaks faintly as Chishiya shifts. You can see him clearly enough—propped on one elbow, watching you enter like he expected it.

Maybe he did.

You close the door behind you, slowly, and move toward the bed.

Chishiya doesn’t speak. Doesn’t ask what you’re doing.

He just watches as you lift the blanket and crawl in next to him.

You settle in beside him again, careful not to touch too much. The mattress is smaller than the floor had been. Your shoulders brush. Your legs bump under the blanket.

It’s quiet.

Then, finally, he lifts one eyebrow, dry amusement in his voice.

“Couldn’t resist my charm, huh?”

You snort. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He hums, then lies back down fully, arm folding behind his head.

You lie beside him in silence. The warmth starts to spread again. Not just from his body—but from the stillness. The peace.

A beat passes.

Then another.

Chishiya speaks again—so softly you almost miss it.

“…You sleep better this way?”

You turn your head, surprised.

His face is turned toward the ceiling. He’s not looking at you.

You hesitate.

Then nod once. “Yeah. I do.”

He doesn’t respond right away. But then his arm shifts. Not touching you—just moving a little closer beneath the blanket.

The space between you shrinks again. Just enough.

You let your eyes drift closed, heart still pounding.

And then, in the dark, you hear him say—so quietly it might’ve been a thought rather than a voice:

“Me too.”

___________________________________________________________________________

You don’t remember falling asleep.

Only the steady rhythm of his breathing.

The warmth that slowly seeped through your skin.

The feeling of being held by silence, not alone in it.

The first thing you notice when you wake is the quiet.

Not the panicked kind. Not the empty kind, either.

Just… peaceful.

Then you notice the second thing: you’re not where you started.

You’re closer to him now.

Somewhere in the night—whether by choice or instinct—you must’ve shifted in your sleep. One of your legs is draped over his, and your head has ended up on his shoulder, nose buried slightly into the soft fabric of his hoodie. One of his hands rests loosely at your back. Not tight. Not holding you there.

But not letting you go, either.

The sunlight filters softly through the broken blinds, casting pale gold lines across the wall, the bed, the sharp line of Chishiya’s jaw.

He’s still asleep.

And that alone surprises you. You didn’t think he could sleep like this. So open. So exposed. But he does — his features slack and unguarded, lips parted slightly in rest. The ever-present edge in him has softened.

For a long, suspended moment, you just watch him.

You don’t want to move. Not because of the comfort — though that’s part of it — but because if you shift too loudly, if you break the spell of morning stillness, you might have to face it.

Face what this has become.

Because this is not nothing anymore.

You close your eyes again. Let yourself stay there. Just for a little longer.

But, as if he can hear the thoughts rattling inside your skull, Chishiya stirs beneath you.

His breath catches lightly, then evens again.

A slow blink. Then two.

He opens his eyes, turns his head slightly toward you, and you feel him go still.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t push you away.

Instead, his fingers flex just slightly against your back — the only sign he’s even registered the intimacy of the position.

And then, of course, in classic Chishiya fashion, he breaks the silence with dry irony.

“…You drooled on me.”

You gasp and lift your head instinctively, already about to deny it—before catching the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You scowl. “I did not.”

“Mm. Must’ve been rain, then,” he deadpans, one eyebrow lifting. “From inside the building.”

You groan and shove his shoulder lightly. He allows the push, shifting under you with a soft exhale that’s almost—almost—a laugh.

You move to sit up, but his hand lingers just briefly at your back.

Not to stop you. Just… stays.

And that hesitation—that small, unconscious tether—makes your chest tighten.

When you finally sit upright, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, he follows a beat later, dragging a hand through his hair, still disheveled from sleep. He doesn’t meet your eyes at first.

Neither do you.

But the silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. Not like before. It’s thicker now, weighted with everything you didn’t say.

After a long moment, Chishiya stands and moves toward the window, peeking through the blinds.

“Still clear,” he says. “We should move soon if we want to get to the Beach by sundown.”

You nod and rise, stretching your sore limbs, still feeling the ghost of where your body had pressed against his.

You glance at him again before leaving the room.

He’s looking out the window, but his voice follows you as you step toward the door.

“…If we find another place like this,” he says, quiet but even, “and there’s only one bed again…”

You turn your head, waiting.

He still doesn’t look at you.

“…I wouldn’t mind sharing.”

Your breath catches.

But you don’t tease him. Don’t ruin it with a joke. Instead, you nod once — small, sincere — and step into the hallway.

He follows after a moment.

And neither of you say another word about it.

But you both know:

It won’t be the last time.

___________________________________________________________________________

The Beach is louder than you remember.

You walk through the gates with aching legs and dirt on your face, but it’s the noise that hits you hardest: laughter, splashing water, music from someone’s half-broken speaker. It feels wrong, somehow—this joy in the middle of hell. But you suppose survival breeds strange coping mechanisms.

Chishiya walks beside you, his hoodie pulled up to shade his face. He doesn’t speak as you pass through the clusters of half-naked strangers. He doesn’t have to. His posture tells you enough: tense, alert, calculating.

As always.

Still, you notice how his shoulder stays just close enough to yours to be deliberate.

A few heads turn as you both pass. Some recognize him. A few glance at you, eyes lingering—noticing the proximity, the silence between you that's less awkward and more… familiar.

Hatter’s not around, but Kuina spots you almost immediately and jogs over, her usual smirk widening as she takes you both in.

“Well well,” she says, sweeping her eyes over you with a grin. “I didn’t think I’d see both of you again. Figured one of you would have murdered the other by now.”

You glance at Chishiya. “Tempting.”

He hums. “You sleep too deeply to be worth the effort.”

Kuina laughs, but her gaze sharpens slightly as she looks between you. She picks up on it. Of course she does. The small shifts. The softer edges.

“So…” she drawls, eyes twinkling. “You two close now, or just sharing body heat to conserve resources?”

You open your mouth to deflect, but Chishiya cuts in first:

“Both.”

Your head whips toward him in shock. His face is unreadable—but his lips twitch ever so slightly, betraying that he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Kuina raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, but lets it go. For now.

___________________________________________________________________________

The Beach is quiet at night.

Too quiet.

You lie on the stiff cot in your assigned room, blankets pulled up to your chin. You stare at the ceiling and pretend the bed feels fine, the air feels warm, and the space beside you doesn’t feel… empty.

You last about fifteen minutes.

Then you're up.

Quiet steps across the hallway.

No shoes. No excuses. No hesitation.

The door to his room creaks slightly as you push it open. He doesn’t turn — doesn’t even flinch — just watches you with that unreadable expression as you pad across the room and crawl into his bed.

You don’t speak. Neither does he.

You slip under the blanket. He shifts slightly, just enough to make space for you without making it obvious that he was waiting.

His shoulder brushes yours again.

It's familiar now — that quiet warmth. That silence that doesn't ask for permission.

You rest your cheek against the curve of his upper arm and exhale softly. “Separate beds are overrated.”

He hums. “So is pretending this means nothing.”

You don’t answer.

Neither does he.

But you both fall asleep faster than you have in days.

__________________________________________________________________________

The next game is a 8 of Diamone — logic, psychology, trust.

And, of course, betrayal.

The room is a maze of mirrors and timers, each choice leading to a countdown, a riddle, or a trap. You and Chishiya are separated halfway through. You can still hear his voice sometimes through the walls — clipped commands, calm assessments, telling others where not to go.

You hold your own. Until you don't.

One wrong answer. One misstep.

You're cornered in a dead-end hallway with a pressure floor and no visible way out. The timer above your head flashes red — 00:09, 00:08 — and you're too far to run.

You freeze.

Then the door behind you bursts open.

Chishiya is there.

His hoodie is soaked with sweat, chest rising with sharp breaths. “Move!” he yells.

You do — not because your body listens, but because his voice cuts through the panic.

He grabs you roughly by the wrist and yanks you into the corridor just as the trap triggers. The door slams shut. There's a thunderous BOOM behind you, and the force knocks you both forward.

Your knees hit the ground hard. He lands beside you, his arm thrown around your back to brace your fall.

The silence after is deafening.

You're alive.

You turn your head, eyes wide. “How did you—?”

“I heard the timer.”

“You were three zones over—”

“I heard it,” he snaps, sharper than you’ve ever heard from him. His voice trembles at the edges.

You stare at him.

His jaw is clenched. His fingers dig into your wrist, too tight to be casual. His breath shakes. Just once.

And that’s when it hits you.

He was scared.

You’ve never seen it before — not like this. Not from him.

His walls don’t crack. They shatter, just for a second, and you see the truth behind them.

You weren’t just another player to him anymore. You were something else. Something dangerous.

Something that could be lost.

__________________________________________________________________________

The door shuts behind you with a soft click, but it’s already too late for silence.

Without a word, your bodies slam together.

Your lips crash hard and hungry against his, urgent and desperate—like you’re trying to make up for all the time lost, the dangers faced, and the unspoken truths hanging between you.

His hands move fast, rough and possessive, gripping your waist and pulling you flush against him with fierce intensity. The fabric of his jacket wrinkles under your fingers as you dig in, anchoring yourself to something solid in the chaos of your racing heart.

His breath is ragged, hot and trembling against your skin, and your own gasps mingle with his in a frantic rhythm.

You’re not gentle. You don’t want gentle. You want raw. Real.

His fingers thread into your hair, tugging you closer, tilting your head with an insistence that makes your pulse spike.

Your arms wrap tight around his neck, fingers curling into the soft hair at the nape, as if holding on is the only thing that might keep you both from falling apart.

There’s no hesitation, no delicate testing — just pure need, spilling out all at once in the rough brush of lips and the sharp bite of teeth.

Your teeth graze his bottom lip, a spark igniting low in his throat as he groans—a deep, guttural sound that vibrates through your chest.

He opens for you, tongue slipping in, claiming and tasting, a silent confession in every movement.

Your body melts into his, the heat between you a sharp contrast to the cool night air drifting through the cracked window. The faint scent of saltwater and sweat and something uniquely him clings to your skin, making the world outside this room vanish completely.

Your heart pounds so hard you’re sure he can hear it, but his hands never loosen their grip, never let you forget that you’re here, real, and not alone.

You push closer, body pressed tight against his, and feel him respond — a low hum of something fierce and guarded.

His jaw is tense under your fingertips, but his hold never falters.

When you break apart, gasping for air, your foreheads press together, breaths mingling, hearts beating out a wild, shaky rhythm.

His dark eyes hold yours — fierce, unreadable, raw with something unspoken.

Neither of you speaks.

Neither needs to.

You just stay there — caught in the fragile, burning silence of a moment that says more than words ever could.

___________________________________________________________________________

The morning light slips through the cracked blinds, casting thin stripes of gold across the floor.

You’re still there, pressed close against Chishiya, the warmth of his body the only shield against the chill in the air.

Neither of you moves for a long time — just breaths, soft and uneven, the silence heavier than the night before.

His hand finds yours, fingers curling around yours almost instinctively, but his gaze stays fixed somewhere past your shoulder.

You squeeze his hand gently, waiting for him to say something — anything — but he doesn’t.

Instead, he shifts, pulling the blanket tighter around you both, anchoring you in the moment without a single word.

When he finally speaks, it’s quiet, rough at the edges.

“Don’t expect this to change anything.”

You meet his eyes, steady now, the ghost of a smile playing on your lips.

“I don’t.”

But you know it already has.

The unspoken promises, the guarded glances, the way his hand lingers a little longer when he thinks you’re not looking—

It’s all there, under the surface, quietly reshaping everything.

And maybe that’s enough.

For now.

___________________________________________________________________________

Even when he said nothing changed, everything had.

He let you into his heart in the smallest ways — the ones no one else could see.

You understood how you two kissed when nobody was looking — quick, secret touches of lips that spoke more than words ever could.

How he let you borrow his hoodie before the harsh games, the fabric hanging oversized on you but carrying his scent like a shield.

How, without a word, he took care of you in quiet ways — a bandage wrapped a little tighter, a glance that said stay close, a hand resting lightly on your back when you didn’t even realize you needed it.

He wasn’t one for grand declarations or easy emotions, but you saw it all in the way he stood a little closer, in the moments he didn’t pull away.

The diamond game had changed something — not in what he said, but in what he showed.

And you knew, no matter how much he tried to hide it, that you’d become something he couldn’t let go.

___________________________________________________________________________

The night is cold and unforgiving, the kind of cold that seeps into your bones no matter how tightly you cling to a threadbare blanket.

The echoes of the King of Spades’ attack still ring in your ears — shouts, frantic footsteps, the sharp crack of gunfire, and the heavy weight of dread pressing down on your chest.

Somehow, you and Chishiya have been separated from the others, finding refuge in a crumbling building that smells of dust and rust.

You don’t speak. Words feel unnecessary.

Instead, you huddle together beneath the single, thin blanket, the chill forcing your bodies closer.

His arms wrap around you, strong and steady, pulling you flush against his chest. The steady beat of his heart beneath your ear is a fragile anchor in the chaos.

You close your eyes, letting yourself be held, the warmth slowly replacing the cold that had settled deep inside.

After a long silence, your voice breaks the quiet — a whisper trembling with something more than fear.

“I… love you.”

Chishiya doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his fingers tighten gently around your shoulder, a silent promise.

When he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost reluctant, but laced with something unmistakably real:

“After this… after Borderlands… meet me.”

His words are simple, but they carry a weight heavier than any confession.

It’s a quiet hope, a promise of something beyond the endless games and death.

You look up, searching his eyes — dark, guarded, but shining with a fragile vulnerability.

He doesn’t say ‘me too,’ but you know what he means.

His quiet invitation says it all: he cares.

He wants more.

And for the first time in this cruel game, you feel a flicker of something that feels like hope.

Wrapped in his arms, with the night pressing close around you, you let yourself believe that maybe — just maybe — there’s a future waiting beyond the Borderlands.

___________________________________________________________________________

The first light of dawn creeps through the cracked windows, softening the shadows in the room.

You’re still nestled against Chishiya, the thin blanket now a fragile shield between you and the cold world outside.

Neither of you speaks—there’s no need.

His quiet invitation to meet after Borderlands lingers in the air, a fragile thread of hope woven between the two of you.

You squeeze his hand gently, a silent vow passing between you — that no matter what the games throw at you, you’ll face it together.

Because in this brutal, unforgiving world, you’ve found something rare.

Something real.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s enough.

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r66dusthewriter · 1 day ago

Text

The forbidden fruit

Pairing: Simon Riley x fem!reader

Masterlist | Who am i? | REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

a/n: I had to close my legs while writing this.

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Little to no plot. Explicit sexual content (18+), voyeuristic themes, masked man, dry humping, (sort of?) paid sex, strip club setting.

Word count: 1.3k

You’d been a night dancer for four years, moving from uneasy to owning it, with a found family of women nearly as close as sisters. The job paid well, the security was tight and after a while, you realized you liked the power, the control of where eyes landed, who got close and when. With that power in mind, you chose to only dance and maybe talk. Ironically, that restraint, that refusal to be available on demand, only made you more desirable.

For the last six months, everything about your nightly stage felt different because of him.

He always sat at the back and the same table. Massive, masked and imposing, the kind of man who drew stares even in a club built for spectacle. He never drank, never accepted a dance or even a chat then.

But two months in, after seeing a creepy customer cross a line with you, he stepped in with just enough force to make the message clear. From that moment on, everyone started calling him “your guy” and he acted like it, tipping hundreds just to sit there two hours and say nothing at all to anyone but you.

“Y/n… your guy’s back,” Ani grinned as she strolled into the changing room, her voice sing-song with mischief. Around her, a chorus of teasing sighs and shoulder shimmies erupted from the other girls. You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile.

“He’s not my guy.”

“Oh, but he is,” Ani shot back, stepping closer with a raised brow. “He doesn’t pay for a single service, won’t even take a drink! Just sits at your stage like some brooding statue. Won’t look at anyone, won’t talk to anyone except you.”

She leaned in, voice dropping playfully. “Right now, he’s out there looking like a lost puppy because you’re not on yet.”

Laughter rippled through the room as a few of the girls chimed in their agreement.

“That’s your guy,” Ani said, winking.

You shook your head, brushing the last bit of powder from your face and rising from the makeup chair. You couldn’t suppress the warmth curling in your chest, though you kept your tone neutral.

“Same table?”

“Same table,” she confirmed, still smiling.

When you arrived, he offered quietly and for the first time ever, a seat beside him. His raspy voice and thick accent sent a shiver up your spine.

“Nice to see you again,” he simply said.

You flirted, you bantered and let the tease slip into your eyes but every time another customer tried to pull you away, you saw the way his gloved hands tensed on his thighs and how his shoulders squared. And when you stood up to go chat with another client, he dropped five grand onto the table, flat and easy. “What does that get me?”

You arched your brow, heat coiling in your belly. “What do you want?”

His eyes glittered behind the skull mask. “To talk.”

Except the game changed when you suggested the massage room. Inside, he stripped off his shirt and your breath caught. His body was scarred yet beautiful with tattooed muscle on pale skin even under harsh light. You took a deep breath and let your hands roam, learning every inch as you straddled his lap.

You massaged his chest with slow, lazy circles, feeling his heartbeat thumping strong under your palms. His gaze burned into you, unmoving.

“I don’t usually do this,” you whispered, voice shaky, suggesting to get one of your coworkers to give him a proper massage.

“It’s good,” he rumbled, voice thick with want.

You grew bolder then. His hands found your thighs, strong and warm on your skin, thumbs pressing just enough to make you gasp and accommodate over him. That’s when you felt his cock, hard and hot under you, causing a sharp ache to throb between your legs, making it hard to ignore how you’d been starved and untouched for so long it almost hurt.

His fingers tightened, pupils blown out as he met your eyes. “Want to get off?” he asked, low and serious.

You shook your head, breath trembling, but not with fear.

His gaze lowered to your parted lips, ears straining to hear how you softly sighed. “Or move?”

Your hips answered for you. Slowly at first, you rolled against him, feeling every contour of him through your thin panties and his jeans. Even like this you could tell his cock was hard, thick and impossibly big. The friction quickly sent a bolt of pleasure straight through you, causing you to tilt your head back and moan aloud.

He groaned at the sight, a raw and needy sound while his hands gripped your ass under your ridden up dress, guiding your movements. It was obscene, the slide of your slick center over his clothed cock, the drag of denim against silk and the unmoving eye contact, all while every grinding thrust sent waves of heat through you.

The air soon filled with desperate sounds, your soft whimpers and sighs mixed with his deep grunts and the harsh rasp of his breath behind the mask. You pressed closer, grinding down harder and his cock twitched against you, leaking through his jeans and making a delicious wet spot that matched your own.

Your hands rested on his firm, toned abdomen, the heat of his skin grounding you as you moved. You took your time, savoring the moment, every rise and fall of your hips a slow climb, every subtle shift drawing you closer to the edge. His muscles tensed beneath your palms, each breath he took syncing with yours, heavy and hungry. You rocked against him with growing urgency, letting the minutes stretch, letting the pleasure build until your body trembled with the promise of release.

He tilted his hips up to meet your rhythm, his grip strong but worshipful. You could feel yourself getting wetter, soaking through your panties with every pass.

“Fuck—” he growled.

“Uhhh!—” You moaned, walls contracting around nothing. Being an absolute slut for vocal men didn’t help your case, you couldn’t hold it back any longer. Sparks shot through your core, pleasure mounting higher and higher while your clit ground perfectly against the ridge of his cock. “Fuck, I’m—”

“Let go,” he ordered roughly. “Want to watch you come for me.”

Your orgasm hit hard, knees shaking and body shuddering while a strangled moan tore from your throat as you ground down and rode the wave out on his lap. You felt yourself gush even more, soaking him and your panties, the heat between your bodies almost unbearable.

He cursed again, grabbing your hips and rocking you harder against him, forcing you to match the pace burning in his blood. His cock throbbed against your soaked panties as he did, keeping a sinful rhythm until he went rigid under you. With a deep, muffled groan, he came hard. His body tensed beneath you, cock straining as his orgasm surged through him. The heat of it soaked his jeans, messy and uncontrolled but he didn’t care. His head fell back with a heavy exhale, fingers still gripping your hips like he couldn’t quite let go, like he didn’t want to.

You slumped down against his massive chest, catching your breath while his hands stayed on you, fingers denting your flesh.

For a long moment, the only sound was your ragged breaths and the steady thump of his heart against your cheek. You’d never been this undone without a single piece of clothing truly removed, never felt so wanted or so fucking satisfied.

“Simon,” he panted, the name falling from his lips like a confession, knowing you’d never ask due to the rules of the club.

“Pleasure to meet you,” you murmured against his skin, voice threaded with something dangerously close to comfort.

“Likewise.”

If anyone had heard the sounds coming from behind that closed door, they’d know whose girl you really were now.

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hartleychristopher · 3 days ago

Note

Okie I have a request for a josh and Chris meeting the reader in highschool for the first time and they became friends through like comic books or like the newest game that came out because they are nerds just for fun

If you don't want to do this it's Okie

Issue #1: First Encounter

Parings: Chris x gn!reader, Josh x gn!reader (either platonic or flirty 😏 you decide) (no prank au)

Warnings: cheesy banter bc it’s fun! Okay? sue me.

Summary: you go to the comic book shop in search of a back issue, what you find are new friends in the shape of two dorks that come as a package deal; Chris and Josh. It seems you’ve been adopted as the third wheel in their bromance whether you like it or not.

A/N: hiii I love this! My two favorite boys 🥹 I hope it’s okay they’re in college in this, I know you requested high school but I prefer to write about them as adults :) (dating a lot of (only) nerds and having a base knowledge on comic books came in handy for this ask!)

You’re halfway through flipping through the back issues, elbow-deep in plastic sleeves and crossovers, when someone bumps into the end of the display with a soft thud.

“Ah, crap—sorry. I didn’t think anyone was back here.”

You look up to find a tall guy with glasses and a beanie, shoulders hunched like he’s startled himself as much as you. He’s wearing a Watchmen hoodie, already slightly pilled at the cuffs. Definitely a regular.

You give him a quick once-over and shrug. “It’s fine. no casualties”

He gives a half-laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Cool. That’s… good. Uh, I wasn’t, like, creeping or anything, I just—” He gestures vaguely at the boxes. “I’m on a mission.”

“Let me guess: Green Lantern?” You smirk.

His face lights up, almost embarrassingly so. “Rebirth! Yes! You get it”

Before you could respond, another guy steps around the corner—leaner, with that kind of practiced casualness that probably made him popular without trying. He takes one look at the two of you and raises an eyebrow.

“Chris, are you harassing strangers in the wild again?” he asks, smirking. “Can’t take you anywhere” he teases him.

Chris makes a noise that was half protest, half panic. “What?! No! I just bumped the shelf! I wasn’t—th-they were already here!”

“Relax, man, I’m messing with you,” the new guy says, shooting you a quick, easy smile before he sticks out a hand. “Josh. That’s Chris. He’s harmless. Socially clumsy, but harmless.”

You hesitate a second before shaking his hand.

Josh’s eyes wander to your bag when he lets go of your hand. “I like the Moon Knight patch. Taste.”

Chris nods quickly like he was just now noticing. “Oh—yeah, that’s awesome. Moon Knight’s underrated. like, so many people just watched the show and bailed, but if you actually read—sorry, I’m rambling”

You raise an eyebrow. “Do you guys do this often? Corner people in the back issues section?”

“Corner?” Josh repeats, mock offended. “No, this is mutual proximity. We’re just friendly.”

Chris looks like he wants to crawl into a long box and close the lid. “we—we’re not trying to be weird. I swear. We just—uh, like comics. And your patch’s cool, that’s all”

You glance between them. Both clearly nerds, but in wildly different flavors. Josh had the confidence of someone who knew he could talk his way into or out of anything. Chris looked like this was the most intense social interaction he’d had all week. Maybe month. But neither of them gave you that creepy gut feeling. Just… harmless dorks. Maybe even kind of funny, in a secondhand embarrassment kind of way.

You shake your head, biting back a smile. “You two always come as a set?”

“Unfortunately,” Chris mutters under his breath.

Josh ignored him. “Usually. Trivia nights, midnight releases, occasional accidental arson in the microwave when someone tries to reheat pizza on foil…” Josh gives Chris a pointed look.

“That was one time,” Chris mumbles, visibly dying.

You tilt your head. “There’s trivia?”

Josh perked up. “Yeah—The Kettle Café, Thursday nights. Comics, movies, all the nerdy stuff. We bombed last week because someone forgot the name of Thor’s Second Hammer.”

“It’s called Stormbreaker, and I had brain fog,” Chris shoots back.

You look down at the issue in your hands. You had fully intended to be in and out of this place in under ten minutes. But now you had two dorks standing in front of you; one melting, one grinning—and for some reason, you weren’t quite ready to bolt.

Josh raised his brows. “You should come, we could use someone who actually reads Moon Knight”

you considered. “If it turns out to be just the two of you playing against each other and quoting The Big Bang Theory for two hours, I’m walking out”

Chris looked genuinely disgusted. “We quote Firefly, actually.”

Josh grinned. “So that’s a maybe?”

You sigh, “It’s a ‘give me the address and I’ll think about it’”

Josh pulls a sharpie out of his jacket pocket like he does this sort of thing often. “that’s a victory”

As he scribbles the address on a receipt from his pocket and hands it to you, you catch Chris looking down at his shoes, trying not to smile too obviously.

You tuck the receipt into your bag. “Alright, nerds. Enjoy your Rebirth… don’t burn anything down”

Chris gives an awkward little salute, “No promises”

taglist: @fritzhardt @avwade69 @maiiuelle @avrells @fordthegamelord819 @xoxocher @sweetcalebb @z0mb1epuzzy @dnpo1son

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alicesluciddreams · 24 hours ago

Text

I Don't Gotta Tell Him; I Think He Knows

Summary: You never thought your 'When Harry met Sally' moment would be with a famous hockey player. You meet Cam when you get caught in the rain only to find out he's a Hockey player at a Flyers game. You have a plan on how to make him yours but he may already know. Inspired by 'I Think He Knows' by Taylor Swift.

Author's Note: I wrote this for a friend and repurposed it to flex my writing muscles. I'm not a Cam girly but I've written a lot for him because of my friend so... expect more. Also I wrote this before we knew that Jamie had a GF and I still don't know Tara's day job so I gave her a tiny back story here to fit the character I made up prior. Oops.

Warnings: Language, use of Y/N, mentions of Morgan Frost (I miss you bud), written in 3rd person Photos from Pinterest. Dividers by @uzmacchiato

Y/N never thought her ‘When Harry Met Sally’ moment would be in the rain.

She had hoped to be wearing a nice dress, maybe even heels, not sweatpants, a cropped tank top, and a cardigan. Maybe they would meet at a fancy dinner, or on a night out with friends, hell, even a PTA meeting would do, anything but the present; soaked to the bone, shivering, with a harness leash wrapped around her wrist under the awning of a bus stop on the east side of Philly.

Alas, here she was on what was supposed to be a sunny Saturday morning in the park with her dog, Bella, going on a nice walk. Since moving to the big city, she liked taking the forty-pound red heeler to the park five minutes from her shared townhouse to get not only her own steps in, but also her hyper dog’s energy out. But the weather channel lied, and halfway through her walk, the sky had bottomed out, leaving her hair stringy and her dog smelly.

The only upside to this was the tall red head standing next to her under the bus stop.

He had obviously been on a run, wearing a white athletic t-shirt and black Nike pants, headphones in his ears as he had dashed under the cover of the glass awning. The black baseball cap was the only reason his red hair hadn’t been totally ruined by the rain, but the shirt and pants most definitely were. Y/N was having a hard time keeping her eyes to the front and not on the way the man’s shirt had become see-through from the water.

Bella pulled forward on her harness, fidgety from being in one place too long outside. She gave a bark out to the rain. Somehow, she hadn’t gone ballistic on the man standing next to them. Normally, any new face would be subject to the dog screaming at them for at least five minutes, if not for the whole visit. But this guy was getting off easy, as if Bella was just as interested in him as her mother was.

“Cute dog.” The voice was softer, not as deep as Y/N would have thought it would be.

She turned her head to him, “Oh, yeah, she’s… a lot.”

Shit.

She was being awkward. She wanted to pull out her phone, scroll on Instagram, or text her roommate with an SOS text, anything to get out some of this nervous energy, but Bella pulled again, trying hard to go out into the pouring rain.

“No, Bella.”

“A handful I see.” The guy smiled widely at her, stepping over a bit to look at Bella. The dog just turned her head to look at him with her big puppy eyes, ‘save me’ they seemed to say. He leaned down and stuck a hand down to let her sniff, and Y/N watched in awe. However, she felt her jaw give out when Bella sniffed the man’s hand and then began licking it, turning her whole body to face him, tail wagging.

Y/N felt her heart beat pick up like a hummingbird’s wings in her chest as the man let out a laugh.

“Ah you’re not that bad are you. Nah you’re a good,” he looked up at her, “girl?”

“Yeah, Bella.”

He gave a short, breathy laugh, “Yeah, caught that.”

Her face heated up, and she picked a bit at her sweater with a grin. He stood back up with a sigh, and Bella whined at the loss of pets.

“I’m Cam by the way.”

“Y/N, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

“It sucks about the weather,” he continued, “it was such a pretty morning.”

Y/N blew out a frustrated breath, “Yeah, well, the weather hates us all, I guess.” Cam just laughed.

Bella butted her nose into Cam’s leg. “Come on now, let me give your mom some attention too, yeah?”

“Sorry about her, I can pull her off-“

“No no its fine. I don’t mind. Just hate that I’m not getting to know you a little better with such a cute distraction here.” He ended his sentence with a cutesy voice obviously saved for pets and babies, getting down to Bella’s level to scratch at her head, which the dog ate up.

Y/N didn’t know if her face could get any hotter than what it already was, and she just hoped the man didn’t find it too weird, because there was absolutely no way to hide it.

“Oh, I think the rain’s letting up.” Y/N looked out onto the wet streets and noticed that the rain had finally slowed down to a faint drizzle.

“Sorry to cut this short, but I, uh, have a thing to do in about an hour.” Cam stood up and gave Y/N a look she couldn’t decipher.

“Oh yeah of course.” He flashed her a grin and a wave to Bella before jogging off, his footsteps leaving splashes in the rain that she wished she could follow.

“I’m back,” Y/N called as she walked into the townhouse in downtown Philly. She kicked off her wet shoes and bemoaned the state of her soaking wet socks.

“Oh, you poor thing! You’re all wet, let me grab you a towel.” Y/N’s roommate, Alice, called from the living room. She heard Alice’s footsteps as she ran back and forth from the bathroom to the front door.

She slid on her own sock-clad feet, and as Y/N reached for the towel in her hand, a thank you on her lips, Alice sank to her knees and began towel drying Bella off.

“You poor wet baby, you got all rained on. Your mom and I will have to take the hairdryer to you, won’t we?”

“Hey! What about me? The bestie?” Y/N gestured to her own water logged clothes.

“The bestie has two legs and hands with opposable thumbs; she’ll be fine.” Alice said before going back to doting on Bella, who, once again, was eating up the attention, waiting for her moment to begin jumping on top of Alice to play ball.

Y/N grumbled as she squished her way to the bathroom, grabbing a towel for herself and ripping off the wet socks.

“By the way. Tara called me today and asked if we’d be willing to go to the Flyers game with her tomorrow night.” Alice leaned on the bathroom doorframe, messing with her bangs as she looked in the mirror.

“Flyers? Hockey?”

“Yeah, Jamie’s playing and she said she doesn’t really know the other girls yet, wants me to go with her and keep her company. You need to get out of the house, and I know you like football, so…” Y/N stopped brushing through her wet hair to look at Alice in the mirror.

“But what if I want to just sit in bed and rot all day?”

“You can! The game isn’t until 7, and I mean there is the party after, but it’ll be ok!”

“A party?!” Y/N turned to Alice then, who was looking off to the side with a guilty smile on her face.

“Yeah… did I not mention that?”

“No, you did not. Since when do you like parties?” Y/N asked, crossing her arms.

“Since never, but Tara really wants me to go, and I won’t feel comfortable if you’re not there, and I don’t want to not go because Tara feels like some of the other girls hate her and-“

“Why the hell would the other girls hate Tara? She’s sweet.” Y/N had only met Tara a handful of times, but she had liked her from day one.

Alice and Tara had met and hit it off like crazy, working together at Alice’s first job after moving to Philadelphia. She hadn’t gotten her big girl museum gig yet, but Y/N had managed to find a job as a second-grade teacher rather easily, so to pay her part of the bills, Alice picked up a part-time retail job while she job-hunted around the area. Tara had been the one to help train Alice, and the rest was history. Until Alice got her big girl job and Tara found her big time influencing gig and the two both left that shit hole of a job.

Alice rolled her eyes, “They can’t, she just thinks they do, and is paranoid. But if we go, I’ll have someone there to keep me company when she finally sees that they do not, in fact, hate her, and they all become wag friends.”

“And what do I get out of this?” Y/N smirked a little bit, knowing she would go but wanting to see Alice squirm a bit.

“Girl’s night with free food and drinks?”

“Deal.”

This is how Y/N found herself sitting in a section of seats closer to the ice than she ever thought she would be.

She had only ever been to one singular Nashville Predators game when she lived in Tennessee, and hadn’t really had the time to see a Flyers game since moving to the city. Alice had been dragged to a couple with Tara, but they had been during the week when Y/N couldn’t go.

So here she was now, a woman, sitting a few rows up from the players' bench and watching as the lights went down, an orange glow filling up the space, and the intro started.

Y/N was intrigued by the whole thing really watching as it went through people and names she had never seen before, a Nick, Tyson, and some guy with the nickname Frosty according to Tara, but when she saw a familiar face pop up on the screen her heart skipped a beat like she was jogging down 16th avenue.

He looked so boyishly handsome on the screen, even with such a stoic look on his face. His hair curling up and out of the back of his helmet, blue eyes shining like sapphires through the 4k camera lens. He looked so stern up there, but she just couldn’t unsee the childlike gleam in his eyes as he had been petting her dog the day before.

When the game started, she couldn’t keep her eyes off the number 8 jersey. Watching as he skated along the ice like he had been born on it, as he shoved a guy in a red, white, and blue jersey into the wall and then smirked about it later.

He kept to the puck like a dog to a bone, batting away any opposing player like it was a threat to the lives of everyone around them. But she started planning her strategy to win his heart when she saw his fist fly after some guy (According to Alice, his name was something Fox) went after Bobby (Name courtesy of Tara) after he blocked a goal.

According to Tara, the 4-2 win against New York was a huge victory for the group. “No one likes the Rags,” Alice said, pulling Y/N by her hand through the crowds towards her car.

Tara had given the girls the address of where to meet and bid them goodbye to go congratulate Jamie, leaving them to fend for themselves in the waves of orange and black filing out of the Wells Fargo Center.

“If you drink more than me, I’m letting Bella sleep in my room tonight.” Alice threatened as they piled into her car.

Y/N knew the girl was lying, Bella would end up licking her face in the middle of the night like she had before, and Alice wouldn’t want that. So all she gave was a knowing laugh.

The music was quieter than Y/N had thought it would be at an afterparty for a win against a rival team. Some Kendrick Lamar song was playing over the loudspeakers, and she took another long sip of her drink to try and drown it out.

“Jamie says you look like you’re sulking.” Tara’s head of brown hair bounced as she seemed to skip over to her.

“Sulking? Me? Never.”

“Come on, he wants to introduce you and Alice to a few of the guys.” Tara held out her hand for Y/N to take, and she did so with a slight hesitation, dropping her now-empty glass on the table.

Tara pulled her along to a small group of men over by the wall. Alice was already there, standing awkwardly by Jamie and his hat-covered dark hair. She was looking a bit confused, a tight smile on her lips, she looked around and visibly deflated in relief when she noticed Y/N and Tara. Alice pulled Y/N into the circle as soon as she got close enough.

“There she is! Guys, this is my best friend Y/N.” Alice introduced.

Y/N took the time to look around at the small group gathered. She already knew Jamie Drysdale; Tara had brought him around once or twice. Another man in the group was large with a baby face, he introduced himself as Tyson, another Bobby, smaller than the others but with a bright smile, and lastly… him.

Cam York.

The Harry to her Sally, or maybe something a bit more stable than that. He was standing tall in a tight-fitting black t-shirt that Y/N couldn’t help but notice was hugging his biceps a little too tightly for her comfort, and black jeans that ended just above his white sneakers. And yes, Y/N had to tear her eyes from his thighs before anyone caught her staring, no shame in that.

“Hey, you’re the dog mom!” Cam said with a grin. He looked cocky but not mocking.

Y/N smiled back, “Yeah, good to see you.”

“Oh so you guys have met?” Tyson’s grin was a knowing one.

“Just yesterday on my run, both got caught in the rain. How’s Bella?” Y/N was caught off guard by his memory of her dog’s name.

“She’s good, a crackhead, but good.” Cam laughed at this.

Y/N felt a jab at her side and looked over to see Alice’s Cheshire grin, now she looked mocking. Y/N gave her a look back that said ‘Keep your damn mouth shut.’ Alice only smirked, bringing her straw to her mouth.

“You want something to drink?” Cam nodded her way, and Y/N nodded in response, “Come on, I’ll get you something.” He took a couple of steps towards the bars, turning his head to make sure she was following him; when he knew she was, he smiled, a real one, she could tell.

She pulled herself up onto a barstool and felt Cam as he leaned his large body next to hers against the bar. He was so tall he didn’t need to sit to be comfortable; he could lean just fine on the bar top.

“What are you thinking? Mojito? Mai Tai?” He looked at her pushing around the beer glass in front of him with twitching fingers.

“Whiskey Sour, actually.”

“Oh she’s a whiskey girl?” He grinned.

“You know it.” She responded.

He flagged down the bartender, giving Y/N a show of his large biceps up close and personal. “Yeah, I’ll take another Busch Light and my girl here will take a Whiskey Sour.” He said the last part so casually that Y/N had to do a double-take. And then her face began burning.

She both wished that Alice was with her in that moment and also wished for the other redhead to stay as far away as possible. Wished that she was there so that she could have her best friend there to give facial reactions to, but also wanted her nowhere near so that she could have this man and his attention all to herself. Even if she knew that her best friend’s type and her own were almost polar opposites of each other.

But the words ‘my girl’ sounded a little too good coming from this man’s mouth for her not to want to squeal and kick her feet. Maybe her plan wouldn’t be too hard to go through with after all.

“So, first a dog owner and now a whiskey drinker. Anything else shocking I should know about?” Cam asked, turning his body to face her. His words had been a bit on the flirty side, but his face showed a genuine interest.

“I know basically nothing about hockey.” That sentence really caught his attention.

“Are you kidding? But- You just- You were just at a hockey game. Y/N, you have to be kidding me.” He leaned in closer, any closer, and she would be able to feel his breath on her cheeks.

“Nope, I went to one game back home, but that’s about it, my family are more football people.” She leaned on the bar top in front of her, head in her hand, as she faced Cam.

The red head just shook his head, his curls swinging a bit with the movement. “Well, I guess we’re going to have to change that, aren’t we.” It wasn’t a question.

Y/N smiled at him, “I guess we will.”

“Here you go.” The bartender interrupted and slid over two glasses of golden liquid their way. Cam took them both and slid one her way, his own already in his hand.

Y/N watched as she picked up her own drink, as Cam’s hand gripped the glass in front of him. His long fingers reached around the whole thing to meet up with his thumb, exaggerating the large size of his hands. He brought the drink up to his mouth, and her mind went blank as the cold glass dripped water from its side and on to his throat. She watched the crystal bead make its way down his stubbled neck and down to the neck of his shirt, where it then disappeared, but Y/N’s mind filled in the blanks as it fell farther and farther down his chest…

Y/N coughed and took a sip of her own drink, looking away to chase the thoughts from her mind. This was not the time or place to be having these thoughts. She barely knew this man, but God did she want to. She could already see past the cocky attitude he tried to put on for her and those around him. His sweet demeanor with her dog had shown her everything that she needed to know about him.

He brought the glass down to the counter and brought up the front of his shirt to wipe his face and neck.

“I’m going to be honest with you,” Cam said after clearing his throat.

“Please do.” Y/N said messing with her hair.

“I know you’re too good to wait on me to do this, so I’ll just come out and say it.”

Y/N’s heart dropped into her stomach.

“What is it?” She asked.

He grinned, “Go out with me?”

“Huh?”

“I want to go on a date with you, and I’m going to be honest, I can tell you do too.” He avoided her eyes, “I, uh, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the day we met. You’re hair was all wet but you looked like something out of a movie, its why I ran to that bus stop instead of just going back to my apartment. Sure you’re dog was cute but,” his shoulders shrugged and a sheepish sort of grin replaced the cockier one,

“You just looked too good to be true, and then when you talked to me… You had such a soft voice, it was… nice. I’m around a bunch of guys all day, and it becomes so loud and grating. But you were… soft and I liked that, still do, I, uh, yeah. I just knew that, I wanted to stay with you that day, but I had a stupid practice to go to. But now I know I want you to stick around.”

She was right, he really was more than just a cocky hockey guy.

“You know, I actually started making this whole plan when I saw you again on that screen at the game. I had wanted to see you again after the park, but after the game… I know you had something I wanted to know more about, but I think you know that. But I knew that I wanted you.” She smiled at him, “So yes, I’ll go out with you.”

Cam grinned at her, “Great, I know a great place down the street for Pizza, you ready to go?” He placed his hand on her thigh, thick fingers splayed as he gave a slight squeeze to the meat of it, the smile on his lips like something out of a Taylor Swift song.

“Right now?”

“Yeah, I’m starving, and you don’t look like you really want to be sticking around this place.” Cam offered.

“Ok, just let me tell Alice.” Y/N looked around the room for a moment before giving up looking for the shorter girl. She pulled out her phone to see a message from Alice already waiting for her.

‘Follow the sparks girlie, I’ve already got an Uber home, have fun ;)’

“Never mind. I’ll drive.”

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