#routine contains gone

[copia]

When you get this, list 5 songs you like to listen to, publish (or just write the names of the songs) then send this to your favorite mutuals <3

HIII THANK U LOVE 💚 challenging myself to list current favourites that aren't gonst or sleep token

Morning Elvis - Florence + The Machine & Ethel Cain

Goodbye Stranger - Supertramp

Killing Floor - Graphic Nature

Give 'Em Hell, Kid - My Chemical Romance

BLINDSIDED - Bilmuri

[retrosabers]

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐔𝐌𝐄’𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐄 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐌.

logan howlett x fem!reader

summary: the scent of you is driving logan crazy.

contains: mild 18+ content. MINORS DNI. mentions of masturbation (m&f), a steamy little make out, and implications of future smut

word count: 1.8k

a/n: not me trying to capitalize off the hugh jackman renaissance and revive my dead blog…anyways, this is my first time writing for logan! hope you all enjoy <3

i feel like we don’t talk enough about logan’s enhanced sense of smell.

the man can catch a whiff of someone the second they walk into the room, even the building sometimes if their scent is strong enough. it’s especially heightened when he realizes he’s attracted to you. at first he thought maybe it was because you were always wearing perfume, the aroma lingering around the mansion wherever you traveled. but then it became such an intense, all encompassing sensation that he knew it was something deeper.

his suspicions are confirmed one night as he walks past your room. if the faint whimpers he heard weren't enough confirmation of your activities, then the scent that fills his nostrils seals the deal.

you’re touching yourself. and he can smell your arousal.

it makes something stir in his stomach. the animal-like urges he always tries so hard to keep at bay threaten to make their way to the surface the longer he stands frozen in the hallway. logan attempts to shake the heat that spreads across his skin as he makes his way back to his own room, but it only ends with him cumming hard into his hand an hour later.

the next day, when he catches you on your way out of charles’ office, you offer him the same kind, beaming smile you always did. then that damned smell fills his nostrils again and his fists curl at his sides once you’re out of eyesight.

there’s only one explanation for it.

you’re ovulating.

which means there’s no escaping his desires unless you stay out of reach.

so for his sake and yours, he decides to just avoid you completely until the week is over. he can’t risk caving to those urges and doing something stupid and irrational.

of course you’re completely oblivious to it. you think that he’s just being weird, going through another rut of being a standoffish loner like he was when he first arrived at the mansion. because after about a week, he’s back to being a bit friendlier, to being the logan you had grown to call a close friend.

then the cycle seems to repeat itself and you notice it’s just you he’s avoiding.

you try and wrack your brain to think of anything you could���ve done to warrant this kind of isolation. you hoped if something upset logan he would just talk to you about it instead of playing this childish game of hot and cold.

after a couple months, you decide you’ve had enough.

cornering him was a difficult task. but you were observant enough to know certain parts of his routine, including exactly when he would be lingering in the common areas after all the kids had gone to sleep. after two failed attempts of trying to catch him in the kitchen, you finally managed to find him alone and unsuspecting.

“why have you been avoiding me?” you blurt, wanting to cut right to the chase. you’re expecting him to flinch a little bit, perhaps even be stunned.

but he knew you were coming. logan knew it was only a matter of time before you noticed his schtick.

still, he decides to look for an excuse, any excuse, to cover up the real reason.

“m’not avoiding you” he grumbles halfheartedly around the rim of a beer bottle. taking an extra long swig, he finally turns to look at you; leaning against the doorway with your arms folded and a look akin to annoyance plastered across your pretty face.

you cock your head to the side, clearly unimpressed with his answer.

“a few days ago, i watched you back out of a room the minute you realized i was in it,” you start to list off, counting with your fingers. “last month you avoided the wing where the gym was altogether while i was going through a new training regimen.”

logan winces at the memory. the scent of your pheromones was intoxicating. so much so that he couldn’t step foot anywhere near the gym without feeling like he needed to rub one out.

“and the month before that,” you huff out a sad laugh, voice suddenly soft and quiet. “you didn’t even say goodbye before you went off on that mission with scott and jean.”

guilt overtakes him quickly at the pain in your tone.

you’ve never looked smaller as you pick at a loose thread on your sweatpants. “did i do something wrong?”

“no,” logan reassures, jumping out of his seat at record speed, though still trying to maintain some distance. “you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“then what is it? you sigh exasperatedly, desperate to put an end to this nagging feeling that’s been eating away at you. “logan, you know if something’s bothering you, you can tell me.”

and he wants to. he so badly wants to, maybe even see if you’ll offer to help him out. but you’re you. the sweetest, kindest thing he’s ever known and he’ll be damned if he lets his curse of a mutation ruin whatever relationship the two of you have.

but then you’re inching closer and his skin starts buzzing again. his senses are consumed by you. by the way you look up at him with big, wide eyes, the softness of your skin as you reach to place a comforting hand on his forearm. it's all too much, and he finds himself pulling away from you with a grunt.

it hurts to see him retreat from you so aggressively. his jaw is clenched tight, his fists at his sides even tighter as the veins in his arms bulge bigger than you’ve ever seen before. he looks pained. like he’s fighting something internally.

“logan,” you approach him cautiously, unsure of what exactly to do. “what’s going on?”

his eyes squeeze shut at the sound of your voice. “just, please go back to your room.”

“i’m not leaving you like this.”

“m’not asking you,” he grits out, almost like a growl. “i’m telling you. go back to your room.”

now he was starting to piss you off. you narrow your eyes, leaning your hip against the counter.

“or what?”

suddenly he’s crowding your space, chest heaving up and down as he stares at you with pupils so wide his eyes are nearly black. logan’s voice is scarily level when he utters his final warning.

“or i’m gonna do something i regret.”

when you shift closer to him, his nose twitches with a sniff. the raise of your brow doesn’t go unnoticed, and he knows that you’re not leaving this room until you get to the bottom of what he’s been hiding.

that’s when something inside logan decides to throw caution to the wind, just for a minute.

“i can smell you.”

curiosity morphs into confusion at his admission. you shake your head.

“i don’t understand.”

then, the man’s gaze travels to the waistband of your pajama pants, the tension in his jaw growing more taught by the second. his hands flex at his sides, trying to keep him grounded and calm as he finally admits what’s been driving him mad.

“i can smell you.”

the emphasis on the last word takes a minute to register. logan watches as the gears turn behind your eyes, catches the exact moment of realization as your gaze softens and your lips part.

oh.

oh.

slowly things start to piece together. how logan’s behavior seemed to fall around the same time these past couple months. a few weeks before your cycle.

he wasn’t avoiding you because he was angry, or upset. he was avoiding you because you were fucking ovulating.

logan expects you to flee, to be completely weirded out and steer clear of him for the foreseeable future. what he’s not expecting, is the words that come out of your mouth.

“i can help you with that if you want.”

you say it with such nonchalance, such casualness that he wonders if you’re even really grasping what you’ve said.

the wolverine shakes his head. “trust me, you don’t want this.”

he doesn’t quite believe his own words as he watches you close the distance between your bodies. something you’ve been desperate to do for as long as you can remember.

the thin fabric of his tank top and the soft cotton of your t-shirt is the only thing standing between you both. your chests are mere centimeters from touching and logan can feel the heat radiating from your bodies as his confession hangs heavy in the air. then that fucking smell comes back tenfold and he groans.

“you don’t get to make that choice for me,” your voice is sickly sweet, dripping with desire as your fingers ghost over the waistband of his jeans. he feels like a horny teenager as he preens at the barely there contact.

logan breathes your name, a last stitch effort to get you to run, though he knows it’s futile. if there’s one thing he knows about you, it’s that you're stubborn. unmoving in your ways.

and that when you want something, you don’t stop until you get it.

your hand comes up to cradle the side of his face, a rather gentle touch he wasn’t anticipating. his eyes flutter shut as you swipe your thumb over the expanse of his cheekbone.

your words are barely above a whisper. “i trust you, logan. completely.”

that’s all he needs to hear before he throws any sense of self control out the window.

he surges forward and captures your lips in what is possibly the most heated kiss you’ve ever experienced. you nearly stumble over at the sheer force of it. logan’s large hands fly to your waist, yours to the back of his neck as his tongue prods for entrance into your mouth. it’s messy, almost primal as you let him ravish you like he’s been thinking about for weeks.

you moan and he swallows the sound greedily, desperate to hear it again, and again, and again. when his lips move to press against the column of your throat, you know this is going to escalate into exactly what you hoped it would.

“logan,” you breathe out as he focuses on your pulse point, his hands wandering further south to knead at the globes of your ass. “not here.”

“why not?” he mutters, all smirky and smug as he continues to press wet hot kisses against your neck.

“because i would prefer if you didn’t fuck me where our friends eat.”

he laughs, a deep vibration felt against your chest as you absentmindedly grind your core against his. it makes him bring his mouth back up to yours, stealing one final kiss before he pulls away.

looking at you like he wants to eat you alive. and by god you might just let him.

pressing a playful smack against your backside, he gently nudges you in the direction of the corridor.

“lead the way sugar.”

thanks for reading! <3

[pathologicalreid]

defrost | s.r.

in which the heat goes out in your apartment and Spencer comes up with a creative idea to keep warm

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: fingering, hand job, good old fashioned dry humping, softdom!spencer, masturbation is referenced, unprotected p in v sex, sex on the floor (!!!), kissing, established relationship word count: 2.8k a/n: smut? havent seen that word since october. well past due if you ask me :-) hope you enjoy

It took entirely too much of your focus not to trip on the comforter that you were hauling from your bedroom, adding it to the heap of linens that you’d collected. The heat had gone out in the entire apartment complex earlier that afternoon, and while it was originally supposed to be fixed by five, the time was pushed back until the gas company finally just told you the issue wouldn’t be resolved until the morning.

Luckily, Spencer had managed to light the fireplace while you gathered every linen from the apartment and arranged a makeshift bed in front of the hearth, but even when you sat in front of the crackling flames, you were still cold. Pulling the cuffs of your sweatshirt over your hands, you tucked them beneath your thighs in an attempt to defrost yourself, you looked up at your boyfriend in desperation, “When did they say the gas would be back on?”

“They said eight, but before that, they said six, so there’s really no accurate measurement that they could provide. I hope we’ll know more in the morning,” he told you, taking a seat next to you and draping a blanket over your shoulders, making sure you were cozy before grabbing one for himself.

You sighed, admiring the way the movement of the fire reflected in his eyes. The two of you had ordered out for dinner, discarded takeout containers were in organized chaos on the coffee table, and two mugs were sitting on coasters filled with warm tea. Your range was out of commission, but thankfully, you had electricity. Admittedly, you were milking the situation, opting for candles over your lamps.

Spencer leaned over and nudged you gently with his blanket-covered elbow, “Are you warm enough?” He asked, looking around for another blanket to hand off to you, but coming up empty.

“If the gas isn’t back on by tomorrow afternoon, we should book a hotel,” you suggested, though, with your luck, Spencer would probably be called on a case tomorrow, leaving you to freeze on your own.

He furrowed his brows in response, “You were the one who didn’t want to stay in a hotel tonight, though?”

Shrugging, you looked at the thermostat on the wall, too far away to read, but you imagined it telling you that the apartment was becoming an industrial-sized icebox. “I don’t like staying in hotels if I can help it, I like having my things and my routine,” you responded as if he didn’t already know this about you.

“But?” He pressed.

“But I’m cold,” you told him, wrapping your blanket tighter around yourself and smiling when he opened his blanket cocoon. Gratefully, you obliged, shuffling yourself over to him and settling into his lap, sighing in contentment when he closed the blanket around you, “Oh, you’re warm.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, and Spencer took the opportunity to press a tiny kiss to the tip of your nose. “Is this better?”

Nodding, you closed your eyes and let your body relax into his, his arms wrapped around you, adding a reinforcement—a border of warmth, if you will. “Yeah, much better,” you murmured, trying to think warm thoughts.

“You know, it would be easier to share body heat if we weren’t wearing clothes,” Spencer told you, shifting one of his arms until his hand was on your waist, giving it a slight squeeze.

A shy smile bloomed on your face, turning your face to bury it in his neck, though the warm glow of your cheeks was a welcome sensation, “Are you trying to get in my pants right now?”

Spencer hummed, shifting beneath you slightly—a telltale sign that he was turned on—and gripping both of your hips, “Technically, I’m trying to get you out of them.”

Now grinning, you leaned forward, pressing your torso against Spencer’s until his back was against the blankets you’d stacked for your makeshift mattress. You took a moment to adjust the fabric that surrounded you, removing the layers of separation between you and Spencer when you finally reached his sweater. Carefully, you slipped your fingers beneath his layers of clothes, pausing abruptly when he inhaled sharply, “Are you okay?”

“Your hands are freezing, honey,” he told you; a lightness was present in his tone as if he was trying not to laugh.

Withdrawing your hands, you instead stuck them beneath his back, hoping to warm them up while you craned your head up to his, placing your lips on his and immediately sighing into him. You settled the rest of your body across his, bringing your knees up to his hips and grinding your core against his hardening length. The layers of clothing between you were proving to be a hindrance, but you weren’t ready to rid yourself of any insulation just yet.

You bunched up the wool of Spencer’s sweater in your hands, finding a rhythm between your rocking hips and moving lips, patiently waiting for the opportunity to slip your tongue into his mouth and hoping your hands were sufficiently warm when you moved your dominant hand back to his torso. Slowly, you lifted your hips from his and tucked your fingers beneath the waistband of both his flannel pajama pants and briefs, making sure he didn’t flinch at the temperature of your fingers when you wrapped them around his cock.

His mouth opened against yours at the contact, a low moan vibrating in his throat as you kept your hand in his pants. This was your opening, leaving you to slip your tongue in his mouth, deepening the kiss and speeding up your heart rate.

Moaning against his lips, you needed to sacrifice your kiss for the sake of a hand job, ducking your head so that you could focus on the flick of your wrist, the elastic waistbands working against you.

Spencer craned his head, dropping a kiss on the crown of your head, you could feel his abdomen tensing under your arm as you reached your other hand down to try and push his pants over his hips. “You wanna take my clothes off, don’t you?”

Your ministrations slowed as you peered up at him through your eyelashes and nodded, taking your cheek between your molars.

You hummed as Spencer used his grip on your waist to pull you up until your faces were close enough to meet again, he kissed you again, chastely this time, before whispering, “You first.”

Bracing yourself for the cold apartment air to brush against your skin, you assisted Spencer by pulling your arms through the sleeves of your sweater, gritting your teeth while he tugged it over your head. You were pleasantly surprised when the air surrounding you remained insulated, too distracted by the heat to think about the way Spencer was pushing your pants down.

While you regained your focus, you helped him discard your pants, kicking them off into the abyss of blankets that you were still cocooned in. “Are you still warm enough?” Spencer asked, dragging his knuckles up and down your bare waist as he looked up at you.

“Yeah,” you asked, the way he was so concentrated on keeping you warm and comfortable sent a flurry of butterflies to your stomach, making you all the more needier. “Spence,” you whispered, thinking about all of the layers of fabric that still separated the two of you.

He pulled you close to him, looking to the side before rolling you both over until he was on top of you. You quickly got to work, tugging at the hem of his sweater and relishing in every inch of exposed skin that touched yours. The inherent eroticism of skin-to-skin contact was beginning to drive you crazy, and Spencer noticed. He tossed his sweater off to the side, laughing lightly as you disappeared beneath the covers, finally pulling his flannel pajama pants off until it was up to him to get them off the rest of the way. Once you peeked your head back above the covers, you saw the lovesick grin on his face. “Hi,” he whispered, reaching a hand up to cup your face.

You reflected his smile back at him, “Hi,” you murmured, studying his face while he kept his every attention on you.

“You look so pretty like this,” he said, moving his hand down to grip your thigh, parting your legs around his waist while you kept your eyes on him.

Raising your eyebrows, your face warmed at his claim, “What? Beneath you?” You teased, grinning so broadly that you stuck your tongue beneath your teeth to try and tame the smile.

He didn’t falter. Instead, he tilted his head to the side and nodded, “Well, yes,” he admitted. “It gives me the opportunity to do things like this,” he said, dropping his hand down to your core, his eyes on yours as your mouth parted in anticipation. “It’s much easier to see your face while I touch you when you’re beneath me.”

As he spoke, his index finger slipped between your folds, causing your stomach to twist even as he was just barely grazing your clit with his knuckle. “And here I thought it was a control thing,” you challenged, your voice weaker than you’d originally hoped, practically breaking off into a whimper.

“That certainly doesn’t hurt,” he whispered, using his finger to spread your slick over your pussy, any sounds muffled by the blankets that still surrounded you. “But nothing will ever beat the look on your face when I slip my finger inside of you,” he teased, but his words didn’t reflect his actions, leaving you slightly disappointed.

You hummed, leaning your head back and checking on the fire before looking back up at Spencer, “You have an eidetic memory, don’t you have enough of me in your spank bank at this point?”

Spencer shook his head, watching you with an undying interest as he slipped his index finger into you tantalizingly slowly. Your eyes fluttered shut, your mouth parted, and a small, choked noise escaped your lips. “There it is, honey,” he cooed. “No memory will ever do that justice.”

Nodding, you forced yourself to open your eyes and meet his, studying the ring of gold surrounding his irises while his hand found a rhythm. Lifting your hips as his thumb applied pressure to your clit, you gasped at the sensation, your cunt clenching around his finger while his ministrations refused to cease. “Spence,” you breathed, “feels good.”

“Yeah?” He asked, taking your reassurance as a hint to add a second finger to his ministrations, “I like it when you let me take care of you, you spend too many nights alone in our bed for my liking.”

You lifted your hands up, just barely peeking over the blankets so you could place them on his shoulders, “I’ve never minded,” you reminded him. He always comes back to you, albeit in various states of disarray sometimes, but he always comes home.

He groaned, burying his face in your neck and leaving gentle kisses on the soft skin, never sucking long enough to leave a mark, but he paused once he reached your collarbone, “I mind,” he muttered against your skin, kissing down your chest until his lips were level with your breasts, taking the opportunity to take your nipple in his mouth.

As he sucked gently on the sensitive bud, you became all too aware of the familiar knot building in your lower belly, “Oh,” you gasped, your hips bucking up when he hummed against your chest in response, the vibrations going straight to your core, tightening the knot.

Spencer switched nipples, latching onto your other breast while he continued the pressure on your clit. A strangled moan made its way through your throat as the rubber band in your stomach snapped, and your orgasm rippled through you, sending wave after wave of pleasure through your entire body while Spencer continued to work you through it. He separated himself from your chest, leaving tender kisses on your jawline while you tried to remember how to breathe.

Your orgasm ebbed into a dull ache between your thighs, and you let your head fall back against the blankets, wincing when Spencer withdrew his fingers from your cunt. You caught your breath while Spencer adjusted himself, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking your juices from them—it made your walls clench around nothing. “Please,” you found yourself saying, looking up at him with wide, lust-blown eyes.

“Patience,” he cajoled, pinching your hip lightly as you squirmed beneath him. “Are you feeling okay?”

You nodded, taking your bottom lip between your teeth and trying to practice the virtuous trait, “I feel really good,” you assured him, your breath hitching when you felt his tip aligned with your entrance. “We should have sex on the floor more often,” you told him.

He smiled dropping a small kiss on your nose and deciding to adjust the blankets around you. Although, funny enough, you were beginning to get too warm. “You look gorgeous,” he told you, gently pressing into you, only part of the way.

Releasing a shuddering breath, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and met his shining eyes, which he accepted as an okay for him to slide further into you. You were sure you did not look gorgeous, in fact, you could feel your hair sticking to the back of his neck while he sheathed himself inside of you, giving you time to adjust and smoothing your hair out of your face in the interim—as if he had read your mind.

Your walls clenched around him, and he dropped his head in the crook of your neck, “You feel so good,” he muttered, lifting his hips from yours before pushing back in.

“Honey,” you whispered up at him before he found a rhythm, “Will you kiss me?”

You only saw his look of incredulity for a moment before his lips were on yours, you hummed contentedly into his mouth, your breathing faltering as he continued to thrust in and out of your cunt, finding a rhythm.

One of your hands dropped to the side of his neck, cupping his jaw while you moved your mouth on his, taking control of the kiss while he focused on fucking you. Separating your lips only to take a breath, your other hand was on his back, nails lightly grazing his otherwise unmarred skin as you searched for any semblance of stability.

 There had to have been something about the atmosphere, the various flames around you, or the heat of the blankets that covered you, that brought your orgasm on so quickly. You could already feel it building, and you gasped into Spencer as you felt it.

Using one hand to keep himself hovering just above you, he took his other hand and hooked it beneath your thigh, hoisting your leg up and opening your cunt even more to him. The change eased the pressure in your core, giving him more time to build up his own, but you had to separate your lips, “God, Spence,” you said, somewhere between overstimulated and overheated as your cunt clenched around his length.

He sighed, hot breath against your neck as he assured you, “I’ve got you.”

Just like that, you were a goner, head thrown back in complete bliss as your walls pulsed around Spencer’s cock, the sensation bringing on his own orgasm. You were trying to catch your breath while his cum spurted out inside of you. “Oh,” you sighed as he dropped your leg, letting your muscles stretch as Spencer’s hand massaged the inside of your thigh.

“Are you alright?” He murmured, dropping a soft kiss to your forehead.

You nodded, forcing yourself to open your eyes and look up at him, “Yeah,” you answered breathlessly, wincing slightly when he pulled out of you, more at the feeling of the fluid sliding out of you than anything else.

Spencer hummed, “Are you sure?” He brought a hand up, skimming his knuckles over your cheekbone, “It seems like something’s wrong.”

Shaking your head, you brought your hand up to hold his, leaving a soft kiss on his palm, “Promise,” you assured him. “I’m just warm, and I know I have to get up to go pee,” you told him, adjusting yourself on top of the rumpled blankets.

He gave you a lopsided smile in response, “What do you say you get up to pee, and I’ll get us some water while you’re gone?” He offered, bringing a smile to your face. “When we get back, we can watch a movie, your pick.”

Grinning up at him, you run a hand through his hair before ruffling it, “I say you’ve got yourself a deal.”

[finelinefae]

friends [ceo!h x shy!reader]

synopsis: bambi meets harry's best friends.

word count: 8.8k

contains: ceo!harry x assitant!y/n, deer!reader vibes, fluff, age gap (9 years), drunk harry, shy reader, boyfriend!h

this is part 3 of Bambi, read part 2 here

. . .

Y/N was slowly but surely finding her rhythm at Pleasing. Thanks to Harry’s advice on making the most of each day (advice he apparently wrote a book about—though when Lindsey mentioned it, Harry had quickly shushed her and changed the subject), she had developed a solid morning and evening routine.

Her workdays at Pleasing fell on the busiest days of Harry’s schedule, which meant she was there three times a week. Those mornings began promptly at 7 a.m., with her clothes already laid out from the night before. After waking, she’d prepare breakfast for herself and her brothers, speaking to Harry on the phone as they went about their respective routines in separate homes. Once breakfast was done, she’d brush her teeth, do her makeup, and style her hair. By the time the school bus arrived to whisk her brothers away, her car would be rounding the corner to take her into the city.

Despite her hectic schedule, Y/N was managing to juggle her studies—though she couldn’t ignore that they were beginning to take a backseat. Lately, she’d found herself questioning whether she even wanted to continue her course. But with life moving at such a whirlwind pace, the thought of making a definitive decision felt overwhelming. For now, it was easier to just focus on the day-to-day.

To her surprise, Y/N was actually enjoying her job—something she’d never expected. She’d never been a fan of “adulting”; being forced to grow up quickly didn’t mean she had to like it. Paying bills, going to work, and worrying about the future had always felt like too much. But having a steady job offered her a rare sense of stability—one she appreciated more than she wanted to admit. It kept food on the table, gave her some consistency, and most importantly, brought her closer to Harry.

Keeping their relationship a secret, however, was proving to be a challenge. Surprisingly, Y/N was the more professional of the two, maintaining her composure in the workplace. She kept her hands to herself and avoided lingering glances, even when they were in the same room. Harry, on the other hand, wasn’t quite as disciplined. He had a knack for initiating little interactions that straddled the line of propriety—always claiming they were “accidents.”

Like the time he held her hand just a second too long. Or the time he “accidentally” kissed her in the elevator right as the doors were opening. Then there was the incident during a meeting when, as she served tea, he tugged on the hem of her dress—apparently needing a refill.

Y/N couldn’t help but adore how infatuated he was, but she was determined to keep things professional. The last thing she wanted was for her coworkers to think she had an unfair advantage because of her relationship. Still, Harry’s innocent looks and playfulness made it hard to stay mad at him for long.

“I need to ask you something,” Harry said from his desk. 

It was Wednesday evening and everyone had gone home. Harry had needed to catch up on some work so Y/N stayed behind after some convincing with the proposition he would drop her home afterwards. Y/N was sitting on the chair opposite, her notebook open and laptop screen. Her laptop was on its last legs, taking forever to load and lagging every five seconds but she could never afford a new one and having one was better than nothing. 

“What’s wrong?” She looked up, wearing her glasses and face framed by wispy bits of loose hair that had escaped her messy bun. 

Harry’s face brightened when she looked up at him. “C’mere, Bambi. Too far away.” He pushed himself away from his desk and gestured to his lap. 

Y/N smiled and walked around the desk to sit in his lap. She straddled herself across his lap and wrapped both her arms around his neck, “Y’ smell good,” He murmurs, smelling her gingerbread cookie perfume even though it was Autumn, she was already excited for her favourite day of the year. 

“What did you want to ask?” She pouted. 

As if remembering he bought her over for a purpose, he continued, “This weekend, y’know you’re coming to stay the night?”

How could she forget? It was all she had been thinking about since he asked her. She had even bought brand new pyjamas with the remaining paycheck from her old job because her usual ones were worn and not as pretty. She had never been to a sleepover before let alone one with a man. She was’t sure what to expect but had seen movies where girls would sleepover and they’d paint each others nails and eat ice cream. She knew that wouldn’t be the case with Harry but she had made a list of other things they could do together that he’d enjoy too. 

“I know,” Y/N nodded, brows furrowed as she waited for him to continue. Part of her couldn’t help but worry. Did he not want her to sleep over anymore?

"Some of my friends are having a dinner get together type thing," Harry said, his tone casual but hopeful. "I haven’t said I’ll go yet because I knew you were coming over, but I wanted to ask if you’d like to come with me?"

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise. "To the dinner party? With you?"

Harry smiled, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Yeah, with me. Who else?"

She blinked, processing his words. "I’d be meeting your friends?" she asked cautiously. "Are you sure about that?"

"Why wouldn’t I be sure?" he replied, his brow lifting slightly.

"I don’t know, I just..." she trailed off, suddenly unsure of how to explain the nervous flutter in her chest.

"Ah, there y’go, Bambi," Harry smirked, leaning in just enough to make her cheeks burn. "Getting all flustered."

"I’m not flustered!" she protested, though the warmth in her face betrayed her.

Harry chuckled, his gaze warm and steady as it met hers. "It makes me happy, you know—thinking about introducing you to my friends. They were excited when I mentioned you."

"They were?" Y/N asked, her brows lifting in surprise.

"Mhm," he murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips. "They know it’s rare for me to bring someone I’m dating into the mix this early on." He leaned in, nuzzling against her neck and pressing a soft kiss to her skin. "So, will you come? We can head back to mine after."

She hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Okay... but I don’t know if I have anything to wear."

Harry smirked, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Y’know I can sort that," he teased.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed instantly, and she bit back a shy smile as his confidence and charm worked their usual magic. 

. . .

Y/N glanced down at her suitcase, biting her lip. Did I overpack for one night? Probably. She always did.

Growing up, money had been tight, but once Y/N started earning her own at sixteen, she’d developed a habit of indulging herself. Not extravagantly—there were no designer handbags or flashy purchases—but enough to feel like she was treating herself after the grind of a day. Skincare, makeup, clothes—her modest earnings often vanished in the blink of an eye.

Fashion was her weakness. Her clothing rack groaned under the weight of her ever-expanding wardrobe, frequently collapsing as if protesting her relentless shopping habit. Packing for this overnight stay at Harry’s had been no exception. She’d started with a backpack, then upgraded to a duffle bag, only to realize that wouldn’t fit everything she might need. Now, her suitcase sat by the stairs, practically mocking her indecision.

“Whoa.” Sammy’s voice broke her thoughts as he sauntered into her room, a chocolate bar in hand. “Are you moving in?”

“No,” Y/N huffed, hands on her hips. “I just want to be prepared.”

Sammy raised an eyebrow. “You know, he could just stay here instead.”

Y/N stilled. The boy’s first night without her had everyone feeling uneasy, and she knew Sammy wasn’t looking forward to it. His gaze was guarded, but she could see the vulnerability underneath.

“It’ll be fine,” she reassured, stepping closer. “It’s just one night. If you really hate it, we’ll—”

“You’ll what?” he interrupted, his voice breaking slightly. “There’s going to be a day when you move out. And leave me. With Mom. Or... without her.”

The words hit harder than he intended. Y/N swallowed the lump forming in her throat, reaching out to him. She saw the sadness etched in his eyes, a reflection of her own fears. “Wherever I go, you go,” she whispered firmly.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Sammy leaned into her, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug. Y/N held him close, closing her eyes for a moment before pulling away.

The sound of a knock at the front door jolted her. She glanced at the clock, muttering a quick, “That’s Harry,” as she rushed downstairs. She wanted to intercept him before Archie could get started—her little brother’s chatter had a way of turning quick visits into extended stays.

Yanking the door open, she froze. Harry stood there, a beaming smile lighting up his face despite the chill in the air. He wore a puffer jacket and shorts, his casual confidence making her heart skip.

“Hi, Harry,” she greeted, cheeks tinged pink, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or his presence. Without thinking, she leapt into his arms, her sock-clad feet barely touching the doorstep.

“Hi, Bambi,” he chuckled, steadying her as his arms closed around her. “Y’ready to go?”

“Mhm.” She pulled back, slipping on her shoes. “Let me say goodbye to the boys.”

Harry’s gaze shifted behind her, landing on the suitcase by the stairs. A laugh bubbled from him. “Are you planning on moving in?”

Y/N furrowed her brows, following his line of sight. When realization dawned, she flushed. “Oh, that. I, uh... didn’t know what I’d need.”

His grin softened as he stepped closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “S’alright, Bambi,” he murmured. “M’just excited to have you over.”

She smiled, her heart swelling as he leaned in for another kiss. Then, without missing a beat, he grabbed her suitcase and carried it effortlessly to the car.

After she had bid goodbye to her brother’s and promised them some much needed one on one time with them once she came back from Harry’s house, Y/N took a deep breath and mentally prepared herself for the next twenty four hours. 

. . .

In the car to Harry’s apartment, Y/N sat in the passenger seat with one hand intertwined with Harry’s whilst he drove with his other. The radio played through the car speakers, avoiding complete silence on the journey. The dulcit tones of Marvin Gaye playing throughout. 

“Y’ hands are freezing,” Harry said. Y/N instinctively tried to pull away as though her hand being cold was a bad thing but Harry clung tighter, raising both their hands and kissing her knuckles before blowing his warm breath over her hand. “Do you need me to up the heater?”

Y/N shook her head, “No it’s okay, my hands get cold when I’m nervous.” She confessed. 

Harry frowned, “Nervous? Are you okay?”

Y/N cringed, “M a little worried about meeting your friends. What if they don’t like me?” 

Harry gave her a comforting smile, “Bambi, they’re so excited to meet you. You have nothing to worry about. They’ve met other girls I’ve dated and trust me when I say you’re a walking angel in comparison to them.” 

“H-Have you dated a lot of other girls?” Y/N felt awkward bringing it up but her curiosity was getting the better of her. Harry had only mentioned briefly of the other women he had dated. Of course he had dated other women, he was a successful, handsome millionaire with a fashion company. It would be pointless trying to deny it. 

Harry thought for a moment like he was trying to think carefully about his response, “I’ll be honest, I used to date a lot of women when I first started making money. I wasn’t very good when I started getting attention from the press. I drank a lot and spent money on buying out nightclubs and bars for the night.” 

Y/N was shocked. She tried to picture her Harry being the version of himself he spoke about. “But my company was no where near as successful as it is now so even though I was spending a lot, I was losing a lot too. I nearly went bankrupt at one point which really gave me a kick up the ass. My sister, she’s an accountant back home in England, she came to visit and helped me get my act together.” 

“Oh wow,” Y/N didn’t really know what else to say. She couldn’t seem to envision her sweet, soft and wholesome Harry being a party animal and spening nights in bars for days on end. 

“Did that put you off?” Y/N immediately shook her head. 

“Of course not, we’ve all got things we’re not proud of.” Y/N replied. 

Harry smiled, “What about you? Any psycho ex-boyfriends I need to worry about?”

Y/N laughed, “No lucky for you, I don’t think a single guy has ever taken interest in me.” 

“I highly doubt that Bambi but you’re right, I am very lucky.” Harry flashed a cheeky grin, turning the wheel around the corner and stopped outside the tallest building she had ever seen that looked as though it was completely made of glass. 

Y/N’s was unable to say anything when her eyes gazed up at the towering stack of apartments. “You live in this building?” Y/N couldn’t take her eyes off, her neck permanently craned to look up. She was pretty sure the hjgihest point of the building resided in the clouds. 

Harry said nothing, parking his car in the private parking spot. He went to the back to grab her suitcase, Y/N stepping out of the car and walking around to meet him. 

“C’mon Bambi,” Harry chuckled at her awe-struck expression. 

They walked hand in hand through the lobby which looked as glamorous as you’d expect. Harry gave a nod to the security at the door as they went past and headed towards the elevator. Y/N’s eyes widened when his finger pressed the button for the top floor. 

The doors to the elevator opened and Y/N thought she might actually pass out. 

She stepped into Harry’s penthouse, her breath catching as her gaze swept over the space. The floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city skyline, all the people and cars down below looked like ants. The open layout was both elegant and inviting, with warm ambient lighting casting a golden glow over the neutral-toned furniture and rich wooden floors.

“Wow,” she whispered, taking a hesitant step further inside. The plush cream sofa, the sleek coffee table stacked with books, and the faint scent of vanilla in the air all felt so Harry—effortlessly stylish and welcoming.

Harry chuckled behind her, setting her suitcase by the door. “You like it?”

“Like it?” she breathed, turning to face him with wide eyes. “Harry, this is... incredible.”

He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. “M’glad you think so. Wanted it to feel comfy, y’know? Somewhere I could actually relax.”

Y/N nodded, her eyes drifting back to the view. “Sometimes I forget how rich you are.”

Harry chuckles from behind her, “I’m actually very glad to hear that.”

She walked over to the windows, pressing her hands gently against the glass as she looked out at the city sprawling beneath them. For a moment, it felt like they were floating above it all, separate from the noise and chaos of the world below.

Harry joined her, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her close. “S’better with you here,” he murmured, his voice soft.

Y/N’s heart thudded in her chest as she leant into him. Harry kissed her shoulder, turning her round to face him. He smiled when her eyes met his, “We have some time before we need to get ready, do you want to go unpack?”

“Oh of course, am I sleeping on the couch?” Harry furrowed his brows before bursting out laughing, water almost fell from his eyes. Y/N frowned, confused at his reaction. 

“You don’t want to sleep in my room Bambi? With me?” Y/N’s cheek scorched red but Harry just continued to laugh, “I mean I’m happy to sleep on the couch and let you sleep in my room if that’s what would make you comfortable.”

“No, it’s okay! I was just messing around,” She was all flustered. The idea of sleeping in Harry’s bed with him hadn’t crossed her mind like it maybe should have. 

“Are you sure? Y’ know I wouldn’t do anything to make you uncomfortable.” Y/N’s shoulders sunk at his sincere concern, she stood on her toes and kissed his lips. This time it was his turn to be surprised since it was rare for her to be the first to initiate a kiss between them. 

“I know,” She smiled, “I want to sleep in your room… with you.” 

Harry smiled, “Good. Let me give you a tour first.” 

Harry led Y/N back toward the kitchen, still holding her hand as they strolled through the open-concept living area. “First stop: the kitchen,” he said, motioning grandly as they stepped into the sleek, modern space.

Y/N’s eyes widened as she took in the marble countertops, state-of-the-art appliances, and a large island that looked like it had been plucked from a home design magazine. A trio of pendant lights hung above, casting a warm glow over the pristine surfaces.

“Wow,” she breathed, running her fingers along the smooth countertop. “This is amazing. Do you even use it?”

Harry grinned, leaning casually against the island. “I use it for takeout. Does that count?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t know how anyone could resist cooking in here.”

“I can resist pretty easily, love,” he said with a smirk. “But if you ever fancy cooking together, I’m happy to assist. I’m great at stirring things and, uh… taste-testing.”

“Of course you are, no wonder you own a restaurant.” Y/N teased, giving him a playful nudge.

Harry chuckled, then nodded toward a door off to the side. “Alright, next stop: my office.”

He guided her through the door and into a smaller, cosier room that contrasted with the open, airy feel of the rest of the penthouse. The office was lined with dark wood shelves filled with books, a few framed photos, and scattered trinkets. A large desk sat in front of another set of floor-to-ceiling windows, the view just as stunning as the one in the living room.

“This is where I get most of my work done,” he said, walking over to the desk and leaning on it. “Or where I try to, anyway. Sometimes I just sit here and stare out at the city.”

Y/N wandered over to the shelves, her fingers lightly brushing the spines of the books. “It’s so… you,” she said softly, glancing at the little details—a framed photo of him with his family, a guitar pick sitting on a stack of papers, and a candle that smelled faintly of cedar.

He raised an eyebrow. “You mean messy?”

“No,” she said, laughing. “I mean it’s thoughtful. Personal.”

Harry’s smile softened, and he reached out to take her hand again. “Alright, enough of the boring office. Time to show you the best room in the house.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat as he led her back down the hallway to his bedroom. When he pushed open the door, her breath hitched.

The bedroom was even more stunning than she’d imagined. The centerpiece was a massive bed with crisp white linens that looked impossibly soft, surrounded by sleek, minimal furniture. The far wall was made entirely of glass, offering an unobstructed view of the glittering city below. Heavy curtains were drawn to the sides, framing the view like a painting.

Harry watched her take it all in, a small smile tugging at his lips. “So? What do you think?”

“It’s… incredible,” Y/N whispered, stepping into the room. She walked over to the windows, pressing her hands against the glass as she gazed out at the city. “I don’t think I’d ever sleep. I’d just stay up staring at this view.”

“Well, lucky for you,” Harry said, coming up behind her and resting his hands gently on her shoulders, “the bed is comfortable enough to make you forget about the view.”

She turned to look at him, her cheeks warming. “I don’t know if that’s possible.”

Harry grinned, his dimples on full display. “Challenge accepted, Bambi.”

He took her hand and led her to the bed, sitting down beside her. The mattress really did feel like a cloud as she sank into it.

“I was serious earlier,” Harry said, his tone softer now. “You can sleep wherever you want—the bed, the couch, the office chair if you’re feeling adventurous. I just want you to be comfortable.”

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling at his thoughtfulness. “I already told you, Harry. I want to sleep here. With you.”

His eyes lit up at her words, and he leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead. “Good. Because I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want that too.”

Harry stood up, “I’ll leave you to unpack. I’ve just go to make a few calls but there’s an ensuite bathroom you can use to freshen up.”

After Harry brought her suitcase to the bedroom, he left her to unpack. Y/N unzipped it and pulled out her washbag, heading into the ensuite bathroom.

The bathroom was stunning—a walk-in shower with dark tiles and jets built into the walls. She stepped to the sink, admiring the clean lines of the vanity, and placed her washbag carefully on the counter. She couldn’t help but smile when she noticed all of Harry’s skincare neatly organized in a cute little spinning container—it was such a contrast to her own chaotic setup. But then her eyes landed on the glass by the sink, where his toothbrush rested.

Beside it was a pink toothbrush.

Her heart softened at the sight, a warm flutter spreading through her chest. There was something about that simple detail that made her feel all warm and gooey inside. She’d never believed she would find someone she’d want to spend so much time with but here she was staying the night with Harry and about to meet his friends. 

Y/N walked into the living room, where Harry was already sitting on the couch with his laptop perched on her lap. He smiled when he saw her, and then his gaze fell to the object she was holding. “Is that Monopoly?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Y/N nodded, her grin widening. “Yeah, it’s the original version. I asked my brothers if I could bring it with me since we've had this set forever, and they would absolutely murder me if I lost any pieces. We have to be able to play it at Christmas."

The corner of Harry’s lips quirked in amusement. “Hmm, may I ask why you decided to bring Monopoly with you today?”

Y/N paused, clearly puzzled. “Isn’t that what people do at sleepovers? Play games?”

Harry’s grin spread wider. As she stepped closer, he reached out, pulling her toward him. She ended up collapsing onto his chest with a soft laugh.

“Oh, Bambi,” he murmured, showering her face with quick kisses. His lips tickled her skin, making her giggle uncontrollably. “You’re the most precious girl I’ve ever known, you know that?”

She smiled up at him, her cheeks flushed. “Does that mean you want to play?”

Harry gave a dramatic sigh, still grinning. “Of course! Are you kidding me? I love this game.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her voice playful. “Well, be prepared. I’m not one to brag, but I’m pretty good at it.”

His eyes lit up with challenge. “Oh, Bambi’s competitive, I see.”

A spark flickered in her eyes as she leaned in slightly, “Just a little.”

. . .

Harry loved discovering the many layers of his Bambi. To the outside world, she was shy and quiet, but to him, she was a multi-faceted woman, full of surprises he was peeling back one by one. Yet this afternoon might have revealed his favorite side of her yet.

Y/N’s eyes sparkled with excitement and mischief as she declared her victory in Monopoly—long before the game had officially ended. Harry had debated whether to let her win, as any gentleman might, but it turned out he didn’t need to. She was fiercely competitive and had wiped the floor with him in just thirty minutes.

If time had allowed, Harry would’ve played another round or concocted a new game just to watch her face light up with that same playful energy. The afternoon spent with her, laughing over a simple board game, had him envisioning Christmas mornings and holiday traditions for years to come. It was silly, perhaps, to think so far ahead so early in their relationship, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t picture a future without Bambi in it.

Still, as the game wrapped up, he could see her nerves creep back in. The mention of preparing to meet his friends made her retreat into herself, her earlier exuberance melting into quiet apprehension. Despite his reassurances, Harry knew she’d wrestle with her anxiety until the dinner was behind them.

His friends, on the other hand, were eager to meet her. Their group chat had been buzzing with excitement about “the girl who finally tied him down.” Since Harry’s family was back in England, his friends were the closest thing he had to family in LA, making their opinions matter. But he had no doubt they’d love her.

In the living room, Harry waited for Y/N to finish getting ready, dressed in his tailored dark suit with a relaxed fit. The loose white tank underneath, with its wide scoop neckline, subtly revealed his tattoos, and the Pleasing logo stitched at the hem added a personal touch. Cream-colored loafers and white socks completed the look, his short curls neatly styled to keep them from obscuring his face.

The click of the bedroom door snapped him from his thoughts. He rose from the sofa, as alert as a puppy hearing its owner return. When Y/N stepped out, the oxygen seemed to leave the room entirely.

Her dress was light pink, soft and flowing, with thin spaghetti straps and a V-shaped neckline that showcased her décolletage. The slightly sheer fabric hinted at her elegant curves, while the asymmetrical hemline added a whimsical touch. Her hair was slicked back into a high ponytail, and her makeup was pink-toned and dewy, enhancing her natural glow. She paired the dress with strappy silver heels and a small, dainty bag dangling from her shoulder.

Her hand clung to her opposite arm, feeling vulnerable as she stood before him. Harry felt his breath hitch, his lips parting as he tried to absorb how breathtaking she looked.

“Bambi…” he managed, his voice low and reverent.

Her cheeks flushed. “Is it too much?” she asked softly.

Harry stepped closer, taking her hands in his and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “You look beautiful. I don’t even have the words to tell you how incredible you are.”

She ducked her head, shy like the deer he affectionately nicknamed her after. “Thank you. You look very handsome, too,” she said with a smile.

“Thank you, baby,” he murmured, his gaze fixed on her like she was the only thing in the world.

“Do you like my dress?” she asked, her voice tentative.

Harry’s hands slid to her waist, feeling the soft fabric and the gentle curve of her silhouette. “I love it.”

“I made it,” she admitted, her blush deepening.

His brows lifted in surprise. “You did?”

She nodded, and Harry was awestruck. He’d seen her sketches before—ones she had reluctantly shared after he begged—but seeing her creations come to life was something else entirely.

Harry glanced at his watch, sighing reluctantly. “We should probably get going, but first…” He pulled out his phone, aiming it at the two of them. Y/N laughed, trying to push the camera away, but eventually relented, leaning in to kiss his cheek just as he snapped the photo. His grin widened, his eyes crinkling with joy.

Taking her hand, he asked, “Do you need a jacket?” His gaze flicked to her bare arms.

“I’ll be okay, as long as the bar has heating,” she replied with a small laugh.

Harry chuckled but grabbed a jacket on their way out anyway. He knew her well enough to anticipate the moment she’d get cold but wouldn’t say a word about it.

The drive to the bar felt like it took forever, thanks to the heavy city traffic. Harry’s hand remained warm on her thigh, and she wrapped her arm around his, seeking comfort from his touch. She chewed on her bottom lip, a nervous habit she couldn’t seem to stop.

“A little,” she confessed, glancing over at him. “I just want them to like me. I’ve never had to introduce myself to anyone’s friends before... I don’t want to mess up.”

“You’ll be fine, Bambi,” Harry reassured her, his voice calm as always. He’d said it so many times already, and she knew he’d say it dozens more if she needed to hear it. “Just be yourself. That’s all you need to be.”

Y/N wouldn’t say it out loud, but the age difference between her and Harry’s friends had been weighing on her mind all evening. The nine-year gap between her and Harry had never been an issue for them—it felt inconsequential when they were together. But his friends might see it differently.

What if they thought she was too young, too inexperienced, too… immature for someone like him? Worse, what if they assumed she was with him for his success, for the money he worked so hard to earn? The mere thought made her stomach twist. She didn’t want to be judged on circumstances she couldn’t change or assumptions she couldn’t dispel.

Harry’s friends meant a lot to him, and their approval—or lack of it—would sting far more than she cared to admit.

She nodded anyway, letting out a slow breath and turning her gaze to the window. The city lights blurred outside, their glow reflecting in her eyes. Even though his words helped calm her, she still couldn’t shake the nerves.

When they pulled up to the bar, the fancy building loomed in front of them. A valet was already waiting, and Y/N couldn’t help but notice how Harry always seemed to have the luxury treatment everywhere they went. It was a reminder of how different her world was from his, but she tried not to dwell on it.

As Harry stepped out of the car, Y/N noticed the photographers waiting outside. It wasn’t a surprise, but it still made her stomach tighten. Harry wasn’t a mega-celebrity, but he was well-known enough in the business world that the occasional paparazzi was inevitable.

Harry opened the door for her, his hand gently resting on her hip as he helped her out. His arm wrapped around her, pulling her close. He kissed the top of her head, and it felt like both a reassurance for her and a subtle message to the photographers.

The bar was dimly lit and sophisticated with shiny tables and chairs with red upholstery. Live jazz music played as people chatted over glasses of wine that probably cost more than Y/N’s monthly wages had to offer. “Do you own this bar?” Y/N asked, clinging a little bit tighter to Harry’s hand. 

Harry chuckled, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Not this one,” he said, guiding Y/N toward a booth at the back of the bar. As they approached, the laughter of a group already seated at the table reached her ears. The sound was warm, familiar, like a group of people who had known each other for years.

A man with long brunette hair had his arm around a woman with similar dark hair that cascaded in waves down her shoulders. The two of them were laughing, their faces lit up in shared joy, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel a little nervous as they neared the group.

Before she could even take a deep breath, one of the men spotted them walking over. He had a rugged beard, and he stood up with a grin, his drink in hand.

“Harry!” he called out, extending his hand.

Harry gave him a knowing grin and shook his hand firmly, his other arm still wrapped around Y/N. “Mate,” he greeted warmly, pulling him into a quick hug.

Y/N watched the exchange, trying to hide the anxious flutter in her stomach. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but she knew this was an important moment for her. She hadn’t met many of Harry’s close friends yet, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that this would be a defining moment—how they reacted to her, how she’d fit in with this group that meant so much to him.

The man with the beard turned to Y/N, his eyes flickering with curiosity, and then he offered her a smile. “You must be Y/N,” he said, his tone warm and welcoming. “It’s great to finally meet you.”

Y/N smiled, a little relieved at the friendly tone in his voice. “Yeah, it’s nice to meet you too,” she replied, her nerves still there but starting to ease. “I’ve heard so much about you guys.”

Harry stood beside her, his hand still resting at the small of her back, offering her silent support as she navigated this new territory. 

The man with the beard grinned as he stepped back, giving Y/N a moment to breathe. "This is Mitch," Harry said, gesturing to the man with long brunette hair who was seated next to a woman with equally dark hair. Mitch gave her a warm, easy smile, his arm casually wrapped around Sarah’s shoulders.

"It’s great to meet you, Y/N," Mitch said, his voice easy and friendly. "Harry’s told us all about you."

Y/N’s nerves eased a little more as Mitch’s friendly demeanor helped her feel at home. "I hope it’s all good things," she said, a nervous laugh escaping her lips.

"Oh, definitely," Mitch replied, nudging Harry with his elbow and giving him a teasing grin. 

Sarah, Mitch’s girlfriend, stood up from the booth with a bright smile, her waves of dark hair catching the light. She reached out to shake Y/N’s hand, her voice warm and welcoming. “Hi! I’m Sarah. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered, but Sarah’s friendly tone immediately put her at ease. “Nice to meet you too,” she replied with a smile, trying to match Sarah’s warmth. "Harry's mentioned you guys a lot."

“Good things, I hope,” Sarah teased, winking as she sat back down beside Mitch.

Before Y/N could respond, a deep voice from the other side of the booth spoke up. “You must be Y/N,” a man with a thick beard said, “I’m Jamie.”

“It’s good to meet you,” Y/N smiled.

Jamie gave her a smile that seemed to take up half his face, his eyes twinkling with humor. "Harry’s been keeping us in the loop." He offered her a firm handshake, his grip warm. “It’s about time we met the girl who finally has him whipped.”

Finally, a woman sitting across from Jamie stood up, her presence immediately commanding attention. Alessia was striking—her short hair framed her face with confidence, and her posture was strong. She offered Y/N a small, warm smile. "I’m Alessia," she said, extending a hand. "It’s so good to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you from Harry."

"Nice to meet you too," Y/N said, shaking her hand with a smile. There was something calming about Alessia’s assuredness that made Y/N feel at ease, even though she was a little more reserved than the others.

As Alessia returned to her seat, Harry’s hand still rested on Y/N’s back, a silent comfort in the midst of the introductions, as they sat in the booth next to Sarah and Mitch. His friends were exactly as he’d described—kind, welcoming, and playful. They were a perfect match for Harry and that bought a sense of relief to her. 

“Can I get you a drink?” Harry murmured to Y/N, his hand gently brushing against hers as he leaned in.

Y/N hesitated, biting her lip. She had never really drunk alcohol before—not because she didn’t want to, but simply because she never really went out drinking. Whenever she was out with her brothers, she always stuck to something safe like Coke or Sprite. She felt a little embarrassed to admit that she wasn’t sure what to order.

“Um…” She fumbled for words, feeling self-conscious. "I...I don't really know what to drink."

Harry’s smile softened, as if he understood right away. “Would you like me to pick something for you?”

Y/N felt a wave of relief wash over her. He wasn’t making her feel stupid. "Yes, please," she said gratefully, a slight smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

With a nod, Harry turned and motioned for the guys to follow him toward the bar. As they walked off, Y/N felt her nerves kick in again. She was left standing with Sarah and Alessia, the two women who already seemed so at ease with each other and the group.

Y/N suddenly felt a little out of her element. She wasn’t used to hanging out with other women in this kind of setting. With her brothers, everything was easy and casual, but this... this felt different. She was afraid that her awkwardness would be obvious, so she searched for something to say, anything to break the silence.

It didn’t take long for Sarah to sense her discomfort. She leaned forward with a welcoming smile. “Where’s your dress from? It’s gorgeous,” she asked, her voice light and friendly.

Y/N's face softened at the compliment, and she felt more at ease. “Oh, um, I actually made it,” she said, a little shy but proud. "I love fashion, so I’ve been sketching designs for a while."

Sarah’s eyes widened, impressed. “Wait, you made it? That’s amazing!” She looked at Y/N with genuine admiration. “It looks beautiful on you. I honestly thought it was something you bought from a high-end store.”

Y/N laughed softly, feeling a bit shy but happy with the compliment. “Thanks, that means a lot. I’ve kept a lot of my sketches in an old notebook, but I’ve always wanted to show them to someone.”

“I would love to see them sometime,” Sarah said enthusiastically. “I’m obsessed with fashion too. Maybe we can swap ideas sometime.”

Alessia, who had been listening with a smile, chimed in. “You’re really talented. I’m sure Harry’s lucky to have someone so creative around especially with his company.” 

“Do you guys work in fashion too?” Y/N asked, genuinely curious about the two women she’d just met.

“Just Harry, I’m afraid,” Sarah replied with a playful smile. “We all went to art school, though. Mitch and I own an art gallery together, and Jamie runs a theatre company.”

“And I design album art for artists,” Alessia added, her voice warm and casual.

Y/N’s eyes widened in genuine awe. “Wow. That’s so impressive. Is that how you all met? Through art school?”

“Yep, we were kind of the outcasts of our year group,” Sarah said with a chuckle, “so we stuck together. And look where we are now.”

Y/N smiled, feeling the closeness between the group. “That’s so cool. And... were you and Mitch together back then?”

“Oh no,” Alessia laughed, shaking her head. “Sarah and Mitch didn’t get together until after art school. It was excruciating to witness—those two pining over each other for four years and never doing anything about it.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at Alessia’s blunt description. “That sounds like a movie.”

“It kind of was,” Sarah said, laughing with her. “But it worked out in the end.”

“I bet Harry told you about us,” Alessia continued, leaning in a bit. “He told us he was bringing you tonight, and we were all nervous, actually.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows, surprised. “Really? I was nervous too.”

“Are you kidding? After Harry’s last ‘girlfriend,’” Sarah said with a playful eye-roll, “we thought we’d be meeting some bitchy gold-digger who’d be all over him, trying to separate him from us. But then we met you, and it was like, thank God—you’re nothing like that. Honestly, we’re so relieved.”

“Harry talks about you non-stop,” Alessia added with a teasing grin. “For the last month and a half, it’s been ‘Y/N this, Y/N that,’ in our group chat. It’s kind of sweet, honestly.”

“Really?” Y/N blinked, her face softening with surprise.

Sarah smiled warmly. “Yeah, don’t worry, it’s nice to hear. He deserves someone who treats him right, you know? Especially after everything he’s done for all of us.”

Alessia nodded, her expression turning a little more serious. “He got me out of some serious debt. I was on the brink of losing everything, close to being homeless... but Harry stepped in. He rented me a place, helped me get back on my feet, and even called in a favor that landed me my first real job. He’s the most caring person I know.”

Y/N’s heart warmed at Alessia’s words. This wasn’t the first time she’d heard someone speak so highly of Harry, but it never failed to move her. Hearing it from his friends, people who had seen him at his best and worst, made her realise just how deeply Harry cared about the people in his life—and just how lucky she was to be part of it. 

Soon Harry returned with the boys, sliding into the seat next to her. He placed a drink in front of her, “I got you an Aperol Spritz but if you don’t like it I can get you something else.” He told her. 

“Thank you,” She beamed up at him and took a sip of her drink. It was light and bubbly with a slight bitter yet citrusy taste. The more she drank, the more she enjoyed the taste of it.  

Harry continued conversing with his friends, and Y/N found herself enjoying the easy banter between them. It was nice to see this side of him—relaxed, almost boyish, and playful. The way his friends teased each other with such familiarity made her smile, and it felt like she was catching a glimpse of Harry’s world before she’d come into it.

She liked his friends. All of them were warm and welcoming, each with their own distinct personalities, but there was a genuine closeness that she could see. They kept her in the loop, filling in the gaps on things she might not have fully understood—like an inside joke or a shared memory—until she felt like she was beginning to grasp the dynamics between them.

Sarah and Alessia were especially attentive, constantly asking her questions and trying to learn everything about her. Y/N appreciated their curiosity and kindness. They didn’t make her feel like an outsider, instead showing genuine interest in her life and her background. 

Every so often, Y/N would catch Harry looking down at her. He’d check in on her, his gaze soft, making sure she was okay and not feeling overwhelmed. His protective instincts were clear, and she was grateful for it. He didn’t hover, but whenever he could, he’d quietly reassure her with a small smile or a squeeze of her hand under the table.

Despite the lively atmosphere, Y/N felt like she wasn’t just another guest at the table—she was part of the conversation, part of the group. And it was easy to relax into that sense of belonging as the night wore on. Even though she was still a little out of her comfort zone, she couldn’t help but feel more at ease with every passing minute, especially with Harry so nearby.

She laughed at something Sarah had said, a light, genuine sound that felt more natural than she expected. The whole night had been surprisingly fun, and for once, she was enjoying being part of something so lively, instead of shrinking back.  

“So Y/N, what’s Harry like as a boyfriend?” Jamie asked, causing Y/N to freeze in her seat.

Harry’s hand stilled from where it had been drawing invisible circles on her knee. The table seemed to pause, sensing the awkwardness in the air.

“That bad?” Jamie chuckled, trying to lighten the moment.

Y/N’s mind scrambled for the right words. She wasn’t sure how to describe their relationship—things were still new, and they had never really put a label on it beyond "dating." Her mouth felt dry as she fumbled for a response.

“U-um, we’re not— I don’t think—” Y/N stumbled, her face flushing. She didn’t know how to put it into words, not wanting to make things awkward or overthink it.

Before she could continue, Sarah quickly chimed in with a grin, “A better boyfriend than you.”

The entire table burst out laughing, and the tension in the air seemed to lift immediately. Jamie threw his hands up in mock defeat, shaking his head with a smirk.

“Alright, alright. I’ll take the loss. But I’m definitely curious now,” he said, leaning forward. “What makes Harry such a great boyfriend, then?”

Y/N glanced at Harry, meeting his eyes, which were filled with amusement but also a warmth that made her heart skip. "Yeah, Bambi, what am I like as a boyfriend?"

Her lips parted at the question. It was the first time he had referred to their relationship so openly, and the realisation hit her in a way that made her smile nervously.

“Well,” Y/N began, her voice softening as she relaxed, “he’s incredibly thoughtful. He’s always checking in on me, making sure I’m alright, and—he actually listens. He’s not the kind of guy who brushes off what I say or rushes through things. He’s really present.”

Harry’s hand slid over to hers under the table, his fingers intertwining with hers in a quiet show of support. He squeezed her hand gently, his gaze tender, saying everything without needing words.

“And he’s fun,” Y/N added with a light laugh, her nervousness easing. “He doesn’t take himself too seriously, which is honestly one of my favorite things about him.”

Harry’s smile deepened at her words, and there was something in the way he looked at her—like he was asking her a question without saying it aloud. “I love it… Being his girlfriend.” Y/N blushed but Harry’s face widened into a grin, one of his dimples appearing on his cheek. 

The group exchanged knowing glances, clearly enjoying the moment. Alessia raised her glass, her eyes twinkling.

“To Y/N, we wish you all the luck in the world for having to put up with us.” she said, toasting her with a wink.

Everyone joined in, lifting their glasses, and Y/N felt her heart swell at the way Harry’s friends rallied around them. 

. . .

Y/N hadn’t noticed how much Harry had had to drink until his head rested on her shoulder, in the middle of her conversing some more with Sarah and Alessia,  “Think I want to go home Bambi,” He murmured. Y/N pushed his droopy curls back and saw the hazy look in his eye, a lazy smile on his lip, “So pretty,” His lips puckered as he spoke. 

Y/N giggled, “How are we meant to get home silly, you drove us here.”

“Oh yeah,” Harry huffed, “I did didn’t I?”

Sarah chuckled, “We can drop you guys home on the way back to our place. We’ll just tell the valet to keep hold of his car. He can pick it up tomorrow as punishment.” 

Y/N laughed softly, nodding her thanks to Sarah. "That sounds like a good plan," she said, looking down at Harry, whose cheek was now squished adorably against her shoulder. He was humming a tune she couldn’t quite place, the sound low and soothing despite his obvious tipsiness.

Harry’s hand found hers under the table, his fingers clumsily lacing through hers. “Y’ make me the happiest Bambi. ‘M so happy y’ m’ girlfriend.” he mumbled, his words slightly slurred but unmistakably earnest.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, her heart skipping a beat. “That’s a lot of happy,”

“It is isn’t it?” Harry laughs. 

Sarah stood up, grabbing her bag. “Alright, let’s get you two lovebirds home.”

Y/N helped him to his feet. He wobbled slightly, leaning heavily against her. “You’re my favorite person ever, you know that?” he said as they made their way to the exit, his voice loud enough to draw a few amused glances from nearby tables.

“I think I’m starting to get the idea,” Y/N replied, her tone affectionate as she wrapped an arm around his waist to steady him.

“I’m hungry,” he announced loudly. “Can we get chips? Or pizza?”

“Let’s get you home first, superstar,” Mitch said, clapping him on the back and making Harry stumble slightly into Y/N.

“You’re my hero,” Harry murmured dramatically as they shuffled toward the car, his arm draped over her shoulder. “You saved me, Bambi. You’re the best.”

“You’re going to think otherwise when you see how many embarrassing photos Sarah and Alessia probably took tonight,” Y/N quipped, her laughter blending with the others’ as they piled into the car.

“Embarrassing?” Harry blinked at her, his expression mock-serious. “Never. I look good in all lighting.”

Y/N shook her head, letting out a laugh as Harry’s head found her shoulder once more. “We’ll see about that in the morning,” she said, her voice fond.

Harry let out a contented sigh. “You smell so nice,” he murmured sleepily.

Y/N giggled, smoothing her hand over his curls. “You’re ridiculous.”

As the car pulled away from the bar, Harry mumbled something about her being “too good for him” before trailing off into a soft snore. Y/N looked down at him, her heart swelling. Even in his drunken, clumsy state, he had a way of making her feel like the most important person in the world.

Once Sarah and Mitch dropped them off right at Harry’s front door, Y/N was left with the daunting task of lugging Harry to his room. He wasn’t exactly helping, his body swaying dramatically as she tried to steady him.

“Harry, you’re not making this easy,” she huffed, half-laughing as he stumbled. By some miracle, she managed to guide him to the bed, where he flopped down—half on the mattress, half on the floor.

“Mission accomplished,” she muttered under her breath, crouching down to untie his laces. But just as she reached for his shoe, he playfully kicked his foot away, his lips curling into a cheeky grin.

“C’mere, Bambi,” he murmured, his voice low and a little slurred.

Y/N stood, brushing off her knees, only to find herself being tugged down onto the bed when he grabbed her wrist. She landed on top of him with a surprised gasp, her hands braced against his chest.

“Harry!” she exclaimed softly, but he didn’t say anything, just looked up at her with those green eyes, hazy but full of something she couldn’t quite describe.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The world around them seemed to blur as they gazed at each other, an unspoken connection passing between them. Harry reached up, his fingers gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The faint smell of alcohol lingered on his breath, but his touch was steady, his expression achingly tender.

“Mean it,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “You make me the happiest.”

Y/N’s heart twisted at the sincerity in his words, her breath catching in her throat. Her lips curved into a soft smile as she cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing against his skin. “You make me the happiest too, Harry.”

Taglist~

ravenclawmarvel noididnotsignupforthis comicalivy @boomitsallie1 @hazzarules @squirreljoe @c3lline0 @harry2121 @lizsogolden @its-his-dimples @tchalametishot @youngpastafanmug @awritingtree @reidsblessing @idontcareforausernamesblog @mads3502 @cherrys4suckers @lomlolivia @tenaciousperfectionunknown malf-azx @angeldavis777 fruity-harry he6rtshaker vikiii07 hannah9921 pepperonipastas sideboobrry11 soteric-princess madelinelcl ciriceimpera angelbunny222 dutchtheatrelore tchlamqtsgf hawkinsavclub1983 ironstudentlady tpwk-harry-styles angywritesstuff hstbsl06

[sunflowerwinds]

nobody but you | v.a

summary: you lost everyone close to you, including your best friend (and childhood crush) when you were fourteen years old and had to grow up on your own. seven years later, a ghost reappears, igniting those same feelings from all those years ago to come bubbling back up. bed-confessions lead to what you’ve wanted for years.

pairing: fem!reader x vi arcane

contains: reader is described to wear skirts and have longer curly hair, reader’s nickname is star, mature language, mentions of vi and reader being each other’s first kiss, caitlyn being a third wheel (i’m so sorry :/), mature content: dry humping & hickies (vi!receiving)

a/n: …. hey. arcane is a new fixation and i HAD to write for her. inbox is open for more vi ideas! (modern or not) <33 4 DAYS until arcane🙂‍↕️!!!

That night that the explosion happened, you were a wreck. You had lost so many people that you held near to your heart; Vander, Claggor, Mylo, and Vi. As much as you hated to admit to yourself but losing her had the most impact on you.

Her body wasn’t found so everyone, including yourself, assumed that she was dead.

Powder, god, you couldn’t get to her before Silco did. When you arrived at the aftermath of the scene, she was gone and all that was left was a piece of a bomb that was undeniably Powder’s creation. Guilt settled within you at the rumors that spread of who Powder had become; Jinx.

It took years for you to become somewhat okay, falling into a new routine. With Silco running Zaun and dowsing the streets with shimmer, you had to watch people you knew become addicted and lose their minds over it.

You were alone.

It was a last resort but you took up a job at The Last Drop; as a barkeep. It was shitty pay but at least you had enough for food. It, of course, was nothing like when Vander owned the place. There was no family feeling or sense of comfort and unity.

You had accepted from that point on that this is how things were going to be. You live in the space above Benzo’s souvenir shop, making it your own home. Since his death, the space had been unoccupied. You took it upon yourself to make it yours.

It was decorated with remembrance of your late friends and knick-knacks you’ve collected from around the Lanes.

You had gotten off of your afternoon shift at the Last Drop, making your way back to the broken-down place you called home. You were ready to sit back and make dinner for yourself, sitting with your thoughts and silence. However as you approached the door to the shop, a weird sense settled into your gut.

The front door was open ever so slightly, barely noticeable at first glance. You usually would’ve dismissed it as a mistake on your part.

But this incident mixed with the weird feeling in your gut told you that this wasn’t just forgetting to close the door all the way. You hovered your hand over your leather holster that held your coins and a few ninja stars that you had been holding on to since you could hold one.

It was also helpful to hold up your extra layer of skirt.

Carefully, you peeked into the shop to see if you could see something or someone inside. From the small crevice, your sight was limited so you couldn’t confirm anything just yet. Lifting your left boot, you push the door open with the toe of your foot. You look into the shaded areas of the building, waiting for some form of movement.

Once you carefully step into the abandoned shop, you reach behind you to grab the doorknob to shut it closed. Your eyes flicker around the room, squinting in concentration as you continue to walk across the wooden floors.

A second passes and that’s when you hear a creak come from behind you. Reacting quickly, you grab a ninja star from the pocket of your belt and launch it into the darkness. The sound of the blade splitting into the wood and a grunt relax your worries somewhat.

Reaching for another star, you raise a hand to turn on the light to see who exactly made their way into the shop. Your face hardened as you lifted your arm once more, preparing to defend yourself.

The intruder stood against the shut door, eyes locked on the weapon in your hand.

“Star?”

They question you, stepping forward into the light.

You grip onto the ninja star tighter, confused as to how they know who you are. You suck in a deep breath, tilting your head as the strangers' features reveal themselves in the light. You squint for a moment before letting out a soft gasp, letting the bladed weapon slip from your fingers and onto the ground.

It couldn’t be. It was impossible.

Were you hallucinating? Have you finally reached your breaking point?

The hair, the bandaged arms, the same slope of her nose.

“Vi?” You breathe out, your eyes welling up with tears.

The pink-haired girl nodded, letting out a shaky breath herself. She took a few more careful steps towards you. You take the same amount of steps to meet her in the middle, throwing your arms around her neck with desperation. You let out a sob as you bury your face into the crook of her neck.

“It’s me, sweetheart. It’s me,” her voice was gentle in your ear, one of her bandaged palms cradling the back of your head while the other held you close by your torso.

Your eyes squint shut as you take in the fact that this is really happening. Vi was here; alive and so different. You pull away from her now-inked neck, brows furrowed from the questions rattling through your head.

“You… Where have you been?” You ask her softly.

“I got arrested and I’ve been in Stillwater since that night,” she explained carefully, one of her palms cradling your elbow.

“How are you here now? How did you get out?” Your eyes flicker to the ink on her cheek and the nose ring.

“I got released earlier today. I—I just had to see you. To make sure you were even…” Vi trailed off as she brushed a flyaway out of your face so she could really look at you.

The way you looked both so different and the same; how much you still look like that same girl that used to cut your fingers on your ninja stars. She remembers how you would try to hide the little slits on the tips of your fingers from her until you would physically wince from the cuts, forcing Vi to tend to the wounds.

You, unknowingly, did the same.

Too distracted just like how you would be all those years ago. Two teenage girls just trying to survive every day, secretly meeting up on the rooftops to snuggle dangerously close when everyone was asleep.

“When you said we were making a quick stop, I did assume it would be quick,” a posh English accent emerges from behind Vi, causing you to pull away from her comforting touch.

Vi let out a sigh before turning her head to peer at the tall woman standing in the doorway. You immediately recognize the attire underneath the small coat she was wearing and raise your hand to aim a ninja star at her. She was an enforcer.

Vi had an enforcer… get her out of prison?

“Who are you?” You snip, eyes narrowed.

“Who are you?” The dark blue-haired woman quipped back.

You hold back the scoff bubbling in your throat before Vi reaches forward to gently push your hand down. You hesitantly did so, still gripping onto the weapon between your fingers.

“I was thinking that maybe we could lay low here for a bit. Get some rest,” Vi attempts to ease your obvious tense figure.

“We?” You glance over at the woman watching her face soften.

“Yes. Just until tomorrow. Then we’ll be out of your hair to go to Babette’s.”

Voice still calm and gentle, Vi explained the situation at the moment. It turns out the tall woman’s name is Caitlyn, they’re looking for Powder Jinx because they believe she’s involved with an explosion that happened in Piltover.

You could see the desperation in Vi’s eyes when talking about her sister and your heart broke for her.

“Okay. I’m up top so,” you nod towards the door more into the shop that leads upstairs.

“Lead the way, Star,” Vi grinned, shoving her bandaged hands into her pockets.

You look over at Caitlyn who is standing right behind Vi, towering a bit over you both. You lead the pair to your living space, flicking on the light to reveal the new made up home. Vi whistled as she walked around the familiar space now made into more than just an attic.

“You did all of this?” She questioned with a smile as she walked over to the shelf of books and trinkets.

“Uh, yeah,” you feel a bit vulnerable knowing that both a stranger and past best friend who you thought was dead are in your home. “No rent, no roommates, just me.”

Your childhood friend traces the hanging lights from your ceiling, grinning for a moment when they make a soft twinkling noise. Being as nosy as she was, she made her way over to where you slept. Her eyes locked on the beaten-down table next to your table, focusing on the small ceramic bowl full of trinkets.

“Shit, you kept this?” Vi grabbed an item off the bedside table that was next to your bed that made your eyes widen with embarrassment.

It was a star ring that Vi had gotten (swiped from an antique shop) when you were thirteen. That day she gave it to you was also the day you brought up the idea of being each other’s first kiss to get it out of the way. Dating wasn’t a worry but you both agreed that you might as well ‘prepare for that day when you’d need to.’

It wasn’t the most amazing kiss, of course as you were preteens but you still became flustered the second you two made eye contact as you pulled away. You remember twiddling with the star ring after and how much you felt so cared for by someone.

“Oh yeah. It was to remember you by,” you sheepishly reply.

Vi hummed at your response, her smile creeping onto her lips as she set it down.

“I don’t mean to interrupt but is there someplace where I can rest?” Caitlyn questioned from behind you, seeming to be standing carefully near the door.

You glance over at Vi who had laid back on your bed, shutting her eyes with a sigh. One of her bandaged arms draped over her lower stomach while the other rested above her head on your flattened pillows.

“You can rest over here.”

You motioned for the tall woman to follow you. You walk around the wall, pushing back a curtain to a secret space where you usually allow some acquaintances from work or people in need to sleep, turning to Caitlyn with a friendlier grin.

“Thank you,” Caitlyn called after you as she sucked in a deep breath, looking around the small room. “For allowing me in your home.

“Thanks for bringing her back to me,” you nod.

Caitlyn nods in return, a small smile on her lips as she lowers herself on the dingy mattress.

“I know it’s not the ivory walls you’re used to but make yourself at home,” you notice the small, barely noticeable gap in between her front teeth as she smiles at you.

“It’s lovely,” her posh accent makes you chuckle.

You simply shake your head and shut the curtain to give Caitlyn some privacy. You recollect yourself as you think about Vi who is currently lying down on your bed. Vi perked up as she heard footsteps walking towards the bed, making eye contact with you as you rounded the bed to the other side.

“Hi,” you mutter as you lower yourself down on the opposite side of the bed, knee first.

“Hi,” Vi replied, her lips twitching into a small smile.

You can’t even hide the smitten smile on your face as you lay yourself down next to her, back on the mattress as well. Your palms rest above your navel as you try to act as normal as possible.

A tense silence filled the open room; the both of you not knowing what to say to one another. You could hear the shouting and loud music of the streets coming from your open window but all you could focus on was your own nervous breathing.

“I thought about you every day,” Vi’s the first to break the silence. “Every fucking day there, I thought about what it would be like coming back to you. I hoped you’d be here, Star. I don’t know what I’d do if you were gone too.” Vi admitted as she shook her head, snuggling into your bed.

Your eyes bore into her side profile, admiring the slope of her nose and the ink etched into her cheek. You turn the rest of your body to match your head.

“You would’ve been okay,” you joke, weakly chuckling.

Vi blinks and looks over at you with a soft and meaningful gaze. She’s silent for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts before she speaks.

“Do you remember when we would go up to the roof of the Last Drop and talk about what we would do if we ever got out of here?” Vi questions gently, facing you so that you are face to face.

“Yeah,” you mutter, not knowing where she was going with it.

“Every scenario we talked about whether it was taking over the streets or getting bucket loads of cash to build a new life there, I never imagined what it would be like without you by my side. You were always… right here.” Vi breathed out, her gaze avoiding your own. “Now that I know what it’s like to have that reality, I don’t want it to happen ever again.”

“Vi,” you whisper with tears in your eyes.

Her eyes carefully lifted to meet yours, pupils dilated with vulnerability.

“I was so… scared you were gone too,” Vi whispered, hesitantly reaching for you but her hand retracted quickly.

You took the reins and carefully hooked your finger onto one of hers, sighing in relief at the touch. Vi stared at the courteous touch and wrapped her palm over your own, running her thumb over the back of your hand.

“Do you remember what happened after you gave me that ring?” You ask softly, using your free hand to brush a piece of her hair out of her face.

Vi wasn’t stupid. She knew you meant that kiss that put a pep in her step for a few weeks after; the girl that she had been crushing over since before she could remember. Not wanting to confront it head-on, she quickly stumbled out a little joke.

“I think I thought about doing that for months. Mylo wouldn’t stop giving me shit for it every time you came around, blowing kisses at me when you had your back turned.” Vi chuckled as she shook her head.

You smile at the mention of Mylo, not doubting it for a second. You, in a similar fashion, turned to Ekko for your little crush on Vi.

“You know, come to think of it,” you pretend to recall, “I remember you asking me an important question too.”

Vi wanted to punch herself in the jaw as you brought up another rather embarrassing moment. She could see it now; two teens sitting on a rooftop, shoulder to shoulder after sharing a quick peck and avoiding each other’s eyeline.

“We could be each other’s… back up when we get older, you know.” A fidgety thirteen-year-old Vi had proposed.

You remember glancing down at bright-colored streets and clouds that intoxicated the air of Zaun. Vi glanced over at you to see if you had even heard her as you had gone completely silent.

“Back up?” You questioned, your voice still going through the ups of puberty.

“Yeah, well, when we’re old, like, forty or something and have no one else, we could be each other’s.”

Vi didn’t really explain what that meant at the time but you agreed with ease. You knew how much you would do for Vi; maybe it was a little obsessive and unhealthy but she had a grip on you that you hoped never left.

Neither of you were near forty yet but there was a sliver of hope you could enact that pact today.

Something took over you after that confession and you scoot your body closer to hers. You reach your hand up to brush your hair out of her face, cupping the side of her face. Vi held onto your wrist as you began to lean into her.

Before you could even comprehend it, Vi pressed her lips to yours. Your eyes widen at the sudden movement, releasing her face in shock. Her hand was still gripping onto your wrist as her lips moved against your own.

After the initial surprise of the kiss, you follow her rhythm. You place your hand back onto her cheek as you suck in a deep breath, letting yourself enjoy what you have been craving to redo after seven years.

The soft smack of your kisses and you and Violet humming against each other's lips silently drove you insane.

“I missed you so much,” Vi mutters against your lips.

You sigh at the confession, warmth blooming in your chest.

“Never thought I'd get to do this,” you confess. “To be with you like this, Vi.”

Vi’s palms move down your body, rubbing down your sides carefully like you were going to disappear at any moment. Years of confinement and getting into fights with inmates led her to this very moment; the only person in her life that was really here for her.

“And now that you are doing it?” Vi questions, her big rounded eyes boring into your own.

“I don’t want it to stop.”

Vi beams at that and you dive back into her lips, humming against the gentle touch of her lips. This second time around was more hungry, eager for one another. There was nothing that could compare to the feeling of her bandaged arms wrapped around your waist as you kissed like you needed her; craved her.

Oh, how needy you were at that moment: selfishly grabbing onto her like she could disappear at any moment. She wasn’t; at least you hoped not.

“I still can’t believe you’re really here,” you sighed out, tears welling up in your eyes.

Vi immediately notices your mood drop and shakes her head, leaning in to kiss your cheek and placing a few more gentle touches on your neck and jaw.

“I’m here. Right here, sweetheart,” she murmured against your skin as she continued to carefully kiss your skin.

You suck in a deep breath as you cup either side of her face to pull her away from your flustered skin. Vi’s chest was heaving up and down from her own hunger for you becoming overwhelming.

“I want to make you feel good, Vi,” you admit, whispering just below normal speaking volume.

Vi stares and blinks, her breathing slowing down.

“Me?” She questions as if she misheard you.

“Yes, you. Please.”

You couldn’t even feel an ounce of embarrassment from your begging as you meant it more than anything. Vi, with not much more needed convincing, nodded frantically as she allowed you to take the reigns.

You pull away to sit upright and straddle her lap, your skirt lifting up your legs to rest on the highest part of your thigh. Vi’s eyes widened for a second at your position in your lap, her bandaged hands resting on the flat pillows as she stared up at your figure. Her eyes were rounded with admiration and lust.

“Is this okay?” You question, tucking some of your hair behind your ears.

“Yes. Yes, you’re… good.” Vi reassures you as you smittenly smile down at her.

She matches your smile as you lean down to reattach your lips, placing your hands on her collarbone. Vi’s hands grip gently at your upper thighs, frantically pulling you in closer to her. The strap of your shirt was slipping down your shoulder, resting on your triceps.

You allow yourself to be there in the moment with her. You had the tendency to think about the worst outcomes of every situation but right now as Vi’s palms move more up to your hips, you just feel her.

Not afraid, not depressed; just her.

Her touch was electric on your skin. Vi sits upright from her laid-back position, humming as you run one of your hands up the back of her head into her hair. Feeling her body running hot, she removes her hands from your body to shrug off her red jacket from her body.

You pull away to help her remove the jacket, throwing it to the side and hearing it hit the ground. You look down at her now-revealed arms and eyebrows raise up at the sight of her toned upper body.

You were gawking; you knew you were.

“What were you doing in there?” You shamelessly ran your hands down her firm biceps.

Vi lets you feel her up, watching your hungry eyes follow your hands on her body. She doesn’t answer your question but she does place her palms back at their rightful place on your hips.

You snap out of your daze as her hands squeeze your hips. Your cheeks lit aflame before focusing on the task at hand. Did you 100% know what you were doing? No, but you figured if you just do what you do to yourself to her, it was bound to make her feel good.

So you slowly began to grind your hips down onto her own. Vi sucks in a sharp breath at the unfamiliar feeling, letting out a shaky breath.

That only fueled your keep your hips moving against her. Vi’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, tilting her head back to huff out a soft moan. You let out your own noise at the feeling, leaning forward to attach your lips to the length of your neck.

Vi moaned your name at the feeling of you kissing the sensitive spot on her neck. Her grip only becomes tighter on your waist as you begin to suck and lick, creating a dark spot on her pale skin. You pull away after a few seconds to brush your finger over the mark, feeling disgustingly proud of yourself.

“What are you doing to me?” Vi whispered, groaning under her breath.

“I could say the same,” you quip with a cheeky smile, grinding down hard once.

The motion tugs out a moan from the both of you. The thinnest layer of sweat began to form on your neck and crevice of your hip and legs. Vi leans forward, panting into the crook of your neck. She attempts to hide her needy whimpers against your skin but you can’t miss the desperate sounds.

You were growing wetter by the second, aching to get her off.

“Vi—“ You gasp as her palms rest on your hips, helping you grind down onto her clothed crotch.

Your hands rest on the broad on her shoulders, feeling over the tight muscle. She was panting softly as she took in the sound of you asking for her; needing her like this. Her blue eyes admire the way your jaw was left open as you pant and whimper from the friction.

“So beautiful, sweetheart,” she praises, a low moan leaving her own hips.

You almost shake your head at her words but you knew it would be a huge mistake to do so. You allow yourself to take in the words, not wanting to seem like you didn’t believe her. She drew the beautiful inside to the surface with ease.

Your hips stuttered, wondering if you were going to cum like this. It wouldn’t be the first time as you’ve shamefully done the same to your mattress.

“You’re perfect,” you tell her honestly, a shaky breath leaving your lips.

Vi wanted to tell you you were far from correct but you were persistent on the fact.

“You are. You are, Vi,” you cup her face as you weakly grind your crotch on hers.

Vi nods to show you she is listening, one of the few whimpers she’s made throughout the night bubbling in her throat. You place a few kisses over her face before placing the final one on her awaiting lips.

“Fuck, I think I’m gonna—“

“Me too. Cum for me, please,” you encourage the pink-haired girl.

You watch as her muscles tighten, a vein popping out of the side of her neck. It beautifully highlighted the mark you’ve made on her.

With your grinds becoming sloppier and weaker, Vi assisted you by practically doing all the work. Your hips and inner thighs were growing more and more tired out by the second. Your will to make sure Vi came was the only thing keeping you going.

Your mouths were hovering over one another, whining and moaning onto each other’s lips. Your core tightened as you felt your orgasm approaching. Vi’s whispers of praise only drew you closer.

“Just like that,” you whine.

“Yeah?” Vi whines right back, kissing right above your chest near your collarbone.

You nod with a whimper, muttering ‘please’ and ‘right there’. The mix of your panting and hot moans drove you both to cumming against one another.

You were shaking at that point, arms now wrapping around her neck for stabilization. Vi, mimicking you, wrapped her arms around your torso, burying her face into your chest as she tried to catch her breath.

Your hair was now frizzy, your whole body aflame from the orgasm that tore through you. Vi’s lips were dragging on your heated skin causing you to shut your eyes as you, too, attempted to calm down.

The two of you sat there, matching each other's breathing patterns as you both came down from your highs. Your eyes before you knew it grew heavy with exhaustion. Vi noticed how slumped you were and cradled your body to maneuver you to lay back down. Your arms were still locked around her neck, refusing to let her go.

“Are you okay?” Vi asks after a few minutes of silence, licking her swollen lips.

You chuckle softly at her question, resting your forehead on her shoulder.

“Yeah. I’m perfect.” You mutter before placing a loving kiss to her bare shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Vi nods at your words, rubbing her hands down your back. She traces the length of your spine, lulling you into the sleep that your body was asking for.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart. I’ll wake you up before I leave.” Vi encourages when she notices you fighting your tired eyes.

Your heart sank at the word ‘leave’, brows knitting with betrayal. Your exhaustion left your body for a moment at her words.

“Leave?” You delicately whisper.

“No, no, not for good. I’m not doing that to you again,” Vi was quick to reassure your worries. “I just—I have to find Powder. I don’t know how long it will take but I will be back for you.”

You swallow your doubts that Vi will be able to change Jinx back into the girl she once was. You knew you wouldn’t be able to convince Vi into staying, especially with Caitlyn tagging along with her.

“Be careful, okay? I can’t lose you again,” you cup her face, running your thumb over the ink on her cheek. “You’re my backup, remember?”

Vi manages to chuckle at your words, shaking her head.

“I never should’ve asked you that. You were never going to be just a backup, Star,” Vi told you softly. “You were always going to be first for me.”

Your eyes rounded with admiration at her confession.

“We were kids when you asked me that, Vi. I’m glad you did. I’ve never wanted anyone but you,” you tell her with a smitten grin on your lips.

Vi presses a deep kiss onto your awaiting lips, nearing knocking your teeth against one another from her own smile. You lazily kissed her back until you physically couldn’t anymore. Sleep overtook you as you rested your head on her bicep that was acting as your pillow for the night. You felt one last kiss on your temple before you knocked out.

The next morning you awoke to the feeling of the bed shifting next to you. You slowly peek through squinted eyes to see Vi’s blurred figure sitting on the opposite side of the bed, quietly speaking with Caitlyn’s undeniable taller figure.

“I’m just pointing out how you completely disregarded the fact that I was in the room opposite of you. I had a curtain as a door,” Caitlyn quietly scolds the pink haired girl.

You try not to show any reaction but you were embarrassed that you had completely forgotten about Caitlyn resting just 10-15 feet away from you two.

“I’m not sorry for what I did but sorry you heard,” Vi snips, no doubt in your mind with raised brows.

Caitlyn sighed rather loudly before shaking her head, holding her hand up to Vi.

“Let’s just… get going, please. We haven’t got much time.”

Silence from Vi.

“Okay. Just give me two minutes. You can wait outside the door.”

You quickly shut your eyes and pretend to sleep once again, listening for the receding footsteps. Vi spoke with care as she gently tapped your shoulder.

“Star, sweetheart?” She hummed, brushing your flyaways from your face.

“Hmmm?” You open your eyes, stretching one of your arms up.

“Hey. I’m gonna head out, okay? I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Vi traces the apple of your cheeks as she talks to you.

“Be careful. I mean it, Vi.”

The blue eyed girl nods at you, giving you one last meaningful kiss onto your lips.

“I will. In fact,” Vi pulls away to reach by the bedside table, grabbing the star ring she gave you. She slid it onto her middle finger, showing you the jewelry. “I’ll be back to give you this. It’ll be my good luck charm.”

There was a beat of silence before you let out a soft laugh at her ridiculousness. You adored her more than anything and anyone.

“I’ll be waiting, Violet.”

TAGLIST: @kylorey25 @evermorewest @breezy-sapphic @auraclus @ichig0nn4 @thesevi0lentdelights @vincinnamontoast @onesockcat @sc0ttstre3ted @seolarsistem @kissyslut @pinkdaisys4u

[levisjinchuriki]

acts of service - toji fushiguro

summary - you love toji and you'd never let him feel like a burden

warning - angst, mention of an argument, going to bed angry, acts of service, husband toji, fluff at the end, soft!toji

the bedroom door slams behind you as your heart pounds. your jaw hurts from biting back words you’ll regret. you and toji had your third argument already this week. his muffled voice tells you he’s still frustrated as he talks to you through the door, but you don’t respond. you’re too angry.

his voice eventually fades, and the sound of his retreating footsteps tells you he’s given up. you curl under the covers, still fuming, until the warmth of the bed lulls you into a restless sleep.

—

hours later, you wake up with a dry throat and your chest still tight from the argument. slipping out of bed, you quietly make your way to the kitchen. the first thing you notice is toji’s lunch bag on the counter, already zipped shut. you always pack his lunches—an unspoken routine between you two, one small way you show your love.

after unzipping the bag, your heart sinks– inside are a few hastily thrown snacks: a bag of chips, a granola bar, an apple. no sandwich, no leftovers, no real meal to sustain him through his grueling workday. it’s clear he didn’t expect you to pack his lunch tonight. 

he didn’t want to burden you.

your chest tightens as tears prick at the corners of your eyes. the anger is still there, but it can’t overpower the ache in your heart. toji might be stubborn, even infuriating, but you love him. even now, after everything.

you grab his lunch bag, emptying out the snacks with trembling hands. tonight’s leftovers sit untouched in the fridge. you plate the meal carefully, transferring it into containers and neatly tucking it into his lunch bag. you even add a few extra touches: a little pack of soy sauce, the cookies you baked recently, and some fruit.

finally, you grab a scrap of paper and a pen. for a moment, you hesitate, unsure what to write. then the words spill out, simple and raw:

i’m still mad at you. but i love you more than anything. please eat well today. 

you fold the note and tuck it into the lunch bag before zipping it shut again. a deep sigh escapes your lips as you set it back on the counter, right where he’ll see it in the morning.

the anger isn’t gone, but neither is the love. you head back to bed, the heaviness in your chest lightened just a little. you hope you can both start again tomorrow.

—

in the early hours of the morning, toji stands at the bedroom door, his lunch bag clutched in one hand. he’s staring at it like it’s the most precious thing in the world, a faint crease between his brows. the way his jaw tightens and his shoulders drop says more than words ever could.

he doesn’t deserve you, not after last night. that’s the thought running through his head as he quietly enters the room and sets the bag quietly on the dresser. he only meant to come in to get his work clothes. when his eyes land on you, curled up in bed, your face soft and peaceful in sleep, he knows he can’t leave just yet.

before he can stop himself, he’s moving toward you. his weight dips the mattress as he climbs in behind you, slow and deliberate, his body fitting against yours like it was made to. he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you gently against his chest, his warmth seeping into you.

you stir slightly, murmuring incoherently, but you don’t wake. toji presses his face into your hair, breathing you in. his lips lightly brush the back of your neck.

“i’m sorry” he whispers, his voice low and rough, almost inaudible. “for last night. for everything”.

his hand slides up to rest on your stomach, his thumb tracing lazy, absentminded circles over the fabric of your shirt. he’s not expecting forgiveness—not yet—but he needs you to feel this, even in your sleep.

he kisses the curve of your shoulder, then the space just behind your ear. each kiss is soft, tender, filled with everything he struggles to say out loud. “i don’t deserve you” he murmurs against your skin, his voice breaking slightly. “but i’m so damn lucky to have you anyway”.

you shift again, a small sigh escaping your lips as you unconsciously press closer to him. toji tightens his hold, burying his face deeper into the crook of your neck. the world outside is waiting for him, but for now, all he cares about is this—this quiet moment with you in his arms, the scent of your shampoo, the rhythm of your breathing lulling him into a sense of peace he didn’t know he needed.

“i love you” he says softly, his words barely a whisper, meant more for himself than for you. “even when i mess up. always”.

he stays there, holding you, until the weight in his chest feels a little lighter and the clock tells him he can’t stay any longer. but as he finally pulls away, tucking the blanket carefully around you, he swears to himself that he’ll make things right. you deserve nothing less.

--

a/n: this was inspired by a tiktok i saw. i hope you guys enjoyed. thank you for all the love recently!! <3

[callsigns-haze]

Little life

Summary: Jake "Hangman" Seresin has always been the centre of attention, but behind the cocky aviator façade, he cherishes quiet nights at home with his pregnant wife, Y/N, as they navigate love, routine, and a life the squad knows nothing about.

Warning: This fic contains fluff, pregnancy themes, and light teasing romance.

Word count: 1068 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x reader

English is not my first language so I apologies for mistakes

Part 2 Part 3

Jake Seresin was a man who always seemed to attract attention. With his easy charm and cocky grin, women flocked to him the moment they laid eyes on him. It happened every time—at the bar, after missions, during social events. The second a woman saw him, they’d saunter over, usually with a flirtatious smile, batting their lashes, asking him to buy them a drink.

And every time, without fail, Jake turned them down.

It confused the entire Dagger squad. They’d tease him relentlessly about it, nudging him with raised brows and playful smirks, wondering why someone like him—someone who had the looks, the swagger, the perfect call sign—never took the bait. They couldn’t figure him out. To them, Jake seemed like the type to indulge in a little fun, to soak up the attention and enjoy the benefits of being the golden boy.

But Jake wasn’t interested.

Not anymore.

Because the truth was, when Jake wasn’t flying missions or teasing his teammates, he was at home in Texas, living a life no one suspected. He had a routine, a life outside of the cocky, brash aviator persona he wore like a second skin.

That life began with you.

You sat at your desk, soft lighting casting a warm glow over your latest manuscript. The smell of ink and freshly brewed tea hung in the air, and the quiet hum of a summer night filtered through the open window. You were three months pregnant now, the couple married for a month now, and the bump had just started to show beneath your oversized sweater, a fact Jake never missed when he was home.

He sat nearby, like always, in his favourite armchair. His legs stretched out casually, one arm slung over the back, while the other held a half-empty glass of whiskey. His eyes weren’t on the drink, though—they were on you, as they always were.

You highlighted another line in your manuscript, frowning a little as you moved the neon marker across the page. The ruler in your hand—one you used to make sure your lines were perfectly straight—had gotten a little too stained with colour, and without thinking, you reached out and wiped the edge of the ruler off on Jake’s hand.

He chuckled, low and warm, shaking his head in amusement. “You know, sweetheart, there are other ways to clean that thing. Ever heard of tissues?”

You glanced at him, giving a half-smile as you continued working. “Maybe. But I prefer you.”

That made him grin wider. “Lucky me, then.”

It had become a sort of routine for the two of you, especially now that you were pregnant and he was often gone on missions. When he was home, though, there was no place Jake would rather be than right here, with you, basking in the quiet moments. To anyone else, he was “Hangman”—the sharp-tongued aviator with an ego the size of Texas itself. But with you, he was just Jake, the man who found peace in the most mundane of moments.

He loved watching you work. The way your brow would furrow in concentration, how you’d absentmindedly tuck your hair behind your ear, or bite your lip when you were thinking through a tricky plot point. Jake would tease you for your little quirks, leaning over to plant a quick kiss on the top of your head when he couldn’t resist anymore.

“Need any help there, author of mine?” he’d ask, his voice teasing but soft.

You’d roll your eyes in response, but your smile always gave you away. “I think I’ve got it covered, flyboy.”

Jake would laugh and go back to his drink, but you knew he liked being part of your world like this. When you’d first met, you had been a rising star in the literary world, already on your way to becoming a bestselling author. You were about to turn 20 in a couple weeks just before you wandered into 27 year old Jakes life. Jake never made a big deal about it, though he’d brag quietly to himself every time he saw one of your books displayed in airport bookstores. No one in the squad had any idea who you were, much less that you and Jake were married. And he liked it that way. He liked keeping this part of his life private, away from the chaos of the outside world.

With you, everything was simpler. Real.

Jake loved you in ways no one ever saw. He loved you in the stolen kisses between your sentences, in the lazy mornings in bed when you pressed your nose against his chest, in the quiet I love you’s whispered as he pulled you close late at night. You were his world—everything else was just noise.

As you finished another page, you sighed softly, stretching your arms above your head. Jake’s gaze was on you in an instant, taking in the slight curve of your stomach, his eyes filled with warmth and pride. He got up from his chair and moved behind you, his large hands coming to rest on your shoulders, gently kneading away the tension that had built up from hours of working.

“Time to take a break, darlin’,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple.

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes for a moment. “Just a little longer. I’m almost done.”

Jake let out a soft laugh, low and teasing. “That’s what you said an hour ago.”

You smiled, but your body relaxed under his hands. You couldn’t deny that the warmth of his touch and the quiet affection in his voice had a way of making you forget the world for a while.

“Alright, alright,” you relented, setting your highlighter down. “But only because you’re so persuasive.”

Jake grinned, pressing a kiss to your neck before straightening up. He turned your chair around so you were facing him, his hands on either side of the armrests, caging you in. His eyes sparkled with that mischievous glint he always had when he was about to say something that would make your heart race.

“Darlin’, I don’t need to be persuasive,” he drawled, his Southern accent thick and smooth. “I’m your favourite distraction, remember?”

You laughed, shaking your head as he leaned in closer. “You’re impossible, Jake.”

“And you love me for it,” he said, his lips brushing against yours before kissing you softly, his hand resting on your belly, feeling the life growing inside you.

And he was right, even though he was nearly seven years older—you did love him for it.

I may or may not have made this into a mini series so let me know if you'd like to be tagged

Part 2 Part 3

[teddybeartoji]

彡 FEEDING AS A FORM OF LOVE

☆. contains: 18+ MDNI; tiger hybrid!ryomen sukuna x housecat hybrid gn!reader x toji fushiguro; ???? they eat raw meat hehe, this is just very horny, dubcon-ish moments? tjkn, also. sukuna is down bad. wc: 2k

toji takes good care of the both of you. he goes out of his way to make sure that his cats are well fed. every morning he goes to the market to buy the best quality meat – the blonde haired butcher already knows him, he's ready for him. they exchange a few words over the cuts and wish each other well. they're friends.

back at home, his two cats wait for him. kuna's wet, rough tongue runs up and down alongside the side of your neck, your jaw, your chin. this is another part of your morning routine – he grooms and cleans you, gets you ready for toji. sure, he loves it when you do the same to you, but there's something addicting about the way you try to squirm away from his love.

the door clicks open, signaling that toji is finally home and you immediately try to look for him but kuna's grip on your middle is just too strong.

"ryo..." your tiny hands push at his broad chest and he's about to tell you to be quiet but his thoughts get interrupted by the smell of fresh meat. his body reacts all on its own, he can't help it. the irony, bloody scent enters his nostrils and he lets out a deep groan; the vibrations of it run through your own body and your thighs tighten around his waist subconsciously. a few feet away – toji taps his foot impatiently, mossy eyes sticking to the pair before him. he takes in the sight of sukuna towering over you, almost covering you fully with his massive body. he hates how hard the size difference makes him – you look fucking tiny next to kuna and you look even smaller when you're down on your knees between his thighs, when his heavy cock rests on your face.

(but toji wants to play with you, too. there's no way he'll ever just let him have you.)

at the sound of toji clearing his throat, sukuna pulls back with a smirk. you look disheveled and he wants to laugh – he was just trying to clean you up, wasn't he? silly kitty. he'll have to do it all over again later.

when he does finally let you swivel out from under him, you waste no time in running to toji. you nuzzle your face into his chest, his arms and back, as a way of letting him know that you missed him, despite the fact that he was gone only for an half an hour or so. he likes the attention; he sends kuna a tempting smirk while patting your head as the latter pushes himself to sit up on the couch.

toji's musk and the smell of the red meat, kuna's saliva on your neck, the tingling marks he left on your hips – it's all sending heat waves to your lower tummy. a different type of hunger. your fuzzy tail twirls around toji's bicep and he grumbles something under his breath. you don't hear it. you're busy closing your eyes and rubbing your face into his back muscles instead. a purr rumbles from your chest and toji's scarred lips stretch even wider; this is normal for them – to be squabbling over you, their little kitty.

(you love it.)

"c'mon, ya gotta eat, yeah?"

toji's voice is so soothing, so comforting; you want to sit on his lap forever. his eyes are soft when he looks at you, incredibly so, and that makes sukuna's ears tilt backward with a scoff. don't you know he looks at you the same way?

(kind of the same way anyway.)

kuna's tail finds yours and you inch closer to him as you make your way to the dinner table. you bump your head against his arm and he rasps out a "brat". you grin up at him and he thinks about eating you instead.

taking seats opposite of each other, you wait for toji to place the meals in front of you. the smell is intoxicating. your insides grumble and so do his, your teeth itch and so do his. his nose twitches at the sound of toji throwing the pieces onto the platter and then he can already see him approaching from the corner of his eye.

raw. bloody. awaiting.

it's almost the size of the damn platter – it's barely enough for him. he's big and he needs to eat big, but he'll complain about it later. sometime when toji's distracted by your pretty face, sometime when he can easily whisper into his ear, sometime when he's just about ready to say yes to everything. he's not as strong as he makes himself out to be.

kuna eyes the cut toji places in front of you. a small smile etches its way onto your lips and he can see the hunger in your eyes. but then he can't help but compare the two of you. your heights, the sizes of your meals. you're just a little cat, eating a portion that's a mere sliver out of his own. you're going to bite it, you're going to chew and you're going to look adorable.

a tug on his fuzzy tail snaps his out of his head. "stop starin'."

his ears tilt back again at the sight of toji's mocking smirk, but he holds back on the bark. he wants to eat already.

and so he does.

lunging at the platter, he grabs the piece of meat into his hands as if his meal is still alive, as if it's going to run away. his sharp claws sink into the soft flesh and you can't pull your eyes from him. you watch as he tears a chuck off of it, you watch him gnaw on it with his big teeth. his chin is covered in the liquid that seeps from the fresh meat, it trickles down his jaw and neck before disappearing under his open-collared shirt.

he always eats like this. messily.

always.

his teeth are so much bigger than yours are, and you're painfully aware of that when you lick the canines in your mouth. you're salivating. drool collects under your tongue as you stare and stare and stare. your breathing has picked up a little, your heart racing in your ribcage and you've started to lean forward a bit too. you don't even realize how he's pulling you in.

but toji...

toji can't stop looking at you.

he's leaning against the kitchen counter just a few feet away and his heart races the same way yours does. he couldn't care any less for kuna in this very moment, his eyes are fixated on the little kitty creeping toward the feral beast. he sees the little tilt of your head, the way your tail sways from side to side, the slight twitch of your ears as you listen to the man in front of you eat his heart out. toji is just as transfixed by the sight before him as you are.

(this is love.)

eyes blown wide, your lips part on instict when sukuna goes for another bite.

mouth still full, he splutters. "look at you, little kitty."

you blink up at him, unsure where he's going with this.

"is the piece too big for you and your measly, tiny teeth?"

he chews loudly just to push you even further, teasing eyes glued to your wide ones. "want toji to cut it up for you since you can't do it yourself?"

it's not like you're eating a meal like this for the first time - the difference being the fact that he can smell you right now. something is happening in that brain of yours, in the depths of your stomach and kuna desires to take you apart and take a proper look. are you really getting turned on by just watching him eat? do you like it? do you love it? are you pushing your thighs together right now? are you thinking about him devouring you like this?

surprise fades from your eyes and you furrow your brows instead. you're not scared of him, nor will you let him tease you like this. your teeth are not measly, you are not little! you can eat just like him and you will prove it to him!

his bloody grin stretches wider when he sees the fight in you build. he did half expect you to pout and sulk a little, but this is a million times better. he likes a challenge, he likes it when you scratch and hiss. his tail sways a bit faster at the thought, his eyes grow bigger.

sukuna knows that toji wants to see this as well. he knows he likes your snarky attitude as much as he does. he knows he's half hard in his pants right now.

he's about to mock you some more but when your tiny teeth pierce the raw flesh, his words get stuck in his throat. you're holding the cut just like he is, nails sinking into it just like his are. juice flows like water down your hands and forearms, your jaw and neck and something in him burns. your nose scrunches up in the cutest way as you continue to chomp down on the meat, pulling and tearing pieces after pieces from it.

he can see you struggling just a bit – your teeth still aren't sharp enough, big enough, to really be like him but he doesn't comment on it. you hold onto his gaze like it's life or death; he will watch you eat.

the grip toji has on the countertop is almost enough to break the damn thing. just like sukuna, he's mesmerized by the glorious sight before him – messy and borderline feral. they're watching their beloved housecat turn into a feral one in real time and it's the most erotic thing either of them have ever seen.

pinkish liquid coats the entirety of the lower half of your face, it keeps trickling down your arms – there's no end to it. it tastes so fucking good.

and then they hear it.

a purr.

at first toji thinks that it's sukuna but it's way to weak to be him, which means it's... coming from you.

their eyes on you feel almost overwhelming, the taste is divine and you feel fucking amazing. thighs clenching together and tail swaying low behind you, you hum as you swallow another piece.

the chair screeches against the floorboards and you don't even have the time to react, head hazy from everything that's going on, so the next thing you know, big hands grab your face and tilt it upward - kuna's tongue presses through your willing lips as he licks into your mouth. it's so big, it's so prickly, it feels weird. it feels... like heaven.

he can taste you and the meal you just had, he can taste your every want and desire. he scratches behind your ear with his nails and he feels you melt into him. his little cat.

he wants to go further but a strong shove against his shoulder stops him from doing so.

"move."

you can't even open your eyes properly before another pair of hands cradle your jaw and lean forward to close the distance between you. lips on lips, you feel his scar and the smile he gives you. your tongues dance together. dirty fingers paw at toji's lower stomach and he grumbles into your mouth. hungry.

more, more, more.

warmth engulfs toji's back and kuna's sharp claws trail over the waistband of toji's pants while he leaves sloppy, wet kisses on the nape of his neck. their hips are flush together and toji can feel kuna's raging boner pressing up against his ass.

but that doesn't matter right now.

sukunas fingers card through toji's dark, unruly hair as he drops down to the floor and kneels between your thighs without ever breaking the kiss. his hands glide from your cheeks to your neck, pulling you deeper into him with a swift motion. he's hungry, too.

he squeezes the tops of your thighs, and you whine into his mouth. so sensitive. he tugs on the waistband of your shorts, eager fingers dipping under the fabric in excitement—

it's his time to eat now.

+ thank you @lxnarphase for hyping me up i love you sm lunniee:333

[pervertwhore]

LEON'S GUILTY PLEASURE

SIREN IS TYPING . . writing debut! :33 this is my first ever leon fic, so please be nice! 3: i accidentally went a bit too far and made the word count 9.4k words..um..enjoy! reblogs and replies are really helpful & help me stay motivated so if you have any kind words to share, please do! i would love to hear them! i’m sorry for the really long delay in posting this but UHHH!!! idk ;(( my bae 3k helped me with the plot for the call & i hope i tagged everyone ^_^ i did my best to proofread so hopefully it’s good!

CONTAINS: older man leon! x pornstar! reader — age gaps, alcoholism, mutual masturbation, leon is co-depended with your content, he adores you, hinted erectile dysfunction, leon is lonely and sad, reader is there to put on a show for him, video call sex, dildo use, etc!

SYNOPSIS: a lonely man copes with two things, alcohol and porn, one night he comes across a video that catches his eye, pushing him down a spiral of coping through you. he adores you and your work, his only want in life is to get closer to you, and when you make a contest and offer the winner a chance at a one on one call with you, leon jumps at the opportunity.

slumping down onto his bed, a drunk leon kennedy, sat back.

a small groan left his lips as nausea swirled around inside his stomach, he didn’t have food in his system, and his stomach was full of whiskey.

aerial shoot, his favorite.

but, fuck. he overdid it, throughout the whole evening he had been nursing a new bottle of the bitter whiskey, drinking it down like it was water, not caring about the way it burned his throat. by now it was empty, the drug seeping into his system like a blanket, making his body feel hot.

slipping down onto his bed, leon stared blankly at the roof, the room was dark and quiet.

he wasn’t tired, he was drunk, but not tired. another groan came from him, his large calloused hand moving to his face. he rubbed his forehead, trying to ease the throbbing sensation in his head. he had always been tolerant of alcohol, but tonight his body couldn’t take it anymore. he thanked a higher being for not being insanely nauseous, he wasn’t in the mood to spew up the alcohol.

he let out a deep breath before he reached out and grabbed his phone.

hitting the power button, his eyes shut immediately as the blinding light of his phone hit his eyes. “jesus, fuck—“ he grunted, quickly turning down the brightness.

looking at the screen, he wasn’t surprised when he was met with an empty inbox. no texts, no calls, no emails.

a sigh left his lips, the reminder of his loneliness brought a heavy weight inside his chest. looking to his side, there was an empty spot next to him, the bed was cold.

he was lonely.

despite what he tried to tell himself, he craves romance, he craves stability. the idea of living a happy married life was something he dreamed about when he was younger, before 1998, before he became what he is now. now he scoffs at romance because deep down, he knows no one would want to be with an alcoholic old man. his prime is gone a distant memory. he feels like a shell of himself, he doesn’t have much to live for now.

the cycle of self-hatred and self-loathing was part of his daily routine, at night, he gets lost in his thoughts.

he can’t go a day sober, it would kill him. at least that’s what he thinks.

the memories of the people he had lost haunt him, no matter how much time passes, the vacant space he has in his heart doesn’t go away. no matter what he does to try and get rid of it.

the dating scene wasn’t for him, not anymore, not at this age.

he could go and pay for hookers and prostitutes to fulfill his sexual needs, but it was never enough. the pleasure was temporary.

he wasn’t happy.

leon hasn’t been happy in a long time, so long in fact, he doesn’t remember how it feels.

his gaze focused on his phone, he wanted to stop thinking. he needed to forget everything, his grief, his anger, his loneliness. that’s why he relied on alcohol, but tonight he didn’t want to drink himself to sleep.

so, that left him with one more option.

opening the internet on his phone, his dull eyes focused as his fingers typed.

pornhub.com

this was pathetic, leon thought to himself. he was pathetic, and he knew that, but that didn’t stop him from pressing on the top link.

his thumb tapped against the glass screen, entering the website.

he was quickly met with the thumbnails of various sexual acts. from girls with a cock shoved down their throats, to girls getting folded while a man is on top of them. leon was uninterested.

he never liked porn videos made with high production, it was fake, unappealing. the bright lighting, the obnoxious moaning, and the stupid faces the girls make. it was ick worthy, leon always preferred amateur porn. it was charming when a video was poorly produced, with bad quality, and crooked angles. he liked that over other porn videos.

opening the search bar, he typed the word amateur. after clicking search, he scrolled down various videos before he found one that caught his attention.

it was a masturbation video, the title wasn’t crazy either.

college girl masturbates solo :)

it was cute, the little smiley face felt so out of place on a site like this, but it piqued his curiosity. in the thumbnail your hands were between your thighs, and the position of your phone was up — like you were taking a selfie. he didn’t see much of your face, by the angle he could only see your soft lips as you bit your bottom lip. you were wearing a cute set of lingerie, too.

there was something so cute about you, from the cutesy title and your pretty lingerie, his curiosity lead him to click on the video.

the video loaded and the first thing he saw was your breasts as you adjusted the camera down. you were holding it yourself, the camera facing you. as the camera moved down, he saw your hands slipping down to your panties.

he couldn’t see your face, seems like you were shy.

he watched with anticipation as your fingers pressed against your clothed cunt, rubbing slow gentle circles on your clit. turning up the volume of his phone, he heard the way your breath hitched. he could see as your tummy moved up and down with every breath you took.

leon’s stomach tightened as blood began to rush to his cock, his hand moving to palm against his pants as he got hard.

after a minute of teasing, you put the phone down against your bed, leon heard fabric shuffling. after a few seconds, you grabbed the phone again. the angle stayed the same, but now he could see your pretty pussy.

it was slick, glistening.

his mouth went dry as he took in the sight, your manicured fingers gently pressed against your perky clit, your touch was light, and you were savoring the pleasure.

leon heard a soft moan leave your lips, his hips squirmed as he grabbed his cock through the fabric of his pants. his hand moving to slowly grope himself.

he continued to watch with eager eyes, his hand moving to unbutton his jeans and unzip his pants. eagerly, he slipped his hand under his underwear, his hand pulling his cock out.

it was standing tall, pre-cum leaking from the slit.

he shuddered, he hasn’t been this hard in what felt like forever. he genuinely thought he lost his spark, he was in his late thirties after all.

his hand wrapped around his cock, a shaky breath left his lips as he squeezed it. his cock was thick, it wasn’t the biggest there was, but it would leave girls dumbfucked. or well, it used to. he hasn’t gone that hard in a while.

his cock was pretty, his tip was reddish, veins adorned it. the ones that made the girls mushy and whimpery.

the mental image of the girls he’s shoved his cock into filled his head. truthfully, he doesn’t really remember faces, but he remembers how they reacted. their bodies trembling and loud moans.

oh, how he missed it.

as he stared at your pretty pussy, all he could think about was shoving his cock deep inside you. have you whimpering and gasping his name as he kept you folded.

his cock twitched, fuck.

you were getting him so hard, he didn’t even think it was possible given his track record in the last few years. biting the inside of his cheek, he let out a breath, he was this hard over a girl on a porn website, but he couldn’t get this hard when he was balls deep inside a hooker’s cunt. god, this was pathetic.

pathetic, pathetic, pathetic..

you’re pathetic leon.

even as the words repeated in his head, his hand was still working on his cock, jerking and tugging on his shaft. his eyebrows were furrowed and his lips parted slightly, keeping his gaze on you, he watched as you rubbed your clit faster.

he could hear your small shaky moans, you were close and so was he.

his balls were tightening, his breathing was heavy, small pants leaving his lips as he rubbed his cock raw. chasing for a high he hasn’t felt in years.

a choked groan left his lips as he came, cum spurting out of his tip in amounts he hasn’t had since he was in his twenties. his cum was milky and thick. he continued to gently jerk his cock as he rode out his orgasm, another groan leaving his lips as his head leaned back.

his eyes fluttered shut as he felt his cock softening in his hands.

holy fuck.

his mind was fuzzy, he had almost forgotten about his phone until he heard a moan come from it. he moved his gaze towards the screen and watched as your hand stayed between your thighs before they slammed shut and you began to ride out your orgasm.

leon watched with eager eyes as you rode out your high nicely.

he squirmed and let go of his flaccid cock, his cum staining his hand, his stomach, and his pants.

he moved his hands and they gripped his phone again, he tapped on your username and watched your profile. your profile picture was a shy picture of your chest, a different set of lingerie holding your tits up.

looking at your bio, he shuddered as he read your information.

your name was pretty, it suited you. he saw your age listed, twenty-one, he just had the cum of his life to a video of a twenty-one-year-old? a feeling came to him, he didn’t know how to feel. staring at his screen, his mind still processing that information, should he be disgusted? guilty? ashamed?

he sucked in a breath and gulped.

him, a man in his late thirties, almost forty, just came to a video of a twenty-one year old girl.

it felt wrong, right? she was almost two decades younger than him, when the racoon city incident happened you weren’t even born yet. this had to be wrong.

but it wasn’t, and he knew that.

sure, the gap was questionable, but it was legal. yet, he felt so..wrong.

the worst part was that even after he realized this, he still watched your other videos.

choked moans left your glossy lips, your eyes shut and eyebrows furrowed up in pleasure. your mouth was slightly agape, forming an ‘o’ shape. leon’s cock slamming down into your cunt, his hand was placed on the small for your back as he held your upper body down and kept your ass up.

he let out small pants, his eyes shutting in bliss.

your walls were warm and snug, sucking his cock back inside your cunt with a wet squelch. you were so wet, your cunt practically drooling. it was driving him mad.

his free hand was gripping your ass, holding onto the fat like his life depended on it, his dull nails digging into your skin. he let out a guttural groan as he felt your pussy tighten around him, squeezing, milking him. he didn’t have the self control he had back then, he was edging himself to try and last longer.

it was hard, his balls were heavy with cum, cum he wanted to stuff deep inside you.

his eyes shut tightly, he bit down onto his bottom lip, his thrusts got sloppily — fuck, fuck, fuck. “s-shit—“ he choked out, his head leaned back as a whimper slipped past his lips. his cock throbbed no matter how hard he tried to stop himself, his cum spurted out of his tip.

he shook as it spurted in waves, his eyes fluttered open and he panted. “sorry—“ he said, feeling bad for not letting you cum first and filling you up without any form of protection. you hummed in reply, your ass still in the air as he pulled out. his cock getting softer, his lidded gaze watched as his cum slipped out of your puffy pussy, falling in glops onto his sheets.

he felt hot as he watched it, he was about to say something when—

his eyes opened and a shaky breath left his lips, it took a moment for him to adjust to his surroundings. quickly sitting up on his bed, leon was met with the saddening realization he was alone.

you weren’t sleeping next to him, his bed was cold.

not only that, but his pants were wet. he pulled the blanket off his body and groaned when he realized he had cum inside his pants. rubbing his forehead, he slipped off his bed groggily.

it was still dark out, his bedroom was completely dark aside from the natural light of the moon that entered through his windows.

leon hastily took his pants and underwear off, throwing them across the room to where he thought his laundry basket was. he walked to his cabinets and dug into his underwear drawer before he put them on, stumbling a bit before he finished.

running his hands through his hair, he stalked over to his bed and laid down.

reaching out for his nightstand, he grabbed his phone, this time he was mindful of the brightness so he adverted his eyes and quickly lowered it before staring at the screen.

no new messages, he frowned, except an email. it was an advertisement.

he scrolled through his apps and found one, the one you’re most active on.

instagram.

leon was rather clueless about social media, but the only reason he had it was to stalk your account. he opened the app and saw that you had uploaded a new story. he quickly tapped on the bubble and watched through your posts.

you were out that night, you took photos and various videos of the night. wearing a little black dress, your tits were practically spilling out, one wrong move and your panties would be exposed. you looked beautiful though, he adjusted himself in his bed and stared at the picture you captioned ‘fit check! :D.’ he couldn’t get over how cute your little captions were, it was humorous. a cute little emoticon at the end of a text while the picture behind it was you in the sluttiest outfit you could find.

biting the inside of his cheek, leon took a screenshot of the story and continued to scroll by your posts.

you looked so happy, so pretty. leon loved the way you smiled, all teeth, it all seemed so genuine. you were with your friends in the videos, giggling and dancing along to whatever song the club was blasting.

after he finished going through your story, he clicked on your account, no new posts. a deep sigh left his lips as he put his phone back on his nightstand and turned to his side. pulling the blankets up, it didn’t take long for him to fall asleep once more.

leon wasn’t sick.

he wasn’t a bad man, he wasn’t a freak, he was just lonely.

he was lonely and desperate, that’s what he told himself. he had this lingering guilt that manifested in the back of his head, you’re a sick man, leon. that’s what it repeated, every night, while he re-watched your videos and looked through the photos he had saved, it spoke.

sick. you are sick.

leon swore he wasn’t, he was just a broken man. one that found solace in you.

the age gap was eating him up inside, he had never thought of himself as someone who would find girls in their twenties attractive. yet, where he was.

he didn’t want to imagine what people would say if they found out he jerked off nightly to the thought of you. not just your videos, but the thought of you. he found himself daydreaming about you, not just in sexual situations, but romantic ones.

at the store he finds himself looking at the flower display, thinking about getting you flowers, trying to guess what flowers you would like the most. in public, when he saw couples, a bitter swirl churned in his stomach. jealousy, he was jealous that he couldn’t do the same with you.

this was developing into more of a followership, it was slowly seeping into the realm of obsession. delusion was his best friend.

occasionally, you participated in live streams.

it was cute, you were more talkative there, and you interacted with your followers happily. he was a quiet supporter, he didn’t use the chat room. you were too intimidating, he didn’t want to say something that could make you uncomfortable. he mostly gave you gifts, sending in money for you, he didn’t say much when he donated. occasionally he would type a small message for you to read with each donation, but it was rare.

that didn’t matter though. being able to hear you say his name, albeit his username, made him happy.

in these live streams, he’s been able to learn a lot about you. he knows you’re a college student, he knows you’re studying literature, he knows you’re a good student, he knows your favorite food, your favorite animal, how you like to spend your time, and much more.

he knows more about you than the people he knows in his life.

tonight, you had scheduled a livestream. posting about it on your instagram story.

‘i’m gonna be live tonight at 8 p.m. come by to talk, and i have a surprise too! >_<’ leon was curious, a surprise? so, of course he entered the stream after you started it. he needed to know what you were planning, maybe he could be part of it.

you sat in front of your camera and greeted all of the people coming in.

leon stared at you, you were so pretty, he thought. god, he felt like a teenage boy.

get a fucking grip.

your eyes focused on the screen where the chat box was opened, he watched as your eyes lit up, “welcome back, kennedy!” you said, looking back at the camera. looking straight at him.

his mouth went dry when you addressed him.

he clicked on the chat box, looking through to see if there was another kennedy, he didn’t want to jump straight to conclusions and embarrass himself. but there was no one else with the display like that.

SKENNEDY001

okay, he wasn’t very good at making usernames. he stared at his screen, unsure of what to do. you addressed him, should he say hi back? he’s never spoken in the chat room before. what if this went wrong?

slowly tapping on the keyboard, he replied with a simple. ‘hello, how are you?’ — best he plays it safe, right? his face feels hot, and he feels embarrassed. he’s always been more of a silent admirer, honestly, he never expected you to actually notice him. all sorts of different thoughts filled his head, from negative to positive. what would people think, what would you think if you found out that the biggest reason you’re paying your bills was because of some man in his late thirties who watches your content like it’s the news.

but what if you were into that? he’s heard stories about girls thinking older men were attractive, were you that type?

“i’ve been good!” you replied, snapping him out of his flood of thoughts. “i’ve seen you around, i think you might be my biggest fan.” you winked.

leon’s heart was practically beating out of his chest, he knew you meant it like a compliment, but it felt like you were pointing out how much of a lonely loser he is. “i just wanted to say thank you, your donations really help.” you said with a smile, that same pretty smile that drove him crazy, the smile he adored.

he didn’t know what to say, if he wanted to, he could write a detailed essay about you and how much he admires obsesses over you.

‘you’re welcome.. i like to support you.’ he typed back, after hitting send, he squirmed. did that sound weird? staring at your face intensely as you read through the chat, you let out a small laugh. “thank you, kennedy.” you replied, looking back at the camera. seeing how full the stream was getting, he decided that this was the end of the conversation.

his chest felt fuzzy, a feeling he hadn’t had in years, a feeling he had completely forgotten about.

he was obsessed with you.

the stream continued smoothly, you teased the camera, showing off your body and tempting the men, like him, who watched. by now he needed to rub one out during your streams, who would he be if he didn’t?

the stream was coming to a close, but before you spoke. “oh! the surprise from earlier, i almost forgot.” you said with a small laugh as you leaned back against your chair.

“basically, i was thinking, why not have a little contest.” you said, smirking at the camera. “imagine this is an auction,” you said, “the highest bidder gets to have a private, on one, video call with me.” you said, looking at your camera. “who knows, maybe that call can lead to something else.” you hummed, winking at the camera as you slid your hand down your chest.

leon blinked, a call with you? it was a dream come true. the only thing this lonely man could ask for.

you continued on, opening a gift box for anyone who wanted to get a chance with you.

he ignored how this could lead to poor financial decisions, he needed that call. he needed you for himself, he needed you to address him — to talk to him, he needed your attention like a lost puppy.

the gift period was only open for about fifteen minutes, first come first serve type of thing.

luckily, unlike the other people in the stream, he’s a government agent. with that title comes money, so as a way to secure that call, he sent you thousands.

he watched as you read the screen, your eyes widening as you saw the notification come in that you had received a few thousand dollars from your shy admirer. “holy shit.” you gasped, “okay— we have a winner! we have skennedy001 that donated over a thousand dollars!” you said, stammering as surprise filled your bones. “i’m closing the bid, that’s way too much money!” you said, giggling as you shut the bid off.

the people in the chat were going crazy, some were taking the loss like losers while the others congratulated the mystery man.

not too long after the stream ended, leon shut his phone off and stared at it. a deep breath left his lips, he didn’t know what to expect after being called the winner, but when he got a notification someone had messaged him through the streaming app, he opened it.

what he didn’t expect was to have a message from you in his inbox.

‘hey, kennedy! omg, that donation was insane! i didn’t expect that much money, please let me give you some money back! i really don’t deserve that much!! :,,)) you’re so sweet, and i appreciate it sososo much!!’

leon stared at the screen, double-checking that it was really you that had contacted me, his face got hot, did he overdo it? was that too desperate? oh, definitely it was, but still.

running his fingers through his hair, he began to type back, trying to brainstorm what to say, but after a solid five minutes of debating his options, he finally replied.

‘hello, i’m glad you appreciated it, but no. it’s okay, you can keep all of it. that’s the reason i donated it. spoil yourself.’

he typed back, his icy blue eyes hyper focused on the screen, he watched as in the span of a few seconds a small text bubble popped up as three dots bounced around. you were replying.

‘aww! are you sure? like, a 100% sure? i’m just making sure!! i just don’t wanna feel like i’m stealing from you, or something LOL!’

your text was cute, lighthearted, and warm, you were so considerate. he liked that, and his thumbs began to type out a reply.

‘no, no. it’s okay, really. just enjoy yourself.’

he replied he was trying his best to not seem uninterested. he has been told many times before that he was very “dry texter” — he had been told how uninterested he sounded with his texting habits and how it could make someone want to stop replying, and he didn’t want that. he just wasn’t sure what to say.

‘omg i am so grateful for your kindness! i’ve seen you in my streams a lot, i have honestly wondered about you. i’m glad you won the bid, tbh i wanted you to win LOL it gave me a reason to talk to you!’

oh my god. leon’s eyes widened slightly at your text, you were bold, is this how it feels like to get butterflies? he blinked, how was he supposed to reply? he’s never texted a girl in her twenties, what do girls like? what will keep you interested?

‘oh, yeah?’ he replied, reverting back to his usual dry texts, but you were lively, you knew how to keep the conversation going.

the conversation was sweet and lengthy, you ended up suggesting you move to your instagram messages so she could talk to him more often.

leon’s heart was practically going to explode out of his chest, he was giddy yet nervous. you had told him that you guys could arrange the video call for the next day at night after you finish some college work.

he was stressed, leon wasn’t sure what to expect. he’s seen your pretty face, but you haven’t seen his. his instagram profile is of an old landscape photo he took a while back, what if the camera isn’t flattering for him? he did warn you that he was in his late thirties? he didn’t want you to get your hopes up for a younger man. maybe he should just keep his camera off.

nonetheless, that night, he went to sleep happier than he has been in a while.

≻ the next day, leon was practically counting down the hours, the minutes, the seconds, until he got to see you. in the morning, he had been excited — the people around him noted his giddy attitude, but when asked why, he didn’t say anything.

he couldn’t expose himself.

but as the clock ticked and the hours passed by, leon found himself much more nervous than he’s ever been. he doesn’t want to fuck this up, in his delusion. he thinks that if this goes well, maybe, just maybe, this could evolve to something more.

you were so sweet to him last night, but the more he thinks about it, perhaps it was flattery.

he hadn’t thought about it now, this might just be all an act. something to keep him wrapped around your pinky finger, but he decided to push those thoughts down so he wouldn’t spoil his night.

once he reached his place, leon was angsty, the sun was slowly going down. the sky was a beautiful mix of warm colors: orange, red, and yellow. he could also see a hint of blue mixed in as the night sky began to slowly settle.

entering his apartment, he slipped inside the door and shut it behind him. locking it, a person could never be too safe, right?

he kicked off his shoes and slipped off his jacket, he haphazardly threw his jacket on his sofa before he made his way over to his room. he plopped down onto his bed and slipped his phone and flask out of his back pocket. opening the flask, he raised the metal container up to his lips and took in a quick shot of whiskey.

he couldn’t go into this sober.

letting the flask rest on his lap, he opened his phone and opened instagram. he looked at the messages he had with you. oh, he forgot to reply to your last message a few hours ago. he pursed his lips, fuck he feels bad, leon wasn’t an avid texter, so it was easy for him to forget.

‘sorry for the late reply, i was working.’ he hit send before he could register how “dry” that sounded, he quickly scrambled to text a bit more, so he didn’t seem too boring. ‘i’m nervous for the call.’

why would he say that?

leon shut his eyes, he was really bad at this.

after a few minutes of leon anxiously waiting for your reply, a ping came from his phone. quickly looking down at the screen, he saw that you replied.

‘aww, don’t be nervous! i don’t bite, unless you want me to ;)’

he let out a breath at your words, it felt like you always knew what to say, the number of times you’ve said something sly during the conversation that had his chest fuzzy must be over ten in the span of twenty-four hours.

leon started to type back, but he stopped mid-sentence. he wasn’t sure what to say, he was fumbling over his words, and no sentence he tried to type up made sense.

he saw your text bubble pop up, you were typing.

‘what? did i make you nervous? ;p’ — yes, yes you did.

he felt like he was in his early twenties, stumbling and stammering when a pretty girl gave him attention. jesus, has it really been that long since he’s felt something like this? god, that’s so sad.

leon ran his fingers through his hair, pushing his dark hair back, ‘yes, i don’t know how to behave when a pretty girl is talking to me.’ now it was your turn to blush, leon leaned against his headboard as he stared at his phone.

‘ohhh? is mr. kennedy getting bold? ;)) i’m excited for the call, just give me one more hour ♡’

‘take your time.’

during that hour, leon decided to try and freshen up, at least a bit. he knew he wasn’t going to turn on his camera, but maybe getting refreshed would make him feel more confident in himself.

he changed out of his work clothes and took a quick shower, he slipped on some comfortable sweatpants and a black compression shirt that he typically used when he was working out. as he looked at himself in the mirror, he noticed the eye bags that hung under his eyes and the stubble that covered his cheeks and chin.

moving his hand up to his face, he ran his fingers through his stubble and sighed as he felt the facial hair scratching his skin. should he have shaved this morning? he didn’t know, he hadn’t been bare-faced in a few years now, as he aged the clean look he used to have didn’t fit him anymore.

reaching over for his flask that he had left on the bathroom counter, leon quickly took another swing of his flask and then sighed as he put it back on his counter.

he was so fucking nervous and for what? he’s been face to face with death before, he’s encouraged over thousands of zombies in his lifetime and yet he’s so nervous at the idea of talking to you.

feeling his phone buzz in his pocket, leon scrambled to take it out before looking down at his screen. it was you.

‘okay! i’m ready, are you? ;)’ — no, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be, but he replied, ‘yes. how does this work?’ he replied, unsure of what you were planning.

he watched as the text bubble popped up from your end as you typed again, ‘its suuuper easy! i’ll set up a voice chat and send you the link, then i’ll turn my camera on so you can see me!’ biting his bottom lip, leon moved out of the bathroom and sat down in his bed, his back resting against the headboard as he stared down at his phone.

‘okay, i’ll wait for you.’ he replied as he tried to relax, letting out a deep sigh, leon shut his eyes for a few seconds before he felt his phone buzz again.

looking back at the screen, you had sent him a link.

‘here it is! ;)’ the text said, his thumb hovered over the screen as he bit the inside of his cheek and hesitated before quickly tapping the link. the link opened up another website, the same one you use for streams. it took a few seconds for it to load, but he could tell his camera was off and his mic was muted.

okay, good.

eventually, the screen loaded and he saw you, you were wearing a cute tank top of a band, he’s seen the band name around before. it was popular back in the early 2000s, you didn’t have any sexy clothes on, it was actually cute. it made you feel even more real.

“hi!” you said as you waved at the camera, “let me know if the camera and audio are working properly, sometimes the app gives me issues,” you said with a smile as you stared at your screen. leon went to open the chat box, but he realized that if he wanted to make the most out of this call, talking to you would better.

taking in a deep breath, he cleared his throat and unmuted his microphone. “..it works,” he said, his face feeling hot as he spoke.

leon had always been rather charming and talkative in real life, so why was he so shy? it wasn’t anything like him, did his loneliness really ruin him? your eyes lit up when you heard his voice, surprised he spoke.

he watched as a smile curled on your lips, “i’m glad!” you said, leaning in closer, giving leon a full view of your cleavage, he noticed a black lace bra underneath your shirt. tilting your head to the side, you hummed, “soo..how was your day?” you asked curiously as you stared up at the camera with a small smirk. leon hated how quick it was for him to feel pressure growing in his pants when it came to you.

why was it so easy to get hard for you?

“it was good..you?” he asked softly, his hand slipping down his body to grip his cock through his pants. your smirk turned into a smile, “my day was good too! thank you for asking,” you hummed, “so, what do you want to do?” you asked, leaning back against your chair as you moved your hand to hold your tit, squeezing the mound playfully. “it’s just you and me, no need to be shy.” you winked.

leon squirmed in his bed, “..i don’t know actually,” he muttered, “i never got to decide how i wanted to approach this.” he said, squeezing his bulge and sighing. “..i wanted to just talk and get you know you more, but..” he trailed off, unsure if he should tell you that his cock was hard at the mere sight of you.

you seemed to get the hint when you heard the shaky breath that left his lips, “got too excited, didn’t you?” you teased, biting your bottom lip as you batted your eyelashes to the camera. “it’s okay, let me help you.” you offered, that pretty smirk of yours coming back to your lips.

leon’s eyebrows furrowed as he felt his cock throb inside his pants.

“..a-are you sure? i don’t want to ruin the call.” leon murmured, his voice uneven as he tried to resist the urge to slip his hand under his pants' waistband.

a small laugh left your lips as you shook your head, “of course not,” she said playfully, “you won this call, you get to choose whatever we do.” you said, “what’s your name?” you asked, moving to press your arms together to have them push up your tits.

leon let out a sigh and watched with a hazy look in his eyes as you pressed your chest together. “it’s leon.” he replied quickly, now eager to have you say his name.

humming, you smiled, “okay, leon. should i take off my shirt? i have a new pair of lingerie just for you.” that whole sentence could’ve made leon cum right there without any friction. the way you said his name, it was smooth, like honey. you were hot and you knew it, “y-yes, please.” leon mumbled out pathetically as he stared at his screen intensely.

you nodded and reached down for the bottom of your shirt, slowly pulling it up and discarding your shirt to the corner of your room. once your shirt was removed, leon got an eye full of your tits being held up by the new lingerie, it was a push up bra. your tits were rounded and plush, the black lace that surrounded the fabric was real pretty.

“do you like it?” you asked softly as you adjusted your bra strap, leon gulped and shuddered. “yeah, it’s pretty..it suits you.” leon said, you were so fucking hot. he wanted to jack off and cum right there, but that would just show how much of a pathetic man he is.

you only took off your shirt and leon came? embarrassing.

so, he edged himself. deciding to play it safe with palming himself through his pants. his hand moving slowly to not get too eager and fuck it up.

“you think so?” you mused, looking at the camera as your hands moved to squeeze your tits and push them closer. fondling yourself for his pleasure.

leon groaned and nodded, he knew his camera was off and that you couldn’t see it, but he couldn’t help it. “mhm, black suits you.” he said, shifting in his bed to adjust his position. “want me to take it off?” you asked curiously, looking at the camera with an amused smile. “i think my tits are pretty, it would only be fair for you to see.” you teased as you squeezed your mounds.

leon’s throat felt dry, he felt parched.

“yes,” leon shuddered out, looking down at the screen. you laughed and stood up, you adjusted your camera for it to catch your body as you stood. leon saw you were only wearing some cute little panties that brought out your ass.

turning around, your back faced the camera before you moved your hair out of the way and moved your hands to the clasps of your bra.

you were quick to unclip your bra and take it off, throwing it off to the side, to a place the camera can’t pick up. by where you threw your shirt, leon assumed. your movements were always so smooth, hypnotic almost. leon was convinced you were perfect, made with no flaws.

turning around, you held your tits up in your hands before you stepped closer and let your mounds drop. leon got a screen full of tits, you let out a laugh and moved your body in a slow sway, your tits moving around as you did so. “like ‘em?” you mused playfully before reaching up and squeezing your nipple.

leon’s head leaned back as a small groan left his lips, his hand moving down to grip his dick through his pants. “yes, fuck.” leon said with a pant.

you moved back from the camera and sat down onto your chair before adjusting the camera stand so leon could see you better.

“are you jerking off?” you asked, smirking at the lens, leon let out a small whine. “no, n-not yet.” he mumbled, his voice straining as he tried to sound level headed, but of course it didn’t work given how he stuttered. leon cursed at himself mentally, he sounds like a fucking pussy right now.

you let out a small laugh at his stutters, “what? you don’t wanna jerk off to me? you’re hurting my feelings.” you said softly as she tilted your head, leon’s eyes widened. oh shit, no, that’s not what he wanted to do.

“wait, shit—“ he tried to explain, “i didn’t mean it like that..i just want to savor the moment.” he said, shutting his eyes in embarrassment.

you smiled, “yeah? why not savor it while jerking off? i have my tits out just for you.” you teased, pouting as you did so. leon paused, you were right, your tits were out and you were willing to do anything for him and he was just edging himself?

a small groan left his lips, “yeah..okay.” he mumbled, his hand slipping under the waistband of his pants before he gripped his cock. his large hand wrapped around his shaft, his cock throbbing again due to the pressure, leon put his phone down and used his other hand to shimmy his pants down. once the waistband was wrapped around his knees, leon leaned back against the headboard and sighed as he gripped his dick.

reaching out for his phone, leon fumbled with it with one hand before finding the right position to hold it. unbeknownst to him, while he fumbled with the phone, he had pressed against the camera button.

his camera turned on and he had no idea.

you, on the other hand, were met with the sight of the mystery man that had been supporting you the most.

he was hot.

like really fucking hot, your interest on this man peaked after you saw his pretty face. he was resting his phone on his thigh was he held it up, you could see the stubble on his face, his dark black hair. he was older than you expected, but if anything it added to the appeal.

this man seemed to be seasoned, he was staring down at his phone with his eyebrows furrowed as a small sigh of bliss left his lips. he was jerking his cock, you noticed by the way his body moved, there was an arm that wasn’t getting picked up by the camera that worked on rubbing his cock raw.

you noticed how his icy blue eyes focused on you, staring at the screen of his phone with a lovesick look on his face.

he looked so pathetically hot, it wasn’t something you thought you’d find attractive, but seeing how desperate this older man was for you made you unbelievably horny. you squirmed in your seat before your hand slipped down, you moved and slipped your hand under the fabric of your panties. letting out a sigh, you felt your middle finger gently toy your clit.

“leon?” you mused, leaning your head back and spreading your legs for the camera to pick up how your hand was shoved under your panties. you reached over to your desk and grabbed a dildo, showing it to him. “wanna watch?” you offered, moving the silicone cock in a playful manner.

leon’s eyes widened in surprise, but nodded.

he gulped and you watched as his adam’s apple bopped up with the swallow.

leon watched as you slipped off your panties and grabbed a bottle of lube. you quickly coated your pretty pussy and dildo with the thick cream and leaned back once more.

your pussy was on full display as you pressed the tip of the dildo against your puffy folds. “ready?” you asked softly as you bit your bottom lip.

this whole scene that was unfolding in front of leon felt like it was going to kill him. he’s seen your pussy before, he’s seen you fuck yourself before, but there was something different this time. it was all dedicated to him.

only him.

“yes,” he shuddered as he gripped his cock tightly, you smiled at him and slowly slipped the dildo inside of you. a soft sigh left your lips as your warm pussy sucked in the silicone, leon watched eagerly. like a kid in a candy store, he would kill to be the one inside you.

your squirmed and rolled your hips against the dildo, looking into the camera as your free hand moved to grip your tit. “oh, leon.” you moaned out, smirking as you watched your screen to see his reaction. “you feel so good..” you teased.

leon’s eyes widened when he heard you moan out his name, were you pretending it was him fucking you? did you want to send his heart into cardiac arrest?

this cock throbbed against his hand, begging for attention, pleading for leon to let it cum.

leon’s balls were heavy with cum, it was unbearable to keep teasing, but he couldn’t help it.

a small whine left leon’s lips as he slowly stroked his cock, watching as you fucked yourself with your dildo. “you think so?” leon replied back, his face felt hot as he spoke, he’s never done dirty talk through the phone. he was embarrassed, was he doing it right?

you nodded, smiling hazily at the camera, “mhm..” you trailed off as a small gasp left your lips, the dildo focused on fucking your pussy. your eyes fluttered shut as you savored the filling feeling of your dildo, the silicone ridges and fake veins pressing and molding your walls. your pace was steady, your head leaning to the side as you continued.

leon was getting the perfect view of your pretty face and your stuffed cunt. he could hear the soft squelches coming from your cunt as it sucked the dildo back inside eagerly. he watched as your pussy glistened with slick, his body aching, he wanted to be there with you. he wanted to feel you.

but the world was cruel towards leon, and all he could do is watch and pretend he was the one fucking you.

“you’re so big.” you babbled softly, watching your computer screen, watching his reaction. he shuddered and trembled, moving on his cock slowly.

leon shut his eyes and grunted, his head leaning back desperately as his body ached. he occasionally looked back at the screen, looking at you with such admiration behind his gaze. like he was admiring a beautiful painting.

he was so cute.

“y-yeah,” he groaned, his body feeling hot, it was overwhelming. he felt the thinnest sheet of sweat coat his body, a swirling feeling coming to his lower tummy, it felt like a tight pressure. “—am i making you feel good?” he whispered out, his eyes shutting as his hand continued to jerk his cock.

each jerk felt like a rush of electricity went through his veins, an electric shockwave whose only purpose was to bring pleasure.

you moved your hand down and gently began to toy with your clit, pressing on the puffy bud as you fucked yourself. “no one has ever made me feel like this, leon.” you teased, moaning out his name softly. it was like music to his ears.

he couldn’t take it anymore, he physically couldn’t hold back, he should’ve gotten a cock ring to try and make him last longer.

“m’gonna cum, i’m sorry—“ he babbled, feeling bad for cumming so fast, he just didn’t have the self control he used to have on his prime. his hand began to jerk his cock in a fast, sloppy pace. his chest was rising and falling rather quickly, unable to catch his breath as he chased his orgasm.

leon moved his phone, he kept it by his lap, but by the position you could see his aching cock.

“it’s okay, baby.” you mumbled out, watching as he neared his orgasm. his dick was pretty, the size was okay, the thickness was there, and his tip was bright red. his hand gripped his shaft, he had pretty hands. large and masculine, you even saw an expensive watch wrapped around his wrist. you knew he had money, how else would he be sending you such high donations, but something in your stomach fluttered when you noticed.

you continued to fuck your dildo into your pussy, trying to match his sloppy pace. “cum for me.” you hummed, your tone playful and laced with lust.

this was so hot.

leon shuddered and moaned, his hand continued to rub his cock raw, he clenched his jaw and shut his eyes tightly as he focused on cumming.

the pressure in his lower belly was so tight, but after a couple of more harsh jerks, the tight knot inside his stomach burst. his balls strained and tightened as cum began to spurt out of his tip. it was thick and milky, staining leon’s stomach and hand.

while he came, leon’s body trembled, his toes curled, and his back arched slightly as a loud moan left his lips. he didn’t mean to moan out like that, but with the circumstances he couldn’t help it. this was pure bliss, his body felt lighter and his head felt fuzzy. he continued to slowly stroke his cock as it throbbed, he rode out his orgasm, his cum still spewing out of his cock for a few more seconds before his body relaxed.

leon shuddered as his cock began to go soft in his hand, he grimaced as he looked at the cum that stained his hand before wiping it off against his sweats.

panting, leon looked back at his phone, his face was red and his whole body was hot.

“shit, i’m sorry, i wanted to wait for you.” leon said breathlessly, you shut your eyes and continued to toy with your clit as you shook your head. “don’t apologize, it was really hot.” you moaned out, fluttering your eyes open as you looked at the monitor, eyeing him up as he laid back panting.

your clit was puffy and slick, aching for more.

rolling your hips up, your hands continue to work against your cunt, making your legs twitch and tremble. putting on a show for the lonely man in front of you.

biting the inside of his cheek, leon watched desperately, if he was younger he probably would’ve gotten hard again as he watched, but his cock didn’t have enough strength to stand. it didn’t matter, now leon could finally appreciate you, your pretty face, your pretty body, and your pretty pussy.

he loved the faces you made, they were so genuine.

if he was fucking you, would you be making those faces too? god he hoped so.

by now, a specific heat blossomed by your clit as your finger toyed with it. your touch was gentle and light, it felt like your clit was burning in the hottest way as the nerves went on overdrive.

“fuck, fuck, fuck—“ you whined, your voice strained as you focused on breaking the tight knot inside your lower tummy.

leon shuddered, seeing the way your eyebrows furrowed as you bit your bottom lip, you were so cute. leon wanted to say something, but it was like his brain was a blank slate. he couldn’t think, he couldn’t speak, he just watched as your glistening pussy throb.

it didn’t take long for the knot to snap, and once it did, your body jolted as a loud whine of his name left your lips. your thighs clamped together while your hand stayed pressed between your legs, the silicone cock was nestled nicely inside you, warm and sticky.

your body trembled as you panted, your head leaning back against the seat as you regained your thoughts.

god.

leon has seen you cum various times before, sure, but there’s something so different about it here. it was mind boggling and his head felt dizzy, a shiver going down his spine.

this was all a private show, all of this was only for him. no one else was as lucky as he was, he felt like he was getting spoiled.

watching you unravel and cry out his name had leon’s brain oozing, he felt demented, like his brain had melted and he was left as a zombie. he could tilt his head over right now and watch as his melted brain would come spilling out.

metaphorically, of course.

you reveled in the afterglow of your climax, your pussy felt like it was pulsating and throbbing. slowly, your hazy gaze focused back on the screen and you locked eyes with leon.

he let out a breath as he looked at you, it felt like you were really looking into his eyes.

he still had no idea his camera was on and you could see how enamored he looked.

slowly, with a long, soft squelch, you pulled the dildo out of your sticky pussy. you moved the silicone up to your lips and leaned in closer to the camera before you licked off the slick that coated the toy.

your tongue moved slowly, and occasionally you would glance at the camera, making eye contact with him as you cleaned up your dildo and the only thing that ran through leon’s head as he watched was: i wish that was me.

squirming, leon felt like his mouth was salivating at the sight.

eventually, you finished licking off your dildo before you placed a gentle kiss on its head before you put it away, hidden away from what the camera could pick up. “liked that?” you mused, tilting your head to the side with a cute little smile. it was almost funny how cute you looked after you fucked yourself in front of him.

“yeah.” leon said quickly, gulping back saliva as he looked at you so dearly, “um,” he began, clearing his throat awkwardly, “..is it okay to talk more? if you have the time.” leon mumbled, because deep down, he still wanted to talk to you — to carry a conversation with you, to try and charm you.

looking at the time displayed on your monitor, you hummed, drawing it out to tease him slightly. after a few seconds that felt like an eternity for leon, you looked back at the camera and nodded. “of course, i have time.” you said, winking at the camera before you stood up and slipped your panties on. you left the chair for a second before you picked up your band shirt off the floor and slipped it on.

plopping back down on the chair, you smiled and looked back at the camera.

“so, tell me more about you, leon.”

≻ the call ended not too long ago, leon rested his phone down on his bed as he let out a sigh and rubbed his forehead. his chest felt fuzzy and he felt giddy.

the two of you had spoke for a few hours and now that the call ended, leon yearned to hear your voice again.

he felt silly like this, but he couldn’t help it.

he missed your voice, your face, the way you moved your hands when you spoke, the small gestures you made when you talked about something you were passionate about.

he missed you.

reaching over for his flask, leon quickly popped it open and took another long swig. swallowing back his beloved whiskey like he was a dehydrated man drinking water, throughout the call, he hadn’t drank to try and not get drunk and ruin the moment. but now that the call ended and he had time, leon was happily swallowing back the whiskey.

hearing his phone buzz against his bed sheets, he reached out for it quickly, a swirl of excitement coming to him as he saw it was you that texted.

it was two attachments, a photo of your perky tits and another one of your computer screen — that’s where he saw it. he was on the screen.

the photo you had taken was when he had his phone down, getting a good angle of his side profile from the bottom. for the eyes of someone else, it was a good picture and he looked good. his hair was messy in just the right way, his adam’s apple was on display and given the fact his phone was down, the picture also captured his waist, chest, and shoulders. showing off his body underneath the shirt he wore.

it was a good photo, but leon’s heart dropped to the floor when he saw it.

had his camera been on the whole time? is that why there was a small red dot next to his selfie camera? clicking out of the photos, he read your text nervously, but after reading it, his face flushed.

taking back another swing of his flask, he shuddered.

‘you looked really good today ;)) wanna call again tomorrow? <3’

╰ TAGS: @gor3-hound @rigorwhoring @nilpill @ottermarbles @argreion @angelstargel @lysa1201-saucy @dilfsmaid @sweets3rial @doja-rat16 @bababsthings @frillyyyy @nyxxoxo @admirxation @gcldtom @ashrillvenheim @seraphicsuicides @altissia-09 @ghostier0t @biohazard-4ever @leonsgirl-111 @th3lma @squazmine @dakotali @neverg0nnagivey0uup @brblnc @emodanoriddler @v1ccc @dear-satan @skydisneylover @calansic @acidaciruela @vkurtmien @shiawaseorii @fxnfandxmmp4 @valentin78pon @antagonize-me-motherfucker

[81pastrys]

Missing Mama

Summary— When Lando is left so his wife can have a girls trip he thinks it’ll be a breeze, however he was wrong.

Warnings— none

A/N— little Norris is a bit sassy in this one.

Dad Lando List

Lando knew the routine, until he didn’t. Usually he would go and do quadrant things or business things and then be home. However, when his wife wanted to have a girls trip, he took a few days off and insisted she go. When he did business he would leave before his girls got up, and return close to bedtime. Obviously home on the weekends, but those differed.

The first night would go smoothly, or so he thought, he’s done them before. Although when he went to tuck her in, she refused to even look at the bed. “I want to sleep in mama’s spot.” She pouted angrily at him. Her arms crossed and stomping a foot on the ground.

“You want to sleep in my room?” He asked serious. “Acting like that?” He scoffed and walked out of her room and into the main area. She followed him out, tears now present. The day was already hard with her mum even leaving and now her daddy won’t let her sleep in his bed?

“Daddy please?” She sobbed. He looked at her. His expression was firm. She had been acting out since her mum left and he had enough, she didn’t usually act out. “Why not? Daddy please!” The little 4 year old begged, when he didn’t respond.

“You’ve been acting out.” He stated. She pulled on his pant leg now, tears still streaming down her face. He stood looking down on her with his arms crossed. He sighed when she sat back and dramatically continued on crying on the floor.

He crouched down and looked at her. She sniffled and contained her cries. “Mama lets me sleep in her bed when you’re gone.” She hiccuped from crying. His entire mood changed when he realized she wasn’t acting out on purpose, but didn’t know how to express her feelings otherwise.

“I know, sweetheart.” He said comforting her now. She was just upset at her mum leaving. He reached out his arms to hold her. “You miss mama huh?” He asked, her head on his shoulder and arms wrapped around his neck.

She nodded her head on his shoulder and then he sat her on the counter. He wiped her face off , from any stray tears. “I’m sorry daddy.” She said softly. He gave her a small smile and walked to the fridge.

“How about a warm glass of milk before bed hm?” He asked. He made them both a glass of milk before heating them up and handing her the cup. “Alright, now we’re ready for bed.” He said. They finished their milk and he walked her to his room. She tried to hide her excitement.

“You sleep there.” She pointed to her mum’s side of the bed after jumping onto his. He lightly chuckled at her. She giggled at his facial expression. He picked her up and moved her to mums side of the bed.

“Nooo you sleep there!” He joked with her. “This is my side.” He stood his ground with a sly smile. She giggled again but stayed on the side he put her on. He walked to her side and tucked her in with a kiss on her forehead.

He took a shower and changed for bed. When he returned she was asleep. He crawled in bed next to her and gave her one more kiss on her forehead before turning his lamp off and allowing sleep to claim him as well. She wiggled into his arms and he moved his arm to rest around her.

I love this one sm

[cherry-coffees]

Caitlyn x jealous!reader ♡

cw: 1.7K words | jealousy, best friends to lovers, social media references, a few suggestive comments but nothing crazy

You shouldn't be jealous. You know you shouldn't be jealous. Caitlyn is your best friend — has been for years — but, despite your massive crush on her, nothing had ever happened between the two of you. As despairing as it is, you have no claim over her.

And yet...

Feelings of envy can't help but develop in your chest, coiling around your heart to squeeze it painfully.

Caitlyn spends most of her days tucked away in her office, dealing with all sorts of important things that keep Piltover up and running. And her downtime? It's all spent with you, getting brunch at cute cafes or going out to bars some nights. During the few times she goes out to shop or get her mind off things, you're the one who has to drag her outside of the Kiramman manor, claiming that fresh air is healthy and whatnot.

You shouldn't care about the girls that swarm like bees to a honeypot whenever she goes out. You shouldn't care about the way they giggle, batting their lashes at her as they ask for help reaching something on a tall shelf. They fawn over her height, her position as Commander of Piltover, and wow, I bet she'd be so good in bed.

Not that you can blame them, really. Caitlyn's eyes are a weapon: one flash of blue would have any girl on her knees. It's just—

You're the one who Caitlyn calls in the middle of the night, who gets the privilege of being her best friend and, consequently, smothered in affection. Her fangirls don't have her love, not like you do.

You're curled up at your desk one afternoon, a blanket strewn across your lap and your face illuminated by the glow of your laptop. Oh, how much better it would be if you were in Caitlyn's lap right now. But she's out, gone to some event that had requested her presence. Normally, you'd have gone with her, but the idea of getting out of bed this morning had seemed so unappealing at the time. Caitlyn, wanting you to be rested, had excused it with a wave of her hand and an "I'll see you tomorrow for dinner."

You exhale, chin resting on your palm as you scroll through the various emails in your inbox. As much as you didn't want to leave the house, you miss her. Your sweet, lovely best friend who you've been hopelessly pining after for ages now. You can't help but wonder what she's doing right now.

Thus, the fastest way to find out is through social media.

Caitlyn's social media is dry, containing only a few posts of very practical things. One of her training routine, a few of events she'd been to recently, and another of a meal she was particularly proud of cooking a few weeks ago. To no surprise, there's no updates to be found. You roll your eyes, navigating to her tagged photos. Surely someone had to have posted about her being at the event today.

Your heart sinks at the first one.

It's a recent post: uploaded only a few minutes ago. The location tagged is the same event Caitlyn's at, and sure enough, Caitlyn is front and center, smiling politely at the camera. The girl next to her is beaming, almost glued to Caitlyn's side. When you swipe to the second photo, it shows the same girl hugging her. Caitlyn looks respectful, like she's just greeting someone, but the girl's hand placement draws your eyes. Her arms are wrapped around Caitlyn, her hands finding her waist and completely pressing up against her.

And the caption?

Finally met my wife!!

Oh, fuck no.

You grit your teeth, blinded by seething hot rage. Who is this girl? Or, more accurately, who does she think she is? She has no right to be hanging off Caitlyn's arm like she's flaunting her.

You can't help but click on the girl's account, scrolling through her story posts. She's recently posted a few more photos of Caitlyn, one flooded with comments like:

omg i can't believe i'm meeting Caitlyn Kiramman

she's so hot nghh need her in my bed

she could bend me over and i'd take it

You have no claim over Caitlyn. You know this. She's perfectly capable of flirting with whoever she wants, being with whoever she wants. But that small, ugly feeling in your chest tugs on your heartstrings, whispering possessive thoughts that cloud your mind.

That's your Caitlyn. Yours.

Suddenly, you're feeling a lot less tired than you were this morning. Jaw clenched and irritation coursing through your body, you barely pause to yank on a dress and grab your keys on the way out.

Maybe you should go to that event after all.

|------» ~~~ «------| 

Caitlyn's the picture of elegance at the event: dressed to match in navy blue and tipping her bubbling champagne glass to a few Noxian aristocrats in greeting. She doesn't like formalities, never has. She'd much rather be at the sharpshooting range, her trusted rifle in hand, running through the trees like a bird glides through air. These events were her mother's thing — not hers.

She waves politely at an Ionian ambassador from across the room, a forced smile drawn across her pretty features, when she feels a tap on her shoulder. Eyebrows contorting in surprise, Caitlyn turns, expecting to find another noble or fangirl of hers. The former, she hopes.

Much to her confused amusement, it's you.

You stand with your arms crossed, fierce gaze meeting her shocked stare. You're wearing the nearest formal attire you could find in your closet: a fitted, crimson red dress that falls to the tops of your knees. Your hair is slightly tousled from your (admittedly fast) walk over to the event location. You don't acknowledge it. Instead, you blink up at her, your expression completely blank. "Hi."

"Oh," Caitlyn's breath catches in her throat. Despite your slightly rushed appearance, you're a vision in her eyes. Always have been — not that you'd ever know it. "You—? You came."

"Of course I came," you shrug, dragging the toe of your shoe along the polished, wooden floors of the room. "I can't leave my best friend alone in a place like this."

"But—" Caitlyn pauses, crinkling her nose like she does when she's trying to figure something out. Cute. "But how did you know where the event was?"

Shit. That plan went out the window.

"Um," you hesitate, mind working to come up with some excuse as to how you knew her location. Caitlyn hadn't told you before, and at this point, your only option is to come clean.

Sort of.

"I got it off a social media post," you wave a hand airily, like a nonchalant response you hope she buys. Plenty of people in Piltover had posted about the event; there's no need for her to guess which one you saw specifically.

"Really?" Caitlyn tilts her head, taken aback that anyone would care where she is. As smart as she is, she's oblivious to people's interest in her: Piltover's Commander. Her gaze moves up from your face, darting around the room before she settles on pulling you into a more private corner. "I didn't think people cared much about what I do."

You scoff, unable to stop your eyes from rolling. She can be so dense. Caitlyn knows she's hot, but she fails to recognize that every girl from Piltover is waiting for a chance to swoop in and snatch her up for themselves. And tonight, you just can't keep your comments to yourself.

"You haven't seen all your fangirls' videos yet."

"My fangirls—?" Caitlyn pauses, her hand coming up to rub the side of her face as if mulling the idea over. Then her eyes land back on your face, and the realization hits her like a brick.

Your hardened stare, your slightly pursed lips, and your fidgeting hands all convey one emotion. One that Caitlyn's seen you wear only a few times: once when she went on a random date with a girl from a bar, and another time when she had been venting to you about her ex, and—

Oh.

"You're jealous."

The words fall from Caitlyn's lips before she can stop them. But she's certain: she knows you well enough to figure out your body language. Benefits of being childhood friends, she supposes. Although now—

You freeze, eyes wide and muscles tense like a deer in headlights. "I— well, I don't think it's jealousy exactly."

"Then what is it?" Caitlyn raises an eyebrow. She's competitive in nature, and she's not about to let you dismiss her. Nuh-uh, no way. Not when she knows she's right.

You fumble a few more seconds, glancing around the room helplessly as if something could save you. Nothing does. Damn it.

"Fine," you admit, gritting your teeth in annoyance. "I'm jealous."

Caitlyn hums, a small, smug smile spreading across her face. "There we go, darling," she muses, and you have to fight the flush that threatens to color your cheeks at the nickname. "If only you'd admitted that ages ago."

"Oh." Your breathing stutters, caught off guard by her insinuation. Surely she can't mean—?

"There's no need to be jealous," Caitlyn steps forward, her hands smoothing the hair that frames your face. You hadn't realized she was so close to you before. "I only have eyes for one girl."

You hesitate, mind whirling with possibility. It can't be that girl from earlier. With all the pet names and explicit comments she had made online, it sure seemed like it. At least, that's what the possessive feelings inside your chest are telling you. It can't be her, can it?

It's Caitlyn's turn to sigh at your oblivious head, her hands moving up to take gentle hold of your forearms. She tugs you forward until your chest is against hers and her arms slip around your waist.

"In case you don't understand—" she murmurs into your ear. Her tone is low, almost causing your heart rate to speed up from the way it sends shivers down your spine. Caitlyn would know this if she leaned down a little lower, pressed her lips to your neck to feel your quickened pulse. You almost hope she does.

"—you are the only girl I have eyes for."

totally not self projecting, nope nope nope

hope you enjoyed lovelies <3 wherever you are in the world, stay safe!

~Cherry 🍒

[voidsxntry]

a fraction of a second I calvin evans

pairing: calvin evans x fem!reader gif credit. @avadaniels summary: one morning walk. one wrong step. wc: 1.9k warnings: spoilers for lessons in chemistry!!! fix it fic. fluff. elizabeth and calvin are friends. he just takes the dog on his runs. ooc calvin. self indulgent. reader can put hair in a ponytail. excessive use of em dash’s. not sorry. not beta needed a fic asap.

a/n: i’m rusty asf. i have risen just for this man. watched this knowing his fate and still bawled my eyes out. and there’s little to no fics of him so i came out of hiatus just for this. wrote this with a migraine and zero sleep. If you enjoyed, please reblog or comment!

You almost didn’t go on your walk that morning.

And that was unusual.

Rituals were your anchor — carved into muscle memory, reliable as clockwork. Every morning, without fail, you followed the same routine. It kept your mind quiet, your breath steady, and the chaos of the world at bay. Wake up at six. Dress in your usual uniform: long sleeves, a pair of shorts, and worn-in tennis shoes. Brew a cup of coffee, sip it slowly in the kitchen’s early light. Out the door by six-thirty.

But yesterday had been…a mess. A long, cruel string of bad luck stitched tightly together, like the universe was testing your patience just to see when you’d snap. It started out fine, your morning had gone as usual.

Then the moment you stepped into work, it all unraveled. Your boss was irritable and short-tempered. The students were wild. The parents were worse. Every person you encountered seemed determined to chip away at your sanity, and by the time you made it home, your nerves were shot.

You’d sighed in relief, hoping for a simple evening. Something easy, maybe leftovers, maybe quiet. But when you opened the fridge, a sour stench hit you in the face. Everything was spoiled. Mold bloomed across forgotten containers. The milk had separated. It wasn’t until later that you realized the power had gone out sometime during the day. Long enough to quietly sabotaging your dinner without warning.

So you’d settled for dry cereal eaten straight from the box, too tired to be frustrated, and gone to bed praying that Saturday would be kinder.

It took a full-body groan to get yourself up that morning. Not graceful, not motivated, but determined.

You dragged yourself out of bed, shuffled into the bathroom, and went through the motions. Coffee brewed. Shoes tied. Hair pulled up.

Despite everything, you stepped out the door right on time.

Saturday mornings had that effect. Fewer cars on the road, fewer people out. Some neighbors were taking the luxury of sleeping in, while others sat quietly on porches, coffee cups in hand, soaking in the early calm. It felt peaceful. Still.

The trees blocked most of the morning sun, casting cool shadows across the sidewalk, but the light that managed to filter through made everything look soft and golden. Birds chirped lazily overhead, filling the silence without breaking it.

You started your usual light jog, somewhere between a fast walk and a slow run. Enough to get your heart moving, never enough to sweat too much. The breeze was just enough to keep the warmth from feeling heavy.

You smiled and waved at the few neighbors you passed — the older couple watering their flowers, the woman with the tiny terrier who always barked once and then got shy. At the corner, you slowed to a jog in place, glancing both ways before crossing, your shoes tapping softly on the cement.

Then, rounding the next block, you saw him.

Your “running friend.”

You didn’t know his name. Didn’t know the name of the dog either. You couldn’t have picked him out of a crowd if he wasn’t mid-stride with a leash in hand. He was always at least a block ahead — sometimes farther — nothing more than a figure in motion, as consistent as the sunrise. But today, for once, he was on the same sidewalk as you. Close enough to see.

Maybe he was running late. Maybe he was just pacing himself. Either way, he was there — present, not just a blur.

You slowed instinctively, letting your gaze rest on him. His stride was smooth, strong. A small, involuntary smile tugged at your lips. You’d never admit it aloud, but you had a quiet sort of crush on him. The harmless kind that bloomed over time without invitation. Despite the fact that he didn’t know you existed, you found comfort in him. He was part of your routine too.

As you trailed behind, you noted his usual complete lack of situational awareness. He was entirely focused on the dog — a goofy, floppy creature with far too much energy and a mind of its own. The man laughed softly as the dog tugged at the leash, and you nearly laughed too, your own amusement catching in your throat.

He slowed further as the dog resisted, clearly engaged in a battle of wills. You could hear him muttering to the animal, coaxing or teasing. And the sound of his laughter, low and unguarded, made your chest flutter.

You didn’t mean to stare, but he was so much clearer now. His face, the exact curl of his hair, the way sunlight framed the edge of his profile. If you weren’t so tense, so on edge, you might’ve committed it all to memory.

He had reached the corner, still laughing, still tugging at the leash playfully. The dog was resisting, digging its paws into the sidewalk, body leaning away from the curb like it knew something. The man chuckled and gave the leash a gentle tug, still coaxing. But you saw it: the collar starting to slip. A subtle shift. A warning.

“Come on, Six-Thirty. We’ve done this a hundred times.”

But something felt wrong. Goosebumps rose along your arms. A strange, cold prickling crawled up your spine. Your gut clenched with a quiet panic you couldn’t name yet. It was instinctive, that buzzing pressure before something snaps.

His voice was still playful, unaware, calling to the dog. But your eyes flicked to the side, and there it was a bus —going faster than it should in a residential area.

You didn’t think. Just picked up your pace, walking faster almost running now.

Time fractured. Everything slowed. The leash pulled taut.

The collar slipped free. The dog lurched back. And he — your “running friend” — stumbled backward into the street.

You didn’t scream just lunged. Your fingers closed around the soft fabric of his sweatshirt, yanking him. The force was messy, desperate. Enough to rip both of you off balance.

The ground slammed up into you, unforgiving and solid. He landed half on top of you, his head knocking into yours, his elbow digging into your side with a startled grunt.

The bus tore past a split second later. Inches. The bus missed him by inches.

You lay there, breath caught in your throat, your lungs fluttering with panic. Everything shook — your hands, your chest, your legs — as adrenaline surged like wildfire through your veins.

For a moment, the world was still. Colorless. Soundless.

Then it came rushing back, like a wave crashing into shore.

The dog barking in the distance. The fading screech of the bus’s horn as it disappeared around the corner. The blood roaring in your ears. The rapid beating of two hearts. Two still-beating hearts.

You blinked up at the sky, the narrow slice visible through the branches above. Your body ached, but you couldn’t move yet. Not until the shock wore off.

Then a shadow crossed your vision. He hovered above you, face coming into focus. Curls tousled, cheeks flushed, lips parted in disbelief.

His eyes were wide, shocked, breathless, and locked onto yours. “Are you okay?” he asked, voice raw and dazed.

You nodded slowly, still catching up.

He stayed frozen over you, bracing himself with one arm planted awkwardly on the pavement, the other still resting across your side. His breathing was sharp — shallow and fast — matching yours beat for beat.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you could.

“I…” He shook his head slightly, curls bouncing as he tried to process it. “I didn’t see it. I didn’t hear it. I—”

“I know,” you said softly, your voice steadier than you expected. “I did.”

His gaze snapped back to yours. Something in it shifted, a spark of awareness. Not just that you’d saved him, but that you’d been there. That you’d been close enough to notice what he hadn’t.

You felt your fingers still tangled in the fabric of his sweatshirt and slowly let go, your hand falling limply to your side.

You both rose slowly, a little awkward, a little shaky.

Calvin stood first, unsteady on his feet. His hand trembled slightly as he offered it to you, the shock still echoing through his limbs. That close to death did something to a person. You took his hand, let him help you up, and tried not to focus on how warm his grip was.

“That would’ve been…” He swallowed, voice barely audible. “Fatal.”

“No kidding,” you said, exhaling with a weak laugh.

He turned to look at you fully, concern creasing the space between his brows. “Are you alright?”

“Besides a minor headache, possibly bruised ribs, and some back pain?” You gave a tired smile. “Yeah. I think I’ll live.”

He breathed out a half-laugh. “Good.”

“And you?” you asked, eyes narrowing on the way he shifted his weight, like the ground still wasn’t quite steady.

Calvin turned to glance at the road again — the spot where it nearly ended for him — then back at you. “Well,” he said, still dazed, “I’m not splattered across the pavement, so I’d say so.” He tried for a smile. It almost worked.

You nodded. Your own heart had finally started to slow. And now, up close, you could really see him — not the blurry figure half a block ahead, not the running stranger with a dog — but him. Up close, he looked exactly how you imagined and nothing like it all at once. Handsome in an understated way. Kind eyes. Disheveled, flustered, completely real.

“I’m Calvin,” he said. “Calvin Evans.”

You blinked at the name. It was familiar, vaguely. You’d probably seen it somewhere in class, heard it whispered at a dinner party you half-listened to, but none of that mattered right now.

“I’m… still catching my breath,” you replied, giving him a small, sheepish grin, as you gave him your name in return.

He said your name quietly like he was committing it to memory. His voice was low and gravelly, from the shock, or maybe the adrenaline still working its way out.

“Thank you,” he said. “I can’t—I mean… just—thank you.”

You gave a small nod, your smile growing just a little. “I’m just glad I got to you in time.”

His brow lifted, like he hadn’t quite considered it that way until now. A pause followed — then something softened in him. “Well… I suppose I was meant to be late today.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” you said. “More like… I’m glad I didn’t skip my walk. Kind of a butterfly effect situation.”

That made him pause. His lips parted slightly, and something flickered in his eyes. “The butterfly effect isn’t technically-” He stopped, catching himself mid-explanation. A breath passed between you. Then he smiled. “You’re right. The butterfly effect.”

He looked over at Six-Thirty, who had stopped to sniff a patch of grass, tail still wagging like nothing had happened.

“Would you… want to walk with us?” he asked, voice quiet. “I think I’d feel better not being on my own right now.”

Your heart skipped once, then settled.

“I’d like that,” you said.

“And if I’m not being too forward… maybe breakfast after? Or coffee?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “To thank you properly.”

You looked at him, earnest and exhausted and standing here, alive. And somehow, you didn’t want the moment to end.

“You don’t have to,” you said, “but yes. I’d like that too.”

©voidsxntry2025

[riverbends]

BLUEBIRD

(andrew “pope” cody x f!reader)

part two: flight | mdni | part 1 | MASTERLIST

—For someone who appears so tremendously stoic, you are mystified by the pained shudder in his breath.

tags: angst, stalking, pain kink, mentions of pope's suicidal tendencies, unwanted proximity bordering on assault (not with pope), heavy yearning, canon-typical mommy issues wc: 5.1k cat says: yeah i'm posting this a few hours earlier YES idk why i bother tagging 'angst', i feel like it's an inherent part of anything involving pope cody

This, he tries to tell himself, is better.

Because at least he is contained and resolute outside your house. At least he is here and not in that blinding suburban hell. At least he isn’t parked up on someone else’s street, waiting—desperately hoping—for her to come running back.

No, instead, he placates the memory of that child by watching you from his pickup truck, here and there, throughout the day. Not every day, just some odd ones. Sits opposite your humble one-storey abode and memorises the yard and the low, red brick border and the porch and the font of the street number on your mailbox and the way you sit on your front steps in the morning as you nurse a mug in both hands. Sometimes joined by your daughter, who entertains you like she was born to make you break out into laughter. Sam, he remembers. Of course he does. He remembers exactly what you were wearing the first and second time he saw you. Remembers the charms clinking against your car keys and the press of your hand on his wrist as you tried to shoo his money away last week.

He doesn’t know how you like to make your coffee on the mornings you sit outside. Doesn’t know if you’re even drinking coffee. Not at all privy to the finer details.

But he studies you like he’s planning a job.

There is a day where he finds you at a park around the corner from your house. It seems to be a routine between you and Sam—not every day, just some odd ones. He’s not sure how he manages to keep himself composed at the familiarity of it. A swing set and a girl and something…akin to penance? To a fleeting pardon? He is aware of how foolish it was to think that the love of a child could grant him absolution; could clean him.

This is the picture of innocence, though. With a wide smile splitting your mouth, you pull Sam’s seat as far back as you can while she squeals in the delight of anticipation. You count down, gathering momentum. Harnessing wind. A big push, and your baby takes flight. He is convinced, for a fraction of a second, that Lena is the one suspended in air, her hair blowing out around her like wings. But you’re cheering Sam on as she settles back down with slow, declining kicks.

Pope is gone before he can let himself unspool like an old cassette tape. Like something nobody wants anymore—something everybody has moved past.

You should really pay attention to your surroundings. He thinks you’re too easy to find, too easy to see without being seen himself (or he’s just disturbingly perceptive and he doesn’t like to think about the fact). But he has to remember your life and his are not one and the same. You have absolutely no reason to be as paranoid, as perceptive, as he is. You are not conditioned, he presumes, to go in with all teeth the moment you’ve been found out.

He knows that you pick up double shifts at the diner so your daughter doesn’t go hungry. He knows you sit in your car, before and after work, with your hands gripping the steering wheel as you press your forehead to the curve of the gap between them. What else is he to do with all of this time on his hands? If he’s not on a job, if he’s not in the fighting cage, if he’s not sitting in Lena’s old room, what more is there?

That’s what it is—a life without. He was built to saunter through battlefields in blood-stained stupor, not to live. His brothers might do this for the bountiful rewards that a good, well-structured job would bring. But this is way he was engineered. A steel-bodied machine; a soldier. The wolf in the black of night.

For as long as he can remember, ‘living’ is a hollow promise. ‘Living’ is the last thing Smurf raised him to do. He’s been on decades-long orders to traipse the darkness, eyes peeled and unblinking, watching for the threat of movement since childhood. He doesn’t know that, sometimes, he is the mirror of his long-dead father. Bogged down in the same paranoid craze that Colin wrestled with before Pope and Julia were nestled in Smurf’s womb—the sodden mire that seems to keep expanding. How strange it is to perfectly reflect a man and his hysteria without ever having known him. To inherit his father’s ghosts like warm heirlooms and spend his life wondering why he is the way he is.

No old photographs, no worn-out clothes, no well-loved car to be passed down to him. Just the name of a hockey player his father liked—Feels like a boy to me. Hey, Andrew, come on out and prove me right, you hear me?—and, of course, the loose screw. The thing in the cavity of his brain that ticks away like a faulty fire alarm. So, no, he can’t say that he ‘lives’ as much as he is haunted.

—yeah, after Andy Bathgate. Greatest hockey player of all time. You don’t like it? “Andy” for short.

Andrew David Cody, growing in a belly beside his sister as their father speaks only with him (Smurf has always held the belief that Andy would’ve softened him. In a good way. Had Colin lived long enough to give their son the nickname he wanted).

The haunting is why Pope doesn’t fight his habits. On the contrary, he clings to them like he’s hanging from the chin of a cliff, clawing for permanence so hard that his nails are scraped raw and bloody down to bone. He is intimate with this—latching onto pain. It saves him every time, and it pools on his tongue like blood medicine.

Won’t change a thing about Lena’s room in the Cody house. Won’t stop chipping into the fund he’s built for her. Won’t stop buying the food she used to eat and letting it go stale and mould-green because he obviously isn’t purchasing that shit to eat it. He is nourished by memory. Remembrance feeds him full.  

It draws him back to the stupid grocer’s a week after seeing you. Though, he is here on a different day and a different time, hoping you’re not around. He can’t stomach that. Can’t force himself to remain poised and pretend the thought of you alone doesn’t make his head spin. It always did back then. With somebody else. That beach house and that little girl and that woman who stopped seeing him the way she used to as soon as he was thrown in a cell. Couldn’t even look at him when he got out. What is he left with now? His ghosts? His father’s ghosts?

Everything festers—

Six different brands of amber-brown maple syrup stare back at him from their shelves, and it’s torture. She should be here. She would tell him which one to get. Try her best to strain her little legs and reach up high for a bottle until he has to pluck it down for her. She would probably pout about it—I almost got it. He would nod—I know. Pope wonders if her brand new parents and her brand new sister take her out to get brand new maple syrup for their brand new pancakes and he feels his fists stiffen into stone weights at his side.

And then something tumbles into the side of his leg and lands on the floor with a thump and a small yelp that soon turns into sore snivelling. He frowns at the syrup before looking down to his left where he finds Sam all curled up, snotty-nosed and weeping as she firmly presses her hands over her right knee. When she meets his gaze, she’s suddenly sobbing in a way that chokes her words. He wonders if the fresh evidence of his recent cage fight has frightened her. The little white butterfly stitch. The colours blemishing his skin are rich and ugly after all—plum purple and screaming red. Her eyes dart all over his bruised face as if her collision alone was turbulent enough to hurt him in such a way.

“I’m sorry, mister, I’m really sorry,” she hiccups. “I’m sorry, I promise I’m sorry.” Apologies keep stringing from between her chattering teeth while he watches her fuss over her knee.

Pope lifts his chin and surveys the surrounding aisle in search of you before looking down again. He can’t really leave her—not that he would do such a thing anyway. He knows how helpless children can be. For him, driving a pocketknife into someone’s jugular vein is an easier feat than abandoning a lost child.

“Where’s your mom?” he asks. Sam blinks away her tears and drags her free hand under her leaky nose.

“I dunno,” she mumbles, bottom lip wobbling. “She told me to get a jar of honey and- and wait for her.”

He looks around once more, waiting for you to show up. Part hope, part dread. It doesn’t really occur to him that he might look uncaring or indifferent to the observing eye. He’s too caught up in the familiarity of this. Transported back to a time where he would’ve caught Lena to steady her with one hand before she could even hit the floor. Gravity was secondary to his caution for that girl. Light and physics be damned. Had Lena fallen like this, he wouldn’t think twice before scooping her up in his arms.

“We’re gonna look for her,” is all he says before leaning down, leather jacket creasing around his shoulders as he hauls Sam up by her underarms. The moment he hitches her on his hip, he has to anchor himself before his world tips over. It was instinct—the lift, the motion, the hold. Muscle memory. Just someone else’s daughter this time. Yours.

“Is your knee okay?” he asks, carrying her down the aisle like she’s weightless; eyes searching as he turns a corner. Sam nods before her arms loop around his neck and it feels like they’re locking. Feels like he’ll never be able to get out again.

Lena used to cling to him just as tight when he carried her, as if mere air would rip her away from him if she didn’t hold on with her life (but he never really let that happen, remember? Gravity? Light and physics? Laws that bent to his will. Logic that yielded to his love. Until he looked away for only a moment and everything slipped—). She’d get tired and rest her head on his shoulder, little nose tickling the crook of his neck. Craig once joked that Lena always latched onto Pope like a baby spider monkey.

“Yeah, she’s got the eyes too,” his brother laughed.

Pope shrugged, “Well, spider monkeys nurse on their mothers for at least three years.”

“Right, so they grow up like any normal kid,” Craig scoffed and flicked Deran a look, who only shook his head and minded his beer. The frown pulling Pope’s brows weighed deeper then.

“The mothers take their young everywhere,” he said, some faraway look blooming in his eyes. Remembered he had to pick her up from school soon. “Y’know, a lot of female monkeys tend to stick with their mothers long after they’ve grown up. It’s not uncommon in primate families.” Craig and Deran listened without absorbing anything, but he was elsewhere. Thinking about attachment, and the sheer force of it; the endurance. How, at the time, it felt like nothing in the world could tear through it—through him and his child. A fool’s dream. “Severance is harrowing,” he murmured, “for the both of them.”

Aisle after aisle, he walks across the far end of the store with his head stiffened to his right, pace picking up as he scans through the gaps until he freezes. A man towers over you in the middle of the drinks aisle, locking his hand around your wrist and gritting harsh whispers against your temple. You’re shaking your head, trying to claw at the man’s forearm with your free hand. A scene of proximity so clearly unwanted that you’re squirming against him the way a joint-locked animal twitches under pressure with little fight left in it. Pope feels his body load up like a gun. Safety off.

Electric heat charges through his legs, ready to storm forward with purpose, but then the heel of your palm cracks against the man’s cheek and the sound of it is sharp. Cuts through the low buzz of the radio hits from the store’s speakers.

Sam stirs in the warm crib of leather-clad arms, “Mommy?”

You fight whiplash at the speed of your own split of attention, head snapping to your left where you find your daughter wrapped around the torso of your friend who is not your friend because you’ve only met him twice before. Your friend who wears vivid contusions like he was kissed all over the face. The touch of bursting knuckles instead of your a soft mouth.

Andrew.

The sight of him holding your daughter at the end of the aisle has you ripping yourself away from your foe with a strength you thought you had misplaced until hearing her voice. Pope watches you rush toward him, hands reaching for Sam’s face like lungs stretching for air. But his eyes creep back to the man you’ve left behind, who contests Pope’s undaunted glare. He’s taller than Pope, but lean. Hair sweeps over his forehead, spine hunches slightly with a carelessness. Could snap the bastard in seconds.

“Hey, baby, hey,” you smile weakly, stroking a thumb over Sam’s chin before combing your fingers through her hair. Pope is roped back in. Can’t focus on anything but your gentle fretting and fussing. “Didn’t I tell you to get me some honey?” You ask and Sam nods, eyes downcast like she’s about to apologise. Again.

“I ran too fast,” she whispers.

It’s clear to you now—how he’s holding her. As if he has held her like this since before she could walk. You feel his eyes on you as yours drop to find a pale blotch of red flushing through the skin of her knee, bent leg tucked beneath the crook of his elbow.

The man behind you gnashes your name in his teeth. Pope is near ready to pounce again.

“You move on fast, don’t you?” He laughs bitterly, burrowing his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. Sam peels her arms away from Pope’s shoulders and he takes it as a sign to let the girl regain her footing. She’s encircling your thighs with the tight lock of her hands as soon as he eases her down. Your fingers trace over her shoulders as she hides her face.

Pope steps closer and lowers his head to look into your eyes like he thinks it’ll give you no other choice but to meet his gaze. Like he’s quite confident you’ll let him in that way. His voice is only for your ears when you do. “You want me to handle him?”

Maybe this is the first time you really start to consider using the word ‘strange’ to describe him. His generosity seems to know no bounds and it just confounds you. The chocolate pretzels, the cash, bringing Sam back to you. Strange. A complete stranger. You’ve never met someone with such a reclusive disposition who’d still give the shirt off their back to…you. Of course, it makes you feel sceptical. Of course, you’re going wonder if he’s trying to get something in return.

But those bruises suggest he has many means of getting what he wants. His face, his knuckles. Not just today, not just last week, but even the first time you met him, though the marks were the least visible at the time. It’s gotten consecutively worse over the three instances where you’ve run into each other. You can put two and two together. Must be a pastime of some sort, and a strange one at that. Strange. If he has some other agenda, you’d wager he’d have already taken it by force. He must pity you, then? Thinks you can’t take care of yourself so he has to do it for you?

(Unbeknownst to you, he is so inexplicably drawn in. It’s been too long since he’s allowed himself to dive head-first into this kind of naivety. You seem to nurse the promise of oasis and, of this, Pope is almost certain).

“I’m okay, trust me,” you nod once but his frown only deepens with doubt. He has never been this close before. Not uncomfortably close, but close enough that you think you can see the broken capillaries of the skin of his purple under-eyes. The thin adhesive strip closing the wine-red wound of his cheekbone. A part of you wants to press on a small welt. See if it hurts. See if he’s just stone.

He keeps searching your eyes, unrelenting. It takes the soft pressure of your palm on his sternum and a whispered please to disarm him. You see it, too.

The shift in his face reminds you of the fierce thoroughbreds you grew up watching. Creatures of majesty, condemned to the never-ending racetracks where their victories were gambled on. Raised to fill the pockets of insatiable betters and disposed in meat trucks when they no longer served their purpose. But you remember visiting these gentle giants in their stalls, sneaking a sugar cube or two in your little hands. The way their ears perked forward at something sweet. Nostrils flaring, head lowering. Trusting you enough to guide them to the reward in your hand.

He looks at you with the same keen interest and that rapt hunger you could only ever find in the eyes of an animal—this formidable racehorse leaning into your open palm. Mighty Orphnaeus surrenders.

Neither of you notice the man’s absence until Sam coughs into your leg. Pope still feels the phantom shape of your hand on his chest after you’ve stepped away to look over your shoulder. Paralysed, he watches the angular muscle flex in your neck as you turn. He’s itching to get out; escape. Thick, sinewy arm choking between iron bars as he searches for the lock to his own cell.

He can’t figure out if you make him feel twice as caged or closer to freedom than he’s ever been. Either way, Libertad brands the skin you touched through his shirt. Any closer to the left, and he’s confident you could’ve torn his heart out with its caustic chambers and rotten valves, leaving shreds of flesh and clotted blood dribbling down your wrist. Any closer, and he’s terrified you could’ve discovered that he was never in possession of anything resembling a heart to begin with. Though this wretched organ batters his ribs with persistence, the absence of it would not surprise him in the slightest.

“Where was she?” you ask. Pope blinks back into his senses. Has to wet his tongue like a sponge just to speak.

“She ran into me in the,” he struggles to remember now, “breakfast aisle. I think she hurt her leg.”

You gently tip Sam’s head back and tuck your chin to your chest to make eye contact, “Now, what’ve I told you about running in places we shouldn’t be running?” You wear some faux pout of sympathy as her brain tries to download an explanation. “Did you apologise to Mr. Andrew?”

Sam nods her head vigorously before craning her neck around to ramble another string of I’m sorry’s.

“I’ll be alright,” he says, voice tight.

Momentarily, you’re crouching to take a look at the bruise on her knee—a fresh but fading blotch the size of a quarter. It could be a longing for childhood or a longing for the child he lost, but when she balances a hand on your shoulder as you pull up the bend of her knee to kiss it better, he aches something fierce. There were times, of course, before Smurf’s love turned acrid; perverse. Times when his only sibling was Julia, times when innocence was preserved. When a kiss on a bruise was the only aid he needed, no strings attached.

“Thank you, I’m sorry she’s—” you push yourself up from the floor, “—a bit unaware of her surroundings sometimes.”

“They tend to be,” he agrees.

“You got kids?”

It’s a harmless question in your head, but you can’t say the same for him. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think a bullet just narrowly missed his ear and fucked with all the gears in his brain. Cogs bursting apart.

“Uh, she fell off her ATV thingy. Got a few scrapes.”

“Where’s Baz?”

“I don’t know, man.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? Put her on the phone.”

“Okay.” A beat, and distantly: “It’s- it’s Uncle Pope.”

“Hi.” Relief, then. Waves of it, rivalling the crashing shore in front of him. Roaring at him with foam and ferocity in the cool of this night. Like it was God who saw him draw the gun to his head and knew only her voice would lift his finger off the trigger.

“Hey,” he breathed. “Are you alright?”

“He tackled me.” She had been crying.

“What? Who- who tackled you?”

“A man. So I wouldn’t get hit by the car.”

The parties always bothered him, but he was never really driven to shut them down like he did now. Grabbing the shotgun from the fireplace and pulling the cords from the speakers. The sea was his oracle that night—the child, his saviour.

“No,” Pope answers flatly. You’re perceptive enough to recognise that the pause before might be an indication of something he’s chosen not to share. So, you nod.

“Well, can you let me repay you?” Your hands rest on your hips. “For last time, at least, because that was absurd,” you laugh.

“It wasn’t a loan.”

“What were you shopping for?” You ask, ignoring his rejection to your offer. He narrows his eyes like he’s caught on to a game you’re playing.

“Nothing. Just maple syrup,” he says. “I don’t need it.”

You roll your lips into a line, trying to force back a smile. For many reasons beyond you, the enigmas he has presented over time don’t necessarily scare you away like they probably should. Shadow, retrospectively speaking, has never been good for you. Furtive men who show you mere glimpses of the skeletons in their closet before tightening the padlock. They give you a thirst you can’t slake. You’re always left to jam your way in, and what you find has you staggering back. Isn’t that how one of your exes ended up cornering you in this aisle? Isn’t that why you sent Sam to find something you didn’t need? Isn’t that how your thoroughbred brought her back to you?

But he is so singular in his ways. Remarkably giving. Stuck between deciding if he should glue his eyes to yours or look at everything in existence but your face. You haven’t forgotten the way his shoulders had tensed at your closeness before resting upon touch—like he was bracing for impact. Like you have the power to tear his very soul asunder. For someone who appears so tremendously stoic, you are mystified by the pained shudder in his breath.

His body seems to translate what he refuses to confess. He betrays himself.

“Then why do you look for it?”

He thinks on it—“Habit.” No matter how little sense it makes to you, that is all he knows. Habit. Repetition. Return. Chases his own tail like a blind mutt most of the time.

In the suspension of sound, he says—doesn’t ask—he’ll walk you and Sam out to your car. He almost pays for your groceries, but he’s afraid it might frustrate you the second time around. You’re doing all the talking at the self-checkout while he quietly passes items for you to scan, ears keen for the stories you recount about Sam as a toddler. At one point, you draw the faintest ghost of a laugh from his chest and it fills you with this ludicrously enormous sense of accomplishment. You yearn to hear the sound of it once more—to actually see it grace his face, too.

He learns that Sam is actually ‘Samantha’, and that you named her after a friend with whom you no longer speak. Not for any tragic reason, just time, you tell him. A high school friendship that ran its course. He wonders, then, if you’ll somehow keep him in your life for longer than these passing grocery run-ins (longer than his frequent observations from his pickup outside of your house—outside of your knowledge).

Sam skips ahead of you as Pope, who had silently collected the bags of food against your objections, walks by your side like he’s holding feathers. The leather of his jacket catches on your arm sometimes.

“Can I ask about the bruises?” You ask out of nowhere, keeping an eye on Sam as you all walk the crossing. “Don’t tell me I should see the other guy.” A breath, just short of another laugh, leaves his throat.

“Maybe you should,” he says, adjusting his hold on the bags. He won’t say anything about the other bruises he’s hiding under his jacket, and how it hurts a little to carry the weight of the food. “Sort of a hobby. Hole-and-corner cage fights and the usual betting.”

—formidable racehorse.

“And how does one get into cage fighting?” You look at him, brows raised with astonishment.

He locks his gaze ahead, looking around for your sedan. “My…mother puts me in. For catharsis, I guess.”

“And is it?” you press. “Cathartic?”

The three of you settle by the trunk of your car. Sam crouches in front of a tyre to trace over the bolts while you wait for Pope to give you an answer. You wait until it’s clear to him that you’re expecting something. Truth.

“Sometimes, yeah,” he shrugs. “It doesn’t require much thought and I s’pose I’m good enough at it.”

“And the bruises?” You finally move to pop the trunk, prompting Sam to jerk a door open and hop into the backseat out of boredom.

Pope bends at the waist to lower the bags into the empty compartment before stepping back and shutting the rear for you. “I don’t really mind them.” He would’ve called them reminders. Or punishment. Or penance. Only if he was sure you wouldn’t ask why.

“Maybe you should,” you playfully echo his words from earlier and he rests his hands in the pockets of his jacket. The corner of his mouth creases at your quip, and it might rival the feeling you get when a glass of wine plunges you in a heady buzz. Blurring the world around you with a dull kind of bliss. He dizzies you with a fucking quarter of a smile and you open your mouth before you can give yourself a chance to think. “Can I do something?”

He is wordless again. Searching. Again. Narrows his eyes like he did in the store, like he’s trying to feel around in the dark despite seeing your pleading face shining before him in broad daylight. Then, a nod. Then, stillness. Your hearts leap into a synchronised crescendo of beating as you let yourself approach him, slow as the sun breaking out of its horizon. There is not a single moment where his eyes aren’t locked on yours, even when your hand finds the side of his neck and he feels your thumb barely graze a welt on the corner of his jaw.

Pain is nothing to him here. Pain is almost sublime when you softly press your lips to the tender skin near his butterfly stitch. Ghosting the scar that aches most. He shudders the same way he did when your palm was on his chest in the drinks aisle. A kaleidoscope of light deluges his vision and all he can do is close his eyes to absorb the heat from your mouth as it permeates the skin of his cheekbone. All he can do is clench his fists in his pockets and pray that you’ll move the pressure up to the stitch. Kiss him where it really hurts. Kiss him better.

He’s not sure he can remain standing any longer when your warm mouth and your soft palm leave him untouched again.

You don’t know what possessed you, but you can’t pretend it hadn’t been on your mind for a while. You can’t pretend the bruise isn’t calling you back to make contact again. To cradle his jaw, to caress his wounds in a way that impels his hands to tear out of his pockets and search for purchase of your hips in a desperate attempt to steady himself under your touch.

His eyes peel open to find you again, only a breath away.

Courage embraces you once more. “Give me your phone.”

He is so stunned, he can’t compute the image of you adding your number to his contacts but that’s exactly what you’re doing as he struggles to make fucking sense of what you just did.

“Invite me to a fight,” you say, short of breath as you return his phone. “Or whatever you want. Or don’t, it’s up to you.”

Pope barely nods, too distracted by his phone displaying the standard digits of your number and the print of your name above it. Mouth, too dry to give you words. He’s still lingering by the trunk when you climb into the driver’s seat.

Once you click in your seatbelt, you can really feel the sheer velocity of your heart, like it’s darting all over your body. Electrifying you.

Sam kicks your seat, eager to go home.

“Okay, baby, I know,” you calm her down as you adjust the rearview mirror to find…nothing. Just the utter absence of him. Maybe you really should’ve kissed him; pressed your mouth against his properly. Maybe he wouldn’t have liked that. Would he? He’s still a stranger in most ways—in every way that’s supposed to make you keep your distance.

You toss and turn in bed with grating regret over how forward you were in the parking lot. If anything, you must’ve looked vain. So arrogantly sure of yourself that you’re convinced you can peck someone on the cheek and order them to give you their phone so you can insert yourself into their life before they have the chance to object.

But once the tail of sleep curls itself around you, your phone lights up, vibrating on your bedside table as it bears a foreign number on its screen.

—this formidable racehorse leaning into your open palm. Mighty Orphnaeus surrenders.

[littlebluebird2000]

Twirling Hearts- part 2

pairing: yeon si-eun x reader (female reader)

rating: 18+

genre: romance, smut

warnings: overprotective sieun, school bullying, discussion about food and weight, violence, harassment, smut, mature language, sexual harassment, slow-burn, jealousy, baku always being at the scene of the crime...

summary: Who would've thought that a ballerina and the school's most feared nerd would complete each other so well? Being the new student was never easy-especially not when you were the only girl transferring into an all-boys school. To make matters worse, Eunjang High has a reputation for having its fair share of troublemakers. Some of the rumors were enough to make anyone second-guess stepping through those front gates…

author's note: this chapter contains sexual content. if you are not comfortable with that, it’s okay, i’ll see you in the next story.

word count: 8k+(again, sorry)

follow #bluebirdyeonsieun for updates on the story. for some reason, my tags aren’t working :(

part 1, 2, 3. 4., 5.

Your skin was warm. Too warm.

Your alarm buzzed just after 5, sharp and unforgiving in the quiet of your room. You groaned, arm fumbling over the sheets until your fingers finally found your phone. The floor felt cold when you swung your legs over the edge of the bed, but even in the chill of the morning, your body pulsed with leftover heat.

You'd dreamt of him again.

Sieun.

You sat there for a moment, breathing slowly, trying to shake it off. But the dream lingered—soft at the edges, vivid where it counted.

You fanned your face with your hands, skin flushed and your heart embarrassingly loud in the silence. You forced yourself to get moving. The weekend had gone too fast for your liking… You started to get ready for the academy.

You dropped your bag and sat on the floor, beginning your stretches with practiced discipline. Pain helped. Just a little. You moved through the routine without thinking, tying your bun tight enough to pull your focus back. You were supposed to be grounded—pointed toes, perfect turnout, breath timed with grace—but your mind kept drifting.

“Y/N,” your teacher’s voice cut through the room, firm but not unkind. “Focus. Again, from the top.”

You nodded, blinking hard as if it would clear the fog in your head. You moved when the music resumed, but your body didn’t feel like it belonged to you. Your pirouette was too fast. Your landing was too soft. Your chest tightened as you pushed into the next movement.

“Your balance is off.” Mrs. Kim said again. “Center yourself.”

You sighed. This was going to be a long practice…

The door clicked softly behind you as you stepped out of the studio, the air brushing cool against your flushed skin. The bus was quiet this morning, filled with the low hum of the engine. You sat by the window, forehead lightly resting against the cold glass, watching the world blur.

No matter how many times you blinked, his face kept flashing behind your eyes.

When the school came into view, you sighed, adjusting your skirt and brushing down your coat as if that would help settle the nerves crawling beneath your skin. You stepped off the bus, blending into the slow-moving crowd of students, pulling your bag higher on your shoulder.

You slipped into the classroom a few minutes before the bell, doing your best to appear casual—even though your heart skipped a little when your eyes found him.

Sieun was already there—head down, pen moving neatly across his notebook. He looked the same as always: dark hair falling slightly into his eyes, faint shadows clinging beneath them, his shoulders relaxed like he had found a way to exist separately from everything around him. His eyes flicked up.

You gave him a small smile in acknowledgment, the kind you hoped appeared casual and effortless. Just a soft curve of your lips, barely there, before you slid into your seat beside him, heart thudding louder than you wanted it to.

He hadn’t smiled back, of course, but you hadn’t expected him to. Still, his eyes had lingered on you a moment before dropping back to his notebook.

No one notices the way the tips of his ears flushed. Unbeknownst to you, you weren’t the only one having dreams that lingered long after waking…

You pulled out your notebook, uncapped a pen, trying to act normal.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught him stealing a glance.

Quick. Barely there. But it happened.

You shifted in your seat. Sieun’s pen keeps moving, neat and controlled. His expression remains unreadable—aloof, almost bored. But there was tension to his stillness now, like he was focusing harder on the page than necessary.

The classroom was starting to fill up—chairs dragging, bags thumping against desks, conversations bubbling with half-suppressed laughter. You didn’t look up. You just kept your eyes on the board, pretending to go over your notes even though you hadn’t really read a word.

You could feel it when Hyoman entered. His presence carried a weight, a cocky energy that crept over your skin like static. You heard his voice—low, arrogant, already joking with someone like the room revolved around him.

It made your stomach twist.

He passed by your row, and you could hear every step of it. The exaggerated scuff of his shoes. The scraping of his chair as he slouched into the seat directly behind you.

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of a glance. Still, your shoulders tensed.

The teacher entered a moment later, his footsteps brisk as he reached the front of the class. “Settle down,” he said, placing a stack of papers on his desk. “Let’s begin.” Conversations quieted. Papers rustled. Pens clicked. The usual chaos smoothed into a quiet rhythm as the class finally began.

You tried to focus, but then—

Tap Tap Tap.

The steady rhythm of fingers drumming against a desk behind you. Not too loud, but pointed. Deliberate.

You didn’t react. You told yourself not to. That’s what he wanted. Or maybe you were overthinking it. He probably didn’t register he was doing it. A kind of nervous tick? You—

Then came the kick.

Not hard, but enough to jolt your chair. Enough to make your back stiffen and your fingers freeze on your pen.

Still, you stayed still. Your eyes didn’t move from your notebook. You wouldn’t give him attention.

A breath passed. And then, beside you, Sieun moved. Barely. His gaze slid toward Hyoman—calm, cold, unreadable. The effect was immediate.

The tapping and kicking stopped.

Sieun turned back, calm and unbothered, resuming his writing without a word. He didn’t even glance your way.

You stayed still for another breath, letting the quiet return. You relaxed a little bit, but unease lingered in the edges of your thoughts.

Since the very first incident, 5 months ago, Hyoman hadn’t bothered you. Not in class, not in the halls. It was Sieun’s warning that had stopped him then. It had been enough to keep him away for months… until last weekend outside the karaoke room.

You’d tried to convince yourself it was the alcohol…That he hadn’t fully thought about the consequences…That he had temporarily forgotten about Sieun’s threat…That he wouldn’t have tried if he had been sober…

But maybe you were wrong.

And you couldn’t help but notice: even if he was testing the limits again, unlike last time, he wasn’t doing it boldly…Like he was still affected by Sieun’s warning… just no longer fully stopped by it.

You wanted to figure out had happened. Why was he testing the edges again, pressing into the boundary he had seemed to accept before, and why the warning that once worked no longer held the same weight….What had changed?

You pushed the thought aside, let it unravel before it could take root. You were probably reading too much into things. He hadn’t touched you today, not really. Just background noise—his fingers tapping, the occasional thud of his shoe against your chair. Maybe he was just bored and hadn’t noticed he was doing it?

You told yourself it didn’t matter either way. You weren’t going to give him the space in your mind.

Not today.

Because your mind was already full of someone else. Someone quieter. Someone who never asked for your attention, yet had it anyway.

There was only one boy who constantly lingered in your thoughts these days—and it wasn’t Hyoman.

It was Sieun.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The cafeteria was its usual chaotic mess—loud voices, trays scraping, the scent of fried food lingering in the air. You were seated comfortably between Baku and Sieun, one leg crossed over the other, completely engrossed in the ridiculous story Juntae was telling about his failed gym test.

You laughed, shaking your head, leaning slightly forward as you reached for your drink.

You didn’t notice your skirt riding up.

But Sieun did.

He’d been trying to keep his focus on the tray in front of him, eyes locked on a piece of kimchi he hadn’t touched. But out of the corner of his eye, that small shift caught him. A flash of bare skin, just above your knee.

His breath hitched—so quietly that no one heard.

He shifted in his seat. Once. Twice. First adjusting his legs, then his shoulders. He pressed his knuckles into his thigh, jaw tight, expression perfectly neutral, save for the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.

His knee brushed yours.

He moved it away quickly.

You kept chatting with Baku and Gotak, totally unaware, sipping on your drink. You adjusted again in your seat, accidentally rising your skirt another half-inch.

Sieun’s eyes flicked to the side, then to the ceiling, then back to his tray, scolding himself for looking. But the damage was already done…The dream from last night flooded back without warning.

He didn't ask for the dream. He hadn't gone to bed thinking about you like that, not really. But it had come anyway, slow and consuming.

Your breath in his ear. The softness of your voice. His name leaving your lips in the dark. The way you touched him. That dream had been soft and slow and maddening. And now this—you, here, real and inches away, so unaware. He’d woken up in a rush, skin flushed, breathing uneven. Aching. It was all new to him. He hadn’t known he could feel that way…Hadn’t thought it was possible for him. It was warm, unfamiliar and terrifying.

Shame curled through him like smoke. You deserved better than his messed-up thoughts. You didn’t deserve to be pulled into the confusing mess of whatever he was feeling—especially not like this, not without your consent. He had to stop.

But his body betrayed him. His fingers tapped a quiet rhythm on the table. His shoulders were slightly tense. His breathing had grown shallower, barely noticeable unless you were paying close attention.

Which Baku was.

He didn’t say anything. But across the table, he watched Sieun shift again, the tips of his ears burning faintly red. Baku smirked to himself, leaning forward on his elbows. His eyes flicked from Sieun to you, then back again. A secret.

Sieun let out a barely audible sigh through his nose and finally scooted half an inch away from you, giving himself just enough space to breathe. But even then, his knee bounced slightly under the table—like his nerves wouldn’t quit.

You just glanced over at Sieun, your brows pinching slightly as you noticed he’d only picked at his food. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

He blinked, his tone low and composed. “Not that hungry.”

You studied him for a second, eyes flickering over his face, like you were trying to read between the lines of a book no one else had bothered to open. But then, you slowly nodded in understanding before looking away. Sieun didn’t miss the concern look passing over your face. He didn’t know if that made it better or worse. You had no idea what he was thinking—what images were tangled up in his brain.

The first bell rang, a warning that class would start in 10 minutes. Chairs scraped against the floor as students stood, gathering their trays. You stood too, unaware of the soft tension beside you, brushing past Sieun as you adjusted your skirt.

He didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

Not yet.

Sieun sat there, rigid, his legs tense beneath the table. His jaw was locked, his breath shallow. He kept his gaze down, refusing to look at anyone—especially not you.

Because if he moved now, someone might see.

His uniform pants weren’t doing a good job of hiding it. The ache between his legs had built slowly throughout lunch, each brush of your arm, each innocent laugh of yours pushing him closer to something unfamiliar, something he didn’t understand.

His hands clenched into fists beneath the table.

He wasn’t like this. He wasn’t. He had spent years feeling numb, emotionless and detached. He had never once looked at someone and felt this.

“Go ahead,” he muttered to the others, barely above a whisper. “I’ll catch up.”

Baku glanced over with a knowing grin—but said nothing. You hesitated for half a second longer, eyeing Sieun with quiet worry.

Baku leaned toward you and nudged your arm. “Give him a minute. He’s okay.”

“But—” You started to protest.

“He’ll be okay. Just trust me.” Baku said, softer this time.

Y/N looked back at Sieun, still motionless and unreadable, then slowly nodded.

The group left, and Sieun finally stood, slow and cautious. He angled his bag in front of himself and turned the corner toward the bathroom, heart thudding in his ears.

The door closed behind him with a soft click.

He didn’t stop at the sinks. Just ducked into the nearest stall, locked it, and pressed his back to the door, chest tight with something he couldn’t name.

His fingers trembled as he touched his waistband.

What was happening to him?

It wasn’t just arousal. It was confusion. Shame. Need. Want. He had never done this before—never felt the desire to.

For so long, he had been empty inside, untouched by anything, distant even from himself.

And yet here he was, alone in a bathroom stall, pulse racing, thoughts tangled in the memory of your smile, the warmth of your leg against his, and the ghost of your scent that refused to leave his nose.

He didn’t want to.

But he had to.

He exhaled shakily, teeth gritted.

It was over quickly. His hands curled tight at his sides afterward, and he didn’t move for a long moment. He just stood there, breathing hard, forehead against the cold wall. The shame settled right after.

He cleaned up in silence, eyes avoiding the mirror above the sink. His face looked the same. Cold. Blank.

But something inside him had shifted.

He dried his hands, adjusted his uniform, and left—shoulders tight. As he rejoined the hallway, he caught sight of you up ahead— entering the classroom with the others, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you laughed. He looked away.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The bell rang, signaling the break between classes. Students spilled into the hallway, some stayed in class chatting and laughing. You couldn’t help but feel a strange shift in the atmosphere between you and Sieun.

He was quieter today—more withdrawn than usual if that was possible. His gaze kept flickering to the side, avoiding yours, and the usual cold mask he wore seemed to hide something more. He was studying, but his focus seemed scattered.

Curiosity stirred in you, and without thinking, you slowly reached over to touch his hand. Your fingers brushed against his lightly at first, but then your hand settled on top of his, fully connecting.

Sieun immediately tensed. His eyes snapped to your connected hands and his fingers twitched beneath your touch, as if he was trying to pull away but couldn’t. His hand—that hand. The same one you were touching so softly now—had been doing something else earlier. Something messy.

A quiet breath escaped him, and he clenched his jaw tightly, trying to mask whatever emotion was playing out on his face. You had no idea what that same hand had been doing, moments ago. How your name had been stuck in his head like a prayer…

“Sieun,” you said softly, your voice a little unsure, but you couldn’t ignore the growing concern building in you. “Are you feeling okay?”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. His face flushed ever so slightly, though he tried to hide with his hair. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he took a slow, shallow breath as if to steady himself.

“I’m fine,” he muttered quietly, his voice neutral.

But the blush on his cheeks didn’t lie.

"Are you sure?" you asked, a little more insistently this time. “You don’t seem like yourself today. You barely ate.”

Sieun finally lifted his eyes to meet yours. “I’m fine,” he said again, this time with a little more finality. He shifted in his seat.

You hesitated for a moment, sensing the tension between you, but you didn’t pull your hand away. There was something about his reaction that made you feel like maybe you should push just a little bit further. Was he sick?

Sieun’s eyes flickered down to your hand again. He let out a quiet sigh and returned to his studies, but this time, his posture was stiffer.

He didn’t want to look at you. He couldn’t look at you. Not when his thoughts still felt twisted. You stayed like that, touching him like he was clean…. His stomach tightened, guilt crawling up his throat.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” Baku interrupted, walking past Sieun’s desk with a smirk on his face. You quickly snatched your hand away, your fingers retreating as if caught doing something wrong.

Baku’s eyes narrowed knowingly.

Sieun’s eyes drifted down to his hand, still resting on the desk. He stared at it—at himself—and felt his cheeks burn even more.

If you knew what he had done, would you still look at him with that softness in your eyes?


Would you still reach for him?

Baku caught the shift in Sieun’s body. He knew exactly why Sieun was reacting this way—he had seen that look before. The kind of look a guy gives when he’s fighting with himself over something he didn’t want to admit.

Baku couldn’t help it. He chuckled quietly, a teasing glint in his eyes. “You’re a mess, Yeon Sieun.” He murmured, his voice low enough that only Sieun could hear. "You're so obvious."

You, on the other hand, had no idea what Baku was talking about, but his laugh only added to the strange feeling in the air. Sieun, still avoiding your gaze, seemed even more uncomfortable now. You weren’t sure if it was because of your touch or because of Baku’s teasing, but something had definitely shifted in him.

As Baku walked away, he shot a quick wink in your direction, still chuckling softly under his breath. You caught the glance and felt a little confused, but Sieun seemed almost ready to crawl under his desk to avoid all the attention.

“Just ignore him,” Sieun mumbled, though the words came out as a hushed whisper, like he was trying to calm himself down more than you.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

Class resumed, the teacher’s voice cutting through the lingering tension. You kept your eyes on the board, though your mind was still with him. Sieun sat stiff beside you, eyes trained forward, unmoving.

Minutes ticked by.

When the final bell rang, you rapidly stood up, not wanting to miss the buss bringing you to the academy.

Sieun didn’t move. You stopped in your tracks.

Baku caught your glance. Quietly, he stepped behind you and nudged your elbow.

“Hey.” He said low enough that only you could hear. “Let me talk to him.”

You hesitated but nodded, casting one last look at Sieun before walking out with the others.

Once the room emptied, Baku slide in the chair in front of Sieun’s desk. He glanced at him, then at the hand Sieun kept staring at.

“You planning to burn a hole in it or what?” Baku asked, leaning forward. “You’ve been staring like that thing betrayed you.”

Sieun didn’t answer.

Baku exhaled, more gently this time. “You wanna talk about it?”

Still nothing. Just that tense silence.

“Is it about her?” Baku asked, voice softer now.

Sieun hesitated, then nodded. “Earlier … After lunch. I just—” He exhaled sharply. “I didn’t sleep well last night. I kept thinking about her…and then her skirt rode up a little today and—I didn’t mean to look... But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And I felt like—like I had no control.”

There was a long pause before Sieun finally spoke again. His voice was low, almost tight. “After lunch, I went to the bathroom... I had to…” He couldn’t finish.

“You touched yourself” Baku said plainly, not judging.

Sieun lowered his gaze. “Yeah.”

“So?”

Sieun looked up, startled. “So? That’s it?”

“What, you thought I’d freak out? Yell at you? Nah.” Baku leaned in closer, voice dropping. “It’s natural. You didn’t do anything wrong by reacting. You’re human, even if you hate it sometimes.” He teased at the end.

Sieun sighed, fidgeting with the sleeve of his uniform. “I just couldn’t stop thinking about her. And I… I had to relieve it. I didn’t want to. It just—happened. It felt—wrong”

“No, it felt intense. You’re not used to that. She makes you feel things, and you’re scared of what that means.”

Sieun’s jaw clenched. “She sat beside me, worried about me. She was being kind, like always. And I was just... I feel like some kind of creep.”

“You’re not a creep. You didn’t do anything to her.” Baku argued, voice softer now. “You didn’t cross a line. You just… felt something really strong and didn’t know where to put it.”

There was a long pause. Sieun shifted again, head bowed. “I don’t know how to handle, this feeling.”

“And that’s okay,” Baku said simply. “You’re figuring it out. Just like the rest of us.” Sieun exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

”Just don’t get weird about it.” Added Baku. “You’re not some monster for having feelings. You're also not the first guy to get worked up thinking about someone he likes.”

Sieun’s gaze flicked to him.

Baku smirked, nudging him. “I mean it. Stuff like that… wanting someone like that. It’s not something to be ashamed of. You like her. So what?”

Sieun blinked. His ears flushed as Baku went on, voice more serious now.

“I’m pretty sure she likes you back. Anyone can see it. Don’t beat yourself up just because your feelings don’t look clean in your head.” Baku gave him a lopsided smile. “You’re allowed to feel good things, man. You’re allowed to want them too.”

Sieun stayed silent, but his fingers flexed slowly, like he was finally testing whether the shame still lingered in the skin.

“And come on, man. She’s beautiful. Smart. Got that ballerina grace and all. If you weren’t thinking about her like that, then I’d be concerned.” Baku added with a knowing grin.

Sieun shot him a look—half scandalized, half mortified.

Then Baku added, laughing just a bit, “And hey, if you’re losing it over a glimpse of her thigh, you’ve got it bad.”

“Don’t cross the line, now.” Sieun said quietly, but the threat wasn’t serious. The blush on his cheeks was unmistakable.

Baku raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning wide. “Relax, I’m just teasing. But hey, it’s cute seeing you get all worked up.”

They sat in silence for a while. It was a rare moment—just the two of them, neither needing to speak, but still sharing an understanding. A silent thank you for the advice Baku had given him.

Then, out of nowhere, Sieun muttered, almost too low to hear:


“…It didn’t even last a full minute.”

Baku blinked—then let out a sharp laugh, nearly choking. “Dude—”

Sieun winced, clearly regretting saying anything. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

“No, no—this is great,” Baku wheezed, grinning like an idiot. “That’s—man, that’s so pure.”

Sieun groaned, burying his face in his hands.

Baku clapped him on the back. “It just means you're really into her. And also… maybe you need a bit more stamina.”

“Please shut up.”

“I’m just trying to help,” Baku said, laughing. Then, more gently, “Seriously, though. Don’t beat yourself up. You’re allowed to feel this way. It’s not shameful. It’s just human.”

Sieun glanced sideways at him, still wary.

Baku smirked, but his tone softened. “And hey. When it does happen for real—you’re gonna want it to last more than a minute, right? You have to make it last. Let it build.”

Sieun gave him a flat stare. “Stop talking. You're the worst.”

“I know,” Baku said proudly. “But I’m also right.”

For the first time, Sieun’s lips twitched up slightly.

And Baku, satisfied, leaned back in his chair.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The night was still, the world outside silent as Sieun lay in his bed, his mind restless. It had been days since that awkward moment with you at school, the touch of your hand was still lingering in his memory.

His eyes closed slowly, exhaustion pulling him into a deep sleep, but his thoughts followed him, lingering at the edge of his consciousness.

In the dream, it was warm—almost too warm. The air was thick with the scent of something sweet and familiar, and Sieun realized it was you.

You were there, standing across from him in a soft, flowing dress. Your hair cascaded down your shoulders, catching the light in a way that made you seem almost ethereal. You stepped closer, and with each step, Sieun’s heart began to beat faster.

He didn’t speak. He never did in dreams.

His breath hitched as you reached out to touch his arm.

“You’ve been distant.” You said softly, your voice a whisper that echoed in his ears. “Why?”

His throat felt tight, and the air between you felt charged, like the space was too small to hold the tension that had been building between the two of you for weeks.

Your fingers brushed against his skin, and he felt a shiver run through him. Your touch was gentle, almost delicate, and it set something in him alight.

He knew it was a dream, but it felt so real—too real to ignore.

“You know, I always thought that you were cold.” You said, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “But now, I’m starting to think you’re just shy.”

Your hands slid to the back of his neck, drawing him down to as your body pressed into his. “Sieun…” Your voice was low, sensual. You leaned in closer, so close that your lips brushed against his ear. “If you ever need someone to talk to… or something more…” You said, your voice teasing and playful, sending a shiver down his spine. “I’ll be here.”

And then, before he could stop it, the dream shifted again. The tension that had been building snapped, and for a moment, he felt an overwhelming rush of heat.

He woke up with a start, his breath ragged and his body tense. His heart was pounding in his chest. His mind raced with confusion, the remnants of the dream still lingering in his thoughts. He exhaled through his nose, hand dragging down his face. He looked down and saw what he already suspected. What he already felt.

He was painfully hard.

No shame, he reminded himself. Just... focus on what feels good. It's natural.

Slowly, his hand slipped beneath the covers, fingers brushing against his stomach, his chest, before slipping lower, seeking the release his body was craving. Sieun’s breath hitched slightly when he gripped himself. He started the motion slowly. Up and down. Up and down. There was the faint sound of skin against skin—low, rhythmic, wet. A quiet curse left him. His fingers flexed, and the wet sound grew sharper, slicker.

His mind flashed to the dream again—your face, your touch, the warmth of your body. His breath caught, and his hand moved a bit faster now, the memory of you pushing him past any hesitation. He moved through the motions, not out of guilt or shame, but out of necessity, out of understanding that his body and mind were connected… and he needed you.

Baku's voice—a little teasing, but with a hint of advice, echoed in his mind: "Make it last. Let it build. Focus."

He squeezed his eyes shut, biting his lips, trying to push everything else out. His hand adjusted, a soft slick sound following, and a quiet exhale slipped from his lips. His muscles tightened, and his pulse raced as he focused on the sensation, feeling the pressure build slowly, forcing himself to hold back, to make it last longer.

He tried to savor it, to stretch it out, even as his body was demanding more. It was like a tug-of-war—his mind telling him to slow down, to take his time, while his body pushed him closer to the edge. The heat in his stomach spread outward, burning through him, but he kept his hand steady, slowing the pace.

Your touch, the way you’d smiled at him, the heat that had curled in his chest. He could feel you so clearly now, even if you weren’t there. His breath came in shallow gasps, and he focused harder, trying to make it last.

It was so hard, but he kept going.

He could feel the tension winding tighter inside of him, building, and he focused on every little sensation—every brush of his skin, the way the sheets felt beneath him, the rush of heat spreading through him. He pushed aside every other thought, except for you.

His breath quickened, and his hand moved with more urgency now. He furrowed his eyebrows in concentration. A soft, involuntary sound slipped from his lips. The bed creaked faintly beneath him. His muscles tensed hard, breath ragged as he chased the rising heat—every stroke making the pressure more unbearable, his body tight with need, straining as the release crept closer, impossible to hold back.

And then, with a groan, it happened. The release was overwhelming, crashing over him, almost too much. His mouth stayed open as low whines left him. His chest rose and fell quickly as the warmth flooded him. The images of the dream were still there, still in his head, and his heart pounded.

His hand fell limply by his side, and he lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, his body trembling. There was a part of him that almost regretted not making it last longer. He stayed still for a moment, the silence of the room wrapping around him like a thick fog. His chest rose and fell with slow, steady breaths, but his mind remained restless.

His body moved on autopilot as he cleaned himself up, wiping away the evidence of what had just passed. It was a strange routine, but at least now there was no confusion or hesitation. The act of it felt natural, even though his mind felt fogged. His body felt light, like the tension had completely left him. There was no more pressure, no more urgency—just a heavy satisfaction that lingered, like he could finally relax.

With that last thought of you in his head, Sieun let himself sink deeper into the mattress. The coolness of the sheets wrapped around him, and his body naturally fell into a state of rest. He didn’t fight it.

Sleep claimed him then, gentle and soothing, pulling him under with ease.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

You couldn’t stop smiling as you pulled the envelope from your bag, heart fluttering with anticipation. These tickets meant more than just a performance. They were a piece of you—your world—and you were about to share it with them. With him.

You walked over to the group, pulse picking up as you handed Baku his ticket first. He flashed you a teasing grin before you could even speak.

“Of course I’ll be there,” he said, winking. “Wouldn’t miss my favorite ballerina for anything.” You laughed softly, rolling your eyes, but the warmth in your chest stayed. Then, you turned toward Sieun.

He was seated, calm as always, looking vaguely distant—but when you stopped in front of him and held out the ticket, his eyes flicked to yours. You felt it again—that odd flutter in your chest that only he seemed to cause.

“Sieun,” You said, quieter than before. “You’ll come, right? I really want you to be there.”

For a moment, he just stared at the ticket in your hand. His lips parted, like he was going to say something, but hesitated. Your heartbeat slowed, waiting—uncertain.

Then he finally looked at you, and the world narrowed. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice low and shy. “I’ll be there.”

“Thank you.” You breathed, holding his gaze a little longer than you meant to. He didn’t look away right away. But then, as if remembering himself, he dropped his eyes to the ticket, and you could have sworn his ears turned pink.

You handed out the rest of the tickets, but your mind stayed on him. That strange stillness between you hadn’t gone away. If anything, it lingered deeper now, like a thread pulling tighter. You couldn’t explain it—not fully—but you liked it.

You couldn’t wait to dance that night. To see them in the audience.

To see him.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

It was late when you finally stepped out of the ballet academy, the air crisp with the bite of late evening chill. Your hair was still damp from your quick post-class shower, clinging to your neck and soaking into your coat collar. You’d meant to dry it, but the clock had run faster than expected, and you didn’t want to be late for the hangout your friends had planned.

You spotted them right away—Baku, Gotak, Juntae, and—

Your heart gave a small, traitorous jump.

Sieun.

They were all leaning against the railing just outside the entrance, half lit by the warm glow spilling from the building, laughing at something Baku said. But Sieun wasn’t laughing. He was watching you.

He didn’t say anything at first when you approached. He just stood there, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, his usual cold expression in place. But the moment his eyes caught on your hair—his brows furrowed. A flash of something unreadable crossed his face. Concern? Confusion?

“You didn’t dry it?” he asked softly, once you were close enough.

You blinked, surprised by the quiet urgency in his tone. “There wasn’t time. I didn’t want to be late.”

He stared at you a second longer. Then, in a small, awkward movement, he reached up—hesitated—and gently tugged the edge of your hood up over your head.

“It’s cold,” he said, voice low. “You’ll get sick.”

Your breath caught a little, more from the gesture than the air. His fingers brushed your hair as he adjusted the hood, and something inside you pulled tight. His touch was soft—tentative—but filled with a kind of quiet care that made your chest ache.

“I’ll be fine.” You whispered, but your voice had softened. He didn’t answer, just looked at you for a beat longer before stepping back.

Baku clapped his hands, breaking the moment. “Let’s go, before we all freeze to death!”

The group started walking, laughter echoing into the night, but as you fell into step beside Sieun, you could feel the warmth of his gesture lingering—like the heat of a small flame, tucked quietly between you.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The small restaurant was tucked into a side street, glowing with warm yellow lights and the hum of quiet chatter. It wasn’t anything fancy—plastic menus, mismatched chairs, steam rising from bowls of noodles—but it was cozy, and it felt like your little corner of the world.

You slid into the booth beside Sieun. Baku and Juntae sat across from you, still bickering about something, while Gotak was at the counter ordering for the group.

“Okay, but,” Juntae said, readjusting his glasses, “You can’t seriously tell me that the main guy isn’t overpowered. He literally destroyed an entire demon clan in the first episode.”

“That’s the point!” Baku argued. “He’s cool. You’re just mad because you don’t understand peak character writing.”

You couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. The way Baku got so animated when talking about his favourite anime reminded you of a kid—unfiltered, excited, alive. You leaned your chin on your hand, watching him with amusement.

“You really like this one, huh?” you asked.

Baku beamed. “I love it. I even ordered the limited edition figurine. It’s coming next week.”

You giggled softly, and as your eyes flicked sideways, you caught Sieun’s profile beside you. He was facing forward, expression neutral, arms crossed over his chest—but there was a slight tension to his jaw. His eyes flicked to Baku, then to you. Then back to Baku again.

You didn’t notice. But Baku did. The corner of his mouth twitched in amusement.

Sieun shifted slightly, uncrossing and recrossing his arms, then sat rigidly, trying to look indifferent. But the faint crease between his brows gave him away.

The food arrived, and the table filled with warmth and scent—spicy broth, sizzling meat, bowls of rice. You reached for the side dishes, brushing your knee against Sieun’s by accident. He tensed but didn’t move away.

Baku leaned back, grinning to himself behind his chopsticks.

Sieun glanced at him warily—and Baku just shrugged, sipping his soup like he didn’t know exactly what was going on.

You were halfway through your bowl of noodles when Baku leaned forward, resting his chin in his palm as he looked at you with a grin too wide to be innocent.

“So,” he began, dragging out the word, “Y/N, when exactly are you planning on falling for me?”

You blinked, almost choking on your bite. “What?”

Gotak let out a loud laugh, nearly spitting out his drink. “Bro, give it a rest. She’s way out of your league.”

Baku raised his brows at him. “You wound me, Gotak. I thought we were on the same team.”

You rolled your eyes and smirked, swatting at Baku with your chopsticks. “You’re not my type.”

Baku clutched his chest dramatically. “Well, aren’t you harsh!? I’m hurt. You’re lying though—How could I not be everybody’s type?”

The table erupted again—Gotak practically howling, even Juntae was cracking a smile.

But Sieun stayed quiet.

The spoon in his hand paused midair, his jaw slightly clenched. He looked at Baku a little too long—expression serious, but the faintest twitch in his fingers betrayed him.

“Alright, alright,” Baku said, holding up his hands. “I’ll stop flirting. For now.”

“You’re assuming you ever started.” You replied with a grin, making Gotak wheeze into his drink.

“Burned!” Gotak laughed It made you smile, proud of yourself for the comeback.

You noticed Sieun staring down at his bowl, not eating anymore. Something about the way he was hunched slightly forward, made your smile dim.

But before you could say anything, Gotak launched into a chaotic retelling of a fight that broke out between first-years, instantly dragging the group’s attention back to the noise and laughter.

Everyone except Sieun.

He was still quiet. Still thinking.

And still stealing the occasional glance at you when he thought no one was watching.

But Baku saw everything.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The warmth of the restaurant still clung to your skin as the group spilled out onto the sidewalk, the night air crisp and buzzing with weekend energy. Gotak was the first to suggest it. “Bowling?” he asked, swinging his arms in excitement. “Come on, it’s Friday night.”

“Why do I feel like this could end badly?” Juntae mumbled, but he didn’t protest when Gotak threw an arm around his shoulder and started leading the way.

You walked beside Sieun, the neon glow of storefront signs lighting up the pavement ahead. His hands were in his pockets, as always, and his gaze was on the ground. But he walked just a little closer than usual.

The bowling alley was noisy and crowded, filled with flashing lights and the echoing crash of pins. Gotak was already trying to pick the heaviest ball he could lift, boasting that it would give him “maximum power,” while Baku filmed him for evidence in case he dropped it on his own foot.

You were laughing when you turned around—and stopped.

Sieun was gone.

You frowned and scanned the room, only to see him returning from the far end of the lanes. In his arms was a pale blue bowling ball. He walked over and wordlessly placed it on the return rack right in front of your lane.

“For you,” he said, not meeting your eyes.

You blinked. “You… got this ball for me?”

He gave a small nod. “Your hands are smaller. The others were too heavy.”

Something fluttered in your chest. You opened your mouth to thank him, but he was already turning away, pretending to adjust the score machine with Juntae.

Baku passed by behind you with a slight smirk, murmuring just loud enough for only you to hear, “He’s getting brave. I’m so proud.”

You bit your lip, heart racing just a little faster, as you stepped up to bowl your first turn. As you lined up your shot, you could feel it again—that soft, quiet gaze. Sieun watching you, just like always.

But this time, he wasn’t pretending he wasn’t.

No one expected much when Sieun stepped up for his turn. He looked as bored as ever, standing at the edge of the lane with a bowling ball in his hand. “Bet he drops it behind him,” Gotak snorted, elbowing Baku.

Baku grinned. “One thousand won says it’s a gutter.”

You shook your head. “Don’t count him out.”

Sieun didn’t respond to any of it. He just adjusted his grip on the ball, calculated the lane with a quick glance, then stepped forward with smooth, almost lazy movements—and released.

The ball rolled down the center of the lane with unnerving precision.

Crack.

A perfect strike.

The pins scattered like dominoes. The machine blinked its approval, the strike animation flashing across the screen.

There was a moment of stunned silence.

Then—


“What the—”


“No way.”


“Did you see that?!”

Gotak’s jaw dropped, mouth wide open. Juntae looked like he forgot how to blink. Even Baku—who always had a comeback—was speechless, eyes darting between the pins and Sieun like he’d just witnessed sorcery.

Sieun turned around slowly, expression unreadable. “It’s just physics,” he said flatly, walking back toward the group as if he hadn’t just blown their minds.

You burst into laughter. “Are you kidding me? That was amazing!”

“Physics, my ass,” Gotak said, still frozen, almost scared.

Baku was the first to recover, squinting suspiciously. “You secretly compete on weekends, don’t you? Be honest.”

Sieun sat back down beside you, his shoulders relaxed. “I’ve never played before.”

You leaned closer, grinning. “Well, I’m officially naming you our secret weapon.”

He didn’t answer, but you saw it—a twitch at the corner of his mouth. The faintest smirk.

“I’m scared to go next,” Juntae mumbled.

You giggled and nudged Sieun lightly. “Thanks for showing us all up.”

He didn’t look at you, just kept his eyes on the scoreboard. But his fingers were fidgeting slightly in his lap, and the soft glow in his eyes hadn’t faded. For once, he didn’t seem to mind the attention—especially not when it came from you.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

After the first match ended—with Sieun’s name glowing confidently at the top of the scoreboard—you slipped away while the others headed toward the bathrooms, still laughing over their defeat. You told them you’d be right back, then wandered to the vending machine tucked into the quietest corner of the alley, past the claw machines and blinking arcade games.

You stood in front of the machine but didn’t press anything. You weren’t really craving snacks—you just needed a breather.

You didn’t hear him approach, but you felt it.

The air shifted.

“How many days until the performance?”

Sieun’s voice was low, almost hesitant, as if unsure whether it would reach you.

You turned slightly, and there he was—hands in his pockets. “Next Friday,” you answered. “Seven days.”

He nodded once, slow. “Is it a solo?”

“One of them,” you said. “It’s just a showcase for the academy, but there’ll be scouts.”

Silence settled in again. Not awkward—just…

“I think you’ll do great,” he said quietly, almost under his breath. “Even though I’ve never seen you dance.”

Your chest tightened. You weren’t used to compliments like that from him. Especially not so simply given.

“Thanks.” You murmured. “It means a lot.”

His eyes flicked to you, just briefly. But that one glance held something warmer.

You shifted your weight slightly, your shoulder brushing his arm. He didn’t move. “You’re acting weird again today.” You said, a teasing edge to your voice, trying to ground yourself.

“I’m not,” He replied, just a touch too quick. Then, quieter: “Maybe I am.”

The air between you grew heavier.

You turned slightly to face him. “Are you okay?”

His gaze dropped. “I’m fine,” he said. Then after a pause, “Just...thinking too much.”

You waited, but he didn’t elaborate. You didn’t push right away. Instead, your hand instinctively reached toward his, covering it gently.

The contact was innocent, simple. But his reaction wasn’t. His fingers stiffened beneath yours, and you felt the slightest tremor in his breath.

“Sieun? Please, talk to me.”

“I’m okay,” he said again, more softly this time. “Y/N, I have been meaning to—”

But he didn’t get to finish his sentence.

“Hello.” A rough voice called, and you turned to see a group of three unfamiliar guys sauntering around the corner. They weren’t students from your school—definitely older, and their cocky grins made your stomach twist in discomfort.

One of them stepped forward. “You two... you’re friends with Baku, right?”

Before you could answer, Sieun moved in front of you, his body positioning itself between you and the group. His shoulders tensed, a dangerous kind of energy radiating from him. He wasn’t saying a word, but his body language was clear.

The group’s leader smirked, clearly amused by Sieun’s protective stance. “You don’t have to act tough, kid. We just want to know if you’re on his side.”

Sieun’s voice was calm, but it held a warning. “You should leave. Now.”

One of them stepped around a little bit, his eyes scanning you for a moment before speaking. “You’re pretty,” he said, his voice a mix of admiration and something else—something less than kind. “What’s your name?”

Sieun, calm as ever, kept his eyes locked on the guy. You couldn’t help but feel a little safer behind him. You noticed the slight tension in his jaw, the way his body was just a little bit more rigid than usual. He didn’t look away as he spoke, his voice flat but firm.

“Don’t talk to her.”

The tallest guy gave a slight chuckle, clearly unfazed.

After a split second, one of the other boy in the group spoke up. “Omg! Look at his eyes.” He laughed. The leader of the group chuckled as well. “C’mon, we’re just talkin’. No need for the psycho stare.”

Then the first guy tilted his head toward you again, ignoring Sieun’s warning. “Why don’t you answer instead, sweetheart? Pretty girls shouldn’t act so rude. Are you guys with Baku?”

You took another step back, hiding completely behind Sieun’s back now.

“Yo, what’s your problem? Can you move?” One of them directed at Sieun, starting to get irritated. “You’re her guard dog or somethin’?”

Then—Sieun pulled something from the pocket of his jacket.

A pen.

He clicked it once.

Twice.

The smirks started to falter.

One of the guys shifted on his feet. “Wait… I’ve heard about this—ain’t he the dude that stabbed people with a pen?”

Another face drained of color. “No way. That’s him?”

Sieun didn’t say a word. Just clicked the pen again. Slowly. Deliberately. His cold eyes locked with theirs, unflinching, unmoving.

The first guy tried to save face. “You really are messed up, bro. You got—like—crazy eyes for real.”

They were backing away now. One even bumped into the wall without realizing it.

“Just answer.” The leader asked, visibly unsettled. “You’re one of his guys? Baku?”

Sieun tilted his head slightly to the side. Not a nod. Not a denial.

Just enough to make them unsure.

Click.

The three of them turned and left without another word, muttering to themselves as they hurried off.

Your heart was still racing. You hadn’t even realized you were holding your breath until your chest started to ache. And then—slowly—you let it out. A quiet, shaky exhale.

Sieun stood there, unmoving, his back still to you. His presence was solid. Steady. Like a wall no one could pass through.

Without thinking, you stepped closer and gently leaned your forehead against his back. His jacket was warm, and you could feel the rise and fall of his breath beneath it.

You stayed there for a second, eyes closed.

“I didn’t like how they were looking at you,” he said, voice low, barely above a whisper.

You didn’t respond at first. You just let yourself stay there, your body pressed lightly to his. The warmth of him. The quiet protection. “Thank you,” you murmured. “Really.”

Sieun didn’t move, but you felt the slightest shift—his hand flexing at his side like he wanted to reach back

“I don’t know how I can repay you.” You whispered, your voice trembling with something deeper than just nerves. “You’ve saved me three times already.”

The words hung between you, fragile and warm like breath on cold glass.

Your fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his jacket as you leaned more into him, your cheek now resting against his back. You could hear his heartbeat through the layers of cloth—steady, but just a little too fast.

Then, softly—almost too soft to catch—he said. “You don’t have to repay me.”

“But I want to.” I answered back quietly, like a secret.

A few feet away, partially hidden behind a vending machine, someone watched with quiet interest. Their phone raised slowly. One photo. Crisp, clear. You and Sieun caught in the middle of something almost tender. The glow of the device lit up the stranger’s hand, thumb quickly tapping the screen, sending off the image with practiced ease.

[22:41] “Looks like Baku’s got new friends.”

A pause. Then another message:

[22:41] “Think we could use them?”

The response was curt.

[22:42] “Let’s keep a tab on them. They could be useful.”

[purplereina11]

In a match where the scoreboard tells only half the story, a fierce on-pitch rivalry between you and football royalty, Alexia Putellas, evolves into something electric — something unspoken, but deeply felt. Between the lines two players lock eyes, trade touches, and blur the line between competition and connection. What begins as a game becomes a gravity neither can resist.

Part 6: Spain stay at St George's Park Other Parts

Word Count: 7.6k

This one needs to come with a bit of a warning for the ending.

⚽️

The queue for food stretches toward the end of the room, trays clattering, girls chatting, familiar noise filling the space like steam.

You’re last in the line moving slow, distracted, gaze caught behind you, because they’re there. The Spanish squad, gathered loosely at the back of the room, hovering like they were going to join the line but not quite in it.

They look unsure not out of place, just... hesitant. Like they’ve stepped into someone else’s routine and don’t want to get it wrong. You catch it instantly, you pause, hand on your hip, and glance back scanning instinctively until your eyes find Alexia.

She’s not at the front of the group, she’s off to the side arms crossed loosely, scanning the scene ahead like she’s trying not to overthink it. And you watch her. Not subtly. Not secretly. Just openly, willing her to look back. It takes three heartbeats and then her gaze flicks up like she could sense someone was watching.

Right into yours, your stomach flips, your breath catches, but your face stays calm. You give her a smile, soft, closed-lipped, silently asking if everything was ok, the edges of her posture ease almost immediately.

She mutters something to her team and stars in your direction, quiet, graceful, stops in front of you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And then voice soft, English careful “What do we do?” She’s looking at the line, the trays, the cutlery, the way people are moving through but her eyes keep darting back to yours, like she’s checking whether this is okay.

You nod once, matching her low tone. “Get in line. Grab a tray. Go down the line. Take what you want.” You gesture subtly. “It’s… chill. Sit where you like. By the looks of it, the girls have left some empty tables so you can sit together"

Alexia’s eyes track the movement of your hand, then flick back to your face. "Gracias," she says quietly.

You nod again, but don’t say anything else. You don’t have to she steps back toward her team, then speaks in Spanish and they all filter towards her.

You turn forward again. But you feel her still in the space behind you, in the warmth in your chest, in the slow, steady way she was lingering.

Georgia infant of you in the line turns, then clearly she spotted the figure behind you, smirks and turns back to the front.

Your phone buzzes, you pull it out your pocket enough to see what it is, it's Gee.

Gee: Looks cozy

You roll your eyes shoving it back in your pocket using your foot to nudge the back of her knee, earning you a back hand.

The line’s moving slowly trays clinking, steam rising from silver containers, the buzz of two languages folding over each other.

You’re focused ahead hand on your tray, eyes scanning what’s left of the roasted veg when you feel it. A shift behind you. Tone, not volume. Sharpness, not sound. Spanish rapid, clipped, a little too loud for how close she’s standing. You don’t know the words, but you don’t have to. You feel it in your spine.

Montse Tomé, Spain’s coach, has joined the line just behind. She’s talking quickly to Alexia something that sounds like instruction but lands like criticism. Not raised, but tight.

You glance back, Alexia’s face is composed, but her shoulders have gone slightly still. Around her, a couple of the Spanish girls shift uncomfortably. One glances at the food like it’s suddenly very interesting.

You watch Montse a second longer, then turn back to your tray, grabbing a spoonful of something without seeing it.

You keep your voice casual quiet enough that only those just behind can hear. “Does she always have an attitude,” you murmur dryly, “or has she reserved that for our benefit?”

There’s a beat of silence behind you. Then a soft, barely stifled snort from someone near the front. A giggle from another. And then Alexia’s laugh, quiet, warm, caught in her throat like she hadn’t meant to let it slip.

You don’t look back. You just smirk down at your tray and add, still facing forward: “I don’t need subtitles to clock that energy.”

Another laugh this time from Mapi, somewhere behind Alexia. Montse either doesn’t notice or chooses to ignore it, stepping out of the line to take a call. You finally glance back over your shoulder.

Alexia’s looking at you now tray in her hands, expression very carefully neutral… except for the small tug of her mouth.

You raise an eyebrow. She doesn’t say anything. But her eyes sparkle. And it tells you everything.

⚽️

You’ve found your seat by the time it happens two trays down, the table split half-English, half-Spanish, a soft mix of conversations rippling between the two sides.

The air’s lighter now. Whatever tension Montse brought into the line, your one-liner cleared it like a breeze through fog. You’re sipping from your water bottle when you hear it a soft but clear voice from across the table.

Cata Coll, her English is careful, her tone curious. Not hostile. Not testing. Just… interested. “When you played us…” she says, pausing to find the phrasing, “with your club and with England, you played out of position. Both times. Why?”

You blink not expecting the question. There’s a slight hush near the middle of the table, even the clatter of cutlery softens.

You glance up and find her eyes steady on yours. Beside her, Alexia is speaking, but she’s listening. You set your fork down gently and give Cata your full attention. "Both your coaches publicly said they were worried about me,” you say, voice even. “So naturally, tactically you adjust to best contain and counteract me." You let that hang for half a beat. "Can’t control what you don’t know."

Cata stares at you a second longer and then her mouth curves. She nods. Respect. No pushback.

From a few seats down, Mapi gives a low whistle and mutters in Spanish, just loud enough for you to catch the tone even if you don’t get the words.

Alexia bites her lip to hide a smile. Beth grins beside you, nudging your arm. "Remind me never to play poker with you."

You shrug, picking your fork back up. "Don’t bluff," you say simply. “Just study.”

Leah sat opposite, voice full of that trademark smugness throws out, “So. Would you play for Barça?”

You don’t even get a chance to blink before Georgia cuts in instantly, “She’s not leaving me alone in Germany. Stop putting ideas in her head, Leah!”

The table laughs. You smile slow, controlled and drag your fork slowly between your lips, sucking it clean before resting it on the plate. You glance at Georgia with a small, knowing smirk. “I’m not leaving her in Germany.”

Across the table, Leah narrows her eyes like she’s lining up a shot “Then why were you in Barcelona?” she says, tone mock-sweet. “You’ve still not answered me.”

You don’t blink. “I told you I wasn’t in Barcelona.”

Leah’s already pulling out her phone, tapping the screen. “I literally have the thread open. Pictures. Of you. At a game.”

You shrug, reaching for your water. Calm. Measured. “Wasn’t me. Must have a Spanish twin.”

Beth lets out a high-pitched laugh and claps her hand over her mouth. Georgia groans dramatically beside you. Leah points her fork at you like it’s a knife. “I know you’re lying to me.”

Before you can reply, Millie, who has missed absolutely everything, looks up from her bowl of fruit like it’s the first she’s hearing of this. “Wait— is your contract up at Bayern?”

You turn to her, unbothered. “Not ’til the end of next season.”

Millie frowns thoughtfully. “So you could move on?”

You nod once. “I could.” You stab a bit of sweet potato with your fork. Cool as ever. “We’ll see.”

The table quiets just slightly not completely but enough, because now everyone’s reading into it. The phrasing. The calm. The deflection.

Beth leans back in her chair, shaking her head with a grin. “She’s so annoying when she’s like this.”

Georgia crosses her arms. “She does that thing where she technically tells the truth but also doesn’t say anything.”

You say nothing. Just smile, because they’re not wrong.

⚽️

You’d come down here to be alone. To switch off. Headphones plugged in, controller in hand, Call of Duty loading on the screen.

The match kicks off. You settle into it easily focus narrowing, shoulders loosening, brain finally dialling into something simple and competitive. You barely notice when the door opens. Spanish voices. Low. Familiar.

You glance up, expecting them to pass by but they hesitate. Just inside the threshold, a small group of them hover. Patri, Jana, a couple others you’ve only exchanged nods with so far. They’re dressed in hoodies and sliders, clearly winding down. But they don’t move farther in like they’re waiting for permission.

You pause the game, pull one headphone off, and smile. “Hey,” you say simply, nodding. “Come in. I don’t bite.”

They laugh softly, surprised. Patri mutters something in Spanish to the others, and after a few beats, they drift in. Quiet, casual. Still a little cautious. You realise then they’ve been keeping their distance, not out of disinterest, not out of attitude, but out of respect.

They didn’t want to step into your space unless you made it clear they were welcome. You unpause, fingers working the controller again. Patri lingers near the edge of the nearest sofa, watching the screen.

“You play?” you ask.

She shakes her head with a grin. “Only when I’m bored enough to embarrass myself.”

You laugh properly this time and she grins wider. She sits nearby, not next to you, but close enough. The others do the same spilling onto bean bags and floor cushions, chatting amongst themselves, tossing occasional comments your way as you mow down enemies on-screen.

It’s easy. Light. You’re mid-reload when the door opens again. You hear her before you see her Alexia, finishing a phone call, voice low, Spanish soft and measured as she tucks her phone into the pocket of her hoodie.

You glance up. The second she sees you, she smiles small, effortless. Like of course you’re here. Like this is exactly where she expected to find you. She walks past the others with a gentle squeeze to Patri’s shoulder.

And without hesitation she takes the one spot left on the sofa, next to you there were other cushions. Other chairs, but no one else took that place, not one of them, not even when you’d sat there for fifteen minutes alone.

And now, sitting beside you knee brushing yours, hands resting calmly in her lap Alexia leans back like she belongs there.

And something clicks, they didn’t take that seat... because it wasn’t theirs to take.They knew, maybe not the whole story, maybe not everything. But enough.

You say nothing, don’t look at her, but your chest is warm, your mouth can’t help its curve, and your hands are steady on the controller even as your pulse thunders beneath your skin.

Alexia shifts slightly beside you not speaking, not looking but her leg presses against yours, gentle, grounding.

And for the first time all day, you feel completely still.

You finish the game you were playing, you toss the controller onto the table beside you, stretching your arms overhead with a satisfied sigh as the final stats flash on screen.

The girls around you clap half in celebration, half in sarcasm teasing you for your accuracy, your kills, your body count. You grin through it all, playful and relaxed.

Alexia is still beside you, legs crossed beneath her now, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, close without crowding. The Spanish girls have broken off into small conversations Patri and Mapi trading jokes, Aitana curled up with her phone, Jana humming softly to the song playing from someone’s speaker.

It’s quiet. Soft, then in a lull Patri looks up from her spot two cushions over, eyes on you, voice casual but clearly meant to land. “So,” she says, in English, “Why didn’t you tell your team you were in Barcelona?”

The question hangs there not sharp, not cold but deliberate. You feel it land between you and Alexia like a small spark on dry grass.

You glance over, she’s not looking at you, but she’s not pretending not to listen either. You shift slightly, leaning back into the cushions, playing with the hem of your shorts.

You don’t answer right away, you don’t need to, Patri’s gaze is calm. Patient, but underneath it you can feel the pulse of what’s really being asked.

You take a breath. Then you shrug, voice quiet but steady. “It wasn’t their business.”

Mapi raises an eyebrow, amused. “No?” she says. “Beth seems to think otherwise.”

You smirk can't help it, “She always does.”

That gets a few chuckles. The mood stays light but the thread doesn’t slip. Patri’s eyes stay on you a moment longer. “Just curious,” she says, holding your gaze. “That’s all.”

You nod, a beat of silence. Then without looking, without shifting Alexia finally speaks. Quiet. Calm. “Sometimes it’s easier not to explain what people will turn into something else.”

It’s not a question. It’s not even directed at you, technically, but it lands squarely in your chest.

“I didn’t go for headlines,” you say simply. “I went for... time.”

No one pushes after that and somehow the quiet deepens. Not uncomfortable. Just... settled.

Alexia shifts again beside you closer this time, just slightly, her hand brushes yours, and when you don’t pull away when neither of you moves it says more than anything else in the room.

It happens slowly. One by one, yawns, stretches, quiet excuses in Spanish. Mapi glances between the two of you and smirks knowingly before she stands. Jana gives you a warm smile as she collects her phone. Patri lingers the longest, offering a casual "Buenas noches" like she hasn't just left a small ripple in the middle of the room.

Then the door swings shut behind them, and it’s just you and Alexia.

She’s still curled on the other end of the sofa, hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands, eyes flicking between you and the now-idle TV screen. You glance over at her. She looks away. Classic. You smile softly to yourself.

You manoeuvre on the sofa to sit facing her, "Could they be any more obvious?"

She clears her throat, cheeks just a touch pink, she lets out a quiet laugh shy and warm and so her. She pulls one leg up onto the sofa, facing you now, even if she still won’t meet your gaze for more than a second.

She pulls her sleeve over her hand and starts gently picking at a loose thread a tell you’re beginning to recognise now. You watch her for a moment, then say, low and warm, “Did they leave the seat open for you?” Her eyes flick up at that quick and startled. You smile, not cocky, just sure. “You know they did.”

Alexia exhales slowly, the smallest curve at the corner of her mouth, “They’re not subtle,” she murmurs.

You lean back slightly, folding one leg under the other. “No,” you agree.

She goes still at that, just for a beat, then she shifts again, rests her chin on her hand, eyes finally meeting yours properly.

There’s a softness there, not shy, just... unguarded.

“Would you care if I'd told them about me going to see you and you coming to see me?” she asks, barely above a whisper.

It’s not loaded. It’s not even afraid. Just curious. You sit with it. Let it settle in the space between you, because it’s not the kind of question that needs a fast answer.

You shrug gently, voice matching hers in tone. “It's your story to tell I suppose.”

She nods once, thoughtfully. Like that’s enough, you hold her gaze, steady and open. She smiles, small but sure and this time it doesn’t falter. She shifts closer, knee brushing yours now. Not tentative. Not unsure.

Just... there. You let out a slow breath and say, teasing, “You’re still terrible at small talk.”

She rolls her eyes but grins, and this time, it reaches her eyes. “I’m better at passing,” she says.

You huff a laugh. “That’s debatable.”

“Do you want me to prove it?” she challenges, mock serious.

And just like that, the tension lifts, because between the laughter, the teasing, the way your knees stay touching now, she leans back a little, eyes scanning your face, and then quiet again, soft again, “I like being near you.”

You feel it land low, deep, honest. “I like you near me,” you say back.

"When can I see you again?"

You bang your knee to hers, "What? Is this not good enough for you?"

"I've come to love cliches"

You knock your knee against hers again, grinning, she pretends to wince, overly dramatic. “You’ve come to love clichés?” you echo, raising an eyebrow. “Since when?”

Alexia shrugs soft, honest but whatever she’s about to say never lands, because the door bangs open, sharp and jarring.

You both look over as Montse strides in, her words clipped, brisk Spanish cutting through the calm like a blade. Alexia tenses beside you, the moment folds up, you shift back slightly as Montse rattles off something you don’t understand, her eyes never even flicking in your direction.

You’re invisible, but not to Alexia, she’s already pushing to her feet, hoodie sleeves tugged down, chin lifting slightly.

“I have to go,” she says quietly, regret threading through every syllable.

You nod, already feeling the weight of the shift, the loss of her warmth beside you. She reaches a hand out, you raise yours half reflex, half habit and slap it gently in return, but she doesn’t let go.

Her fingers close around yours. A pause. “They’ve sorted us a hotel,” she says, softer now. “We’re going.”

You glance up at her, still seated, suddenly not ready. “See you soon then,” you say hopeful, too much like a question.

She stands over you, gaze fixed on yours, something unreadable moving in her expression.

And then a hand comes on the arm of the sofa beside you, the hand on your hand leaves and finds your chin slow, certain and she tilts your face gently up to hers.

You don’t have time to speak, don’t have time to think, because she kisses you.

Not rushed. Not apologetic. Just sweet. Soft.

Like a promise, like she’s making up for the airport, like she finally let go of whatever was holding her back.

Her lips move slowly against yours, careful, almost reverent her thumb brushing lightly against your jaw and when she pulls back, it’s not far. Just enough to look at you, really look,

“I didn’t want to leave it again,” she murmurs, "I should of done that at the airport"

You just nod, barely. "You should have" you whisper because your heart’s in your throat and her touch is still warm on your skin and she finally, finally did what you'd been thinking about since you came ever so close at the airport,

She finds your hand again and gives it one last squeeze and then she’s gone.

But her kiss stays with you. Like the most perfect cliché. You just had to find Gee and Beth, you counted to ten in the hopes Alexia would not be in the hall way when you left the room.

But of course she was. As you came out the door there she was, with her team Montse speaking yet again, "Sorry" you mutter walking by through the lined corridor of Spanish players.

Your eye connect with Alexia's ever so briefly as you brush by her finger runs over your wrist intentionally, a silent conversation, you bump your hand into her hip in return not missing a step on your way to find just someone to tell. You had to tell someone.

And then you’re gone. Still walking. Still moving. Still trying not to explode.

Your skin’s buzzing, your heart’s somewhere in your throat, and you don’t care where you’re going exactly just that you find someone.

Someone to tell. Beth. Georgia, it doesn’t matter who’s first. You take the stairs two at a time, mind racing, face burning, mouth stretching into a smile you can’t suppress.

You find them in the corridor of the rooms Beth half-asleep on a beanbag, Georgia picking at crisps as she sat her back against the wall. Georgia out of the team spot you first, she narrows her eyes instantly.

“You’ve got that face.”

Beth sits up straighter. “What face?”

Georgia grins. “The something’s happened face.”

You just stand there, trying to keep your voice steady, trying to not grin like an idiot, at this point you don't care the whole team is here.

“She kissed me,” you say.

Georgia’s eyes go wide

“Who—” Beth starts.

“Who do you fucking think!,” Georgia cuts in.

"What?" Millie was paying attention, "What did you just say?"

You collapse into the beanbag with Beth, head spinning, hands covering your face.

“Okay, tell us everything,” Beth demands, already grabbing your wrist.

“Was it good?” Georgia asks at the exact same time, already smirking.

You laugh into your hands. It’s too much. It’s perfect. “She kissed me,” you say again, softer this time. Like repeating it will help you believe it.

The room stills. Like someone hit mute. Beth’s eyes are huge, but her mouth is already splitting into a grin that looks ready to explode.

Georgia’s the only one moving slowly folding her arms, smug as anything, nodding like she’s been proven so right, but the rest pure stunned silence.

Millie’s frowning like you just told her two plus two equals fish.

Tooney finally says it. “Wait. Who kissed you?”

A little sheepish, heart still in your throat, you say, "Alexia"

Lucy nearly chokes on her protein shake.

Keira drops her phone in her lap. “Alexia Putellas?”

You glance at Georgia, who raises an eyebrow and mutters, “Told you this lot weren’t paying attention.”

“No, sorry.” Alex leans forward, hand in the air like she’s at school. “When did that become a thing?”

Beth’s already bouncing next to you, grabbing your arm. “Are you kidding me? This is so exciting!”

“But how—” Ella cuts in. “Like when? Where? How do you even know her like that?!”

You laugh helplessly, because yeah, you get it, to them, this came out of nowhere.

Georgia leans back, arms behind her head, she says smugly. “They were making eyes at the champions League games. And when we played Spain last month. You were all too busy watching the ball.” Beth cleared her throat, "Except Beth, she saw it"

"So you went from making eyes to kissing?" Millie asked

“Erm, no. She uh she came to Germany. She visited me, stayed with me, we hung out for a few days” you say finally, voice soft. “Then I visited her in Barcelona, stayed with her.”

You glance around the corridor at the sea of shocked faces, half in awe, half still short-circuiting.

“She kissed me before she left just now,” you add, quieter again. “It wasn’t dramatic. Just… real. Said she should of done it at the airport yesterday”

And that’s when the chaos starts, "Thats why you were in Barcelona?" Leah exclaimed, "You were seeing Alexia"

"So are you like? Dating?"

You shrug, "I don't know. It's-"

Georgia smiled, "It's giving clueless shy teenager"

"Fuck you Gee" You laugh as she did.

⚽️

It’s only a friendly, that’s what they keep saying.

Low stakes. Rotations. Minutes in legs, but you feel different, there’s something crawling under your skin not nerves exactly, but anticipation.

You step out into the tunnel, boots scuffing lightly against concrete, the murmur of the crowd leaking in from the stands. You roll your shoulders, breathe through it.

Beth jogs up beside you, bumping your elbow. “You good?” You nod, too fast. She squints at you. “You sure?”

Before you can answer, Georgia jogs past, turning back over her shoulder. “You heard? Spain are here nothing else to do so came the came”

You blink. “What?”

Gee's already pointing subtle, just a tilt of the chin toward the lower stand across from the benches. You follow her gaze and there they are.

A block of familiar red hoodies Spain’s internationals still stuck in England. Still!

And right in the middle Alexia. Hair loose around her shoulders, sunglasses perched in her hair, coat undone like she didn’t even think about looking cool and yet still does. She’s watching warm-ups casually, like it’s nothing, but you feel it.

You shake your head, fighting the smile already creeping up your face as you pick up a jog to go join the warm ups in the lovely early afternoon sun.

It dawned on you, she's never watched you play like this, you've watched her, you've played against her, but she's never done this. Sitting in the stands to watch you play. No pressure. None at all.

You knew where they were all sat and the position you were in today, you would be playing right up and down in front of them all the first half.

You finish the final stretch of warm-ups, but peel off before heading inside as you spot them. Your little brothers.

Tiny hands waving over the hoardings, feet bouncing, eyes glowing. Your dad’s standing beside them, and beside him his wife, and her daughter twelve, polite, slightly shy, but smiling when she sees you heading over. You give her a little wave, as you approached.

You slow your jog as you get to the barrier, "DAD!" you shout, he can't hear you. Of course. "DAD!" You motion to Freya to get your dad which she does and you point at the boys and motion for them. You lean on the advertising board as they excitedly rush down the steps past the Spanish team.

“Look who’s here,” you grin, ruffling there hair and kissing there heads.

The six-year-old is practically vibrating. “We saw you on the big screen already!”

You laugh, reaching to squeeze his chin. “You excited?”

The four-year-old thrusts out a drawing, a sign he made, crumpled at the edges, a stick figure version of you in an England kit with arms outstretched like a plane.

“I made this!” he yells.

You press a hand to your heart mock surprise on your face, "I love it, make sure you hold it really high so I can see it"

They’re a little overwhelmed with the amount of people and noise already, but full of joy this is their moment, seeing you out there, and you drink it in like water.

You smile, "I have to go but one question, if I score what celebration should I do?"

They lose it.

“Do the sui!” “No, do a heart!” “Do the cartwheel!” “Backflip!”

You’re laughing, fully gone, hands fixing your hair as you shake your head.

“Okay, okay,” you say. “If I score… I'll pick one.”

They both agree loud and excited and you squeeze their hands before you go, you went to go but spot Freya coming down, you give her a quick side hug check she's ok before sending the boys off with her and sprint across the pitch and down the tunnel now no one else was out here.

But as you turned, brushing your palms on your shorts, you feel it. Eyes. You didn't have to turn to know it was Alexia watching you.

Seated amongst the rest of her team, her arms folded, eyes fixed on you but not in the way she would watch you on a pitch.

It was softer than that, warmer.

⚽️

It’s been one of those starts, they’ve clearly done their homework Portugal’s midfield and defence collapsing on you every time you get the ball, and the ref was letting way too much go.

First it was a late hip-check. Then a clipped heel. Now it’s every possession hands on your back, arms across your chest, studs snapping too close to your shins. You keep shaking them off, keep getting up, until you don’t.

The ball’s played into your feet just outside Englands half, you open your body, try to spin and the moment your touch shifts into space, a challenge comes straight through you. Legs gone. Feet out from under you.

You don’t fall, you hit the ground shoulder first and hard. With a sickening thud, the kind of impact that knocks the breath out of your lungs before you can process the pain.

The whistle doesn’t come, of course it doesn’t. You stay down, not in a dramatic way, not milking it, but because you have to. Just still., trying to breathe, trying to see straight, access if it hurts just because it does or if you were injured,

You hear the crowd screaming at the ref that sharp collective roar, sounds of whistles being made with mouths. Alessia the only one up the pitch shouts your name, but you don’t respond right away.

Your shoulder pulses. Your elbow’s scraped raw. Your ribs feel like they got rung like a bell.

And above all of it you feel her, you don’t look toward the stands, you don’t need to. You know Alexia’s watching not as a player, not even as someone who knows the game but as her. The one who held your chin last night, the one who kissed you like it meant something, the one who sees you, now, folded on the pitch and not bouncing back since it happened right in front of the Spanish team.

You push yourself up slowly, testing weight on your arm, breathe coming through your nose. You hear the bench yelling for the fourth official. You hear Alessia calling across the pitch again, the bench wanting her to find out if you were ok as the ref was still not taking you on stopping the game.

But through all of it, there’s only one person you want to look for you glance toward the crowd, and there she is sunglasses gone, hands clenched in her lap, eyes locked only on you.

You’re up. Barely, but you’re already walking it off, because she’s watching and so is your family. And that’s enough to keep you upright even if you’re hurting.

Down the opposite end of the pitch, stretching the pitch, two passes and they’re in the box.

Before you can even catch your breath, the ball’s in the net.

0-1.

The stadium groans, the bench is shouting. Your teammates throw up their arms in frustration.

You just stop, right there on the pitch, you throw your head back, chest heaving, throat closing tight with exhaustion and heat and pure frustration.

Then you drop, not like before this time, you choose to. You lower yourself back to the turf flat on your back, arms above your head, lungs dragging at air like it’s suddenly gone thin.

Your eyes sting, not from tears not exactly, but from everything. The pain. The helplessness. The way you can feel your family watching. The way you know Alexia is too.

You press the heel of your hand to your chest, try to breathe through it.

It doesn’t work, you squeeze your eyes shut, and suddenly, a shadow cuts across you.

Beth.

She’s already crouching beside you, a hand on your side voice low and tight. “You alright?”

You can’t answer you just shake your head once. Tiny. Honest.

Georgia’s there too now, someone’s signalling to the bench as your team all descend on you making the watching crowd now even more worried it wasn't you to stay down, let alone go back down.

The ref’s finally calling for the physio, but you don’t move. You just stay down, chest rising too fast, eyes fixed on the blue sky overhead.

And all you can think for just a second is whether she’s still watching, and how stupid you look.

You don’t open your eyes when the physios arrive. You feel the soft tap on your ankle, the calm voice saying your name twice, then a third time.

Beth’s still crouched beside you, one hand braced on your shin, her voice close to your ear. “Breathe. Okay? I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

One of the medics asks, “Where’s the pain?” and you gesture toward your ribs with a shaky hand, still not speaking.

The other’s pressing gently against your shoulder now. "Range of motion?"

You nod once. But you’re still flat on your back. Still trying to find a breath that feels full.

Millie's voice comes from somewhere just above. "She’s been getting kicked every five minutes. Are we seriously gonna wait until she can’t stand to protect her?"

You push yourself up, quicker than before, pain flares down your side like it’s laughing at you, but you grit your teeth, get an elbow under yourself, then the other, until you’re sitting. Barely.

Beth’s hand steadies your back. "You’re not weak for coming off," she murmurs.

“I’m not,” you rasp. “Coming off.”

She gives you a long look, not impressed, not unkind.

Then quiet, but pointed, “Saw her stand up when you hit the deck.”

Your jaw tightens.

You get to your feet stagger, then plant them, he physios hover, the ref checks in. You’re not okay, but you’re not done and as the whistle goes to restart, and your waiting on the touchline to be let back on, your hand drifts briefly toward your ribs, grounding yourself.

The pain’s not gone, but your feet are under you and you know she’s still watching and it was time to put on a show.

You’re still feeling every step.

Each sprint tugs at your ribs. Every pivot sends a throb through your shoulder. You’ve gone quiet on the ball not because you’re hiding, but because you’re calculating. Watching, biding your time, you watch as slowly your markers distance, giving you more and more space as you slow to a walk back and to follow the direction of the play but not involved. You know what you’ve got left for this half and you’re saving it.

The board goes up: +3.

There’s a murmur through the crowd not a roar, not yet but people are shifting, expecting whistles, slow jogs, the halftime lull, but you’re still moving.

The ball breaks down the left Beth, of course, fighting through two defenders like she’s got something to prove. She cuts it inside, sharp and low, and Georgia takes the touch on the edge of the box.

You’re trailing, late, not marked, open.

Georgia sees you flicks it your way the pass is bouncing, awkward not clean, but you don’t need clean. A roar of shoot erupted from the England fans and you just hit it.

Left foot, none preferred foot, first time, outside of the boot, top of the laces. It rises fast skipping the turf, arcing, curling away from the keeper. You know it’s in before it even finishes rising.

Top corner. The stadium erupts.

You don’t stop to think you’re already turning, already running toward the touchline with your arms out but halfway there, your ribs bite, and you stop short.

Instead, you slow, you bring your hands up and you make the heart exactly the way you promised.

You glance up as your swamped by your team not toward the bench, not toward the camera, but the stands. And there she is, Alexia, not standing, s smile over her mouth. Not shocked, not disbelieving.

Just… in awe.

Mapi beside her nudges her hard. Patri shouts something you don’t understand. Alexia's just watching you.

You lower your hands, still breathless, still burning, but smiling.

⚽️

Second half starts and you press.

Every time they try to close you down in twos, you draw one in and spin away. Every time they get physical, you use it a shoulder drop, a feint, a switch of pace.

In the 48th minute, the gap opens.

Beth sends it to you from wide overhit slightly, bouncing but you chase it anyway. The Portuguese centre-back goes shoulder-to-shoulder with you.

Big mistake.

You let the contact roll you forward, slip low around her blind side ball sticking to your foot like it's tied there.

Two touches then you bury it.

Low. Near post. Keeper stuck.

2-1.

You don't celebrate wildly you just turn back toward the halfway line, all calm smirk and low nods, like this is exactly what was always going to happen. By the time the 55th minute hits, they’ve stopped pressing you.

And that’s when you go again this time it starts with Keira — ball recovered deep, pinged straight to your feet just outside the box. You drop a shoulder, glide right, and they don’t follow, they’re waiting. Sitting, so you take the space.

One touch. Two. Left foot. Curled. Over the keeper, bottom corner.

3-1.

You don’t even lift your arms, you just turn, eyes sweeping the crowd until you find Alexia as you await the onslaught of your teammates

Standing this time, one hand fisted low at her side like she’s trying not to cheer too obviously, but her eyes shine.

65th Minute

The cross is perfect fast and low skimming past the first defender, bending into that no-man’s-land between keeper and back line.

You see it early. You know the run. You’ve made this run a hundred times. It’s instinct now. You break the line. You dive.

Head low, shoulders tucked, eyes on the ball. You dip and drive forward and connect. It’s beautiful. A flick, just enough, ball sails past the keeper’s hand.

The ball is in, you know it, you felt it glance off your forehead, the weight of it pulling away toward goal.

But you never see it go in, because the defender’s boot slams into the side of your face mid-dive hard, blind, no malice, just collision and your body crumples and twists with the force mid-air.

You hit the ground with a dead weight thud, sparking fears you were out cold instantly with the way you fell, face first, no reaction to try and cushion your fall with your arms, they were just as limp as the rest of your body appeared to be.

The stadium reacts before you can, he gasp the collective inhale rolls like thunder, before that silence you never wanted to hear in a football stadium,

Boots thudding as your teammates swarm, but you don’t move, because your body won’t let you.

The blow rings through your skull, white-hot and suffocating. The sound disappears dulled like you’re underwater, your vision pulses with light and black edges, your jaw slack. Your lips parting. And the blood warm and constant begins to stream from your cheekbone, nose, lip, you taste it.

You're aware of nothing other than pain and the dull weight of your head on the grass.

You hear your name again and again but it feels far away, even Beth’s voice, usually sharp as a knife, barely lands.

The medics reach you in seconds, one is already holding your head, the other’s checking your breathing, murmuring something you can’t follow.

You catch phrases in broken pieces.

"Concussion protocol." "Stay with me." "Bleeding from the orbital..." "Possible fracture."

Your breath shudders, and a timid cry escapes your lips as the medics are rolling you carefully now, stabilising your neck, pressing something against the blood to slow it.

Someone taps your shoulder, tells you to squeeze a hand if you can hear them. You do. Barely.

Your eyes flutter half-open, lashes wet with blood and sweat, and then your eyes move, they find Alexia frozen risen in her seat still as stone.

She’s standing feet braced like she doesn’t trust her own knees eyes locked on you. She’s not shouting, not calling your name, she’s just watching, and she doesn’t move.

You come back to yourself in pieces.

First, the cold. Not the air the grass. Damp and sharp beneath your body. The way it clings to your skin. It smells like dirt and turf pellets and blood.

Then, pain, spiking, dull, all at once.

Your cheekbone throbs with a heartbeat of its own, your jaw’s locked, your eyes won’t open all the way, your nose doesn't even feel like it's still apart of you and your ribs still sore from earlier now ache with the effort of every breath.

You flinch when gloved fingers press gently to your face.

“She’s responding,” someone says. “Pupils reactive.”

Your lips part, dry and cracked, the taste of iron spreads again across your tongue.

You feel pressure on your shin steady, grounding and then a voice, closer, lower, “It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re here.” Georgia.

You can’t see her, but you feel her crouched beside your legs, probably giving the medic hell in her own way. You manage to shift one hand. It twitches against the turf. That’s all.

Still, the physio murmurs, “That’s good. You’re doing good.”

Another figure joins the edge of your blurred vision Leah, maybe, pacing just out of reach. Someone calls for water. There’s shouting you can’t track, the ref speaking to the fourth official.

And still beneath it all that awareness, she’s watching, you don’t see Alexia, but it's like her presence is stitched to your skin. Like the back of your neck can feel the weight of her stillness.

The physio cuts through again. “Hey, can you hear me?” You nod. Barely. “Can you talk?” You try. Nothing comes, just a low breath, half-choked on the edge of your tongue.

Georgia grabs your hand. “Don’t force it. You're doing great, yeah?”

The ref leans in, there’s talk of subs, of time, but you’re not leaving. Not yet. You blink once slow, heavy and drag your gaze toward the sideline.

Alexia is still on her feet, still rooted to the same spot, hands clenched now, hoodie sleeves bunched in her fists.

The voices begin to settle, the urgency in them thins not gone, but changed. Less panic, more preparation. The medic closest to you leans in, voice low and careful. “We’re going to help you sit up, okay?”

You nod. Or something like it.

They count one, two, three and gently roll you, shoulder first, until you’re propped awkwardly onto your side. Your head swims a wave of heat washes over your skin.

Georgia is right there, crouched beside you still, her hand braced against your back.

“You’re alright,” she whispers, her voice thick now. “You scared the hell out of us.”

You let out a breath through your nose all you can manage, another medic moves in with gauze. They press it carefully against your face the bleeding’s slower now, but your face is tacky, red, sticky with sweat and blood.

You can’t quite open your left eye but you’re awake, then they start to lift you one under each arm, guiding your weight, giving you the chance to push with your own legs, it’s slow. Your knees don’t feel like yours at first. The pitch tilts. The lights feel too close.

But you rise, bit by bit, until you’re upright.

The stadium comes into focus blurred edges, crowd murmuring again, then clapping. Louder now, you blink into it, dazed.

You glance sideways Georgia's still at your side, she’s not letting go. You mouth, “Water?” She’s already handing it over, when you’ve swallowed, when your balance returns in shaky breaths you look up.

Alexia is speaking quietly to one of Spain’s staff, eyes only on you and when you look at her, she stops talking, her jaw sets.

Her gaze flickers over your body your limp, your hand pressed to your ribs, the blood still staining, well everywhere.

And for the first time, she looks angry not at you at the game, at the way it takes and takes, no matter how much you give it.

You start the walk.

Flanked by a physio on your left and Georgia still glued to your right, you take that first step off the touchline and immediately, the stadium rises.

It’s not thunderous, not rowdy, it’s steady, respectful, the sound of people knowing what you gave.

You can barely lift your chin your ribs ache with every inhale, your vision still fuzzy on one side, your jaw tight against the throb in your cheek, but you’re walking.

And as you pass the halfway line, they start coming.

Beth is the first hand to your shoulder, a squeeze that says proud. No words needed.

Leah next, touching your back gently, then stepping aside so you don’t have to slow down.

Ella jogs over from midfield, half-breathless, half-emotional. “Don't scare us like that” she whispers as you pass, “Fucking hell.”

You smile with only half your mouth.

Keira’s further down, eyes flicking over your face, her brow tight with worry. “You alright?”

You nod once. Just once.

Lucy, last before the tunnel claps your back, firm. “Reckon that’ll be on highlight reels for years.”

Each touch steadies you, each word softens the ache just a little, but still the tunnel looms. Cool, shadowed. Removed.

Georgia stays close, shoulder brushing yours, “You did it,” she says quietly, only for you. “Even if the rest of us barely kept up.”

You glance toward the crowd again instinctively, your family, your brothers, your dad and just before you vanish beneath the overhang, you glance to Alexia.

Still watching, still unreadable, but you step into the tunnel, the roar fades behind you.

[lady-luckk]

the accidental cult...

# pairings: yandere cult harem x reader

# synopsis: you accidentally start a cult after a video of you goes viral. they’re weird and obsessive. they won’t ever leave you alone. now you have to deal with them forever.

# warnings: this will contain dark themes such as obsession, kidnapping, and possessiveness. if you are uncomfortable, please block me. viewer discretion is advised. minors DNI.

# notes: this is a rewrite of my previous yandere cult harem from my old blog, @screeching-bunny. reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated!

it started with a mistake.

you weren’t sure how it happened. one moment, you were living an unremarkable life; the next, you were being worshipped. the transition was seamless, orchestrated with eerie precision. from the moment you were taken—kidnapped, though the word feels hollow now—there was a process. a routine. the priesthood that surrounded you operated like a machine, every action calculated to please you, every word carefully chosen to reinforce their beliefs.

at first, you resisted. you questioned them, demanded answers. you threatened and bargained. none of it mattered. they never raised a hand to you, never once forced you into anything. they simply provided. food appeared the moment you felt the slightest hunger. luxuries you never asked for were gifted without hesitation. if you so much as glanced at something for too long, it was presented to you like an offering.

and, slowly, you stopped fighting.

it wasn’t that you believed them. you weren’t that far gone. it was just… easier. if playing along meant safety, meant comfort, meant never having to struggle again—then why not? you told yourself it was temporary. that one day, you’d find a way out. but days became weeks, and weeks bled into months. and somewhere along the line, escape became an afterthought.

the wealth never ran out. that part unsettled you the most. you had assumed, naively, that this whole operation would collapse under its own weight. that your lavish lifestyle, the absurd amount of resources being poured into you, would drain them dry. but no. more and more people arrived. donations poured in. followers spoke of salvation, of miracles, of purpose.

you tried to understand why. the more you listened, the more disturbed you became. they weren’t just devoted. they were obsessed. they spoke of you in reverent whispers, their gazes filled with something beyond reason. their fanaticism was terrifying, unshakable.

“did you see them today? just being in their presence feels like a blessing.”

“i donated everything i had. it’s worth it just to know they exist in this world.”

“i would gladly give my life if it meant they smiled at me one more time.”

and that’s when you realized: there was no escape. not because they wouldn’t let you leave, but because they would follow. it didn’t matter where you went, how far you ran—they would find you. they would never let go. you were their god, and they were willing to tear the world apart to keep you.

at some point, you stopped trying to fight it. stopped questioning how it had all gone so far. you played your part, gave the speeches they wanted to hear, let them believe what they wanted to believe. but in the quiet moments, when the weight of it all pressed down on you, you wondered: were you their prisoner, or were they yours?

the room was filled with soft murmurs, the air thick with anticipation as you walked among your followers. they parted respectfully, bowing their heads as you passed. the atmosphere, once stifling, now felt suffocating in a different way—like a pressing weight that only intensified the longer you stayed. but despite the discomfort, you played your role. you always did.

as you moved, a young woman stepped forward, her hands trembling as she reached for your sleeve. you stopped instinctively, and she fell to her knees, her eyes wide with reverence. there was a sparkle there—a light, so bright it almost hurt to look at.

"please," she whispered, her voice barely audible in the quiet of the room. "i have to know... do you see me? do you see what i’ve become because of you?"

you took a breath, still unsure of what to say. you had been asked questions like this a hundred times, each one more fervent than the last, but something about her voice made you pause.

"i see you," you said slowly, as though the words themselves might break something fragile. "what have you become?"

her eyes glistened, tears threatening to fall. "a better person," she answered, her words almost a mantra. "you’ve changed my life, my everything. i used to feel lost, so... alone. but now i have a purpose. i live for you. everything i do is for you."

she leaned forward, her forehead nearly touching the floor as she offered her devotion. "please, let me serve you. let me show you how much i adore you."

your stomach churned at the sincerity in her voice, the unshakable belief that had taken root in her heart. the adoration was too much, yet it was undeniable. she wasn't the first, and she wouldn't be the last.

before you could speak, another voice cut through the air, low but urgent. "i’ve been watching them for months now," a man said, stepping forward, his hands clasped tightly together. "they... they really do change lives, don’t they? they brought me back from the brink. i had nothing. no hope. no reason to keep going. but now? now i have something. someone. them." he glanced at you, his gaze filled with something unsettling. "they saved me. and i’ll never be able to repay them enough."

you nodded, slowly, unsure how to respond. the words didn’t feel real, and yet here they were, in front of you. his voice wavered, but the desperation was evident. the belief that you had saved him, that you had somehow reached into his brokenness and fixed him, left you frozen.

a third figure, older, stepped up, his voice trembling but firm. "i left my family for this," he said, his tone almost apologetic but with an underlying pride. "i couldn’t be a part of that life anymore. they didn’t understand, they couldn’t. but you... you gave me clarity. you gave me direction. everything else faded. and now..." he hesitated, tears welling up in his eyes. "now i live only for you."

the others stood silent, watching. waiting. their faces a mixture of devotion and fear, as if each word spoken could break some invisible bond. but they were all in it together. they all believed. the room felt suffocating with it, the weight of their collective faith pressing down on you.

one of them, a younger man, almost frantic, reached forward and grabbed your hands with shaking fingers. "do you know what you’ve done for us?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, but sharp with emotion. "you gave us purpose. you made us feel seen. before you, we were nothing. now—now we are everything. we are your chosen ones."

he looked up at you, eyes wide, as if waiting for some kind of affirmation. but there was nothing you could say. nothing that would change this. they were all too far gone, caught in a web of their own making, and you—unwillingly, unknowingly—were at the center of it.

"please," the woman from earlier said, her voice pleading. "we need you. we will always need you. don’t leave us."

you felt your chest tighten at the intensity of it all. you didn’t want this. none of it. but you knew, deep down, that you could never get away. they wouldn’t let you. not now, not ever.

you didn’t speak immediately. the words seemed too small, too inadequate to say in the face of their belief. so instead, you gave a nod, just the smallest movement. it didn’t matter. they saw what they wanted to see. your mere presence was enough.

"thank you," the older man whispered, his voice breaking. "thank you for saving us."

and in that moment, as the room held its breath, you realized—there was no escape. not because they wouldn’t let you leave, but because they would follow you, wherever you went. they had already made up their minds.

you were their salvation. and they would never let you go.

it had all begun with an accident. a misunderstanding that spiraled beyond your control.

you had been walking home one night, unaware of the eyes that followed. it wasn’t until the news spread—an image of you caught in the glow of a streetlamp, head bowed, hands clasped in exhaustion—that something shifted. someone online called it divine. a joke, at first, a meme shared in obscure corners of the internet. but the joke gained traction. people sought meaning where there was none, shaped a narrative around you that you had no say in. strangers whispered of a prophecy, of a long-awaited return.

then, the disappearances started.

a handful of them at first. people who claimed to have seen you in their dreams, who abandoned their lives in search of you. others took it further. they created spaces of worship, their symbols and prayers growing more elaborate with each passing week. the whispers turned into murmurs, then into a movement. before you knew it, you had become something beyond yourself.

you didn’t know who orchestrated your abduction. you weren’t even sure if it had been planned or if it was simply inevitable. but when you woke up in the temple—if it could even be called that—you knew something had changed forever.

perhaps, in another life, you would have been able to stop it. but this was not that life. this was the one where you had already been chosen.

you changed their lives, though not in the way you would have ever wanted.

they spoke of you as salvation, as the one who had given them purpose where before there was only emptiness. they wrote about you online in posts that blurred the line between devotion and mania. forums filled with your name, thousands upon thousands of messages dissecting your every expression, every word, every breath. they claimed you had healed them, that your very existence had given them something to believe in.

and they reshaped their lives around you.

people quit their jobs, abandoned their families, sold everything they owned. they gathered in clusters across the world, connected through the web of your unwanted divinity. they fought with outsiders, with each other, with themselves. all for you. always for you. every action justified by their unwavering faith.

you tried, once, to dissuade them. you spoke plainly, told them you were just a person, that there was nothing special about you. they wept at your feet, overcome by the "humility of their god." your denial only strengthened their belief.

you were the center of their world, and nothing you did would ever change that.

to them, you had saved them. they spoke of how they had been lost, aimless, drowning in the meaningless cycle of existence. you had given them something to hold onto. a purpose greater than themselves. something to dedicate their lives to.

in their eyes, you had made their lives better. you had freed them from the burden of choice, of uncertainty. they no longer had to question what came next. every day had meaning because you existed. every struggle was worth it if it was for you.

but you knew the truth. they had not been saved. they had been consumed.

the realization was suffocating.

to them, you had made their lives better. you had freed them from the burden of choice, of uncertainty. they no longer had to question what came next. every day had meaning because you existed. every struggle was worth it if it was for you.

some had been lost, drifting without purpose, and now they belonged to something greater. some had suffered, and now they found solace in your presence. they were willing to give everything because, in their eyes, you had already given them more than they had ever dreamed.

they smiled more. they wept with joy instead of sorrow. they spoke of love, devotion, and fulfillment.

to them, you were salvation.

you knew better.