#but i feel like i had to make that announcement

[midday-clouds]

Yandere Batfamily x Neglected & "Immortal" Reader 》

There are many yandere batfam x neglected reader but I can't get enough of them--- So here is a silly story idea I have

I don't go into too much detail about how the reader is immortal but I'll probably share about it another timeee

CW: Neglect, Self-Degrading, Kidnapping, Violence(Being shot at), Blood, "Death"

Reader is a product of a hookup between Bruce and some random other woman, your mom

You and your mom had a decent relationship. The two of you would help each other out and have fun playing games. You were so content without knowing who your father was.

Your world begins to collapse when your mom doesn’t come home one day. A bunch of strange people suddenly come into your house and drag you out. You never understood what happened that day besides that you were now alone.

After your mother is announced dead, you find out that you are related to the millionaire, Bruce Wayne. You don’t know much about him but still find yourself put on the Wayne Manor's doorstep

Bruce had just gone through the loss of Jason and had just taken Tim in. He would have happily made some space in his schedule but a case always comes up and makes him forget about you.

Due to Bruce being too busy, you never properly mourned for your mother. Alfred would try to help you but you needed your dad.

For the first week, you locked yourself in your room, almost immediately forgotten by the rest of the family. Alfred would bring meals to your room, knowing that you aren't ready for any sort of interaction in this state. 

Alfred tries to convince Bruce to prioritize your health but there is always a case that takes up all of his attention

After that first week, you become comfortable enough to try and get out of your room at least.

With you around the manor more, the family begins to see them more often but not enough to care.

All of them were busy being vigilantes and weren’t interested in connecting with you. Sure, don't mean to neglect you, but some criminals just don't know when to stop

This worsens your mental state, making them regret not trying to bond with their family earlier. If they had tried in the beginning, then maybe they would have made connections with your new family. Now it feels like they've lost their chance

Alfred would do his best to comfort you but he could only help so much.

When you met Dick, it was when he was stopping by to talk to Bruce. You both had a fun conversation together but that was it.

After that first interaction, you tried to talk to Dick more often when he stopped by, but it seems the first time was just lucky. Dick always had something that didn't allow for a quick chat,

Meeting Jason was honestly terrifying. You were in the kitchen when you heard some noise from outside. It's dark outside so you walk up to the window to see what the sound was

Because of the darkness outside and lights inside, you mainly just see your reflection when looking outside

You squint your eyes to try to see past the reflection when a red helmet pops up and frightened you

Falling onto the ground, you stare in shock at seeing the stranger open the window and step inside

Jason tries to relax your nerves by taking off his helmet, showing he isn't a threat. It doesn't help much when you don't even know who he is

He explains himself after seeing your confused look and you both end up having a small conversation. It was nice until Bruce came in and pulled Jason away.

You never seem to meet Jason again

There were very few instances where you interacted with Tim. Even though you lived in the same house, Tim was always busy.

You’d both exchange small greetings when seeing each other in the hall but that was it. You didn't want to disturb him so you never stopped by his room

you hoped that when Tim had free time, the two could hang out. However, Tim always made plans that you couldn't fit into

Sometimes you would hear that Tim has been playing a game with his friends and you would play it but by yourself.

After a couple of years, Damian enters the family and you were so excited

Because Damian was new to the family, you thought it would be the perfect opportunity to bond with him

That didn't go well. He almost stabbed you

Your opinion of Damian was quick to go sour.

Damian's acts to show authority have gotten you scared of walking around the manor and frightened of animals. Specifically Titus.

It is quite unfortunate as you love animals and to have a dog in the family would bring you so much joy. Too bad Titus has attacked and chased you on multiple occasions

You didn't know what to do with the violence Damian had been taking out on you. You don't feel comfortable talking to Bruce and don't want to bother Alfred. This leads to you bottling up your emotions and locking yourself in your room

During your time, you spent reflecting on your life. Being in the manor isn't helping your mental health so it would be good to go outside more. Due to your constant attempts to bond with your family, you don't spend too much time with your friends from school

Seeing this as another perfect opportunity, you make plans with your friends to get out of the house and have a bit of self-care

Once the day comes, you quickly pack a small backpack and leave the house, only leaving a note for Alfred that says where you're at.

Finally getting some “fresh” air and being surrounded by those who feel more like family than your real family

You all have the best day and make plans for more get-togethers. 

It may not be the safest to be out so often but you’ve lived in Gotham your whole life, you know the safety procedures to stay safe. There isn't much news on you so people don't even recognize you as Bruce’s kid

Of course, something had to happen

You and your friends had just finished a fun day and you realize that your bike was stolen, meaning you don't have a way home. Your friends offered to take you home but you declined out of politeness. If something does go wrong, you ask your friends to call you to check up on you

Your walk home is longer than expected and it’s getting darker. As you walk through the streets of Gotham, you’re suddenly pulled into an alley and are threatened with a gun

There a three masked guys and one of them seems to have recognized you as Bruce’s kid, changing their plan to use you for ransom

You’re knocked out and taken to an abandoned building where you’re tied up to a pipe in the back

The kidnappers have a ransom letter and take it to the Wayne manor, including the small backpack you carried around

Unfortunately, Alfred was on his month-long vacation and Bruce was the one to receive the letter

He takes the time to contact "all" his kids and they're all perfectly fine and he doesn't recognize the backpack that was sent with the letter. There was a wallet but no ID card of any kind. The letter also didn't have a name on it.

Bruce brings up the case to the rest of the family but they agree that it may be a scam. 

The letter was likely from some desperate person who was trying to trick Bruce into giving money so it was put on the side while the family worked on a bigger case. 

Because of this, you’re held hostage for an unknown amount of days before the kidnappers get tired of waiting and shoot you in the gut out of frustration 

You’re filled with immense pain from the bullet before darkness consumes you.

More days pass before you wake up, still tied to a pipe and blood stained clothes

It seems your kidnappers had left your body behind rather than getting rid of it. You’ve been struggling with the rope since you have been taken and it was paying off because you can see that you can almost get your hands free.

Once you're out of the building, it is midnight. You immediately run back to the manor the moment you find a family path.

No one is there to notice you make your way back to your room. Because of how long it's been, you don't leave a trail of blood. Maybe some dirt but hopefully it won't be too hard to clean up

You debate on what action to take next. Looking in the mirror, the injury from the bullet is gone and you don't want to go to the hospital

One thing that is clear though is that you are extremely hungry and how dirty you feel. With this on your mind, you do your best to clean yourself up before going down to the kitchen

You don't feel comfortable talking to anyone so thankfully the rest of the family is busy at night,

Once you are sure no one is around, you take a bunch of snacks and hurry back to your room

In your room, you eat everything until you finally feel full. Hopefully, you don't just throw everything up because it feels so nice to finally have something in your stomach

Your nerves begin to relax and you truly take in the events that happened

How are they still alive? They were shot at and haven't had food for half a month. What happened? Did Bruce not get the ransom letter? Why did no one save you? Did your friends call you?

Quickly remembering your friends, you look for your phone but are unable to find it. Not wanting to worry your friends, you open up your laptop to contact your friends through there. You see that you've gotten multiple calls and messages from your friends and it honestly makes you happy, knowing that there were people that worried and cared about you. You quickly text your friends and tell them what happened (Not mentioning how you survived being shot)

During your chat, the topic changes to college stuff. Your senior year has just ended a couple of weeks ago and it would be good for you to move out and be closer to those that make you happy. Also, after the kidnapping, you don’t want to be near your current family. They were the reason you were kidnapped and didn’t even bother to help you

Your friends suggest going to college outside of Gotham, perhaps in Bludhaven.

After many years of being stuck in a family that does nothing but hurt you, you got an acceptance letter for a school in Bludhaven. You were so happy and had a small celebration with your friends. Unfortunately, none of your friends would be joining you but you couldn’t wait to truly be free. 

Alfred returns from his vacation and reviews all the work that he left behind, along with Bruce’s mail. He knows Bruce has likely already reviewed them but it helps Alfred get back on pace with his work

He finds the discarded ransom letter and immediately checks up on you.

When he goes to your room, he finds the room empty besides some items that you weren’t planning to bring to college with you. This worries Alfred more and goes to Bruce’s office to confront him about the letter.

Bruce is filled with immense guilt when he realizes he forgot that you existed and now you could be dead in an abandoned building. Him and the rest of your family completely forgot about you

Bruce has an emergency meeting with everyone where he explains the situation. Once a plan is set, they all go out in the night to find you. However, they only find loose restraints with dried-up blood and a broken phone.

When the family returns to the manor, Tim goes to his room to fix the phone, Bruce and Damian go to the Batcave to review the cameras, Dick and Jason decide to visit your room

With Alfred’s help, Dick and Jason find your room and take a look around. It isn’t the biggest and barely has anything in it. 

Jason finds some old and filled journals and looks through them. There is a checklist for school work, notes to yourself, and personal entries. He understands the emotions you put in your journal and wants to protect you. Especially when he reads your last entry about your kidnapping 

Dick looks at the decorations you have on the wall. There are some glow-in-the-dark stars, some posters from school events, etc. One of the posters is for a theater show and he wonders if you were a part of it. Either an actor or tech person, Dick wonders why he never heard about your shows. He attempts to take a poster off the wall but the tape used peeled some of the paint off the wall.

Bruce loads up the camera and looks at what happened the day the ransom letter was given to Bruce. You had this happy smile as you made sure you had everything you needed before going through the front door. About a week later, Bruce sees you on the camera, in bloodied clothes and completely exhausted. This brings a wave of relief to Bruce while Damian looks closely at the camera footage. The front of your shirt is covered in blood and has a hole in it, but you seem completely uninjured. 

The last thing the two see of you is you slowly taking your stuff out of the manor and officially moving out

Bruce and Damian find your room to update Dick and Jason on their findings.

They’re thankful that you’re alive but still need to see you in the flesh. Looking around your bedroom, there aren't many clues about where you have gone. 

Tim takes a few days to fix the damage on your phone. At the very least, he needs to save the data that was kept on the phone. After messing with a few parts of your phone, he transfers all the data to his computers.

Once everything is saved, Tim lets his curiosity get the best of him and looks through all of your stuff before informing the rest of the family. All your photos, text messages, etc. He sees all the calls and voicemails your friends sent you on the day you were kidnapped.

Tim continues to learn more about your interests and your efforts to spend time with the family. You ranting to your friends about only playing a game or reading a book because someone in the family has read or played it.

Tim ends up having a copy of all your data for personal use before speaking to the rest of the family

Your phone is finally fixed and Tim can use it to find the location of your laptop. All the way in Bludhaven

With new hope, the family begins their search for you

They just need to take you home and keep you safe

Forever

[a-lexia11]

Womanizer (Part 2)

Fuckboy!Alexia Putellas x reader

Word count:Around 12k

Warning: HIGHLY suggestive (Minors DNI), some angst

Part 1

That was tougher than Alexia had anticipated. Over the past two weeks, she has struggled intensely to suppress her usual habits—no flirting, no checking out other women, no casual sex.

It's been a challenge she hadn’t fully grasped when she made the bet with you. She’s accustomed to moving from one woman to the next, and this sudden shift is excruciating.

Each day without her usual indulgences feels like a trial, and the thought of enduring another two weeks feels almost unbearable. Yet, this pain dissipates whenever she looks at you.

Your captivating eyes, your radiant smile, your voice—they never fail to leave her in awe of your beauty.

The time you've spent together outside of the store, including with Mia, has only deepened her admiration for you.

When you’re not looking, she finds herself observing you, marveling at the kind of person and mother you are.

Alexia is determined to take you on that date, but she’s realized that her feelings for you extend beyond just physical desire.

She yearns for something deeper, something more meaningful, though she’s unsure how to convey it. Her plan is to show you her seriousness through her actions.

Once you see that she’s committed to this path and genuinely not interested in anyone else, you’ll understand her true intentions.

At the moment, you were behind the register at the store, handling some clients while Alexia carried Mia, helping her reach the flowers she couldn’t quite get.

Carmen was away this week, and she trusted you enough to take care of her store. To ensure you weren’t alone, Alexia was here as often as she could be.

After finishing with a client, you watched as a tall, young, and undeniably attractive woman entered the store—definitely Alexia’s type. You couldn’t wait to see Alexia’s reaction and whether she’d break her bet.

As Alexia and Mia returned to you at the register, Alexia asked, “Mia’s hungry. Did you bring any food, or should I run out and grab something?” She gently placed Mia on the counter while you leaned in to give your daughter a kiss on the cheek.

“No, it’s okay, Ale. I packed something in her backpack in the back room,” you replied. Before you could fetch it, Mia eagerly jumped in, “I’ll go!” She asked Alexia to put her down and ran towards the back room.

Alexia turned to you with a playful grin. “What’s up?” she asked.

“You called me Ale,” Alexia pointed out, still smiling. “You never do. It’s always Alexia… admit it, you like me,” she teased, her eyes sparkling.

You laughed at her antics. “Oh, stop it. It’s just a nickname. Just like you call me ‘guapa’,” you said, and Alexia’s smile widened.

“I know you like me,” she said with a wink.

Just then, the woman from earlier approached Alexia, interrupting your playful exchange. Alexia briefly acknowledged her with a smile before turning back to you.

“Disculpa”the woman said, “¿Podrías, por favor, hacer un ramo con estas flores?” She handed you a handful of flowers she had picked out. (Excuse me,could you please make these into a bouquet?)

“Por supuesto.” you replied, taking the flowers and moving to the counter to start arranging them. (Of course)

Mia reappeared, munching on her sandwich. “Mommy, I found it!” she announced, approaching you.

“Good job, baby. Here, sit down and eat,” you said, pulling out a chair for her. She complied and quietly ate her sandwich.

You glanced over at Alexia and the woman as they engaged in a conversation. The woman seemed to be flirting with Alexia, but to your surprise, Alexia was quite dismissive, not engaging in the flirtation at all.

Leaning in a bit, you tried to catch their conversation. “¿Puedo tener tu número de teléfono? Quizás podríamos volver a vernos.” the woman asked. (Can I have your phone number? Maybe we could meet up again?)

You held your breath, waiting for Alexia’s response. With a firm yet polite tone, Alexia replied, “No, gracias. No estoy interesada.” (No, thank you. I’m not interested.)

You were actually impressed—Alexia had just rejected a beautiful woman. She was serious about the bet, and that realization hit you harder than expected.

The woman didn’t push her luck and, after nodding her head, distracted herself with her phone.

Meanwhile, Alexia had already made her way over to you, casually lifting Mia from her chair and settling her on her lap.

She sat down like it was the most natural thing, Mia cuddling against her easily, a familiar comfort between them that made your heart soften.

As you finished wrapping the bouquet for the woman, you handed it over with a polite smile.

Once she thanked you and left the store, your attention immediately shifted back to Alexia and Mia. Alexia shot you a wink, her smirk playful and full of mischief.

Mia hopped off Alexia’s lap, grabbing her sandwich and skipping toward the back room to announcing that she wanted some water bottle.

The second your daughter was out of sight, you turned toward Alexia, clapping your hands together with exaggerated disbelief.

“I’m impressed. You actually rejected a woman?” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Damn, didn’t think you had it in you,” you teased, folding your arms.

Alexia, still lounging in her chair, rolled her eyes dramatically. Before you could react, she grabbed your hand firmly, pulling you toward her until you were standing right between her legs.

Then, with little effort, she slid her hands behind your thighs, forcing you to straddle her lap. You let out a surprised gasp, instinctively wrapping your arms around her shoulders to steady yourself.

“Alexia!” you yelled, your cheeks flushed from the unexpected move. She only grinned, loving how easily she could fluster you.

Her arms circled your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you tightly against her. You could feel the warmth of her body against yours, her breath hot against your ear as she leaned in, her voice dropping low.

“Dios, I can’t wait for the day you scream my name like that when I finally get you in my bed,” she whispered teasingly.

A shiver ran down your spine at her words, and you tried to maintain composure, even as goosebumps spread across your skin.

You slapped her shoulder lightly, trying to regain control of the moment. “You wish,” you muttered, though your voice lacked the firmness you wanted.

Alexia’s hands slid slowly up your waist, her touch gentle and lingering as she looked directly into your eyes. Her expression softened, becoming more sincere.

“I rejected her because I’m only interested in one woman,” she said, her voice more serious now. “Y esa mujer... pronto va a salir conmigo” (And that woman… she’s going to go on a date with me soon.)

You were caught off guard by how genuine she sounded, her gaze locking onto yours with that look of admiration she always had when you weren’t looking.

You hesitated for a moment before letting your hand rest on her cheek, gently caressing her skin. Alexia closed her eyes at the touch, her lips brushing against your palm in a soft, tender kiss.

Before you could get too caught up in the moment, you reminded her, “You’ve still got two weeks left, don’t forget.”

You quickly slipped off her lap, putting some distance between you two before Mia could return and witness anything.

Alexia simply leaned back in her chair, a smug grin spreading across her face. “Two weeks is nothing,” she said confidently, her eyes still fixed on you. “I can do it.”

And from the way she looked at you, part of you believed she just might.

——

The two weeks were almost up, and Alexia hadn’t cracked once. You were impressed. Only two more days to go, and despite all the tempting situations, she hadn’t given in.

Over the past couple of weeks, you’d seen her reject every woman who so much as looked her way, whether at the store, in the street, or when you went out together.

The women barely got a “hola” in before Alexia was shaking her head, firmly saying, “No estoy interesada.” (I’m not interested)

And every single time, she’d wink at you with that familiar smirk, playfully calling you her “future wife.” You’d laugh and shake your head, amused but also undeniably touched by how serious she was about the bet.

But it wasn’t just the rejections that had caught your attention. Watching Alexia with Mia was what really made your heart flutter. Over the weeks, Alexia had become Mia’s favorite person.

She’d take her to the park, push her on the swings, or take her on long walks with Nala. Mia was obsessed, constantly asking when Alexia would be back and begging you to call her whenever she had a new drawing or just to say goodnight.

Alexia was equally as obsessed with Mia—teaching her new Spanish words, cuddling her when she got tired, playing with her... The two had developed a bond that was impossible to ignore.

But today, with just two days left, you decided to test Alexia’s patience a bit more.

You were unloading flowers from a delivery truck at the store, working with Pedro, the delivery guy. He was charming, a bit flirty even, but you hadn’t really engaged—until you saw Alexia walk in.

The moment she spotted you talking to Pedro, her whole demeanor changed. Her eyes narrowed as she glared at Pedro like he was some kind of threat.

You smirked inwardly. She was jealous, and you couldn’t resist teasing her a little.

Pedro handed you the delivery papers to sign, standing a little too close as he made small talk. “No te había visto aquí antes. ¿Eres nueva?”he asked with a friendly smile. (I haven’t seen you here before. Are you new?)

“Sí, lo soy.” you responded, watching Alexia out of the corner of your eye. Her expression darkened as Pedro continued chatting with you. (Yes I am)

He then switched to English, showing off a bit. “Ah, you’re not from Spain, huh? You’ve got a lovely accent,” Pedro complimented, leaning in slightly.

Alexia, standing by Carmen, was visibly fuming. She wasn’t even pretending to listen to Carmen anymore.

Her eyes were locked on Pedro, her jaw tight, hands clenched at her sides. Her possessiveness was written all over her face.

Deciding to push it a little further, you laughed softly at one of Pedro’s jokes and lightly touched his arm.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to send Alexia over the edge. She shot forward like a bullet, striding over with a fake smile plastered on her face, her eyes sharp.

Without a word, Alexia slid her arm around your waist and tugged you close to her, forcing you to step away from Pedro.

“Hey, bebé, ¿ya terminaste aquí? Carmen te necesita en la parte de atrás” Alexia said sweetly, though her tone carried a thinly veiled edge. She pressed a soft kiss to your temple, her eyes locked on Pedro the entire time. (Hey, baby, are you done here? Carmen needs you in the back)

“Uh, yeah, I’m done,” you said, hiding your smirk as you pulled back slightly from Alexia’s grip. You thanked Pedro and signed off on the delivery, but Alexia’s hand remained possessively on your waist.

When Pedro finally walked away,but not before looking at you one more time, Alexia’s eyes followed him, her jealousy practically radiating off her in waves.

“Juro que si te mira una vez más… “Alexia muttered under her breath, her hand still gripping your waist protectively. (I swear, if he looked at you one more time…)

“Jealous, are we?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at her.

She scoffed, though her grip on you tightened. “I don’t get jealous.”

You laughed softly, knowing full well that wasn’t true. “Right. Sure.”

Alexia stayed at the store for the rest of the afternoon, supposedly to help Carmen, but you noticed she was really there to keep an eye on you.

Every chance she got, her eyes would dart in your direction, watching how you interacted with customers or the delivery guys.

And every time you acted just a little more friendly than usual—whether it was smiling a bit too much or laughing a little too loud—Alexia’s jaw would tighten, and her mood would darken.

At one point, another delivery guy showed up, and when he asked you about your day, you smiled and answered politely.

Alexia, who had been helping Carmen with a display, immediately stopped what she was doing and moved closer to where you were standing.

Her entire posture screamed protectiveness. She folded her arms and stood just a few feet away, glaring at the guy like he was public enemy number one.

“¿Necesitas ayuda aquí?”Alexia called out loudly, her voice dripping with false politeness. (You need help over here?)

The guy glanced at her, confused, but you shook your head. “No, I’ve got it,” you replied, biting back a grin as Alexia’s eyes narrowed even further.

You were thoroughly enjoying the power you had over her. Alexia was always the one in control, always the one with the upper hand when it came to the women she was with.

But now? Now you had her wrapped around your finger, and it felt incredible.

In the back room, Alexia cornered you, her eyes locking onto yours with a mix of frustration and amusement. “Do you enjoy torturing me?” she asked, her voice teasing yet edged with genuine curiosity as you turned around with a smirk.

“Absolutely,” you replied, savoring the satisfaction of seeing her reaction.

“That’s not fair,” she said, taking a step closer, her body language hinting at playful irritation. “I’m here, stuck not flirting with anyone, while you’re out here flirting with everyone,” she added, her gaze flickering with a mix of challenge and allure.

“Well, let me remind you,” you said, your tone light yet pointed, “it was your idea to avoid flirting and not sleep with anyone just to get a date with me.” You patted her shoulder reassuringly as she let out a huff of frustration.

“I know you’re jealous,” you said, your voice softening, “but don’t worry. In less than two days, it’ll be you I’m going out with, not anyone else… unless, of course, you break first.”

“I won’t break,” Alexia said firmly, her eyes flashing with determination. She moved closer, her hand slipping around your waist as she pulled you into her personal space.

“And after that date, you’ll love it so much that you’ll be begging for another date. Then, you and I will be having the greatest sex of your life,” she added with a cocky smirk, her tone dripping with confidence.

Lately, Alexia had become increasingly touchy with you, and though it was a change, you were thoroughly enjoying the closeness.

“Oh, really?” you whispered into her ear, your arms wrapping around her neck, the intimacy making your heart race.

“Yeah,” she murmured, her breath warm against your skin. “And I assured you you’ll be begging for more” She buried her nose in your hair, her voice trailing off as she inhaled deeply.

“I find that hard to believe,” you said, pulling back slightly to meet her gaze. Her expression softened, the playfulness in her eyes turning to something more tender.

“You’re so beautiful,” she said softly, her eyes locking with yours. The sincerity in her voice made your heart skip a beat.

“I can’t wait for you to be mine,” Alexia continued, her tone earnest. “I’ll take care of you in every way you deserve, and I’ll make sure Mia is well cared for, too.” Her hand caressed your back gently, the tenderness of her touch almost making you swoon.

Her words were like a balm to your heart. She knew how to touch you deeply, speaking to both your own feelings and your love for Mia.

You smiled, leaning in to place a soft kiss on her cheek. “I really hope that after this bet, you’ll still be able to keep your eyes and hands to yourself. Because, honestly, I want that too,” you confessed, your voice filled with gentle sincerity.

“I promised you,” Alexia said, leaning her forehead against yours, her eyes locked onto yours with unwavering sincerity. “I’m only interested in you, no one else…” she assured, her voice soft but filled with confidence.

You nodded, feeling a wave of relief and affection. You kissed her cheek one last time before smiling, which she returned warmly. As you both walked out of the back room, you hoped with all your heart that her promise was true.

With each passing day, you were falling deeper for her, and the thought of heartbreak was becoming increasingly unbearable.

——

Today was finally here—date day. Alexia had truly impressed you by sticking to her commitment, and you were genuinely surprised by her dedication.

You approached Carmen, who was busy arranging flowers behind the counter. “Carmen, I was wondering if you could watch Mia tonight,” you asked, hoping she’d be available.

“Of course, I’d be happy to. Are you going out?” Carmen replied, her voice warm with curiosity.

“Yes, I have a date,” you said with a casual shrug. Carmen’s eyes widened in surprise and excitement.

“A date? That’s wonderful! Let me guess—it’s with Alexia?” Carmen asked, her smile widening as she glanced at you.

“Yes, how did you figure that out?” you asked, intrigued by her insight.

“Por favor! It’s been pretty obvious with the way you two have been looking at each other lately. You’ve definitely gotten closer,” Carmen said, her tone full of knowing amusement.

“Yeah, we did. We actually made a bet. If Alexia could go a month without flirting or being with anyone else, I’d go on a date with her,” you explained, smiling.

“Wow, she really pulled it off?” Carmen’s eyes were wide with astonishment.

“Yes, she did,” you confirmed, chuckling at her reaction.

“She must really like you,” Carmen said thoughtfully. “You know, Alexia has changed a lot since she met you. I can see it in the way she looks at you—there’s a genuine happiness in her eyes now,” Carmen added softly, her gaze filled with warmth.

You smiled, touched by her observation. Carmen knew Alexia like her own daughter, so her acknowledgment of this change meant a lot to you.

“I’ve noticed it too,” you admitted. “She’s been amazing with Mia and with me. It’s like she’s become a different person in the best way.”

“I’m so glad to hear that,” Carmen said, her smile gentle. “You both deserve to be happy. Enjoy your date tonight, and don’t worry about Mia—she’ll be in good hands.”

“Thank you, Carmen,” you said, your gratitude evident in your tone. “I really appreciate it.”

As Carmen gave you a reassuring nod, you felt a mix of excitement and nervousness for the evening ahead.

That evening, after finishing the last touches of your makeup, you stood back and admired your reflection. Alexia had asked you to wear something casual but nice, so you chose a simple yet elegant combination: a soft blouse paired with a flattering skirt.

The anticipation for the night ahead had your heart racing slightly, though you tried to stay calm.

From the living room, you heard Carmen call out, “Y/N, Alexia’s here!” Her voice broke your focus, and you hurried out to greet her.

When you reached the living room, there was Alexia, standing confidently with not one, but two bouquets of flowers and a single flower in her hand.

She spotted you and her eyes lit up, the familiar smile that made your heart skip a beat curling at her lips.

“Hola, guapa,” Alexia said, her gaze sweeping from your head to your toes, taking in every detail of your outfit.

You approached her, leaning in for a hug. She smelled faintly of her favorite cologne, a comforting, familiar scent.

After the embrace, Alexia handed you a bouquet of red roses. “These are for you,” she said softly, watching your reaction.

Smiling warmly, you took the flowers. “Thank you, Alexia,” you replied, placing a kiss on her cheek, which made her grin grow wider.

Alexia then turned her attention to Carmen, holding out a bouquet of yellow roses. “Carmen, me di cuenta de que nunca te he traído flores, así que estas son para ti.” (Carmen, I realized I’ve never brought you flowers, so these are for you,” she said with a playful grin, handing her the bouquet)

Carmen’s eyes softened, clearly touched by the gesture. She pulled Alexia into a warm embrace, gently cradling her face in her hands before kissing her on the forehead. “Gracias, querida,” Carmen said lovingly, a motherly warmth in her voice.

Alexia chuckled softly, the bond between her and Carmen clear to see.

“Where’s Mia?” Alexia asked, looking back at you as you placed your bouquet in a vase in the kitchen.

Before you could respond, an excited voice shouted from the hallway. “Alexia!” Mia came racing into the room, her little feet barely touching the ground as she leapt straight into Alexia’s open arms.

“I missed you so much!” Mia squealed, wrapping her tiny arms around Alexia’s neck.

“I missed you too, nena,” Alexia responded, lifting Mia and holding her close. She then lowered her to the ground, pulling out a single white rose.

“Look what I got for you,” she said, handing the flower to your daughter with a gentle smile. “I hope you don’t mind, but your mommy gave me permission to choose your flower of the week.”

Mia’s eyes went wide with delight as she took the rose. “Thank you, Ale! It’s beautiful,” she said, standing on her tiptoes to kiss Alexia’s cheek.

“You’re welcome, mi amor,” Alexia replied, her expression softening as she watched Mia beam with excitement.

Mia rushed over to show you her flower, and you picked her up, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “It’s beautiful, baby,” you told her, carrying her back toward Alexia and Carmen.

“Alright, baby, Alexia and I are going to head out now. Be good for Carmen, okay?” you said gently. Mia nodded enthusiastically, wrapping her arms around your neck for one last hug. You kissed her cheek, smiling softly.

“Bye, baby. I love you,” you said. Mia waved with her small hand, her face lighting up with a big smile. “Love you too, Mommy,” she said sweetly.

She then turned her attention back to Alexia. “Bye-bye, Alexia!” Mia called, waving at her.

“Bye-bye, mi nena,” Alexia said, leaning down to kiss Mia’s little hand, earning a giggle from your daughter.

With a final look around the room, you and Alexia both said, “Bye, Carmen,” in unison, causing Carmen to laugh.

“Bye, girls! Have fun—but not too much fun!” Carmen teased, sending you both a playful wink. Alexia’s lips curled into a smirk at Carmen’s words, and you rolled your eyes, chuckling softly.

As Alexia and you made your way towards her car, she opened the door for you as you thanked her and she winked at you.

The ride to the restaurant was silent but peaceful.You find it kind of weird since Alexia is never silent and always have something to say.

Even though she’ll never admit it but Alexia was nervous and you could see it by the tap she does with the hand that is resting on her thigh.You decided to tease her a bit.

“You’re nervous” you asked her playfully and she just scoffed.

“Of course not” she said

“Yeah sure” you retorted pointing out her hand on her thigh and she immediately stopped as you laughed.

——

Arriving at the restaurant, you and Alexia were promptly seated at a cozy corner table, giving you just the right amount of privacy. The ambiance was warm, the soft glow of candles casting flickering shadows on the walls.

After being handed the menus, you both quickly decided on your meals, exchanging glances that carried a hint of excitement. It felt like something new was beginning.

When your food arrived, the conversation began to flow naturally between bites. Alexia, sitting across from you, seemed relaxed, more open than usual.

She started sharing stories about her family, reminiscing about childhood adventures with her sister, and funny moments with her friends.

You found yourself leaning in, captivated by the way she painted each story with vivid details. In return, you opened up about your own experiences, feeling a genuine connection deepening between you two.

Of course, it wasn’t long before Alexia, ever the tease, sprinkled in some playful flirtation and cheeky innuendos.

Her eyes gleamed with mischief every time she dropped a suggestive remark, her grin widening when you laughed or rolled your eyes at her antics. It was easy with her, the conversation flowing seamlessly from serious to lighthearted.

The chemistry between you was undeniable. You hadn’t been on a date in a long time, and Alexia made it feel special, like she’d put thought into every little detail. You could tell she wanted to make this night memorable for you, and so far, it was working.

But just as you started to fully relax, savoring both the food and the moment, something shifted. A subtle tension began creeping into the air, casting a shadow over the otherwise perfect evening.

But that date was about to take a turn for the worse… well, for Alexia.

“Ay! Do you remember that time you were telling me a story, but stopped halfway because I got distracted by another woman and wasn't paying attention?” she asked, her tone half-teasing, half-annoyed, as she narrowed her eyes at you. You nodded, a small, sheepish grin tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“You never finished it! I want to know the end,” she insisted, leaning forward in her seat, waiting eagerly. You couldn't help but laugh softly at her persistence.

“Alright, alright. So, Mia and I were—“you started, but before you could get the words out, Alexia suddenly cut you off with a low, startled “Mierda,” her eyes darting past your shoulder.

“What? What is it?” you asked, your brows furrowing in confusion as you followed her gaze.

“Nothing. It’s nothing,” she quickly muttered, trying to dismiss it, but her entire body had stiffened, and she looked like she was ready to slide under the table to avoid being seen.

The tension in her voice was unmistakable, so naturally, you turned around to see what was going on.

There, just a few feet behind you, stood a group of three girls waiting to be seated. They were scanning the room, completely unaware of the storm they were about to bring. You glanced back at Alexia, noticing how she was now staring down at the table, her head tilted just enough to avoid eye contact with anyone in the group.

It was clear she was trying to hide, but it was already too late

“Alexia?” you heard a voice call from behind, and one of the girls from the group stepped forward, her tone dripping with skepticism.

Alexia froze. Slowly, she looked up, giving the girl a strained, awkward smile. “Hola.. um, Alicia?” she asked tentatively, her voice faltering.

“No, es Martina,” the girl replied sharply, clearly offended by the mistake. “Sigo esperando esa llamada que me prometiste.” she added, crossing her arms over her chest, her eyes narrowing as she glared at Alexia, completely ignoring your presence at the table.(No, it’s Martina. Still waiting for that call you promised me)

You blinked, glancing between Alexia and Martina, utterly bewildered by the situation.

“Uh, sí... sobre eso...” Alexia stammered, but before she could say anything more, another girl from the group stepped forward, her eyes widening in recognition. (Uh, yeah…about that…)

“¿Espera, Alexia?” she exclaimed, turning to Martina. “¿La conoces?” (Wait, Alexia?, You know her?)

“Sí, esta tonta y yo salimos como una semana.” Martina said bitterly. (Yeah, this idiot and I went out for like a week)

“Tuvimos sexo,y me prometió que me llamaría, pero me dejó en visto” Her voice was dripping with disdain, and you couldn't help but raise your eyebrows at Alexia, who was now staring at the table, her face flushed with embarrassment. (We had sex, and she promised she’d call, but she ghosted me)

“¡A mí me pasó lo mismo!” the second girl chimed in, her voice sharp with anger. (Same thing happened to me!)

“Nos acostamos, y luego, cuando me la encontré en la calle, actuó como si yo ni siquiera existiera.”She shot Alexia a venomous look, and you could see the color drain from Alexia’s face as she shrank further into her seat, looking like she wanted to vanish on the spot. (We hooked up, and then when I ran into her on the street, she acted like I didn’t even exist.)

As if things couldn't get any worse, the third girl from the group joined the conversation. “Chicas, la mesa está lista.” she said, then paused when her eyes landed on Alexia. (Girls, the table's ready)

“Alexia?” she asked, her face lighting up in recognition. You, on the other hand, closed your eyes and rubbed your temple, feeling the weight of the situation.

The other two girls whipped around to face their friend. “¿Tú también la conoces?”they asked in unison, their voices tinged with disbelief. (You know her too?)

“Si” the third girl replied with a sigh. “Nos acostamos hace un meses, y luego literalmente me sacó de su cama y me echó de su apartamento porque su hermana iba a venir. Luego se disculpó con flores, y tuvimos sexo de nuevo. Ella prometió que me llamaría, pero nunca lo hizo.¡Todavía tengo un moretón por eso!”she added, rolling her eyes dramatically, well that sounds familiar you thought. (We hooked up a couple of months ago, and then she literally pushed me out of her bed and kicked me out of her apartment because her sister was coming over. She then apologized with flowers and we had sex again, she promised she’ll called but she never did.I still have a bruise from it!)

At this point, you could barely believe what you were hearing. Your gaze slid over to Alexia, whose head was hanging low.

“¿También tuviste sexo con mis amigas?”Martina asked incredulously, her voice rising in anger. Alexia just nodded, biting her lip, knowing she was caught. (You slept with my friends too?)

Martina’s expression hardened as she grabbed Alexia’s champagne glass and, without a second thought, tipped it over Alexia’s head.

The liquid cascaded down her hair and onto her clothes. You gasped, eyes wide with shock.

“Eso es por acostarte con mis amigas.”Martina spat, her voice cold. (That’s for sleeping with my friends)

Before you could react, the second girl reached across the table, grabbing your champagne glass. Without hesitation, she poured it over Alexia as well. “Esto es por pretender que no existía y hacerme sentir como si estuviera loca” she said, her glare piercing through Alexia. (This is for pretending I didn’t exist and making me feel like I was crazy)

Finally, the third girl took the bottle of champagne that had been sitting in the middle of the table and dumped the entire thing over Alexia’s head. “Y esto,” she said with a smirk, “es por darme un moretón.” (And this is for giving me a bruise.)

The entire time, Alexia didn’t say a word. She just sat there, drenched in champagne, fully aware of how badly she had messed up.

Her usually confident demeanor was completely shattered, and she knew there was no escaping the consequences of her actions.

The three girls turned and walked away, but not before one of them lightly tapped you on the shoulder and said, “Buena suerte, tia” with a wink. (Good luck, girl)

The whole restaurant had gone deathly silent. You could feel everyone’s eyes on your table, all of them watching the fallout of Alexia’s disastrous past.

You smirked and picked up your fork, continuing to eat as if nothing had happened. She had it coming, and you couldn’t help but feel a little vindicated.

Alexia looked at you, her eyes wide with disbelief, but you just shrugged. “Don’t look at me like that. You deserved it. You’re a jerk,” you said casually, turning back to your plate while Alexia slowly got up, mumbling something about going to the bathroom.

When she returned, still slightly damp and clearly humiliated, the two of you decided it was time to leave. Alexia paid the check without a word, and the two of you walked back to the car in utter silence, the tension between you almost tangible.

Neither of you said anything on the drive home, and the weight of everything that had just happened hung in the air between you, too thick to ignore.

As you arrived at your apartment, the silence from the restaurant lingered between you and Alexia. Standing in front of your door, you turned to her, trying to lighten the mood.

“Well… that was fun,” you said, managing a small, somewhat strained smile. Alexia responded with a sad, half-hearted smile of her own.

“Yes, um… I’m really sorry about all of this” she said, motioning to her champagne-soaked clothes, her voice filled with remorse.

“It’s okay,” you said gently, trying to reassure her.

Alexia hesitated, then asked nervously, “Entonces… ¿crees que podríamos, ya sabes, intentarlo de nuevo?” She fiddled with the ring on her finger, clearly anxious. (So… do you think we could, you know, give it another shot?)

You sighed, gathering your thoughts before responding, “I don’t think so,” you said softly. Her head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise.

“Didn’t you enjoy yourself? Well, before everything went wrong?” she asked, her voice betraying her insecurity.

“I did enjoy myself, especially when everything went wrong. And Alexia, I really like you,” you admitted, your voice earnest.

Her expression softened, and she looked relieved, if still uncertain.

“I really like you too, Y/N. And if you’re worried about me seeing other girls again, I promise I won’t. You’re the only one I want,” she said quickly, her eyes pleading with you.

“It’s not just about that,” you said, shaking your head. “ I have to think about more than just myself. I need to consider Mia too,” you explained. Her brow furrowed in confusion.

“Mia loves me,” she said, her tone a mix of confusion and hurt.

“I know she does, but imagine if something like this had happened while Mia was with you. What do you think she would say?” you asked, your voice firm but compassionate.

“He estado con Mia muchas veces antes y nada como esto había sucedido.”she said desperately. (I’ve been out with Mia plenty of times before, and nothing like this ever happened)

“Yeah, but that doesn’t guarantee it won’t in the future,” you pointed out. “I’m really sorry, Alexia, but as much as I like you and want to be with you, I think we’re better off as friends,” you said, your heart heavy. She looked at you with sadness in her eyes but nodded slowly.

“Come here,” you said, opening your arms. She stepped into your embrace, her face buried in the crook of your neck as she whispered apologies. You gently rubbed her back, offering comfort as best as you could.

When you finally pulled away, Alexia pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’ll fix this, I promise. I’m not giving up on us,” she said with determination, her eyes locked on yours.

“I know you won’t,” you said with a soft smile. “Goodbye, Alexia,” you said, opening the door to your apartment.

“Adios, guapa,” she replied, giving you one last smile before turning to walk away.

As Alexia made her way down the hall, she was overwhelmed by a swirl of emotions—feeling foolish, embarrassed, and heartbroken.

She regretted missing her chance to be with you but was resolute in her determination to make things right. She walked away with a promise to herself to fix the situation and not give up easily.

——

You hadn’t seen Alexia in nearly a month after that night. She stopped visiting the store, and the only communication between you was through sporadic text messages.

Mia, who had grown quite fond of Alexia, missed her terribly. She frequently aked about Alexia’s absence and why she wasn’t coming around anymore.

You found yourself making up various excuses, claiming Alexia was tied up with work commitments.

Despite her absence, Alexia still took the time to call Mia occasionally to wish her good night, which you found genuinely touching and appreciated.

The only glimpses you got of Alexia were on TV, during her matches that you and Mia watched together. On screen, she looked striking—blonder than before and just as captivating.

You often asked Alexia when she would be coming back to the store, but her answers were consistently vague.

She would simply say, “soon.” The last time she gave you this response was two weeks ago, leaving you wondering when she would actually return.

“Mia, no running in the store, baby, please,” you called out, watching your daughter race around the aisles for what felt like the hundredth time in the past ten minutes.

You had no choice but to bring her with you today since Maria, your usual babysitter, was sick and couldn’t look after her.

“Sorry, Mommy!” Mia yelled back as she skidded to a halt. You walked over, picked her up, and set her on the counter.

Just as you were about to speak to her, the familiar ring of the door bell sounded, and you looked up to see Alexia entering the store.

Before you could even react, Mia leaped off the counter, causing your heart to skip a beat, and sprinted straight for Alexia, shouting her name at the top of her lungs. She flung herself into Alexia’s arms without hesitation.

“I missed you so much, nena,” Alexia said, wrapping Mia in a tight embrace and kissing her lightly on the shoulder as she walked over to you, Mia still clinging to her.

Alexia didn’t let Mia go immediately. She waited, cradling her close until Mia finally pulled away and smiled up at her.

“Why haven’t you been here? I thought you left me,” Mia said, her lower lip jutting out into a pout. The words made your heart sink, the thought of Mia feeling abandoned tugging painfully at your chest.

Alexia’s expression mirrored the heartbreak you felt. “Oh, no, nena. I would never leave my favorite person in the whole world,” Alexia reassured her, pressing a few more soft kisses onto Mia’s cheek, clearly trying to make up for the lost time.

“Alexia, do you wanna see all the drawings I made?” Mia asked, her eyes lighting up with excitement.

Alexia grinned and nodded, more than ready to follow Mia’s lead. They headed toward the back room, Mia tugging on her hand eagerly.

As they passed by, Alexia glanced at you, her eyes soft. “We’ll talk later, okay?” she said quietly, her voice filled with an unspoken apology. You nodded in response, not needing to say anything at the moment.

On their way to the back room, Alexia greeted Carmen with a quick hug and a few exchanged words. Carmen smiled and gestured them through.

During your break, you decided to check in on them. As you stepped into the back room, your breath caught at the sight in front of you.

Alexia and Mia were lying together on the small bed Carmen had set up for Mia’s naps when she visited the store.

Mia was curled up on top of Alexia, her tiny body tucked against Alexia’s chest, her face nestled in the crook of Alexia’s neck. They were both fast asleep, breathing softly in perfect unison.

You couldn’t help but smile at the scene. It was a picture of calm and warmth, a reminder of just how close Mia had grown to Alexia.

You stepped closer quietly and grabbed Mia’s favorite blanket, gently draping it over both of them. As you adjusted the blanket, Alexia stirred, her eyes fluttering open. She blinked sleepily at you before offering a soft, sleepy smile.

You smiled back, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. There was an unspoken understanding between you.

Alexia had missed you more than she could express, and you could see it in her eyes. She had been distant, but you knew she was trying to make things right.

Carefully, Alexia shifted, sitting up slowly to avoid waking Mia. She gently placed Mia on the bed, tucking the blanket securely around her tiny frame. After making sure Mia was settled, Alexia quietly got up and approached you, her gaze soft but intense.

Without a word, she pulled you into a tight hug, the warmth of her embrace familiar. “¿Cómo estás?”she asked softly, her voice low in your ear. (How are you?)

“I’m good. And you?” you replied, pulling back slightly to look up at her. Alexia smiled, echoing your words. “Good.”

You rested your head against her shoulder for a brief moment, her scent and the comfort of her touch bringing back memories.

Then, in a quiet voice, you whispered, “I missed you. Where have you been?” You pulled away enough to look her in the eye, the question hanging between you.

“Let’s talk outside so we don’t wake her,” Alexia suggested gently, nodding toward the sleeping Mia. You nodded in agreement, and with that, she took your hand, her touch warm and steady.

Leading you out of the back room and through the store, you let Carmen know you’d be stepping outside for a moment.

Once outside, the cool air hit your skin, and you felt a little lighter, but the conversation ahead weighed on your mind.

Alexia gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before letting go, and the two of you found a quiet spot to talk, close from the store.

“So... where were you?” you asked, cutting straight to the chase, unable to hold back the question any longer.

Alexia let out a soft sigh, her eyes flickering with a mix of nerves and determination. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said,” she began, her voice quiet but steady.

“After what happened on our date and how you didn’t want Mia around if something like that ever happened again.”

You nodded, recalling the conversation clearly. That night had been chaotic, and the thought of Mia witnessing anything similar made your stomach turn.

“Bueno... sé que puede no parecer mucho para ti, pero realmente quería asegurarme de que esa situación no se repita” Alexia continued, her gaze earnest. (Well... I know it might not seem like much to you, but I really wanted to make sure that situation never repeats itself)

“I didn’t want to risk women getting mad at me in public with Mia around... so, I decided to go and apologize to every single woman I’ve hurt.”

You blinked in shock, her words taking a moment to sink in. “Wait, what?”

“Si” she said, with a nervous chuckle, running a hand through her hair. “It took a while—a month, actually. There were... well, a lot of women. But I made sure to apologize to every single one of them for treating them badly, using them, or hurting them in any way”

You stared at her, your surprise evident. Alexia had always been confident, even a little cocky at times, but this... this was something entirely different. “Wow,” was all you managed to say, the weight of her actions hitting you.

Alexia offered a small smile, clearly relieved by your reaction. “I want to be different. A new version of myself,” she said, her tone soft but determined.

“No more womanizer Alexia, no more jumping from girl to girl. I want to be Alexia who’s focused on only my four girls” She paused, letting her words hang in the air.

You furrowed your brow, unsure who she meant. “Four girls?” you asked, curiosity piqued.

She grinned, her eyes softening. “Si. My mom, my sister, Mia and you.”

At that, your heart melted completely. There was a sincerity in her voice that struck a chord deep within you. “I think I like this new Alexia,” you said, your voice gentle but full of warmth.

Alexia smiled wider, clearly touched by your response. “I like her too,” she said, and you could feel the shift between you, something unspoken yet understood.

Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around her neck, pulling her into a tight embrace. Alexia responded immediately, her arms circling your waist, holding you close.

The hug felt different this time—not just physical closeness, but emotional connection, a promise of something deeper.

After a long moment, she whispered into your ear, “I was worried you’d be mad at me for disappearing.”

You shook your head gently, still nestled against her. “No, I could never be mad at you for taking the time to figure things out. I’m proud of you for doing that,” you said softly, pressing a light kiss near her ear as a small gesture of reassurance.

Alexia pulled back slightly, her hands resting on your hips, but she didn’t let go. “I’ve got to head to training now,” she said reluctantly, her eyes searching yours. “But... would you and Mia come to my match tomorrow?”

“Really?” you asked, excitement bubbling up. You knew how much Mia adored watching Alexia play, and you could already imagine her reaction.

“Yeah,” Alexia said, her grin widening. “Don’t worry about tickets—I’ve got plenty set aside for friends and family. Please come. It’ll be fun.”

“Of course! Mia’s going to be thrilled,” you replied, already imagining Mia’s excitement when you told her. Then, after a brief pause, you added, “Also, after training, would you like to come over for dinner?”

Alexia’s eyes lit up at the invitation. “I’d love to,” she said, her voice warm as her hands squeezed your hips gently, as if to seal the moment. “I’ve missed you both so much. I’d love to spend time with you two again.”

You smiled, your heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks. “We’ve missed you too,” you admitted softly, your voice carrying the weight of the time that had passed.

Alexia smiled back, and for the first time in a while, everything felt right again.

——

“When is Alexia coming?” Mia asked for what felt like the hundredth time tonight, her little voice full of impatience and excitement.

“Soon, baby,” you said, smiling as you gently squeezed her chubby cheeks, making her burst into a fit of giggles.

A few minutes later, there was a soft knock at the door. Mia's eyes lit up as she gasped, “Alexia!” Her excitement was infectious, and you nodded, her joy mirrored in your own smile.

You walked over to the door and opened it to reveal Alexia standing there, her familiar warm smile lighting up the space.

She had Nala cradled in one arm, and in the other, she carried a Barca bag. “Nala!” Mia squealed, holding out her hands towards the dog.

Alexia knelt down and gently set Nala on the floor, and with a wagging tail, the little dog scampered inside, Mia trailing closely behind, laughing as she chased her around the room.

“I think Mia loves Nala more than she loves you,” you teased, laughing as you looked over at Alexia.

Alexia chuckled softly, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I think you’re right,” she agreed, shaking her head playfully.

Stepping inside, Alexia pulled you into a warm hug. Her familiar scent and comforting presence made everything feel just a little brighter.

After the hug, she joined you in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, ready to help with the last bit of dinner prep.

Together, the three of you worked in perfect harmony, Mia perched on a chair stirring something while Alexia handed you ingredients.

The kitchen was filled with soft laughter and the clinking of dishes. By the time dinner was ready, the atmosphere was as warm as the meal itself.

You all sat down at the table, Mia in the middle of you and Alexia, happily chatting as she recounted her day in between bites of food.

The sound of her tiny voice mixed with the hum of evening conversations made the moment feel blissfully perfect.

After dinner, you moved to the living room, where the three of you sprawled out on the floor, playing with Mia’s collection of dolls. Mia giggled as you and Alexia helped the dolls “talk,” her laughter bubbling up every time one of you made a silly voice.

“Hey, Mia, guess what?” you asked her, lowering your voice like you were about to share a big secret. Her wide eyes locked onto yours immediately. “What?” she asked, voice full of curiosity.

You exchanged a knowing glance with Alexia, and a smile crept across both your faces. “Tomorrow, we’re going to see Alexia play at the stadium,” you revealed, your voice filled with excitement.

Mia gasped loudly, her eyes widening even more as she whipped her head toward Alexia. “Really!?”she asked, practically bouncing in place. Alexia nodded with a soft smile.

Without hesitation, Mia flung herself into Alexia’s arms, wrapping her tightly in the biggest hug her little body could muster.

Alexia laughed, her arms wrapping around Mia in return. “I have something for you too,” Alexia said, her voice gentle and playful. “For both of you,” she added, glancing at you with a smile.

She stood up and grabbed the Barca bag she had brought with her, then sat back down next to you, her eyes twinkling. With a flourish, she pulled out a tiny jersey, perfectly sized for Mia, with her name on the back.

Mia’s eyes went as wide as saucers. “A new jersey!” she exclaimed, clutching it like it was the most precious thing in the world.

“Thank you, Ale!” she squealed, and in an instant, she was up and planting a big kiss on Alexia’s cheek. “Look, Mommy! A new jersey!” she said, proudly showing it off.

“I see it, baby,” you said, matching her joy with an exaggerated gasp and a wide smile. “It’s perfect!”

Alexia wasn’t done yet. She reached into the bag again and pulled out another jersey, this one larger, clearly meant for you. You raised your eyebrows, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“And this one’s for you,” Alexia said with a wink. “Since I know I’m your favorite player, of course I had to choose my jersey,” she teased, a playful grin on her face.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Thank you, Alexia,” you said softly, your heart full as you leaned in and kissed her cheek. “It’s perfect.”

Mia, already wearing her jersey over her pajamas, threw her arms around your neck, beaming up at you both. “Now we can all match” she exclaimed, her little face glowing with excitement.

You smiled, kissing her on the cheek. “Yes, we can! We’ll all wear them tomorrow for the game,” you promised, imagining how happy Mia would be to wear her new jersey to the stadium.

Alexia watched the two of you, her gaze soft and filled with warmth as she took in the sight of Mia nestled in your arms, the three of you wrapped in this quiet, loving moment. It was the kind of simple joy that made everything else fade away.

At bedtime, Mia sweetly asked Alexia to read her a bedtime story, and Alexia, with a bright smile, happily agreed without hesitation.

Mia, already tucked under her warm blankets, gently handed Alexia the book she had chosen for the night, her eyes shining with anticipation.

Alexia gratefully accepted the book and thanked her, but before she could begin, Mia looked over at you standing in the doorway. “Mommy, come too,” she said softly, her small voice filled with warmth.

You stepped into the room, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a peaceful light across the room. Sitting down beside them on Mia's bed, you felt her tiny hand reach out for yours.

You held it, the warmth of her fingers a comforting reminder of the moment, as Alexia opened the book and began to read, her voice steady and soothing, bringing the story to life.

Only five minutes into the story, Mia’s eyelids fluttered shut, and she drifted off to sleep, her chest rising and falling gently with each breath.

You quietly stood up, careful not to make a sound that might wake her, and leaned in to plant a soft, tender kiss on her forehead. The warmth of her skin and the calm expression on her face filled you with love and peace.

Alexia, with a soft smile on her face, followed your lead and leaned down to give Mia a gentle kiss as well. Together, you both quietly tiptoed out of the room, leaving Mia peacefully asleep, her dreams already beginning.

Since it was still early, you and Alexia decided to spend more time together by watching a movie. The mood was light and comfortable, with a relaxed air between the two of you.

While you busied yourself making popcorn, you could hear Alexia humming softly as she browsed through the movie options, searching for something just right.

When the popcorn was ready, you walked over and sat down close beside her, the warmth between you instant. She smiled at you, her eyes soft and full of affection. “Ready?” she asked, holding the remote.

“Ready,” you nodded, returning her smile. Nala was lying peacefully on the floor, her breathing slow as she slept through the evening’s calm.

As the movie played, you slowly started to feel tired. Alexia noticed the way your head began to dip slightly, and without saying a word, she shifted closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Come here,” she whispered, gently pulling you into her side.

You leaned into her, letting the weight of the day melt away in her embrace. Her hand found its way to your hair, gently running through it in soft, soothing strokes. “You okay?” she asked quietly, her voice tender.

“Mmm, yeah, just tired,” you murmured, already feeling sleep pulling at you.

“Go ahead, rest. I’ve got you,” she whispered, her hand continuing to caress your hair, lulling you into a deep, peaceful slumber.

You didn’t even notice when you fully drifted off, lost in the comfort of her arms and the warmth of her presence. Time seemed to disappear until you were gently woken by Alexia shifting next to you.

“Hey,” she whispered softly, her hand still in your hair as you blinked yourself awake. “Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you, but it’s getting late and I should go.”

You rubbed your eyes and nodded, sitting up a little. “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” you said with a small, sleepy smile.

Alexia smiled warmly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You looked too peaceful to wake up sooner,” she said with a gentle laugh. She stood up, stretching slightly before you both walked toward the door, Nala following lazily behind.

Once at the door, you opened it for her, the cool night air drifting in. Alexia stepped outside and then turned back toward you, her smile soft and full of warmth. “Thank you for dinner tonight. It was perfect,” she said sincerely.

You stepped closer to her, feeling a soft blush rise in your cheeks. “Thank you for the jersey,” you said with a shy smile. “I can’t wait to wear it tomorrow.”

Alexia’s eyes lit up. “I can’t wait to see you wearing it tomorrow,” she replied, her voice playful but sweet.

She moved closer, her hands gently resting on your hips, and you instinctively wrapped your arms around her shoulders, pulling her even closer.

“Please don’t tease me like you did in the kitchen the other day,” Alexia said, her voice low but teasing, a grin tugging at the corners of her lips.

You laughed softly. “I’m not teasing,” you whispered, before leaning in and kissing her.

The kiss was soft and sweet, but there was a deeper connection between you. It felt natural, almost as if you had been waiting for this moment.

Her arms tightened around your waist, and you melted into her, letting the warmth of the moment surround you. Your lips moved together in sync, the kiss growing more passionate as your tongues met, exploring each other.

Alexia sighed contentedly into the kiss, pulling you even closer as if she never wanted to let go. You could feel her heartbeat against you, and it was as if time had stopped, the world outside disappearing.

But then, Nala’s sudden bark broke the silence, causing you both to laugh into the kiss, reluctantly pulling away from each other. Alexia chuckled softly, resting her forehead against yours. “Finally,” she breathed, her voice a mix of relief and happiness.

You grinned and playfully kissed the tip of her nose. “You really made me work for that,” she teased, her hands gently rubbing your sides. “But it was worth every second.”

You smiled softly, your heart full as she leaned in and kissed you again, this time just a light, sweet peck on your lips.

“Okay, I really need to go now,” Alexia said with a soft sigh, her reluctance clear in her voice. She didn’t want the night to end.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” you asked, your voice soft, not wanting to let her go just yet.

“Of course,” she said, smiling warmly at you. “See you tomorrow, guapa,” she added, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead before stepping back, her eyes lingering on yours.

“Goodnight, Alexia,” you whispered, your heart full as she gave you one last smile before turning and walking away, Nala trotting beside her.

You watched her disappear down the path, closing the door with a happy sigh, feeling like you were floating. The night had been absolutely perfect. Everything—every moment, every word—was just right. You couldn’t wait to see her again tomorrow, already counting the minutes.

——

“Mommy, look, Alexia is coming out of the tunnel!” Mia exclaimed, her voice bubbling with excitement.

All day, Mia had been bouncing with energy, even waking you up at 6 a.m. by jumping on your bed and insisting you get up for the Barca match, even though the match was in the afternoon.

Her enthusiasm was contagious, and you were just as thrilled to see Alexia play live, rather than through a screen.

After your kiss yesterday, you and Alexia had been texting non-stop, sharing flirty messages and exchanging photos. You had sent her a cute picture of you and Mia wearing her jersey to show your support. When Alexia saw the photo, she couldn’t help but smile widely and set it as her lockscreen background.

“Yes, I see her,” you said, nodding as you watched Alexia warming up on the field. She looked stunning—her hair tied back in a ponytail, her powerful legs ready for action, and her intense focus. It was hard not to think she looked incredibly attractive.

Every so often, Alexia would glance towards the stands, searching for you and Mia. When she finally spotted you both, Mia jumped up in her seat, waving her arms excitedly. Alexia’s face lit up with a huge smile as she waved back.

Then Alexia caught sight of you and playfully blew you a kiss. You returned the gesture, and she caught your kiss, pressing it to her heart with a cheeky grin.

The match started, and Barca took control of the game right from the beginning. At one point, Alexia scored a breathtaking goal, and the entire crowd erupted in cheers. Mia was beside herself with excitement, jumping up and down and chanting Alexia’s name.

When the game ended and it was time to leave, you carried Mia through the bustling crowd to make sure she didn’t get lost.

As you made your way down the stairs, you received a message from Alexia telling you to joined her at a certain spot so she’like pick you and Mia up.

You walked to the designated spot, and Mia continued to chatter excitedly about her favorite moments from the game, her eyes sparkling.

Soon, you saw Alexia’s car pulling up. You opened the door, and Mia immediately reached out to Alexia, wrapping her arms around her in a warm embrace.

Alexia hugged Mia tightly and asked, “Did you have a great time at the match?”

Mia’s face lit up as she replied, “Yes! I loved it! It was amaziiiing!” She stretched out the word, her excitement palpable.

“Come on, Mia, climb into the backseat,” you said gently. Mia eagerly obeyed, sliding into the car.

Alexia looked a bit concerned as she apologized, “I’m really sorry I don’t have a car seat. I’ll be very careful, though.”

“It’s okay, Ale,” you reassured her, fastening Mia’s seatbelt with a smile.

Once you were settled in the front seat, Alexia started the car and asked, “And how about you? Did you enjoy the game?”

“Yeah! I loved it! It was amaziiiing!” you said, imitating Mia’s enthusiasm, which made Alexia laugh.

Mia, still full of energy, playfully called out, “Hey! Meanie mommy,” which made you laugh and apologize in a cooing voice.

The car ride was filled with warmth and laughter, a perfect end to an unforgettable day.

——

Arriving at Alexia’s apartment, you and Mia were enveloped in the cozy ambiance of her home. The first thing Mia did was dash over to Nala, who was lounging on her favorite spot.

Mia greeted her with an enthusiastic hug and a flurry of kisses, her excitement palpable. Nala responded with playful wagging of her tail and happy barks, clearly delighted by the attention.

Alexia joined in, her laughter filling the room as she played with Mia and Nala. The three of them engaged in a lively game of fetch, with Mia giggling every time Nala brought the toy back. The joy in the room was infectious, and you found yourself smiling, watching the delightful scene unfold.

Meanwhile, you decided to take a moment for yourself and wandered into the kitchen. You poured a glass of water and savored a few quiet minutes.

The soothing hum of the refrigerator and the occasional clink of the glass were calming. Just as you were about to finish your drink, you felt a familiar and comforting sensation: arms wrapping around your waist from behind.

You smiled, leaning back into the embrace. Alexia’s warmth surrounded you, and you felt an immediate sense of peace. She planted a tender kiss on your forehead, her lips lingering slightly as she embraced you.

Turning in her arms, you looked up into her eyes and reached for her lips. You shared a soft, lingering kiss, the world outside seeming to fade away as you lost yourselves in the intimacy of the moment.

“Did you catch that amazing goal I scored today?” Alexia asked, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

“I did,” you replied, your smile widening. “It was incredible!”

Alexia’s cheeks flushed with pleasure. “Good,” she said with a mischievous grin. “I scored it just for you.”

You teased her playfully, “Do you use that line on every women you want in your bed?”

Alexia’s smile softened, and she shook her head gently. “Only one,” she said, her voice tender. She then rubbed her nose against yours before pressing her lips to yours in a sweet kiss.

As the kiss deepened, Alexia hummed softly and whispered against your lips, “You look so stunning in my jersey. But I bet you’d look even more amazing without it.” Her voice was filled with warmth and affection, making your heart race with excitement.

You laughed, enjoying the playful exchange. “Maybe one day you’ll get to see,” you said, your tone light and teasing.

Alexia’s arms tightened around you, and she beamed with satisfaction. “Can you believe you went from ‘in your dreams’ to ‘maybe’?” she said triumphantly, her eyes dancing with joy.

You laughed and leaned in for another kiss, this one more passionate, as the joy of the moment enveloped you both. The kiss was filled with the depth of your feelings, and you both savored the connection.

Just then, a small voice broke through with an emphatic “Ewwww!” You pulled away abruptly, eyes wide with surprise, and turned to see Mia standing there with a mix of curiosity and concern.

“Mommy, why are you kissing Alexia?” Mia asked, her brows furrowed. You glanced at Alexia for guidance, but she looked just as taken aback.

“You can’t kiss her! She has a girlfriend,” Mia declared, her little face serious. You were amazed at how much she remembered and understood.

“Um… I…” you began, struggling to find the right words.

Sensing the need for clarity, Alexia walked over to Mia and gently knelt in front of her, her eyes filled with sincerity. She gestured for you to join them, which you did, feeling a mix of anxiety and affection.

“Mia, sweetheart,” Alexia began softly, her voice tender and earnest, “I kissed your mommy because I really, really like her. I care about her a lot, and that’s why I kissed her.”

Mia looked at Alexia, her confusion slowly giving way to understanding. “But what about the girl at the store? You were holding hands with her?” Mia asked, her little face full of questions.

You interrupted . “um…that girl was just a friend of Alexia, honey. Sometimes friends hold hands too, just like you might hold hands with your friends.”

Mia seemed to accept this explanation, her face lighting up with a new understanding. “Oh,” she said, her tone softer. “But are you in love with my mommy? Is that why you kissed her?”

Before you could respond, Alexia took a deep breath and looked at Mia with heartfelt sincerity. “Yes, Mia, I am in love with your mommy. Very, very much,” she said, her voice filled with emotion.

“I hope that’s okay with you because it means I’ll be spending a lot of time with you too, if your mommy wants that.”

You looked at Alexia with surprise and admiration, deeply touched by her openness and the depth of her feelings.

Mia’s face lit up with joy, and she threw her arms around both you and Alexia in a warm, enthusiastic hug. “Yes, you can be in love with my mommy! I want to spend all my time with you and Nala! You’re my bestest friends!” she exclaimed, her happiness evident. She then ran back to Nala, eager to continue their playtime.

As you and Alexia stood up, you looked at her with a mixture of wonder and love. “So, you’re really in love with me?” you asked, your voice trembling with emotion.

“I am, more than I ever thought possible,” Alexia said, her eyes shimmering with sincerity. “I finally figured out what was that feeling in my stomach… You make me so incredibly happy. When I’m with you, nothing else seems to matter.”

Feeling overwhelmed by your emotions, you kissed her deeply, the connection between you both palpable. The kiss was a reflection of your deep feelings, filled with passion and tenderness.

“I’m in love with you too,” you whispered against her lips, your voice filled with heartfelt truth. Alexia’s eyes brightened with joy as she picked you up and spun you around in a joyful embrace.

“Is it official? Are we together?” she asked, her voice filled with hopeful anticipation.

“Yes, we are,” you replied with a beaming smile. You covered her face with affectionate kisses, and she laughed, her joy radiating from her.

“I’m happier than I’ve ever been,” Alexia said, her voice glowing with happiness as she held you close. The world around you felt perfectly right, enveloped in the warmth and love you shared.

——

“Hola, guapa!” Alexia greeted with a bright smile as she entered the shop, leaning in for a quick but tender kiss.

“Hola, Carmen!” she added, turning to Carmen with a warm hug. Carmen reciprocated the hug with equal affection, clearly delighted by the visit.

You and Alexia have been together for six months, and these months have been the most fulfilling of your life. Alexia has been the perfect partner, balancing her caring nature with her playful teasing and occasional cheeky jokes. Despite her antics, you wouldn’t change a thing about her.

“I’m heading to training, but I just had to drop by to see your gorgeous face and hear your lovely voice,” Alexia said, her tone flirtatious and full of affection.

“You’re really inflating my ego today,” you laughed, enjoying the compliment.

Alexia’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “Do you want to go on a date tonight? Alba can come by your apartment to look after Mia. I’ve already asked her, and she’s more than happy to,” she proposed.

In the past six months, you’ve had the pleasure of meeting Alba and Eli, Alexia’s mom, both of whom have been incredibly warm and welcoming towards you.

They were also quite surprised, because you were apparently first woman Alexia had ever brought home to meet them.

“I’d love that,” you replied, a smile spreading across your face. You leaned over the counter, and Alexia promptly met you with a sweet kiss.

“See you tonight, mi amor,” Alexia said as she pulled away, giving you a flirtatious wink before heading out the door.

Carmen looked at you with a knowing smile. “Looks like someone’s in for a special night,” she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Please, don’t ” you replied, trying to maintain your composure as you got back to work.

That evening, Alexia picked you up and took you to a charming restaurant that you had been wanting to try.

As you arrived, she held the door open for you with a courteous smile, and you both were shown to a cozy table by a window with a view of the city lights.

“I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” Alexia said as you sat down, her eyes shining with excitement. She reached across the table, taking your hand in hers.

“So have I,” you replied, squeezing her hand gently. “It’s been such a perfect day already.”

Alexia’s smile widened as she perused the menu. “What are you in the mood for tonight? I’m thinking we should share some tapas and then maybe have that dessert we’ve been eyeing.”

“That sounds wonderful,” you agreed. “I’m craving the croquetas and the patatas bravas.”

As you waited for your food, you both talked about everything from the latest football news to funny anecdotes from your week.

Alexia updated you on her training sessions and some of the amusing moments from practice, her laughter filling the air and making you smile.

“So, I scored this amazing goal today,” Alexia said with a proud grin. “You should’ve seen the way the ball curved into the top corner. I’m still buzzing from it.”

“You were incredible,” you said, your eyes sparkling with admiration. “I was watching on the live stream, and I had to rewind it a couple of times to make sure I wasn’t imagining it!”

As the evening continued, the food arrived, and you both enjoyed sharing plates of delicious tapas. The conversation flowed effortlessly, filled with laughter and light-hearted teasing.

When dessert came, you both indulged in a decadent chocolate mousse, feeding each other bites and exchanging playful banter.

By the time the check arrived, you both felt completely content. Alexia walked you to the car, her hand intertwined with yours. As she drove, she glanced over at you with a soft smile.

“I’ve had such a great time tonight,” she said, her voice filled with warmth. “Being with you always feels like a perfect escape from everything else.”

“Me too,” you replied, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “Every moment with you is just… right.”

Alexia parked the car back at your place, and as you both walked to your door, you turned to her with a tender expression.

“You’re staying the night, right?” you asked, your voice filled with a mix of eagerness and affection.

“Of course,” Alexia responded with a playful grin, leaning in to give you a soft, lingering kiss. She then gave you a light pat on the butt, making you both laugh softly.

Once inside your apartment, you moved quietly to avoid disturbing Mia, who was soundly asleep in her room. You thanked Alba for taking care of her, chatting briefly about the night’s events and exchanging warm goodbyes before she left.

After changing into more relaxed attire, you and Alexia headed to the bedroom. The room was softly lit, casting a warm glow over everything.

You and Alexia were making out in your bed and as Alexia’s kisses grew more insistent and heated, the atmosphere between you became electric. You felt a surge of confidence and gently pulled away, your heart racing.

You removed your shirt slowly, letting it fall to the floor, and then slipped off your shorts, leaving yourself completely naked. Straddling Alexia, you could feel her eyes on you, her admiration evident in the way she looked at you.

“Dame un pellizco.”Alexia said suddenly, her voice tinged with disbelief. Her eyes were fixed on your chest, not meeting yours. “I need to make sure this isn’t a dream.” (Pinch me)

You raised an eyebrow, both amused and touched. “What?”

“You always said this would only happen in my dreams,” she explained, her gaze still locked on your chest. “I need to be sure it’s real.”

You chuckled softly, guiding her hands to your breasts. “Does this feel real enough?” you asked, and she responded by gently squeezing, causing you to let out a soft moan.

“So real,” she murmured, her voice filled with awe. With a loving smile, she wrapped an arm around your waist and shifted your position so that you were lying on your back, with her on top of you. Her kisses traveled from your neck to your collarbone, each touch tender and full of longing.

“I can’t wait to finally have you,” she whispered against your skin, her lips moving to your chest. Her kisses were warm and tender, sending shivers of pleasure through you.

You moaned softly, lost in the sensation of her touch.

After finishing, you both lay there, panting and completely naked. You rested on top of Alexia, savoring the moment as her fingers traced soft, calming patterns on your back.

“How was it?” she asked softly, her voice a mixture of curiosity and satisfaction.

You lifted your head from her chest, meeting her gaze. With a tender smile, you kissed her lips gently. “Incredible,” you whispered, placing another light kiss on her lips.

“I did it,” Alexia said with a playful grin, her eyes twinkling with triumph. “I told you I’d never give up. I promised you that one day you’d be naked in my bed,” she said, smirking proudly.

You arched an eyebrow, a mischievous smile on your face. “Well, technically, you haven’t fully achieved that yet, since this is my bed,” you teased.

Alexia chuckled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “It’s only a matter of time before we’re doing this in my bed,” she said, her grin widening. “And on my kitchen table, the counter, in my bathroom… I’ll make sure we make love in every room and piece of furniture in my apartment” she added with a sultry smirk.

“Hmmm, that sounds like quite the adventure,” you replied with a playful tone. “But for now, let’s head to the shower and get dressed. I have a feeling tomorrow morning will involve a tiny person bouncing on us,” you said, getting up and stretching.

Alexia groaned but grinned as she started to get up. “You’re probably right,” she said, her voice a mix of amusement and resignation.

As you both moved toward the shower, the warmth and intimacy of the evening lingered, promising more moments of closeness and affection to come.

——

The next morning, you awoke to the gentle sensation of a hand softly caressing your cheek.

“Hola,” Alexia whispered tenderly, and you instinctively moved closer, savoring her warmth. “Hola,” you murmured back, leaning in for a quick, loving peck on her lips.

“Mmm, I could really get used to waking up next to you every day,” she said softly, closing her eyes as a contented sigh escaped her lips. You traced your fingers through her hair, feeling a deep sense of peace.

“Me too,” you agreed, your heart swelling with happiness. Alexia then wrapped her arms around you, pulling you on top of her. Her gaze was filled with tenderness as she said, “Te amo.”

The words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you were speechless. It was the first time Alexia had ever said those words to you.

After a few seconds of letting the moment sink in, you responded with equal fervor, “I love you too, so much.” You kissed her deeply, the passion of the moment outweighing any thoughts of morning breath.

As you pulled away, Alexia’s eyes sparkled with affection. “Ay! By the way, I was thinking, you never finished that story you started at the store and then at the date. I’m dying to know how it ended!” she said with a playful pout. You chuckled at her eagerness.

“Oh, right! So what happened next is that Mia and I…” you began, but before you could finish, the bedroom door swung open with a burst of excitement. Alexia groaned in mock frustration, clearly disappointed at the interruption.

“Mommy! Ale!” Mia exclaimed, her tiny feet pattering as she clambered onto the bed with your help.

“Good morning, my little sunshine,” you greeted, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

“Morning, nena,” Alexia said warmly, planting a kiss on Mia’s cheek as well. Mia giggled, clearly delighted by the affection.

“I’m hungry!” Mia declared, patting her stomach with a dramatic flourish.

“Ooh, the little monster is hungry!” Alexia said with a grin, sitting up and playfully nudging Mia. You slid off her, and Alexia began to tickle Mia, who erupted in infectious laughter.

As you watched the two of them, a deep sense of contentment enveloped you. Here you were, in Barcelona, living a life filled with love and joy.

You felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude and fulfillment, knowing that you had finally found the happy ending you’d always dreamed of… even if it was with a former womanizer.

FIN.

[alotofpockets]

The Tooney and Russo Show | Alessia Russo x Williamson!Reader, Leah Williamson x Sister!Reader & Ella Toone x Platonic!Reader

Where you take over hosting The Tooney & Russo show when Vick is sick.

Woso masterlist | Words: 1.2k

-----

“Tooney, you’ve made it!” Alessia stood up and hugged her best friend. You were meeting Ella for breakfast before heading to the studio to film their last podcast episode for the season. “How was the trip?” You asked after you gave her a hug as well.

Ella sat down with a sigh, “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, the tube is not my friend.” You shared a knowing look with your girlfriend before you both chuckled, Ella and tubes didn’t go together, and she would complain about them every single time. Alessia and Vick had offered to get a studio in Manchester and make the trip over, but Ella insisted that it was more practical if only one person would have to travel. Yet, she often brought her boyfriend with her, so the one person only rule rarely applied. Either way, it was always great when Ella was in town.

“Is Leah not here yet?” You shake your head, “You know my sister, always a busy schedule.” The two Lionesses nodded in agreement, “She said she’d join us when her meeting was done though.”

Just when your food was delivered to the table, Leah made her way through the door. “Sorry I’m late.” You all greet her with a hug and wave off her apologies. The four of you were having a great time chatting over breakfast, when both Alessia’s and Ella’s phones buzzed at the same time. It was a message from Vick, letting them know that she’s sick to the point where she has lost her voice, so she won’t be able to make it to the shoot.

While Alessia and Ella started discussing their options, you were thinking. “I can host it.” Three pairs of eyes met you in question. “Come on, it will be fun! I know all of you, and the fans know me as well.” It didn’t take much to convince them of your idea.

“Hello and welcome to this very special episode of The Tooney and Russo Show with me not Vick Hope.” Alessia and Ella cheered excitedly and Alessia announced “It’s the season finale!” 

“As you can hear and see, I am not Vick. Sadly Vick had to miss out because she’s sick, but I am here to step in. My name is Y/n Williamson, and yes the last name should tell you all you need to know. Speaking of Williamson’s, I am not the only one of them here today. My sister, Captain of the Lionesses, Leah Williamson is our guest for this episode.”

The four of you chat for a bit about the relationship with Leah on and off the pitch. It was an easy environment and it felt like it was just a chat between friends, which of course really it was. 

“Oh and before any of you start saying Tooney is the third wheel because Y/n is my girlfriend and Leah’s sister.” She looked between the two of you with a chuckle, “Let me tell you that those two are like the same person.”

“They really are.” Leah chimes in. “Sometimes when I see Y/n with Ella and Alessia, I think she might be dating Ella instead.” 

“In another life.” You joke, getting a laugh out of the Lionesses trio. “Yeah, we are pretty similar. We have the same sense of humour, and have a lot of the same opinions on things. When Less started dating her, I was afraid that maybe my bond with Less would be affected, but I think Y/n made us even closer.”

“Yeah, sometimes I even feel like the third wheel with them.” Alessia laughs. “But you love it.” Ella says in defence. “Yeah I do, I’m glad the two of you get along so well.”

“At this point, I think we annoy Leah and Alessia equally.” You say proudly, and Ella agrees with you. ”You two are a nightmare when you team up against us.” Leah says teasingly. “But we love you.” Alessia follows up quickly.

When everyone was done laughing you moved onto the next topic. You asked about them winning the Euros and how football changed in England after, and how Alessia’s move from United to Arsenal was through the perspective of her former and new club teammate.

“I actually had a question for you, Y/n.” Ella put out into the group. “What’s it like having the England captain, the woman that is the face of English football, as your sister?”

“That is an interesting question actually. I admire her for everything she has done and is doing, and I am so proud of her and to be her sister, but at home she’s just my sister. We still argue about who gets the last ham sandwich, and who took the last cookie from the jar.” You joke.”

“Oh yeah,” Alessia hooks on, “The love for ham sandwiches runs in the family, it’s not just Leah.”

“I’ve got another question!” Ella perks up. You chuckle, “If you wanted to host, you could’ve just said so.” She sends you a challenging look, before biting back. “Wouldn’t have to if you did your job right.” You chuckle, “Okay fine, you win this one. What’s your question?”

“Well, I know the story, but I’ve seen some comments from fans wanting to hear how Less and Y/n got together, with Leah being Less her captain and all.” You glance at Alessia, letting her speak for the both of you.

“Oh that is an interesting one. Many people think Leah wouldn’t have liked us getting together, but she actually told me to ask Y/n out.” Leah nodded, “Yeah, they kept looking at each other with heart eyes, and I couldn’t take their pining any longer. Every time I was trying to eat my ham sandwich in peace, they would just be all gross.”

You raised your shoulders, “Even I was shocked when Less told me that Leah approved. Now it makes sense though. Leah has always protected me and Jacob, and wants us to be happy. She knows Less and knew that she would treat me right.”

“Alright alright, we get it love birds, don’t ruin my appetite for lunch with your sappiness.” Leah jokes. “Speaking of lunch, I think we’re about ready to go have some. Thank you everyone who has stuck with the Tooney and Russo Show all season, personally I cannot wait for them to start on another season. As always, send in your questions and it could be featured in one of the next episodes!”

As you finished your sentence, the three girls waved to the camera and said bye. The cameras and microphones got turned off, and that concluded the first season of the podcast. “That was so fun!” Leah agreed, “Yeah, thank you so much for letting me be a part of this.”

After the four finished lunch, you went your separate ways again. You and Alessia made your way home, her hand in yours as you strolled the streets. “You were a natural, darling.” You smiled, “Yeah? It was a lot of fun, thank you for allowing me to join you.”

“Mhm! Vick might fear for her job when she sees the episode.” Your girlfriend jokes with a little nudge to your shoulder. “Hmm, as much as I loved hosting, Vick is a much better host. Plus that way I can just sit behind the scenes and look at you with heart eyes all episode.

-----

💗 If you enjoyed this fic, please consider liking, commenting, and reblogging! You can also supporting me by leaving a tip 💗

[stupidlittlespirit]

Rating: NSFW (kissing) Type: Long form, Stanford Pines x Reader Tags: Enemies to lovers, Academic rivals to lovers, arguing that turns into making out, bullying, no pronouns used, minor injuries, making up, injury care, art student!Reader Word count: 19,567 (yikes!) My other works: here on tumblr and here on Ao3!

You're forced to work with Ford, your sworn rival, for a college project. Things quickly get out of control.

@sleeplessdreamer14 asked for this so I hope it's okay dude!

Right in the centre of the list, glaring up at you in black and white, reads the worst thing you could possibly imagine: your name and directly across from it, Stanford fucking Pines’, joined together by a backslash and grouped snugly under the heading ‘MID TERM, PARTNERSHIP PROJECT.’

Your heart feels like it might be ejected through your mouth. You re-read the list, and then re-re-read it again, but the text doesn’t miraculously change. It still states the unholy student matrimony between you and the biggest asshole in Backupsmore.

Oh no no no no no.

There is never, and will never, be anything wrong with a little bit of friendly competition.

Competition drives innovation, innovation drives achievement and achievement drives happiness. A harmless rivalry can benefit just about anybody, provided it stays as just that: harmless.

Whatever you have going on with Stanford Pines, however, is decidedly not that.

Naturally it's all his fault, of course.

You've shared a space with the man for only a couple of months now, since the beginning of the second college semester of Backupsmore, and you're absolutely positive that you've never met such a stuck up asshole in all your life.

Pines had joined your Fine Art class late. Significantly so, in fact. The course had already been halfway through its first year when he had darkened the doorstep of Studio 1B with his stupid tweed jackets and his fluffy hair, and even at the time you can recall how taken aback you'd been when Professor Stonepoor had announced his joining.

Stonepoor, a surly old chap with bright silver hair and a penchant for chain smoking indoors (one which you’re not sure you can begrudge him, honestly, because if you had to work in a place like Backupsmore, you’re sure cigarettes would be the mildest form of distraction at your disposal), had announced Pines’ unorthodox arrival to the studio one wet September afternoon.

Before any of you had had the chance to take your usual seats for the afternoon, Professor Stonepoor had clapped his hands together from behind his cheap desk and caught everyone’s attention the moment you had all filed inside. Standing at his side, Stanford had shifted uncomfortably from one loafered foot to the other under the abrupt attention of the room.

“Kids,” Stonepoor had said, in his bored, trademark voice akin to gravel being dragged across concrete. “This is Stanford Pines. I trust you’re familiar, yes?”

And of course, the entire class had nodded their affirmation, yourself included.

Barely six months into the year and Pines had already left quite the impression upon his fellow student body, a far less complimentary achievement than it might sound. Stanford had garnered a reputation of sorts, almost from his first day of term, and unlike most other rumours that run alongside young men of fraternity age, Stanford had become known for being the exact opposite of the trope: Extremely intelligent and extraordinarily lame.

Stanford Pines was, as the kids say these days, a Square. As strait-laced as they came: He never attended parties, not even when he managed to garner pity invites from some of the nicer students on campus.

He didn't take drugs, he didn’t skip classes, and he didn't drink. All Pines ever did was flex his abnormally large brain on every other student at the school. Everyone on campus knew Stanford Pines was a genius, but no one knew it more than Pines himself. Belligerently and exceptionally intelligent, and utterly obnoxious about it, Stanford never cared to let others forget it.

Professor Stonepoor had nodded at the collective hum of acknowledgement from the other students and gestured vaguely to Stanford. “Well, fortunately for you lucky people, Mr Pines will be joining the class for the remainder of the term.”

With little care for the rudeness of the action, you’d scoffed aloud and questioned exactly why a student with no artistic inclination would join a fucking fine art class halfway through term. Everybody knew Pines was a die-hard scientist wannabe, what on earth would he be doing here?

You can still recall how Stanford had frowned down his aquiline nose at your comment, despite the disinterested air he’d displayed suggesting he felt similarly.

You’d scowled right back and held defiant eye contact with him for as long as he dared.

Mr Stonepoor had rolled his eyes and replied, very simply: “Ford has…. Run out of classes to take.”

“What?” You’d laughed, disbelieving and mildly confused.

“He’s completed significantly more of his major ahead of schedule and the dean thought it might be good for him to, and I quote, ‘soak up as much education as possible’ during his time with us.”

Which was, of course, utter bullshit. The dean had probably panicked about not receiving a full year’s worth of tuition and tried to drag out his stay in this desperately underfunded shit hole for as long as possible.

You hadn’t offered more than a sceptical arch of your brow and Mr Stonepoor had met you with a disinterested shrug before simply ushering Pines towards the free desks.

At first, you'd tried to play nice despite your initial annoyance at being disturbed. Perhaps Pines would be willing to take a back seat in a class that wasn't his forte? You'd approached him as he'd stood awkwardly by an empty desk on the far left of the room, a hand outstretched in a stiff welcome and your name on the tip of your tongue.

Stanford had regarded your hand like it was covered in bees, his big, brown eyes flicking from your fingertips to your eyes, before turning away to rifle through his briefcase (and honestly, who carried a briefcase in college?) as though you'd never even said a word. “A pleasure, I’m sure.”

In spite of his lack of manners, you can recall how surprised you’d been at the sound of his voice. You’d never crossed paths with him before and certainly never held a conversation with him, and it had come as a mild shock that such a voice belonged to somebody so….

Well, somebody so like him.

You’d expected a nasally tone, something more fitting of such a nerdy exterior, but instead Stanford sounded…. Strong. So completely at odds with his unimpressive stature and awkward aura, that for half a second you had been too surprised to respond.

And then his snarky address had caught up with you and you’d found your tongue well enough.

Teeth gritted, you'd applied your best faux smile and steamrolled over his rudeness. “You know, you'll need to catch up on last semester's work. I'm the highest ranking student in this class, I'd be happy to show you some of my-!”

“No need,” Pines had dismissed you without looking up. “I completed it last night. Professor Stonepoor has my folder.”

You'd laughed, until it had become clear that he wasn't actually attempting a bad joke. “You…. Are you telling me you completed an entire semester's worth of work over the summer?”

It had been Stanford's turn to laugh then and finally he'd faced you. “Oh, no,” He’d scoffed. “I did it in two weeks.”

“Sorry, you what?”

“No need to apologise,” Stanford had said before giving you the kind of smirk that screamed just how much he knew his words were intended to provoke.

Your teeth had been ground further down.

“The dean asked me to join the class a few days after we returned for term and well, as much as I consider it a waste of my time, he said it might benefit me, so I figured why not.” Stanford had shrugged.

“‘A waste of your time’?” You'd frowned.

“Of course,” Stanford scoffed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I mean, who pays thousands of dollars to study something as menial as art? College should be used for education, not for daydreaming and doodling.”

It had taken every ounce of decorum you owned not to punch his lights out, and from there, things had only gotten worse.

The next time you'd attended class, motivated to simply ignore Pines (and maybe to show off your extensive knowledge of your chosen subject to him to ensure he knew who he was sharing the floor with), you'd made a beeline for your usual desk only to find the object of your ire already sitting in it.

The seat by the East window of the studio was yours. Nobody else’s. You’d had a claim over it for the better part of the school year and nobody in class had attempted to challenge it. Not until Pines’ arrival, anyway.

At your insistence that he find somewhere else, Stanford has brushed you off yet again: “Your name isn’t on it. Can’t you take the one in front?”

Somewhere behind you, a classmate had hissed through clenched teeth and another had choked on a poorly stifled laugh; your exchange with one another was apparently entertaining enough to warrant a minor audience.

“No,” you’d snipped. “The light here is best, that’s why I sit in this one.”

Pines had hummed thoughtfully before finally meeting your eyes. “Well, now I’m definitely not giving it up.”

And so, he had commandeered your own seat from you in front of the entire fucking class.

But he hadn’t stopped there, oh no.

Your top student status had been more or less demolished in the space of a week.

You’ve always prided yourself on your work, on being number one amongst your classmates. You work hard and it has always paid off, as evidenced by your grades and your standing. Except, Stanford had practically appeared out of thin air and blown you out of the water immediately.

He raised his hand faster, he was quicker with his answers, more precise with his art history timelines and to make matters even more utterly miserable: he’d turned out to be an exceptionally talented artist.

His work was near-photorealistic in its detail, his anatomy was excellent and he’d picked up his colour theory in less than two classes on the subject. A significant improvement on the time it had taken you.

Stanford Pines absolutely dominated the classroom. Your classroom.

Your passion, your talent, your achievement. All of it had been bulldozed by the guy.

Of course, never having been one for going down without a fight, you had bitten back hard: pulling all nighters and skipping parties to ensure you’d still topped the charts in your scores. You’d even beaten him a couple of times, and the tangible frustration you’d felt from him had been enough to encourage you to keep at it.

That’s how the entire thing had started: You and Stanford Pines vying for top dog status of Studio 1B, horns locked and grievances held, no matter the day, no matter the project, no matter the reason. You absolutely had to beat him.

Today has been no different.

Class is coming to a close for the evening and you've spent most of it battling with Stanford, as per usual, over answers. The two of you have been going back and forth together for the better part of forty minutes before Mr Stonepoor manages to cut in whilst Stanford is taking a breath.

“While I appreciate your passion for Winckelmann, Mr Pines,” Stonepoor says, with little enthusiasm to match his words. “We really ought to be finishing up. I need to discuss the upcoming projects with all of you.”

Stanford's mouth shuts with an audible click! and you shoot him a smug look, pleased to have gotten the final word in class.

Stanford rolls his eyes.

“As you all know, in the next week you’ll be beginning work on your mid-term projects. Alongside your mini-exhibition, you’ll be expected to complete a short presentation on your chosen topic and explain the sense of meaning behind your themes.” Professor Stonepoor continues, oblivious to your exchange. “Except, this time things will be a little different.”

Stonepoor’s words are enough to get you to halt in your gloating and pay abrupt attention again.

“This won’t be a solo project, as the others have been. This time, you’ll be partnered up and expected to work together with a classmate to show how well you can collaborate with your peers.” Professor Stonepoor takes a seat in his creaky chair and procures a lighter from the top pocket of his suit jacket. He’s clearly preparing to deal with the stress that will inevitably come his way.

You raise your hand. “Will we get to pick our partners, Professor?” You ask, cautiously hopeful. You’ve only a few friends in Backupsmore: Jennifer, who you sit beside currently, and Melissa, who attends opposing classes to you but who technically counts as a peer. If you’re going to have to work with anybody, it’ll be them.

Stonepoor lights his cigarette and fixes you with a look that makes something cold settle in your stomach. “No,” he says simply, and the amusement in his voice fills you with uncomfortable concern.

Before anybody can question him, the shrill sound of the bell rings out and the rest of the students dutifully begin to pack their things away. As much as you’d like to question Stonepoor further, for now you’ll have to hope he does himself a favour and sticks you with somebody you’ll get along with.

It’s not like he’d partner you up with Pines of all people anyway. It’s unlikely he’ll want to cause himself more stress, right?

Right?

You’re lounging on the Quad later that evening, killing time with a couple of classmates and sheltering from the bright sun under the shade of an ancient oak tree, when the topic comes up again.

Thumbing through the battered copy of Pride and Prejudice on your lap, you listen to your friends complain back and forth about the strife in their lives until their annoyances invoke you directly.

“I can’t take another day of you two arguing like that, y’know,” says Jennifer, your fellow artist in 1B.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you mutter, picking at the corner of the novel and only barely paying attention.

“You and Stanford Pines,” she clarifies, and you can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “You’re driving everybody nuts.”

“It’s his fault,” You shrug one shoulder. “If he wasn’t such an asshole about, like, everything, I wouldn’t-”

“Be such an asshole back?” Jennifer finishes. “God, why don’t you two just fuck it out already?”

Her comment is enough to get you to snap your head up, attention on your novel shattered instantly. “What’s that supposed to mean?!” You exclaim, almost choking on your tongue.

“Oh, come on,” Melissa snorts. “There’s enough tension between you two to kill the Professor ten times over.”

“And the rest of us,” Jennifer adds, high fiving the other girl. “Poor Stonepoor always looks on the verge of a breakdown when you guys start fighting.”

Melissa laughs. “Yeah, and besides, everybody’s noticed it. You’d win me ten bucks if you jumped his bones.”

“What do you- Are you taking bets on my non-existent sexual chemistry?!” You ask, appalled. “You’re not even in the same class as us, you’ve got no idea about my…. Thing, with Pines.”

Perhaps that isn’t the most ideal choice of words, but still.

As though she can read your mind, Melissa shoots Jennifer an amused look.

You scoff, shaking your head vehemently. “You’re wrong. I can’t stand him and he definitely can’t stand me. I’d rather puke in my hands and clap than touch that guy.”

There’s absolutely no way you’d consider anything of the sort with Stanford Pines. Sure, objectively he isn’t too bad to look at: He’s tall and broad shouldered, with a stocky form in spite of his lack of sporting ability, and he’s got a nice enough face, but he’s nothing special. Puppy dog eyes and strong features are ten a penny, aren’t they?

“Anyway, I think he’s kind of cute,” Melissa says, bumping shoulders with you. “Y’know, in a loser type of way.”

“Yeah, well, that’s why you’re dating Jamie,” you grumble under your breath. The less said about her blockheaded jock boyfriend, the better…. “You like losers a little too much.”

Melissa opens her mouth to defend her pet idiot, but she’s cut off by someone shouting your name.

You glance up just as someone skids to a halt in front of your group, their trainers sliding on the poorly maintained lawn. You can vaguely recognise him as a kid from the studio…. Danny? You think. Darryl? “Oh, hey, uh….”

“Damian,” says Damian, looking a little annoyed. “We’re in Studio 1B together. Have been for a while now.”

“Right….” You give him an apologetic smile. “What’s up?”

Damian pauses, like he hadn’t expected to actually have to voice his reason for catching your attention. He looks uncomfortable and it sets your teeth on edge.

“Is everything okay?” You ask, shifting to stand up. “Has something hap-”

“Have you, uh….” He clears throat stiffly. “Have you seen the partner listing for the mid-term project yet?”

You frown. “No, I didn’t even know it was up.”

Damian flinches again and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. It went up like twenty minutes ago….You might wanna take a look. Figured you’d want to know..”

You’re not sure you’ve ever moved so fast in your life. Without more than a thanks to Damian, you toss your paperback into your bag and leap to your feet, barely hearing the annoyed shout of your friends as you scramble past them to head straight for the arts building. You take the stairs two at a time, weaving between crowds of other students, your heart beating so hard you think it might burst right through your shirt.

Why would Damian bother to alert you? You’re fairly certain you’ve only ever exchanged niceties with the guy over the paintbrush station, he’d have no reason to bother you about something like this unprovoked. Not unless….

“You’re driving everybody nuts….”

As you round the landing of the stairs, you spot the old stained door that leads to Studio 1B, along with the bulletin board that’s positioned right at its side. There's a small gathering of students around it, all talking amongst themselves, and you slip right through them to get up close to the A4 pieces of paper that's tacked to the cork surface.

Your eyes scan it, desperately searching for confirmation that you're overreacting and that Damian is probably just being helpful, right? Not forewarning of an incoming storm like you fear he might be, until….

Oh.

Oh, no.

Right in the centre of the list, glaring up at you in black and white, reads the worst thing you could possibly imagine: your name, and directly across from it, Stanford fucking Pines’. Joined together by a backslash and grouped snugly under the heading ‘MID TERM, PARTNERSHIP PROJECT.’

Your heart feels like it might be ejected through your mouth. You re-read the list, and then re-re-read it again, but the text doesn’t miraculously change. It still states the unholy student matrimony between you and the biggest asshole in Backupsmore.

Oh no no no no no.

You can feel the eyes of other students of 1B burning into your back. Clearly your predicament is common knowledge already. You feel a warmth burn on the base of your neck and very carefully, you avoid meeting their gaze.

Perhaps there's still time to talk your professor out of it. It's not even 5PM yet, he'll still be knocking about in the classroom for a while and if you’re quick, it might be your best and only opportunity to talk him into reconsidering. Surely he'll be easily convinced to change his mind? It's not a secret that he's more than a little fed up with your bickering; you're certain that the only reason he allows you and Stanford to go back and forth so often is because it means he can put less effort into teaching the rest of the class. He practically owes you both one!

Ditching the throng of students, you press your ear to the door of the studio. It sounds like somebody is already talking to Stonepoor , but whoever it is will have to wait. Right now, you're on a mission to ensure your sanity stays intact.

You hammer a quick series of knocks on the door before wrenching it open and ducking inside without even bothering to wait for a welcome, your protests already loaded in your mouth: “Professor Stonepoor , there's some kind of mistake on the-!”

Your words die a quick death on your tongue when you realise who it is that's currently talking to him.

Stanford Pines looks over at you from where he's standing, arms crossed and brows furrowed, in front of your teacher's desk, evidently as equally as annoyed as you are. He's wearing a blue button down shirt and brown corduroy pants, and his hair looks messier than usual, like he's been running his hands through it in distress.

You know how he feels.

Stonepoor leans sideways slightly in his chair, another cigarette in his mouth (he really must be stressed), and peers around Stanford's broad form at you. He doesn't seem very pleased to have you here.

“A mistake?” Asks Stonepoor, tiredly.

“Yes,” you say assuredly, ignoring the way Stanford watches you approach. “On the partner list. You put me and…. Him,” you struggle to keep the disdain from your voice and Stanford scoffs. “Together.”

Stonepoor laughs and for once he sounds genuinely amused. “No mistake there. You'll both be working together on this project.”

Instead of vomiting your heart, it drops out through your ass and a cold dread settles in its place. “What?!”

“Precisely my sentiment,” says Stanford, nodding. “Why on Earth are we being paired up? I could do far better work alone, I don't need someone dragging me along-”

“‘Dragging you along’?!” You snap, scowling over at him. “I'm perfectly competent, thank you. I don't even see why we'd need to work together out of everyone else in the class! If Stanford wants to work alone, why can't he-”

“Because this is a paired assignment,” says Professor Stonepoor slowly, like he's talking to an idiot. “And you two are top of the class. I'd like to see what you can come up with when you put your heads together willingly, instead of butting them back and forth.”

Stanford huffs, petulant. “But I-”

“But nothing, Mr Pines,” Stonepoor sighs, exhaling a long cloud of smoke and sitting back in his chair. “You're an excellent student, Stanford, truly-”

Stanford puffs out his chest at the acknowledgement and you have to force yourself not to pull a face to illustrate your disgust.

“-But you're still a student,” Stonepoor goes on. “And I'm your professor. It's my call, and I say you two need to learn how to work cooperatively for once. You won't get anywhere if all you do is piss each other off, so the decision stands. Work together.”

You want to argue more and you can tell that Stanford does too, but Stonepoor isn't having it. It quickly becomes clear that you'd each have better luck arguing with the stack of still-drying canvases in the corner rack of the room.

The moment you open your mouth, he holds a hand up to silence you. “If you can't get along and you can't produce something worth my time, I'll give you both the lowest grade and you can fight it out over who gets to hang that on their wall. Do I make myself clear?”

And just like that, your fate is sealed.

You're going to have to work with the one person you like least, whether it destroys your sanity or not.

Stanford sighs, long suffering and put upon, and once you've accepted your situation, he follows you from the classroom and out into the hallway. Thankfully it appears most of the people who had been lingering around initially have moved on, leaving the corridor uncomfortably quiet and the perfect place to lay down some organisation.

Taking a deep breath, you turn to Stanford.

“So, here's the deal-”

“Why don't we just-”

You both speak at the same time, words rushing out in a hurry to beat one another to the point, and Stanford sighs.

“Look, I'm as apprehensive about this whole thing as you are, believe me,” he says. “I'd be perfectly happy to work alone but it seems as though we're just going to have to get along for this whether we want to or not.”

As much as it pains you to admit it, he's right. Stonepoor has made that perfectly clear. You’re not going to let this fucker leave a blemish on your record and you’re sure he feels similarly.

“Fine,” you murmur, leaning against the classroom door. The stress of all this has already exhausted you and you haven't even had one on one time with him yet. God, this is going to suck. “Let's just…. Agree a truce for now, right? We get through the next few weeks, get our heads down and then we can go right back to how things are supposed to be. Deal?”

Stanford nods. “Deal.”

You mirror him and yank your bag up your shoulder. “Starting tomorrow, meet me in the library. The art history section. We can work out what we want to do and build from there. Sound good?”

It doesn’t look like it sounds good to him, but to his credit, Stanford nods stiffly. “Be there at six.”

“Done.”

..

As expected, Stanford is utterly unbearable to work with. If, that is, what you’re doing can even be compared to working together.

From the moment your ass touches the seat opposite him at the library table, he rubs you the wrong way. For one thing, he doesn’t even greet you. He doesn’t even so much as look up at your arrival, for god’s sake. Instead, he keeps his big nose buried in a dusty book he’s reading and says: “You’re late.”

You cast a glance at the wall clock to see that you are, technically, about four minutes behind when you said you'd be here for. That doesn’t mean you’re going to take the heat for it though.

“Barely,” you mutter, dumping your bag onto the table and making his thermos wobble.

That’s enough to get him to look up.

Stanford frowns and catches it before it can fully tip over, avoiding a spill. “If we set a meeting time, I’d appreciate it if you kept to it,” he says snippily.

You nod, but you’re not really taking his chastisement on board. You’re too busy checking out the array of books he has splayed open in front of him like a weathered old cheeseboard for his perusal. You’re expecting them to be books on the Renaissance or maybe some old masters biographies (he seems like the type to enjoy the classics), but when you peer closer you’re surprised to see that they’re predominantly all physics books. Even the yellow legal pad at his elbow is full of mathematical equations.

“Not interrupting something, am I?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at his work.

Stanford clears his throat and snaps his book shut before you can gawp much more. “Of course you are,” he murmurs, beginning to clear them away. “Art is hardly my most prominent area of work, you know. Some of us are studying for more than one thing, hence the importance of time management.”

“And just how many things are you studying for, Stanford?” You say, amused by how easily you can get under his skin. “I hope they won’t get in the way of this project.”

Stanford furrows his impressive brows at you. “Just because I don’t care about art, that doesn’t mean I’d let my work slip,” he says as he piles the textbooks up. “And I’m taking five degrees, thank you.”

“Five?!” You say, a little bit louder than is appropriate for the setting.

Stanford shushes you, as do a few more students at other tables, and you offer them an apologetic wave before repeating yourself at a more suitable stage whisper: “Five degrees? How the fuck are you managing that?”

Stanford scoffs, sitting forward in his chair to rest his elbows on the table. “With a great deal of talent and commitment, of course,” he says, as though it’s obvious.

Holy shit, you think. That’s insane. As much as you want to fire off a snappy comment about big headedness, you have to admit that perhaps some of it is warranted if the man can manage five fucking degrees in one go.

“I intend to take more but I’m focusing on those for now. I plan to make it to PhD as quickly as possible so I need to concentrate and manage my efforts accordingly. I’d hate to throw off my groove by picking up random, useless classes that I’ll never use again.” He pauses to bark a laugh. “Not that this isn’t exactly that, mind you…. No offence.”

You roll your eyes. “Every offence taken. Art might not be as academically lauded as science or maths, but it’s just as important.”

Ford snorts as he shoves his books into his briefcase, mildly amused by your comment.

“I’m serious, Stanford,” you say, defensive. “How do you think you get those illustrations in your anatomy textbooks, for example?”

“Those are different,” Stanford says, waving you off. “They serve a purpose.”

Jesus.... This guy’s grandiosity knows no bounds. “All art serves a purpose for somebody. Just because it doesn’t serve your every purpose, doesn’t make it useless,” you scoff. “Art informs science just as much as science does art.”

Stanford opens his mouth to answer back but he seems to fall short of actually finding the words to fire off at you. Behind his eyes, you can practically see the gears whirring and ticking as he weighs up your statement in his mind, and after a moment, he exhales the air he’d saved to fight back with through his nose, sharp and short. The tips of his ears are a little pink and he looks decidedly annoyed.

It strikes you suddenly that you might have just accidentally bested your sworn rival over a ridiculously simple concept. Your skin prickles with righteous pride and you fix him with an assured smirk, absurdly pleased to have beaten him so casually.

Rather than apologise, Stanford simply ignores your statement and flips through his yellow legal pad, settling on a clean page and placing it between you both. “If you're done debating me,” he says, clearing his throat. “I suppose we ought to figure out our roles, yes?”

“I’m not debating you, Stanford,” you say, rolling your eyes with a smile. Sure, technically you won your point, but you’re not actually trying to beat him in this discussion any more than you are just bringing the truth to his attention. He really can be a misanthrope sometimes. “We’re socialising. Normal people do it all the time, so I’ve heard.”

He looks a little taken aback at that, and you can't help but think the owlish way he blinks at you suits him quite nicely in comparison to usual scrutinising stare. “Oh,” he says. “Right.” He nods quickly and averts his gaze downward to the pad.

It's painfully clear he isn't used to being spoken to on such a level. You almost feel a little bad for him. It must be hard to make friends when you're all work and no play, and especially when someone has the aura of a person who'd rather be laying on train tracks than holding menial conversation….

Mentally, you yank on the reins of that line of thought: you are absolutely not going to feel bad for someone that's always such a jerk to you, and to everybody else. No way.

Stanford taps the pad of paper between you both. “I can do most of the work. You’ll just follow along and I’ll write in some speaking parts for you, so that way you’ll still be included in the grade,” he says, rolling his shoulders and slipping back into the usual aura of asshole-ness.

There goes that empathy.

“What?” You stare at him like he’s gone mad, the smile sliding off your face. “Absolutely not. This is as much my project as it is yours! We can go fifty-fifty, that way it’s totally fair.”

“No disrespect,” says Stanford, and you can tell he’s about to say something that intends fully to illustrate how much he doesn’t mean that caveat. “But your history and research is lacking, and you tend to focus more on the intricacies of the piece than on the entirety of the project. I’d be happy to shoulder most of the work. That way we’ll have fewer weak points.”

You grip the edge of the table, hard. Weak points? Who does this guy think he is?!

“I want to earn my grade, Stanford,” you say, quite admirably keeping the anger from your tone. “Maybe you’re used to working with people who are happy to sit in for the ride and get top marks for doing fuck all, but I’m not that kind of person. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t treat me as such.”

He regards you for a moment, seemingly nonplussed by your adamant refusal to accept the easiest option, and for a moment you think you’re going to have to fight it out with him.

You’d rather not get banned from the only library Backupsmore owns for beating him to death with his own physics books, but you’re not going to just let him take control like he so clearly wants to.

However, much to your surprise, once he’s finished turning over your words in that big brain of his again, he nods. “Fine. If you think you can do it, have at it.”

You’re astounded he’s given in so easily until he adds:

“But if you start to drag me down then I won’t hesitate to scrap whatever you’ve come up with and do it all again from scratch myself.”

There it is.

As an afterthought, he tacks on: “And if we're going to be partners, you might as well call me Ford. I prefer it.”

A nickname? That's awfully familiar of him…. But you suppose if he prefers it then you'll bite.

“Fine,” you say. “Then let’s do this, Ford.”

And if you’re not mistaken, he might even smile a little at that.

This is going to be a weird couple of weeks….

Nothing much changes in the classroom.

The two of you still go back and forth like your lives depend on it, much to the visible chagrin of your professor and peers.

At first, your pairing with Ford had been the talk of the studio. The other students had made offhand comments about it all behind your back, but none had brought it up to your face.

Melissa and Jennifer had been as amused as they were apprehensive about it all, both of them begging you to at least try and get along for everybody’s sake, but of course all you’d manage to do for the first week or two was complain and lament to them about the entire situation.

“He’s a total nightmare! A complete control freak and a perfectionist. I can’t survive another day with him, I swear,” you froth to the girls over lunch one afternoon, after yet another frustrating session spent with Ford.

The entirety of the study time had been spent arguing back and forth about painting techniques, and you had had to leave before you’d throttled him with a cleaning rag.

Every complaint fell on deaf ears, of course. Both Jennifer and Melissa only ever exchanged mutual looks of exasperation with one another any time you moaned about him and neither seemed to offer much more than a conciliatory ‘that sucks’ with each grievance you bring them.

Eventually, you and Ford had come to the agreement of using ‘uniqueness’ as the basis of your project.

The idea had been brought up at the start of the third meeting, once everything had been arranged for responsibilities and chores, when Ford had dropped into conversation that he held a penchant for the strange and unusual.

Although your initial reaction had been to disagree simply on principle, the idea had been interesting enough that you’d caved without much argument.

When you questioned why his interest lay in things like cryptids and paraphenomena when he clearly lauded himself as a serious scientist, he’d given you a strange look that you had struggled to decipher.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he’d asked toward the end of your second week together, watching as you’d painted fine details onto the fur of thylacine one rainy Tuesday evening.

You’d shrugged. “Because you’re a nerd?”

That was the most obvious answer, wasn’t it? Excluded by his peers and his own intelligence, he probably felt a kind of kinship with things that others didn’t accept. Perfectly understandable, you supposed.

Whilst you’re no genius, you’ve never been immune to exclusion. You can recognise traits in monsters that you might share with them, in the ways that nobody ever believes in them.

His interest made sense and for some reason, it had even made you feel a little more…. Connected to him. And while you’d rather die than admit that aloud to anyone, a secret awareness of empathy for the guy wouldn’t hurt anyone.

“No,” Ford had replied, coming to stand behind you. “It’s because I…”

You’d lifted your head from your work, glancing over your shoulder and craning your neck to stare up at him expectantly.

Ford had paused as he’d met your eyes, unsure of an answer for only the second time in your presence, before he’d cleared his throat and looked away again. “It hardly matters. I suppose you’re right.”

He had stood so close behind you after that, silently observing; the scent of his cologne, all spice and musk, filling your nose and making your mouth water.

You had struggled to concentrate then, but you’re sure it had been for no specific reason, of course. Just a simple case of being uncomfortable with having someone in your personal space. That was all. Nothing more.

Still, Ford pushed harder for results than any other project partner you can recall having. Possibly even harder than any teacher you'd ever had, too.

Despite giving you the grace to put your own touch on the project, it had become clear very quickly that Ford was decidedly not very good at collaborations.

He worked at a break-neck speed and with laser precision in everything he did, whether he was passionate about the subject or not, and if you couldn’t keep up? Well, that was a personal failing on your part, obviously.

His intensity had built up very quickly and it hadn't taken long to feel less like you were partnering equally on a job and more like you were being dragged along in the dirt by an unruly workhorse.

Long hours in the studio weren’t unheard of for you, but pouring over your canvases until the wee hours of the early morning every night? Less so. Arguments over techniques and methods weren't uncommon, and unrequested criticism from Ford quickly became the norm.

Lack of sleep and total dedication to the project combined with all your other classes had begun to take a toll on you. For Ford, it seemed he barely needed sleep or lunch breaks, but for your much more average ability, you couldn't quite say the same.

Even your arguments in class had become less and less heated as you'd lost the free energy to fight it out with him.

The first time you'd almost dozed off during a study session in the library for background research, Ford had clicked his fingers in front of your closed eyes with the loudest snap known to man, jerking you awake and almost causing you to fall out of your seat.

“If you can't keep up, just say so,” Ford had quipped, going back to his elegant cursive-filled page of notes. “I told you I'd be happy to take over.”

Of course, you'd told him to fuck off. No way would you be seen dead giving him what he wanted. No matter how exhausted you got, regardless of the pressure on yourself, you absolutely would not give in…..

Which is why today, you find yourself slumped before your half finished canvas, vision blurring at the edges from lack of rest and head throbbing painfully.

There's only one week left of prep time for the project and you're not even sure you'll live to see the fruits of your labour at this point. Your back aches from sitting at awkward angles and leaning over your work for one too many hours a day, your hand is painfully stiff from gripping pencils and paintbrushes 24/7, and alongside the pressures of this project, you've still got to contend with your other classes too.

Fine Arts degrees aren't all about painting nice pictures and using free time to kick back and slack off, despite what some people may think. Your grades are important to you and you're pushing yourself in every other class you have too: history, sculpting, printmaking and more. You're spread as thin as you can be and it's taking its toll.

At this rate, you'll fail in several of those. Even a few of your teacher's have pulled you aside to ask about the abrupt decline in your attendance (late nights lead to oversleeping, who knew?) and you're not sure you can bear another ‘are you taking this seriously?’ scolding from them again.

You've arrived early today. Typically you meet in the spare studio with Ford at six o'clock sharp, but today you'd decided to try and come in sooner in order to get a head start.

You've fallen behind with some of the work; the oil piece currently propped up in front of you is still only in its early stages and it'll take you a while to get it finished to the standard you hold yourself to, plus you still need to draft your speeches for each painting and write your cue cards out too.

If you can push yourself to complete the best part of this painting today, though, then it will be one less thing to worry about. Not to mention that you haven't even started on your presentation rehearsal yet.

Miserably, you dump your paintbrush in the glass of murky water on the trolley beside it and sit back with a groan, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. You're so fucking stressed you want to cry.

Your eyes burn when you lower your hands and distantly, you realise that you already are crying. Wetness trails down your cheeks and you can feel the tips of your ears burn with embarrassment. Crying over a fucking presentation. Pathetic.

You cast a glance over to the corner of the room where Ford has left out one of his own pieces of work to dry, and it only makes you feel worse. He's so precise with his brush strokes and colours, and so effortless with what he does.

It's enough to encourage more tears; his skill is admirable, even if you'll only ever concede that through brutally gritted teeth, and knowing that he's so talented even in a subject he doesn't care about only makes you feel worse.

“This is ridiculous,” you groan aloud, voice thick with distress.

Why hadn't you just taken Ford up on his offer? Stupid fucking pride, always getting in the way of an easy ride and making things harder than it needs to be….

You sniffle and heave a great, shuddery sigh. Could be worse, you think miserably. Ford could be here to see me be all pathetic and snotty.

And because the universe is a cruel and unforgiving mistress with a sick sense of humour, the door to the studio opens at that exact moment and the man himself barrels in with an arm full of textbooks. “I hope you're here early because you plan to make back the time on those diagra-!”

Ford stops mid sentence, eyes going wide at the sight of you. The door bounces off the wall behind him and slams shut as he stares in your direction, taking in your downtrodden appearance.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

You feel your entire face go red, and roughly, you wipe at your eyes. You attempt to duck back behind the safety of your canvas and hide your tear stained face from the exact person you'd hoped to avoid, but Ford has already seen the state of you. There's not much you can do to hide it.

You clear your throat, head ducked to conceal your face. “I'll get them done,” you say, only slightly croaky. “Relax.”

Ford stands rooted to the spot, his textbooks hugged to his broad chest. He's silent for a minute, only staring right at you with wide eyes, and then he mirrors your awkward throat-clearing. “Are you…. Okay?” He asks, stiffly. “Did something happen?”

“No. I'm fine.”

“You don't look fine,” Ford says, finally wandering over. “And people don't tend to cry when they're just ‘fine’.... Something must have-”

“I'm stressed, Ford,” you cut in, a little sharper than is necessary. You're not really in the mood to explain everything to him like he's your therapist, but maybe he'll back off a bit if you give him something to sate his (evidently unstoppable) curiosity. “I have other classes as well as the one we share, you realise? Other projects. It's- It can be a lot. I'm tired and I'm stressed.”

Ford frowns, his confusion palpable. “Stressed?” He repeats, putting down his armful of textbooks on a nearby desk. “About art?” He sounds so baffled, like it's impossible to imagine someone might struggle with such a ‘lesser’ pursuit than his own.

It’s enough to get your back up so high that you instantly forget to measure your response before you open your mouth. Maybe it's the tiredness, or the mounting pressure, or maybe just a combination of all of it, but you just can't take his obnoxious way of addressing you anymore.

“Ford, give it a fucking rest would you?” You snap, standing up from your chair in anger and finally meeting his gaze. He already knows you're upset, there's little point in hiding it anymore.

“See, this is exactly why I didn't want to tell you! You just don't get it! You're so fucking intense about all of this,” You gesture vaguely towards your canvas and the rest of the room, confident that he'll pick up what you mean. The entire fucking project. “I'm not used to it! I've never worked with somebody so- so like you, before.”

Ford flinches and somewhere within you, you feel a little guilty at your choice of phrasing. It's probably not the first time he's had someone say such a thing, judging by his reaction.

Undeterred, you push on, unable to stop the exhausted word vomit: “Staying up every night, pushing me on everything I do, it's relentless! You're relentless! I'm not like that, Ford, I can't just burn my candle at both ends when there's nothing left to burn.”

Ford seems surprised by your outburst. It's hardly the first time you've yelled at him, but it is the first time he looks out of his depth about it. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Instead of answering, he runs a hand through his messy chestnut hair, forcing the strands to stick up, and blinks back at you, deer-like.

Under any other circumstances, you'd find it funny how blatantly nervous he is at your display of emotion. Ford is the sort of person who runs solely on logic, on equations and science, and definitive answers.

He's never once given you the impression that his IQ extends to EQ and seeing him try to figure out how he ought to approach such a difficult problem would be comical if you weren't so upset right now.

After a moment of silence, filled only with you sniffling, Ford finally finds his voice again. “I told you, I can handle the workload alone if you can't-”

“Oh, sure!” You scoff, before he can finish his stupid sentence. “You'd love that, wouldn't you? Then you can totally win this stupid thing by yourself and leave me in the mud.”

You shake your head and turn away, wiping your face with the sleeve of your sweater. “I knew I shouldn't have said anything, you're just gonna use this against me now, aren't you?” You mutter.

Ford, unexpectedly, looks a bit hurt by your unfounded accusation, and guilt nibbles at your gut again the moment you've said it, even if it is a genuine concern of yours.

“I would never do that,” he says defensively. “We're partners, aren't we? It wouldn’t be…. Fair for me to use your emotional state against you like that.”

He sounds so genuinely certain in his words that you find yourself unable to answer him. You'd expected him to laugh and snatch the project out from underneath you instantly, with little care for your wellbeing.

Not necessarily out of spite, but out of indifference. The way he rejects your assertion so defensively is enough to make your eyes water all over again.

“I'm not a robot, despite what some people may think. I know how it feels to work under pressure,” Ford says, and you suppose he must, what with the extortionate number of degrees he’s currently juggling. “Maybe not from art,” he admits. “But I’m not immune.”

“I told you, I can take on what you struggle with,” Ford continues on, and at your attempt to interrupt, he steamrolls on. “And before you say anything, no, I don't mean that because I think you're not good enough. I just mean that I can help.”

You raise your brows, surprised, and turn to face him. “I thought you thought my work was shit,” you say, picking up on his comment instantly.

Ford frowns. He takes a deep breath and comes to your side, a bit hesitant to get closer than within arm's length of where you stand at your station.

“I don't think that at all,” he says, like it should be obvious to you. “Why would you-”

“Ford, all you do is criticise the stuff I create,” you say, exasperated. “You spent forty minutes telling me my shading was bad on that fucking sketch last week alone.”

Forty minutes is conservative. The drawing hadn’t even been part of the mid-term line up. It had been a warm up piece before you’d started on your actual project work, and yet he’d still gone off about how your light source had been inconsistent, that the still-life had lacked depth et cetera et cetera.

You’d seethed in the corner and attempted to burn holes through the back of his head with your venomous gaze for the rest of the evening, but he hadn’t noticed a thing. He rarely does.

To his credit, Ford looks embarrassed now that you’ve brought it up. He adjusts his glasses nervously. “That's not- I don't do that because I think you're bad,” he assures you. “I do it because I can see where you'd be even greater. I just… Thought it might help.”

You stare at him. Out of all the reasons for him to be so pushy, he thought he was helping? “We hate each other, Ford, why would you even want to help me get better?”

“‘Hate each other’?” Ford says, only growing more confused. “I don't hate you. On the contrary, I thought we were having fun…. Are you…. Not having fun?”

You stare at him as though he's just sprouted a third eye. “But, in class- all we do is fight and argue, and-”

“That's just good debate, isn't it?” Ford says with an awkward laugh. “Did you- Don't tell me you thought I hated you?”

Well, now you feel like a total fucking idiot. “I mean, can you blame me?” You say defensively. “You’re hard to get a read on. I’m not exactly a telepath.”

Ford gives you a shy, lopsided grin and rubs the back of his neck, bashful. “Right, right. Sorry,” he says, the first apology you’ve ever heard from his mouth. “I suppose I assumed you could handle the way I am sometimes, what with the way you work in class,” he admits.

“Fiddleford, my roommate,” he explains, “He says I can be… What was the word he used?.... ‘Difficult’,” Here, Ford puts dramatic air quotes around his roommate's statement and it’s enough to make you smile a bit, watery and weak.

“How very diplomatic of him,” you hiccup a laugh and Ford smiles again, the skin at the corners of his eyes wrinkling. There's a compliment hidden in his words when you turn them over in your mind: I thought you could handle the way I am.

“He’s much better at being tactful than I am,” Ford admits, looking a bit sad about the fact. “I’m afraid I’m not the best at all this social stuff. If I gave you the wrong idea about it all then….. That wasn't my intention.”

He's looking at you strangely, his eyes searching yours in the silence. He almost looks guilty. It's as though something has flicked a switch inside of him and for a moment, the impossibly high walls with which he surrounds himself have lowered fractionally. Only a little, but enough for you to catch a glimpse of something…. Softer.

Up this close, you can read the minute changes of his expression far easier than when he's across the classroom or buried behind a book. You’re not sure you’ve ever been so near to him before, not face to face like this, anyway, and you can see all the shades of brown in his eyes.

He’s got wonderfully long lashes, thick and curved in a way that would make even a beauty queen weep with envy, and a smattering of very light freckles across his strong nose. The bridge of it is curved and convex, a Roman-esque quality that only adds to the subtly strong features of his face and balances out the harsher lines of his face.

You worry your lower lip between your teeth, brain caught in a loop of cataloguing his features. He really isn’t all that bad looking up close….

Ford’s gaze drops to your mouth. The movement barely lasts point-five of a second, hardly long enough to even really take note of before he aborts it in motion, the two of you sharing a slightly awkward laugh. A redness tints the tops of his cheeks.

The familiar scent of his subtle aftershave wafts towards you again, and you’re reminded of when he’d stood behind you during that studio session a week or so ago.

You swallow thickly and look away to quell the funny feeling that makes your stomach flutter nervously. You’ll blame your vulnerable state for that.

Desperate to find something to distract yourself with, you look down to where he's nervously toying with the brown leather band of his wristwatch. The sleeves of his chequered shirt are rolled up today, exposing his forearms and showing off the threads of veins that stand out under the skin, and you follow them down to his hands in the hopes of finding a way to avoid examining from whatever dangerous territory your thoughts are trying to wander into.

And boy, do you find one.

Momentarily, you wonder if the tears in your eyes are blurring your vision too much to see straight. You've no idea how you’ve never noticed it before. You’ve seen him painting, seen him gesticulating wildly when he’s gotten passionate about something you’ve challenged him with, and yet somehow, the realisation has completely slipped past you.

When you react, you don’t think about what you’re doing. You're too caught up in your desperation and your shock to really consider that the move might be unwelcome or rude: You just do it.

“Oh, my god,” you murmur, reaching out for him. “You do have six fingers.”

Rumours about Ford’s hands have always floated around school, but you’ve never given them much credence. You’re not one to care about physical features like that; life isn’t a freak show and you’re not part of a baying townsfolk who want to point and laugh at someone else, so you’ve always glossed over them. But when the realisation takes you by surprise so suddenly, you act without considering the consequences.

Like your touch has scolded him, Ford yanks his hands back and steps back, away from you. He looks panicked, as though you’ve just announced his worst fears aloud, and you watch in real time as those castle walls come crashing down all over again.

The redness on his face burns brighter than ever before, a deep rouge that soaks across his cheeks and ears like watercolours on paper, and you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him look so humiliated. His eye contact drops and his expression shifts from panic to anger.

“Look, hate me if you must but I’d rather you not make a big deal about that,” he says stiffly.

“What? What are you talking about?” You frown, shaking your head. His demeanour has changed so suddenly that it makes your head spin more than the smell of white spirit does after cleaning your oil palettes. “I wouldn't-”

Ford bumps into your abandoned chair in his haste to retreat, sending it skittering backward until it rocks onto its side with a clatter. He hurriedly snatches up the textbooks he'd left on a nearby desk earlier and shoves his glasses up his nose again, righting them from where they've slipped down in his hurry.

“If you need time to catch up on your end of the project, then just- Just say the word and I'll finish it alone,” he snaps.

And then he's scrambling from the room, shoulders up around his ears and posture slumped as he wrenches the door open and exits as quickly as he'd entered, leaving you to stare after him in utter disbelief.

What the fuck?

..

Ford doesn't show up to the next study session. He leaves a note on your desk that reads ‘caught up in physics, will see you next time’, which really makes no sense because he'd have to come all the way across campus from the science labs to deliver it. If he was that busy, surely he'd have just left you to it?

Alas, he doesn't make an appearance at the session and he doesn't approach you afterwards to check on your progress, either.

You can see that he's finished his paintings, however. They sit at the back of the spare studio, right near where you work after hours, and you've been admiring them all week.

He has a nice little collection of pieces now, including a moody looking wendigo oil painting and a very pretty study in watercolour of a type of flower that you're not botanically inclined enough to know the name of, but you've a sneaking suspicion it's the gross one that smells like corpses.

You're even mildly disappointed that you haven't had the chance to ask him about it and then watch him passionately lecture you on its ins and outs and whatever else he might find fascinating about unusual flora.

It’s not like you miss him, though. Obviously not. If he was here, he’d just be insufferable about it all, of course, and throw off your creative vibe with all his science talk. At the start of the project, after you’d seen all the physics books he carried on his person so often, you’d made the mistake of politely asking about his lab work and then been subjected to a full hour of listening to him harp on about topics that might as well have been in a foreign language to you.

But then the way he’d just sort of….Lit up about it all had been strangely breathtaking. He had practically burst into fucking flames of passion about molecules and dimensions and all sorts of things the moment you’d shown even the most tepid bit of interest that you hadn’t had the heart to stop him.

He’d looked so alive, so much more animated than you’d ever seen him, and something about it had been horribly endearing.

Still, you totally don’t miss that. Not his wild gesticulating, not the way he would run his hands through his hair in concentration and leave it all fluffy and stupid right after. The way he would chew his lip as he watched you paint.

Definitely not. Too annoying and far too distracting, for reasons you’d rather not study too closely.

In class, Ford barely looks at you. He doesn’t say hello, he doesn't bring up the project, he doesn’t even acknowledge your presence when you attempt to talk to him on the way out of class, either.

It feels awful.

You try to tempt him into debate a few times but shockingly, he doesn't rise to it. Instead, he looks everywhere but at you, jaw tight and head bowed, and he even pretends not to notice when you purposely get a history fact wrong in the hopes he might feel compelled to correct you. That’s the moment you realise that something is seriously wrong.

You hate to admit it, but the lack of challenge and his avoidance is making you so fucking miserable that even the other students have begun to pick up on it.

You’ve been moping about so much recently that Melissa and Jennifer have dragged you along to a party under the guise of getting you so insanely drunk that you might either admit what’s pissing you off or forget about it altogether.

As far as you’re aware, none of them know the real reason for your melancholy and they’re putting it down to academic stress. They’re not entirely wrong in that vein anyway, and you suppose it might be good to focus on something else (and chug free booze), so you agree.

Which is why you find yourself standing about on the quad this evening, dressed up as nicely as you can be bothered to be, and milling around while you wait for the others to get their act together and head over to the East Wing dormitories where the party is taking place.

The group is made up of yourself, Jennifer, Melissa, and Melissa's boyfriend Jamie, plus one of his idiot friends that you're too annoyed by to ask their name.

The others are already drunk enough that it's been a challenge in and of itself to herd them downstairs and out into the open night air, and getting them to actually follow you across campus is proving equally as hard.

You're only slightly buzzed; barely a couple of clear-liquor drinks in so far and not at all as wasted as you'd like to be if this is going to set the tone for the evening.

Frustrated, you roll your eyes at where Jamie and his buddies are attempting to show the other girls how many people they can lift with just one arm, and step away. “Are we planning on actually making it to this dumb party, or do I have to watch you guys try and put your backs out all night?” You ask, not even attempting to hide the annoyance in your voice.

Melissa laughs and shakes her head. “Oh come on, you're no fun!” She says, coming to your side to hang off your arm. “Live a little!”

The bag on your shoulder, the one you carry with you everywhere, slips down a little at her insistent touch and you huff, pulling away to correct it. It's less filled than it usually is tonight, only holding your purse, your keys, and the small, reliable, battered sketchbook that you always keep close just in case inspiration hits.

“I'm living vicariously through you,” you tell her dryly. “But right now I'm cold and I want a fucking drink, so can we please just get a move on already?” The night air is cool enough to prickle gooseflesh on your bare arms and you rub at them insistently.

“Take my jacket, babe,” says the other jock, lumbering over in the hopes of winning favour.

“Thanks, but I’m good,” you refuse, wrinkling your nose a little. You really don’t want to give him the wrong idea and let him think he’s got an in with you. You know how these types are, after all.

“God, lighten up already!” Jamie scoffs, swaggering along with one arm thrown around Melissa. “You're being such a bitch tonight.”

You open your mouth to inform him that you're most assuredly not being a bitch but that you'd be very happy to show him what you're like when you are, when Jennifer cuts you off.

“Working with Stanford Pines for whoever-the-fuck knows how long will do that to a person,” she snorts. “That's enough to turn anyone into a dick.”

Jamie and his buddy gawp at you. “No kiddin’?” The jock says, a broad, blonde spectacle with unsettling blue eyes. “You’re in with that fuckin’ loser? Bummer, dude.”

“Oh yeah,” Melissa giggles. “All we hear these days is how much he sucks. Says he's a real asshole….”

“What's he doing in an art class?” He asks. You think his name might be Riley. “Isn't he like, a total math geek or whatever?”

Before you can interrupt, Jamie laughs, obnoxious and scathing. “Oh yeah, totally. I bet he only gets hard for science, right?” He says, grinning nastily toward you. “Or have you been- What's that guy called…. Purlow? Pavlov? That's it, Pavlov!” He snaps his fingers together, clearly pleased at the chance to flex some of his psychology minor in front of the girls. “You been Pavlov-in’ him to get hard another way?”

“Ew!” The girls collapse into giggles.

You grit your teeth. “Wow, Jamie, it's so cool that you know such a big word!” You grind out, jaw flexing. “I didn't know they taught Psych 101 in Kindergarten.”

“Hey, fuck you-”

“And,” you keep going, temper rising not least because of the topic. “For your information, we've just been doing a project together. It wasn't exactly by choice and anyway, he won't even talk to me anymore so problem solved, I guess.”

“Wait, is that why you two stopped fighting in class all the time?” Asks Jen, suddenly intrigued. “Did something happen?” Her intonation is suggestive and you know she's probably coming up with wild theories in her mind already.

Melissa squeals. “Oh my god, did you finally fuck him?!”

“No!” You say immediately, shaking your head. “Nothing like that!”

The boys guffaw and shove each other around, jeering and laughing. “That's fuckin’ gross,” says Riley, “Who would wanna screw him?”

“Hey, I heard he’s got six fingers,” sniggers Jennifer. “I bet that makes a difference, huh?”

“God, shut up,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “I told you, it’s not-”

“What a fucking freak,” laughs Jamie.

“He’s a loser, babe,” scoffs Riley, attempting to put an arm around your shoulders again. “You need a real man, not a fuckin’ dork like that. I bet he-!”

“Look, he’s not that bad!” You interrupt, raising your voice a bit and shucking the boy’s arm off of you. “He’s not- He isn’t a total asshole all the time, okay? And he’s not a freak, that’s not cool. Don’t talk about him like that.”

Truthfully, you say it accidentally. You don’t mean to defend him and especially not to this particular group of people, but they’re being so mean spirited and these jocks are such dickheads that you feel dirty even allowing them to say as much as they have.

All’s fair in love and war between you and Ford; going back and forth with one another is purely business. It never reduces to calling the other person names or taking low blows like this, and it feels weird to let other people outright bully him. Especially over his hands.

You think that might be the cause of his whole meltdown earlier this week, and even the thought of him overhearing such cruelty makes you feel sicker than any amount of alcohol could.

The others stare at you like you’ve announced you intend to swan dive from the campus clocktower and momentarily, all of them are silent. That is, until Jamie opens his big mouth again: “What are you, like, in love with him or something?”

You feel your face suddenly begin to get very warm. “What?” You laugh, trying to sound dismissive. “No! God, no! Of course I’m not! I just-”

“Holy shit,” Jennifer says, a slow grin spreading on her face as she puts the puzzle pieces together. “You’re totally into him, aren’t you? That’s why you’ve been so lame recently! You’re all sad that he won’t talk to you!”

“No!” You refute, holding your hands up defensively. “No! It’s nothing like that!”

Your bag slips down your shoulder again and Jennifer grabs it without warning, dragging it off of your person and procuring your sketching journal.

“You’re such a liar,” she says, laughing, “Look, here,” She opens the journal to the page that your pencil is lodged into and flaunts it to the others. “I saw you drawing these last free sesh’ when he wasn’t in class! Makes total sense now….”

You instantly know exactly what she’s showing them: In free sessions, you’re given time to practise areas you might need to improve upon, and Ford had mentioned your anatomy a while ago. You’d taken it on board, however testily, and found yourself sketching away that afternoon.

Only, what you’d been drawing had been Ford’s anatomy. Nothing lewd, obviously, but something still intimate: his hands.

Ever since noticing them, you’ve been intrigued. Call it fate from the theme of your project, but something about them has drawn you in and you’ve struggled to forget them. They’re fascinating and beautiful and very weirdly him, and maybe yes okay you've been having some complicated feelings about him recently but does everybody need to know?!

Jamie laughs at you, snatching the book from Jen and inspecting the sketches up close. “Holy shit,” he says. “You’re made for each other, pair of freaks!”

“Fuck off, Jamie!” you snap, face burning. You try to snatch the book back and he holds it aloft, out of your reach. “Give it back!”

“No way!” He jeers, and then he glances off above your head and his ugly grin grows even wider. “Hey, check it out…. There’s your boyfriend now! Why don’t we ask Fordsy what he thinks of these?”

Much to your utter horror and absolute distress, when you turn to see where Jamie is pointing, you spot Ford striding across campus. He’s wearing an argyle sweater and brown slacks (and bless him, he really does look like a nerd), and he seems to be heading towards his own dorm.

He hasn’t spotted your group yet and silently, you pray that Jamie is just trying to rile you up.

Except, Jamie gives less of a fuck about your prayers than the universe itself does. He raises one shovel sized hand and yells out to him: “Yo, Stanford! Hold up a minute there, buddy!”

Ford freezes on the spot and turns your way, eyes wide like a rabbit in headlights. He looks confused.

“Jamie, don’t you dare!” You hiss, attempting to kick at the bigger man’s shins as he strides past you. It does nothing to stop him and instead, you turn to Jennifer. “Do something!” You say, and you hate how much it sounds like begging.

“Take a chill pill already,” Jennifer laughs. “He’s just kidding around.”

It takes great self control not to tear your own (or her) hair out as the rest of the group trot after Jamie.

Petrified, you jog along to catch up with them and by the time you reach them again, they’re already collaring Stanford.

Jamie slings a heavy handed arm around Ford’s shoulders, knocking his glasses askew, and he jerks him about a bit. “How’s it hangin’, buddy?” He asks, grinning. “Up to no good?”

“What?” Ford says, both annoyed at being stopped by such a group and awkward about how to deal with the interaction.

Jamie rolls his eyes and shakes his head, dramatically playing it up for the sake of the others. “What are you up to tonight, man?”

“Oh,” Ford shrugs. “I just finished at the library, I was going home. That’s all.”

Jamie laughs and the others join in. “On a Friday night, dude?”

“Is…. Is there a more suitable night to do it on?” Ford asks, sounding genuinely curious, and oh god your heart breaks for him.

The boys share a look of incredulity and laugh amongst themselves as you elbow your way through them. They part after a second, with some sharp elbow pokes to persuade them to move, and you stop in front of Ford and Jamie, hoping you don't look as distressed as you feel.

Ford's expression hardens the moment he notices you. It's obvious he's about as pleased to see you as he is to see the others and although, admittedly, that stings more than it has any right to, you half hope it might work in your favour to get him to leave.

“Hi, Ford,” you say, hoping you sound both casual and suggestive enough to let him know he should run for the hills. “Why don’t you get outta here and we’ll just-”

“Woah, woah,” says Jamie, cutting in before you can finish your sentence. “Not so fast, man. I have a question!”

Ford's frown deepens and he looks over at Jamie. Although the jock is tall, Ford matches his height well enough that, other than his lack of muscle, means that he doesn’t seem to be quite as intimidated as somebody of a smaller stature might be. That being said, he still looks decidedly uncomfortable with the whole affair.

“Uh, sure…?” Ford says, shrugging one shoulder. “What can I do for you?”

Jamie stifles a laugh and looks to the others, who similarly struggle to keep their laughter contained.

You know where he’s taking this topic. He’s still holding your sketchbook, waving it around to punctuate his words. “Jamie, leave it alone, stop being-”

“Come on, don't be such a square!” Melissa laughs, and Jamie is quick to agree.

“Is it true you've got extra fingers, Fordsy?” Asks Jamie, through the most horrible shit-eating grin you've ever seen. “According to certain sources,” He winks dramatically at you, implicating you in his plan. “You're rockin’ six on each hand, right? That’s far out, man. ”

Ford pales and simultaneously turns a deep shade of crimson, and his gaze snaps immediately to you. “What?” He says, his usually deep voice suddenly weak.

“You heard me, check it out,” Jamie flips open your sketchbook and you know he's showing Ford the pages of your sketching study.

Ford's brows knit upwards as he realises what he's looking at, distress and anger clear on his handsome face, and your blood turns to ice.

He looks devastated, eyes scanning back and forth over your work like he can't believe what he's seeing. Rather than seize the book for a closer look, you watch as he slips his hands into the pockets of his pants, hiding them from the view of everyone else, and your heart squeezes unpleasantly in your chest.

The subtle way that he does it makes you realise this is probably not the first time he's pulled such a move.

“You…. You drew these? Of me?” He asks in a small voice, glancing up at you. There's such a dejected sadness in his eyes that you almost want to be sick.

“No!” You say immediately. “I mean- Yes, I did, but not- I didn't draw them like tha-!”

“Some people must dig freaks, man, you're all over this shit!” Jamie chokes out through his laughter and the others follow suit.

“Shut up!” You snap at him before turning your attention back to Ford. “You don't understand! Yes, I drew them, but not because-!”

“I understand perfectly,” says Ford stiffly, and something steely and cold flashes in his gaze. He presses his mouth into a thin line and you can tell he's not just upset, but furious.

“Yeah,” Riley grins, stepping forward for his turn in the ring. “If you weren't doing it because you thought they were fuckin’ weird then why were you drawing them?”

“I….” Your voice dries up. What are you supposed to say? Because I think they're really stellar and unique, and I think you are too? Jamie and the others will eat you alive. The words just won't come and all you can do is stare back at Ford, equally as red faced and humiliated.

Jamie is still harping on about the sketches, pointing things out to Ford who isn't looking at anything he's being shown. He's just…. Staring right back at you with a mixture of genuine sadness and utter betrayal on his face.

You have to look away after a moment. It's too much to bear and you feel so awful that meeting his eye feels shameful. Although you know you haven't done anything with the intention of hurting him, you know how it must look.

When you tune back in, Jamie is still going: “-should be grateful you got to work with her, buddy. What other chance would a guy like you have to be friends with-”

You're not sure what makes you react, whether it's the combination of guilt and embarrassment, or whether it's simply because you've had enough of all this, but almost automatically, you step forward and shove Jamie away from Ford.

“Jamie, shut the fuck up,” you snap, pushing him as hard as you can manage in his stupidly broad chest. “Don't talk to him like that, asshole, it's not fucking cool. You're a piece of shit, man.”

Thankfully, the push is just about strong enough to get Jamie to stagger back a couple of paces and relinquish his grip from around Ford's shoulders. He stumbles and his laughter dies, along with the others.

“Hey!” He growls, stepping toward you and puffing out his chest. “What did you just say to me?”

This is exactly the reason you hate his type. They're loud and braggadocious and cruel, and they absolutely cannot take the heat themselves.

You square your shoulders back. You're nowhere near his size and if he decides to hit you then it'll be a permanent lights out for sure, but you're hoping he might at least realise his girlfriend would be upset if he knocked out her classmate. Desperately hoping, in fact….

“I said, stop. You're acting like a loser, leave him alone,” you say, admirably firm in spite of your nerves.

Jamie stomps over to you, teeth bared in a grotesque grimace. “You fuckin’ bitch, who are you callin’ a loser?!” He stretches out one hand as if to grab you and you brace yourself for the final nail in your coffin, when Ford abruptly steps between you both.

“That's enough,” he says firmly, sounding more fierce than you've ever heard him. “If you want to act like a child and bully me, do it. I don't care.” Ford glances back at you. “But don't drag other people into it just because you're a fucking drunken manchild who can't take it.”

For half a second, everything goes deathly silent. No one says a single word. All you do is gape at Ford in utter disbelief at his cutting words, as do the others. Even Jamie looks completely blindsided by it.

Clearly not finished, Ford keeps going, and this time it seems he’s talking more to you than to everyone else. “I don't need anyone to stick up for me, I'm not a child anymore. I’m perfectly capable of arguing against idiots like y-!”

Unfortunately for Ford, no matter how much you deserve his ire, with his attention on you instead of the threat, he completely misses Jamie reeling one of his big fists back and you watch in horror as he swings it in Ford’s direction.

You barely get the chance to let out an aborted shout of warning before Jamie’s knuckles collide solidly with Ford’s nose and send him stumbling back past you. They make a sickening crack! as the hit lands perfectly across his face, and Ford is sent sprawling on his ass in a lightning quick second.

Jamie moves as though he intends to follow Ford to the floor and keep hitting, but one of the other boys thankfully catches his fist and prevents him from going through with it. The group shout amongst themselves about it, evidently surprised by the sudden turn.

Instantly, you drop to your knees in the damp grass beside Ford and hover anxiously around him. Blood gushes out of his nose as soon as he hits the floor, cascading down over his lips and smattering onto the wool of his sweater, and his glasses are thrown from his face with the force. He groans in pain, his once hidden hands flying up to cradle his injury and to stem the bleeding. It does little to help.

“Oh, my god!” Your hands hover around his face helplessly, unsure where to touch him. “Fuck, Ford, are you-!”

“He’s fine,” says Jamie, waving away the concerns of the others. “Forget about him, we’re leaving.” He leans down to grab you by the arm but you smack him away angrily.

“Fuck off!” You shout, voice wavering. “You hit him!”

“So? He shouldn’t have mouthed off like that,” Jamie says, like it’s obvious. “Whatever, you wanna stay with him? Fine. Be two fuckin’ freaks together for all I care.”

He gestures for the others to follow him as he begins to walk towards the party dorm, carelessly tossing your sketchbook into the dirt beside Ford. You look up to the others for help, yet they only spare you a half-hearted sympathetic look before following the ringleader.

You want to yell after them, to tell them how pathetic they are laughing along, but for now you’ll have to save your anger. Instead, you root around in your bag for some spare tissues and quickly hold them up to Ford’s bloody face. “Shit,” you breathe, noticing just how much blood there is. “I’m taking you to the medical office, Ford.”

You grab his glasses and attempt to help him to his feet, however he shrugs you away. “Get lost,” he says thickly through the wall of blood on his mouth, snatching his glasses from your hands and shoving them into his pocket.

“What?” you say, confused as though you’re the one who’s just had your shit rocked. “Ford, you're hurt, let me help you!”

“I don't need your help!” he snaps, struggling to his feet.

You’re taken aback by his reaction, however he’s a little shaky, clearly discombobulated by the hit and the entire event, and even though he doesn't seem open to your touch, you catch him by the elbows to steady him.

He wipes his lips with the sleeve of his already-ruined sweater, dark blood swiping across the wool. It’s a fruitless effort; the gore is simply further smeared around his face. It does little to reduce the mess and everything to spread it, and Ford turns his head away from you to spit out the blood that's gathering in his mouth.

As soon it's clear that he can stand unassisted, Ford shakes off your tentative touch as though you're some kind of leper. He meets your eyes and the look he fixes you with is so searing that it's enough to turn your insides to liquid ice. He shoulders you aside and takes off across the lawn, ignoring a few curious onlookers and striding towards his dorm.

Momentarily, you’re too stunned to follow him. He’s never looked at you like that before and frankly, it fucking hurts. After all this time, after all of your disagreements and squabbles, Ford has never been quite so…. Disgusted with you.

As much as you might like to crawl under a rock in your ashamed state, you just can’t leave things like this. Besides, he might be seriously hurt beyond what you can see; that punch was solid and Ford isn’t much of a fighter, not to your knowledge anyway. If he dropped dead of a brain bleed or something equally as awful and dramatic, you’d never forgive yourself.

Frankly, you’re not sure you ever will anyway.

You shove your sketchbook back into your bag and take off after him, jogging across the damp grass to try and catch up with his purposeful movements.

“Ford!” You call out to his retreating back. “Wait up!”

He does no such thing. His stride doesn’t even falter at your request.

You push onwards, trying to tamp down the frustration you feel and speeding up just enough to reach his side as he swings open the door to his building, leaving a smear of blood across the handle. “Stanford!”

“Stop following me!” Ford snaps over his shoulder. He lets it fall heavily back onto you without even glancing in your direction.

You ignore him, chasing after his back. The building is surprisingly quiet for a Friday evening; there are usually at least a few students milling about in the halls, whether they’re looking to party or just avoid studying for a few hours, most of the time there’s someone about.

Not tonight though, it seems. Perhaps they’re all off to the party you’re supposed to be attending…..

As you follow Ford down the North hallway, past the walls of pigeon hole letterboxes and glass cases of alumni photos, you try again to stop him. “Ford, come on, you’re bleeding everywhere. Just stop a second, please,” you cajole. “What if you have a concussion?”

Ford still doesn’t answer. He keeps power walking down the corridor, taking a sharp right and barrelling into what seems to be a common area.

There are couches and chairs pushed towards the corners of the room, arranged around mismatched tables and strewn with remnants of earlier life: styrofoam coffee cups and screwed up pieces of paper, and even a couple of crumpled beer cans.

As he passes through, Ford shows no signs of slowing and your frustration rises. “Look, you can be mad at me all you want but please just let me take you to the nurse’s office!”

“I’m fine,” Ford says, voice strained in a way that betrays how much he definitely is not fine. It’s a sick parody of your last conversation in the studio.

He starts to speed up again, nearly jogging now in his determination to escape you as he approaches the farthest side of the room, and despite the way your breath is already burning in your lungs, you force yourself to match his stride.

The shaky way he dismisses your worry only upsets you more and in your unfit desperation, before he can reach for the exit, you jerk out a hand and grab the sleeve of his sweater, snatching him back by the fabric at his elbow. “No, you’re-!”

“Let go of me!” Ford rounds on you, shoulders squared and chin jutted upward like he expects you to be the next person to fight him. He halts so suddenly that you almost crash into him, stepping into your space and causing you to stumble back a few paces.

He’s tall enough to be intimidating when he draws himself up fully like this but you refuse to let him make you back off.

“No!” you shout back, keeping a firm hold of his sweater as best you can. “Let me help you, Ford, I can explain-!”

“Did you all have a good laugh?!” Ford asks bitterly, cutting you off. He seizes your wrist, his grip tight over where you’re clutching onto him. “About my hands? About me?! When you showed them those sketches, did it feel good to win their stupid approval?”

He squeezes your wrist tightly and you grit your teeth, acquiescing your hold on him and releasing his sweater. The blood on his fingers smears across your skin, cool and coagulated, and he uses a strength you didn’t know he possessed to hold you still.

“It's not like that!” You say, breath hitching. “I didn't draw those for anybody but myself.”

“Bullshit!” Ford snarls, jerking your wrist back and forth. “I know you're lying!”

“It's the truth!” You snap, hackles rising at his roughness and his accusations.

Tonight has been full of mistakes on your part, sure, but if Ford won't even let you explain then how are you supposed to even try and fix all this?! “Jamie and the others grabbed my sketchbook off of me, Ford. I didn't give it to them! That stuff was private!”

“Then why would you even have things like that in there?!” Ford yells back, scowling.

“Because I- It wasn’t supposed to be-” You stumble over your words as you shout back at him, anger and humiliation lodging them in your throat, and Ford seizes the opportunity to scold you further.

“Exactly! Stop lying to me!”

“I’m not lying to you, Ford!” You wrench your hand from his grip, fed up with his claims. For all your guilt, you’re not going to let him just shout and scream at you in a public hallway until he deigns you with the opportunity to explain yourself. “I wouldn’t do something like that, no matter how little you think of me!” You say, jabbing him in the chest with your finger a few times.

You rock up on your toes to try and draw your faces level as you bark back and forth at each other. “They were the ones who brought it up, not me! I was telling them to stop!”

Ford’s jaw flexes with each jab of your finger, lip twitching with anger. “Yeah, right.” He laughs, scathing. “You think I missed how you reacted in the studio earlier this week? I mean, was that even the first time you realised or was it just the first time you saw me up so close that you couldn’t help yourself? I know you think I'm a freak, just like everyone else does! That's why you drew those- those fucking caricatures of my hands and you laughed it up with your stupid little friends about me!”

“No, I-!” idiot

Ford jabs a finger into your chest, right above your heart, mirroring your pose to him and pressing down hard as he shouts in your face, like a haughty parent telling off their unruly child. “You know, I hate to admit this, really I do, but I'm actually disappointed in you! I had hoped it wasn’t like that between us! I enjoyed that you disliked me because I’m smarter than you, because I’m a better artist than you are, and not because of my hands. Everybody else goes straight for the obvious bait because they can never compare to the rest of me, but I suppose you must be just like your asshat, jock buddies afterall!”

“I am not-!” You attempt to shout over him, to interrupt his tirade, but Ford keeps going, poking you hard again.

“And do you want to know the worst part about all of this?” He demands, looking borderline insane with wide eyes and blood all over his face. “The worst part is that your sketches were fucking terrible! Your anatomy is just as shitty as it was the day we met!”

Like a dam, your limited composure breaks. The insult is small in comparison to all his other harsh words, some of which you can even admit you might deserve, but his obnoxiousness has grown steadily like a snowball careening down a slippery slope and gathering mass, and that’s the final nail in the coffin for you.

“You know what, Ford? Fuck you!” You shout, driving your own finger back into his broad chest as hard as you can and poking him with every word. Your breath comes in short, sharp pants as you lay into him, your noses almost touching as neither of you back down to the other.

“Fuck you! You fucking idiot! You don’t know anything about how I feel. Do I think you're an asshole with a god complex? Absolutely! Do other people say all kinds of shit about your hands? Of course they do! But I never cared enough to actually check how many fingers you have! The other day in the studio, that was the first time I ever even noticed it! ! I never thought that you were a freak, Stanford, not even once!”

Something strange falters in Ford's expression but you barrel onward, refusing to give him the chance to come back at you.

“Our entire project is about uniqueness, you stupid fucking idiot!” You continue, desperately fighting the thick lump that rises in your throat and the burning that prickles the corners of your eyes. You're so exhausted and worked up, so humiliated and angry, and this is the fallout of everything at once. There's no stopping it now.

“I mean, for god's sake, we talked about how much we both like unusual things! That's why we picked that fucking topic, Ford! I like odd shit! I wasn't drawing your hands so that I could show my so-called friends and laugh about it with them, you moron! I was drawing your hands because I can't stop fucking thinking about them or how pretty they are, or how fucking pretty you are and if you just listened to me for once in your stupid-!”

You don't even get to finish your sentence before Ford's mouth is on yours, hot and determined, in the fiercest kiss you think you’ve ever experienced.

You're not sure who moves first.

With barely a whisper between the two of you it's hard to tell, but in a flash the distance is closed and your hands are twisted in the front of his dirty sweater, leveraging him down as he backs you up into the closest wall.

Ford makes a guttural sound, the kind that rumbles in your chest, and one of his hands gropes blindly at your waist as he returns the kiss whilst the other plants itself beside your head on the wall.

He’s clumsy and unskilled, and you’re pretty certain you can feel wet blood smearing across your own face as he presses into you, yet he’s so enthusiastic that you can’t bring yourself to care much about any of that right now. It just feels so fucking good.

He tastes like coffee and copper, and his musky aftershave overwhelms your senses again, enveloping you as he presses even closer along your front. Ford's broad form is warm against your exposed skin where his weight pins you up against the wall. He's clearly been tipped off of balance by the motion and without his quick thinking of walking you back to the surface, you're sure you'd have bowled over by now.

Your hands slip up from the front of his sweater to tangle in his thick, curly hair, fingers catching in amongst the strands to pull him in until he's melting against you, pliant under your touch. It's evident that he doesn't have much practice at this and that, combined with the fervour of the motion, makes the kiss sloppy.

As foggy as your brain is right now, you manage to conjure just one silly thought as you coax his tongue with your own: Finally. Something I am better than him at.

Ford gives another groan at the sensation and almost instinctively, he slides a leg between yours. It's not clear if he knows how arousing it is or whether he's simply trying to balance himself better, but it does wonders for you all the same.

Warmth burns in the pit of your stomach, a molten hot interest that takes you by such surprise it practically has stars blooming behind your closed eyelids.

It feels like this is the catalyst: the final moment that’s been building and building between you both ever since Ford arrived in Studio 1B. Rivalries and arguments that on the surface, had appeared to everyone but the two of you as a sign of more than just academic passion and the desperate need to be right. Everything has led to this and god, does it feel spectacular.

The tangy flavour of blood begins to overwhelm Ford's spit and just as you tilt your head to up the ante, sighing happily against his mouth, your nose catches his in the motion and Ford rips himself away with a yelp of pain.

“Fuck!” He cries, letting go of your waist and pushing off the wall to cradle his nose.

You start, completely having forgotten about his injury, and rush to his aide. “Shit! I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think-”

More blood trickles out from his nostrils, though thankfully not quite as much as on the initial hit, and winces. “Probably not the wisest of ideas in this state,” Ford mutters thickly, but he's giving you a lopsided smile that's big enough that you can tell he doesn't seem to mind too much. You can even see the blood that's settled in the gaps of his teeth.

A similar expression crosses your own face: a shy, stupid grin tugging at your mouth as you both share the same pleasantly surprised, if disbelieving, look. A few moments of silence follow the halting of the kiss and your situational awareness creeps back in.

The abrupt reminder of his injuries and the fact that you're likely equally now covered in blood, coupled with the fact that you're both still in a public space is enough to kick the sensible part of your brain into action.

You clear your throat and push up off the wall, straightening your clothing where Ford has left it rumpled with his wandering hands. “We should probably get you cleaned up before we….” You trail off, unsure of exactly where you mean for your train of thought to go.

Ford nods, understanding. “Right. Of course.”

“I’ll walk you to your room,” you say, gesturing for him to show you the way. “If you won’t go to the nurse then at least let me fix you up a bit.”

Ford nods again, cheeks flushed, and takes you through the double doors you’d stood by barely five minutes ago, leading you deeper into the building. He’s only living on the second floor with his roommate and thankfully, it doesn’t take too long for you to reach his dorm.

There still aren’t many students hanging around up here and the ones that are are far too preoccupied with their own business to even spare a glance at you both. You suppose that without engaging in a screaming match, you can pass by covered in whatever substance you like without drawing attention.

“F is out visiting his parents this weekend,” Ford explains as he unlocks the door to his room and lets you inside. “It’ll just be us.”

“‘F’?” You ask, stepping into the darkness.

“Fiddleford, my diplomatic roommate,” Ford says, and even in the dark you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Ah, I remember,” you grin.

Ford fumbles around until he finds his desk lamp, flicking it on and filling the room with a soft, warm glow. It makes the mess on his face look an otherworldly black. He busies himself with rummaging around in the bottom drawer of what you presume to be his personal desk that sits at the side of his bed, and you take the opportunity to absorb his living space.

All the dorms in Backupsmore are built the same: cheaply and efficiently with the bare minimum added, and Ford’s is no different. The far wall is exposed brick, with a broad window in its centre, while the other walls are covered in drab, ochre wallpaper.

Above Ford’s half-made bed is the navy BMU flag along with a few posters that are, frankly, quite adorable. There’s one of Tesla posed before his famous coils and another of Sagan, with what you can only describe as an alarmingly seductive look on his face. Admittedly, Sagan is quite the looker, as is Tesla when you really consider it, so you can hardly blame Ford for his choices.

Nestled around the posters are books. Lots of books. All packed in tightly on cheap shelves and those that won’t fit with their partners are stacked up around the room in untidy piles. You can count at least six different stacks by his bed alone, most of which seem to vary from physics to astronomy to advanced mathematics.

Ford must catch you taking it all in because he clears his throat awkwardly and you break away from your staring to look at him directly. “Sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I don’t really get any company in here besides Fidds, so it’s a little messy.”

You laugh quietly. If only he could see the state of your room…. “Don’t worry about it,” you assure him. “Nobody comes to college to be tidy.”

Careful not to disturb their precarious resting places, you pick your way around the book piles and take a seat on the edge of his bed.

Ford joins you after he adjusts the desk lamp to shine directly over you, carrying a small white plastic box and setting it between you both. He retrieves his glasses from his pocket and puts them beside the box so he can sit comfortably.

You realise it’s a proper medical kit. “Do you just happen to carry around a first aid box with you all the time?”

Ford huffs a laugh as he clicks it open and roots through it to find what he needs. “When you get bullied enough as a kid, you start to learn that carrying around things like first aid come in pretty handy sooner or later.”

He says it so casually that your heart squeezes in your chest. “Ford….” You say, soft and slightly pained. “That’s awful, you know that, right?”

Ford shrugs one shoulder, procuring some sterile wipes and plasters from the kit. “You get used to it.”

You want to tell him that that's ludicrous, that he shouldn't have to do any such thing, but you know how cruel people can be. It's not like he can do much to stop them anyway; Ford fights back intellectually, not physically, and talking back to someone in the way he has done tonight has only worked out poorly for him. Rather than reply, you put your hand on his knee and he pauses in his motion of opening the wipes.

“If anyone gives you trouble again, tell me,” you say with a smile. “I'll put white spirit in their coffee.”

“Thanks,” Ford laughs and you can see the upset tension leave his shoulders a bit. “I’d rather not kill anyone over it, but that’s very kind of you…. In a weird, unethical sort of way.”

He goes to use the wipes on his face but you stop him, taking the packet from his hands and plucking a couple out. Ford lets you do it without any quarrel, watching you closely.

The blood isn't too thick when you begin to wipe it away, although it has begun to oxidise into a more congealed state, and carefully you start to swipe it away underneath his nose.

For a few minutes, Ford observes you in silence before finally speaking up again: "Did you really draw my hands because you like them?" He asks, voice quiet.

You don't meet his eyes as you take hold of his chin, gently tilting his head towards the light a little more. "Yes," is all you reply, praying he doesn't pick up on your embarrassment.

The area you're working on is close enough to his mouth that you catch him bite down on a smile, and you try to fight your own grin by doubling your focus on your work. Neither of you press the matter.

You clean up over his philtrum and his lips, covering your thumb with the wipe and swiping it across his closed mouth slowly. You swear you do it only to ensure that you’re being gentle, but you can hear Ford’s breath catch in his throat with the movement and you’re not immune to the intimacy of the act.

Despite not looking directly at him, you can feel his gaze boring into you. You imagine this must be how his science experiments feel, pinned down under his watchful eye and dissected by observation. Admittedly, it’s not the worst feeling in the world….

Once the blood is gone from his face, you turn your attention to the rest of his injury. The hit must have been solid; a strong blow square on the nose. There’s a fairly clean cut across the bridge, probably from both the force and the metal of his glasses biting into the thin skin there. The edges are raw and reddened, and already you can see a purplish bruise beginning to spread from the cut outwards towards his left eye.

“I don’t think it’s broken, thank god,” you murmur, dabbing the cut gently. “But you’re gonna have one hell of a bruise for a while.”

Ford winces slightly. “That’ll be humiliating to explain.”

“People will think Jamie is the embarrassment, Ford, trust me,” you assure him. “All you did was stand up for yourself…. And for me. Thank you for that, by the way. You really didn’t need to-”

“He was going to hit you.” Ford interrupts. “I didn’t want that, no matter how upset I was.”

“Maybe, but it’s not like I didn’t deserve it.”

Ford catches you by the wrist where you’re finishing with his nose, lowering your hand, and you meet his gaze. He's looking at you like you've said the stupidest thing imaginable. “No, you didn't,” he says, so firmly that you find yourself unable to argue.

“I still should have done something sooner, Ford. This whole thing is my fault,” you say, shaking your head. “I swear that I didn't draw those sketches of you because I wanted to show the others, and definitely not because I think you're weird. I'm sorry that I didn't just admit everything before things got so out of control, but I meant what I said earlier.”

“I think it's fairly clear that we both misunderstood each other, wouldn't you agree?” Ford says with a tiny smile. “I overreacted in the studio without thinking and I didn't want to bring it up in case you really did think I was a freak. I'm not sure I could've taken it, to be honest.”

“Is that why you've been avoiding me all this time? Skipping sessions and stuff?” You frown.

Ford's cheeks stain red, visible even in the low light, and he looks away with a nod, abashed.

“Why not just talk to me, you idiot?” You say, not unkindly.

It's evident that he's embarrassed to go further into detail, but he's piqued your interest now. It's too late to play coy and he probably knows it.

“I….” Ford huffs, still not meeting your eye. “Fidds is my only friend here and, well…. Even when you and I argued in class you were never cruel about it. You held your own and I respected that. I still do. That's why I assumed we were having fun,” he says, recalling your discussion in the studio last week.

“And then we started working together. I suppose I expected it to be terrible but you talked to me like I was just another normal person. You asked me about myself. No one ever does that….” Ford says, looking so wistful that your heart threatens to break further. “Usually it’s about my hands or my brain, or ‘Ford, can you do my essay for me?’, ‘Ford, can I copy your test?’, and it was just so different that I suppose I hoped we might eventually become friends. When you saw my hands and reacted out of nowhere, I worried that you'd wind up being just like the others, so I avoided asking so I didn't have to have my fears confirmed.”

You struggle to form the words that you desperately want to say. Not out of humiliation or fear this time, but because the lump in your throat is so big that nothing seems to be able to get past it beyond a weak sounding: “Ford….”

“That was wrong of me, I know,” he continues. “Old habits die hard and all that…. Plus, I can't say my intentions were wholly pure, but that is mostly your fault.”

That's enough to startle a laugh from you. “Oh?”

Ford smiles to himself and takes a deep breath, like he's finally admitting to a deep secret. “You're very attractive, I couldn't really help it…. Why do you think I kept standing so close to you in the studio?”

You can feel your cheeks burn and you smile, stupid and shy. Slipping free of his grip, you take his hand in your own and lace your fingers together. The fit is unusual with his extra appendage but you find that it's quite nice to have your palm so entirely encompassed.

Ford is surprised by the action, staring down at where you're holding him.

“Look at me, Stanford,” you command, and he does exactly as you ask without hesitation.

You use your free hand to grab his glasses from the bed and, mindful to avoid irritating the cut, you slide them onto his face gently so that he can see you properly.

“You almost drove me mad with that, you know?” You smile and Ford does too, hope dawning on his handsome features. “I admit that I thought you were a total asshole at first. You made me look like an idiot as soon as you started in class and I hated it. You didn't even want to be there but you were better than everyone else, and I took it personally. I mean, you were also kind of a jerk about art and that did get under my skin….”

Ford winces, looking suitably guilty, but you smile.

“The more we spent time together, though, the more I realised that you’re not so bad…. Still a bit of an ass but it’s not like I’m always an innocent party either,” You grin. “And for what it’s worth, in the studio that day? I only noticed your hands while I was looking for something to distract myself with because you were so close to me. I was worried I’d make an idiot of myself and do something stupid that I couldn’t take back.”

“Oh….” Ford’s brows raise. “And…. Do you want to take back the- Our- I mean, what happened earlier?”

It’s sweet that he can’t quite say it. “You mean when you kissed me?”

“Technically, you kissed me,” he argues back without hesitation.

“I don’t think that’s how it went down,” you smirk. “Fairly certain you were the one who started it.”

“I'm afraid I only work with cold, hard facts.” Ford grins. “You'll have to prove it.”

“Make me.”

Ford takes a sharp breath in, gaze dropping to your mouth. “You have no idea how much I want to, but…. You're still covered in my blood.”

Oh, right. You’d forgotten about that.

“Shit,” you mutter, grabbing one of the wipes and blindly smearing it over your mouth. You must look crazy.

Ford laughs under his breath and takes it from you, making quick work of the spots you've missed. After a moment, he speaks again: “That was my first kiss, you know,” he admits.

You're too polite to voice your lack of shock, but you had suspected it might be. Ford is hardly the type to get about in such a way if his behaviour at Backupsmore is anything to go by.

Even in the flurry of action it had been easy to pinpoint a certain lack of grace. Not that it's an issue for you, of course, it certainly feels nice to possess a skill that he doesn’t for once. “And how was it?” You ask, tactfully avoiding any insecurity he might have over it.

“Besides hurting my nose?” Ford says, tossing the wipe onto the soiled pile. “Better than correctly calculating a hypothesis before anyone else has even started the experiment.”

You stare at him blankly.

“Thrilling,” Ford clarifies with a grin, and then he's kissing you again. It's gentle and nervous, yet hungry enough that you can feel how desperate he is to return right back to that earlier moment.

You make a soft, happy sound, your eyes falling closed and hands reaching up to cup his face. Again, Ford takes a hold of your waist and leans into you, exhaling heavily through his sore nose. You'll have to remind him to take some painkillers before he loses himself completely for the evening….

The rest of the night passes just like that: Exchanging slow, delicate kisses with barely restrained heat and talking about life. Ford (just about) apologises for his anatomy comments ("They're better than the other ones, at least....") and you take it in gracious stride; a lot of things have been said (or not said, as the case may be) tonight that neither of you mean.

It won't do to hold them against one another now and anyway, you can pick a better time to help him work on his constructive criticism delivery than right this minute.

Things don't progress further than that, though. You're too concerned that his brain might still be rattled from the punch and even he confesses he's a little nervous about bleeding all over you again.

You stick to chatting, punctuated by measured makeouts and hesitant touches, and somehow it’s impossibly more arousing than jumping into bed with him immediately.

Hours go by before you can bring yourself to leave, and when you do Ford is polite enough not to beg you to stay even though it's blatant that he wants to. You’re both completely rumpled, hot from toe to tip and wound tighter than a drum, but Ford doesn't pressure or guilt you to come back in the way others have before.

He offers to walk you home again, but the temptation to bring him inside your own dorm would be too much; you decline and assure him that for both of your sakes it’ll be better that he stays here, and Ford, being the smart cookie that he is, understands immediately.

“Would you like to come over after our next study session? We could practise our presentation, hang out for a bit,” He suggests when you're standing on the threshold of his door, ready to leave. “Maybe listen to some records….?”

You hope that's code for ‘fuck each other's brains out’.

“That sounds groovy,” you say, smirking. “Are you bringing the vinyl's or should I?”

Ford flushes pink from his throat to the roots of his hair at the heavy innuendo in your question, but he keeps it together admirably, leaning on the doorframe as casually as he can. “Well, you’ll be my guest,” he says, trying not to grin. “It would be awfully rude of me to make you bring them yourself, would it not?”

Oh, that is so definitely code for ‘fuck each other’s brains out’.... This is going to be fun.

The two of you share a long, charged look, all barely restrained smiles and electric hope, before the slamming of a door down the hallway is enough to spur you back onto your original course of action.

“I’ll see you in class, Ford,” you say, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Sweet dreams,” he murmurs, and then he’s closing the door and leaving you out in the hallway alone.

That night, your dreams really are the sweetest they’ve ever been.

In the end, your mid-term presentation with Ford is a resounding success. Professor Stonepoor seems pleasantly surprised by your cooperation, though he gloats a little about it being his plan all along, and all your hard work pays off when he awards you both top marks. He does also pull you aside to ensure that you aren’t the one responsible for giving Ford his black eye, but Ford is quick to assure him that it’s quite the opposite.

Everything else between you both stays a secret, at least for now. Not because you’re ashamed or because Ford is unsure, but because it’s just too much fun to play along with the rivalry narrative. The back-and-forths stay the same in class, though now they serve closer to full on foreplay than academic fighting, and despite the fact that you’re sure a few people might have caught the little glances you throw at each other, nobody pulls you up on it. If they’re still placing bets on your chemistry, you’ll be damned if you give them the satisfaction of knowing for sure.

When Stonepoor catches the two of you making out in the spare studio after hours one evening, however, said plan falls apart. He declares, very jovially, that at least two other faculty members are going to owe him twenty bucks before he shuts the door on you, and as much as you want to complain about his lack of professionalism, the moment you meet Ford’s eyes neither of you can keep it together for long enough to form the words.

All’s well that ends well, you suppose.

A/N: and yes, Stonepoor's name is a play on Rockwell, a famous artist from the 70's (man standing up meme!). I thought it was funny and I'm not sorry.

[purplestanleypinkblanket]

Clubbing Much to Logan's Distaste:

18+

Pairings: (DP3 Vers.) Logan Howlett x Reader

Summary: Vanessa convinced you to go clubbing with her, claiming that there's 'too much testosterone in that damned apartment.' Logan hadn't realized you two were clubbing until Wade, laughing, shows him a photo of you. Well, Logan greatly dislikes that photo and hunts you down. Vanessa takes advantage of how jealous Logan can get.

Warnings: Heavy drinking, body shots mentioned, age g4p, younger reader (like 21), slight woman on woman (vanessa making logan jealous), angry logan, argument, grinding, drunk reader, sexual themes. 18+, minors don't interact.

Genre: Angst, Slight smut.

Word Count: 1,798

A/N: I've really been wanting to explore various themes, and it's about time I branched into thirsty Logan turf! Feel free to leave feedback, I love knowing what could be improved!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Vanessa and you swayed on the dance floor, moving to the song 'Nasty Dog' by Sir-Mix-Alot. The club was packed with various sorts of people, all of which you found yourself dancing against as the night progressed. Shot after shot, you found yourself regretting the dress you wore. It was a black off the shoulder, long sleeve dress with a short skirt. As you swayed and danced, grinding your back up against a man you hadn't met before he bought you a shot, you glanced towards Vanessa who was taking a selfie.

"Say cheese!" She announced to you, moving to catch you in the frame. You and the man you moved against.

Wade and Logan found themselves alone in the apartment. It was odd to Logan, he had grown used to you and Wade dancing to suggestive music like 'Goodies' by Ciara in the living room. Tonight was different. You and Vanessa weren't here, and he was alone with Wade who didn't even try to be subtle with his flirts.

"Where's-"

"She's out clubbing with Vanessa." Wade interrupted like a damned mind reader. How had he known Logan was going to ask about you? Logan scowled at Wade, eyes narrowing. And why in hell were you clubbing? Didn't you know how dangerous it was? The ding of Wade's phone interrupted his thoughts. "Holy fuck!" Wade laughed out. "She's getting it on out there!"

"What?" Logan's voice was rougher than usual, strained too. He grabbed Wade's wrist before he could hide his phone. Yanking at the man's wrist, Logan stared at the phone. At the photo of you and Vanessa. Of you...grinding...on another man. "The fuck does she think she's doing?" He erupted with a growl, standing up immediately. The photo still burned in his retinas. The way your skintight dress showed off every inch and curve of your body. That short skirt that was practically nonexistent. The sight of your bare shoulders through the neckline. Logan swore your breasts looked as if they would fall out of it at any given moment.

"Woah there, honey badger." Wade was quick to dive infront of the front door, preventing Logan from leaving.

Vanessa's words echoed in his brain, "Keep Logan here. Make sure he doesn't ruin my girl's night, or I'll-" Wade didn't entirely remember the rest of the threat because God damn did Vanessa look hot when she scolded him.

"Move, lip." Logan growled at him.

"I can't do that." Wade retorted, stretching his body to take up as much of the doorway as possible. "I'd like to keep my dick, and I can't exactly do that if you interrupt their girl's night."

"I don't give a fuck about your dick." Logan huffed, his scowl deepening. Wade was only wasting time by blocking him in. He was going to get you out of that club- even if it meant killing his friend along the way. Or, at least, trying to.

Vanessa and you move against one another, the previous partners you two danced with long forgotten. She knew she had Wade, and that Logan practically claimed you without actually claiming you...but it was still a fun game to play. To flirt with you, to tease you, whether it was friendly or more. It was once only friendly, but after seeing Logan's reaction to when she straddled you and did your make up as you stroked her thighs- well, how could she not amp it up? Vanessa was just as bad as Wade, truth be told. She loved watching Logan's nostrils flare in angered jealousy, in possessiveness. However, he would never interrupt the situation with you present. If he did, then you'd learn how much he wanted you. And that was outright unacceptable. You were too young, too innocent. He felt guilt for even thinking about you. There were plenty of other men your age- but God did he wish you never looked at them.

With your back facing the door as you did a body shot off of Vanessa, Logan's form bursting through the club door went unnoticed by you. His eyes immediately landed on your mouth moving to the shot glass resting in between Vanessa's chest. She had noticed him first and, with a smug smirk. her hand moved to your hair, tugging at it as you downed the shot. Her tongue ran up your face along where a small drip of tequila escaped your mouth. Her eyes remained on his the entire time. Anger coursed through him as he watched you drunkenly melt into her seductions. With clenched teeth, Logan stormed forward to where you and Vanessa were at the bar. Her legs moving to wrap around your hips as she lifted your chin, murmuring a quick apology in your ear.

"Sorry, Hun'" Was all she could get out before you suddenly felt your arm being yanked. Your eyes widened in surprise when you were brought face to face with Logan, who's nose was scrunched in a furious scowl at you.

"Oh-hey, Lo." You smiled brightly at him. His nose scrunched more in distaste. You reeked of alcohol; he could barely even smell the normal scent of you that he adored.

"The hell do you think you're doing?" He spoke through clenched teeth, the vein in his neck popping slightly.

"Um...having fun?" You replied sassily, flashing your own drunk scowl at him.

"That was having fun?" He scoffs, posture straightening as he began to yank your arm.

"Hey, now wait a damn minute!" You huffed, grabbing at a nearby railing that isolated the bar from the dance floor of the club. "I aint going anywhere!"

"The hell you are!" Logan was in your face before you could react, using the only thing he knew- intimidation. He expected you to back down, or at least murmur a smart-ass comment as you surrendered like you always did.

However, you didn't budge. Not this time. You weren't going to be bullied out of having fun. He watched as your cheeks puffed out, a red flush to them from the drinking you had done, your eyes narrowed at him. Your eyebrows furrowed together to in a deadly glare.

"Princess, now is not the time." Logan started, moving to pull your arm once more. You stood your ground firmly, unmoving.

"Don't you princess me, mister. I'm staying." You huffed out, snatching your arm from his grasp as you crossed them over your chest. His eyes flicked to your breasts for a second, he could feel a groan in the back of his throat just at the sight of them. They looked like they'd spill out of your dress's neckline at any minute. He both loved and hated it.

"No, you arnt." He battled.

"You can either stay and party with Vanessa and I or you can leave."

"I aint staying."

"Then you can leave."

"You aint staying either."

"Yes. I. Am."

"Princess..."

"Face it, Lo. I'm not leaving. Now you can either man up and dance with me or leave me the fuck alone." Logan watched as you jutted your chin out, directing your face from his. He sighed over dramatically. You were too damn stubborn for your own good. His hand found your hip.

"Fine."

A grin broke onto your lips as you registered his words. Leaping up, you wrapped your arms around his neck. "Oh! This will be so much fun!" Logn instinctively caught you, gently guiding you back to standing on the floor as you leaned against him, staring into his eyes adamantly. He knew it was wrong to relish the way you pressed against him. It was wrong to enjoy it. You were too young for him, he knew it. Too sweet, too innocent. He didn't deserve you, or your attention. But the way you stared at him now, eyes lidded from a sense of...hell, was that affection he saw in your eyes? It was directed at him? Why? Logan made no move to resist as you pulled him to the dance floor of the club, soon grinding your ass against him.

He watched your hands fly above your head, into your hair, and into the air. He forced his ears to focus on your drunk singing instead of the music the club blasted. He couldn't help but find himself entranced by you. Logan's cock twitched as you grinded your rear against him, his hands instinctively found your hips, guiding you how he wanted you to move as he swayed against you. His mouth soon nipping at the revealed skin of your neck and shoulders.

A groan escaped his throat when your hands moved behind you and into his hair. His hand slid off your hip and towards your thigh, slipping under your dress as his fingertips trailed your inner thigh. Logan buried his face into your neck, sniffing deeply to inhale your scent. The disgusting scent of liquor wafted into his nose. You still smelled too much like cheap gin and shots for his liking. He always considered himself a connoisseur for the smell of alcohol, but he found himself hating it on you. He wanted to smell you, not gin or tequila.

His hand slid out from under your skirt, grasping your hips to stop your movements against him.

"Stop." He grunted out, ignoring the way his body ached to have you against him.

"But..." You pouted softly as you looked back at him, however, upon seeing the seriousness of his expression, you stopped. Pulling away, you turned to face him. "What's wrong?" You asked.

"I can't." He decided with a shake of his head.

"Lo, I'm 21, I'm legal and-" You began, you hated the way he distanced himself from you just because of your age.

"I know you are, Princess." Logan interrupted. "Thats not why I'm stopping." He forced his voice to be softer as he spoke to you, knowing the wrong tone could send you into a drunk crying mess.

"Then why...?" Was all you could get out before his lips pressed against yours, silencing you.

"Because I want you to be fully there when I show you why I'm better than all the shitty men you've taken home." Logan murmured; tone filled with venom when he mentioned your previous flings. A hint of possessiveness clear. You found yourself nodding, silently appreciating the fact that he wasn't going to take advantage of you- even if you were the one throwing yourself at him. "Now come on, let me take you home." His voice was demanding but you were confident it was a request.

"Okay." You nodded, moving to interlock your hands. "Let's get Vanessa."

When Wade saw Vanessa storming his way an hour later, and Logan carrying you over towards his room, drunk and asleep, he was glad he had hidden the knives.

[ssailormoonn]

❛ THEY ARE WHAT ?! ❜

Husband! Tomioka Giyuu X Fem!Wife!Reader

WC;1.4 k+ | !MDNI! | TW/CW; x fem reader, you and giyuu are married, fluff, slight crack warning + more?

*ੈ✩‧₊˚𝑅𝐸𝒬𝒰𝐸𝒮𝒯 :: (filled request) Giyuu and the reader have been married for three years, but their marriage isn’t widely known. The reader, a bubbly and outgoing Hashira, is often seen around Giyuu, leading others to assume she pities him, unaware of their relationship. During a Hashira meeting, she casually asks for leave to celebrate her anniversary, surprising everyone. Ubuyashiki then reveals the truth by wishing the couple a happy anniversary, leaving the rest of the Hashira in shock - ANON

m.list | demon slayer m.list

You and Giyuu had always kept things... quiet. Not out of necessity, but because that's how Giyuu preferred it. He wasn't the type to flaunt his feelings or make a show of your relationship, and you didn't mind...most of the time. Sure, you'd tease him now and then, but your marriage wasn't something you shouted from the rooftops. You didn't hide it either, though.

People just never asked.

You were nothing like Giyuu in any aspect. Where he was brooding and silent, you were bubbly, always smiling, always drawing attention with your lively personality. Once you came into Hashira position, you'd gain the reputation of one of the friendliest and most outgoing but also one of the strongest.

People admired your skill, but they couldn't help but not ignore how you looked. You had that beauty to draw eyes, combined with your personality, it wasn't rare to hear other people say how you were one of the prettiest demon slayers.

No one knew your last name, though.

That might've been a clue-if any of them had stopped to think about it.

It was no secret that you spent a great deal of time around Giyuu, but most of the Hashira had come to the conclusion that you must pity him-some sort of friendly charity case. And Giyuu, in his usual way, didn't correct them. He never explained why you two were always together.

He let them assume and you let him.

But it was about to come out—whether you planned it or not.

The meeting started off like any other. You sat near Giyuu as per usual, not that anyone paid much attention to seating arrangements anymore. It had become routine. Sanemi barely spared a glance in your direction, too busy looking irritated by something else entirely, while Mitsuri flashed you her usual bright smile.

Rengoku was already there, greeting you with his boisterous energy. "Ah, good morning! You are looking radiant today as always!"

You smiled back at him. "Thanks, Rengoku."

Giyuu nodded in greeting but didn't say a word, silent as always and as still as air. You were used to it, though. His silence didn't faze you. Giyuu loved being near you in private, he was like a cat that didn't want to leave. But today, you did have something to ask, something that was going to definitely stir the pot.

When Ubuyashiki asked if anyone had announcements, you took a deep breath, preparing for the storm that would most definitely arise.

"Master Ubuyashiki, Giyuu and I would like to request a leave of absence for a week."

The other Hashira's eyes fell instantly upon you, curiosity written on their faces. Ubuyashiki smiled. "Of course. And for what reason?"

You grinned, your eyes flicking to Giyuu, who looked faintly concerned-he hadn't expected you to announce it, but you couldn't help yourself. "It's our anniversary."

There was a wave of shock around the room, though nobody said a word in that instant. Mitsuri gasped, eyes wide with wonder, while Sanemi shot you a look of utter incredulity. Rengoku's eyebrows shot up, for once, his grin faltered while he processed what you had said.

But Ubuyashiki didn't seem remotely surprised. As serenely as he always spoke, he merely inclined his head and said, "Ah, of course. Happy anniversary, Mr. and Mrs. Tomioka

Mitsuri's face had sagged. "W-what...?! Mrs. Tomioka?!"

Rengoku's eyes blinked, his confusion curled into laughter. "Wait—Giyuu's wife?! And all this time we thought you were just keeping him company out of pity!"

Giyuu's eyebrow twitched at the comment.

Sanemi huffed loudly, wrapping his arms around himself as if to shield the bruised ego within. "You've got to be kidding me. You're married? To him?"

Uzui leaned back as if he finally found the most amusing part of his day. "Tomioka's been keeping a pretty little secret from us this whole time, huh?" he said, raising an eyebrow in a smirk. "I gotta say, you are full of surprises. Bet you ain't as dull as we thought, Giyuu.

You tried to keep the laughter welling up inside of you contained, but Giyuu's expression was making you not to do so, he was getting embarrassed from the teasing. His face was stoic as ever, but you could sense him tense up. A hand laid stiff upon his lap gave a small jerk-a faint sign that all this attention set him ill at ease. You leaned forward and casually laid your hand over his, giving it a slight squeeze.

"Well, we didn't exactly hide it," you teased with a smile. "We just didn't tell anyone."

Sanemi grunted low. "You mean he didn't say anything."

Giyuu had nothing to say, his eyes on the floor. Moments like this, you knew he wanted to disappear. But instead of letting the others keep their teasing going, you turned the tables.

"Oh, don't look so surprised," you teased, moving in a little closer to Giyuu with a sparkle in your eye. "It's been years now. Giyuu's always been such a romantic."

Sanemi snorted, and Tengen let out a loud laugh. "Yeah, right. I really can't picture Tomioka being romantic."

You smiled, leaning your head against Giyuu's shoulder in exaggerated love. "He planned a whole week off for our anniversary. Isn't that sweet?

Mitsuri, the eternal romantic, squealed in delight. "Oh, my goodness! That's so adorable! How long have you two been together? Why didn't we know this all this time?!"

"Well," you said, "Giyuu's good at keeping secrets."

By this time Giyuu's face was a deep crimson color. his ears almost burned with embarrassment. You knew he'd most likely scold you later for being so casual about letting it all spill out, but for the time being you enjoyed your fellow Hashira's reactions.

Rengoku, still smirking, crossed his arms. "Three years of marriage, eh? That's awesome! I'm shocked we never put two and two together. How long have you two been a couple?

"Since we were in our teens," you said matter-of-factly. "We went through quite a bit together. He was always there to support me, even when I wasn't yet a Hashira."

The smirk on Tengen's face spread further. "So, how does it feel being Mrs. Tomioka? Got to say, I'm kind of curious. He's got that stoic brooding vibe going on, but I'll bet he's different when it's just the two of you, huh?"

Your beamed, and you shot Giyuu a sly look. "I don't kiss and tell."

That made the rest burst into a fit of laughter, though Mitsuri turned to you dreamily. "That's so romantic. I just can't believe that you were married all along..."

Sanemi rolled his eyes. "Romantic? It's impossible."

You laughed, leaning into Giyuu just a bit more, earning a barely audible sigh from him. You could tell he was trying to hold it together despite the attention, and you knew he'd probably scold you later for making such a big deal out of it. But for now, you were having too much fun with the moment.

Ubuyashiki merely smiled at the both of you, his calm and collected demeanor accompanied by an understanding sheen in his eyes. "I hope the two of you enjoy your week off together. It's well deserved."

You nodded gratefully to him. "Thank you, Master Ubuyashiki.

The other Hashira were still talking when the meeting wrapped up, still apparently in a daze from your marriage bombshell. Mitsuri darted over to you the instant the meeting was finished, her face shining with excitement.

"I have so many questions! How did you two meet? Who confessed first? Oh, I bet Giyuu's so sweet when no one's looking, isn't he?"

You laughed, dodging her interrogative attack. "It's a long story, Mitsuri. Some other time, I'll tell you."

With that said, before you could utter another word, Giyuu silently got up, tugging lightly on your sleeve. "Let's go."

You followed him out of the meeting room, the eyes of the other Hashira seemingly still on you well after you left. When they were outside and far enough away from their prying gazes, Giyuu let out a long, exasperated sigh.

"You liked that, didn't you?" he asked, his voice low but his tone gentle instead of angry.

You smiled up at him, slipping your hand into his. "Maybe just a little. But come on, they were bound to find out eventually. It was kind of fun seeing their reactions."

Giyuu sighed again but didn't argue. Instead, he squeezed your hand gently, and his expression softened just a little. "I suppose it wasn't unbearable."

You laughed, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "See? I told you it'd be fine."

Giyuu said nothing, but the slight flush of his cheeks did the talking.

Do not copy, steal, modify use for AI, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

m.list | demon slayer m.list

[darksigns-exe]

a thousand flowers could bloom - noah sebastian x f!reader

word count: 1.8k

warnings: swearing, dry humping, big feelings

note: by request from an anon <3 im so sorry that it's taking me FOREVER to get to these.

Finding Noah in your apartment like this isn’t unusual. Over the course of your friendship, you got used to Noah taking full advantages of the spare key you had given him. Most of the time he announces himself with a quick text, but on occasion he’ll already be there by the time you come home from work, the store or some social obligation. 

Today was one of those occasions. He’s stretched out over the length of your two-seater when you unlock the door, feet dangling over the edge of it. It’s fairly late, and he seemingly hadn’t even bothered to turn on the lights before he’d made a home for himself on your sofa. Noah is so fast asleep that he doesn’t notice you moving around the room, he only stirs when you find a place for yourself amongst his limbs. He stretches with a stifled groan, blinking up at you, still firmly held in the grasp of sleep.

“When did you get back?” he asks, voice still a little rough. 

It’s so awfully domestic. 

There’s really no denying it. What you feel for him can’t be just friendship. Moment’s like this make you feel as if you’re about one step away from your relationship becoming more than that, but at the same time you know how difficult it can be to be with someone like him. The touring and the other demands of his line work already make it difficult to be his friend. And even then, you don’t even know if he wants you like that. 

Realising that you’ve been silent for a moment too long, you shake yourself out of your silence. 

“Half an hour ago, maybe?” you reply. 

He squints at you for a moment before breaking into a smile, “I had to get out of the house for a bit, hope I didn’t interrupt any plans?”

In a way he did, but Noah doesn’t need to know about that. 

“You’re good.”

You adjust your position as he sits up, giving you a little more space. 

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” Noah announces then. 

As if you’d expect anything else from him, the boy is somehow always hungry. 

“I’m surprised that you didn’t order anything before I got here.” you counter, “Our usual place is closed today, so you’ll have to settle for something else.” 

From the sigh he lets out, you’d think that the greatest of tragedies had just struck him. Eventually, he grumbles out a resigned fine, and you’re so sure that you can see him rolling his eyes like a petulant child. You settle on a different restaurant but realise too late that this place has an expected delivery time of almost an hour. 

You decide to put a record onto the turntable while you wait and settle on a favourite of yours. 

Dummy by Portishead. 

The soft pulsing beat of the opening track settles you into a comfortable mood. With your legs thrown over Noah’s lap, you’re more than comfortable. Your idle chatter is interrupted when Noah’s phone dings with a notification that lets you know that your delivery will be delayed by a good twenty minutes. 

The delay quickly flees your mind when his hand settles a little too high on your thigh. The touch is innocent enough, really, and maybe it’s only the music that makes it feel like more than it actually is. But you can’t deny the warm feeling that spreads throughout your body. 

The conversation steering into a more intimate direction doesn’t exactly help your situation. It’s not uncommon for the two of you to talk about your relationships, although you’ve noticed that Noah has talked less about seeing people in recent months. When he would sometimes tell you about the people he went out with, he’d been suspiciously silent on the matter recently, and you can’t help but wonder if he isn’t seeing anyone or if he’s just not telling you about it. 

“I don’t know, it just feels like everyone’s a disappointment, you know? I don’t know if my expectations are too high or if people are just shit.” you conclude your rant about the state of your love life. 

Noah eyes you for a moment, “And what do you expect?” Your breath catches in your throat when you look at him. He’s never looked at you like this before – or if he has, you’d never noticed. His eyes are blown wide, lips caught between his teeth. Somehow, you already know that whatever you’re about to tell him will change things between you. 

“I guess I just want someone to want me, if that make sense? I don’t think I’m asking for too much with that.” 

Noah clears his throat. His hand pulses on your thigh, and you’re acutely aware of how intensely he’s pinning you down with his stare. “Oh, absolutely not.” his hand wanders up your thigh so tentatively, “Maybe you’ve been looking in the wrong place.” 

Your heart thumps in your chest. 

Surely he isn’t insinuating what is spinning around in your head. 

“Do you think so?” 

You sit up, but don’t quite detach yourself from him yet. Your palms feel awfully sweaty, and you have to force yourself to take deep breaths. 

In the moments before he answers, you feel yourself spiralling through all kinds of scenarios. 

“I don’t know, maybe you should look a little closer to home.” 

His hand settles above your hip. It doesn’t feel foreign, you’ve always been a bit more tactile with each other. You know that part of what has been holding you back from falling into bed with just anyone has been the high expectation you have for your first real sexual encounter. Sure, you’ve made out with people, but it never turned into more. Something had always felt off. 

Something you don’t feel right now. 

“Noah?” you ask quietly, afraid to break this delicate moment. 

“Yes?” his reply sound just as trembling as you feel. 

You can’t find the right words then. Suddenly, everything you could say feels so out of place, so insignificant. 

Thankfully, Noah seems to sense your predicament. 

“Look at me for a moment, will you?” he says softly, drawing your attention to him, “Nothing has to happen here unless that’s what you want. I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything. We can just put a pin in this and come back to it when you’re ready for it.” 

As much as you appreciate his concern for you, right now your mind is set on a single track. You don’t know where the confidence suddenly comes from, but you’re glad that it finds you. It takes Noah a moment to catch up when your lips meet his. A second later, his hand finds the side of your face. When you part, his cheeks are tinged bright pink. 

You can’t stay away from him for long, though. Y0u scramble towards him, coming to rest atop his thigh. His arms wrap around your body, keeping you close to him. Noah pushes his thigh upward, bringing it into contact with your centre. It’s just a small touch, lessened by the fabric of your shorts, but it still sends a spike of heat up your spine. 

You feel a little out of your depth with this. In theory, you know what you’re supposed to do, but in practice it feels so daunting. And when you pull away from his lips, Noah’s face immediately twists into a concerned furrow. 

“Is everything okay? Too much?” 

His hands settle on your waist, as he fixes you with just so much worry. 

“I just don’t know – I don’t know what I’m doing.” You admit feeling a little more foolish than you’d like to admit. 

The concern fades into something softer, “Do you want me to help, love?”

You nod, unable to find your voice. 

“Alright. Okay.” you can tell that he’s sorting through his thoughts, “Tell me if something doesn’t feel good, okay?”

“I will.” 

A faint smile plays on his lips, “Good.”

With his hands still holding onto your waist, he brings his thigh back into contact with you. The rhythm he helps you find is slow enough, and you find yourself taking over fairly quickly. Noah keeps one hand on your waist, while the other moves up the side of your body, creeping up towards your ribs. His thigh shifts beneath you, drawing a hitched breath from you. 

“Is that good?” he asks softly, his gazed fixed on your face. 

You can only nod, feeling much too overwhelmed to vocalise how you feel beyond the soft sighs that have been pouring from your lips. 

Noah pulls you close to him, wrapping his arms around your body once more. Your hips move against him seemingly on their own. It’s so dizzying. If you already feel like this with this many layers of clothing separating you, how good will it feel when you can actually feel his skin against yours? 

You feel Noah bury his face in the side of your neck, shifting his body, allowing you to feel how much this affects him too. He moans against your skin when you move against him a little more intentionally. 

“I’ve wanted this for so long.” you speak into the crook of your neck, lips barely lifting from your skin. 

Your fingers twist into his hair, trying to keep him there as best as you can. The sound he makes when you tug at it a little makes you shiver. 

“Noah.” you sigh. 

The pleasant sting of him sucking a bruise into your skin makes your head spin even more. That knot in your middle feels so tight already, even with so much separating you. 

“Lie down for me, love?” 

His face is so soft, cheeks flushed, lips spit-slicked. 

Noah helps you shift onto your back and covers your body with his as soon as you’re resting against the cushions. He hovers above you for a moment longer, gazing down at you with an impossible softness. And just as he leans down to kiss you again, the aggravating sound of your doorbell tears through the moment. 

His forehead drops to your shoulder as he lets out a heavy sigh. 

Noah presses a quick kiss to your lips before he lifts himself off you again. Your eyes fall shut for a second as you try to make sense of what just happened. 

I’ve wanted this for so long.

The words spin around your head. He wanted this – you. 

When you open your eyes and sit up, Noah is still talking to the delivery person. He returns to you a moment later, placing the bags on your coffee table. He sits next to you, wringing his hands together for a moment before he turns towards you. 

“We should talk about this.” he sounds so awfully hesitant, “I don’t want us to feel weird – I really don’t want you to feel as if I’m forcing something –” 

Instead of letting him ramble on into oblivion, you take the initiative and press a chaste kiss to his lips, effectively shutting him up. 

“Or we could eat and finish this later. You’re not the only one who’s been waiting for this.” It takes a second for your words to reach his head, but when they do, he gives you an almost wicked smile. 

“Oh, we will absolutely finish this later.”

taglist: @deathblacksmoke @circle-with-me @sitkowski @ladyveronikawrites @baddestomens

@malice-ov-mercy @chels3a-smile @ferduttini @somebodyels3 @itsafullmoon

@shilohrosechicken @poisongirl616 @mysticdoodlez @agravemisstake

[andhumanslovedstories]

I am just flabbergasted sometimes: one week you are on a leave from your job to heal and the next you are receiving an award for doing such a great job at your job. The duality of human kind.

Anyway, double whammy: congrats and hope you feel better soon!

it's so wild. actually, and this is such an "everyone clapped story" but it is true: when I went back to the hospital a few weeks back to discuss my return to work with my manager, my goal was to slip in and out so I could see how I felt about being back at the physical location of work without making a big fuss. Then my manager was like, "oh come into our morning staff meeting!" And I was like, sure, I should see what's going on. So I walk into the conference room and find out 1) I am the last person there to arrive and 2) this is the most crowded staff meeting I've ever seen. so already failed my goal of discretion. I scoot to the back of the room, and then the chief nursing officer starts a presentation which includes showing a short video about DAISY award winners, which I watched and was like, "this is schmaltzy as hell........but it would be cool to be featured in something like that one day."

The clip ends and they announce that this business associated with the awards had picked someone from our hospital as one of the three people they were going to feature this year, and I thought, "is it me?" because I did win a DAISY, but then I thought, "nah. surely they would have given me a head's up in advance." And then the nursing director said, "They picked Sarah," and pointed at me, and like forty people in the room turned to stare and, yeah, everyone clapped.

My first response was, "I'm not even back to work yet." They asked if I would participate in this, and the answer was yes despite some reservations (I'm proud of the work I do, but I'm mortified at the idea of talking about it), but what I said aloud was, "Wouldn't it be wild if I said no right now?" Anyway, after I was rapidly and frantically assured that of course I could say no, obviously, I let them off the hook and said, "sure yeah I'll participate in this."

And then I went to go talk to my manager about accommodations for return to work, and guys would you believe I got exactly the shift schedule I asked for?

[mikashisus]

HSR MEN WITH AS IT IS SONGS !

PAIRINGS: dan heng, aventurine, sunday, jing yuan, blade x gn!reader

CWS: angst

NOTES: all of u can blame gwen and jun for the dan heng section. anyw ive been so hyperfixated on as it is lately bc they just announced they’re coming back from hiatus and RAHHHH IM SO EXCITED, ive been waiting so longgg i missed the pookies sm <//3 ermm this is not proofread sorry for any errors !!

WC: 1.1k

THE FIRE, THE DARK — DAN HENG

“she’s all i want, now that i’m on my own, now that she’s really gone” …

on the days where his mind wasn’t occupied with the data bank or memories of his past life, his thoughts always drifted to you.

you, who always kept him warm with your body heat. you, who always filled the express with constant laughter and chatter. you, who never failed to distract him from his work. your smile that could light up an entire room and your joyful presence that beckoned others to you.

but he let you slip through his fingers. and now, his bed was cold and so was he. his room was quiet, almost devoid of life except for his soft breathing. the parlor car was empty, except for welt and himeko’s occasional whispers. breakfasts weren’t any fun anymore, not when you weren’t there to rile up march and shout “food fight!”

his life was dull without you, the fire that kept him going. now there was a different fire, but it didn’t burn as bright as you. it never would. now that you were gone, traveling elsewhere in the cosmos, you were all he ever wanted.

DIAL TONES — AVENTURINE

“i’ll mend your heart and break it in the same breath, all we ever share are dial tones” …

another night of the same shit. you had been waiting for the inevitable ringtone that always sounded when he called you.

same time every night without fail. sometimes, he wouldn’t call at all. he’d blow off your dates and then gift you things you didn’t need to try and make up for it. but all you really wanted was to spend time with him.

you waited, cuddling a plushie he gifted you to your chest. the clock struck midnight and still no call. you were just about to give up and call it a night, when your phone screen lit up and the caller id displayed his name. you eagerly sat up, reaching for your phone, when you suddenly paused.

he was going to recite the same words. you could feel it. you let your hand drop back onto your bed and sighed as you turned your back to your phone. you wouldn’t answer. not tonight.

when you woke up the next morning, his side of the bed was still empty, but a small note rested on his pillow. you picked it up, only to see the same lame half-assed apology he always gave. you crumpled up the piece of paper and grabbed your phone, dialing his number.

THE HANDWRITTEN LETTER — SUNDAY

“i need you when i’m bruised, i need you when i’m broken” …

he fell from grace. he was no longer the esteemed head of the oak family. he was now… a fallen angel. a fugitive of penacony.

and yet, he came crawling to you for help again. even now, when he knew that involving you meant you would be a fugitive too. but he needed you— needed your smile, your laugh, your presence, your embrace. everything about you.

you always healed him when he felt broken and bruised. you always welcomed him into your home without question, tending to his broken state of mind and allowing him a moment of solace from the outside world.

he knocked thrice, waiting for the door to the shop to swing open like it always did. but there was no answer from the other side, no sign of life. he knocked again, only to realize the sign in the window. the shop was closed, and sold.

you were gone. you didn’t tell him you were leaving. why didn’t you tell him? why didn’t you stay when he so clearly needed you?

he fished out his beaten up phone and sent you a text, only for it to not go through.

THE TRUTH I’LL NEVER TELL — JING YUAN

“how long's it been, it must be months, i swear this time I meant to keep in touch, like always” …

how long has it been? months? years?

he swore he’d keep in touch with you even after you moved to the yaoqing, yet he never took that one step to sending you a text or dialing your number.

it was slowly getting harder for him. his mental health was getting worse. all of his past friends were showing up again, all of them completely different from the people they used to be. they were familiar faces, yet he didn’t recognize any of them.

you were the only one thing that stayed constant in his life before you also left. you moved, and you slowly changed, just like everyone else.

he wondered if you moved on, found a new partner, had kids…

he could easily text you, or call, and ask to catch up sometime. but he was scared. you’d ask about his wellbeing, and he wouldn’t be able to tell you because he didn’t want you to feel disappointed. he didn’t want you to feel guilty for leaving him by himself.

you sent him texts. he read each one. he’d reread them when he missed you terribly. yet, he couldn’t find the courage to reply. you sent him letters once in a while, yet none of them told of how your own life was going. you always asked about him. how he’s been, how yanqing was doing, how fu xuan was faring.

you asked about dan feng once, and that was the only time he responded, telling of his reincarnation. that was the last and only time he replied.

PATCHWORK LOVE — BLADE

“i won’t forget you, i won’t regret through the pain, the years i gave to you” …

he knows you used to love him, but you don’t anymore. you loved who he used to be.

yingxing was the man you fell in love with once upon a time. it’s been years since then. did he even remember that time? you did. you oh so clearly did.

whenever you reconnected, you’d bring it up. you’d talk about all the things you two used to do, where you’d go, the holidays you spent together. it seemed as if your head was filled entirely of memories from the past. as if your heart still beat for the man he used to be, when all he used to do was smile. when all he said to you were words of love and encouragement.

but it’s been years since then. and he was not the same man you knew. he was mara-struck, his mental health unstable and teetering on the edge of insanity at every moment.

yet, you seemed to be the same. somehow. you’d text him now and then, and he knew you felt guilty for what happened, even though it wasn’t your fault in the slightest. he never blamed you for anything.

you’d ask to meetup, and when you did, he saw how you were almost the exact same as you used to be. just, now, your eyes were duller, no longer filled with that wonder he always loved the most about you.

you talked of how your life was going. you were faring well— way better than he was. you had kids. they were all grown up with families of their own. your heart no longer beat for him. it seemed as if you finally moved on.

he wouldn’t ever forget you. he swore he wouldn’t. not when thoughts of you kept him sane. although the past you shared was no more, he still felt himself again when he was with you. as if nothing changed.

© 2024 mikashisus. do not plagiarize, copy, repost, feed to ai, or translate my works to any other platforms.

[ryescapades]

can i request narumi x gojo like reader (like extremely overpowered and yk gojo stuff 😝) because ur dazai fics are just mwah! could they be and captain and they're vc is like suguru :>

thank you !!!!

limitless | kaiju no. 8

characters: narumi gen x gn gojo!reader

contents: sniper!reader, attempt at humor, fluff, some OCs, a lot of made up plots bcs this fic wouldn't exist otherwise (feels like i was world building ngl), reader's division number is not mentioned, narumi appears like in the second half of this, hint of rivals(?) + idiots to lovers

a/n: i hope i did your req justice, tqsm nonnie! lmk if you're satisfied with this or not (bcs im kinda not) almost made reader and their vc become a doomed yaoi couple just like satosugu 2k wc

"ehhh, another mission?"

your vice-captain, akira rolls her eyes at your grumble. "yes, another mission, captain. the higher-ups have requested for us to be there as soon as we possibly can, for the location is said to be in an uptown city of tokyo, a few hours from our base, so we ought to dispatch early," she explains.

"blegh, i bet the old man shinomiya is laughing at me right about now. we literally just returned from a mission like two days ago, akira! he sure loves working us to the bone!" you complain as your hand continues to work, cleaning the glass lens of your sniper rifle's scope.

akira throws a flat look. "maybe because we're the only unit in the defense force that specializes in kaiju intelligence? dummy," she says pointedly, causing you to wave her off. "nah, semantics."

she sighs, shaking her head. "in any case, we need to get ready now. we have to be on the move in about half an hour," your vice-captain's words go into one ear and out the other as your mind drifts away, thinking of how you can possibly sneak away to buy some nice treats while in tokyo.

hm, preferably those ringo apple-custard pies... your mouth waters at the thought.

less than five hours later, you find yourself strutting in the hallways of the ariake base, with akira following close behind.

"how many times do i have to remind you to tell me first if you wanted to make a detour mid-way," akira pinches the bridge of her nose, and you pout slightly. "i didn't even take that long, mind you!" you argue, though the way you dust off the sweet pastry crumbs off your lips doesn't really give the impression that you sound apologetic at all about it.

"captain, you keep forgetting that we have a meeting to get to. you should try to be more considerate towards others' time, you know?" she chastises, making you shrug dismissively. "you're too uptight about everything, akira. loosen up,"

already used to your petty remarks, akira crosses her arms and narrows her eyes at you. "what was that? you wanna take this outside, y/n?" the way she drags the syllables of your name daringly has you smirking, eyes glinting dangerously as you flex your hands. "oh yeah? and what if i say yes?"

what both of you don't realize is that you've walked far enough to reach general shinomiya's office, the sound of the double doors opening snapping off the tense rope that connects your challenging gazes together.

the two of you straighten up awkwardly, whistling a mindless tune and fixing your uniform respectively to pretend like you weren't about to start a scuffle just a second ago.

hasegawa, the one who had opened the doors raises an eyebrow curiously when he sees you and your vice-captain. "seems like they're already here, general shinomiya." he announces over his shoulder before giving a respective nod and taking his leave.

as you enter the office, general shinomiya gives you a long, pointed look. "you're late." your nose scrunches at the comment, "only by fifteen minutes. chill out, old man."

"what they mean to say is—" akira immediately speaks up, frustrated at your lack of manners, but shinomiya isao raises a hand with a shake of his head to interject. "never mind that. we have more pressing matters at hand,"

as he drones on and on about the details of the mission, you're barely listening to any of them when one particular statement catches your attention.

"do your surveillance for at least two days before you clean up and come back to report. i'll send in narumi as well for some extra hands."

like a puppy hearing the sound of kibble food being poured in its bowl, your head perks up in interest.

seems like this mission won't end up being a bore, after all.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

"akira... i'm bored,"

you can almost hear your second-in-command's teeth gritting against each other. "that's the sixth time you've said that, captain." she says, her voice crackling through your earpiece. "wait, really? maybe i should say it another time—"

"please, don't." she interrupts with a huff. "you don't know how many nights i've spent wondering how your impatient ass got this job,"

you're about to counter when a new voice chimes in through the comms, "they're good at this job, that's why." a smile grows on your face at the statement. "ren, of course! this is why you're everyone's favorite," you cheekily say.

your operations leader snickers at the quiet but still audible vomiting noises akira is making. "i'm flattered, captain. but i do agree with vice-captain akira. given how our division is all about stealth and patience, it is quite the surprise someone like you sits at the top," ren muses.

you click your tongue, the small 'tch' sound only providing more amusement for your two subordinates. "you deserve a headlock for that, ren."

be that as it may, you are indeed good at your job. appointed as the captain of a special intelligence unit for the defense force, your division is tasked to undertake any job that requires kaiju surveillance, where you discreetly observe and study the behaviors of these monsters, especially the new species before subjugating them once your task is completed.

where do you think all those official kaiju encyclopedia books and websites get their information from?

your missions are all basically just field trips, to be frank. you command officers who are specifically trained in stealth and espionage, with your sharp sniping skills second to none in the defense force.

your beloved vice-captain, the talented officer that she is, unluckily holds the job of patrolling the perimeter and taking care of any kaiju that happens to stumble upon where your sniping port is set up. can't have the sniper getting jumped now, can we?

pulling your eyes away from the scope, you mindlessly tap away on the side of your sniper gun. "anyways, how's captain narumi doing?" you ask.

the division has very few recruits every year, due to the fact that not everyone can master the perfect form of stealth and spying when it comes to such untamed creatures. with the unit being the only unique one, your officers are often dispatched at various locations at the same time.

thus, the subjugation after the observation is usually carried out with the help of other divisions. and that's where narumi comes in.

or rather, he actually does come in. like, legit.

"worried about me?" the man himself steps into the empty room of the desolated building you're currently positioned at, his bayonet held close to his side. your brows quirk in amusement at the question, "yes, actually. i was worried your... extravagant method of killing kaiju is going to get us spotted sometime soon,"

narumi feels his blood thrums in his ears. he doesn't know what it is about you, but every time the two of you interact, he just gets frustrated and bothered. how are you so... infuriating?

"excuse me? i know perfectly well how you handle your operations, thank you very much!" he exclaims.

"oh? is that so, akira?" you inquire into your earpiece, wanting to poke fun at the first division captain further. he tenses slightly as he's reminded of his recent kills.

a big tease just as you are, akira hums, "well, i certainly heard him gloating with the other officers after his first kill earlier. he was probably doing his usual egosurfing after that... and the second kill was obscenely loud too. and then there's the—"

"okay, i think they get it now, vice-captain." narumi cuts her off in a snap, crimson hues dusting his cheeks. you smirk, about to make another retort when ren's voice intervenes you.

"emergency, captain! there's a kaiju about less than two kilometers away from the town!" your pupils flare in alarm just as akira voices out her surprise, "wait, what? there shouldn't be any of them so close to the human settlement. is it a stray?"

without focusing on ren and akira's discussion, you sling your sniper over your shoulder and head out of the building, "i'm going after it," you announce.

as you walk past narumi, he grabs your arm to stop you. electric sparks jolt underneath the material of your suits and into your skin, though neither of you seems bothered enough to acknowledge it. "there could be more than just that one. i'm coming with you," he insists, unaware that he's leaning into your space to get his point across.

what is it with him and needing to be closer to you? narumi can never figure out the answer to that even if he was aware of it in the first place.

you didn't expect him to suddenly be all up in your face like that, so your hand automatically shoots out towards him, a palm splaying over his chest to hold him back. realizing how weirdly intimate the touch is, you move to pull away but your hand unconsciously lingers, dragging itself down the metal chestplate of his suit before finally retreating in a matter of seconds.

the loss of contact nearly burns you from the inside out, and you hate admitting that it's not in a bad way. not at all, not ever. something about narumi gen just flares you up deliciously, and you're more than happy and willing to crash into this man's blazing inferno.

perhaps you're just as hopeless as he is in that regard.

with a shrug, you throw a sanguine grin at him over your shoulder, "even if you weren't here, narumi, i can handle them just fine. this is my forte, and i'm the strongest one here." shivers run down the back of his spine, the knowing glimmer in your eyes almost making him visibly and audibly swallow.

he doesn't doubt that sentiment. not at all.

narumi knows how strong and skilled you are. if ashiro mina is known with her extremely explosive power, you're known with your hawk's eye trait. you're good at predicting just exactly where the kaiju's core is supposed to be, courtesy of the years of meticulously studying the monsters.

'how am i different to ashiro? hm, let's see... to put it simply, ashiro is the type to spam her high-damaged gun. like a reaaally offensive dps, you see. while i prefer to go with that one shot one kill style,' you'd often say. as a chronic gamer himself, he understood that crystal clear.

as the two of you exit the building and make a beeline towards the direction of the town, a few kaiju that you had surveyed just a few minutes ago turn their heads in attention when they hear your rapid footsteps.

your annoyance rises when they start advancing towards you, all feral eyed and inhumane. "sorry but i really don't have time to waste on small fries like you," you mutter as you take out your handgun.

the next thing narumi knows, their cores are precisely struck with your bullets, including the kaiju whose humongous tail almost swiped at you two from your common blind spot, one which he could've taken out. with his RT-0001 retina, he was less than one second away from handling it!

"oh, would you look at that! i saved your ass, narumi! ain’t i just the best?" you boast, causing his imaginative feathers to ruffle. the respond he's about to give doesn't get to come out, as you manage to irritate him even more.

"by the way, don't you think you should slip in some more trainings everyday? you play enough games as it is. at this rate, you're gonna get weaker than me, you know?" you remark before swiftly skipping away, your tongue sticking out in jest and leaving narumi to deal with his own agitation.

you're literally a menace in narumi's eyes, but his curiosity is boundless. as he moves to follow after your tracks, he keeps asking himself why he just cannot seem to stop wanting to get know you more.

nah i'd win, *dies immediately after*

ps i love when gojo made that digimon ref in s2 he's such a nerd pls. also there's like one hidden ow2 ref in there somewhere. like using pharah and widowmaker in regards to the difference between ashiro and reader

taglist: @maruflix @iamjellyfish @ouiouimochi @yueliie @justwinginglife @lumiambrose @minasfwoopyponytail @17020

©🅁🅈🄴🅂🄲🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

[sceletaflores]

any nasty down bad breeding kink art musings love of my life?

viciously yanked me out of my mini challengers rut with this one because yes. yes i do have some thoughts on that.

for some reason the first thing that came to mind was virgin!art....in a universe where he somehow didn't get laid before stanford lol

like auurgggghhh virgin!art and his deep seated breeding kink. it's literally ingrained in him even before he has sex for the first time.

you're his first real girlfriend, met when you needed a tutor in accounting and art's professor suggested him.

the two of you have been dating for two months and he already knows that he loves you despite what patrick says about "playing the field a little man, you're not married to the chick."

but the thing is that art would marry you. he'd up and marry you tomorrow if that's what you wanted. he doesn’t care how crazy it sounds.

he loves you and he wants you to be his first.

maybe he wasn't entirely expecting it when you laid on your back on the mattress of his dorm, peering up at him through your lashes as you announced that you were "ready to take our relationship to the next level..."

he was hard before you finished talking.

art could barely think straight, his body reacting faster than his mind. he swallowed hard, trying to steady his hands, which had started trembling the moment you laid back on the navy blue comforter of his bed.

“are you...are you sure?" his voice came out more breathless than he intended, his brain scrambling to keep up despite all the blood rushing to his dick.

your gentle nod, paired with a soft smile that made his heart stutter in his chest was all it took for him to lose any lingering doubts.

he crawled up the mattress, leaning down to kiss you with more tenderness than urgency, his heart thudding against his ribcage like it was trying to escape his chest.

he fumbled his way through fingering you, his hands shaking with nerves even though you've done this part countless times.

it wasn't until the two of you shed all clothes, art settling himself between your legs before you were speaking, thighs twitching to close around his hips.

"you'll have to pull out, i'm off the pill."

fuck.

art's heard of that before, pulling out. usually the punchline of some jokes the guys like to tell in the locker room, or from patrick recapping his own hook-up stories.

the dirtiness of it makes his cheeks burn, and he hopes to god you can't see the embarrassing red blush he knows is there.

he takes a deep breath, steeling his resolve as he presses the leaking head of his dick to your slick hole.

"okay." his voice sounded pained, his hold on your hip probably a little too tight as he held his throbbing dick steady and nudged his hips forward until just the tip slipped inside your fluttering hole.

"oh fuck."

art’s brain short-circuits for a moment, his entire body freezing as the tight heat of you grips the head of his dick. he sucks in a shaky breath, trying to keep his cool, but every nerve in his body is screaming at him to move, to take more. to bury himself so deep he wouldn’t know where he ends and you begin.

he lets out a low groan, fingers digging into your skin, knuckles turning white with it. he wasn’t prepared for how overwhelming it would feel, like his entire life had been leading up to this exact moment.

"jesus...you're so—" he can’t even finish the sentence, his voice breaking.

"art," your hips shift beneath him, making him jolt forward, sinking just a little deeper inside you. his mind goes blank, a vast space of nothingness but the tight heat wrapped around his dick.

there's only you, your soft skin, your quiet gasps, the feeling of being wrapped in the most sinful warmth.

for a while art gets lost in the feeling. in the way you pant into his open mouth, to overwhelmed to kiss him properly. in the way your hands grip his shoulders harder with every inch he gives you. in the way you pussy shakes around him like it can hardly wait any longer.

but soon enough, art knows he's getting close, that he probably needs to pull out soon. but you're just so soft and you smell so good and your pussy is sucking his dick in so wet and warm like it never wants him to leave again.

"i can't," he grits out against your collarbone, shaking his head frantically. "i can't do it."

"don't stop," you whine, manicured nails digging into the toned muscle of his shoulders, "don't stop, baby. fuck, give it to me harder, harder please-ah!"

art screws his eyes shut as tightly as he can, brows pinched together as he presses his forehead against the sweaty skin of your shoulder. to ground himself. his hips speed up to punch out more high whines of his name from your slick lips.

there's an odd feeling working it's way through his body as he ponders his options, a wrongness flashing in the back of his mind each time he reminds himself of pulling out to spill over your stomach.

despite the fact that he's never done this before, his gut tells him no.

you deserve his come inside you, painted along your insides as he claims you for the first time.

"i can't pull out," he whines through clenched teeth, big hands tightening their hold on your waist. his voice is pinched and high in a way it's never been before, desperation leaking through his tone.

your lips fall open on a gasp, your head shaking back and forth dazedly, but he feels the way you clench around him. the way your pussy tightens up like it's trying to milk the load directly out of his aching balls.

"fuck! please don't make me baby," he begs, self restraint snapping in two as he buries his face in your neck. "lemme come in you, it'll be okay. we'll be fine, nothing gonna happen if it's only this once."

"no..." you moan, "art don't, gotta pull out..." but your hips start rising of the bed to meet his thrusts, the dirty smack of skin on skin filling his tiny single. you're dripping around him, coating his dick with a slick layer of shiny wetness.

"i can't," art repeats breathlessly, dick twitching inside you warningly.

"i need it…need you, need to come in you so fucking bad," his voice is strained and cracking, hips trembling with the effort, but you’re so tight around him, every squeeze pulling him deeper.

it's too much and not enough all at once—the heat, the wetness, the overwhelming need. it has pure kerosene burning in his veins.

"art," your legs stay wrapped snug around his hips, ankles locked over his lower back. "m'close, gonna come, fuck! i'm coming—!"

so is art. the added squeeze of you're pussy coming around shattering the last of his resolve and sending him careening him over the edge.

"fuck," your name falls from his lips in a tight groan as he unloads inside of you. flooding your pussy with warm come as his hips keep up the punishing pace he set.

art doesn't stop thrusting even as he comes so hard his vision whites out. he can't stop, like you've got some sort of magnetic field that keeps pulling him in over and over and over.

your too-loud moans and cries dissolving into sharp keens and gasps as he fucks you into over-stimulation, his hips pumping in in in as the image of his come getting fucked deeper and deeper inside of you plays on a loop in his mind.

when his arms finally give out and he collapses on top of you in a sweaty heap of limbs, your arms immediately come up to wrap around his shoulders. a pleased hum rumbling through your chest as you scratch your nails along his scalp soothingly, smug smile hidden in the sweaty halo of his hair.

art's out like a light in five minutes, falls asleep right there with his head resting on your bare-chest and his dick kept safe inside you.

patrick buys a plan-b for art the next morning when he's too nervous to face the cashier at walgreens.

[goldsbitch]

Hypochondria

part 4 to p1, p2, p3

He can sense her emotions, she feels his pain. Baby steps, that's the only way to go.

author's note: guess who's back - and a promised smut chapter turned into slow burn. any reported typos are appreciated. there will be p5.

"I'm sorry, Lando - this all just so bizarre. I'm barely taking it in. Literally don't understand how you're so calm."

He laughed gently. "Well, I did have few extra days to process. And hearing my name roll of your tongue is distracting enough," he said flirtatiously.

Her cheeks went red and her mind stopped, head getting filled with desire and lust. Lando's lips turned into a wide smile, him feeling her arousal as if she was screaming it loudly to his face.

"Glad to see my words have an effect on you. This is indeed going to be fun..."

Lando was on cloud nine. He was just staring at her as if she was a miracle. Her deep eyes unable to stay away from looking at him and lips that had a silent invitation written on them.

He was high on the way how relaxed she felt, proud that he made her feel like that. It was as if there was no yesterday or tomorrow. Just them and the couch. And after few moments of silence and collecting his bravery, Lando leaned in and kissed her.

It was clear to him from the moment he took her upper lip in that he'd give anything for this moment to take at least a thousand years. She did not hesitate and kissed him back immediately. The sweetest touch a woman can give. Leaned in and let nature do its miracles. He smiled into her lips and pushed himself closer to her, making her sink in the couch.

It was right then when a loud, impatient knock nearly sent them both into shock. Lando froze and back away from Y/N little bit, furious with whomever that dared to disturb a key moment in their lives.

"Lando, I apologize, but we have an urgent matter on our hands."

He rolled his eyes and let a deep breath out, recognizing the voice of his workoholic PR manager. This was not the first and probably the last time he had to tell his team off in the dark of the night. Internet never sleeps.

"Can it really not wait this time until tomorrow?" he said before he gave Y/N shameful and apologetic look. She just kept herself quiet, sunken into the comfy couch.

"I'm afraid we will need some immediate action," came from behind the door after another impatient knock.

Lando got his phone out to check the time, only to see 17 missed calls from several people.

"Ok, I'm coming."

He half opened the door to a very flustered PR manager, who looked like he was about to announce a coming tornado. Lando just raised his eyebrows, encouraging him to spill the beans and then planning on dismissing him.

"Anita released a break up TikTok. It's going viral."

As far as emergencies go, this one felt to Lando like a second-tier one. He was more concerned about the anxiety he felt coming from Y/N. Kind of wished she was kept out of it, for her own good.

"I'm sure we can address this in few hours," Lando replied calmly.

"She accused you of cheating. In a very colorful manner, I must say," the guy continued, as if he was not confident enough to fully explain the situation. "I'm in touch with her publicist, so that we can come up with a joint statement online. Apparently she won't talk to anyone but you."

Lando stayed silent, the only thing he really wanted was to close the door and return to the couch.

"We can't have another cheating scandal. McLaren will get involved," he pleaded once again in hopes of finally convincing Lando.

Deep breath. "Sure. Can I meet you at the lobby or somewhere in few minutes?" Lando caved in. A puzzled look flashed over his PR's manager, because usually Lando preferred to solve his crises in the comfort of his suite. The driver hoped no comment would come his way. After few seconds, the guy finally nodded.

"Understand, sure. I'll see if we can get the conference room."

He closed the door and tried to brace himself for any type of reaction Y/N might have. But deep inside he knew - seen it countless times. She abruptly got up, fixed her clothes, flashed him only one quick look before avoiding his face completely.

"Um, I'm gonna-"

"Yeah," he said, letting her pass by. The reality hit hard. She barely knew him. Somehow, the air got flooded with inescapable loneliness.

//

Y/N tried her best to follow her daily routine the following week. The memory of her running away from Lando's room like a little child chasing her like a nightmare. It was just so humiliating. The guilt, unjustified, was eating her up. She tried to stay away from social media, but her will was not strong enough. Late night scrolling included absorbing lot of Lando hate.

He also did his best to keep himself busy and focus on his job. If it had been any other person, he'd already be chasing Y/N down and try to reason with her, get this experience behind them and keep starting fresh. Perhaps he was lucky, that he knew her and if he's pushed immediately, she'd just hide even more.

He found himself on the track during free practice, constantly stealing glances over to the medical tents, just to get a glimpse of his guilt ridden soulmate. All he wanted to do was shake some sense to her. That evening he finally snapped. No more hiding. He was about to get creative.

So there he was, alone once again in a random hotel room in a city he barely remembered the name of, trying to get a hand of morse code. Something he never thought would be his issue, ever. It was a shot in the dark. Pinch a message into his arm and hoping she'd understand his intention. After all, she felt his pain, so he figured if he was annoying enough, she'd have no choice but to show up. Many curse words were uttered about the absurdity and difficulty of it all, before Lando got a hand of it. He opted to focus on the rhytmn and after he felt confident enough, abandoned tapping into a table and began pinching his left hand.

Let's talk. Room 1014. Please.

Over and over again. It was so incredibly annoying. But, he was going to persevere even if it meant having a bruise tomorrow.

After what felt like like seven thousand years - a knock on the door.

This was it, he thought as he opened the door to another annoyed person. She shot arrows from her eyes and he could not help but smirk. He won, she cracked the code.

"Now, let's get one thing clear. You are not going to use this trick outside of an emergency. Ok?" she opened with, having hard time to admit he won that round. It's been few days since they last locked eyes. She could practically sink in his. He just gave her a small nod, definitely not planning on misusing this ever again. Absolutely not.

"I'm glad you understood," he said and let her walk in. Was he nervous? That was probably the closest thing to describe it.

"I don't know the Morse code, so that made it super fun," she proclaimed and stopped in the middle of the living room, not sitting down on any of the chairs or couches.

"Me neither. But you better learn it, you never know..." he teased and walked dangerously close to her. She kept her gaze down.

She spoke before he could say any more cheeky lines. "So, I'm here. Anything specific you wanted to say that exceeded your ability of speaking in Morse code?" Her coldness hurt. However, he was not going to let her push him away so easily. "Y/N, this is not going to work on me. You can't push me away so easily, so just try and stop it. Please." Big gulp on her part followed by a light nod. "Good. Listen, I don't want to let this fizzle out so easily. It's hard to think about anything else once I've met you. I'm sorry about the whole break up mess. It's not fair to you. But, in my defense, I had no idea I'd just randomly be sat next to...you," he said, practically breathing out the last word.

She began walking frantically. "It's...um, it's a lot. Your world. And then the fact you seem to know things and are so far ahead in this game."

"It's not a game to me, Y/N," he said, watching her pace around the room.

She stopped by the bed and sat on it, finally able to look at him again. "Ok, bad word, but still," she paused and searched for the right words. "We have nothing to connect with...I mean nothing real."

Lando was not going to buy into doubts. His mind was set. Slowly, he walked towards her and sat next to her.

"Does it scare you? That you are tied to me basically against your will?" he asked the one thing he was afraid to hear the answer to. But he figured that the beginning was never suppose to be easy anyway.

"A little bit. Actually yes, it does," she said, in a strangely releaved tone and his heart sank just few stories lower. Lost in his own head, he nearly missed her giving up on sitting and landing on her back with a thud, eyes locked with the ceiling.

"I never liked being pushed into things. It's my life, I get to call the shots," she began to let her thoughts run freely.

"Choosing something that comes to you willingly does not have mean giving up your free will...I'd just like to at least give this a chance. I know already that I can't be your friend," he whispered, turned his look towards her and slowly lowered himself on his back as well, lost in his thoughts once again.

Lando's body laid still, but his heart was beating as if he was in the final quali lap. He had the advantage, drew the better card. Unique insight into another human's soul. Short cuts and few cheat answers for any test ahead of them. So why did it make him feel all the more lonely? He was reaching out, confused in the exact same capacity as she was, but she was not giving him much back. Yet. If was obvious. He was miles ahead of her, not thanks to his own doing. He could be there for her, but it would take some time and a lot of luck for her to be able to be there for her.

"Can you stay here? For the night?" he asked in a soft low voice, unable to hide his own vulnerability. "Not like, you know," he added immediately, hoping he comes off the least creepy as possible, "Just like this." Baby steps. He was praying for just that.

The body next to him also laid still in a very stiff manner, the exact opposite of relaxed. But the pull towards him was just too loud to resist. It was stronger than her. Curiosity tripped over the tiny fear inside her, grabbed the innate desire for human connection by the hand, and together opened the door for Lando to enter.

"Yes," she whispered, wondering if there is anything she wanted to add.

A small smile crept onto Lando's face. He got up and shit the light off. Both of them settled in a more relaxed pose, albeit still fully dressed. If by some miracle he manages to fall asleep, he will be waking up next to this magnificent, magical being for the first time. And hopefully not the last.

They laid next to each other, like the strangers they were, for few minutes, before she found her own little hand reaching out for his. Soft fingers mixed with his. At that moment, you could hear a pin drop. Lando's heart almost stopped, his breath caught in and resulted in gulp, too loud for the current setting. She could not help but smile and tried to hide it with pressing her lips together - even though it was dark night and both of them had their eyes closed. He mimicked her movements and traced her fingers as well. Every little place he touched burned with intoxicating intensity. He held her index finger lightly while she brushed up and down his thumb.

For the first time in years, Lando was careful. He'd rather lie next to her in silence than risking her wanting him to leave. The guilt from bruising her with his crash still hadn't left his mind. But when her hand crept more and more inside of his, he could not help but circle around it, until he was covering her hand completely. The air was still. Two scared souls discovering each other, tiptoeing around as if they were made of glass. Once Lando started drawing little circles on the palm of her hand, he finally felt her beginning to relax. He was still trying to get his mind wrapped around how the whole connection worked. Perhaps the more open she was to communicating with him, the more of a window he got. His next words slipped through without much of a thought.

"I've dreamt about you probably thousand nights."

Y/N could not recall the last time she heard a sentence that sounded so honest. Raw, it was almost childlike. She thought about her own countless nights when she slept alone and longed for a soul to crawl to. And also all those times she wasn't alone in the middle of the night, yet it still felt like eating someone else's dinner. The emptiness never truly filled. Hand never fitting someone else's like a well-fitted glove. Was there ever anyone who told her something like this before? Probably not. Of course not.

"I'm scared," she repeated.

"I know," he smirked for himself only. "I can feel it...But can you please tell me what's scaring you at this moment? I'd love to understand."

This time it was her who chuckled and squeezed his hand a bit. His heart once again beating so loudly he was scared she could hear it.

"I randomly meet this man, this devilisly handsome guy, who seems to know things I've never even told anyone, is hyperaware of my emotions as if they were his own...How am I suppose to resist this?"

"Why would you?"

"If we proceed with this, I am basically allowing you to become a weapon designed to destroy me. If, or more likely when, I fall for you...How can anyone else ever top that? If you decide that you're bored with me, I'll quite literally only be left with bruises."

He listened to every word as if it was a gospel and this time took a second to calculate his response. Lando opened his eyes to try and see a glimpse of her face in the dead of night, only to find her already looking at him.

"As far as I remember, you were always a part of my life. The one constant that does not leave," he said and licked his dry lips. If she was becoming vulnerable, he'd have to do the same. "If I fuck this up, if you decide that I am not worth spending time with and if you walk away...I'll still be left with the glimpses. I'll have to watch from afar, knowing you don't feel this. Funnily enough, you have the option to choose. I don't."

"And do you even want it? Would you-" she tried to continue with her question, but he interrupted her immediately.

"Of course. Hundred times over. I know you're scared, but I am scared too. Because there is a perfect piece of puzzle right in front of me and if I fuck it up, I am ruined for life."

She only saw a small reflection of light in his eyes, but that was enough to understand he was serious. Her shoulders relaxed and she let a breath she didn't know she had been holding, out.

"Well, good to know you are a dramatic person," she responded, trying to lighten up the mood.

It worked, his small smirk entered the chat again. "Yeah well, get use to it," he said with a new found confidence, tried his luck once more and scooted over to her just a little bit.

"Sorry, there was a hard spot in the matrace," he said cheekily and closed his eyes, trying to play it cute.

His body heat radiated towards her. "Of course, a hard spot in this top-of-the-world matrace," she questioned his argument with a smile, his magic getting her head-over-heels.

"Yes, I'll complain with to the staff tomorrow, these things can really fuck up your sleep, you know."

"So true. And what, have you solved it now?" Another door opened. Lando smiled.

"Still not perfect," he remarked, pretended to have a moment to think and finally scooted over and put his arm around her. "Yeah, this is the only way I'm afraid."

She was glad his eyes were closed, because her smile was impossible to hide. Both of them were fully aware there is no hard spot on the matrace. "Of course it is," she commented, as she settled down in his embrace.

Her face was now settled in crook of his neck, her uneven breaths leaving goosebumps on his skin. His light stubble teasing her forehead. Once again, Lando was overwhelmed just how well she fit in his embrace. He had to actively try and breathe regularly, because he was anxious about giving away just how much he was enjoying having her in his embrace. Her hand was pressed against his chest and Y/N had to fight every cell in her body, because the urge to explore his body was overcoming her. Lando shifted a bit, having to to try and find a spot where his belt wasn't pressing on his body in a way that hurt. Immediately, he felt a sudden wave of guilt coming from her and she bolted straight up. Had he fucked it all up? He cursed himself, he should have just pushed through it.

He forgot to take in the fact she felt his pain. "What's wrong?" he asked shyly, as he also sat up to match her moves.

She took a deep breath. "I don't want to seem like I'm suggesting something, but can we get out of our daily clothes? I hate sleeping like that." Who would like that anyway, was the thought that crept into Lando's mind, but he kept it for himself. "Sure, no problem."

"Do you have some t-shirt I could borrow?" she asked, turning on the light next to his bed, sitting with her back turned to him, perhaps trying to hide away. Lando tried his best not to get shaken up and loose his cool. This wasn't her running away and it was also not her suggesting anything.

"Of course," he said and got up to search up the best clean t-shirt her had. She took a deep breath as she tried not to stare, guessing by the sounds that he was getting undressed. But, as she did, she was happy he did not see her blush. Just like he did before, she forgot to take in account that he felt her sudden arousal and curiosity without having to look at her. For a change, he was happy he had his advantage. He peeked over to her, seeing her abrupt turn back. It was hard not to be amused by her.

"Here you go," he said as he strolled back over to her and handed her his t-shirt. "Don't worry, I won't look," he informed her and as the cheeky guy he was deep down, added his signature wink. "I'm sure there is an extra tooth brush in the bathroom, if you wanna join," he continued and walked over to the other side of the suite, hoping she was watching him walk around in boxers only.

Finally having some distance and a minute to contain herself, she carefully undressed, leaving on only her panties and his shirt on. Only then she noticed just how intoxicating his natural smell was. Knowing well enough she was doomed.

When Y/N finally joined him in the bathroom, he gave her the second toothbrush in silence and kept brushing his own teeth. It was refreshing seeing her in such an intimate setting. He tried as best as he could not to notice just how hot she looked in his t-shirt. Watching her in the reflection, he realized he never appreciated a moment like that with anyone else before. He smiled at her, because he could see her shy nature peeking through causing her hair behind her ear.

She was about to join him back in the bed when she saw him placed right in the middle of the bed, far from when was last time she approached him like that.

"It's the hard spot, there is no other way," he brushed over it nonchalantly and tucked himself in the bed. "Come on, here, here," he patted a spot next to him. In the dim light, with shadows only highlighting his toned chest, curly hair falling over to his eyes, innocent smile and opened arms, he was like a mystical creature created only to entrap Y/N. At least, that's how that felt. No way back.

She slipped in the bed with him, to the exact position as they were just minutes ago and turned of the light once again. This time, Lando was way more relaxed even Y/N noticed the difference. With each passing moment it was becoming less and less stiff or awkward. Comfort replacing natural stress of sharing a bed with a stranger for the first time. For a brief second, it was as if they'd done this every night before drifting off to sleep. Lando was happy to take things slow. Not expecting anything more. He was content with knowing she was not planning on leaving him there alone that night and that was enough. Not for Y/N. Her body was acting way before her mind could stop her. Her now warm fingers started drawing little stars on his exposed chest. It was peaceful. Until her finger moved a little lower. Another gulp from Lando. She felt him tightening his grip on her.

"Careful now...I might get the wrong idea," he breathed out for only her to hear.

Their lips were so riddiculously close, yet too far away. The only thing she wanted to do was kiss him. All restraint suddenly gone. But she needed to be sure - did he wanted to kiss her? If she dared to ask him, he'd laugh out loud at the obviousness of it all. Poor guy didn't notice her desire because he spent all of his energy trying to hide his.

She licked her lips. "Wrong idea...like sending me away?"

Loud sigh from Lando. "No..the wrong wrong idea," he whispered, being so close to her she could feel his soft breath, as he started to move his hard up her arm, under the t-shirt he gave her. She became very aware of the fact she was not wearing a bra, something Lando noticed the moment she came to the bathroom. His arm stopped momentarily at her shoulder. " Wrong idea that you want me to do this..." he continued moving his hand again, "...or this," reached up to her collarbone while pressing her closer to him with his other arm. "Or heaven forbid..." he whispered a question as his lips were nearly touching hers. Lando was too scared to make the first move, still afraid she might vanish into thin air.

She was brave enough to close the gap. "Or this." With that, she kissed him.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

@ushygushybaby

[prettygirl-gabi]

Partners-In-Crime

---

---

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: angst (like very substantial amount), fluff, happy ending

Category:F/M

Fandom: Seventeen (SVT), boyband

Relationships: !idol Mingyu x !idol f reader

Summary: In a whirlwind of fake dating to avoid breached contract lawsuit, Mingyu and Y/n navigate growing feelings, blurring lines between pretend and real.

Trope: Fake dating

---

Hiiiii everyone who is reading! Welcome to the ninth installment of my new mini series called "Oi! Not this again!" They do not have to be read together or in order! I hope you all enjoy!

I never really thought I’d find myself in this situation: fake dating one of the hottest idols in South Korea. Yet, here I am, sipping an iced caramel macchiato in a corner cafe, pretending that being next to Mingyu from SEVENTEEN is the most natural thing in the world. In reality, my heart is racing, and not in the good way.

“Y/N, could you, like, pretend to be happy?” Mingyu whispers through a tight smile, his voice barely audible over the ambient music and chatty customers. His dark eyes flicker with a mix of annoyance and desperation.

“I am happy,” I snap quietly, struggling to adjust the fake smile plastered on my face. “Well, as happy as I can be, considering I’m fake dating you.”

A little louder than intended, I notice a few heads turn our way. I can feel the pressure mounting. We’re supposed to be the doting couple everyone envies, yet the tension between us is thicker than the whipped cream on my drink.

His fingers drum impatiently on the table, the dull thud echoing my pounding heart. “This was your idea, remember? To throw off the media frenzy surrounding both of us.”

Sure, using the classic “fake dating” trope to divert media attention seemed brilliant in theory. We both had enough scandals and rumors hovering around us to last a lifetime. Pairing up would squash at least half of them.

Mingyu suddenly leans in, looking intently at the menu stuck between the salt and pepper shakers, but I know he isn’t paying attention to the array of overpriced sandwiches. “Y/N, if we don’t pull this off, Dispatch is going to have a field day. Again.”

I sigh, slumping back in my chair. “I know, I get it. But couldn’t we have found another way?”

He opens his mouth to argue but instead, a genuine laugh escapes his lips. “Like what? Publicly announce we’re focusing on our careers and ask for privacy?” The sarcasm in his voice isn’t lost on me.

“Okay, fair point.” I roll my eyes but can’t help a small smile. “So what’s the plan now, Mr. Perfect?”

His grip tightens on the table edge before he looks up with a smirk. “We’ve got a photoshoot tomorrow morning for a ‘couple’ branding campaign. We just need to act like we’re head-over-heels for each other, got it?”

I groan inwardly. Nothing like forced intimacy to kickstart a beautiful, fake relationship. “This is going to be a disaster.”

“Only if you make it one,” he teases, his smirk widening. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms smugly. “Or maybe you’re just afraid you’ll actually fall for my irresistible charm?”

I snort. “Keep dreaming, pretty boy.”

==

The next morning arrives faster than I’d like. The cosmetics studio is buzzing with activity. Staff members rush around, juggling makeup palettes and camera equipment, their energy palpable.

“Y/N! Mingyu! Over here!” the director waves us over to a pristine white set, where we’re expected to coo and swoon

“Showtime,” Mingyu whispers in my ear. His peppermint breath sends an involuntary shiver down my spine. This fake boyfriend thing is harder than it looks.

I force a smile, slipping my fingers through his as we pose for the cameras. Each flash feels like a dagger, reminding me this isn’t real. But for the sake of our careers, we plaster on the affection.

“Y/N, could you look at Mingyu like he’s the best thing that ever happened to you?” the photographer instructs, eyes focused behind the lens.

Like he’s the best thing that ever happened to me? Easy. I turn, my gaze softening as if on cue. As much as Mingyu frustrates me, he’s also been my confidant and partner-in-crime through this chaotic idol life. Maybe this won’t be so hard after all.

Mingyu meets my eyes, his expression unexpectedly tender. The lines of his face soften, making the acting feel less like an act.

We’re mid-pose when Mingyu decides to speak. “You know, you’re not as bad at this as I thought you’d be,” he says, his voice just loud enough for me to hear.

I raise an eyebrow, still maintaining my “loving” gaze for the photographer. "What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing. Just that maybe we should fake date more often. You’re adorable when you’re pretending.”

I falter, the smile slipping slightly. “Watch it, Mingyu.”

==

The hours pass and the shoot finally wraps. We receive a round of applause for our “chemistry,” and Mingyu pulls me into a side hug, his hand resting on my shoulder. Pretending becomes so much easier with each click of the camera.

“Good job today,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, tinged with genuine warmth.

For a moment, I almost forget we’re pretending. Almost.

“We pulled it off, didn’t we?” I muse, pressing my temple against his arm briefly before pulling away.

“Yeah,” he admits, his eyes locking onto mine. “We make a pretty good team, Y/N.”

Something in his gaze makes my heart stutter. It feels like he’s trying to say more, like he’s testing unfamiliar waters.

“Yeah, well don’t get used to it. This is still a temporary arrangement.” I remind myself more than him, with a fleeting half-smile.

==

Weeks roll by, and the line between fiction and reality starts to blur. Mingyu and I are inseparable, seen at award shows, interviews, seen leaving our "shared" house, and even the occasional late-night ramen shop. The media loves us. Fans dub us “the power couple of the decade.”

One evening, as we rehearse a choreographed routine for an upcoming awards show performance, the tension boils over. Mingyu’s patience breaks first.

“Y/N, you’re a step behind!” he snaps, frustration evident as he stops mid-spin. “We’ve done this a thousand times, what’s going on with you?”

Anger flares in my chest. “I’m sorry if I'm not perfect like you, okay?”

He throws his hands up in exasperation. “It’s not about being perfect, it’s about working together!”

“You think I don’t know that?!” I shout back, breathless. “This whole thing...it's draining, Mingyu. Maybe fake dating wasn't the best idea after all. Maybe…”

“Maybe what?” he challenges, stepping closer. “Maybe we should just end it? Announce it was all a prank?”

The space between us crackles with unspoken words, and I take a small step back, my chest heaving. “Maybe.”

His eyes search mine, the anger simmering into something else entirely—something raw and real. “And what if I don’t want it to end?”

Time stands still as his words hang in the air. The intensity in his gaze makes my heart race for an entirely different reason.

“What exactly are you saying?” I finally ask, needing clarity even if it feels terrifying.

He takes a deep breath, before lifting my head with his thumb on my chin and two under. “I’m saying...I don’t think this was ever just fake for me. And I don’t want it to be.”

My breath catches. Neither of us moves. The air feels charged and heavy with possibility.

“Me neither,” I admit, my voice barely a whisper, finally understanding the depth of my feelings.

A slow, almost relieved smile spreads across his face, and he reaches for my hand, linking our fingers together much like the first time we “acted” in love. Only now, it feels unforced, genuine.

The journey to real from fake has been messy, fraught with disagreements and tension, but standing here, looking into his eyes, I realize it was worth every moment.

“Looks like we’ve got a new script to follow,” Mingyu murmurs, his thumb caressing the back of my hand.

I smile, leaning into the comforting warmth of his presence. “Yeah, and this time, we don’t have to pretend.”

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

‐Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-Gabi✨️🎀

[yurinabluu]

🔹2. Honey-comb icecream

synopsis- Break-up of the it couple of the university was surely shocking for everyone but yu jimin didn't care. She knew it was right to do as she was in love with somebody else. Precisely her ex's bestfriend.

[A moment from the past when Ryujin and Jimin were dating]

“Do you like the taste? This place is particularly renowned for it’s ice-cream. I tried the raspberry one with Y/N few months ago and loved it so much. Though Y/N liked the honey-comb more. I had a bite and trust me when I say how bad it was. God knows how she likes it so much.”

Ryujin chuckled lowly and took a bite from her ice-cream.

While Ryujin was busy in talking about something, Jimin couldn’t help but motion her orbs onto the woman who had stolen her heart without even her realizing the moment it happened. She had convinced her broken heart that you did not feel the same about her , which led her to accept Ryujin’s proposal.

She thought this would help her to move on but boy how wrong she was. You were so pretty , so kind and so gentle. How can she ever move on from you?

Jimin was not a fool. She knew about her popularity. She was aware how everyone in the university adored her. Everyone except you she assumed. Nobody knows how many times she had prayed that she was wrong. Maybe you felt something for her. She did not mind if it was friendship or anything less . She just wanted to be near you and admire you for the amazing woman you were.

“I want to try another flavor.”

Ryujin looked up at Jimin before replying,

“Yeah? Tell me the flavor . I’ll go and buy for you.”

“The honey-comb one”

Ryujin looked at Jimin for a second before nodding and head towards the counter. Jimin gave her a small smile before her eyes moved back to you again. However, the smile which was gracing her beautiful face got replaced with a frown when she noticed a girl standing close to you which was more than enough to disrupt Jimin’s whole self.

She hated this feeling. She felt her gut wrench and stomach churn in a way she had never experienced before. It was an unfamiliar painful feeling and Jimin despised it. She never wished to feel like this again.

[Present time]

“Jimmy, are you fine?”

Minjeong asked her , her eyes mirroring the worry in her other two friend’s, Aeri and NingNing eyes.

Jimin’s eyes were fixed on you, particularly on your arm which was being held by Yunjin, the famous cheerleader. Yunjin was one of your admirers except for the fact that she was hell bent to make you hers. Everyone knew of her liking towards you and the efforts she has been putting in since freshman years to please you, which only resulted in earning a polite rejection from you.

Jimin knew you would reject her again like you have been doing since before , not to her but to everyone who’d dared to confess their feelings to you.

But the similar feeling always haunts her every time something like this happened.

“Do you think Y/N will accept Yunjin this time?”

“Maybe. I mean Yunjin has been trying for so long.”

“Really? I don’t think so.”

“Wanna bet?”

Having enough of the chatters, Jimin got up from her seat and left the cafeteria immediately. Jimin was a strong and resilient woman but she was nothing but powerless when it came to you.

Your eyes wandered on the screen in-front you while your hands were busy in jotting down the notes Mr. Lee was displaying. You had an important test coming up soon and needless to say you were lacking behind a lot due to volleyball practices. You loved the sport more than anything else but this test was important and covered an important part of your grade. Not to forget, the project which was going to be announced today held the similar importance. God it was extremely stressful but it something which was needed to be done.

“I just hope my partner will be useful. I cannot do all the work alone.”

You muttered under your breath when you noticed a presence beside you.

“Hey!”

You looked up at the source of voice when you felt your breath stop at the sight. Jimin stood beside you with her laptop and essentials in her hand, adorned in a white sleeve-less tee with a matching sky blue jeans , looking at you with a small smile. You were speechless. You never had a proper conversation with her before. You had no idea on what to say.

“Uhm hey..”

You mumbled nervously before Jimin sat down beside you making you even more surprised. You noticed her putting the materials down on the table gracefully before her eyes met your wide ones again. She let out a small laugh before speaking to you,

“We are partners….. y’know for the project.”

“Oh!”

You were cooked. Undoubtedly. You don’t know about God’s favorite child but you swore you definitely were the least. Before you could speak anything, Mr. Lee’s voice filled the classroom.

“Now that your partners are announced, I need you all to prepare a thorough and detailed presentation on the topic you like. Make sure to counter all the expected areas of the topic you choose along with your partners and discuss each other’s findings daily for at least an hour for a month before concluding it. Strategize your schedule for a month accordingly and remember this project is important for your grade. So better take it seriously.”

You cursed internally thinking about how you were going to survive a month being that close to Jimin. You just hoped that you won’t do anything stupid. Making Jimin uncomfortable was the least thing you ever want to do. And God knows how you were going to explain this to Ryujin. You cannot imagine what was going to happen during this whole month but things will definitely be taking a turn.

For good or for bad… only God knows that.

“So I was saying…” , Jimin looked at you giving you all her attention. You released a breath you did not realize you were holding before speaking,

“Should we exchange numbers?”

Jimin raised a brow at you in surprise which made you even more nervous if it was even possible.

“I mean since we are now partners, sorry project partners and Mr. Lee said we need to discuss our findings daily. So to decide the timings we need to chat and of course we cannot do that without having each other’s number. I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It did not mean that. Trust me I am-”

Placing her hand on your shoulder, Jimin gave you a light comforting squeeze while having a teasing smile on her lips.

“I did not know you could get nervous Y/N.”

Jimin spoke making you look away from her with blood rushing in your face, making your ears and cheeks turn red. She laughed looking at your flushed self before handing her phone to you and asking you to hand over yours to her. Jimin returned your phone back to you after saving her number making you do the same.

“Let’s have a good month together Y/N.”

A genuine smile graced your lips mirroring hers before you spoke,

“Sure Jimin.”

_________________________________________

Taglist(open) - @saysirhc , @1luvkarina , @myouiiiiiiii , @nasyu-kookies , @gayforalll , @yuyuy90 , @hooneysugarh , @spidrgamer , @sunshinez4 , @hwm1hyun .

[geotjwrs]

hey dude! Whenever you get back to writing… I have a request for you. Sabrina Carpenter x Male Reader one where he marries her and they have a baby together. And then they announce it to their families.

almost love

Pairings ; Sabrina Carpenter x Male!Reader

Warning/s ; none

Note ; made this as a part two of short 'n sweet

The sun filtered gently through the curtains of the small chapel, painting the room in soft golden hues. Y/N stood at the altar, his palms sweating, his heart racing faster than it ever had. He could hear the quiet chatter of their closest friends and family behind him, but none of that seemed to matter now. The only thing on his mind was Sabrina.

He still couldn’t believe that they were here—on the brink of forever. His thoughts drifted back to that unforgettable night months ago when he had proposed on stage. Since then, their lives had moved so quickly—planning the wedding, navigating through Sabrina’s hectic schedule, and sneaking in moments of peace where they could. But today was the day. All the chaos, all the whirlwind of emotions, everything had led them to this moment.

Y/N’s best man, one of his closest friends from childhood, Lio nudged him lightly. “You good, man?” he asked with a grin. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Y/N chuckled nervously, running a hand through his hair. “Just… thinking. You know, about everything.”

“You’ve got this. She’s head over heels for you,” Lio reassured him. “Plus, look at this turnout. Everyone is here for you two.”

The small chapel was indeed filled to the brim with people who loved and supported them. Sabrina’s friends from the entertainment world were scattered throughout the rows, blending with Y/N’s family, and friends. It was a beautiful mix of worlds coming together to celebrate their love.

But Y/N barely noticed the crowd. All he could think about was Sabrina—the woman who had turned his life upside down in the best possible way.

The music shifted, and everyone stood, turning toward the doors. The gentle melody of violins played softly in the background as the large wooden doors at the back of the chapel slowly swung open.

And then, there she was.

Sabrina stood framed in the doorway, her white gown cascading down around her like a waterfall of silk. She looked ethereal, glowing with happiness and love. Her eyes locked onto Y/N’s, and in that moment, the whole world seemed to stand still.

His breath caught in his throat. He had seen her in every setting imaginable—dressed up for red carpets, casual at home in sweats, even tired and disheveled after long rehearsals—but today, she was the most beautiful he had ever seen her. Not just because of the dress or the way her hair was styled perfectly. No, it was the way she looked at him. The way her smile lit up the entire room. The way her eyes sparkled with excitement and love.

Her father was at her side, proudly walking her down the aisle. Every step felt like a heartbeat as she moved closer and closer to him.

Y/N felt his throat tighten with emotion, and he had to blink back tears. He hadn’t expected to feel so overwhelmed, but there she was, and all he wanted was to spend the rest of his life making her as happy as she had made him.

Finally, she reached him, her father placing her hand in Y/N’s before stepping aside. The warmth of her touch sent a wave of calm through him, and he smiled down at her, his heart full to bursting.

“You look… wow,” he whispered, unable to find the right words.

Sabrina blushed, her smile shy but radiant. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” she teased lightly, squeezing his hand.

The officiant began to speak, guiding them through the ceremony, but all Y/N could focus on was Sabrina—her soft, steady breathing, the way her fingers intertwined with his, the quiet way she mouthed “I love you” when no one else was looking.

They exchanged vows, both their voices trembling with emotion. Y/N’s hands shook slightly as he slipped the ring onto her finger, his heart pounding with the realization that this was it. They were finally getting married.

“You may now kiss the bride,” the officiant announced, a smile in his voice.

Y/N didn’t waste a second. He leaned in, capturing Sabrina’s lips in a tender kiss that sent a ripple of cheers through the chapel. In that moment, nothing else mattered. It was just them, standing at the edge of their new life together.

--

It was a lazy Sunday morning. The kind of morning where everything moved a little slower, with the sun barely filtering through the blinds and the warmth of the covers making it hard to get out of bed. Y/N lay sprawled across the mattress, still half-asleep, as Sabrina sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the bathroom mirror, absently brushing her hair.

But something wasn’t right. For the past week, she had been feeling strange. Not the usual kind of tired she felt after long rehearsals or performances—this was different. There was an underlying unease in her body, an exhaustion that made her wonder if something more was going on.

“Y/N?” she called softly, turning to face him. He mumbled incoherently, clearly not fully awake.

“Y/N, wake up,” she insisted, louder this time.

He groaned, rubbing his face before rolling over to look at her. His hair was a mess, his eyes still heavy with sleep. “What’s up?” he asked, his voice groggy.

“I’ve been feeling weird lately,” Sabrina said, biting her lip. “I don’t know… I just—something feels off.”

Y/N blinked a few times, his brain still catching up. “Like, sick weird?”

She hesitated, running a hand through her hair. “Kind of. But not sick, sick. Just… I don’t know how to explain it.”

He sat up a little straighter, now fully awake. “Do you think it’s stress? You’ve been crazy busy with rehearsals lately.”

“That’s what I thought at first, but this feels different,” she murmured, her brow furrowing in thought. “I’ve been so tired, and I feel a little nauseous, but nothing’s coming out.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed with concern, but then something flickered in his expression. “Wait. Have you… taken a test?”

Sabrina’s eyes widened, realization dawning on her face. “You mean… a pregnancy test?”

Y/N nodded slowly, his gaze locking with hers. “Just to be sure.”

Her stomach flipped, and for a moment, she was frozen in place. “I didn’t even think about that,” she whispered, suddenly nervous. “Do you think… I could be?”

Y/N stood up, crossing the room to kneel in front of her. He took her hands gently in his, giving her a soft smile. “There’s only one way to find out.”

They exchanged a glance before Sabrina nodded, her heart racing. She stood up, grabbing her phone from the nightstand and heading toward the bathroom. Y/N followed, standing in the doorway as she rummaged through the cabinet under the sink, eventually pulling out a pregnancy test kit.

The next few minutes felt like an eternity. Sabrina stared at the test on the counter, biting her lip as they waited for the results. Y/N stood beside her, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, holding her close.

“I’m freaking out,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Me too,” Y/N said with a soft chuckle. “But we’re in this together, okay? Whatever happens.”

Finally, the timer on Sabrina’s phone went off. She inhaled sharply, her heart pounding in her chest as she reached for the test. Her hand trembled as she turned it over to see the result.

A small plus sign stared back at her.

Sabrina’s breath caught in her throat. “Oh my God,” she whispered, her eyes widening as she looked at Y/N. “I’m… I’m pregnant.”

Y/N’s mouth dropped open in shock. For a second, neither of them said anything, just staring at each other in disbelief. Then, a slow smile spread across Y/N’s face, and his eyes filled with emotion.

“You’re… we’re… we’re having a baby?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

Sabrina nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. “Yeah. We’re having a baby.”

Without another word, Y/N pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as the weight of the moment washed over them. They stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s embrace, both laughing and crying at the same time.

“I can’t believe it,” Y/N murmured, his lips brushing against her hair. “We’re going to be parents.”

Sabrina pulled back slightly, wiping away her tears as she looked up at him with a grin. “I know. It doesn’t even feel real.”

Y/N smiled, his hand gently caressing her cheek. “You’re going to be an amazing mom.”

“And you’re going to be an amazing dad,” she replied, leaning in to kiss him softly.

After a few moments, Sabrina pulled out her phone again. “I think we need to tell some people.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Are you sure? It’s still so early.”

Sabrina nodded, her excitement bubbling over. “We can tell a few people. Our closest friends. It’s too big of a secret to keep just to ourselves.”

Y/N smiled. “Alright, let’s do it.”

They sat down on the bed, Sabrina scrolling through her contacts as she FaceTimed her first call—her best friend, Joey. The phone rang a few times before Joey picked up, her face appearing on the screen, makeup-free and in pajamas.

“Sabs! What’s up?” she greeted cheerfully. “You look… wait, are you crying?”

Sabrina laughed, wiping her face. “Yeah, but for a good reason. I have something to tell you.”

Joey's eyes narrowed, her curiosity piqued. “What? What’s going on?”

Sabrina glanced at Y/N, her smile widening. “I’m pregnant.”

Joey's jaw dropped, her eyes going wide. “No freaking way! Are you serious?!”

Sabrina nodded, laughing at her friend’s reaction. “Yeah, we just found out this morning.”

“Oh my God, Sabrina!” Joey practically screamed, her excitement contagious. “I’m so happy for you! You’re going to be the best mom ever!”

Sabrina grinned, her heart swelling with happiness. “Thank you. We’re still kind of in shock, but we’re really excited.”

Joey squealed again, bouncing up and down in her seat. “I’m telling you right now, I’m going to spoil that baby so much. Just wait.”

After a few more minutes of excited chatter with Joey, Sabrina hung up the call, her face glowing with joy. “Alright, who’s next?” she asked, looking at Y/N.

Y/N smirked. “How about we tell Gracie?”

Sabrina’s eyes lit up. “Yes! She’ll flip.”

Sabrina quickly dialed Gracie Abrams, who answered almost immediately. Gracie's face appeared on the screen, her hair pulled back in a messy bun as she sat at a piano.

“Hey, girl!” Gracie greeted. “What’s going on?”

Sabrina couldn’t hold back her grin. “Gracie, I’ve got some news.”

Gracie raised an eyebrow, sensing the excitement. “Oh? Spill!”

“I’m pregnant,” Sabrina said, unable to contain her smile.

Gracie's mouth dropped open, and for a second, she was speechless. Then she let out a loud scream. “NO WAY! SABRINA, SHUT UP! ARE YOU SERIOUS?!"

Sabrina laughed, nodding. “Yes, I’m serious. We just found out today.”

Gracie looked like she was about to burst from excitement. “Oh my God, I’m so happy for you guys! This is huge! A little mini Sabrina or Y/N running around? I can’t even deal!”

Y/N chuckled, leaning over to wave at the camera. “Yeah, it’s crazy.”

Gracie shook her head, still in shock. “This is amazing. I’m coming over the second that baby is born, I swear.”

After sharing the news with their friends, Sabrina and Y/N spent the rest of the day basking in the warmth and excitement of what was to come. But they both knew there was one more important step to take—their parents had to know. It felt like the final piece of the puzzle, and though they were both nervous, the idea of telling their families made the reality of it all even more thrilling.

Sabrina lay in Y/N’s arms, scrolling through her phone, as they debated which family to call first. “Your parents or mine?” she asked, glancing up at him.

Y/N chuckled softly. “Your mom’s going to flip. I think we should save her for last. Let’s call my parents first.”

Sabrina nodded, agreeing. “Alright, but you’re telling them. I’ll be here for moral support.”

With a deep breath, Y/N grabbed his phone, his heart racing as he dialed his parents’ number. He could already imagine the look on their faces when they found out they were going to be grandparents. The phone rang twice before his mom picked up, her cheerful voice filling the room.

“Hey, honey! How are you and Sabrina?” his mom asked warmly, the familiar sound of clattering dishes in the background.

Y/N exchanged a glance with Sabrina, who smiled encouragingly. “Hey, Mom. We’re good. Actually, we have something to tell you and Dad.”

“Oh?” his mom asked, her tone shifting to curiosity. “What’s going on?”

Y/N’s heart raced, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure how to say it. But then, he looked at Sabrina, her hand resting on her stomach, and the words came easily.

“Mom, Sabrina and I are going to have a baby.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, followed by a loud clatter—probably the sound of a dish being dropped. “Wait, what?!” his mom exclaimed. “Did I hear you right? You’re having a baby?!”

Y/N laughed, feeling the excitement bubble up inside him. “Yeah, you heard right. You’re going to be a grandma.”

“Oh my God!” his mom shrieked, her voice growing louder. “Honey, come here! Y/N and Sabrina are having a baby!”

Sabrina chuckled as she heard Y/N’s dad in the background, his voice rising with surprise. “What? No way! Are you serious?”

Y/N grinned, holding the phone a little closer. “Yeah, Dad. We just found out today.”

His mom was still shrieking with joy, and Y/N could hear her running around the house, likely already preparing to tell everyone in the family. His dad’s calmer voice came through next. “We’re so happy for you, son. That’s amazing news.”

Sabrina smiled, resting her head against Y/N’s shoulder. “Thanks, Mr. Y/L/N. We’re really excited.”

“We’ll have to celebrate soon,” his dad said, his tone warm and proud. “You two are going to be amazing parents. And don’t worry, your mom is probably already knitting baby blankets.”

They all laughed, spending the next few minutes talking about how their lives were about to change, his mom going on and on about baby names, baby clothes, and how she would be the “coolest grandma ever.”

After hanging up, Y/N looked at Sabrina with a grin. “One down.”

Sabrina smirked, taking a deep breath. “Alright, my turn. Let’s call my mom.”

She nervously dialed her mom’s number, her leg bouncing slightly as the phone rang. Her mom picked up quickly, her voice cheerful as usual. “Hey, sweetheart! How’s my favorite daughter doing?”

“Hey, Mom,” Sabrina replied, her voice soft. “I’m good. Y/N and I have something important to tell you.”

Her mom’s voice grew curious. “Oh? Is everything okay?”

Sabrina glanced at Y/N before taking a deep breath. “Yeah, everything’s great. Actually, it’s more than great. Mom, I’m… I’m pregnant.”

There was a pause—a much longer pause than Y/N’s parents had given—and Sabrina bit her lip, waiting for the reaction. Finally, her mom let out a loud gasp.

“You’re what?! Sabrina Annlynn Carpenter, are you serious right now?!”

Sabrina laughed, nodding even though her mom couldn’t see her. “Yes, Mom. I’m serious. You’re going to be a grandma.”

Her mom’s voice was shaky, clearly trying to process the news. “I… I can’t believe it! My baby is having a baby!” There was a brief pause before Sabrina could hear her mom calling out to her dad. “Honey, get over here! Sabrina’s pregnant!”

Y/N leaned in, whispering, “I told you she’d freak out.”

Sabrina shot him a playful glare as her dad’s voice came through the line. “Sabrina, is this true? Are we going to be grandparents?”

“Yeah, Dad,” Sabrina said, her voice soft. “We found out this morning.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” her mom said, her voice suddenly emotional. “I’m so happy for you two. You’re going to be such a great mom, and Y/N’s going to be an amazing dad. This is… this is just the best news.”

Sabrina felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, hearing the joy and love in her mom’s voice. “Thanks, Mom. We’re really excited.”

“Excited? I’m ecstatic!” her mom replied, her tone filled with energy. “I’m already planning the baby shower. Oh, we have so much to do! I need to start making calls. Your aunts need to know!”

Sabrina laughed, feeling the warmth of her family’s love wash over her. Her dad’s calmer, more grounded voice came next. “We’re proud of you, Sabrina. You and Y/N are going to make a wonderful family.”

“Thanks, Dad,” she said, her heart full.

After a few more minutes of excited chatter, Sabrina and Y/N hung up the call, both of them feeling lighter and happier than they had all day.

“Well,” Sabrina said, leaning back on the bed, her hand resting on her stomach. “That went better than I thought.”

Y/N chuckled, lying down beside her and pulling her into his arms. “Yeah, we survived. And now, everyone knows.”

Sabrina smiled, snuggling into his chest. “I can’t believe it. We’re going to be parents.”

Y/N kissed the top of her head, his hand gently caressing her belly. “I know. And we’re going to do it together.”

They lay there in comfortable silence, both of them feeling the weight of their future in the best possible way. Their families knew, their friends knew, and soon, they’d be welcoming a new life into the world.

[essjujutsu]

CHAPTER Ⅱ: MITSKI & MONDAYS

prev , next , masterlist

okay so maybe you were already nervous about the first day of your new school.

and maybe listening to your depressing playlist at 7 in the morning wasn't helping that.

but mitski can help calm your nervs to! but with yuji blasting his music in his room right across the hall, it didn't necessarily get the mood right anyways.

"yn, hurry up! we gotta go in like—two minutes!"

"im coming!!"

you reply, grabbing your backpack. you hopped through your messy floor, clothes spattered out from your unpacked suitcase.

you ran down the stairs, seeing yuji sitting on the floor next to the front door and sukuna rummaging through the upper cabinets of the kitchen.

"here, take these for the walk."

you don't have enough time to fully comprehend what your uncle's saying before a protein bar is being flowed full force at your face—though thankfully you throw your hands up and catch it in the air. you throw the second one to yuji, who instantly unwraps it and starts eating it.

"first day—tough shit. todays when you make first impressions on everyone. good luck."

"oh, uhm—thanks?"

you reply, raising a eyebrow at sukuna's comment. he was being nice—maybe? you couldn't really tell. but before you get to decide yuji announces its time to get going so you wave a quick goodbye to your uncle as you walk outside.

"don't worry, its not a long walk—only like ten minutes give or take."

yuji says, taking out an airpod so he could hear. you nod, opening your phone to make sure you have your schedule for the third time today.

yuji was right, after about 15 minutes you arrive at school. you bite the inside of your lip slightly, a nervous habit you picked up over the years.

"so, were still early, me and my friends always come a bit early 'cause we like to hang before classes and—"

yuji starts, but before he finishes his sentence someone comes rushing from behind the two of you.

"yuji, yn! hey!"

you look behind you at the girl waving. she had dyed orange hair, nobara!

"nobara! there you are!"

"sorry, i know we usually walk to school together but i woke up late—anyways, hi yn!"

nobara replys, walking up to stand in the middle of you and yuji. she smiles as she grabs both of your arms—starting to walk into school.

"its so nice to have another girl in the group, y'know. it's just me and maki, and she dosen't really like shopping so she never goes with me. sometimes panda or toge come but like barley ever 'cause their always 'busy'—"

wow, you only really met her yesterday and she was already talking to you like you were close friends. you smiled, at least meeting yuji's friends was off to a good start then.

nobara countined talking untill you three reached the bustling cafeteria, her and yuji seemed to look around for a moment—trying to find their other friends. then yuji's eyes open a little wide and he points to the back of the cafeteria.

"there they are, let's go!"

he says, practically dragging you through the crowds of tables. nobara had already ran ahead, running to go grab a chair and sit down.

once you finnaly approached the table you looked up to five sets of eyes directly on you.

your mouth starts to turn into an awkward smile as you look around the table trying to deicde what to say, but thankfully for you, yuji most of the time knows how you feel.

"everyone, this is yn!"

he grabs your shoulders, presenting you to the group in a way before laughing. he moves his arms to point—starting at the two at the end of the table.

"yn, this is panda and toge! them, maki, and yuta are all a year older then us. but trust me, you can't tell with these two."

he giggles, his joke resulting in the white haired boy giving your brother a small "hey!" and turning to face you.

"you don't look to much like yuji, you should've ate him in the womb honestly."

panda laughs in response to that, an you can't help but laugh aswell.

"ha-ha, sooo funny guys."

yuji responds, rolling his brown eyes. he points to the two in the chairs next to them.

"those two there are yuta and maki! my favoire girlboss and her malewife-"

"shut up yuji."

the girl with the black hair and glasses replies, standing up and slamming her hands on the table annoyed.

she did look oddly familiar though...did you know her from somewhere?

she notices your confused look at her and raises an eyebrow, as if to ask if you have something to say. nobara wasn't kidding when she said she was intimating.

"sorry, you just look awfully familiar—that's all!"

"hm, you went to the boarding school north from here right?"

you nod in response, wondering what she's getting at. maybe you went to school with her?

"you must know mai. she goes there."

oh it clicks into place, shes related to mai. you didn't know mai all that well, but you did know she was mean. they must be twins, hopefully maki isn't anything like her sister.

"don't worry, im not like her—she's an asshole."

you let out a small sigh of relief. thank god. you turn your eyes to the one person who you haven't met yet. he was sitting at the other end of the table, on his phone. nobara was next to him—she was saying something but he didn't seem to be listening. you reconized him from a couple of yuji's instagram posts, but you didn't remember his name. he looked tired and like he didn't want to be there—which made you wonder why he seemed to hang out with them.

"oh yeah, yn—this is megumi! he's in our grade."

nobara says, as yuji sits down on the table next to him. was this the other best friend yuji had mentioned before? he seemed pretty annyoed as he took off his headphones.

"uh, nice to meet you!"

you say, giving him a small smile. he didn't seem all that interested in talking.

"nice to meet you."

"sorry, he totally puts up this whole 'mysterious and nonchalant' vibe around people—he's not even-"

"shut up, yuji."

nobara was in the middle of doing something with her phone as she spoke up.

"here yn, i added you to our group chat. check it after class m'kay?"

you responded with an agreement, as the bell rang for you to head to your class.

BACKGROUND INFO: - nobara, yuji, toge, panda and maki all met in middle school, megumi later moved into town and became friends with yuji—who added him to their friendgroup - yuta moved last year, and he became friends with maki (and then the rest of the group), are him & maki dating? who knows! i don't think they know either LMFAO - there will be more of each character! i just wanted to get quick character intros

A/N: i'll try to have chapter 3 out by this weekend! again sorry if anythings ooc or if my grammer sucks ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀིྀི

TAGLIST: (ask 2 be added) @1ndee @4ngelfries @jammofsammichflip @notveevee @qtnfer @love-me-satoru @satoryaa @loriisheart @starrnai if the tag dosen't work, change ur settings pls !