#i just kept thinking about her design... she is so...bright

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

[p-seduonym]

Switched At Birth (Part Four)

A/N: I lied. I'm posting cause I'm bored. Also, since I've been getting mixed reactions, I might make the relationship between Mel and Reader ambiguous. Melissa will love Reader, that's a fact. But you can decide if it's familial, platonic, or romantic.

Taglist (I'll add you if you ask)@luludeluluramblings, @von-jour, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @kenyummy, @bunniotomia

Yandere!Batfam X Switched! Fem! Reader X Yandere!Wayne!OC

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

You stood out, just outside the gates of Gotham Prep.

Baggy jeans, a sweatshirt repping some nondescript band, and a backpack slung over one shoulder.

You could feel the passing glances from the sea of uniformed students as they spilled through the gates. Some whispered. Others brushed past without a second thought. The security guard who’d been watching you from a distance finally approached, making idle chit-chat.

“Hey, how’re you doing?”

“Fine.”

“Waiting for someone?”

“Yeah.”

Just as he was about to ask you to move along, Melissa appeared. She looked flustered, hesitating a few feet away from the both of you. Before she could say anything, you called out.

“Hey, Mel!�� Sauntering over, you threw an arm around her shoulder. She jumped slightly.

“W-Why are you….”

“C’mon.”

You flashed the security guard a smile like you belonged here, then steered Melissa away from the gawking crowd.

“Where are we going?” she hissed—wary, but not resisting.

“Somewhere fun,” you said. “C’mon, quit acting like I’m kidnapping you or something, Mel.”

“You ambushed me outside of school,” she pointed out flatly.

“That’s such an ugly way to put it. I told you I’d be around, didn’t I?”

“T-That was a week ago! I thought you were joking.”

In all seriousness, you lied: “I never joke.”

After a beat of silence, Melissa sighed.

“I haven’t even told anyone I left”

“Then text them? You aren’t flaking on me, are you?”

She looked confused, like the idea never crossed her mind.

“No…”

“Then let’s go” 

And with that you were off.

Truth be told, Melissa rarely set foot in malls.

To her, they were nothing more than glittering temples of consumerism—designed to guide you from one impulse buy to the next, all while drowning your existential dread in a wash of piped-in pop.  

But she kept that to herself. You looked like you were having fun.

“Forever 21’s on its way out, so let’s see if we can score some deals! There are also a couple thrift shops a block over—best prices, promise.”

Melissa blinked. It was like you were speaking another language. The overly peppy music thumping from the ceiling speakers didn’t help.

“Thrift store?” she echoed.

“You know? Secondhand clothes?”

“Oh.”

“Mel, you’re missing out, I swear.”

She fidgeted. “It’s not like I ever had a reason to go to places like that…”

It was true. Her father had handed her a black card, and that was the end of it. Luxury brands never interested her, but she didn’t know anything else.

“Well, now you do. I swear, Prada’s got nothing on a good thrift find—oh, look!”

You held up a gingham dress against her, tilting your head thoughtfully. She flushed under your gaze.

“Not the best color, but an A-line cut looks great on you. Let’s see if they have other colors. What do you like?”

“Any is fin—”

“If you say ‘any,’ I’m pinching you.”

Her mouth snapped shut, startled.

“C’mon. What colors do you like?”

She paused. What did she like?

Normally, she’d say something neutral. Tasteful. Nothing too loud—Waynes didn’t do loud. But she wasn’t a Wayne. Not really. Not ever.

“…Bright colors,” she said, almost to herself. “I like stuff that’s bright.”

Something to cut through the gray.

“I knew it! Something light would totally suit you. Hey, there’s a pink one—what do you think?”

You held it out to her.  It looked mostly polyester and popped out against the darkness of her uniform.

“Some kitten heels and you’re golden.” You assured her, already scanning the shelves to find just that. 

It was kind of embarrassing that she didn’t realize straight away. Of course, you’d go shopping. What other use did she have outside of her purse. Well, it wasn’t hers, per se, but that's besides the point.

It seems you just want to take advantage of the opportunity.

She couldn't fault you for that. Many people tried in the past, before they realized she didn’t have much worth outside of her wealth.

That’s what she thought as she approached the counter with her black card in hand. Until you stopped her.

“Hey, woah, what’s that for? I got it covered— don’t worry!”

Really, this fake courteousness was a little stale.

“It’s fine” She assured you, but you didn’t budge.

“I’m serious. I’ve been saving up anyway.”

Melissa paused. The cashier was looking between the two of you.

“Think of it as a gift, okay?”

She would have argued– maybe– but you had already pushed her aside gently and rung up the clothes.

It was such a simple gesture—one that shouldn’t have meant anything. A thrifted dress, a stubborn insistence to pay. But for Melissa, it lingered. The ease with which you offered kindness, the way you brushed off her protests like it was nothing—it all struck somewhere deep, somewhere soft she didn’t like to acknowledge. She told herself it didn’t matter. That you were just another person trying to be nice for the sake of appearances. But something about you felt different. And that terrified her more than she’d admit.

Because Melissa was used to pity.

She had seen it in the too-long glances of strangers, in the hushed whispers they thought she couldn’t hear. In the way people softened their words when breaking bad news—another broken promise, another inevitable disappointment.

Pity clung to her like a second skin. When it started, she couldn’t remember. Maybe when they said her mother had “passed”—such a gentle way to say she’d overdosed in some seedy club. The mourners at the funeral were nearly drowned out by the snapping shutters of paparazzi, lingering just far enough back to seem tactful. Still, their heavy gazes never wavered from her tiny shoulders.

That was the first time she realized she hated that feeling.

But it couldn’t be helped. She was just… a pitiful person.

Mournful eyes. Pathetic demeanor.

So she got used to it.

Used to her peers staring when her father missed another recital. Used to Alfred gently informing her she'd be dining alone again. Used to the sympathetic nods from teachers who knew better than to ask about her weekend.

Used to being passed over in favor of her siblings—until some throwaway tabloid decided to spotlight “The Forgotten Daughter of Gotham’s Billionaire.” Once in a while, they remembered her. They crafted stories about the sad little girl in the big empty mansion, as if they knew anything. As if they cared.

Melissa learned early: people loved tragedies. But they didn’t care.

Pity was worthless. But it was all she had.

And even now, she was sure you pitied her. How could you not? The poor little rich girl—born with a silver spoon, but not a drop of love.

Yes, you pitied her.

And yet… she couldn’t bring herself to hate you for it.

Why else would you offer her your whole world? Your family, your home—everything that was yours, you shared like it was nothing. Without even thinking.

Okay, maybe part of her did resent it. That you showed her—so casually—all the things she’d been robbed of. Family dinners. Petty arguments. Noise. Mess.

What gave you the right to pity her when you were the odd one out? The misfit. The one who didn’t belong.

And still… she couldn’t hate you.

Because you were different.

You were kind.

Even with the sharp eyes and polished exterior of a true Wayne, you chose to be kind.

Not performatively, not out of guilt. Just… because you could. 

Melissa hadn’t known what to make of that at first. She kept waiting for the catch—for you to ask for something, for the mask to slip. But it never did. You tittered with a joy that could only be genuine as you observed her. 

“C’mon, let’s get some BatBurger– it’s in the food court over there. Then I can do your colors– I’m betting you're a spring and–” As you chattered on, you laced your arm with hers and walked forward.

Melissa had been surrounded by ghosts her whole life. Ghosts of people who left, ghosts of promises never kept.

But you weren’t a ghost. You were real. Solid. Warm.

And for the first time in forever, she didn’t feel pitied. She felt seen.

Loved? No. Not yet.

But maybe… Maybe she was starting to understand what that could feel like.

@GothamGal96 Just saw Melissa Wayne at a thrift store?? With some girl in cat socks?? 2025 is wild already 😭🛍️ #GothamSightings 🕐 1:42 PM · Apr 5, 2025 · Gotham Eastside

Reply to @GothamGal96 @mallratmayhem not cat socks 😭😭 she’s converting the billionaire one meme sock at a time 🕑 1:48 PM · Apr 5, 2025

@urbancryptid melissa wayne looked like a deer in headlights when that girl held up a pink dress to her. rich people rly don't know what polyester is huh 🕓 4:17 PM · Apr 5, 2025 · Near Clocktower Market

Reply to @urbancryptid @fauxfurfemme melissa was probably like “what’s a price tag?” 🕓 4:23 PM · Apr 5, 2025

@CoffeeAndChaos ngl it was kinda cute watching that Wayne girl try to argue over who pays for a $12 dress. Money can’t buy stubborn friends I guess 😂💳💥 🕝 2:31 PM · Apr 5, 2025 · Midtown Gotham

Reply to @CoffeeAndChaos @thriftybaddies this is what late-stage capitalism meant actually 🕜 2:35 PM · Apr 5, 2025

@batbratblog melissa wayne looked so awkward at the checkout… like she didn’t know what to do with her hands 😭 the other girl just smiled and paid like a pro. power move tbh. 🕖 7:03 PM · Apr 5, 2025 · Gotham Mall District

Reply to @batbratblog @chaoscrochet she held her card like it was a weapon and the other girl just hit her with ✨emotion✨ 🕖 7:08 PM · Apr 5, 2025

@thegothamsocial Spotted: The Forgotten Wayne Daughter™ being human for once?? 👀 Thrift shopping with a girl who clearly gives no f’s about her last name. Friendship goals or PR stunt?? 🤔 🕘 9:14 PM · Apr 5, 2025 · Gotham Heights

Reply to @thegothamsocial @gossipgargoyle i kinda hope it’s not PR. she looked… real? like, not camera-ready real. mascara smudge and everything. 🕘 9:21 PM · Apr 5, 2025

@pennyworthtruthers okay but the way that girl just knew melissa liked bright colors??? 👀👀 that’s not just friends behavior I fear 🕥 10:48 PM · Apr 5, 2025 · Gotham Northside

Reply to @pennyworthtruthers @roomtempteablog this is the slowest burn enemies-to-besties arc i didn’t know i needed 🕚 10:53 PM · Apr 5, 2025

@chaoticneutralvibes melissa wayne walking out of a thrift store looking like she just survived emotional whiplash… girl. blink twice if you’re being socialized against your will 💀💅 🕤 3:09 PM · Apr 5, 2025 · Old Quarter

Reply to @chaoticneutralvibes @thisisfinebat melissa walking like her soul just updated its firmware. girl’s emotionally rebooting in public 🕤 3:15 PM · Apr 5, 2025

[kryptonitejelly]

art donaldson x childhood friend reader who he hasn’t seen in a long time (whose had a crazy glow up) visits him at stanford at the same time as patrick and patrick starts hitting on her (him and tashi are in an open relationship) and art gets jealous.

(maybe she tells patrick she knows he’s in a relationship and he tells her tashi wouldn’t mind and she would probably be down to join idk)

art donaldson x reader // challengers // fluff; happy ending

a/n: i did not hit the prompt on the head 100%, but i’m not mad at it. this ended up turning into a monster i had no control off and ended up being alot longer than i expected (i haven’t done a word count, and did not mean for it to spiral into this but i enjoyed writing this very much). i am an art donaldson defender and this is my way of giving him everything he deserves (i hope you guys can see what i subtly tried to do in places - please leave comments/reblog if you see them, it would mean the world). also i typed this entirely on my phone without proofreading - you’ve been warned.

edit - as a disclaimer, i do not purport to comment on the victim/villain/any dynamic in the challengers universe. this space is purely for delusional thoughts and fiction only (see also)

-

Good luck.

Art shoots the text off to you before taking a swig out of cup of diet coke he has in hand. He leans forward, his forearms on his knees, teeth crunching on ice cubes as lets his gaze sweep across the court in front of him. It is devoid of players but already has the umpire and linesmen ready and waiting.

You’ll buy dinner if I win?

Art doesn’t expect to get a text back, so he checks his phone absently, but his face breaks into a tiny grin as he sees your reply. Most other players would have been hyper focused in the moments before a match but you, in the breezy light hearted way you always were, still had it in you to joke around.

Yes, but if you lose…

Art sends his response, the tiny grin still on his face.

I’ll feed you.

Your reply is fast and it makes art shake his head lightly a quiet chuckle dropping from his lips. He is just about to type another reply but is interrupted by the loud cheers that erupt from around him. Art looks up from his phone to see Anna Davies walk out on court in the same colour red as he had on. He claps politely with the rest of the men’s team who he was sitting amongst in the stands, in a show of support.

Art catches sight of Tashi and Patrick, both perched a few rows down from him with the rest of the women’s team both clapping and hollering in support. He notices the turn of Patrick’s head, no doubt to check in on Art but he doesn’t tilt his head or smile back in acknowledgement as he usually would - he is far too distracted by you.

Art can feel his jaw slacken slightly as you walk on court. He knows what you look like, but you in the flesh - Art thinks you are breathtaking. Your top is in a shade of your college’s colour, paired with a white tennis skirt that shows off a pair of toned, long legs. He catches a glint of metal just above your ankle, and he finds himself squinting in a feeble attempt to make out the look of the ankle bracelet that you have on. Art moves his gaze your face, taking in what he can see from his perch on the stands as you walk out towards your designated bench on the court, bright neon green bottle in hand, your tennis bag slung on a shoulder.

You had been close back home for most of your childhood and more formative teen years, and the both had kept in touch since he left for Stanford and you to your own school of choice, but too infrequently - the occasional text, more frequent reaction or comment on each other’s social media and the small conversations that spiralled from those interactions - like two planets orbiting in the same solar system, but not close enough. Life had overtaken, the excitement of moving your separate ways to a new environment, of college - tennis, academics, people, parties, it had overwhelmed you both, individually and together - made you just about forget that you had each other.

Art is transfixed. You are, lithe, glowing and with a hop in your step - Art finds himself questioning why he had never made more effort to keep you closer since you had both gone on your separate paths. He watches as you settle your bag on the bench, turning your gaze to the stands, eyes narrowing from the glare of the sun as you search the stands, only for your gaze to fix on his. Art sees you smile, lips turning up as you wink directly at him. It makes a series of heads turn to look back at him - your fellow team mates, the small group of supporters from your college who had come along, and the Stanford women’s team plus Patrick, half curious, half puzzled. Art can only raise a hand beside his chest in greeting as he remembers to breathe, letting the air he had been holding in his chest out.

He sees turn away while reaching for your phone which you had wedged in between the band of your tennis skirt and skin. Your fingers flying over the keypad briefly before you toss the phone into your tennis bag, hand fishing out your racket. Art feels his phone buzz in his hand and he looks down at the text that had come through.

Stanford still hasn’t taught you the right way to wear a cap huh.

Your text, a reference to his penchant for securing his cap on backwards, makes Art laugh, out loud, the sudden sound causing his team mates to crane their necks in attempt to look at his phone. Art swats them away as he refocuses his attention back on you, watching as you do a few hops, shifting your body weight from side to side before walking to your position on court, racket in hand. You lose the coin toss, and Anna choose to serve and yet your demeanour is one of ease, something Art can’t help but think is so stark in contrast to Tashi before a match. You aren’t smiling anymore, and yet in an unexplainable fashion, Art can feel you smiling as you bend to ready position, your hands flipping the handle of the racket around, poised to receive. He sees Anna toss the ball, her back arching, hand shooting up, before she connects her serve, and he watches you receive it with ease, your body moving in a smooth motion as you hit it back. Your strokes have their own weight and intention behind them, they are careful, thought out - but what surprises Art is he sees little calculation behind each. Instead, he watches as you let yourself feel each shot, as you let your instinct take control with each step. Art sees himself moving pieces of chess across the court when he watches replays of his game, but with your game, - Art manages to see colour, life, ease. He sees something he hasn’t seen in his tennis since he had last played with you, Art sees fun.

-

The match isn’t long drawn out, you win - effortlessly, just as each of your strokes and movement are. It frustrates Anna, as is evident from the increasing number of unforced errors she makes on her art which leads to her swearing loudly as you easily hit the last heavy, driving it quick and to the opposite corner of the court from where she is positioned. Art finds himself clapping enthusiastically along with the crowd as the umpire calls the game.

-

“You never told me you had such good looking friends,” Art feels an arm sling itself around his neck, pulling him close as he stands outside the court, waiting for you to finish your match debrief with the rest of the team.

“Shouldn’t you be with Tashi?” Art questions as he tugs himself out and under, away from Patrick’s hold. His eyes remain focused on the door of the tennis court, waiting for you to emerge.

“Some strategy meeting,” Patrick offers as explanation, “refocusing or something like that.”

Art starts to say something in response only to be stopped by the view of you walking out from the courts. You both lock eyes, not too similar from how you had with you on the court and him on the stand. Art thinks that your smile is more brilliant up close.

Neither of you say a word, as you walk up to him, hands reaching up to tug his cap off his head only for you to pop it promptly on your own head, the right way around.

“The right way,” you say in greeting, pointing towards his cap which is now sitting on your head, the Stanford red a confusing contrast to your your top, now a loose fitting tshirt in your college colours, as Art chuckles while running a hand through his hair, attempting to shake out any flatness.

“The red looks good on you.”

“Perhaps I should transfer.”

“Didn’t peg you for a traitor,” Art teases which makes you laugh.

“Do I get a hug,” you ask, both of you oblivious to Patrick who is just watching.

“C’mere,” Art says, his words inviting, but just almost slightly shy as he opens his arms to you. You step into his embrace, arms slipping around his body as Art brings his arms around your shoulders, hands bumping into the tennis bag you have on your shoulders. His embrace is familiar, and you let yourself relax into his hold.

“Could I get a hug?” you hear a different male voice chime in and you pull away to look curiously at the brunette who is standing just beside you both.

“Fuck off Patrick,” you hear Art say with no bite, but notice as he steps just that one inch in front of you in an attempt to place himself as some sort of barrier between you and the brunette.

“Patrick Zweig,” the boy says, ignoring Art as he proffers a hand to you which you shake to be polite while introducing yourself.

“Do you go to Stanford as well?” You take in his attire of jeans and a white tee, the lack of red - you would guess not but it didn’t hurt to ask.

“I’m just visiting,” he says, “I’m actually playing on tour.”

“Losing on tour,” Art corrects.

“Your tennis is insane,” Patrick comments, ignoring Art, “when will I see you on tour?”

“I don’t intend on turning pro,” you respond with the flash of a smile.

“Why?” Patrick continues the conversation, now slightly befuddled, “you’re a natural.”

You shrug with a laugh, not answering and simply brushing off his question.

“Why don’t I take you to dinner and you can tell me why.” Patrick’s statement makes Art roll his eyes.

“Aren’t you taking your girlfriend our for dinner?” Art chips to which Patrick simply shrugs not phased in the slightest and answers with a no.

“Thanks, but I already have a dinner to cash in on,” you offer Patrick a smile, before glancing at Art.

“I’m sure Art wo-”

“Nope, fuck off Patrick,” is what Art says again, not even giving the other man a chance to finish his sentence. It makes you laugh, but you follow as Art grabs your hand, tugging you off in a direction away from Patrick.

“It was nice meeting you Patrick,” you call out, turning your head towards him giving him a wave with your free hand, “good luck on the tour!”

You walk for a minute or two more until the tennis courts are out of range before Art stops. He lets go off your hand, but reaches instead to grasp the top of the tennis bag on your shoulder. You raise a brow questioningly only to have him tug again with a slight tilt of his head. You relinquish the bag to him and he hoists it on his shoulder instead.

“What a gentleman,” you joke, but with a smile on your face.

Art does a mock bow with a flourish of his hand which makes you laugh with a shake of your head.

“Your chariot awaits my lady,” he extends a hand to you, waist still tilted in a bow, but his head up and looking at you.

“Lead the way,” you place your hand on top of his again.

“My car is that way,” he says jerking a thumb towards his right as he intertwines his fingers with yours. Its the second time in the day where he’s holding onto your hand but you don’t think too much of it and neither does Art. It feels right, comforting, familiar and like it’s supposed to be - and you go with it.

-

“Sorry about Patrick,” Art says as he fiddles with the paper casing of the straw. You are both sitting in a booth, plates cleared, your drinks left in front of you. Art is leaning back but being across him you can feel his knees knocking into yours. Dinner had gone by way too fast for Art’s liking. There had been both plenty to catch up on, as well as new information to learn and yet - it had felt like no time had passed between you both.

“He’s a bit of an ass isn’t he,” you say as you lean back, a mirror of Art. Your comment elicits a bark of laughter from him.

“Girls don’t usually say that about him.”

“What do they say?”

“Well not say, but they usually fall at his feet or into his bed,”

“No,” it makes you crinkle your nose while you shake your head.

“His girlfriend Tashi,” Art says, fingers still fiddling with the wrapper, “we played tennis for her number, she chose him.” Art said referencing the tennis match between him and Patrick. His sentence is blunt, to the point, and yet manages to be vulnerable at the same time. Art surprises himself as the words slip out from his lips so easily but it feels easy to tell you, safe to let himself be vulnerable, fine to let you view him for who he truly is.

You both sit in silence for a beat or two, the only sound between you both being the rustle of paper in Art’s fingers.

“Well,” you begin, “if she made you play for her number, maybe its for the better you didn’t win.”

Art’s fingers give pause and he looks up at you. His expression is unreadable, but you don’t feel like you’ve said anything wrong - just the obvious.

“I guess you are right,” he says after a few seconds of silence, before raising his head to look at you. There is a small smile on his face that you can’t quite place.

“When have I been wrong Donaldson?” You challenge in jest as you lift a leg under the table to jostle one of his lightly. Art leans forward, managing to capture one of your legs, your calf in the warmth of his palm.

“You really want me to start?” Art questions as you wriggle your leg in attempt to get away but no no avail.

“No.”

“Let’s see, the time we were six and you thought that the way to get strawberry milk was to dump pink food colouring in normal milk.”

“Stop,” you protest, but with a laugh on your lips.

“Or the time we were ten and you were convinced that the park we passed by on the way home from school was haunted and we had to sprint past that stretch of sidewalk for 3 whole months.”

“It was creepy!”

“How could we forget the one time we were thirteen and you thought that the way babies were made wa-”

“Arthur Donaldson,” you protest, managing to wrestle your leg out of his grasp which has grown looser with each anecdote. It allows you to set your foot on the ground, body shooting up to lean across the table, your palm coming to cover Art’s mouth to prevent him from announcing any further recollections from your youth.

You can feel his breath hot against the palm of your hand as his muffled laugher fills the space of your booth.

“Art,” you huff, relinquishing his full name for his nickname again. You move to drop your hand from his face, but Art catches a hold of your wrist. You sit back down, butt hitting the seat again, but with your hand still stretched across the table, wrist still loosely wrapped in one Art Donaldson’s hand. His shoulders are still shaking, now with a silent laughter.

“Art,” you try again.

“I’m sorry, it’s just so funny,” Art exhales, trying to collect himself as best as he can. He doesn’t remember the last time he laughed like this, freely and with such reckless abandon over something so innocent.

“Your dedicated court jester, always here to serve,” you mock with a roll of your eyes.

“You’ve been derelict in your duties,” Art says, now calm, but his eyes still twinkling under a mop of strawberry blonde hair. He keeps his tone light but what he really means to say is that it has been too long. You chuckle, not really having an answer for him.

“It’s been a while,” you finally admit, both your hands now resting on the table between you, you wrist now lying upturned in Art’s open palm. You had always been close

“It has, hasn’t it,” it isn’t really a question. Art has missed you - something he hasn’t realised until today. He had let himself be distracted by the complex, focused toxicity that was tennis, Patrick and Tashi, letting himself get sucked into the whirlpool, that he had forgotten to hold on to the things that grounded him.

“Maybe we should change that.”

“We should change that,” Art corrects you and you can feel the tips of your ears burning, and the skin across your cheek bones tingling for some reason.

-

You aren’t quite sure how ended up here, but one thing had lead to another as you both made your way out of the restaurant and back to Art’s car, and the next thing you knew you were heading back to his dorm to watch reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer for some reason.

“How do you not find her hot?” You ask again for the tenth time as you both focus on the screen of Art’s laptop which is perched half on his thigh and half on yours. You are both sitting on his bed, shoulder to shoulder, both of your heads damp from (separate) showers in Art’s ensuite, and you smelling quite like him from having used his toiletries and borrowing a short and shirt set, both of which which were a baggy fit for you.

“I don’t know, I just don’t.”

“You’re rubbish Donaldson,” you snort, nudging your elbow lightly into his ribs with a simultaneous yawn.

“Tired?” Art asks, as you stifle another yawn.

“Yeah,” you accept, seeing little point in trying to hide it. You had after all, played a match today.

“I should really get back to the hotel,” you mumble, the back of your head leaning against the wall beside Art’s bed, eyes closing.

“You could just stay here,” there is a hint of hesitation in his voice because he isn’t sure if you’ll stay.

“Here?”

“My bed’s a double,” Art shrugs, “it would also be quicker for you to get to the matches tomorrow.” You aren’t playing but Art knows you would be expected to show up as a supporter for the series of matches between your two schools that continued tomorrow.

“Are you sure?” You don’t mind, after all - it’s Art, the boy you had known growing up, shared milkshakes and apple slices with after school, but you wanted to be sure he was truly fine with it.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Art moves to shit his laptop, lifting himself to bend over the edge of the bed to place the laptop on the floor, “you can take the inside.”

He flops down on the outside of the bed that is further from the wall too easily, his right hand going behind his head. Him moving forces you to move in tandem as you flop down on Art’s left, legs scrambling under the covers which Art has somehow managed to worm his way under in the flurry of movement.

Art reaches a hand over, his arm extending over you in the process to hit the light switch that he has beside his bed. It plunges you both into darkness, the only light the faint glow from the street lamps creeping in from below his curtains, and the glow of his digital clock.

You flip onto your right side, eyes closed, missing the turn of Art’s head as he observes yours features, closed eyes, lashes, nose, lips, finding his gaze lingering a moment too long on your lips.

“Stop staring Art.”

“Am not.”

“I can feel it,” you respond, lips curving into a smirk. It was a habit he had developed from the sleepovers you both had either in his living room or yours when you were both younger. You would close your eyes, just about to doze off, only to hear the faint shifting of a head against a pillow while Art turned to stare at you, his blue-brown eyes boring into you.

“Am not.”

“Go to sleep Art.”

-

“So I guess I’ll see you around,” You are standing just a distance off the side of the bus which is supposed to take you back to campus. The matches for the day had ended, with your school having won by one match.

“Yeah,” Art replies, drawing out his words as he takes you in, he finds himself think that he had very much preferred you in his clothes despite them being oversized and not as well fitted as your own. You had managed to change into a fresh set of school colours before the matches started earlier that morning, having pleaded with your angel of a roommate to help you lug your overnight bag, which you hadn’t even had the chance to unpack the night before, over to the courts before the matches had begun. She had taken one look at you in Art’s tshirt, shorts with his hoodie thrown over, and had given you the widest smirk known to man despite your insistence that nothing had happened.

“I think you are scheduled to come play next month,” you refer to the Stanford men’s team, “I’ll see you then?”

“Or I could see you next week?” Art says almost shyly as he raises a hand to rub the back of his head. Art was a walking oxymoron, easily grabbing your hand, asking you to sleep in his bed, and yet somewhat bashful in the moments in between, “the drive over is an hour, max.”

“I would like that,” your response earns you a mega watt smile, his eyes twinkling at you. You both hear voices calling Art away from the bus, one male, one female - but Art ignores them both.

-

“Yeah and I told her-” your sentence is cut off by a nudge to your shoulder.

“Stanford” you friend explains with slightly too much glee in her voice. She had seen the smile on your face after returning from your away game last weekend, and the way you had been constantly glued to your phone, grin on your face, laughter peppering your days, the name Art Donaldson a constant fixture in your notifications.

Your head swivels up and to your left to spot Art leaning against his black jeep, hands crossed loosely across his chest. He smiles when he sees you, and your face mimics his expression.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” you friend calls out as she pushes you in Art’s direction. You pull a face at her while rolling your eyes, but letting your legs carry you towards Art.

“Are you stalking me Donaldson?” You ask in jest. Art had texted you half an hour earlier, asking which part of campus your last class of the Friday was in and where he should pick you up from.

“Hundred percent,” he says as he opens his arms; you step into his embrace for a brief hug, before he turns to open the car door for you. You unload your bag from your arm, dropping it onto the floor of the passenger’s seat before climbing in. You move to close the door, but Art is in between you and the door, reaching over to click your seatbelt into place.

“Ready?” He asks, and you nod, gazing into bright blue-brown eyes.

-

“Positivism,” Art says simply at your question of what theory of jurisprudence he found himself most inclined towards. You think for a moment, the side of your face propped up with a hand, elbow on the counter of the bar you both are seated at, your body turned towards Art who is likewise, facing you.

“Positivism,” you roll the words around your tongue, “I guess it tracks,” you shrug, before raising a brow slightly, “but how does an engineering undergraduate so much about jurisprudence?”

“I read.”

“On jurisprudence?” You frown nose wrinkling as you reach your hand out to place the back of it against Art’s forehead as if to check if he had a fever, “are you alright?”

“You mean you don’t read engineering daily in between sets?” Art questions you with mock horror as he reaches up to tug your hand down from his forehead. Your hand ends up, yet again, in Art’s, which is resting on his knee.

“Why engineering, and not something with a lighter course load?” The underlying question is clear - Art had every intent of going the pro track post-Stanford, and it wasn’t that he would be making full use of his degree anyway.

“I don’t want the only skill I have to be hitting a ball with a racket,” he shrugs, “it feels good to know I can do something else.”

You hum in bother understanding and agreement as you feel Art’s thumb begin to stroke the back of your hand. It distracts you, his calloused thumb sliding across your skin.

“In another life I’m sure you would have made a darn good engineer Art Donaldson.”

Your words make Art laugh, something he found himself doing a lot with you.

-

“So, this is me,” you point towards the dormitory buildings up in front and Art slows his car to a stop, pulling the gear into park. He kills the engine before hopping out of his seat. Your hand is on the handle of the door, ready to open it for yourself but Art is faster, his hand on the outside lever, pulling the door open for you.

Art offers you a hand as you hop out of the jeep before he shuts the door behind you.

“I had fun tonight,” you find yourself saying, suddenly feeling slightly shy for reasons you cannot fathom.

“Me too,” is what Art says in response, his hands stuck on the pockets of his jeans, heels rocking in a back and forth motion. You see his gaze on you, locking with yours before flickering to your lips. It makes you bite down one on side of your lip, an action which causes Art to gulp, making the Adam’s apple on his throat bob.

“We should do-”

“Can I kiss you?” Art blurts out his question in a burst and you can see his face flush slightly as he asks, a surprising and yet apt contrast to the Art who had no qualms about holding your hand in his. You feel your heart quickening, and with the silence between you both - you almost feel as if you can hear each beat.

“Yes,” you breathe out, a small nod accompanying your response. You see Art’s gaze flicker to your lips again, but you would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about this.

Art takes a step forward, pulling his hands out of his pockets. You feel him cupping your face gently, and you tilt your head towards him. Your eyes flutter close and your lips meet.

Art’s lips are softer than you imagined. You feel his hands move, slipping down the sides of your body, circling your waist and pulling you closer. You drop your bag off your shoulder onto the floor as your hands move up, one to cradle the side of his face, and the other reaching behind, fingers weaving into soft curls as you tug him closer towards you. First kisses with someone new had always been awkward for you - teeth, lips, noses, as you each try to figure out the grooves and crannies of each other, but with Art - there was no such thing. It felt as if you both had learnt each other long ago, each in and out, the curve of his neck, and the the planes of your body.

You break the kiss first, pulling away, eyes still closed, feeling as if the breath had been knocked out of you in the best way. Your forehead pressed against Art’s, body held firmly against his.

“I hope you aren’t going to send me packing after that.” Your eyes flutter open at his words.

“You packed an overnight bag didn’t you?”

“I might have,” Art pulls you even closer, his arms wound tight around you.

“Presumptuous much?” You run a hand through the front of his hair, pushing his fringe back.

“Just good at reading the room.”

-

12 years later

The skin across your knuckles are visibly tight, your hands clenched into fists, the only sign of the nerves that have taken over and riddled your body. Your eyes are shielded by dark oversized glasses, but your pupils are darting left and right as the final point of the match plays before you. The stadium is silent, save for the pop of the ball and the grunts from the two players on court. You hear an exceptionally loud grunt, the whizzing of a racket whipping through the air, and then you hear it before it hits you - the roar of the crowd, the thundering claps, and you feel your body freeze as even the announcer goes wild.

“Art Donaldson, ladies and gentleman, our new US Open champion.”

You remain glued to your seat despite the commotion around you - family, Art’s team, cheering, jumping, excited hugs being passed around. Your eyes watch as Art runs towards the center of the net, hand raised as he waves to the crowd around. He shakes his opponents hand, before waving to each section of the stadium in thanks of their support and there he is, jogging towards you. His hair is dripping with sweat, plastered to his head, shirt clinging to his body. He extends a hand to you even before he reaches the sideline and your body reacts from habit, standing, your hand extending back towards him. A warm hand, the back of it still slick from sweat grasps yours, tugging you forward lightly.

“Hi,” is all he says as Art’s lips meet yours. Art enjoys the tennis, but he doesn’t need it - doesn’t need the tennis, the fame, the money, or the trophies - all he needs is you.

You hear the crowd go wild at the display of affection, the announcer’s voice booming over the sound system with something about Art Donaldson and his wife, but it all fades - the commotion, the sound, the people, the tennis, because all you see is Art.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[madridnoora]

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ Pedri - A Flower in Bloom.

⋆｡˚Pairing - pedri x fem!reader

౨ৎ Summary - Pedri and you were once 'friends' back in Tenerife, running in the same circle of friends but as you grow up circumstances change and people lose contact. What you never expected was to cross paths in Barcelona, five years after you last spoke and in your flower shop.

⋆｡˚Word Count - 4.6k (this is way longer than I intended)

౨ৎ Warnings - none! just angst.

requests open :)

౨ৎ

The flower shop was thick with the delicate scent of jasmine and peony, warm with the hot midday sun seeping through the large glass windows of the front. You stood behind the wooden counter as the quiet bustling of people coming and going filtered into the background. Your younger cousin Marta was working on the tills, and handling customer sales while you stood in an apron designing new bouquets of vibrant colours to display in the windows.

A floral apron wrapped around the waist of your baby pink sundress and black gloves covered your hands as you snipped away at the stalks of roses, and lillies. Mother's day was only a few days away and this was one of the busiest times of the year for the shop, or at least that was what your grandmother had told you in the notes she left behind.

You were never meant to be the owner of a flower business at twenty two, but when she passed away six months ago and left it to you in the will it seemed you had no choice -- not that anything was keeping you in Tenerife anyway. So, you up and moved your life to Barcelona. Now you live in an old weathered apartment above the flower shop that often smells of damp and your grandmothers lingering perfume, but it's oddly comforting. The only family you had here in the city were some young cousins and an uncle, and friends were sparse with trying to keep the business afloat.

The busy nature of late April was welcomed, and there was something so calming about arranging flowers. The quiet nature of arranging different patterns and colours, then wrapping them up in paper with a lace ribbon. It was the kind of activity that kept you from thinking too much, from imagining your grandmother walking around and managing the shop floor with her bright smile and perfectly styled grey bob.

When the bell of the baby blue wooden door rang, you didn't even look up.

"I don't even know what I'm looking for," a male voice said, stress in his words.

"Just something that looks pretty," another male voice said, and for a moment you thought you recognised the hoarseness of it but you couldn't have done. You didn't know any men that weren't your uncle in Barcelona.

You focussed again on the bouquet in your hands, as the two men walked to the other side of the story and their voices becoming more hushed.

You were just finishing up, wrapping a ribbon in a delicate bow around the stalks of some flowers when a deep voice startled you.

"Excuse me, can you help us?"

You looked up.

A man with golden skin and short brunette hair stood in front of you, looking slightly fed up and with a pair of black prada sunglasses pushed up his head.

"Sure, what are you looking for?," You said, removing the gloves from your hands and placing them on the wooden counter before brushing any stray dirt from your apron.

"Flowers for mother's day" He told you.

"What kind of flowers?" You asked.

The man looked confused, like he was unaware there were than roses or tulips to pick from.

"Anything pretty and motherly"

You let out a small chuckle and nodded your head, you were about to tell him to wait for a moment while you grabbed a bouquet you had made yesterday specifically with mother's day in mind, but something stopped you.

"You find anything?"

He came around the aisle of the shop like a past memory.

Pedro.

For a dizzying second, it felt like you were sixteen again. Like you were back in the classrooms, back in the hallways and avoiding his gaze at house parties involving underage drinking and cringy dancing. Memories you barely ever thought about came flooding back like a tsunami that couldn't be stopped. You remembered when you were dating one of his friends and Pedro would roll his eyes when you sat down at his table, or when he would make petty and boyish jabs at you as you ate lunch opposite each other. You remembered the way you would bicker with each other in the middle of a lesson, and the way he would get you so frustrated.

You remember that tension because it exists now, in the end aisle of your flower shop, five years on. Except, it's different, the tension is older and sharper like the dark features on his sculpted face.

Pedro paused for only a second. The confidence on his face flickering quickly before returning. His friend didn't notice, but you did because you used to watch it happen in school.

"Y/n?"

"Pedro?"

The mystery man's, who had initially asked for your help, eyes darted between the two of you in confusion. He felt the instant shift in the air when you saw each other too, even your cousin at the cash register noticed it.

"What are you doing here?," Pedro asked with furrowed brows.

"This is my shop." You stated matter a factly, not really enjoying his tone and his furrowed brows that made you feel judged.

"Since when? You're allergic to flowers," He questioned you, he also surprised you by remembering the allergy you had when you were younger.

"Medicine exists Pedro, or is it Pedri now?," You can't help but make a dig at the nickname he had made for himself since playing professional football. You never intended to keep up with his career, but it was hard to avoid in your hometown. Everyone loved him, the sweet boy from the island who was making a name for himself as one of the great football players in the world. You didn't like to buy into it though, he wasn't that sweet to you at school.

"Whatever you want," Pedri shrugged, a smirk painted on his bronzed face.

That makes you stand up an inch straighter, and swallow.

You studied him. He was older, and mature now but the boyish cheek still lingered beneath the surface. His brunette curls were styled with wax on top of his head, his Dior sunglasses tucked into the neckline of his oversized black t-shirt allowing you to see a glimpse of his toned chest.

Pedri studied you. You were older, a blossomed flower but still with the pouty face of the girl he remembered from the island. You hair was hanging loosely in a claw clip at the back of your head, with a few strands framing your glowing face. The pink sundress was flattering on you womanly figure with a low neckline and the belt of the apron cinching in your waist sharply.

He felt like he was sixteen again, like he was seeing you in the back of the crowded classroom or sitting two rows in front of him while he made dumb jokes or comments about your boyfriend to wind you up.

Ferran cleared his throat, "Sooooo"

That makes both Pedri and you snap out of the intensity of what just happened.

"Ferran, this is y/n. We went to school together. Y/n, this is Ferran. He's my teammate," Pedri introduced you both as he scratched the back of his neck and his cheeks lightly flushed pink.

"Hola, Ferran"

"Hola, Y/n"

You smile at each other.

"We both need flowers," Ferran adds, nodding his head to Pedri.

You simply nodded your head and began to walk to the back of the shop to grab some bouquets.

When you left, Ferran couldn't help himself tease Pedri.

"She's cute"

Pedri rolled his eyes, an uncomfortable feeling rolling over his stomach as he listened to his friend talk about you like that.

"She dated Alvaro"

"Huh," Ferran's head snapped to Pedri, "Our Alvaro"

Pedri nodded with tight lips, "When we were teenagers".

Pedri and your ex-boyfriend were still friends, not that you knew that, and he lived just outside of Barcelona. He hung out with Pedri, Ferran and the other guys at least a couple times a month.

"Sucks for you"

"What?," Pedri's own head snapped back to look at Ferran.

"Please, I think god himself felt the shift in the air when you two saw each other," Ferran laughed at his own joke.

"You're stupid," Pedri just rolled his eyes and let out an agitated sigh. Not liking what Ferran was hinting at. Sure, now that he was older he can admit that in school he had a crush but so did every boy in his class and you picked Alvaro. That was a long time ago. You had grown up and so had he. You were different people now, strangers.

Finally, you came back with two bouquets. One a sea of white, pink and green with accents of purple, wrapped up in some brown paper and a pink lace ribbon. The other was a sea of blue and purple, with white and yellow daisies sprinkled throughout and wrapped in some pink tissue paper with a white string ribbon.

"These two are the best we have," You handed the pink one to Ferran and the blue/purple one too Pedri because you remembered his mother would always wear those colours whenever you saw her. But, you wouldn't tell him that's why you chose that one.

'They're pretty" Ferran complimented, and you felt yourself flush a little bit. You looked down and shuffled on your feet a little bit.

Pedri watched you. A strange pang of an unknown emotion in the centre of his chest as he watched you blush from Ferran's words. He swallowed quickly.

"We're going to be late," He said, causing you to look up at him.

Ferran nodded his head in agreement, before turning to speak to you. "Thanks for the flowers, y/n" He offered you a bright which smile you returned, then he and Pedri began walking off the the cash register.

And that was that.

But it wasn't. After about five steps, Ferran turned back to where you were still standing and now adjusting the displays.

"I'm having a barbecue on Friday, you should come"

Your jaw slacked slightly, not expecting to be asked to a party by a man you had just met.

"There's going to be a lot of people, friends of friends, that type of thing." Ferran explained further, while Pedri looked at him like he had just grew a second head.

You shift on your feet, unsure what too say and weighing up the options available in your head. You could either say no, and life would remain unchanged or you could say yes and potentially make some friends that made the loneliness you felt in Barcelona less painful.

Fuck it.

"Sure, sounds like fun," You say.

Pedri can't quite believe it, can't quiet fathom why Ferran has invited you to his party even though you have only just met. He also can't understand why you say yes. He stands and watches as Ferran placed his number in your phone, and tells you he will text the details over when he gets home. That strange pang of emotion beats even harder against his ribs, making him feel almost sick.

Pedri's posture changed too, stiff and rigged. His honey gaze now cold and his lightly stubbled jaw clenched. You noticed it. You were confused by it, but you gave up on understanding Pedro when you were teenagers.

The boys eventually pay for the flowers, and Ferran leaves out the door first. When he does, Pedri pretends to drop his sunglasses as an excuse to hang back and talk to you.

"He invites people to things all the time, and he's on and off with someone right now," He said after a beat, his voice lower and quieter. "It doesn't mean anything"

At first your taken aback by his harsh words and the cold tone in which he speaks to you. Then you remember that this is Pedro, and this is how he had always seemed to speak to you.

"You can't stop me going," You snapped as you brought your arms across your chest and folded them. For a second, you could have sworn you watched Pedro's eyes flicker down but they came back up so quickly that you couldn't be sure. When his eyes met yours, he gave you that look, the one from when you were kids. The one he would give you across classrooms and lunch tables. The one he would give you during arguments which were so charged that they never really felt like arguments at all but something else. Something intense and meaningful.

"I won't" He said, though his voice was tighter than before like he was holding something back.

"But?"

"I'm just warning you, there will be a lot of people there" Pedri's gaze dropped to his feet and he let out a sigh like he was feeling the weight of something. The weight was the fact that Alvaro would be there and for some reason he couldn't explain he didn't want you two seeing each other again, almost like he was scared of what could happen. But you didn't know that and Pedri wasn't about to tell you.

"I'll be okay," You sigh.

"Okay." He breaths.

"Okay." You breath.

Then, he walks out of your store and your left feeling the same way you did when you were sixteen.

-౨ৎ ⋆｡˚-

The uber rolled to a stop at the bottom of the long sloping driveway lined with clipped tree and low golden lights. You stepped out the car slowly, nerves seeping into your skin and your heart already beating a little faster as you clutch the bottle of wine you picked up last minute, not wanting to turn up to a party empty handed.

The house was beautiful, and modern but not cold. Glass meshed with stone and somehow created warmth as it tucked itself into the hills just outside the main city. A sprawling view of the skyline under the pink hued skies.

The smell of delicious food drifted through the air as you walked up the driveway. Laughter and music floated from the backyard also, voices carried alongside the clink of glasses.

You smoothed a hand down the side of your baby blue tank top and the white linen maxi skirt you wore, nervous and unsure of whether you came under dressed or over dressed to such a luxurious place. Then, without giving your anxiety a chance to make you turn back, you walked through the open gate and into the garden in the back.

You didn't really know why you said yes, or why you actually showed up. Maybe it was the idea of finding friendship in this new city, or maybe it was the fact that Ferran's invitation had been so kind and casual.

When you stepped into the back garden, you scanned the crowd. Music pulsed through some set up speakers and a group of people lounged near the pool with drinks in hand. Ferran stood speaking with some other boys, ones that looked younger, behind a long table piled with grilled foot, tapas and a cooler filled with Spanish beer.

Like he felt your eyes on him, Ferran turned.

"Y/N," He smiled, waving for you to come over and join him. You did, not really having any other option.

"I brought you some wine," You told him, he laughed and told you he figured. You pursed your lips trying not to smile at the jab, then he handed you a glass of homemade sangria and introduced you to the fresh faced boys that lingered around.

You tried to remember their names, a Gavi, a Pau and a Hector maybe. Honestly, you would likely forget their names by the end of the night and once the sangria has seeped into your bloodstream.

Within moments, you sank into conversation and the anxiety you had previously seemed to fizzle away into the summer evening's breeze. You laughed at their boyish jokes, surprised by how easy you had seemed to slip into the conversation. The warmth of the sun kissed your skin, and for a while you didn't think of him but when you felt a gaze burning into the side of your head you knew it was him.

That familiar shift clicked in the air between you.

That pull of tension and something underlying.

Pedri was stood across the garden, leaning back against the fence as he smiled at something the blonde haired man next to him said, but his eyes focussed on you.

You let your eyes scan him for a moment. He was dressed well, in a plain white t-shirt with some light wash jeans that hung loosely on his legs. The white made his tanned skin look darker, and brought out the sharpness of his features. An expensive watch glinted on his wrist, and his soft hair shined under the golden lanterns that hung from the fence. You swallowed and looked away, engaging back in the conversation with the boys.

Pedri let his eyes scan you. A tight blue tank top that clung to your body, and a white linen skirt which was slightly see through over your legs. Gold bangles decorated your forearms and complimented your olive skin. The way your hair danced in the breeze as it cascaded down your back, stopping at your waist. When you looked away and spoke with his teammates, that strange pang came back. Pedri had figured out it was jealousy, but he was reluctant to admit it to himself. How could he be jealous over a girl he hadn't spoken to in five years?

He kept watching as you spoke with Hector, a young boy who seemed to be getting a little bit too close but you didn't realise.

Occasionally, you would glance back and catch him still watching making heat prickle up the back of your neck and your stomach flip. He'd always had that effect on you, even in school. You assumed you had grown out of it, but it was obvious to you now that you hadn't.

You broke away from the conversation with the boys and headed over to the drinks table laid out on the slate patio. The sun was properly beginning to set now, with the sky turning a deep burnt sienna and the city lights illuminating the skyline in the distance. The drinks table was stacked with bottles of wine, cava and a few too many mixers going warm and flat from the sun.

You reach for another glass of sangria, the cold glass offering relief against the heat of your fingertips. You took a long sip, trying not to think about Pedri, who you can see watching you from the corner of his eye as he takes your place in the conversation you just left. You turn slightly away from him, letting the cool breath brush against your skin.

"No way. No fucking way"

You spin quickly because you know that voice, granted it's a little more raspy these days.

When you turn, Alvaro is there with disbelieving grin and a half drank corona in his hand as he spread them open to hug you instantly.

"What the hell are you doing here?," You laugh with shock as you embrace him back taking in the smell of cigarettes and oak scented cologne. You were happy to see him, relieved almost to have a friend at the party now. Alvaro and you 'dated' when you were kids, although you weren't even sure it could be classed as dating, more a relationship of crushes and convenience.

"I live here, and this is my friends party. What are you doing this far away from Tenerife?," He laughed like you had asked him a stupid question, and maybe you had. Pedri and him were close in school, and it was stupid to assume they had stopped being friends just because he moved away for football and lost contact with you.

"I live here too, I inherited my grandma's flower shop in the city," You tell him happily then let out breath of laughter at the fact he is actually her tonight.

"You look well, y/n," Alvaro says meaningfully.

"You too, Alvaro," You tell him back as you find yourself feeling warm, almost as if you had been given a gift from home. You hadn't really spoke with Alvaro in almost two years but he still felt to safe and familiar.

"Pedri is here as well, have you seen him," Alvaro says enthusiastically because he doesn't understand the history or the relationship between you and his hometown friend.

You take another sip of your drink, your stained lips wrapping around the glass while you subtly nod your head, "He's kinda how I got the invite"

"Oh," Alvaro nodded, "Yeah, that makes sense"

Off to the side, Pedri was watching with an intense glare. He watched the way his friend hugged you tightly, and the way you embraced him back. He studied the way your face lit up when you saw him, the way the light pooled in your eyes. The pang of jealousy was stronger now, more like a hammer to his stomach causing a numb aching. His face was unreadable, no anger, no smile just a straight glare that could cut through ice. He took another swig of his beer while he watched, Alvaro give you another hug and then dash off into the house.

You stood there still by the drinks cart, taking in the party around and watching on as people danced to the music.

Pedri knew this was the only chance he had to talk to you. So, he made his move. Leaving his teammates without saying a word, and ignoring them as they asked where he was going.

"You're ignoring me," His words are stern yet hold a lingering hesitation.

You tutted and looked at him, "I'm not ignoring you". Denial dripped off your every word.

"Oh, you just avoid everyone's eyes huh," His chirped back.

You let a silence stretch between you again, dense and charged like usual.

Pedri breaks it.

"You look nice tonight, blue and gold suit you,"

You roll your eyes at him. He was always like this.

"Don't flirt with me like we're sixteen, Ped,"

The old nickname slipped off your tongue before you even realised, like a breath from a past life becoming reborn. You see Pedri falter for a moment, and you wonder if you mirrored him. You wondered if he could tell that the simple three letter version of his name had made your stomach flip and your chest constrict like all the air had been taken from the atmosphere.

"Haven't heard that in a while," Pedri quietly spoke, looking up at the fading sunset, "five years I think". You were the only one who called him that, the only one he allowed too in school because he only liked the way it sounded when it came from your mouth.

"Five years," You confirmed and realised a low breath.

"My teammates like you," Pedri looked back at you, changing the conversation to try and escape how heavy it felt on his shoulders, "they like you a lot."

You notice his tone, how it's almost bitter and you think you must be imagining it and yet you know you're not. You'd heard that bitterness before, when he would speak to you while Alvaro would wrap his arm around you in the lunch hall. You thought you were imagining it then too but time seemed to be the biggest teller of the truth.

"Don't act jealous, Pedri," You looked at him with a furrowed brow, always annoyed with the mixed signal he gave you. One day in school you were friends, the next day he hated you and on an occasional third day you thought he was going to kiss you but he never did. He never had the courage.

"I'm not," He blurted out too quick for it to be the truth.

"You are, you always did," You take the last sip of your sangria and feel the confidence of being tipsy coming into effect. "You could have said something, back when we were kids. You could have done something, anything" You murmured glancing at your feet and then meeting his big honey filled eyes as they seemed to soften.

"I couldn't," He said with what seemed to be subtle frustration, "You were dating Alvaro"

You scoffed, "Alvaro and I were friends who held hands and kissed a couple times. You knew it wasn't real"

"He was my friend, he still is!," He argued back, his voice rising slightly but not loud enough to catch the attention of other people at the party.

"And what was I?"

That stilled him. The rawness of your voice, a confession seeping out that should have been told years ago. His heart knocked once and hard as he looked at you. Your eyes glassy and seemingly filled with a tired sadness.

"Fuck" Pedri ran a hand through his hair, lightly tugging at it. "I don't know, y/n, I don't know what you are."

Silence swallowed his confession. His words equally raw and helpless, like seeing you had completely turned his world upside down.

With a thick throat you spoke hesitantly, "You don't know what I am?"

"I mean," Pedri looked down at the ground, his shoulders tensing but his voice softer. "When I was a kid, I didn't know what to do with you or myself. I'd say something stupid just to make you look at me and then I'd be mad when you did"

You cut him off, "You were always cruel, Pedri"

"Because I wanted you, and I couldn't have you"

That made your breath catch, but not from shock because you knew it all along secretly. You knew because you felt the same way, you dated Alvaro for so long just to stay close to him. Hearing it out loud after years of painful silence made your chest ache.

You looked away, towards the glowing light spilling from the inside of Ferran's house, where the party was still taking place. Distant laughter and clinking glasses, all of it happening while your world seemed to be crumbling.

"You could have," You whispered, "You could have had me, all you had to do was tell me and I would have been yours"

Pedri took a hesitant step closer.

"I should've kissed you," He said low and lifting a hand to push a stray strand of hair from your face. "That final day of school before our last summer break, when you stayed at the gate to argue with me over something stupid. When it was so hot and humid, and yet the rain just wouldn't stop pouring and you wouldn't stop talking"

You smile at the memory, because you had stayed just to see him. You stayed because you knew he would be leaving to some fancy football team, and you knew he would fade from your life. You wanted him to kiss you but it never came. Just another moment that seemed to pass you both by.

"You should have," You push out in a hushed breath.

Pedri looks at your sangria stained lips and back to your doe-eyes, contemplating doing it now. Instead, he decided on something else. Something more mature, and serious.

"Can I take you out? Like properly"

"Are you asking me on a date, Ped?" You tease him with a teenage smile.

"Yes." His voice unwavering.

"Then, yes." You didn't even have to think about it.

"Okay." He smiled, a glint of cheekiness in his eyes.

"Okay." You smiled, warmth pooling in your stomach.

The air shifted, something lighter lingering. Now charged with excitement and anticipation rather than thick tension.

It took five years.

Five years for him to finally make his move.

But, at least he had done something and so had you,

You said yes.

and like a flower in spring, you could bloom.

౨ৎ

[misspygmypie]

Meet & Greet... and more? Pt. 1

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader Requested: Yes, thank you @remmysthings for his request, I loved it so much!!! Summary: Single mom Y/N takes her son to meet Lando and Oscar and might be going home with more than just memories :) Words: 2158 Click here for Part 2

Please do not repost, thank you, and leave some feedback :)

Y/N glanced at her watch, her heart racing almost as fast as the cars she was about to see. The Formula 1 paddock was alive with activity as the teams prepped for the big race. Her 4-year-old son, Noah, was practically vibrating with excitement since he’d learned about this special Meet & Greet. The thought of introducing Noah to his racing heroes had kept Y/N going through some tough days and she hoped it would be worth every effort.

Noah had been a fan of racing from a very young age. His room was decorated with posters of race cars and he could name every driver from the top of his head. When Y/N had managed to secure a Meet & Greet with Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri she felt like she’d won the lottery. She knew this would be a day Noah would remember forever and she was determined to make it as special as possible.

As they approached the designated area, Y/N spotted the two drivers standing together. Lando was chatting animatedly with Oscar, both men looking relaxed in their team gear. Noah’s eyes widened and he tugged on Y/N’s hand, pulling her forward impatiently.

“Mommy, look! It’s Lando! And Oscar!” Noah squealed, his face lit up with sheer joy.

Lando’s gaze fell on them first. His eyes softened and a bright, genuine smile spread across his face. “Hey there, little guy” he called out, waving energetically.

Noah’s shyness melted away as he saw his idol waving at him. He tugged Y/N’s hand again, urging her to hurry. Y/N, feeling a bit nervous, walked over to them with a smile and extended her hand. “Hello, I’m Y/N, and this is Noah. It’s so nice to meet you both.”

“It’s great to meet you, Y/N and you too, Noah. Are you excited to see the cars up close?” Oscar greeted them with a friendly smile and Noah’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Yes! I love the loud vroom-vroom noises!”

Lando crouched down to Noah’s level, his eyes twinkling amused. “I think you’re going to love it even more when you see them up close. How about you come see the garage with us?”

“Yes, please” Noah shouted loudly while jumping up and down.

Lando took the boy's hand and led him towards the garage, Oscar and Y/N following them closely. “So, Y/N, what’s your story? How did you end up as Noah’s biggest racing supporter?” Oscar asked the young woman next to him.

“Well, it’s been just Noah and me for a while now. He’s always had a fascination with cars and I guess I just got caught up in his enthusiasm. This is a big deal for us, and it means a lot to be here today.”

Oscar nodded. “I can imagine. It’s wonderful to see such a strong bond and it’s great that Noah has something he’s so passionate about.”

As they walked through the paddock, Y/N noticed how Lando effortlessly engaged with Noah. His energy and enthusiasm were infectious. Noah was asking questions about the car’s features and Lando was answering with technical details and playful banter.

“Noah’s a natural. He might be a future racer,” Lando glanced back at Y/N with a smile. “He’s pretty great, just like his mom, I bet. You must be pretty good at handling all this excitement.”

Y/N laughed, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks. “I try my best.”

Oscar, catching the look Lando was giving Y/N, raised an eyebrow but kept his mouth shut. “And what about you, Y/N? What’s your favorite part about racing?”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, not wanting to admit that she’s not an expert in Formula 1, but eventually decided to be honest. “I’m not as into the technical details as Noah is, but I love seeing him so happy and excited. It makes everything worth it.”

“I can see that, it’s clear how much you care about him,” Lando smiled, his eyes softening with understanding.

The young boy’s excitement was visible when the group approached the race engineer area. Noah got more and more hyper, still holding onto Lando’s hand as he followed his idol to a series of high-tech computers and screens. “This is where we monitor everything during the race,” the British driver explained to the boy, “it’s like the car’s brain, keeping track of all the data.”

Y/N was astonished at the amount of screens displaying real-time performance data. “It’s incredible how much technology goes into this. I’ve never seen anything like it up close.”

Lando smiled, clearly enjoying her fascination with it as well. “It can be a bit overwhelming at first, but it’s all about making sure everything runs perfectly. It’s quite a thrill, actually. Do you want to see the car up close now?” He eventually asked the little boy who was still holding onto him.

Lando and Noah quickly were engrossed in a lively discussion about the car, the boy standing next to the vehicle and the driver kneeling beside him, showing the 4-year-old the various parts of the car and answering his questions.

When Lando noticed Y/N watching from a few feet away, he waved at her with a grin. He couldn’t help but notice how the light seemed to highlight her features, giving her a beautiful glow. Her smile, warm and genuine, made Lando’s heart skip a beat and he admired how her eyes lit up with curiosity at the things she was seeing and love for her little boy.

After a few more minutes of inspecting the car Lando lifted the 4-year-old up to sit in the driver’s seat, and Noah’s eyes widened in awe. “Wow! It’s so cool!”

Lando grinned, clearly enjoying Noah’s reaction. “You look like you belong there.”

Noah beamed up at him, then glanced over at Y/N with a look of pure delight. “Mommy, look” he shouted in excitement, ”I’m in the car!”

“So? What do you think about our garage?” Lando asked Y/N while Noah was pretending to drive and making noises. Oscar sensed how Lando seemed to want a moment with Y/N, so he moved himself next to Noah and explained the different buttons on the steering wheel. 

“It’s fascinating. I never realized how much goes into managing a car during a race.”

“What’s been the most surprising part for you so far?” Lando’s gaze lingered on her a moment longer than necessary, but Y/N didn’t seem to notice. She thought about his question for a moment. “I think it’s how much detail and precision is involved. I mean, I knew racing was complex, but seeing it all laid out like this is eye-opening.”

Lando nodded, clearly pleased with her insight. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? Every little detail matters. That’s why we work so hard to get everything just right.”

The young woman nodded, smiling up to him. He was struck again by how pretty she looked. There was something genuinely captivating about her and he found himself drawn to her.

“Noah’s been asking some really good questions. He’s got a real passion for this, doesn’t he?” Lando commented, trying to keep the conversation going while his mind wandered to how lovely Y/N was.

Y/N’s face softened when she heard his words, happy and proud that somebody other than just his own mother noticed the passion her son had. “He definitely does. He’s been fascinated with racing since he could talk, so today his dream came true.”

Lando’s smile grew warmer as he looked back at Y/N. “It’s wonderful to see that kind of enthusiasm. And I have to say, you’re pretty amazing yourself, Y/N, not just for bringing Noah here, but for supporting his dreams and how you’re handling all of this. It must be hard taking care of him by yourself.”

As Y/N smiled, touched by his words “Thank you, Lando. That’s really sweet of you to say,” her cheeks flushing, “some days are hard but he’s a great kid.”

The driver admired her but also felt something deeper. He genuinely enjoyed her company and it was clear that her kindness and beauty, inside and out, had made a lasting impression on him. While she was watching her son still chatting with Oscar Lando once again was fascinated by the young woman next to him. He usually wasn’t the type to be nervous to flirt with girls but with Y/N it was different. 

He felt himself get nervous but decided to say what he wanted to say anyway. “I’ve really enjoyed today, Y/N. How about I give you my number? Maybe I can show you around the track properly sometime or you can text me anytime you want to know more about racing or just chat.”

Y/N smiled, easing Lando’s nervousness. “I’d like that,” she nodded, fished her phone out of her pocket and handed it to the driver who had an equally big smile on his face while he put his number into her contacts.

After a few more moments of admiring the car and asking the two drivers a dozen questions, it was time for Noah and Y/N to say goodbye.

“Hey, let’s take some pictures to remember today,” Lando suggested. Everyone eagerly agreed, and they started positioning themselves for a series of fun shots. Oscar and Y/N posed together first while Noah playfully peeped out from behind them.

After a few group photos, Lando had a special request. “Oscar, can you take a picture of me with Y/N and Noah? I want to have a shot with just us.”

Lando quickly lifted Noah up onto his hip. The boy snuggled against him, eyes wide with awe and a beaming grin on his little face. Lando then slung an arm around Y/N, drawing her close and after a few seconds of hesitation Y/N leaned into Lando’s side.

Oscar, who had been watching with a smile, realized that this scene looked like a perfect family photo. The way Lando had Noah securely on his hip and the way his arm was wrapped around Y/N gave the impression of a cute little family enjoying a special day together. 

The Australian raised his phone and captured the moment and after reviewing the photo and agreeing that it perfectly captured their time together, the group exchanged hugs and well-wishes but Lando had one more surprise for Noah. He handed him a signed McLaren bear with a personal note, and Noah clutched it tightly, his eyes shining with happiness.

“Thank you so much, this was the best day ever!” Noah exclaimed.

“You’re welcome, buddy, it was great meeting you. Maybe we’ll see you at another race again soon,” he crouched down once more to give the little boy a hug. “Noah, keep being awesome. I’ll be waving at you from the track.”

As Y/N and Noah left the paddock, Lando and Oscar remained behind. The Brit couldn’t help but smile at how this normal day had turned into something unexpectedly amazing. The two drivers walked toward the team's hospitality area and Oscar smirked at his teammate. “You seemed to have quite a connection with Y/N today. Not just the way you were with Noah, but with her too.”

Lando chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, she’s great, isn’t she? It was really nice talking to her. She’s got this warmth about her and Noah’s excitement was just infectious.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “So, you’re saying you might have a bit of a soft spot for her?”

“Maybe I do,” Lando shrugged and felt a blush creep onto his face, “she’s kind, genuine and really down-to-earth. It’s not everyday you meet someone who can handle all this racing stuff and meet someone famous and still make you feel like you’re talking to a friend.”

Oscar’s grin widened. “Sounds like you’re pretty taken with her. You know, it’s not just about the job. It’s nice to have those connections outside of racing, especially when you meet someone who makes the whole experience more memorable.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Lando nodded, his expression thoughtful. “It’s been a while since I felt this way with someone and seeing how happy Noah was today, it just added to everything.”

Oscar patted Lando on the back. “Well, if you’re interested in getting to know her better, you should definitely make an effort.”

“I think I will. I hope she texts me, I gave her my number and I really want to see if we can catch up one day.” Lando couldn’t help but smile, already looking forward to the possibility of hearing from Y/N. The thought of continuing their connection and seeing where it might lead was exciting and he hoped that today’s encounter would turn into something more...

___________________

Click here for Part 2

[cvnt4him]

hii it's meee :3 another izu req

reader plays a prank on her friend izuku, it ultimately goes wrong and they somehow end up trapped inside a closed space. Together. Alone. Tight room. Tension. Heat. Mwah

ah, another ask from the great mind of @lovelykil

I would be more than happy to fulfill this for you<33🎗️

Stuck Inside..

...........................................

God you loved your friend group, how chaotic, dumb, and funny they were, they always made you and mina feel like queens those boys did.

Bakugou, kirishima, denki and sero, they knew how to have fun they sure did, playing pranks on people, having movie nights that only inner circle people are invited to, it was ultimate fun.

But they had an initiation, to officially be invited to the 'bakusquad' not the name you would've gone with but whatever, you had to successfully prank someone in the dekusquad for 5 days and not get caught, see when sero told you this at the lunch table, bakugou and denki smirking while kirishima and mina looked at each other with such worried looks, you were already down, who didn't love a good prank on their peers?

Mina sighed and looked at you with a scared look like she had something to tell you, she tried too, opening her mouth before shutting it at the sight of bakugou staring daggers into her. You wanted to know why they were being so secretive but you didn't want them to not trust you, so you simply kept your mouth shut and listened to sero go on about the tradition.

"so all I have to do is prank someone? Easy."

You say rolling your eyes and clapping your hands together.

"don't forget, you can't get caught, so do whatever it takes, even frame someone else, to get away." Sero emphasizes heavily to you.

"too easy. Now, who shall be my victim.~" you scoff, then rub your hands together scoping out your prey.

"deku."

You hear a slightly rasped, deep voice chime in.

"oh? How come?" You question the still smirking blonde as he glared at you with deep volcanic red eyes.

"do the prank.. or don't. You're the one who wants to be with us, and those are the rules, either do the prank or dip. Either or."

Bakugou barks at you with a shit eating grin, leaning back against the window as he puts his hands behind his head laying on them.

You look around the cafeteria to search for the green haired boy, spotting him smiling and laughing with his friend group. His emerald green eyes shining so bright in the sun, his pearly white smile blinding you, he really was such a bright star, you were just afraid this prank might burn him out, although you really wanted to be apart of their clique, were you really gonna prank an innocent angel who's never done anything wrong to you, just so you can have a designated seat at the 'cool kids' table?

You inhale through your nose and exhale heavily out through your mouth.

"fuck it, I'm in. Any specific prank in mind?"

Yes, yes you were.

Your answer caused bakugou to smile widely at you, the rest of the boys doing so as well as they all snicker and snort quietly, again besides mina and kirishima who just sighed and accepted what was to come there truly was nothing they could do.

"shit man.. that might just make him cry, are you sure?"

You question after hearing the prank they wanted you to do.

"hey, your call, if you don't wanna do this, don't. We aren't forcing you of course these are all your choices, just make sure this is what you really want to do and be prepared to go down if you get caught."

The way denki worded his sentence made you feel something deep inside, guilt? No.. regret? Can't be, you hadn't done anything yet. So what was it?

You sigh, really thinking this through, hell you really felt something inside but you couldn't quite put a finger on it..

"yeah.. oh.. okay, I'll do it."

You agree before shrugging off everything and bringing your gaze back into everyone at the table, smiles still plastered on their faces as you see katsuki and denki fist bump.

That should've been red flag number one.

A couple days later you set your prank into motion, on Monday you started out tame, stealing little things he would need, whether it be his pencil, notebook, doesn't matter, if you could get your hands on it you did.

When izuku realized his notebook was missing, he freaked out looking around with a nervous face, not wanting to interrupt anyone or bother them with his silly needs, you kinda felt bad, but you couldn't let emotions get In the way of becoming an official member of the squad.

You sucked it up and waited for the next day.

As Tuesday hit your pranks slowly progressed into getting worse, you had started leaving mean notes in his locker, his desk, even his bad, they'd say just random hurtful shit, whether that be about his freckles or his scars, things you thought he'd brush off. But boy were you wrong, seeing his spirit shatter as he read each and every note really left a bad taste in your mouth, hell you thought you saw years prickling at the edge of his eyes.

You again, brushed it off and waited for the next day.

Wednesday, you decided to kinda bully him, well not really, just nudge him into the locker when you walked by, or kicking the pit of his knees making them buckle, small things like that.

He felt so humiliated when he nearly tripped because of you, everyone staring at him as you glance at him with doe like eyes and bat your lashes at him.

"are you okay?"

He looked at you with glossy eyes and sniffed before nodding violently and rushing out of the class, you sighed and grabbed you bag leaving too as it was the end of the day, god you hated this but you were almost through, just 3 more days and your free.

As thursday rolled in you sucked up everything in you and, mentally prepared yourself for the next prank, you decided to go off script and do little tame things, take a bite from aoyamas book and leave more little notes in his room, it scared him by the looks of him, you hadn't felt too bad for this one as you and already progressed from the little notes in day 2 of your pranks, just one more day, one more prank and then your free, however this prank was the worst and all if the bakusquad was gonna be present.

You had to make sure you didn't let your emotions get in the way so you mentally prepared yourself the night before.

Finally Friday rolled around, most Fridays are spent training so with that being said you need to change into your hero suit in the locker rooms, deku is always the last one to shower after training and putting away his hero suit, out of respect for his friends, at least that's what the boys told you,

You sigh readying yourself to go in there and take his clothes as they would lock the door making sure he couldn't get out unless he broke the door, then eventually coming back for him in the morning if he hadn't.

God you were terrified, the prep the night before hadn't helped at all, you were literally shaking in your boots. You sighed as you see all of the boys leave the shower room as mina and you waited outside for them to give you a signal.

When bakugou gave you a nod, with a wide smirk on his face you sighed and ran in, the door opening and shutting loudly catching izukus attention whilst he showered, he brushed it off as one of the guys coming in and stated in the shower, you walked to the bench next to the showers making sure he couldn't see you, you grabbed his clothes and ran as fast as you could, once you made it out you held his clothes breathing heavily with a smile on your face as you struggle to catch your breath, your heart beating so fast from the adrenaline.

"I.. I got it!"

You saved it around showing the boys and mina, a smile never making it onto her face, her knowing what's coming next she shuts her eyes and mouths and apology, you look at her as sero, kirishima, and bakugou give you your praise, you were so confused and focused on what she meant by it you hadn't even seen denki slip behind you and quietly open the door, mina quickly pushed you inside and bakugou locked the door with the key, everyone laughing loudly as you fall into the floor with a grunt, kirishima had snatched dekus clothes from you before mina pushed you in, you bang on the door and hokd back tears.

"hey! Let.. let me out! Mina, how fucking could you!.."

All you could hear was laughs as they suddenly faded away, their shadows disappearing as well, as another comes from behind you, you'd seen the shadow on the door as you quickly turn around with a gaso as izuku held a towel around his waist trying to assure you were alright.

You look down before looking back up and looking away.

It was awkward, silent, and he looked so fucking hot, and he probably guessed you were the one that had taken his clothes.

"...hey, you uhm.. wouldn't happen to know where my clothes... are?..."

He spoke quietly, and with a somewhat leveled voice not wanting to scare you off not that you could go anywhere.

You sigh before groaning in anger and frustration as you slap your hands to your face and slide down the door.

" I'm sorry... for taking your clothes and giving it to them, for bullying you and leaving mean notes and taking your things and--"

"that... Those.. things were you?..."

He asked in a confused tone, his brows furrowed, as he looked at the ground before slowly looking up to look at you, his eyes shaking, searching your face for an answer that you didn't want to provide.

You hadn't wanted to speak so you simply nodded, sighing as you bang your head back on the door, causing izuku to jump and rush down to you.

"hey, don't do that you could hurt yourself..."

For fucks sakes, you just admitted to doing these horrible things to him and passing them off as a 'prank' and he's still checking on toyou?

The way he looked down at you, his hand on the back of your head making sure you weren't hurt, his fingers rubbed the area soothingly, making your head lean back into his hand.

The two of you were just looking at each other, eyes staring into the others as your faces moved closer, before you knew his it, his breath fanned you face, the smell of mint coming off of it, he liked to chew gum to keep his jawline nice, god he looked so good like this, water droplets from the shower running down his body and wet hair.

The hand that was on your head moved to your cheek, rubbing his thumb over it as he brought you close, your noses brushed against each other's slightly, it was so quiet you could practically hear his heart pounding out of his chest, his breaths slowly turning more heavy as he looked down to your lips, licking his that were parted and nibbling lightly on his lower one.

"can I kiss you...please?"

His voice coming off more desperate and whimper-y than he meant.

You were tired of talking, tired of thinking, all you wanted to do was push your feelings from the betrayal you just went through down, and what better way to do that than fuck the person you'd been torturing for 5 days?

You pulled him into a deep kiss, groaning inside of it, your teeth clashed together and you pulled him by his shoulders, making him out his knees on either side of your thighs, his towel threatening to come off, you let him trail the kiss off into your neck as he gently kissed, licked, and nipped at it, little noises coming from him as he did so.

You sighed breathily, your eyes accidentally trailed down his lower abdomen, staring at his well toned abs and the v line going down, god that was so sexy to you, as your eyes kept trailing down you seen how his towel was even managing to somewhat stay up, his cock was fully erect and bobbing against the towel, that was the reason he was making whimper like noises.

He started bucking into the towel making your eyes widen slightly at the sight, a little damp patch forming in the thick towel, had he cum or something? You thought to yourself as he full blown moaned into your ear, was he really gaining that much pleasure from grinding his hard on against a rough towel?

You looked up to him as he looked down at you with a red face, his heart was racing as he looked down at his aching cock then back to you, you connected the dots and guessed he was asking you to touch him.

Without thinking about it, your hands trailed up his abs, then down again as you trickle your fingers over his wrapped cock, you felt his cock twitch underneath your light touches as a breathy sigh leaves his opened mouth, his eyes slightly rolling back, there was no way he was getting this much pleasure from this.

You scoffed and gripped his cock tightly, making his body jolt and a stuttery 'oh' leave his mouth as he looked down at you, grabbed you by your cheeks and pulled you into a heated kiss, he bucked his hips into your hand and he moaned and whined into the kiss, it being hard to stay in it due to him humping into your hand frantically like a bunny during mating season or some shit.

Your teeth clashed against each others once more as he shoved his tongue in your mouth, flicking his against yours, swapping spit and groaning into your mouth as you swallowed all his messy little noises that dropped from his mouth like spit.

He grabbed your other hand and pulled it up to his throat and wrapped it around his neck, you just kept your hand right there not applying any force letting him control it as he kept jerking his hips into your tightly gripped hand, he closed his hand around yours that was also around his neck.

Aww, was this his little attempt at getting you to choke him? I suppose his wish is your command.

You choke him harshly making his eyes roll back as he bit his lip harshly, moans being muffled by it, he bucked his hips a few more times before blowing his load into the towel, his cum seeping through the fabric and dripping onto your wrist and your pants, there was just so much you thought he was never gonna stop.

His hips kept lightly twitching up into the towel causing him to bend forward and moan into your ear due to the over stimulation, god his pitchy moans were so hot.

His hot breath still fanned your ear before he finally said something his voice a little groggy.

"please let me... let me eat you.. I want to taste you, please...?"

His sentence ended with a whimper in your ear as he moved his forehead to lean against yours.

"okay."

Was all you could get out before he pulled down your shorts in a flash, your panties coming off with them, he instantly hurriedly his face in-between your partially opened thighs, his tongue licking and prodding against your lower lips, not pushing his tongue fully inside, he licked a tongue stripe up and down your slit, a moan leaving your lips, you didn't fight anything and just let him work his magic, and bit was he magical with his tongue.

He finally stopped teasing and pushing his pink muscle inside, quickly lapping at your hole and lightly licking you clit in fast motions, he continued this for a while, and by a while I mean about 15 minutes, you were so close to cumming a couple of times but every time he sensed you were about to come he pulled away and pet your slit gently with his thumb, occasionally circling your clit slowly, agonizingly slow.

"wh..- why do you keep testing me like this.."

You groaned and looked down at him with glossed eyes, you didn't expect him to look at you with such a piercing gaze, his lidded emerald eyes staring painful daggers at you as he shoved two of his thick fingers inside of you without warning.

Your back arched and the pain mixed pleasures hips grinding down into his fingers as he finger fucked you, his fingers plunged in and out of you at a insanely fast pace, tears started prickling at the corner of your eyes, you were so close once again before he scoffed and pulled away with a smirk.

"do you really think you deserve to cum after how you've treated me all week? No, you're going to suffer like you made me."

His fingers arched up into you and plunged in and out of you at an erratic pace for about 5 more minutes, he just kept going and stopping not letting you cum.

"you wanna cum, love? Beg. Beg for me to let me cum, slut."

You were sobbing, tears streaming down your puffy red cheeks, hiccups and spit leaving your mouth as a string of incoherent begs left your mouth, you were pleasing helplessly for the orgasms you needed.

He sighed with a smile, squinted emerald eyes peering down at you in an evil, yet satisfied way. He loved how dumb you were from being finger fucked like this, god he could only imagine how brain dead you'd be if he fucked you in his cock.

He didn't say a word as he simply picked up up with ease, man handling you like a ragdoll, and switched your positions, you were now straddling his lap, due to you not expecting him to pick you up so quickly you leaned against his body, your tears falling onto his shoulder as he rubbed your back soothingly, hushing you while kissing the top of your head.

"it's okay, baby, you did so well for me. I'll give you what you need now, okay?"

You gulp hardly, you can hardly even get words out as you're still hiccuping from crying, before you can fully process what he says he undoes his towel that was previously wrapped around his waist and slammed his cock inside of you, you winced at the stretch and the brutal pace he'd already set.

You groan loudly as your eyes roll back, your head falling onto his shoulder as you can barely get out little 'fuck's and 'please's.

He hadn't let up, his hips hammering up into you, you were grinding down into him causing a breathy moan to leave him, a smile made it's way back onto his face as he kissed your head once more.

"you're doing.. so well, my love, it's okay I'll make you cum."

The way he whispered lovingly in your ear made this experience for you so much better for you, you had tightened around him, feeling that familiar feeling, you were going to cum, finally you were going to get to feel that release that you needed, tears continuously fell from your face as you moaned loudly, picking your head up from the crook of his neck to gripping his broad shoulders for stability as you begin grinding into him, feeling so close you hadn't wanted him to rip it away from you again.

He was shocked by the control you ended up taking, he didn't stop thrusting into you, although due to you grinding the rhythm he had set had been thrown off track, your hips hit against each other in an uneven fashion, but you couldn't possibly begin to care when you were finally going to cum.

Izuku grabbed at you hips, holding them tightly to stop you from moving, you tried to continue moving despite his painful grip on your waist, he was far too strong for you to even remotely gain he upper hand, you let him win as he sped up the jerking and jolting of his hips, the clapping sound of your ass meeting his pelvis echoing throughout the locker room.

There was one thrust that hit so vigorously against that sweet spot inside you, everything in you fell apart, you inhaled sharply, eyes rolling back as you grip and scratch as his shoulders harshly leaving a mark and probabkt even drawing blood, he grkaned byt never ceased his hips from stopping, your velvety walls convulsed around his so sweetly it caused his hips to buck into you at a frantic and frenzied pace, his hios stuttering into you as his breath hitched, he squeezed his eyed shut tightly, trying to hold out just a little longer to feel your warn and soft walls tighten around him, alas he simply couldn't, he thrusted one last time before spilling his seed deep inside of you, the warmth of his thick sticky cum warming you entirely, a shiver going up your spine as he lets his head lean into your neck, sighing deeply in the crook.

Your head ended up on top of his, coming your fingers through his damp curls, he sighed in content enjoying the satisfying feeling of your fingers raking and scratching his scalp, you wanted to say so much but also just sit in the moment, it was silent, but it was a comfortable one that you hadn't wanted to ruin with words.

"why did you forgive me so easily."

You say in a groggy and slightly raised voice, you moaned so loudly and cried so hard you had slightly started to lose your voice, izuku simply hummed, enjoying the vibration of your chest as you spoke and the nice feeling of still being inside of your warm messy insides.

"well, I suppose I haven't exactly forgiven you yet, but I'm not going to stop being your friend because of what happened."

"seriously? This shit is fucked up, we're locked in here, with no way to get out, and you don't have any clothes you could get sick. Or worse. Die."

He simply chuckled, making you angry, you were worried and all he could do was laugh at you.

"what?"

"y/n I can't get common sicknesses anymore, I don't know what OFA has done to my immune system but I can't catch things like the flu, or a cold, or anything like that, so I assure you, I won't get sick and I won't die, but thank you for worrying about me."

He chided, informing you factually like you could have possibly known that. you sigh and nuzzle your cold nose back into his damp hair, you sniffed causing him to slightly tense and move back to look at your face.

"are you alright, y/n?"

The way he looked at you with those vibrant emerald eyes, so wide and loving, his cheeks still slightly tinted a light shade of red as his freckles are littered all over his baby like face, you smile and put your forehead to his, closing your eyes making him do the same and sigh.

"I'm okay, but we seriously need to figure out how to get the hell out of here." You say softly, clearing your throat from the scratchiness you could feel, were you getting sick?

"there's a back door that I'm sure they didn't lock. We can skip out though there, do you have your phone on you?"

"oh! Yeah, wh-... fuck me. This whole time I could have called someone to get us out of here." You groan, absolutely disappointed in yourself for not using your shitty brain.

He simply giggles before grabbing your now unlocked phone.

"you must've really wanted to have sex with me, eh?" He tested lightly poking fun at you making you slap his shoulder, another like if laughs leaving him as he calls iida, neither of you expected him to be awake yet he was, his breath was slightly ragged, what had he been doing, maybe out on a run? Doesn't add up too much, it's 10 pm and they have a curfew for 12 am.

Iida had helped you two out, meeting you two at the other exit and giving you clothes to give to izuku, he continuously asked questions on why the two of you weren't in bed and why izuku didn't have any clothes and why you two were even together.

The whole walk back to the dorms was full of iida whisper yelling at the two of you for being irresponsible, you couldn't stop looking at izukus face though, or just him in general, he suddenly became oddly appealing to you, but you still couldn't shake the guilty feeling of the things you and done to him, he glanced at you giving you a warm smile, kissing your head goodnight before turning into his room, taking iida by surprise.

You chuckled and went to your dorm, jumping in your bed and calming it a night, you sighed at the comfortable feeling of your bed, giggling to yourself remembering how izuku came inside of you. Your eyes slowly shut and you drifted off to sleep.

...........................................

AN; this shit is hot ass, but at least the smut is great, I might remake this w/o the pranking part, it was hard to think of a good prank to do for this fic, im kind of dumb so.. yeah. I hope you all enjoyed reading this<33

[witchthewriter]

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

𝐔𝐡𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐝

・In the late afternoon sun, you were riding in the march towards the battlefield.

・Not far from Uhtred, you heard the gallop of someone approaching.

"Lady," a young soldier said.

"Aye, you have eyes. Good for you," you replied without looking at him.

"No, Lady, you've been summoned."

・You snorted.

・As did your horse.

Your voice fell flat as you spoke, "no one summons me."

・The young soldier looked around for help, and his eyes saw Uhtred, who broke from the formation.

"She is right, no one summons her-" Uhtred began to say.

But the young, and quite nervous, soldier, butted in "-sir please, can you tell your wife that she is needed elsewhere."

・You looked at Uhtred, who looked at the soldier than at you.

・Father Pyrlig had appeared from nowhere (he had been galloping behind the soldier trying to get him to stop before he reached you.)

"Did you not hear me, boy?" Pyrlig rasped from his horse.

"No Father Pyrlig, I had my orders-"

"You have been a soldier for all of five minutes and now look. You've made things awkward. And held up the line. Look! Anyway. I was trying to tell you...she listens to no one but Uhtred."

And without missing a beat, the boy-soldier said,

"Yes, like a good wife should."

𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐧

・You had been in a constant battle of wits with Finan all morning.

・The rule was that the first to break i.e., smile/laugh, would lose and have to do what the other says for the rest of the day

・As noon ticked by, Uhtred's men and yourself had reached your destination.

・Men nodded to one another, climbing off of horses and clasping arms.

・It wasn't until a young ... well you couldn't even call him a man yet, he barely fit the uniform...

・So the young man had approached you two, helmet still on and asked, "why did you bring your wife to battle?"

・Both, you and Finan blanched.

・You looked at Finan, who looked back at you and smirked.

"Aye, can't get rid of her. So, I just take her with me," and then the Irishman shrugged.

・Your nose flared.

・The young soldier nodded and disappeared.

・Finan started laughing.

・You were bright red.

"Finan...I win."

"What? No!"

"Yes! You smiled! You're laughing!"

"Only because -"

"No, Finan. Rules are rules. You must do what I say for the rest of the day, Husband."

・But oh...You have no idea what that word, coming from your mouth, does to him.

・He so desperately wants it to be true.

𝐒𝐢𝐡𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜

・You laughed along with Finan, spilling ale and wheezing at his jokes. A funny man became hilarious when drink had been drunk...

・Sihtric watched from the opposite bench, with stars in his eyes as he looked at you.

・He had barely drunk any ale, but still smiled, with everyone revelling around him; all he could think about was you.

・Truth be told, you were on his mind constantly.

・At night he lay with your smile in his mind. The way you rolled your eyes behind Uhtred's back. Or the way you pointed out cows when travelling.

・You hadn't drunk this much in a long while. But you wanted to celebrate with everyone else.

・But with Osferth gone to bed, Finan being hoisted onto the back of Uhtred, Sihtric was ... well he was your designated handler.

・Ushering you out the door, you walked ... well, you wobbled to your room

・Finan was nearly unconscious, but still making it difficult for Uhtred to carry him.

"I want another drink-" Finan began, and Sihtric laughed, "there is more in your room."

"Oh, is there!" You said, turning to face him. But the movement was too much and you tripped.

・Luckily Sihtric had caught you.

・Then an unfamiliar voice sounded behind you all, making Sihtric, Uhtred and yourself turn:

"Your wife seems quite the handful!" The man said and kept on walking.

"That was odd," Sihtric murmured.

𝐎𝐬𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐡

・You two had risen with the sun, unlike Uhtred, Finan and Sihtric.

・You decided to take a stroll with one another. It was a thing you did together often. Both close friends, having spent much time together, you grew to like his company...

・In the dim morning light, you walked through the edge of town, and came across two girls. Sisters. Not many years apart.

・They were both holding a bunch of wild flowers, and walked straight toward you two and looked at Osferth.

・It was the older girl who spoke, "Does your wife want a flower? They're pretty!"

・Osferth was shook to the core.

・But you just smiled and nudged him.

"H-How much?" Osferth asked, and the girls squealed. They had not approached you two for business.

・Osferth gave them more money than they had ever seen (which wasn't much in the big picture of things. But to two girls under ten, it was a lot.)

・They gave you half the bunch and ran home, giggling all the way.

・You looked at Osferth, and suddenly became shy. He looked at you and smiled, tucking one flower behind your ear and handing you the rest.

𝐀𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐦

・A month had gone by since the last time you saw Aldhelm and you missed him dearly.

・unbeknownst to him, he had missed you more than you could imagine.

・You finally had the chance to visit Mercia and so you went.

・Travelling the roads until you got to the gates.

・Lady Æthelflæd was glad to receive you. She knew the feelings Aldhelm had for you, but she never pried.

・After refreshing yourself, you walked to his chambers and knocked on the door.

"Just a moment," a called out. He was nearly completely dressed to walk out the door.

・You didn't say anything

・Aldhlem opened the door and his jaw nearly fell to the floor.

"Why didn't you tell me it was you!"

・His arms slid around you, pulling you flush against him.

"I wanted to surprise you!"

"Well consider yourself accomplished. Because I am."

・All you could do was smile. And hope that Aldhelm couldn't hear your thumping heart.

・He took you down to the alehouse; telling you this was a cause for celebration.

・The whole while, your arm was threaded through his, your shoulders bouncing against one another as you walked.

・Then suddenly an old, grouchy voice sounded -

"With that much touching, I do hope you are married..." the old man said. His skin weathered. Lips thin.

"Very immodest," another grunted.

They nodded along with one another, and you couldn't help but blush.

"Do not worry about them," Aldhelm said, still holding onto you, but the look in his eyes was all too obvious...to everyone but you.

𝐋𝐞𝐨𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐜

・You both had been riding day and night to catch up to the King.

・News from Uhtred had shaken the very course of this war with the Danes.

・Arriving at first light, you both dismounted, and slightly grunted in doing so.

・Leofric helped you, and stayed by your side as you both searched for the King's tent.

・Just as you were about to enter, a guard standing at the entrance made a comment.

"Oh, so once Leofric humps a woman, he drags her with him, wherever he goes? I want a woman like her."

・Leofric turned slowly, eye twitching as the words hung in the air.

"Say it again," he growled. Looking straight at the man. He was shorter than Leofric, and was much stupider than he.

・The man mumbled something.

"Aye? What was that?" Leofric grunted, taking one step forward.

・You watched Leofric, who was the most mad you had ever seen him.

"I'm sorry," the man said. Barely above a whisper.

"Don't apologise to me, you ass. Apologise to the lady."

"I'm s-sorry m'lady," the man wobbled as he spoke and lowered his head.

・Leofric looked to you, and you nodded.

[sheerfreesia007]

Every Petal, a Piece Of You

Pairing: Jeongin x Reader

Word count: 982

Content warnings: Fluff

Summary: During a girls' night in, your friends tease the wild, mismatched bouquet on your table—until you explain that Jeongin chose every flower himself, each one representing a different part of you. What looked like chaos to others is actually a heartfelt symbol of love, carefully crafted by someone who knows and cherishes every part of who you are.

SKZ Taglist: @kayleefriedchicken, @babigriin, @inlovewithstraykids, @channiesrightasscheek, @kaiyaba

@bookswillfindyouaway, @m-325

The girls are loud as you all enter your apartment for your monthly night in together. You’ve all planned to order take out tonight while mixing drinks, watching dramas that you’re all into and gossiping about your lives with each other. This time your apartment is the location for the night in and you’re more than happy to have them all since it’s been a while since you last saw them. Jeongin, your boyfriend, had even been sweet about it, offering to pay for the take out you all decided on while he went to sleep at the dorms with the boys to give you and your girlfriends space to hang out.

“Jagi, isn’t Jeongin like celebrity status?” asked one of your girlfriends as she places her overnight bag down on the floor while looking over at your dining room table and you tilt your head at her in confusion.

“He is, he’s an idol.” you say unsure of what she was trying to get at.

“Then shouldn’t he have someone who can pick out a prettier bouquet of flowers for you? That bouquet is such a chaotic mess.” she explains as you and the rest of your girlfriends all look at the bouquet of flowers that are on display in the middle of your dining room table. The bouquet is an explosion of color and different flowers that have no rhyme or reason, to those who aren’t you and Jeongin. You beam happily as your eyes take in the bouquet remembering the day that Jeongin had brought it home for you. 

It hadn’t been any special day at all when he came home proudly presenting the gift to you with a wide smile and squinted eyes that sparkled with happiness. He was so proud of his choices and while it had stunned you at how wild and crazy the bouquet was you couldn’t help but feel your heart melt at his prideful antics. You had graciously accepted the flowers, sniffing them gently as you cradled the large bouquet in your arms before turning to the kitchen sink to grab a vase from underneath. 

“Are you going to ask me why I chose each flower?” Jeongin had asked giddily as he leaned against the kitchen counter while you meticulously cut the stems before arranging the flowers in the vase.

“You chose each flower?” you asked shocked as your eyes widened before you turned your head to stare at him. He grinned while nodding his head as eager amusement radiated off of him.

“Yongbokkie was trying to teach me about some flower language when we were out on a walk earlier and when I started picking out flowers for your bouquet he kept trying to tell me that they didn’t fit together. But I told him to trust me because the end result will work.” he explained and you nodded your head as you began to arrange the flowers in the same chaotic design they had been in. “You see each flower reminds me of you.” he said softly and you gasp softly while staring down at the flowers in the vase in the sink before you feel Jeongin press flush against your back and wrap his arms around your waist gently and hook his chin over your shoulder. “The yellow flowers have a lot because you’ll have these little bursts of happiness and silliness and it always brightens my day. The blues are bright and are only a few because we share in our sadness sometimes but not very often, we’re just a happy couple. The purples are all different shades because I think it’s your best color to wear, you always look good in any shade of purple. There’s a lot of pinks because that’s your favorite color. The oranges remind me of our sunset dates that we love. The green prickly looking ones remind me of when you get in those grumpy moods of yours. And finally the weird scraggly looking things remind me of when you first wake up in the morning and your hair is a mess and everywhere.” he explains to you softly as he touches each flower in the bouquet.

You’re standing there in his arms feeling the love that he has for you as you try to catch your breath and not melt into a puddle of tears at his heartfeltness. Jeongin hums softly at you knowing exactly what he's done to you with his words and he loves that you’re feeling just as emotional as he is in the moment. You turn in his arms and bury your face in his neck as sobs rip through your chest. His arms wrap firmly around and he holds you tightly against him while pressing soft gentle kisses to your temple.

“I love you Innie. Wholly and completely.” you whisper to him and he raises your head to stare up at him as he grins down at you.

“And I love you.” he answers softly before ducking his head and pressing his lips to yours in a loving kiss. 

“I love the bouquet he got me. He chose each flower himself. It wouldn’t mean as much if he asked someone else to pick the bouquet for him.” you say firmly and your girlfriends all look at you with shocked faces.

“He chose each flower himself?” asks one of them and you proudly nod your head at her question.

“And each flower was a reminder of me for him.” you brag softly and your girlfriends all begin hollering and crying out in excitement as they crowd around you. The night is crazy and all around a great time of friends spending time together. But every once in a while when your eyes slip over to the chaotic explosion of color in the middle of your dinning table you’re reminded of Jeongin who holds your heart in his palms.

[xichilie]

Oh my god I love your Brant fanfics! You write so well and do him justice 🥺 Could I ask for a Brant X Reader where they used to be childhood sweethearts before he got banished but when they finally reunite after the Carnevale and while they have changed physically as they have grown up into adulthood, their feelings have remained the same throughout all those years? 🫶🏻

Omg yes, I've been thinking about this for a while, especially since it was said he was banished at a young age, my poor baby suffered a lot i just wanna hug him and shower him with all the love he deserves 🥺

Brant x (fem) reader

A Reunion Written in the Stars

Ragunna had not changed.

The towering cathedrals still cast long shadows over the cobblestone streets, their stained-glass windows catching the dying light of day. The scent of salt and incense lingered in the air, the same strange mix of the sacred and the sea that Brant had known since childhood. People still moved in measured steps, heads bowed in whispered prayer or quiet murmurs of uncertainty.

No, Ragunna had not changed.

But Brant had.

He was a child the last time he stood on these streets—small, trembling, filled with the kind of fear that only children could know. He had clutched at his mother’s hand as the Order of the Deep passed judgment upon him. Faithless, they had called him. A Fool. And fools, as everyone knew, did not belong in Ragunna.

He had been thrown onto the Pilgrim’s Sail, an exile meant to end in death. Yet against all odds, against the cruel designs of fate itself—he had survived. And now, years later, he had returned.

The people whispered as he walked past, their eyes full of wary recognition. Some murmured his name as if summoning a ghost. Others looked away, unsure of how to meet his gaze. He ignored them all.

There was only one person he cared to see.

His feet moved with instinct, following streets he had not walked in over a decade. Each step was heavy, his breath tight in his chest. What if she had left? What if she had moved on? The world had continued without him, as much as it pained him to admit it. He had no right to expect her to wait for him.

But still—he had to know.

Then, as he turned the final corner, he saw it. The house was the same as he remembered, worn but well-kept, bathed in the golden glow of the evening sun.

And then—

"Brant?"

His heart stopped.

She stood in the doorway, framed by the dying light, her figure so achingly familiar and yet so different. Her hair was longer now, the softness of childhood replaced by the quiet strength of a woman grown. Her eyes, though—those same fierce, determined eyes—had not changed at all.

Brant stood frozen as he took in the sight of Y/N, his heart pounding in his chest. He had imagined this moment countless times, rehearsed his words, but now that she was in front of him, nothing could have prepared him for the sheer depth of emotion washing over him.

Y/N stared at him, her lips parting slightly as if she were struggling to believe what she was seeing. Her eyes, once bright with youthful mischief, now brimmed with unshed tears. She took a hesitant step forward, then another, before suddenly breaking into a run.

"Brant!" she cried, her voice thick with emotion.

Before he could brace himself, she collided into him, arms wrapping tightly around his torso. The force nearly knocked him off balance, but he quickly steadied himself, his own arms coming around her in a desperate embrace. The scent of her hair, the warmth of her body—it was all so achingly familiar, yet distant, as if pulled from a dream he had long ago abandoned hope of reliving.

"You're here..." Her voice cracked as she gripped his coat tightly, her shoulders trembling. "You're really here."

Brant felt a lump form in his throat. He gently tilted her face up to his, brushing away the tears that slipped down her cheeks with his calloused fingers. "I told you I’d come back," he whispered, his own voice unsteady.

A broken sob escaped her lips as she buried her face in his chest, her fingers clutching at his coat as though he might disappear again if she let go. Brant held her tighter, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of her head.

"I thought I lost you forever," she admitted between sobs.

Brant’s arms tightened around her, his hand running soothingly up and down her back. "Never," he murmured, pressing his forehead against hers. "I survived, Y/N. And I fought my way back to you."

Y/N hiccuped, half-laughing, half-crying. "You idiot. You always were too stubborn."

Brant chuckled, though his own eyes shimmered with emotion. "And you always worried too much."

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her hands still resting on his chest. "I missed you so much."

His expression softened as he cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing soothing circles against her skin. "I missed you too. More than words can say."

For a moment, they just stood there, lost in each other's presence. The world around them faded into the background—the bustling city, the curious onlookers, the weight of the past. All that remained was the warmth between them, the unspoken promise in their embrace.

Finally, Brant broke the silence, his lips curving into a teasing smirk. "So... does this mean I get a proper welcome home kiss? Or am I going to have to win your heart all over again?"

Y/N laughed through her tears, shaking her head as she cupped his face in her hands. "You never lost it, Brant."

And with that, she pressed her lips to his, sealing the years of longing, heartbreak, and hope into one soul-deep kiss. Brant melted into it, pouring every unspoken word into the way he held her, promising in that moment that he would never let her go again.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her hands trembling as they reached up to cup his face. Her fingertips ghosted over his cheekbones, tracing the sharper angles that had not been there when they were children.

"You look different," she whispered, searching his face as though memorizing it all over again. "But you're still—" Her voice caught, and she shook her head, blinking back tears. "You're still you."

Brant exhaled shakily, reaching up to cover her hand with his own. "And you’re still you."

A small, broken laugh escaped her, and before she could stop herself, she threw her arms around him once more, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He felt her breath hitch, felt the way her shoulders shook, and his own throat tightened in response.

"I never forgot you," she murmured against his skin.

Brant pressed his forehead to her temple. "Neither did I."

She let out a shaky breath, pulling back just enough to look at him again. "I waited for you," she admitted softly, almost like a confession.

He felt something deep within him crack. He lifted a hand to cradle her cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear she hadn’t even realized had fallen.

"I know," he said, his voice full of quiet reverence. "And I’m so sorry it took so long."

She shook her head fiercely. "You're here now. That’s all that matters."

He swallowed past the lump in his throat, nodding. He wanted to say so much more, wanted to tell her everything—about the years lost, about the countless nights he had thought of her, about the sheer desperation that had kept him going. But for now, this moment was enough.

She took his hands in hers, squeezing them tightly. "Come inside," she urged gently. "Tell me everything."

Brant let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. "I’d like that."

And as she led him through the doorway, into the warmth of the home he had feared he would never see again, he realized—

For the first time in years, he was home.

[gabbysgoobers]

Arc 3 designs but you gotta hear me out 😭🙏🏾

I wanna start with Ezran because he’ll be 19 after the timeskip and I truly believe he’ll be tall and skinny goddammit!!

Design Thread ⬇️

Okay first, I feel in my bones Ezran should grow up to be tall and lanky. No fat, no muscle, just tall. Even taller than Callum cuz that image is funny to me🙂‍↕️. I thought about what might change his look by the time he’s 19 and the first thing that came to my mind was his hair.

King Harrow's hair worked really well for him and he wore it like that for Ezran’s whole life. I can see Ezran looking at a portrait of his father and wondering what it’d be like to look a little more like him. But also, Ezran is his own king, not his father. So, as opposed to locs, I thought twists would be a fun way to style his hair. I considered giving him braids like the orphan queen but I wanted to keep that up-do silhouette and twists were a great way of doing that.

For his accessories and his outfit, I kept it mostly the same, just shifted it around a bit. I also wanted to keep it very silver. I made his hair beads silver, just like his crown, and the threading on his clothing. His dad was very gold coded so I thought Ezran could be the silver to his father’s gold.

Also I gave him green eyes cuz why tf are his eyes blue when his moms are brown and his dads are green.🤨

2. Imma get Callum out of the way cuz I see no significant change in outfit happening 😭

I kept his outfit the same, I already really liked the blue with hints of red, I just changed where they were located. I also think it’d be cute if Rayla braided little braids into his hair for fun and he just leaves them there.

And since Callum visually bulked out a little bit in arc two so I can see him being like, kind of weirdly muscular. He doesn’t work out. Ever. But I think it’s funny to think that it’s just in his genes. Like being tall and skinny is in Ezran’s lmaooo.

3. Aanya next cuz I had a lot of fun with her.

First I want to talk about her overall silhouette. She's very skinny, even in Arc 2, and I expect she’ll stay that way. Although I see her being very toned and fit, but still skinny. Her outfit though I see being very padded and bulking her out. Making her look bigger than she is and making her look like she’s always battle ready. Her sleeves are big and round and her chest thoroughly padded, making it look like it’s always puffed out. Oh and also she needs to be tall. Not sure why but I can’t imagine a world where she’d be shorter than Ezran.

Her outfit in Arc 2 is already heavily decorated with designs and armour. I didn't put that level of detail here lol cuz I didn’t feel like it but I can see her wearing extravagant outfits, especially the headdress. Here, I took details from her mothers headdress. I also took the design on both her moms clothing and put it on her torso. On Queen Neha it’s right side up and on Annika it’s upside down so I thought it’d be cool to turn it to the side on Aanya, like she’s in the middle between her mothers.

I also noticed the lack of blue on her outfits so I gave her a hint of blue eyeshadow, though I’d never see her fully decked out in makeup like her parents, and hints of blue on her waist and in the ribbons of her hair.

I also puffed out her hair to be more like her moms. I noticed her hair is always slicked back.

4. Last and probably my favorite, Rayla.

I wanted to think about how her look would change realistically. Since she’s said she’s a dragon guard, I think she’d really commit to that over the next few years. Her outfit would change to a lighter blue but I also want to keep her outfit very minimal and aerodynamic like Runaans. Her parents' outfits are very bulky.

I gave her a simple vest and undershirt that drapes down to her legs. I also felt the blue on her parents' outfits were too bright but I knew she couldn’t go back to the assassin's green so I gave her a color a little in the middle. The dark blue she wears in Arc 2 is reminiscent of common outerwear of elves in silvergrove, like Ethari. I loved that outfit but she just didn’t look like a dragon guard. I made her fit teal and also gave her arm sleeves like Ethari’s. I also gave her grey baggy pants which I also noticed are common wear in Silvergrove.

The tattoos on her arms are based off of Runaan's tattoos. Her face tats looks the most like her mothers but I changed them slightly so they’d be unique to her.

And for her hair, it also looks like her mom but I gave her short hair because it felt like a refreshing change. I also like how Ethari’s hair is sort of longer in the back and I tried to give that to Rayla. I think she looks really good!

That’s all but I’m really satisfied with them! And I’d love feedback so if anyone has any suggestions I’m open to editing the designs! (:

[afyrian]

☆ not so bad

oikawa tooru x gn!reader (fluff) m.list | wc: 2.1k | prompts: only one bed + enemies to lovers + coworkers

    snow covers the street, your eyes trying to focus through the constantly moving windshield wipers. your finger taps incessantly against the steering wheel, the leather cover feeling comfortable beneath your clenched hands. your passenger (princess) and coworker winces as you take a quick turn, the ice making it hard to slow down with enough time. gaze darting towards him, eyes rolling exasperated.

  "i offered to let you drive, you're not gonna complain now," you look back towards the street, the streetlights barely fighting the incoming abundance of snow, only a large home down the street coming into view.

  he looks back over at you, something only your subconscious can feel. he scoffs lightly, the sound nearly swept away by the loud heaters in your car. "well i didn't think you'd nearly kill us on the drive. plus how are we even going to get there in this? we gotta find somewhere else to stay," he relays what you're already thinking in your head, like a broken record kept around for far too long.

  "well, how about- look is this an inn or something?" you slow the car down, no headlights on behind you or coming towards you.

  there's a quaint sign at the entrance of a large driveway and parking lot. a floral design etched into the wood, looking like something from an old romcom that you've seen a million times. pulling into the driveway, he starts to think out loud, running ideas through your head, "what if this is a murder hotel? like that one from america?"

  you roll your eyes again, the only thing you can seem to do in his presence. "oikawa, you're really getting on my nerves. i'm trying to stay professional but if you say one more word you're walking," you finally look over at him, noticing his eyes on you.

  there's something about the way his eyes still shine in the darkness. and for a second, you almost feel intrigued by his gaze, by his sarcastic smile. however, you're quickly pulled back to reality as you park in the mostly full parking lot. cars covered with snow make it almost impossible to find a spot, the rest of the snow building up to heights the rental car couldn't handle. 

  parking, you look towards the front door, "i'm gonna get us rooms before anyone else comes, grab the bags, will ya?"

  tossing him the keys, you open the door and grab your wallet. stepping through the thick snow, it picks up onto your ankles, chilling the space between your socks and pants. walking under the porch light, you happily let the warmth overtake you. and as you open the door, bright lights shine out the door, the indoor heat surpassing anything the small car could accomplish. 

  stepping in, you feel like you're in paradise. the old woodworkings of the house bring out the natural architecture that it has. family photos line the walls, generations of portraits up the staircase and down the halls. encompassed by the atmosphere of the inn, you don't even notice the front desk until a throat is cleared. looking over, you see a smile on the woman's face, her hands folded on the desk.

  "hi, my coworker and i got a little lost in the blizzard," you start, hand clutching your phone as you look up into the kind-looking woman's eyes, "and we were just wondering if you had any available rooms to stay in."

  she purses her lips, giving you a look that only a mother could procure. shaking her head slightly, she lets out a low sigh, "we only have one room dear, with one queen sized bed. i would recommend the both of you go to the next hotel or inn, but with the weather and how far they are..." 

  "right. well, does the room have a couch or anything?"

  "no, unfortunately the only room is quite small. it comes with an en-suite but it doesn't have enough room for other accommodations, i'm so sorry," the innkeeper stands before you, giving you an apologetic look through her lips and sunken eyebrows.

  just as you're about to say something, oikawa opens the door, walking up to you. snow covers his hair, sticking to the strands as some start to lose their shape beneath the heat. holding both bags, he sets them down beside you, looking between you and who you assume to be the owner. returning your gaze to the woman, you nod, deciding that it's the only option the two of you have.

  knowing oikawa is gonna give you flack for whatever you do, you realize it's your best bet, "okay, we'll take the room."

  "room-"

  looking to him, he soon realizes that if looks could kill, he'd be six feet under. closing his lips into a straight line, he watches as you use the company card to pay for the evening, grabbing the key from the lady. “it's beautifully crafted, like the rest of the home,” you nod, looking around. but oikawa can't stop looking at only you and seeing a kind side to you that he doesn't normally see. not when you both push each other's buttons more often than not.

  grabbing your bag from the ground, you thank the woman, giving her a soft nod. "let's go find our room," you sigh, looking back to oikawa, waiting for him to grab his bag and head up the stairs with you.

  following the line of portraits and photographs of the land, you see the closed doors, light shining out the bottom of only a couple of them. "so what did you mean by room?" oikawa whispers, leaning his head towards your's as he walks solemnly behind you.

  "exactly what i said... they have one room left. and we're not going back out into the storm. not when the other places are as far out as they are," you whisper back, making sure that none of the people working here could hear the two of you squabbling over the rooms.

  walking up to room four, you stick the key in, opening the door slowly. inside is a freshly made bed, a quilt comforter over white sheets with patterned pillowcases. it feels warm, not necessarily the temperature, which has settled to a comforting degree. but rather, it feels welcoming. the electric fireplace by the bathroom wall, the painting of rolling hills above the bed.

  oikawa looks inside from behind you, body nearly pressing up against your's. "so, left or right side?" he questions, peering down at you as you look back at him.

  shaking your head, you let out a short laugh. "well, i usually take the left side of my own bed..." you set your bag down by the wall, turning back to oikawa with a smile on your face, eyebrows raised.

  "there's some benefits to us being opposites then," he walks over to the right side of the bed, setting his bag down by the foot of the bed.

  you take in a deep breath, wondering how you're going to get through the next night or two with him. with how he jokes, how he looks at you with his glossy eyes. and especially, with how different the two of you are. narrowing your eyes, you nod, feeling like a deer in headlights.

  "well, i'm gonna get ready in the bathroom... i won't take too long or anything," you awkwardly step towards your bag, grabbing a change of clothes and your toiletries.

  walking towards the bathroom, you look back at him for a moment, cracking a smile. he's searching through his bag for something, eyebrows furrowed. oikawa always has such a determined look on his face, and only now did you notice the quirks that he carries. the way his tongue sticks out or his hand reaches to run through his hair. shaking your head to bring yourself back to reality.

  closing the door behind you, you start getting ready. you put on a matching pair of pajamas and start washing your face. it’s a soothing moment for you, time to yourself so you can truly relax before facing him again. 

  uncapping your toothbrush, you run it under the water first, letting the bristles loosen. leaving a trail of toothpaste on the brush, you bring it up to your mouth, brushing while you grab your phone. checking the screen, you notice it's getting late, and since you have to get up fairly early to get back on the road... your brain stops thinking of the future when you hear something fall.

  setting down your phone quickly, you unlock and pull open the door. there stands oikawa, shirtless, with his phone on the ground. immediately you look away, looking up towards the ceiling so you don't have to meet his gaze again. "sorry, dropped my phone."

  nodding, you turn back into the bathroom, spitting the toothpaste back into the sick. your mind relays the short moment, like it's something you see but nearly every part of you wants to ignore or forget. nearly every part of you. rinsing the toothbrush back down, you set it down beside the sink. "yeah, i was wondering if you tripped and fell. happy i don't have to call for help or anything," you shrug your shoulders, stepping back into the room and turning the bathroom light off.

  when you step out, he's throwing his shirt on. bringing it down over his head and down his torso. looking away once more, you find your cheeks warming up. "unlike you, i'm not a total klutz," oikawa walks over to the side of the bed, pulling back the comforter and top sheet, tossing one of the extra pillows onto a dresser. 

  "no, but you seem to not like comfort. one pillow is not nearly enough for a comfortable sleep," you join him on your side, pulling back the sheets but keeping your gaze on his, hands moving on their own.

  oikawa shakes his head, finally being the one to back down from your gaze. he looks over to your two, and then to his that he tossed off, "well if you like comfort so much, feel free to take mine. and it is comfortable, in fact it's actually nice to keep my neck from hurting."

  "i will gladly take your pillow and i'll stuff it between us," you walk over, grabbing the pillow off the dresser and onto the bed.

  the two of you simultaneously get onto the bed, kneeling face to face, inches apart. he stares at you for a second, swallowing, adam's apple bobbing. clenching your jaw, you lean back and sit on your leg, letting the other rest along the bed. you look at your phone, no notifications filling your screen, leaving the two of you with an awkward silence. 

  bringing your leg out with the other, you pull the comforter and sheet on. you quickly set your phone down on the bedside table and hope that the drowsiness of the night will help drown the tension. "you have a light switch near you, right?" oikawa asks, bringing the sheets up on his side as well, mirroring you.

  "yeah," you whisper, your voice quiet as you reach over and flick the spare light switch down, "okay, goodnight."

  the two of you sit in silence. and despite the shades drawn and the sun down, you can't seem to cut the intense feeling you both carry. oikawa clears his throat only a couple of minutes in of laying there. it breaks the tension for only a moment before the two of you are lying there on your backs, wondering what to do.

  "if we weren't on a business trip i'd say it'd be fun to go sledding or build a snowman," oikawa mentions and you hear his pillow shift, his head turning towards you.

  turning your head towards his, you nod against your pillow. "i don't know, i'm partial to snowball fights i think," your shoulders shrug, only able to see his eyes and his outline in the darkness.

  "of course you'd be," he scoffs, turning his head back, eyes staring forward.

  "god, you are so annoying," you shake your head, staring forward as well, "goodnight for good now." 

  turning away from him, you feel your lips turn up into a smile. something about him makes you so annoyed, so frustrated. but it also makes life so much more exciting, making it not so bad. oikawa started feeling the same way when he woke up early in the morning, arm wrapped around you. the pillow had been thrown to the ground, and your hair was in his face, but it all felt so good.

a/n: longest oneshot i’ve ever done and it’s an oikawa fic… gen. taglist (open): @eggyrocks @causenessus @applepi25 @softpia @bakery-anon

@nekozaki @nnnyxie @kameyyy

[ohmybueckers]

Never Strangers: Chapter Four

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: binge drinking, that's basically it

Authors Note: happy game day! we're still in the "its so over" portion of paige and maya's story but dw we're making our way to the "we're so back" section. lesson of this chapter do not try to have a serious convo with your ex in a bar. also shoutout to anon who said they had a dream about chapter 4 being posted, here you go bby <3

“You said they weren’t coming!” I hissed to Adria. My eyes were focused on how Paige looked accepting a shot from one of the mens players, going eye to eye with KK before tilting her head back and letting the liquid rush down her throat. I knew I should look away - no, had to look away - but there was something about seeing Paige in the flesh after all these years that made it so I physically couldn’t. 

Adria appeared just as shocked, alternating between looking at me and the two players. “That’s what KK said!” 

The music echoing through the bar all became too much. The shots taken earlier in the night evolved from a warm buzz to an uncomfortable heat blazing through me, making me sweat in my jean shorts and black tank top. I needed a break, needed some time to think of a game plan. Surely there was time to sneak out of a back window or something. I just needed to be somewhere quieter, somewhere where I wouldn’t be seen. “Um, I’m just gonna go to the bathroo-“

Before I could finish my sentence, a loud voice broke through the crowd, “Adria!” 

Both Adria and I watched as my window of escape vanished before my eyes in just a few short moments: A girl with a bright smile, wearing a baggy white tee shirt with a silver chain, barreled through the sea of people and towards my friend, whose jaw had not left the floor. KK Arnold. And who else would be behind her than Paige, whose eyes met mine before I could avert them.

I had seen more recent photos of Paige, sure, but getting to see her in person - the way her hair texture had changed from the pin straight style she kept through high school to a more natural wave, the way her arms had grown in definition, and the way her eyes widened as she was taking me in at the same time - that was a completely different ball game. KK moved to embrace Adria, her hands lingering on the other girls waist in a way that was just noticeable enough that anyone who bothered to look would raise an eyebrow. “I’ve been texting you!”

“What happened to Teds?” Adria asked, leaning into the other girls touch. Through my panic, there was a brief moment of recognition of just how good the two of them looked together. If KK is half as great as Adria makes her out to be, they would make a good couple - as long as KK doesn’t fuck it up.

“Some emergency maintenance thing with the plumbing, they kicked us out.” KK grumbled, leaning one arm against the aforementioned table. As if she just noticed there was another person with the girl (wouldn’t be the first time tonight), she gestured over to me. “Is this your friend?”

Adria nodded, looking over to me as if she was seeking permission to acknowledge the elephant in the room. There was no use trying to be invisible now: in just a few moments, I had become very, very visible, and the pair of bright blue eyes staring at me in shock from my peripheral vision were proof of that. “KK, this is Maya. Maya, this is KK”

I smiled and gave a wave, which earned me a sudden side hug in return. “Hi, I’m KK,” the shorter basketball player gave me an intoxicated grin, giving no indication of knowing who I was. KK pulled away, turning to face the blonde who had kept a few steps of distance until this point. Whether this was to allow KK to have her moment with her girl or to avoid me, I didn’t know. I didn’t really care to know. “Adria, I’m not sure you’ve met Paige - Adria, Maya, this is my designated driver of the night.”

I forced myself to make eye contact once more, letting myself get washed away as Paige looked me up and down as if she was somehow still unconvinced I was there. It was only after I heard Adria introduce herself through the muffled haze that I remembered I was still around others. With a voice crack I am not proud of, I managed a, “Hey Paige.”

Paige bit her lip, nodding as if to bring herself back to the present as well. “Long time no see.”

KK, who had appeared unaware of any tension between us while her girl stood next to her a little too aware, shifted her grace between Paige and I. “You two know each other or something?”

Paige let out a loud cough, her eyes like saucers, leaving me to answer the loaded question. “Yeah, um, old friend from high school.”

KK’s reaction to this information was akin to a kid at Disneyworld. “Oh shit, so you got to see Hopkins Paige in action then?” 

“Sure did!” I force a smile, feigning joy so well I almost believed it myself. Inside, images of nights nearly losing my voice as I stood out of place in the Hopkins section of the audience and post-game meals with the Bueckers family came back to me like a plague.

“Well, looks like I need to catch up with you guys. Your drink is almost empty!” KK shouted, turning back towards Adria and gesturing to the glass in her hand which had been reduced to a watery brown substance, the Captain and Coke long finished. KK grabbed her hand. “Come with me, I’ll buy you another.”

With a speed and energy that was truly impressive (athlete stamina, I guess), KK managed to whisk Adria towards the bar, leaving Paige and I alone as Adria shot one last apologetic glance my direction. And then there were two.

--------

How do you introduce yourself to someone who once knew everything about you? I don’t think. either of us knew the answer to that question, but Paige made an attempt. 

“Hey,” she said, her voice almost cautious, unlike the interview clips I had seen where she had been unapologetically confident.

I can’t say I’m much more confident when I squeak out, “Hi.”

She makes a stab at breaking the ice first, asking the obvious question. “Had enough of Minnesota, huh?” 

I felt myself rock on my toes, the stickiness of the bar floor not making my typical anxious tick easy. “Just… looking for a change, I guess.”

“Yeah, I get that.” She nods, looking around the bar of UConn fans before smiling. “Made a good choice at least.”

I pause at that, opening my mouth before giving it much thought. “Not sure I’ve been making too many of those lately.” I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to tell Paige the truth, something I had hardly accepted myself after years of it being my identity. Being in front of Paige for the first time in three year must have reminded me of the times where telling Paige everything felt like a given, back when there were no secrets between us. I guess old habits die hard. “I quit mock trial.”

Paige’s eyes widened, her lashes blinking as if that was the last thing she was expecting me to say (in which case I am concerned which “bad decisions” she deemed more likely for me to make). “What? When?”

“Last spring, when I was still at Minnesota.” I looked down, unable to handle her gaze on me much longer after dropping this on her. I had dealt with enough disappointed looks and people scolding me like a child for this choice in the past few months - I don’t know if I could handle it from her right now. “I loved it in high school, and then I got to college and it just didn’t really hit for me anymore. I think I was just scared to leave for a while because it was so comfortable. But now I’m… just figuring it out. Opening myself up to everything.” 

She nodded, eyes trained on me like she was really trying to understand what I was saying. Finally she shrugs; not in a dismissive way, but almost as a method of reassurance. “Well, as long as you’re doing what you think is best, I don’t think that’s the worst decision you could make.”

I found some relief in those words. I think it may have been the first time I had heard them since I sent my resignation in. Paige was always good at that in high school, reassuring me that I didn’t need to have it all figured out and that the world wouldn’t implode if I didn’t have my life planned out through my thirties. Surely if she were feeling this way about basketball, I knew she wouldn’t take her own advice, but it didn’t make the sentiment matter less. Even if I didn’t know it, I think I may have needed just one person to tell me I wasn’t about to fuck my life up. Even if it was coming from someone I never thought I would speak to again.

In the back of our conversation, some Nicki Minaj remix faded out. In some absurd twist of fate that can only be explained by my absurd luck this past week, a couple of chords caused a visible reaction in both of us, my back straightening and head cocking as if I hadn’t heard it correctly. Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately) I had: the opening chords to Exchange began playing over the speakers.

 I tried my best to play it cool, staring at my sneakers so as to not blow my cover immediately, until I peered up and saw that Paige was thinking the exact same thing, an amused grin plastered on her face. “Is this-“

I couldn’t help myself - I started cackling, because if I didn’t laugh I was pretty sure I would find the nearest hole in Storrs and bury myself in it. My laugh was followed by Paige’s, ours harmonizing in a way that was all too familiar and caused an unnecessary tug at my heart in a way I preferred not to think about.

Rolling my eyes, I exclaim, “Exchange in the bar is crazy.”

We look at each other, clearly both thinking about that night in the Culvers parking lot, how the Fanta float tasted on her tongue. Maybe it was the flashing lights, but I could have sworn I saw a spark in her eyes, which grew in intensity the longer she looked. Maybe there was one in my eyes too.

Before we could let the moment linger, a familiar voice calls out. “P Boogers, Maya! We got a shotski, come on!”

------

KK and Adria stood at the bar, Adria laughing as KK pretends to stretch her arms in order to prepare for the shot in front of them - a wooden ski painted white, with four blue shot glasses on it. How fitting for a UConn sports bar. 

Paige and I join them, assuming our positions as the bartender aids in lifting the ski. Out of all the things that have felt foreign to me at UConn, this does not feel unusual - it reminds me of tailgates with my friends as we prepared to cheer on the Gophers. 

You would think having experience with shotskis I would know the mechanics better, particularly mechanics involving height. But it is only as we tilt the board back and I recognize that I am standing next to two tall athletes that I have made a grave mistake, one that I am unable to correct before the glasses meet the other girls lips and I am met with a shower of strong liquid splashing down on me, my eyes shutting just fast enough to avoid any true catastrophe. 

“Oh shit,” I hear them notice what has happened as I bend over, attempting not to gag as I realize KK has purchased rail vodka, which smells not unlike Everclear. 

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” I manage to say, though I know I am fooling nobody. Opening my eyes, I see the guilt on the three of their faces as KK attempts to flag down the bartender who is currently helping a group of six girls all on different tabs. “I’m gonna just run to the bathroom and clean up a bit.”

I only make it a few steps before I sense the blonde jog up beside me, her face concerned. “Can I help?” I am beyond embarrassed, all too aware of the people surrounding us who noticed the incident, some of whom elbowing their friends upon spotting Paige. I don’t really have it in me to argue when Paige identifies a single stall restroom, pushing us inside. 

It’s wild to me how just one locked door can feel so much more secluded and safe, even though from the disheveled appearance I can tell this bathroom has likely seen unimaginable horrors. Paige gets to work quick, wetting a paper towel on the sink and turning to assess the damage.

“I’m pretty sure there’s vodka in my hair.” I laugh, head leaning back before somewhat suddenly hitting the cool tile wall behind me, which only prompted more giggling. Paige gave a hum of concern, fingers tracing the back of my head to ensure I didn’t hit it too hard, though I saw her swallow back a laugh of her own. She trails her fingertips down, examining my styled wavy hair to see if my suspicions were true. I closed my eyes and tried not to think about the fact that Paige was doing this right now, touching my hair so tenderly with her body so close I was surrounded by the musk of her cologne.

“How much did that bartender pour? Goddamn,” Paige clearly was not given as pleasant of a smell, visibly wincing as she was faced with the smell of rail liquor.

Paige removed her fingers from my hair, unable to find any excessive liquid in my tresses. Her eyes traced a couple of inches down before stopping. Noticing how the grip on her damp paper towel only tightened, my eyes trailed down my own body before realizing what caught her attention - a huge splash of liquid on the point where my top met my breasts, the cheap vodka giving my cleavage a sheen under the hum of the cheap bathroom light. Paige’s lower lip was caught in her teeth, biting down before clearing her throat which seemed to break the spell on both of us. 

With haste, I grab a paper towel of my own, dabbing at my skin and attempting to make it look as decent as possible. This could not happen again. I know what she did the first time, I remind myself. “You didn’t need to help me, I’m not going to die from a little liquor on my skin,” I crack a joke, escorting the both of us out of the bathroom and back into the crowded bar. “Thank you for doing it though.”

Paige looks at me with an unreadable expression, almost appearing as if she wants to say something before setting on,“You know it’s really good to see you, right?” 

I can’t help the flush that reaches my face, though perhaps later I would blame it all on the alcohol. The truth was that seeing Paige tonight was far less scary than I was envisioning. Some parts of it - the reassurance, the laughs, her touch - it felt like old times. Maybe that was the scariest part. At least it was the scariest part until her face fell serious, taking a cautious step forward before beginning, “Been wanting to talk to you for a while. Actually talk to you.”

I felt my heart rate accelerate, feeling out of breath even though I was simply standing there. Licking my lips, I manage an, “I don’t know.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to do this here.” I dismissed, feeling pressure accumulate at the base of my throat at a speed that was starting to scare me. When Paige and I were alone, all outside noise muffled, the bar felt more manageable. Now, as the other girl had unknowingly cornered me as we were surrounded by sweaty bodies, I felt trapped. “I promised Adria I’d be here tonight, and she is…”

“Gone, probably left with KK.” I look around, realizing her assessment is right. Reaching for my phone, I find her message. “KK wanted to leave and talk. So sorry. Good luck.”  

So much for my lifeline. “It was years ago, we don’t need to…”

Paige cuts me off, an old habit that until now she had refrained from falling back into. “Need to what? Maya, I’ve waited years because it’s what you wanted. And I respect that, I do. I just have shit I needa say. Give me two minutes, please.”

Paige sounded downright desperate, her eyes wide and pleading. I would be lying if I said I never pictured this happening, and what I would do or say if I ever got the chance to see her again. I can’t say I ever pictured it happening at a crowded bar, covered in vodka. Then again, I never pictured going to UConn in the first place. Sighing, I gestured her to follow me, moving us to an area with slightly less people. Not that it was necessarily secluded at all, but drunk me couldn’t find it in me to care. “Say what you need to say,” I say, feigning confidence despite my arms remaining crossed.

“I was a dick in high school, okay. I do not blame you at all for acting how you did after… everything.” She didn’t need to say it for both of us to know. “I miss you, though. I never stopped missing my best friend. Nobody could ever take your place. I need you to know that I’m not the same person I was back then.”

I’m not sure if it was the two last sentences she said, or if it was the alcohol hitting me like a fucking mallet, but it was as though any listening I had been willing to offer to Paige had evaporated in just a few seconds. “Really? Because last time I heard, you had no issue forgetting everything happened the second you got here.”

One of Paige’s eyebrow raised as she stepped forward, reaching an arm out in an attempt to touch mine. “Maya, what are you talking about?”

I jerked away. While Paige’s touch felt warm and welcome earlier, it certainly did not feel that way now. “I hear you got pretty popular with the girls of UConn, didn’t you?”

Paige’s mouth shut and her eyes closed, as if she realized she had been caught in some form of a lie. Nearby, I hear a beer bottle shatter on the floor, and I am made aware of just how much I do not want to cry in here, surrounded by a bunch of drunk students who clearly know the person causing my tears. “Please let me explain. We weren’t together, you know I wouldn’t have done anything if we were.”

Of course that’s what she leads with, I thought with an eye roll. “I don’t care, Paige.” I stress. “You can hook up with whoever you want. I care that you can’t even be honest with me, and you’re telling me that you magically changed the second you got to Storrs. Because from what I’ve heard, I don’t know if you have.”

“Who’s telling you this, Maya?” She asks, as if I would ever tell her. I trusted Adria and Brooke. More importantly, I trusted my own intuition that screamed at me that there were other girls after me, especially after seeing a few girls give flirty glances her way. Something about the knowledge that I was likely just practice for all her girls at UConn made me want to run back into the single stall and expel all I had consumed throughout the night.

“Doesn’t matter. All I know is that you led me on and made me believe you wanted more when you just wanted to fuck around…”

“I didn’t…” She tries to cut me off again, but I won’t let her. Not this time.

“Let me finish. You ruined our friendship. You ruined us, Paige. And now you’re here, and I just know you’re off hurting other girls in the way you hurt me.”

I noted how the circle of girls next to me looked over, some of their glances sympathetic upon seeing my emotional state while others were downright dirty for disturbing the peace of their night. Though I didn’t feel as though I was in any place to walk, I quickly decided staying in this bar with Paige was far more dangerous. “I don’t think I can have this conversation right now. Hope you get home safe.”

Paige attempted to speak again, but I was already making my way to the door, un-phased by the pouring rain which I had failed to prepare for. I had no plan on how I was getting home, no clue when busses were running and no desire to walk thirty minutes in the dark while it was storming. All I knew is I needed to get out. 

I couldn’t handle hearing her escape accountability, telling me what I wanted to hear instead of what I needed to hear. The sad part is that I almost believed her.

My mom always warned me how rose colored glasses changes the past and makes you believe things were better than they were. She didn’t need to tell me she was referring to dad when she said it - I could tell from the look in her eyes and the tone in her voice. Maybe the same could be said for Paige. Maybe all those memories of ours weren’t actually as real as I thought they were, and that the shameful nights I spent crying in my room all through senior year of high school (and let’s be real, a good bit of freshman year of college) were for nothing. 

Maybe I never actually knew Paige Bueckers at all.

-------------

taglist: @paiges-1vur @unadulteratedcyclepaper @pboogerswbb

[lipstick-and-libraries]

Between the Lines

PT. 4

𓋜 Pairing: Minho (XO, Kitty) x fem! Reader

𓋜 Series: The Roommate Exchange

𓋜 Summary: When You and Minho are paired for a class project, unexpected moments of honesty and tension arise. Between late-night conversations and shared silences, you discover that some things are harder to hide than you thought.

𓋜 Notes:

Hello my loves!!

I know that I take a while to upload, however, i fully intend to finish this small series and still give you more than just 4 chapters, soo..what would you think about another chapter coming out directly after this as a thank you for everyone who so kindly supports my thoughts that I didnt expect anyone to see.

Anyhow, I hope you guys are fans of slowburn and heartbreak because from now on this rollercoaster will get a little more bumpy, love will do that to you, and especially to You and Minho <3

𓋜 Taglist:

@finnbbl

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@knivesdoingcartwheels

@teaandbacon

@dragonwitchy

@formula1mount

@strayk1ds143

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A special thank you to everyone on the taglist, i love you guys ꨄ

Please do let me know if i have forgotten you, i keep the names in my notes app so i shouldnt forget anyone but if it happens anyway i am deeply sorry

If you want to be added to the taglist, just put it in the comments, your reposts or in my asks, even if I havent answered I 100% have seen it and added you <33

Enough talking from my side though, enjoy you study date with Minho

The buzz from the creative showcase announcement still lingered around KISS like an unspoken challenge. Posters were plastered on every wall, reminding students of the looming event hosted by none other than Minho’s father—a showcase designed to highlight the best talents at the school. For most, it was an opportunity. For Minho, it was a reminder of everything he tried to avoid: expectations, vulnerability, and being seen beyond the carefully curated persona he presented to the world.

But none of that mattered right now.

Because Minho was staring at the name list posted outside his literature class, and there it was—bold and undeniable:

Group Project Partners: Minho & (Y/N)

He blinked, hoping his eyes were deceiving him. They weren’t.

“Wow,” Q’s voice broke through Minho’s silent panic, appearing over his shoulder with an amused grin. “Fate really isn’t subtle, huh?”

Dae chuckled beside him, leaning casually against the wall. “You’ll survive. Maybe.”

Minho shot them both a glare before shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s just a project. No big deal.”

But it was a big deal. Because every time he was around (Y/N), he turned into the version of himself he didn’t recognize—awkward, uncertain, and far too aware of every glance, every word, every silence. She had this way of looking at him, like she could see past the walls he’d built, and it unnerved him more than he cared to admit.

The first meeting was scheduled for the library, an attempt to maintain some semblance of professionalism. Minho arrived early—an unfamiliar habit—but he told himself it was because he wanted to pick the best table. Definitely not because he was nervous.

He chose a spot near the back, where the shelves of books created a semi-private alcove. The table was sturdy, the chairs comfortable, and the lighting just bright enough to work without being harsh. He set his bag down, pulled out his notebook, and tried to focus on the assignment sheet. But his mind kept drifting, replaying every interaction he’d ever had with (Y/N), searching for clues on how to navigate this.

When she finally arrived, balancing her laptop and a stack of books, she gave him a polite nod. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Minho replied, sitting up straighter than necessary. He gestured to the chair across from him. “I figured this spot would be quiet enough.”

“Good call,” she said, sliding into the seat and setting her things down. She opened her laptop, the soft glow of the screen illuminating her face as she pulled up their assignment. “So, any ideas?”

Minho scrambled to focus. “Uh, yeah. Maybe we could… compare themes? Like, how the author explores identity or something.”

(Y/N) glanced at him, her expression neutral. “That’s vague.”

“Well, it’s a start,” he muttered defensively, crossing his arms over his chest.

She sighed softly, but there was no malice in it. “Okay. Let’s break it down.”

They worked in relative silence, punctuated by occasional questions and the awkward brush of hands when they reached for the same notebook. Minho tried to ignore the way his heart raced at the brief contact, the way her proximity made it hard to think straight. He wasn’t used to feeling this off-balance, and it frustrated him.

But the real shift happened two hours in.

Minho leaned back in his chair, frustrated with a section they couldn’t seem to crack. “This is pointless.”

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow, not looking up from her notes. “The project or your attitude?”

He shot her a look, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes that disarmed him. “Both,” he admitted grudgingly.

She set her pen down and tilted her head, studying him. “Why do you always act like nothing bothers you?”

The question caught him off guard. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve got this… façade,” she said, gesturing vaguely. “Like you’ve got everything figured out. But clearly, you don’t.”

Minho’s jaw tightened. “And you think you’ve got me all figured out?”

She shrugged. “No. But you make it pretty easy to see through the act.”

The words stung more than he expected because they were true. He looked away, his fingers tapping restlessly against the edge of the table. Before he could respond, her phone buzzed. She glanced at it briefly, then stood. “I need a break. Coffee?”

Minho hesitated, then stood too. “Yeah. Sure.”

The café near campus was quiet. They sat by the glass, sipping their drinks, the tension from earlier lingering like static. Minho stirred his coffee absently, watching the steam rise in delicate swirls.

“I didn’t mean to hit a nerve,” (Y/N) said eventually, her voice soft. She stirred her own drink, her gaze fixed on the swirling liquid.

Minho stared at his cup. “I’m just used to people assuming things about me, especially because my parents, well, mostly my father, aren't, well.."

He gets quieter with every word, his expression almost showing the hate he has for himself for even mentioning it, or hatred for his father, it was hard for (Y/N) to tell.

"I don’t usually care, but…”

She knew he wasn't going to continue on with the story about his parents, but (Y/N) let him, knowing that if he wanted to, he will bring it up again when he is ready to tell her.

“But?” she prompted gently, her eyes lifting to meet his.

“But you’re not ‘people,’” he admitted, his voice quieter than he intended.

She blinked, clearly not expecting that. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Well, that’s vague.”

Minho laughed softly, the tension easing slightly. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“You’re not as complicated as you think, Minho,” she added, her gaze steady.

And just like that, the air shifted again.

That night, back in his dorm, Minho couldn’t shake the conversation. He sat at his desk, staring at his phone, his thumb hovering over the anonymous blog app.

Dae was scrolling on his phone, and Q was fiddling with his headphones, oblivious to Minho’s internal turmoil. Without overthinking, Minho typed:

“How do you stop caring about what someone thinks of you when they see through you so easily? Asking for a friend.”

He hit send before he could regret it, then tossed his phone aside, burying his face in his hands.

The next project meeting was different.

They worked in her dorm this time, Kitty buzzing around briefly before leaving with a sly, knowing grin. Minho tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the papers spread across the floor. For whatever reason, (Y/N), decided to dress up. Not that it mattered, in Minho's Eyes, she, for whatever reason, wasnt physically capable of ever looking bad anyway. She always looked… effortless.

“Do you ever write just for yourself?” Minho asked suddenly, surprising even himself.

She glanced up, her brow furrowing slightly. Minho wondered what that look was about, but decided not to question it for now

“Sometimes. Why?”

“Just curious.”

She hesitated, then reached for a notebook tucked under a pile of papers. “I guess writing helps me make sense of things. Even if no one reads it.”

Minho nodded, understanding more than he wanted to admit. “Yeah. I get that.”

After a pause, she added softly, “It’s scary, though. Being honest on paper.”

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly. “But it’s scarier being honest out loud.”

Their eyes met, something unspoken passing between them. For a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them, the weight of their shared vulnerability hanging in the air.

"I..", Minho hesitated, his eyes flicking between hers and the wall behind her.

The Room was dim, light enough to see the papers, but dark enough to hide (Y/N)'s quick glance at the subtle twitch in Minho's jaw.

Which is exactly why her next movement caught him so off-guard.

She lifted her hand, placing it on his cheek and softly caressing his jawline with her thumb.

Minho was used to romantic affection and the touches that came with it, with this many people wanting to get atleast a part of you it was like a handshake at best, at least thats what he would usually think.

But this was...something else entirely.

His eyes went wide, looking at her without even attempting to hide it.

She chuckled, giving him a smile before leaning close to him, his eyes quickly switching from her eyes to her lips, only to repeat the same motion.

To his dissatisfaction, she only wrapped her arms around him tightly, rubbing small circles into his back. He hugged her back just as tight, without thinking about it at all

Minho was uncertain, but they almost felt heart shaped. Whether that was just his imagination, or reality, he didnt dare to ponder about it further.

She let go of him, resorting to only grabbing his hand and giving in three subtle squeezes.

Before either of them could break the moment by saying anything, Kitty burst through the door, dramatically complaining about Yuri, effectively shattering the tension.

But it didn’t matter.

Because the only thing he could think about, was how she didnt move her hand, not even by an inch, and to him, it felt like a promise.

[mochinek0]

Daminette December: 26-Robin My Heart

"Get down and remain silent." Robin growled.

Marinette looked away, his silhouette catching her eye. She quickly threw her black scarf at him.

"What did I-" he began.

"Hide your face until you can get another mask." she declared.

Damian reached up and touched his face. Half of his mask had been destroyed in the blast from Joker's bombs. Damian quickly called in backup and the need for another mask, declaring he was with the victim.

"One is on the way." he spoke, trying to hand it back.

"They could be watching." she whispered, angrily, "Or don't you care about your identity. I haven't seen you, yet. They shouldn't know you. They could target your family. Isn't that in Hero 101 or something?"

Damian smiled and used morphed the scarf into a veil, similar to how his mother had taught him. As they waited in silence, the Joker's cackles echoed from room to room. It wasn't long before Red Hood found them together and handed him his spares mask. Red Hood watched as the girl kept her back towards them until Robin declared his mask was secure.

"Thank you for rescuing me, Little Robin." she smiled.

Red Hood cackled, infuriating Robin.

He towered over the girl, "I am not little!"

"Well, it was….an experience to meet you." she declared, "Have a good night."

Robin quickly grabbed her wrist, "I need to make sure you get home safely."

"I'm a big girl." she retorted, "I can handle myself."

"You were just kidnapped." Robin growled out.

"Wrong place; wrong time." she sighed, rolling her eyes, "It's not like I was the target."

"Let's go." he commanded, dragging her away.

"Boys." she groaned, causing his family to laugh.

Damian was caught off guard to a familiar giggle, he hadn't expected to hear at university. He glanced around and spotted the girl from the other night. To his shock, she was wearing a jacket designed after his vigilante persona. Damian could feel his cheeks warming as he stared at her bright smile.

"So, how did your family find out?" Asked one of the girls near her.

"I don't know!" Marinette cried out.

"What did they say?" Asked another.

She sighed, "My mother asked 'What use is your training, if you're not going to use it?'. Not my fault they pepper sprayed me, first."

"And your dad?" Someone questioned.

Marinette groaned, "He asked if he was 'Robin my heart'."

"By the jacket, I'm assuming yes?" A girl giggled.

"Nope." Mari stated, "Though, I can appreciate that he took down everyone himself and rescued me. He didn't need the others."

Damian gulped at the unexpected praise. He knew he did his job; it was expected of him. Yes; he had been told he had disappointed his parents, but a job well done?

"Think you'll see him again?"

"Nah." She replied, "I don't plan on be kidnapped any time soon."

Damian walked right past her and smirked.

'I think Robin should make a stop at her balcony, tonight. '

@maribat-calendar-events

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[anotheroceanid]

TWO OF THE (MANY) SCENES DELETED FROM CHAPTER 7 OF WTHB

(If something looks weird, it's because I converted markdown to html and THEN to RTF)

SCENE 1

APOLLO

WINTER SOLSTICE OF 2007

OLYMPUS

First thing Hermes says is: ‘No!’

Very loud. Very rude. The poor nymph who was serving the drinks runs the other way.

Apollo had his head turned so he could have a clear sight of the object of his desires, so Hermes grabbed his face with one hand and forced Apollo to look at him. ‘No.’ It was more of a whisper now, almost a prayer.

Twinged by jealousy and disappointment, Apollo addressed the elephant in the room. ‘Are you…’

‘No!’ Why Hermes sounded like a broken record, Apollo had no idea, but the knowledge that his brother possessed no passion for their lovely cousin made Apollo’s—very—stressful day a thousand times better. He beamed and looked at her again, just to be once again interrupted by Hermes, who invaded his line of sight. Before Apollo could protest, his brother was already speaking. ‘I care for her as you do for Artemis.’

Apollo furrowed his brows.

That was… odd.

Hermes wasn’t one to deny himself any sort of beauty, and he got a good eye for precious and forbidden things he could steal. What was more beautiful, precious and forbidden than the daughter their uncle sired in secrecy with a mortal with whom any other god would avoid meddling? 

Apollo stretched his body so he could see beyond his brother. Across the room, stood Persephone—what a poetic name for a girl who bears the choice to save or destroy them all. She was the most glorious vision Apollo had ever had in front of his godly eyes. Confusing as it was, it had little to do with her striking looks—not that Apollo denied in any way the fine traces that designed his cousin’s face, for she had been gracefully constructed by her parents; Uncle Poseidon and her mortal mother made an exceptional work. 

However, there was something even more charming underneath the gold silky skin that covered her nearly unhuman skin, something dangerous behind the porcelain teeth, something delicate than the shade of her indescribably sea-ish eyes. The beauty that puzzled Apollo was something warm and bright, very much like himself. Something kept as a secret, a poetry he hadn't yet read, a melody muffled by louder noises that refused to go quiet so he could delight in it peacefully. 

As the God of Knowledge, the feeling of being in the dark was _unbearable_—for he was also the god of the sun, it was twice as painful.

He had merely met the sea’s Persephone, yet he felt completely drowned by the mystery of her deepnesses. What a wonderful day his sister had asked for his help. Like everyone else, he had been curious about the Forbidden Child, but nothing prepared Apollo for the greenish blue lakes of salt water that would welcome him that day. Then his sister was taken, and Persephone Jackson chose to go on that quest.

He knew she sought for her own friend. But she was there. Now, Artemis was returned to him and all thanks to the non-rule-abiding daughter of the sea, who may be the cause of his death in a few months. By trying to help her quest, Apollo only got more interested.

With Artemis returned, he found himself with nothing else to think about but Percy Jackson. Well, technically the war was happening, but as she was the most important piece of the chessboard, by thinking of her, he thought of the war.

One thing in particular twitched inside of Apollo: did Persephone Jackson know what she was owned?

She just saved his sister. She could ask him anything in exchange. However, nothing so far. What sort of mortal did not demand payment from a god? Apollo would grant her any gift; be it the art of prophecy or an EGOT. Anything.

There she was, laughing at something her father just told her. Apollo sighed dreamily, imagining himself as the reason for her smile.

Once again, Hermes grunted. ‘_No!_’

‘She is bewildering.’ Apollo blinked slowly, tilting his head to the side slightly.

‘She is.’ Hermes, though mourningful, agreed. ‘But she already has too much on her shoulders.’

Playfully, Apollo opened a smile. ‘I can be helpful.’ He sang.

‘She doesn’t need this sort of help.’ Hermes made a face, then softened it when he turned to look at her. ‘Percy wants a quiet life. She never wanted any of it, and yet, because of us, she has so little to live of her own life. It’s not fair.’

Apollo pressed his lips together, the lines of the prophecy dancing on his mind. There were so many ways that could play out, yet he did admit that most of them ended up badly for her.

Apollo studied the expression of his younger brother’s face—so sad it broke Apollo’s hypothetical heart. Sorrow did not go well with Hermes, though lately it was all that existed there. The betrayal of Luke Castellan was a low blow on him, and though the boy still lived, it didn’t change that he was forever lost. Nothing cut deeper than the loss of a child.

Softly, Apollo places his hand on the arm of Hermes, caressing it lightly. There wasn’t much to be said, and there was very little comfort to be offered in these dark times. Only a miracle could save his son, and even the gods were sceptical about miracles.

Then, like one his father’s thunder, it hit him. ‘You think she can do it!’

Hermes' eyes flared for a second. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ He shrugged. ��I know that she can, but I also know how it would be damaging for her to keep trying until she succeeded. I will not insist.’

‘But you asked.’ Apollo didn’t need an answer, and Hermes did not try to give him one. ‘I see it.’

‘See what?’

‘Your affections.’ Apollo closed his eyes, letting the knowledge sink in. ‘You do care for her as I do for Artemis. I can see how pure it is, and the last thing I’d wish is to cause you pain, brother. I shall not pursue her, not without your blessing.’ That was a lament. Just because he intended to keep his word, didn’t mean he liked to say them.

Something roared inside of him. For a second, he looked again at Percy Jackson. A last glimpse of what he would never have—she would be to him like one of those unsolved questions in history that the mortals never stopped to look for answers, even if it was pointless to make such an effort; there was poetry in it. The eternal longing for answers. Had she been born in a different era, she too would be the object of wonder for those who came after her, the muse of artists and the hero of kids, and maybe his own name would collapse with hers, and they’d be tied together, one way or another.

There is something suffocating about her, and gods shouldn’t feel breathless.

His second lasted a little longer. When he makes a move to look away. It’s when his eyes meet with hers. Both turn away immediately. Warmth goes right into Apollo’s cheeks. 

He’s flushed and his eyes flared gold for a second—he hoped no one had seen that. Apollo decided the best thing to do was to stare to the ground until he was swallowed by it.

‘Don’t make promises you cannot keep.’ He heard Hermes exhaling.

‘I can keep promises!’ Apollo retorted.

‘Let me rephrase it then, don’t make promises that’ll hurt you.’ Hermes murmured. ‘If you must, you have my blessing.’

Apollo widened his eyes and stared at his brother in disbelief. ‘Wait, really?’

Closing his eyes, Hermes continued. ‘I don’t know what might happen to us in the future. I mean, you don’t know, so you can imagine how lost I am. I don’t want to make your last moments miserable.’

‘Hm, thanks?’

‘I’ve noticed you have been at home recently.’

‘I live there, in case you don’t remember.’

Hermes took a deep breath. ‘You’ve been there. Daydreaming, singing to the walls, painting…’

‘I do that quite often.’

‘You do.’ Hermes agreed. ‘But there’s always a part of you with someone. Not in the past days. You’ve gathered your essence at home. And I know you.’

‘You’ve been stalking me!?’ Apollo raised a brow, thinking about the exceedingly long time he spent looking for a beach with the exact same shade of green of Percy Jackson’s eyes.

‘No. But our moms talk.’

‘Oh, of course.’

‘What I’m saying is: if that will bring you happiness, you shall have it.’ Hermes declared. ‘Under the condition that you must treat her with the utmost kindness, either Percy comes to want you or not. Her body, her soul, her mind and her heart, they’re far too frail to be handled bluntly, and I would not stand one more scratch on her.’

‘I see…’

‘You can promise me this?’

Apollo smiled thankfully to his brother. ‘Of course I can.’

SCENE 2

AUGUST 18TH, 2010

CAMP HALF-BLOOD

If there was anything more endearing than his girlfriend surrounded by little kids, Apollo was unaware of it. Made his stomach flutter with butterflies and his heart pump on his chest like a hammer—he did not possess a stomach nor a heart, but the metaphor stood.

What a lovely day it was. Couldn’t be any different. He personally made sure Percy had a perfectly sunny day for her birthday, with a pretty sunrise and an even prettier sunset, for Apollo knew she loved those. Beside his own interference, everything settled perfectly in place, creating a picturesque image that contrasted with the dreadful events of the past years. Apollo hoped she could make sweeter memories regarding her birthday, other than the bloodshed she witnessed during the war.

He longed for better memories. For her and for himself, too. Hopefully, together. Apollo can't help the warm flush on his cheeks, nor the smirk that stretches across his face. The baby in his arms—well, she is technically a toddler, but to him his kids were babies forever—laughs and touches his cheeks, accusing her daddy of looking silly. Thankfully, no one else notices. Kayla, Austin and Will, the eldest of his demigod kids, are laughing about something. In fact, it looks like Kayla and Austin are laughing about something that shifts Will’s face from rosy to scarlet. Apollo can imagine what it is. His son is not exactly subtle.  

Apollo let himself be blinded for a second by the smiles on their faces. That was a good memory. It was, perhaps, maybe endearing enough to compete with Percy playing with little kids. As petty as it sounded, Apollo took pride in the fact that his kids did feel comfortable enough around him—most of his peers couldn’t say the same. He twirled the younger ones in the air, created sparkles around them just to see the glitter in their eyes, joked with the older ones and sang with them a song every now and then. He tried not to think about how his cabin numbers shrunk during the war.

Apollo closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He knew better than anyone else the consequences of dwelling on the past. Instead, he reminded himself the kids were in Elysium and nothing could hurt them anymore. They would want Apollo to take care of their siblings, and that was under his power. Now, not from the shadows and under his father’s rules. Thanks to Percy.

From now on, good memories only, he thought, smelling the sweet scents of flowers and sunshine from his children.

He wished Percy could join him. Apollo knew for a fact she was particularly close to Will, but as far as everyone knew, Percy wasn't really close to Apollo. To Hermes? Yes, a lot of talk about that. To Artemis? Of course, it was secret to no one that Percy was the very kind of person her sister enjoyed having around. When it came to Percy and Apollo, it was always ironically in the dark. That didn't bother him… Not as much as it would've, back in the ancient times. He could keep his cool, and if there was one thing he learned about romance, is that what nobody knows, nobody ruins—which was actually a joke about Odysseus being seriously unlucky, but the meaning changed overtime.

His _Ocean Belle_… So close and so far. For now, if having Percy in secrecy was synonymous to having Percy, then let it be it. He could watch her during the day and be with her during the night, where her smiles and laughter and the glitter in her eyes would belong entirely to him. When she would tell him and no one else about her day and confine to him her secrets, making of the curve of his neck a nest where she could lay her head and rest, warmed by the heat of his body as they talked through the night. Their secrecy was something he appreciated, however, to be in her presence and not being near her was torture; all that Apollo wished was to have her and his kids all together in one place, and to have his fingers intertwined with hers in public.

Well, one thing at a time. He wouldn't want Uncle Poseidon—or worse, cousin Triton—getting in their way, much less Apollo's own father. So close to the end of the war, all eyes were set on her and Apollo wasn't deaf to the whispers about his beloved. If what they had was known, all the vultures would come to spoil their happiness. They'd see it as an invitation, a challenge to overturn, a nuisance—not to say obstacle—that could be solved through trickery.    

It happened before. It happened all the time. Happened with his stepmother, when she was a maiden and refused to take a suitor. Apollo's father tricked her in order to have her as his wife. Then the same with Aphrodite, who was forced into marriage to avoid a war amongst gods. Even with the first Persephone, whose fate had been decided spitefully behind her mother's back. Apollo knew his family. He knew no one would dare to cross Poseidon and chase after his youngest, most beloved, and first-ever demigod daughter. Problem was: Poseidon had already been crossed, and by Apollo, the nephew he loved the most and trusted the most. Other suitors wouldn't have to worry as much about his rage, if such rage was already directed into someone else.

Apollo was no fool to think that his uncle would endorse any god’s relationship with Percy. Not so soon after the war, and if Apollo knew a thing or other about his uncle, not ever. Apollo did know Poseidon. They had a relationship as solid as the walls of Troy that together they raised from the rubble of their—unfortunately failed—rebellion. His uncle was not the forgiving type. He would have to be gently introduced to the concept of having a son-in-law before being introduced to the son-in-law.

That's alright, Apollo thought, brushing away the pessimism from his mind, all it takes is a little patience and a few years.

He watched Percy through the corner of his eyes a little longer. She was dutifully followed by Hades’ son, who carried a plate full of cookies in his hands like a lion guarding its prey. Percy said something that got Nico di Angelo seriously troubled while she stormed into laughter. Adorable, Apollo thought, letting the sound of her laughs get into his ears, so he could appreciate the cadence of her voice.

Apollo took another deep breath and rested his chin on the top of his daughter’s head. ‘Dad is silly.’ Said the three-year-old girl, the youngest of his living children. 

Apollo chuckled. ‘Sillier than you think, Amy.’ He said, kissing her cheek.

As the hours flew by and kids got tired, Apollo sneaked the essence of his body, making most of it invisible. He saw as Percy walked away from the crowd, following with Hades' son toward the beach—probably to watch the sunset, and Apollo hoped she’d enjoy the show made just for her. In the meanwhile, he used the opportunity to walk around and make sure everything was safe for the next hours—he didn't want anyone sticking their noses on his business.

Surprisingly, considering the place was crowded with gods and demigods who were fighting each other to death just a year ago, it was all peaceful. Well, except for a reasonably tipsy Persephone in a corner, because she tended to brag in detail about her excessively happy married life, and no one wanted to listen to her talking about Uncle Hades when she was like that. Especially considering it was summer, and she was probably missing him. Thankfully, Hecate was near Persephone, avoiding her from traumatising this generation.

Apollo passed through Rhode and Triton, his sibling-in-law. If he had to pick one to open his heart about his secret relationship with their sister, it would be Rhode. She was the calmer in her family, and Apollo once was the pupil to her late husband, meaning he would spend a lot of time in their household. Few gods had that lovely personality. But not at that moment. The former Sun Bride had a deadly expression on her face, and her brother Triton had a hand on her arm, just in case he needed to restrain her.

He couldn't help but feel sympathy for her obvious irritation. Apollo too hated her brother.

Not Triton. The other one, from her mother's side. Eros. He was a hateful feathery creature that no one deserved to endure—except, perhaps, the other hateful feathery creature that usually followed him around, Zephyrus. Of course, as much as Apollo hated Eros, he doubted anyone despised him more than his older sister, Rhode. In fact, his sister-in-law avoided anyone from her mother's brood, having herself an aversion for the Goddess of Love. Curiously, Aphrodite kept trying to retrieve her daughter's love and forgiveness, even after years and years of estrangement.

The little group, formed by Eros, Aphrodite and poor Rhode and Triton, tried to keep a talk. At least, Aphrodite tried. Every time Eros spoke, Rhode's eyes glazed with fury and Triton had to tighten his hold on her arm.

Well, they won't be interrupting, Apollo cheered.

A few metres away, Poseidon and Zeus… Laughed? Screamed at each other? Apollo wasn't quite sure. It was always a mystery between them, but they were loud. Poor Uncle Hades closed his eyes and inhaled deeply between every other word, moving his head in an attempt to avoid the sounds. Even Apollo thought he might go deaf if he walked too close.

They talked about something they did about the French Revolution. Uncle Hades had a nasty expression, making a remark about how much he hated how people died of stupid causes back then. As if it was the funniest joke they've ever heard, Zeus and Poseidon threw their heads back while Hades rolled his eyes.

Apollo didn't remember the last time he’d seen the Big Three _talking_—without the war threats or the comments about the time living (or not) in Kronos’ stomach. Before they started to talk about the most unsavoury parts of the 18th century and their adventures then, Apollo walked away.

The demigods were dancing and singing to the same ABBA song they've been obsessing with ever since last year. Apollo smiled, thinking of how Percy would hum that song whenever she was distracted. He walked past her bestest friend, Annabeth Chase; smiling like that, leaning on a boy and cracking jokes, she looked like a completely different person from how she behaved when she was working as architect in Olympus—always so uptight and serious. 

Nearing his brother Hermes, Apollo chuckled when he saw his face. Poor Hermes didn't have a thought behind his eyes, he just glanced away while Demeter and Ares kept talking to him furiously, while Dionysus stood right beside them with a serious expression.

‘My Katie is a good girl.’ Demeter boasted. ‘I don't want that Trant boy anywhere near her!’

Hermes sighed. ‘Travis, you mean.’

‘And I don't approve of Clarisse's relationship with your other son, whatever his name is!’ Ares pronounced.

‘Isn’t Clarisse like, nineteen?’ Hermes frowned, sipping his nectar mindlessly.

Ares crossed his arms in front of his arms. ‘So?’

‘Isn't that a little late to worry about who she dates?’

‘Well,’ Ares started, voice a pitch higher, ‘I never had to care about that before that good-for-nothing son of yours stepped in!’

Apollo made his better efforts not to laugh. That was funny when it didn’t include him being beaten out of existence by Uncle Poseidon. Yet, he should feel sympathy for his fellow… His fellow dating-a-Olympian’s-daughter friend? Maybe they should start a club, maybe Uncle Hades would enjoy having someone to talk with beside his brothers, and Apollo wouldn't complain about having a Big Three ally.

‘Ares, I don't think this is the way to approach 21st century parenting, you know?’ Hermes rolled his eyes. ‘The whole “not letting my daughter date"’ went out of fashion after World War II.’

‘I still don't trust that brat of yours, he's up to something!’

Demeter then was quick to add: ‘The other one too!’ She pointed out. ‘He also has a terrible diet. I cannot imagine what his intestines look like with that amount of sugar he eats.’

Like the words had been carried by the wind, Hermes simply nodded and then turned to their younger brother. ‘What about you? Are any of my kids dating your son?’

Dionysus smiled and shook his head. ‘Oh, no. Thankfully not!’ Dionysus raised his Diet Coke to the sky. ‘I believe he's seeing one of my maenads. I just love seeing someone who's not me getting a lecture.’

Hermes sneered, and this time Apollo laughed and made sure Hermes would hear.

‘Shouldn't you be with your kids?’ Mentally, Hermes inquired.

‘I am.’ Apollo answered, picturing in Hermes mind an image of another version of him playing with the kids.

‘If you three would excuse me, I'll go talk to Apollo.’ Naturally as breathing, Hermes dismissed everyone and walked away. ‘Whatever it is, don't do it.’

‘C'mon, where is my free spirited brother who'd help me in the craziest quests?’

‘My limit is whatever the distance between my pretty face and uncle's Trident.’ Hermes grunted. ‘Where is Percy?’

‘Don't worry, she's with Nico di Angelo.’

‘Your son's crush?’

‘Isn't it lovely that her little, uh, shadow is my Will's crush?’

Even if there was a glitter of endearment in his eyes, Hermes pretended to be annoyed. ‘It's almost as if they're hormonal teenagers.’

‘It’s romantic!’ Apollo sighed.

‘If you say so.’ Hermes retorted. ‘What do you want?’

‘Oh, I did not come here with demands.’ Apollo hummed. ‘I just assumed that my little brother would help me give my beautiful maiden a nice birthday night, you know? Just making sure her dad doesn't notice if she goes missing for an hour or two.’ 

‘Are you crazy!?’ Hermes exhaled. ‘Everyone is here, and they'll notice if the hero of Olympus simply vanishes.*’

‘I know you could buy me thirty minutes. Then thirty minutes more. And then a little longer, I promise we'll be back before 10A.M.’

‘You said the same last time.’ Hermes groaned.

‘You know I can't lie. Just one hour.’

‘You can if you believe in your lie. Thirty-five minutes.’

‘Forty-five.’

‘Forty. Last offer.’

‘Deal. You're the best, brother.’

‘That someday will get me fucked up.’

[vespidclan]

Today’s the anniversary of when I first started Vespidclan in Clangen… The day the game broke

I miss back when the girls were so young and happy… before we had any bug drama :’) They’ve gone so far!

I’d probably do a special event or something for this but I don’t really know what to do! So take these facts about what it was like playing the actual game from what we know thus far

Their names were all the same, except Snakepaw was Icepaw. I kept it for a while thinking “oh Icicle and her are matching” but it started to confuse me between the two! So I changed her to Snakepaw about 2 moons in, since she looks like a piebald snake to me.

^ Tying in with that their warrior names were completely the same and I didn’t have to change them… Except for Snake’s. I think she was Snakeeyes, which is a name I liked, but didn’t really fit all that much for her! I ended up naming her Snakevalley for no specific reason, it just sounds nice and cool. (Maybe for an in-lore reason, Icicle gave her ‘Valley’ to keep the remembrance of the Pineclan forests and fields with her)

All the Pineclan cats are in the file and are dead, Sparkbreak is the Starclan guide. I changed this later when I added in Moththorn/404 to the game, but I shouldn’t expand on this, because of lore reasons! Wait until I Am That I Am comes out!

Now that I think about it all lot of names were changed- Fallenfox was something else, but ‘fox’ was RIGHT THERE and I HAD to name her that. Warmfur was Warmshade (good name but he’s literally bright orange), Dreamcatcher was Dreamspike (wasn’t a fan of this one), and everyone else thus far have their names the way they are.

I know it doesn’t seem like it but this story will still keep The Swarm elements, it just wasn’t implemented all that well because there were so little cats! It’ll be added into the story the same time I started following it more in my gameplay, which will be somewhere around the current moons… because of someone we know. 👀🦋

I like having creative control over how the cats look when I draw them. The colors are fine and I try to keep them as close as possible without color picking (I’d hate to have cats that look the exact same) but I like to simplify my designs for them and so they look nice in a comic format, and only sometimes adding extra stuff on them- Icicle never had any yellowish white but she got it cuz I felt like she needed more color on her.

Heartflicker never got a permanent leg injury. I added that to the story myself because it worked as a ‘consequential’ event for what happened before. (nearly killing Icicle) It’s not something she can undo just like that, neither can she undo her actions.

Through my notes I somehow messed up with the seasons. Instead of having greenleaf for 3 moons, I wrote down 5 moons. But I kept this and will continue to! It adds so much to the game being broken and unfixable, not even the in-game moons are perfectly fixed because of 404’s influence.

^ This is also why I made Snakevalley die the way she did. No one gave her berries, no one killed her or anything like that. In the game she died of a heatstroke. But in the comic, it was leafbare, so this didn’t make any sense to me. Took me a while to come up with a reason to have her killed AND be a complete turning point for the story… Because her dying was a complete shock for myself!

…YES Icicle gets pregnant. But that was and will be the only heavy spoiler I am willing to share!