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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

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How I got scammed

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/05/cyber-dunning-kruger/#swiss-cheese-security

I wuz robbed.

More specifically, I was tricked by a phone-phisher pretending to be from my bank, and he convinced me to hand over my credit-card number, then did $8,000+ worth of fraud with it before I figured out what happened. And then he tried to do it again, a week later!

Here's what happened. Over the Christmas holiday, I traveled to New Orleans. The day we landed, I hit a Chase ATM in the French Quarter for some cash, but the machine declined the transaction. Later in the day, we passed a little credit-union's ATM and I used that one instead (I bank with a one-branch credit union and generally there's no fee to use another CU's ATM).

A couple days later, I got a call from my credit union. It was a weekend, during the holiday, and the guy who called was obviously working for my little CU's after-hours fraud contractor. I'd dealt with these folks before – they service a ton of little credit unions, and generally the call quality isn't great and the staff will often make mistakes like mispronouncing my credit union's name.

That's what happened here – the guy was on a terrible VOIP line and I had to ask him to readjust his mic before I could even understand him. He mispronounced my bank's name and then asked if I'd attempted to spend $1,000 at an Apple Store in NYC that day. No, I said, and groaned inwardly. What a pain in the ass. Obviously, I'd had my ATM card skimmed – either at the Chase ATM (maybe that was why the transaction failed), or at the other credit union's ATM (it had been a very cheap looking system).

I told the guy to block my card and we started going through the tedious business of running through recent transactions, verifying my identity, and so on. It dragged on and on. These were my last hours in New Orleans, and I'd left my family at home and gone out to see some of the pre-Mardi Gras krewe celebrations and get a muffalata, and I could tell that I was going to run out of time before I finished talking to this guy.

"Look," I said, "you've got all my details, you've frozen the card. I gotta go home and meet my family and head to the airport. I'll call you back on the after-hours number once I'm through security, all right?"

He was frustrated, but that was his problem. I hung up, got my sandwich, went to the airport, and we checked in. It was total chaos: an Alaska Air 737 Max had just lost its door-plug in mid-air and every Max in every airline's fleet had been grounded, so the check in was crammed with people trying to rebook. We got through to the gate and I sat down to call the CU's after-hours line. The person on the other end told me that she could only handle lost and stolen cards, not fraud, and given that I'd already frozen the card, I should just drop by the branch on Monday to get a new card.

We flew home, and later the next day, I logged into my account and made a list of all the fraudulent transactions and printed them out, and on Monday morning, I drove to the bank to deal with all the paperwork. The folks at the CU were even more pissed than I was. The fraud that run up to more than $8,000, and if Visa refused to take it out of the merchants where the card had been used, my little credit union would have to eat the loss.

I agreed and commiserated. I also pointed out that their outsource, after-hours fraud center bore some blame here: I'd canceled the card on Saturday but most of the fraud had taken place on Sunday. Something had gone wrong.

One cool thing about banking at a tiny credit-union is that you end up talking to people who have actual authority, responsibility and agency. It turned out the the woman who was processing my fraud paperwork was a VP, and she decided to look into it. A few minutes later she came back and told me that the fraud center had no record of having called me on Saturday.

"That was the fraudster," she said.

Oh, shit. I frantically rewound my conversation, trying to figure out if this could possibly be true. I hadn't given him anything apart from some very anodyne info, like what city I live in (which is in my Wikipedia entry), my date of birth (ditto), and the last four digits of my card.

Wait a sec.

He hadn't asked for the last four digits. He'd asked for the last seven digits. At the time, I'd found that very frustrating, but now – "The first nine digits are the same for every card you issue, right?" I asked the VP.

I'd given him my entire card number.

Goddammit.

The thing is, I know a lot about fraud. I'm writing an entire series of novels about this kind of scam:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

And most summers, I go to Defcon, and I always go to the "social engineering" competitions where an audience listens as a hacker in a soundproof booth cold-calls merchants (with the owner's permission) and tries to con whoever answers the phone into giving up important information.

But I'd been conned.

Now look, I knew I could be conned. I'd been conned before, 13 years ago, by a Twitter worm that successfully phished out of my password via DM:

https://locusmag.com/2010/05/cory-doctorow-persistence-pays-parasites/

That scam had required a miracle of timing. It started the day before, when I'd reset my phone to factory defaults and reinstalled all my apps. That same day, I'd published two big online features that a lot of people were talking about. The next morning, we were late getting out of the house, so by the time my wife and I dropped the kid at daycare and went to the coffee shop, it had a long line. Rather than wait in line with me, my wife sat down to read a newspaper, and so I pulled out my phone and found a Twitter DM from a friend asking "is this you?" with a URL.

Assuming this was something to do with those articles I'd published the day before, I clicked the link and got prompted for my Twitter login again. This had been happening all day because I'd done that mobile reinstall the day before and all my stored passwords had been wiped. I entered it but the page timed out. By that time, the coffees were ready. We sat and chatted for a bit, then went our own ways.

I was on my way to the office when I checked my phone again. I had a whole string of DMs from other friends. Each one read "is this you?" and had a URL.

Oh, shit, I'd been phished.

If I hadn't reinstalled my mobile OS the day before. If I hadn't published a pair of big articles the day before. If we hadn't been late getting out the door. If we had been a little more late getting out the door (so that I'd have seen the multiple DMs, which would have tipped me off).

There's a name for this in security circles: "Swiss-cheese security." Imagine multiple slices of Swiss cheese all stacked up, the holes in one slice blocked by the slice below it. All the slices move around and every now and again, a hole opens up that goes all the way through the stack. Zap!

The fraudster who tricked me out of my credit card number had Swiss cheese security on his side. Yes, he spoofed my bank's caller ID, but that wouldn't have been enough to fool me if I hadn't been on vacation, having just used a pair of dodgy ATMs, in a hurry and distracted. If the 737 Max disaster hadn't happened that day and I'd had more time at the gate, I'd have called my bank back. If my bank didn't use a slightly crappy outsource/out-of-hours fraud center that I'd already had sub-par experiences with. If, if, if.

The next Friday night, at 5:30PM, the fraudster called me back, pretending to be the bank's after-hours center. He told me my card had been compromised again. But: I hadn't removed my card from my wallet since I'd had it replaced. Also, it was half an hour after the bank closed for the long weekend, a very fraud-friendly time. And when I told him I'd call him back and asked for the after-hours fraud number, he got very threatening and warned me that because I'd now been notified about the fraud that any losses the bank suffered after I hung up the phone without completing the fraud protocol would be billed to me. I hung up on him. He called me back immediately. I hung up on him again and put my phone into do-not-disturb.

The following Tuesday, I called my bank and spoke to their head of risk-management. I went through everything I'd figured out about the fraudsters, and she told me that credit unions across America were being hit by this scam, by fraudsters who somehow knew CU customers' phone numbers and names, and which CU they banked at. This was key: my phone number is a reasonably well-kept secret. You can get it by spending money with Equifax or another nonconsensual doxing giant, but you can't just google it or get it at any of the free services. The fact that the fraudsters knew where I banked, knew my name, and had my phone number had really caused me to let down my guard.

The risk management person and I talked about how the credit union could mitigate this attack: for example, by better-training the after-hours card-loss staff to be on the alert for calls from people who had been contacted about supposed card fraud. We also went through the confusing phone-menu that had funneled me to the wrong department when I called in, and worked through alternate wording for the menu system that would be clearer (this is the best part about banking with a small CU – you can talk directly to the responsible person and have a productive discussion!). I even convinced her to buy a ticket to next summer's Defcon to attend the social engineering competitions.

There's a leak somewhere in the CU systems' supply chain. Maybe it's Zelle, or the small number of corresponding banks that CUs rely on for SWIFT transaction forwarding. Maybe it's even those after-hours fraud/card-loss centers. But all across the USA, CU customers are getting calls with spoofed caller IDs from fraudsters who know their registered phone numbers and where they bank.

I've been mulling this over for most of a month now, and one thing has really been eating at me: the way that AI is going to make this kind of problem much worse.

Not because AI is going to commit fraud, though.

One of the truest things I know about AI is: "we're nowhere near a place where bots can steal your job, we're certainly at the point where your boss can be suckered into firing you and replacing you with a bot that fails at doing your job":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

I trusted this fraudster specifically because I knew that the outsource, out-of-hours contractors my bank uses have crummy headsets, don't know how to pronounce my bank's name, and have long-ass, tedious, and pointless standardized questionnaires they run through when taking fraud reports. All of this created cover for the fraudster, whose plausibility was enhanced by the rough edges in his pitch - they didn't raise red flags.

As this kind of fraud reporting and fraud contacting is increasingly outsourced to AI, bank customers will be conditioned to dealing with semi-automated systems that make stupid mistakes, force you to repeat yourself, ask you questions they should already know the answers to, and so on. In other words, AI will groom bank customers to be phishing victims.

This is a mistake the finance sector keeps making. 15 years ago, Ben Laurie excoriated the UK banks for their "Verified By Visa" system, which validated credit card transactions by taking users to a third party site and requiring them to re-enter parts of their password there:

https://web.archive.org/web/20090331094020/http://www.links.org/?p=591

This is exactly how a phishing attack works. As Laurie pointed out, this was the banks training their customers to be phished.

I came close to getting phished again today, as it happens. I got back from Berlin on Friday and my suitcase was damaged in transit. I've been dealing with the airline, which means I've really been dealing with their third-party, outsource luggage-damage service. They have a terrible website, their emails are incoherent, and they officiously demand the same information over and over again.

This morning, I got a scam email asking me for more information to complete my damaged luggage claim. It was a terrible email, from a noreply@ email address, and it was vague, officious, and dishearteningly bureaucratic. For just a moment, my finger hovered over the phishing link, and then I looked a little closer.

On any other day, it wouldn't have had a chance. Today – right after I had my luggage wrecked, while I'm still jetlagged, and after days of dealing with my airline's terrible outsource partner – it almost worked.

So much fraud is a Swiss-cheese attack, and while companies can't close all the holes, they can stop creating new ones.

Meanwhile, I'll continue to post about it whenever I get scammed. I find the inner workings of scams to be fascinating, and it's also important to remind people that everyone is vulnerable sometimes, and scammers are willing to try endless variations until an attack lands at just the right place, at just the right time, in just the right way. If you think you can't get scammed, that makes you especially vulnerable:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/24/passive-income/#swiss-cheese-security

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #social engineering #phishing #ai #swiss cheese security #infosec #finance #fraud #carding

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melminli · 6 months ago

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Ddakji Man

summery - you were always struggling to make ends meet, despite having three separate jobs and you doubted that that would ever change. it felt like you were working out of your own casket and it would probably be more sustainable to invest in one at this point.

pairing: (gong yoo/ji-cheol) the salesman x fem. reader

word count: 1.5k

contains: slight arguing, cursing but nothing too graphic tbh

"Are you sure that you don't want to come?" One of your friends asked you a little sadly since you were about to leave the group. They rarely got to see you anyway, did you have to leave so early? "You never come with us when we go out for a drink, we miss you there, you know?"

You smiled a little tiredly as you strolled casually through the streets. "I'm sorry guys, I just have to work tonight." you tried to explain. Besides, I'm fucking tired and just want to get some sleep before then. I miss my bed.

Your best friend pouted as she hugged you from the side and you welcomed it, even if it made walking a little more difficult. "It's always work this work that. Live a little for once, all this stress is not good for you. You need a break." she spoke up before a thought came into her mind that made her a little furious. "Don't tell me that you're using work as an excuse to cancel on us. We can do something else if you want to. I'll even invite you, come on!"

You took a tired breath. I don't have any energy for this. "Trust me, I'd love nothing more than to get drunk with you and I'm not being sarcastic or anything." you clarified. Besides, I wouldn't work this much if I didn't have to.

"All right." she gave in unhappy. "We'll catch you one of these days, I can feel it..."

You laughed softly. "Please do," you replied and stopped in front of the stairs that led to the subway. This was the place where you had to part ways with the others and you did with a few more hugs. You enjoyed spending time with them and loved your friends with all your heart, but you were still happy to be a bit on your own now.

So you plugged in your cable headphones and played your current favorite song at the loudest volume before checking when the next train was going to arrive. Another twenty minutes? The last one must have just left. You decided to just sit down on a bench and wait while staring blankly around and quietly mumbling the lyrics to yourself.

A few minutes later, a person sat down next to you and you could see out of the corner of your eye that it was probably some kind of businessman or something. You didn't look closely out of politeness and turned your gaze somewhere else after checking the time on your phone.

"Excuse me." the unknown man tried to get your attention, but as expected, you could barely hear him over the booming music. He placed his briefcase in the space between you before leaning closer to your figure and looking towards you with a smile and finally, you seemed to notice his stare and turned in his direction. You took out one of your earbuds as you met his gaze. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

The man leaned back again. "I haven't said anything yet. I wanted to ask if I could talk to you, do you have a moment?"

You looked around a little uncomfortably as he maintained uninterrupted eye contact with you. "Ehm, well..." you stumbled slightly over your words. "I'm not religious or anything, sorry," you replied, having no patience for another discourse about Jesus and the church. This is the fourth time this week, lucky me. You thought to yourself as you were about to put your earplug back in.

The salesman held a hand in the air to stop you from doing that to keep your attention. You just looked at him uninterestedly and waited, it was going to be a while before your train arrived anyway. A smile graced his face after you were willing to listen to him again. "That's not what I wanted to talk about, I just want to offer you a chance."

Your face tightened a little in disgust and you were quite irritated by now. He seemed to be waiting for some kind of answer and didn't say anything else, so you had no choice but to interpret his words. He doesn't look like that kind of guy, but I guess it's always the ones who look the most decent. "Listen to me asshole," you said openly this time, all politeness gone as you pointed at his chest with your index finger. "I don't know you, maybe you're one of those men who try to talk in riddles to seem mysterious or something, but right now it just sounds like you're looking for someone cheap to fuck." you replied as you tapped his tie with each syllable and leaned a little closer to him as you whispered. "And I'm not cheap, so you might want to look elsewhere."

This time it was you who grinned as he looked at you in surprise and he let out a small grunt after you finished your sentence. The salesman straightened his tie while watching your figure before reaching for his briefcase and revealing its contents, "That's too bad, but also not what I was talking about," he replied as you looked at the money and colored paper in confusion. "Have you ever played Ddakji?" He asked you as he took out the red and blue paper. You just shook your head. "That's no problem at all, we can still play it if you're up for it."

Your gaze alternated from his hand to his face. Oh, so he's crazy. You finally concluded. I guess he is too handsome to be just a normal guy, huh. You turned your head away from him, something about the whole thing just seemed perverse to you. "No thanks, I'll pass."

"You sure?" He asked again, knowing he'd convinced you as soon as he brought the money into it. These people are all the same, she'll snatch the paper right out of my hands after I start talking a language she understands. "Every time you win, you get 100,000 won from me." He began, watching the look on your face. "But if I win, you owe me 100,000 won and -"

You sighed and interrupted him. "Yes, I'm sure. I still don't want to play with you, okay?"

This time the man looked at you with a cold, icy stare. A few minutes passed like this and you just tried to ignore his gaze, but then he started talking again. "All right. 200,000 won." he finally said, but couldn't seem to get your attention back. He tried again. "Is it because you've never played the game before? We can have a practice round if that would make you feel more comfortable." he tried again and got irritated when you continued to ignore him. He looked around the area as he considered his next move. Is she waiting for me to increase the prize money further? These people usually jump up happily at the first amount since they're so desperate. He tried to collect himself again. "500,000 won." he finally said. "I've got the money right here, you just have to go for it."

When is this stupid train coming. "Look, I don't want your fucking money, understand? I'm not a gambling addict or -"

"You may not want it, but you need it," he said, annoyed. This has never happened before, is she stupid? He then spoke out your name and described your miserable living situation as if you didn't already know about it yourself. "You also have quite a lot of debt for someone who is still relatively young, are you seriously going to turn down the money I'm offering you? For what, to prove a point or something?"

You didn't know what this man's fucking problem was, he should be glad that you didn't want to take his money, and how did he even know all this? You got up from your seat next to him when the train finally arrived and turned to face him one last time. "Fuck you," you told him and then went to the doors. You even looked out of the window at him as soon as they closed before you, to show him your the middle finger.

The man in the suit watched your figure irritated until it was gone and then, took the little card out of the inside pocket of his suit, that was meant for you. He turned it over a few times in his hand before closing the open briefcase with his other one. He had already played and lost a few Ddakji games in his life, which was the point of the whole thing - to recruit players for the actual game. However, the thought of what awaited them there meant that he was still in control of the situation. He was always in control of the situation. "I didn't loose, we haven't even played." he tried to reassure himself.

And yet the whole conversation with you left him feeling like he was utterly defeated.

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purplereina11 · 15 days ago

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Part 2

You spent your childhood drifting through foster homes, with nothing but a worn photo of two little girls and a note on the back: Your sisters, Alexia and Alba. You never imagined that at 25, after starting a new job, you'd meet them, through your boss who was your sister's girlfriend.

Word count: 11k

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The office is still when you arrive, early sunlight filtering through the blinds, casting soft gold stripes across the floor. You set your bag down, plug in your laptop, and sit for a moment in the silence just breathing.

You’re not sure what today will bring, you’re halfway through replying to an email when you hear the click of the front door.

Olga’s balancing two coffees and a paper bag from that little place she knows you love but never ask for. She glances at you, eyes scanning your face for something she’s clearly already read in your posture. She sets everything down at your desk before heading to her own without a word.

You blink at the coffee then the croissant and spot the note under the napkin.

Eat. I know you probably haven’t yet. — O x

Your throat tightens, she’s typing already, a headphone in one ear, hair still a little damp from the shower, clearly focused on her task, but she glances at you just once over the rim of her screen, a soft kind of check-in that doesn’t require words.

You tear off a bit of croissant, begin to chew. “Thanks.”

She doesn’t look up, just murmurs, “You don’t have to thank me.” A beat passes. “You look rested.”

You smile a little. “I laughed a lot last night.”

That gets her attention, she looks up, really looks at you. There’s warmth there but more than that, a calm relief “With them?” she asks and you simply nod. Olga’s mouth curves into a quiet smile. “Good.”

You take a sip of coffee. Then ask, “You okay?”

She pauses before answering, “I am now.” Olga smiles softly. “I like when you laugh,” she says, like it’s not a big deal, like it hasn’t just quietly set your whole morning aglow.

You look down, cheeks warm. “I like when you don’t pretend to be scary.”

She laughs under her breath. “I’m terrifying, don’t ruin the brand.”

You laugh too and just like that, everything’s a little easier.

There’s so much behind that, and you both know it but neither of you push. You both work, emails, graphics, campaign planning it's ordinary, comforting and through it all, there’s a thread of something stronger than routine. A kind of bond forged in chaos and kept alive by every moment like this.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

Wednesday mornings always carry a certain energy. Alexia’s energy.

She arrives like a breeze that leaves the door open behind her, a reusable cup in one hand and her gym bag slung over one shoulder. She’s already halfway into a story about training before she even rounds the corner into the main office. “—and then Mapi slipped, blamed the floor, but literally no one else had fallen all morning,” she grins. “She’s going to be unbearable about it all week.”

Olga’s smile is soft, automatic. “Tell her I said to be careful. I’m not designing another injury post.”

Alexia chuckles, then her eyes find you. “Hey, you.” She gives you that now familiar smile, something warm, tentative, like a thread trying to strengthen itself between two people still learning how to be.

“Hey,” you manage your voice doesn’t match hers, not quite. You’re smiling, but your hands twist your pen a little tighter than they need to.

Alexia drops into one of the spare chairs near Olga’s desk, bouncing slightly with excitement. “So, mamá’s doing dinner Friday. Proper dinner tablecloth and all and no one’s allowed to cancel, I’ve decided.”

Olga smiles again, but it flickers. She’s looking at you now. You nod faintly. “That’s… nice.”

“Yeah,” Alexia says brightly. “It’ll be all of us. You, me, Alba, Mamá. Maybe even a little cava if we behave.”

You laugh softly, but it’s quiet, your eyes drop to your notebook. Olga catches it. Sees the way your shoulders don’t quite settle, the nervous twitch at the corner of your mouth. So she jumps in ever so gently.

“Y/N,” she says, casually, like she’s only just remembered. “Didn’t you say you had plans with Patri that night?”

Your head snaps up, eyes flicking to her. Olga’s face is calm and neutral, but her eyes are soft and searching. You pause long enough that Alexia notices. She looks between the two of you, something cautious knitting behind her eyes. "Erm..." You swallow. “I… might. I don’t know yet.”

Alexia’s smile falters just a fraction. “Oh. Okay. Well, if you can make it, it would be… good.”

There’s so much in her voice that you can’t carry today. You nod. “I’ll let you know?”

Alexia nods too, just once. “Yeah. Sure.”

She rises again with that same energy she walked in with, but it doesn’t quite bounce the same. She kisses Olga on the lips, waves to you, and disappears in a rustle of fabric and keys. In the silence you let out a breath you hadn’t meant to hold, Olga doesn’t look at you right away. She starts typing, deliberate, before saying gently, “You don’t have to go if it’s too much.”

You nod, then shake your head. “I want to.” She looks at you, turning her chair to face you, “I’m just scared.”

Olga’s voice is soft. “I know.” She's up from her chair mug in hand, you go back to work, but not before she reaches over just briefly as she passes and gives your wrist the gentlest squeeze.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

Patri’s cart has only three things in it, and you’ve already done two laps of the supermarket. “I swear we passed the tortillas like five times,” you mumble, toeing along behind her as she backtracks, again.

“That’s because I wasn’t sure if I wanted soft or crunchy,” she says, barely glancing at you over her shoulder, then adds with a grin, “And now I’m sure I want both.”

You shake your head, watching her compare packets like she’s making a life-altering decision.

The cart squeaks when you push it after she abandoned it in the middle of the aisle. She doesn’t notice, or maybe she does and has no regard for anyone else to engrossed in her tortilla choosing.

You trail her into the next aisle, a row of cereals on one side and a wall of jams and spreads on the other. You lean your elbows on the cart, watching her scan labels. “I’m supposed to go to dinner with them Friday.”

She turns halfway, a box of oats in her hand. “Your sisters?”

You nod. “Alexia invited me like it’s the most normal thing in the world.” You pause. “It probably is.”

Patri doesn’t say anything right away. Just gives you a soft look and sets the oats into the cart like they’re breakable. “You going?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. I want to.”

“You don’t sound like you want to.”

“I do. I just—” You blow out a breath and push the cart forward a little. “It feels like if I sit at that table, I’m saying yes to something I’m not sure I know how to be part of.”

Patri turns, leaning on the handle in front of you, her expression gentle. “You’re not saying yes to knowing how to do it. You’re just saying yes to trying.” You meet her eyes, uncertain, she smiles, softer now. “That’s all they’re asking of you.”

You blink fast and look down. “I’m scared I won’t be what they want me to be.”

Patri steps closer, brushing your hand with hers. “Maybe try being what you want to be. Let them figure the rest out.” You nod slowly, the weight of it still heavy but less suffocating in her presence. She pulls you forward by the cart, just enough to make you walk again. “Now help me pick salsa. I’ve been burned before.”

You smirk. “You mean that time you cried over a medium?”

She gasps. “It lied to me!”

You laugh and somehow the aisle feels a little lighter, like maybe you’re already figuring out how to do this. You cuddle up beside her, "What about extra mild for the sensitive midfielder?"

"You're pushing your luck"

You tap her ass as you move away back to the cart, "You love it"

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

Your phone buzzes on the kitchen counter, screen lighting up as you close the fridge door with your foot. You almost ignore it, assuming it’s Patri asking if you want to come over after training, but it isn’t.

The notification makes you stop.

New Group: Hermanitas 💜

You stare at the name for a second before opening it and there’s a wave of messages already waiting.

Alexia: i was talking to alba earlier 💬

Alexia: we were thinking…

Alexia: if it helps you feel more comfortable maybe you could bring Patri to dinner? and i’ll bring Olga too?

Alba: only if it’s not weird tho

Alba: like if it makes it worse then ignore us 😅

Alexia: but also you know

Alexia: less pressure maybe

Alexia: more wine

Alexia: more distractions

Alexia: less weird staring from our mamá 👀

Your hand rests on the counter, reading the messages once, then again. You know what Alexia’s doing. You can feel it in every word the careful way she’s reaching, the way she’s making it about options and comfort and not forcing anything. It’s not subtle, but it’s kind, even if it's clearly been orchestrated by Olga.

You thumb out a reply before you can think too much:

You: i think that sounds… actually really nice, thank you 🫂

Alba: ok but like

Alba: not weird couple stuff in front of me

Alba: i’m still adjusting 😭

Alba: I now know how Alexia felt with me

Alexia: you’re the worst

You: 😂 no promises

You surprise yourself… you're not dreading dinner. You’re looking forward to it, even if it is just a little bit.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

Patri’s apartment is a mess of hair tools, half-dried laundry, and open drawers by the time you settle in front of her mirror again. She stands behind you, toothbrush in her mouth, watching you fuss with your hair for the fourth time. “You look fine,” she says, the words muffled through foam.

You glance at her reflection. “You’re saying that while you’re foaming like a rabid dog. I can’t take you seriously.”

She smirks, rolls her eyes, and disappears back into the bathroom. You breathe out, reaching for your earring the second one shakes in your hand. You're not even sure why you’re this nervous, it’s not your first dinner with them, but it’s the first where you’re walking into a place that didn't feel neutral ground. You’re walking in with Patri, with someone who knows you, there's something terrifying about being known by two different parts of your life at once.

Patri returns a moment later, drying her hands, already dressed loose black trousers, simple white tee, chain necklace. No fuss, just her, effortlessly cool, your comfort zone. She steps up behind you again and rests her hands on your shoulders, you meet her eyes in the mirror.

“You okay?” she asks, quieter now.

You nod. Then shrug. “Mostly. Just… don’t want to mess it up.”

She leans in, presses her lips to your cheek. “You won’t.” You turn your face just a little, catching her mouth halfway, and kiss her back, slow and gentle. She smiles into it, “Besides,” she murmurs, lips brushing yours, “if anyone’s going to embarrass you, it’s definitely going to be me.”

You laugh. “I don’t doubt it.”

She grins and grabs your jacket from the bed, holding it up for you. “Come on then, baby sister. Let’s go meet the wolves.”

You narrow your eyes as you slip your arms in. “Don’t call them that. They’re already protective enough.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” she winks.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The house smells like garlic and roasted peppers. There’s music playing low from a speaker in the kitchen, and Alba’s already poured a glass of wine you’re not sure you’re ready for.

You and Patri arrive five minutes early, but somehow the house is already loud with conversation and laughter. Olga greets you first with a soft smile and a one-armed hug. She’s calm tonight, tucked close to Alexia like always, her presence grounding. Alexia, on the other hand, has her game face on smirk locked in place, eyes full of mischief.

She sees Patri step in behind you, and with all the dramatic flair of a footballer taking the pitch, she plants her feet, throws her shoulders back, and juts out her chest. “So,” she says, voice teasing, “you’re the girl dating my little sister.”

Patri just rolls her eyes, already used to her long-time teammate’s antics. “Do I need to give a what are my intentions speech before or after dinner?” she fires back.

Alexia lets out a laugh and drapes her arm around Olga, grinning. “Just know if you break her heart, you’re benched for life.”

Alba mutters from the kitchen, “I said I’d do worse.”

You make a strangled noise in your throat. “You’re all terrifying.”

“We’re family,” Olga says sweetly. “It’s basically the same thing.”

Everyone laughs even you and somehow that breaks the tension enough for the dinner to feel real. You sit beside Patri who, despite herself, leans her shoulder into yours once the food’s been passed around. Alexia takes the opposite end of the table, but you catch her watching you sometimes not suspiciously, not protectively, just curiously.

Patri reaches for your hand under the table once you squeeze back, “You okay?” she whispers, leaning close.

You nod. “Actually… yeah.”

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

Plates are nearly clean, and a third bottle of wine has been opened. The room is buzzing with a warmth not just from the alcohol, but from the laughter, the low music, the way things feel possible tonight.

Alba leans back in her chair, eyeing you over the rim of her glass, “So…” she begins, drawing out the word like she’s testing the water. “You and Patri.”

You feel your cheeks warm before she even asks anything else. Patri quirks a brow and gives her a mock warning look. “Don’t start.”

Alba ignores it completely. “No, seriously. I’m just curious. Like, how did that even happen? You’re so quiet, and Patri’s…” She waves a vague hand. “...Patri.”

Patri pretends to be offended. “What does that mean?”

“Loud,” Alexia offers from across the table, grinning.

“Fearless,” Eli adds, smiling into her wine.

“Annoying,” Alba finishes, smirking as she looks back to you.

You laugh softly, your fingers brushing against Patri’s on your lap beneath the table. “We met in a bar, actually.”

Alba’s eyes widen. “Seriously?”

Patri nods, shrugging casually. “She spilled her drink on me.”

You cringe. “It was one drink.”

“She was so awkward about it I had to buy her a replacement.” Patri nudges your shoulder. “I didn’t even know your name, but you blushed so hard I thought your face would combust.”

Olga grins. “That tracks.”

Alexia sips her wine. “Did you know who she was?”

You shake your head. “No. I mean, I knew the name Patri Guijarro because a friend of mine goes your games, but not her face. Not in the moment though, I was too busy apologising to death.”

Alba laughs, then tilts her head, suddenly more sincere. “So… is it serious?”

You look at Patri, Patri looks at you and she’s the one who says it. “Yeah. It is.”

The table goes quiet for a moment, but not tense just still Alba smiles then, a bit softer. “Good. Because if you hurt her, I will absolutely ruin your life.”

Everyone laughs even Patri, even Alexia, even you but there's a weight to it too. A sincerity beneath the humour. You glance at Alba. “I don't doubt that.”

Alba meets your eyes and nods. “Yeah. I can tell.”

Alexia’s talking football with Olga at the other end who looks bored to death, and clearly she’s only half-listening, her eyes flicking over to your side of the table every so often.

Patri’s watching you, her cheek propped on her knuckles, eyes soft and full. Then she says it, casual but laced with a kind of wonder, "It’s funny, you know… I saw you every week in that bar for weeks and couldn’t build up the courage to speak to you."

You turn to her, a smile already pulling at your lips, the kind that happens without trying the kind only she gets from you. "I know," you say softly, amused. "Your friend Salma told me. Weeks before I spilled that drink on you."

Patri’s eyes widen. "Wait — what?"

You laugh and lean in a little, like it’s a secret meant just for her, "Salma told me you’d been coming in just to see if I was there… but that you didn’t have the guts to talk to me." You lick your lip, "We had a bet going"

"A bet?" Patri sat up

You nodded, "How long it would take you to make a move, I won"

"How much?"

"100 euro"

Patri nodded seemingly impressed, "Nice"

"I bought that jacket of mine you think I haven't noticed you've stole"

"Can we rewind" Olga waves her hand about, "Patri, you were nervous of Y/N?"

Alba snorts into her wine. Alexia, clearly now fully listening, makes a loud, mock gasp. "Patri Guijarro, nervous?!"

Patri groans, sliding down in her chair as she mutters, "I’m never going to live this down."

You nudge her knee with yours, still grinning. "Hey, at least I spilled a drink on the right girl."

Olga, watching the way you look at each other, murmurs just loud enough, “You really did.”

Patri smiles like she doesn’t quite know what to do with herself. You can tell by the way her fingers brush yours again featherlight, like a question she's already sure of the answer to.

Alba looks between you two, then sighs dramatically. "Gross. I want it. But gross."

Alexia raises her glass. "To nice jackets, accidents, and overly dramatic footballers."

You raise yours, laughing, the glasses clink.

You notice Eli had made her exit part way through the conversation, as you moved through the home after excusing yourself, the laughter softened into background noise, the sound of wine being poured replaced by the scrape of cutlery being cleared and stacked. You slip into the kitchen without really thinking about it, drawn by the clink of plates and the low hum of the tap running.

Eli’s at the sink, alone, she doesn’t look up when you step in but you see the way her shoulders tense, the slight hesitation in her hands as she rinses a dish and places it gently in the rack.

You hover for a moment, "Do you want some help?"

She glances sideways, caught off guard, but nods, "If you don’t mind drying."

You grab a clean towel and take your place beside her. The silence is thick but not heavy, just careful. You dry slowly, matching her pace.

"Dinner was really good," you say. "The potatoes especially. Who made them?"

Eli lets out a quiet, almost embarrassed laugh. "That was me. It’s Alexia’s favorite. She always insists I make them whenever we do family dinners."

You smile, placing a plate down gently. "I get it. They were incredible. Comfort food."

She nods, focusing on the next dish. "She used to help me peel them when she was little. Always ended up with more potato on the floor than in the pot."

You glance at her hands older now, but steady. You wonder if they were the same hands that once buttoned your baby clothes, even for just a few short moments. You want to ask her everything. Why she didn’t try to keep you. Why she never tried to find you. Why it feels like she’s afraid to look directly at you now, but you don’t. "I do that too. Fidget when I’m anxious. You were doing it at the table your hands, they kind of… circle each other." She pauses and looks at you. "I thought it was something I picked up at the children’s home. But now I wonder if it’s just... you."

Her eyes shine not quite tears, not yet, but there's weight behind them. Emotion pressed down, for now. She swallows, "You noticed that?"

You nod, "I notice a lot of things. Especially things that feel familiar."

She doesn’t say anything for a moment, just places the mug down, steadies herself, "Thank you for helping."

"Anytime," you say and mean it.

"Would you, would you maybe be open to us spending time together, just you and I?"

You nod, "I would"

Eli nods just the once, "Ok" You don't plan anything with her in that moment but its seems it was enough for her in that moment.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The night air is cooler than you expected, brushing against your skin as you and Patri walk side by side, hands almost but not quite touching. She’s quiet, too quiet, you glance over at her a few times, but she keeps her eyes ahead, jaw tight, her pace just a bit too quick for it to be casual.

Finally, you say it. "You okay?"

She stops, not dramatically, just stops.

You turn to face her, brows furrowing, the quiet suddenly louder between you. "What’s going on?"

She shifts her weight, runs a hand through her hair, "Alexia and Alba talked to me."

You freeze. "Okay...?"

She looks at you now, finally but her expression is unreadable. "About us. About… how we haven’t slept together."

Your stomach drops, "What—how did that even—"

"You told them," she cuts in. "You told them something private. Something personal. About me. About us."

"It wasn’t like that," you say quickly, voice shaky. "It just came up. They were being, sisters. Asking questions. I didn’t mean to—"

"But you did," she says, voice rising. "You’ve known them five fucking minutes and you're already telling them things that are really fucking personal?!"

Your eyes sting, you take a step back, "It wasn’t malicious. I was just… trying to connect. Everything’s moving so fast and I—"

She laughs once, bitter and breathless. "Yeah, well, I feel like an idiot now. Standing here, finding out from your sisters that you’re apparently frustrated with how slow I’ve been.

You wince. "That’s not what I said. Patri, I care about you. I wasn’t complaining—"

"You embarrassed me." Her voice breaks a little. Not loud. Just raw. "You made me feel small." Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out, she shakes her head. "I thought I was being respectful. Thought I was giving you space. Turns out I was just giving you something to joke about with your new family. She's my friend man, I've known her years, she's my fucking captain!"

You feel the tears hit before you even realise they’re falling. "That’s not fair," you whisper. "You’re twisting this. I didn’t mock you. I’ve never mocked you."

But Patri is already turning away, "I need to go."

"Patri—" She doesn’t look back. You’re left standing under a flickering streetlight, your breath catching in your throat, the sound of her footsteps fading fast into the dark.

You don’t know how long you’ve been walking not really. The air stings your face now, dried tear tracks tight against your skin, footsteps slow and aimless.

You’re still trying to catch your breath when headlights glide up behind you, soft and golden. A car slows and a window rolls down.

"Hey!" It’s Alexia, her voice is too casual, too cheerful like she doesn’t know the world just came crashing down on top of you. You glance over. She’s in the driver’s seat, Olga sits beside her in the front, and Alba peers out from the backseat, concern etched into all their faces. "Thought Patri was walking you home?" Alexia calls.

You stop walking, you feel everything in your body lock into place, your jaw, your spine, your fists. "She was" You give them a look turn and start walking again.

You heard her car start up again and she pulled back along side you, "Y/N Stop, talk to-"

"Are you serious right now?" you snap, your voice slicing through the night. "You thought this was a good time for a chat?"

Alexia blinks. "Wait, what—"

"Of course you thought it was fine!" you yell. "Because everything is always fine for you, isn’t it? You get to be the golden girl the football star, the daughter Eli kept, the sister everyone loves."

Olga opens her mouth like she might say something, but one glance from you silences her.

"You and your whole perfect family keep blowing my life apart. You just waltz in like I should be grateful. Like I should fall to my knees because I finally have a family who want me now that I’m not an inconvenience anymore."

You see Alba flinch in the back seat, her eyes wide, but you’re not done. You take a shaking breath, stepping closer to the window, to Alexia.

"Do you even know what it’s like to spend your whole life wondering why no one came back for you? To look in the mirror and not know a single damn thing about who you are?"

Alexia looks dumbfounded, "What have I done?"

“Don’t play dumb,” you snap, your voice rising fast. “You told her what I said. About us not sleeping together. That was private, Alexia. That was between me you and Alba.”

You shake your head, stepping closer.

“You embarrassed her. You humiliated me. And for what? A laugh? Some bonding moment with your actual sister at our expense?”

She opens her mouth guilt written all over her face but you’re not interested in apologies.

“How am I supposed to trust you after that? You don’t get it, do you?” you say, eyes blazing. “I’ve never had people. Never had someone to protect my secrets, my heart and I let you in. I let all of you in and in five minutes, you’ve already broken something that meant something to me.”

No one says a word, even Alba who usually has something snarky or sharp on hand is silent. Olga’s lips part, but you look at her, and she falls quiet too.

“You and your perfect, shiny family come crashing into my life like you’re doing me a favour,” you go on, voice cracking now. “Like you saving me from loneliness excuses the fact that I was abandoned in the first place.”

You suck in a breath, barely holding it together.

“Do you even understand what it’s like to grow up not knowing why you weren’t wanted? To find out years later that the people you needed weren’t dead, or missing they were just living their lives without you? Cast aside, not spoken of again like you didn't matter”

Alexia flinches and then you deliver the final blow.

“I wish I never found out you were my sister because the reality of knowing you is worse than not.”

You see her shoulders drop, like the air’s been pulled out of her, Olga’s hand subtly reaches for hers, grounding her but you’re already walking.

Toward the alley just ahead dark, narrow, the kind of space a car couldn’t follow through.

“Y/N—” Alexia calls behind you, voice softer now, please in her tone, but you don’t stop.

“Just leave me alone.” And then you’re gone.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The locker room hums with pre-training chatter. Boots clatter against tile, lockers slam, and the familiar sounds of music and laughter bounce off the walls. Alexia sits on the bench, tugging her boots on, her mind only half in the room. Her phone buzzes against the metal beside her, she glances down at the screen.

Olga 💬 Incoming Call

She frowns and quickly answers. "Hey, what’s up?"

Olga’s voice is tight. "Has Y/N texted you? Called? Anything?"

Alexia straightens. "No. Why?"

"She didn’t show up to work this morning," Olga says, voice quiet but tense. "I figured maybe she needed space, after… everything last night, but she’s not answering her phone. I’ve text, called and getting nothing."

That gets Alexia’s full attention, she stands, moving toward the corner of the locker room for privacy. "You’re serious?"

"Dead serious," Olga says. "I’ve never known her to just… not show. And after how upset she was"

Alexia bites her lip, eyes scanning the room instinctively. She spots Patri sitting on the far bench, quietly tying her laces, her shoulders a little stiffer than usual. "I’ll ask Patri," Alexia says quickly, she lowers the phone slightly and steps over. "Hey," she says gently. Patri looks up, wary, "Have you heard from Y/N today? Olga says she’s missing work and not answering."

Patri’s expression doesn’t change much, but something flickers behind her eyes. She shakes her head. "No. Haven’t spoken to her."

Alexia waits, but it’s clear she won’t say more. "You sure?"

Patri doesn’t flinch, but she’s quiet, measured, "Yeah. I'm sure."

Alexia nods slowly, uneasy. She steps back toward the corner and lifts the phone again. "Nothing to Patri either," she tells Olga. "She’s not getting involved, though. I think they argued."

Olga sighs through the line. "I should’ve gone after her last night. I should’ve made her come in the car. She looked… broken."

Alexia closes her eyes. "She told me she wished she’d never found out I was her sister."

There’s a pause, "We need to find her, Ale. I'm worried."

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The sun has dropped behind a massive rain cloud by the time training finishes, casting a golden haze over the city.

Alexia’s untying her boots when she hears Patri behind her “Heard from Y/N?”

Alexia turns, heart lurching with the same dread that hasn’t left her chest all day. She shakes her head. “No. Nothing. I keep checking my phone, Olga's been sat outside her apartment door all afternoon waiting for her to come home with Alba”

Patri nods slowly. Then quietly, without ego or drama, “I know where she’ll be.”

Alexia’s brows pull together. “Where?”

“Come on. I’ll take you,” Patri says. “We can grab dumb and dumber on the way.”

The car is silent as it snakes through the city. Patri’s at the wheel, Alexia riding shotgun, and Olga and Alba sit in the back, Olga clutching her bag like it’s holding her together.

No one really speaks. The weight of it all, the fear, the guilt, the silence between people who care too much and said too little fills the space.

They pull up outside the aquarium. The lights inside still glow faintly as the storm draws in, and it’s quiet, save for the gentle sound of the sea nearby.

Olga leans forward from the back seat. “Why here?”

Patri shuts off the engine. “She comes here when she’s overwhelmed. Told me once that the jellyfish calm her down. She used to sneak into the computer room after hours at the children’s home. She'd watch videos of them, said the water made her feel like she wasn’t trapped anymore.”

Alexia’s heart twists, of course she’d run to the sea when everything on land felt too heavy.

Inside, the space is quiet just the soft hum of filtered water and the rhythmic pulse of ocean light refracted through glass.

They walk slowly. Past reef tanks and luminous tunnels. It’s Olga who spots you first.

You’re seated on the floor in front of the jellyfish exhibit. Legs crossed, arms hugged around your knees, face illuminated in shifting blue light. The world has been too loud, too confusing and here, it's just water, movement, breath.

You don’t hear their footsteps at first, but something in the air shifts that makes you look over your shoulder, Alexia is already walking toward you.

She doesn’t say a word, doesn’t ask if she can, she simply lowers herself to the floor beside you, close but not touching.

You're both quietly watching the tank, then she says softly, eyes on the jellyfish “Papa liked the jellyfish too.”

You blink. She doesn’t look at you.

“He used to bring us here when we were little. Me and Alba. He said they looked like they were dreaming, like they floated between worlds.”

Her voice wavers a little. Still calm, but deep with memory.

“After he died… I couldn’t see a jellyfish without thinking of him”

You say nothing, but your shoulders relax just a fraction, your fingers uncurl slightly on your knee Alexia finally turns her head toward you.

“I’m sorry.”

You glance at her. She holds your gaze now.

“I shouldn’t have told Patri what you said. That was yours and I shouldn't have brought that up with her, it was out of line, I want to treat you as what you are, my sister, but I need to remember how overwhelming it is for you, I don't know how to make this ok”

A long pause, then, you murmur, “Neither do I.”

Alexia breathes in slowly as she nodded, her voice is quieter still, “But I want to try. If you'll let me.”

You barely register there was someone behind you until she speaks, “Can I… have a minute with her?” Patri asks, glancing briefly at Alexia, who nods and quietly gets up, giving you space.

You’re not sure why, but your stomach twists as Patri kneels in front of you slowly, like you might shatter if she moves too quickly. Gently and without asking she reaches for your wrists. You flinch, pulling back sharply. “I didn’t do anything.”

Your voice is more defensive than you meant it to be more ashamed that she needed to check. Patri exhales, sitting back on her heels. She doesn’t say anything right away, just watches you. Not accusing, not angry just worried. “Okay,” she says softly. “Okay. I just… had to check.”

You wrap your arms around yourself and look away. You feel small again, like every bad part of you is suddenly visible, impossible to hide. “You should go,” you whisper.

She blinks. “What?”

You look at her then, voice cracking just enough to betray what’s underneath. “You should go. You deserve better than this than me.”

Patri frowns, confused, hurt. “Y/N—”

“You do,” you cut in, firmer this time. “You deserve someone better. Someone more… I don’t know. Attractive. Confident. Normal. Not this boring, broken mess.”

The silence that follows is painful, but Patri doesn’t storm off. She doesn’t argue or try to fix you with some perfect line. She just swallows, eyes glistening slightly, and whispers, “You don’t get to decide what I deserve.”

You can’t look at her, you stare at your hands. The sting of your words still hanging between you both.

Then, more quietly, she says, “Can I ask you something?” You nod, not looking at her, “Did it really bother you that much… that we haven’t had sex?”

You pause, then shrug, not because you don’t care, but because you don’t know how to explain it not properly. Patri waits. She always gives you space like that, but this time, she deserves an answer. “It’s not you,” you say quietly. “I know it’s not you.”

She turns toward you slightly. You can feel her attention on you, even as you keep your eyes on the shifting water.

“It’s me. It’s how I see myself. How I feel in my own skin.” You take a breath, then another. You hate the sound of your voice when it’s this vulnerable. “I know you’re being respectful and I love that about you, I do, but sometimes it makes me feel like… like somethings wrong with me, like I’m not good enough. Not sexy enough. Like you’re waiting for something better to come along.”

You finally turn your head to look at her, your voice barely a whisper:

“I want to feel wanted too.” There’s a long, deep quiet, "you didn't always make me feel like that"

Then Patri shifts a little closer, her eyes gentle but burning with conviction.

“You have no idea how wanted you are,” she says. “You think I’m holding back because I don’t want you?” She shakes her head. “I’m holding back because I do. So much it scares me.”

You blink fast. Her hand reaches for yours slowly, letting you be the one to close the space. You do.

“Don’t ever think for a second it’s because I don’t want you. I do. All of you. Exactly as you are.”

You lower your head placing with the laces on your shoes to keep you busy, then, Patri speaks again, her voice low but honest.

“I haven’t… initiated anything because when we do spend the night together…”

She hesitates, not out of shame, but to be careful with her words.

“…you wouldn't even get changed in front of me.”

You feel your cheeks burn, gaze dropping again. She’s not being cruel it’s not judgment. Just truth.

“So I figured…” she continues softly, “…maybe you weren’t confident in yourself yet and I didn’t want to push you or make you feel like you had to do anything just because I wanted to.” She swallows “I wanted you to want it and the only way I’d really know that… is if you were the one who started it.”

You nod slowly, the sting behind your eyes returning again, "You were right to be mad" You raise your eyes, "But I don't want you to forgive me because you think something happened to me, you need to go be mad"

"Y/N" She watches you stare back into the tank for a moment, before getting to her feet and leaving you behind.

"Well?" Olga asks

Patri sighed, "I think she just broke up with me"

"What?"

Patri shrugs holding her car keys to Alexia, "I'll walk home, take care of her make sure she gets home ok" and just like that the best thing you'd had in years walked right by you like you weren't even there.

The jellyfish glowing and silence holding the weight of everything said and unsaid clogs your mind, until the faint echo of footsteps draws your attention. You glance over as Alexia, Olga, and Alba approach slowly, uncertainly, as if afraid to disturb something fragile.

No one speaks at first, they just stand there, the soft glow of the tank casting bluish light over all of you, reflecting in eyes that still hold exhaustion and unsaid things.

Then, Alba breaks the silence. "They're funny-looking little things, aren't they?"

She squints at the jellyfish drifting behind the glass, her voice casual, even light, but you can hear the intent beneath it she's trying. You blink at her, then turn your gaze to the tank again.

"They don’t even have brains," she adds, frowning. "Just… float around bumping into stuff, somehow still alive."

"Sounds familiar," you murmur, standing up and leaving them behind, you know they're following you, but you've always been good at switching people off to you.

You move slowly toward the massive shark tank, the water dark and swirling with sleek shapes gliding silently through it.

Olga stops beside you, her eyes wide with awe. “I never realised sharks were so... graceful,” she says, watching the shadows move.

You smile softly, stepping closer to the glass. “They’re incredible creatures,” you begin, your voice steady and sure now. “Most people think they’re just mindless killers, but sharks have been around for over 400 million years. They’re apex predators, but they play a vital role in keeping the ocean’s ecosystem balanced.”

Olga leans in, clearly impressed, “Wow, I had no idea. You really know your stuff.”

You shrug, a little shy but pleased. “I’ve always been fascinated by them, their senses, how they detect electrical signals in the water, their social behaviours. It’s like they have this whole world we barely understand.”

Olga's gaze lingers on you for a moment longer, her smile soft, "You broke up with Patri?"

"I don't want to talk about it"

"Ok" Olga nodded, "Do you want us to take you home?"

"Only if you drive and I can sit in the front"

You caught the smile Olga tried to hide, you were aware how childish you sounded but she didn't need to find it funny.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The market buzzes around you the sounds of bargaining, the rustle of paper bags, the scent of spices and fresh herbs hanging in the warm air. You spot Eli before she sees you, carefully choosing tomatoes with the same quiet intensity you’ve seen in the mirror when you’re trying to steady yourself.

You walk up slowly, offering a soft, “Hi.”

She looks over seemingly genuinely pleased to see you, “Mi niña,” she says gently, setting down a tomato and reaching out to give your arm a squeeze.��“I’m glad you came.”

You fall into step beside her, letting the noise of the market fill the silences between you. It’s not awkward just tentative, like you’re both learning a rhythm neither of you ever expected to need.

A few stalls in, while she’s weighing peaches, Eli glances at you “Alexia told me what happened,” she says quietly. “About what she and Alba said to Patri.”

You swallow, suddenly fascinated by the uneven cobblestones beneath your shoes. “I didn’t mean to hurt Alexia's feelings,” you murmur.

“I know you didn’t.” Eli’s voice is steady but carries that tired weight, the one that lingers after sleepless nights. “And I want to say this to you, they were wrong for telling her. That was your story, your trust you put in them and they didn’t protect it, they want you to be their sister but they need to act like one towards you to.”

You blink at her, taken aback by the unexpected validation. She picks through some herbs as she speaks, almost absentmindedly.

“It's a hard situation, we're all trying to learn and navigate through something we have no idea how to deal with.”

You nod, throat tight Eli gives your hand a gentle squeeze.

"It just needs some communication and boundary setting I think"

The conversation dips back into quiet as you both drift toward a stall selling fresh pastries. Eli eyes a tray of cinnamon-coated ensaimadas, then glances at you with a little conspiratorial smirk.

“They say the calories don’t count if you’re with company,” she says.

You chuckle. “Who says that?”

“Me. Just now.” She shrugs like she’s daring the universe to disagree.

You both laugh, and it’s real light, unforced. A moment you never imagined having with her, and yet here it is, folded in between fruit stalls and spice jars.

Eli hands you a warm pastry and takes one for herself, nodding toward a bench shaded by a canvas awning. You both sit, elbows brushing, the market humming around you like background music.

After a beat, Eli speaks again, softer this time, “I want you to know something.” You glance sideways at her, she doesn’t look at you yet just picks gently at a bit of sugar on her pastry. “I’m not trying to be the mami I gave up the right to be. I know I don’t get to come back into your life and just… pick up where we didn’t even start.”

You look at her then properly. She finally turns to meet your gaze.

“I just want to get to know you, as you, not the baby I lost. Not the girl I couldn’t raise. Just… the person you are now.”

Your chest tightens, but not painfully more like something protective inside you loosening, just a little.

She adds, quietly, “I want to be your friend. If you'll let me.”

You nod, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “I’d like that,” you say. “I think I would really like that.”

She smiles this time with her whole face, eyes shining just a little and two strangers who were never meant to be strangers sit and share sweet pastries in the quiet. After you finish your pastries, Eli doesn’t rush to stand, instead, she stretches her legs a little, brushing crumbs from her lap.

“Do you like flowers?” she asks casually.

You blink, then nod. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t know a lot about them, but… yeah.”

She smiles and tilts her head toward a nearby corner where a small flower stall is almost bursting with colour. “Come on then.”

You follow her, and she walks with purpose not fast, but steady, as though she knows this exact route by heart. When she reaches the stall, she speaks easily with the older man running it, switching from warm Catalan to Spanish as needed. It’s clear she comes here often.

She gestures to a cluster of sunflowers. “These were your father’s favourite,” she says, almost casually but you notice the tremor in her voice.

You glance over, heart quietly thudding. “He had good taste.”

She chuckles softly. “He really did.” Then she looks at you, eyes soft. “You have his eyes, not the colour, in the way they move. Always watching people, thinking.” You feel yourself blush faintly and look away, unsure how to respond. She buys a small bunch sunflowers and white carnations and pays before you can even consider offering, “Come on,” she says gently. “There’s a little bench up by the fountain I used to take the girls to after shopping.”

You follow her again, the bouquet tucked gently under her arm, and as you both sit again, Eli pulls out a little plastic water bottle from her bag and carefully places the flowers inside.

You watch her quietly, something twisting deep in your chest. A strange feeling. Not pain exactly just the ache of unfamiliar comfort.

After a beat, you ask, softly without looking at her, “Do you miss him?”

She doesn’t hesitate. “Every day.”

You pause. “Me too. And I didn’t even know him.”

There’s silence. But it’s full rich and sad and okay, eventually, she reaches over and gently touches your hand. “I’m proud of the woman you’ve become,” she says, voice trembling slightly. “Even if I had no part in making you her.”

You don’t cry not exactly, but the tears sting a little, and when she opens her arms, you don’t even hesitate.

You lean into her and, it feels like maybe something broken got stitched back together, even just a little.

After the fountain, after the tears, and after your arms had finally let go of each other, Eli tilted her head and smiled at you gently.

“We should do something completely superficial now,” she said, swiping at her cheek with a tissue and handing you one too. “Let’s go buy something neither of us needs.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the suggestion. “Clothes?” you ask, half-laughing.

“Clothes,” she confirms, already rising and adjusting the bouquet in her bag like it’s simply a companion now.

You both end up walking to a quieter side street, tucked away from the usual tourist mess, into a little boutique that’s airy and bright and smells like lavender and fresh linen. It’s the kind of place you wouldn’t usually step into too polished, too elegant, but Eli seems at home, offering a polite wave to the woman behind the counter, who beams at her like they’re old friends.

“You really know everyone, don’t you?” you say under your breath.

“It’s a gift,” she replies, grinning.

She doesn’t rush you. Instead, she browses lightly, then subtly starts holding things up against you. A pale green sundress. A deep blue blouse. A soft cream cardigan.

You roll your eyes but secretly it’s nice, someone seeing you like this.

“What about this?” she says eventually, holding up a long wrap dress, black with little embroidered constellations scattered across it.

You pause. “It’s pretty.”

“It’s you,” she says simply, then adds with a little wink, “And it would drive Patri mad.”

You flush, laughing. “Okay, now it’s weird you're trying to dress me up for a woman didn't show any interest in me like that”

“I’m observant and I have daughters who gossip like they’re paid to do it.”

You turned back to the mirror to look at yourself in the mirror as you held the dress against you, "Then you probably heard me and her are over because of it"

"I heard. Surprisingly from Olga, not like her to gossip," Eli adjusts the fabric on your dress fussing like any mother would making sure you were holding up correctly, "It's a shame"

You hold your eyes in the mirror on her, "Is it?"

She hums, "I saw the way she looked at you, she cared for you"

"She didn't fancy me, she didn't want to-"

"Sex is not everything my dear, you want to find a woman who is your best friend who makes you laugh without trying because if you marry a dull woman who is great in bed, its not going to be great when you're bed bound with them and unable to" She stopped fiddling, "And you can have a lot of fun before you get to that part teaching them how to do it with your best friend"

You genuinely laughed, "Since you put it that way"

"Plus since my daughters love to gossip with there friends in my ear shot, from what i've heard, you wouldn't need to teach Patri a thing"

"Oh really?"

Eli nodded with a hum, "Really"

Eventually, you try on a few more things. She waits just outside the curtain, tossing in little comments now and then that are actually kind

When you finally step out in the constellation dress, she stills.

Her face shifts proud and quiet and a little sad all at once, “You look beautiful,” she says, not trying to oversell it. Just honest.

"You sure?"

She nods, "It's a little long but I can hem that no problem"

You look at yourself in the mirror. It's been a long time since you agreed. “Okay,” you say softly. “Let’s get it.”

As you change back, she pays for it, despite your protests, and when you step back out, she hands you the paper bag with a little smile.

“Everyone deserves to feel lovely in something once in a while. You especially.”

You leave the shop arm in arm, the sun warming the cobblestones, the weight in your chest just a little lighter.

You don’t talk about the past anymore that afternoon. Instead, you get iced coffees, walk back to her home, and people-watch. You tease her about how nosy she is. She tells you you’re too guarded.

You don’t correct her.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The door creaks as you push it open with your hip, a to go caffeine free coffee in one hand and the weight of a not quite healed argument still clinging to your shoulders. The office is quiet, too early for the usual hum of conversation or clatter of keys, but as you turn the corner, that hush is cut by the unmistakable sound of Olga’s sigh echoing dramatically through the space.

You glance up to find her seated at her desk, legs swinging slightly, head tilted back like she’s been trapped in the worst kind of purgatory, early morning admin with nothing to entertain her.

Beside her, slumped far less dramatically, is Alexia. One foot propped on a chair, hair tied in a messy low bun, her face is unreadable as she scrolls idly through something on her phone. She doesn’t even look up.

Your eyes linger on her a second too long before you catch yourself.

“Morning,” you say cordial but clipped.

Olga perks up immediately, flashing you a grin that feels about five percent mischief and ninety five percent cautious optimism. “There she is. Look at you, up early, looking fresh,”

You don’t answer that. You just give a polite smile, one corner of your mouth barely twitching up, and move past them to your desk.

Alexia finally looks over, her gaze lingers. She opens her mouth like she might say something but then shuts it again.

You pull out your chair, setting down your bag, then your drink, then the stack of papers you’d been meaning to sort through since last week. You focus on that, not on how still Alexia has gone, not on how the silence between you stretches taut like a wire.

“You two still not talking?” Olga asks with a huff, clearly talking to you but looking at Alexia.

You don’t respond, Alexia does, her tone dry. “Apparently not.”

You look up at that, sharp, eyes meeting hers, she doesn’t flinch, she never does. “It’s not about talking,” you say simply. “It’s about trusting.”

Alexia’s mouth tugs into something like a grimace, but she doesn’t push it further. Olga watches you both like a spectator at a tennis match, sensing she’s stepped into the tension without a helmet.

“Right. Cool. Love this vibe,” she mutters, sliding off her chair. “Think I’m gonna go make a very strong coffee and pretend this office isn’t emotionally suffocating.”

She wanders off, muttering under her breath, you and Alexia are left in the silence. You shuffle some papers, she crosses her arms and still she doesn't say she's sorry. You don’t ask her to and maybe that’s what’s worse than yelling. The not knowing if the bridge will be rebuilt or just left to rot quietly, unspoken between you.

The tension in the office doesn’t fade as the morning drags on. If anything, it lingers. You keep your head down, earbuds in, pretending to focus on an old training report that doesn’t need reviewing. But every so often, your eyes flick across the office, watching Alexia pacing back and forth like a caged animal.

She’s been restless since you got here, more than usual, it would be comical, her muttering under her breath, grumbling about the chair being too low, the air conditioning being too cold, and her phone battery mysteriously disappearing even though she’d definitely charged it last night, if it wasn’t so deeply, pointedly irritating.

Olga clearly thinks so. “Ale,” Olga finally groans from her chair, chin on her folded arms on the desk, “if you sigh one more time, I swear to god I’m going to glue your mouth shut with glue.”

Alexia, perched by the window with her injured ankle propped up on a small chair, whips her head around. “I’m just bored, okay? I’m meant to be training. This sitting around doing nothing shit is torture.”

“Oh, I hadn’t noticed.” Olga drags out the sarcasm like it physically pains her not to be dramatic. “You’ve only rearranged the pens on my desk three times.”

You fight the small smile that tugs at the corner of your mouth. You don’t want to find this funny, you don’t want to enjoy anything about Alexia right now, but her pout is so real and so unintentionally childish that you can’t help it.

Alexia glares at Olga, then sighs, again, deliberately and leans back in the chair like she’s being punished.

“I just feel useless,” she mutters. “Everyone’s training, everyone’s doing something, and I’m… sitting here. Waiting to heal.”

That flicker of guilt stings in your chest. You know the feeling stalled, stuck, waiting for something inside you to stop aching. Olga speaks “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before deciding to take on a five a side match against literal children.”

“They were talking shit,” Alexia mumbles defensively.

“They were nine, Alexia.” That earns a short, begrudging chuckle even from you, there’s a pause and then Olga, not bothering to lower her voice, says, “You know, this would all be more tolerable if you weren’t also in your feelings about the whole Y/N thing.”

You freeze, Alexia doesn’t, she just exhales sharply and glares at Olga. “Can you not?”

“What? It’s the truth.” Olga props herself up on one elbow, expression flattened with that all too familiar tone of blunt affection. “You’re moping. It’s annoying and Y/N is literally right there trying to work while you do it.”

You don’t look up, you click something at random on your screen ad you hear Alexia shift. “I’m not moping,” she says too quickly.

“You are and you screwed up and I know you know that and I know you want to fix it, but you don’t know how to do that without being defensive or emotionally constipated.”

You finally glance up, just in time to catch Alexia looking completely murderous, but she doesn’t deny it.

Olga shrugs. “Look, I’m team you two work it out. I am, but either do something about it or stop because I swear to god if you reorganise those pens one more time, I’m going to scream.” You stifle a laugh behind your hand, Alexia throws a stress ball at her, it bounces off Olga’s head with a dull thud. “You throw like you injured your arm not your ankle,” she mutters, catching it lazily.

Alexia doesn’t respond. You keep your eyes on the screen even though you’ve reread the same sentence four times and absorbed none of it.

Then, finally, she moves tentative steps with her good leg, crutch under one arm as she hobbles the short distance across the office toward you.

Olga mutters something under her breath probably a sarcastic prayer or warning but neither of you acknowledge it.

Alexia stops just short of your desk, eyes soft but cautious. Like someone approaching a skittish animal. Like she knows one wrong word and you’ll bolt. “Can I talk to you for a sec?” she asks, voice quiet.

You don't look up right away, you feel her hesitate, but she doesn't walk away. She waits, like Patri used to, but less sure of herself. You sigh when she doesn't give up, close your laptop lid, and glance up expression blank, but not cold.

She shifts her weight awkwardly, adjusting the crutch. “I know you’re still upset with me,” she says, with no forced emotion. “And I deserve that. I do.”

You stare at her a beat longer than necessary. Then finally, you exhale and softly, almost without thinking you ask, “How long are you out for?”

It’s not forgiveness, but it’s not nothing either. Alexia blinks at you, surprised. Then her shoulders loosen a bit. “Three weeks, maybe four. Depends how it heals. Sprained it playing five-a-side with the neighbours' kids,” she adds, half-smiling, a little self-deprecating.

You hum, barely amused. “Heard they were nine.”

“One of them did a roulette nutmeg and called me abuela. I panicked.” You don’t laugh, but the corner of your mouth twitches, she notices but she doesn’t push. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” she says quietly, no speech, no excuse, just that. “What I said to Patri… it wasn’t mine to share. I know that now.”

You nod. Just once. It's small, but it's acknowledgment, “You didn’t mean to hurt me,” you say, your voice calm but not warm.

Alexia shakes her head, eyes a little sad. “No, but I did.”

That hangs between you both for a second, it isn’t a full olive branch accepted but you didn’t break it either and that’s something.

“So…” she starts, way too casual for someone who knows she’s about to prod at something delicate. “You and Patri. Still broken up?”

You keep your gaze forward, flipping aimlessly through your paperwork, even though nothing on it matters. “Yeah. Seems it”

She nods like she expected that. Then, “Because you didn’t have sex?”

You close your eyes for a second, then nod slowly and you were still not looking at her.

Alexia doesn’t miss a beat, “Why did you not just sleep with her then?”

You blink and blink again, then turn to her with the slow, painful precision of someone trying not to yell in a hospital zone. “Oh wow, Alexia,” you say, voice dry as desert air, “that never occurred to me at all.”

She has the decency to wince a little but doesn’t back off. Classic Putellas. “I just meant—”

“What? That I should’ve sucked it up and gone for it? Pretended I’m not completely terrified every time someone sees me without clothes on?”

She pauses and you keep going, not angry exactly, just exposed.

“I didn’t not sleep with her because I just didn't feel like it. I didn’t because I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror, Alexia. I didn’t because I was scared she’d look at me and change her mind”

Alexia is quiet now. The kind of quiet that means she’s finally listening instead of trying to fix it with a one-liner and a shrug.

You sigh, shaking your head, rubbing at your temple. “I didn’t need someone to sleep with me. I needed someone to make me feel like I could be seen and still be wanted. She barely showed she wanted me clothed so you can only imagine how I thought she would be when I wasn't”

There’s a beat and then, gently quiet in a way she rarely is, “She did want you. She does want you.”

Alexia stares at you like she’s genuinely baffled, her brow furrowed in that intense, earnest way she reserves for both Champions League finals and your emotional wellbeing.

“You’re beautiful,” she says, like it’s fact, like it's obvious, like it physically pains her that you don’t agree. “Why do you not see that?”

You blink at her, deadpan, then gesture vaguely at her elevated leg, wrapped in ice, her sock rolled halfway down and a grimace still lingering from earlier. “You have an ankle,” you reply, dry as ever. “Why don’t you just use it?”

Her mouth opens slightly, stunned into silence for a second before she bursts into a begrudging laugh, head dropping back against the wall behind her. “Okay, fine,” she mutters, smiling despite herself. “Point taken.”

You allow yourself the smallest smirk before glancing back at your notes, the moment settling between you, you look up just in time to see Alexia limping over, dragging the chair beside your desk.

She plops down beside you with a sigh, resting her ankle on another chair, and then fixes you with a look that already makes you brace yourself. “Okay,” she says, “this is going to be an awkward conversation, considering you're my little sister…”

You immediately groan, putting your pen down. “Do we have to”

“Let me finish,” she insists, holding up a hand like she’s the adult in this sibling dynamic, which somehow makes it worse. You cringe, already regretting whatever impulse let her get within ten feet of you, “Patri thought you were sexy.”

You squeeze your eyes shut like it’ll block out her voice. “Stop it.”

“No, no, listen, before we even knew who you were, she used to go on about you all the time. Always bragging about how attractive you were. Like, stupid obsessed.”

You peek at her, horrified, “Are you done?”

“Not even close,” she says brightly. “She showed you off like a proud dog mami, Y/N. I mean, full-on ‘look at her, isn’t she perfect’ vibes. She’d find any excuse to bring you up and not just about your face either, which, yes, she liked, weirdly.”

You groan again, sinking into your seat.

“She loved that you were funny when you let yourself be. Said you had this dry, clever kind of humour that made her feel like she had to earn your laugh.”

There’s a silence then, not heavy, but not nothing either.

Alexia shrugs, “I’m just saying, it was never about you not being enough. If anything, I think she thought you were too good for her"

You don’t say anything for a second, then, quieter, “She still left.”

Alexia nods, softer now, “Yeah, but maybe she was just doing what you asked her to do”

You glance down at your hands, the silence stretches a little further this time, then Alexia clears her throat and leans back.

“Okay, I’m done being the emotionally available big sister. This ankle is killing me and I’m bored again.”

You huff out a small laugh despite yourself. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m the best,” she corrects, kicking her good foot up onto your desk. “And I deserve snacks for this emotional labour.”

You slide a granola bar across the desk toward her without looking. “Take it and never speak again.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, grinning.

Alexia starts absently fiddling with your pens, spinning one between her fingers before clicking it three times in rapid succession like she’s testing the exact frequency that will break your brain. Then she lines them up not straight, of course, but just off enough to trigger every urge you have to fix them.

You stare at her, “Can you not?”

She grins, “I’m stimulating the creative environment.”

You reach out and unceremoniously shove her foot off your desk, “Stimulate a job. Somewhere else.”

"Can we stop saying stimulate" Olga muttered as she shuddered at the word

She dramatically recoils like you’ve just committed a war crime. “Violence against the injured? Disgusting.”

You glare. “It’s no wonder Alba’s always angry. Growing up with you? I’d be furious every day of my life to.”

Alexia smirks, unfazed. “She is and she still texts me first every time she needs to vent. That’s the power of charm.”

You roll your eyes and start fixing your pens back into their proper place, muttering under your breath. “More like the power of shared trauma.”

“Tomato, tomahto,” she sings, now tapping out a rhythm on the edge of your desk with another pen like a toddler who’s discovered percussion.

You shoot her a look that promises death, “You’re lucky you’re injured.”

“I know,” she grins. “It’s the only thing keeping me interesting this week.” You sigh, long suffering, and reach for your headphones the only line of defence you still have. “I’ll tell Alba you said she’s angry, by the way.”

“I said always angry, not just angry. There’s a difference.”

She laughs like she’s won something, and somehow, you suspect she kind of has.

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

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sakuravalenp · 1 month ago

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Don't eat anything else - Part 3 - DP X DC

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Masterpost

Sam had somehow fallen asleep after hours of rolling in her bed, so of course, when her phone started ringing, she was just about ready to send the thing flying across the room. She covered her ears with her pillow, hoping the thing would shut up soon enough, and cursed her past self for leaving the phone in her desk instead of plugging it to the socket that was just behind her bed. She could have already shut the thing off then, but no, she’ll have to get out of bed to do it. She was going to maul whoever decided it was a good idea to call in the middle of the night.

With a resigned huff, she got out of bed and went to the desk, stumbling over the chair because of course she hadn’t pushed it back into the space the desk left for it, and snatched the phone roughly, pulling the charger and making her pencil case fall off the desk. The clattering sounds let her know she had also left that open. She groans, and squints at her phone screen, her eyes complaining at the sudden light, she takes a look at the insistent caller: Tucker. She answers while letting herself fall into the chair.

“Tucker, it’s like two am. You better be dying, or I swear to the ancients I’m throwing your beloved PDA into a natural portal to never be seen again!”

“Check the Phantom chat.” Sam blinked. She was expecting some sort of dramatic response. Then her mind caught up to what her friend had just asked.

“Did Danny text anything!?” The call was already being placed on speaker as she took her phone off her ear and started looking for their chat server.

“You’ll have to check yourself, it’s a full text wall, I’ve just read like- the first paragraph. Just- check it out and call me back when you’ve read it all.”

Sam frowned at the beep of the call being ended. She had never hated so much that their server took so long to load. She understood why; a hidden server that went through the infinite realms? Tucker was a genius for creating it. Still, in times like this the waiting was excruciating.

Danny didn’t tell them anything about his life with Vlad. She would say it screamed red flags, but it was Vlad. The moment the man had gotten custody of Danny all the fire alarms were going off in Sam’s head, and they hadn’t stopped since.

They tried not to push much at the start. The Fentons and Jazz’s death was too fresh, so they just checked in, asking how things were going, trying not to prod. But weeks turned to months, and they hadn’t been able to see Danny, and he was not telling them anything.

They had been keeping tabs of what they could get. Danny checked in at least once a day, until he didn’t. There would be days without response, and then Danny would check in again with some vague excuse. When that became common enough, Danny stopped making up excuses and just directly checking in without explaining the absence.

His texts were useless to understand his situation, other than he was well enough to text them, so their next focus was his public appearance. There weren’t a lot of those, but they would be happy with any scraps they could get.

Vlad had taken Danny to more than a couple of galas and some political events, proudly flaunting his heir, and yet, there were barely any photos of Danny at said events. It was up in the air whether it was due to Vlad avoiding the pictures getting out or due to how difficult it was to get a clear photo of Danny.

Nevertheless, the few pictures they did get weren’t great. He looked emaciated, lost so much weight, lost any brightness in his eyes. Still, Sam had almost cried from relief the first time they got a picture. The mind can be cruel when there's nothing to hold it back, and Sam had about a thousand terrible thoughts of what Vlad could be doing to Danny. At least he was in one piece.

Her phone vibrated, letting her know the server had finally loaded. There was a bubble beside the Phantom group chat letting her know there were new texts. She pressed on the group chat and was indeed greeted by a wall of text. She scrolled back to find the beginning.

Hey guys, you’ll probably won’t see this until tomorrow but I needed to write this right away before I started doubting. Not that that’s really a choice at this point, not when the Waynes already left with those notes.

The Waynes? Oh, yeah, Danny had mentioned Vlad had invited them to dinner once. First visitors they would be getting. Sam had idly wondered if she would have gotten a chance to see Danny if her parents were more influential. She had never wished for her parents to be richer before.

So anyway, the Waynes visiting kind of changed things here a bit. I may not have been really honest about how things were going here with Vlad. Though, you probably already knew that, and I’m sorry, but I don’t know if I can tell you guys. I just don’t think I can get myself to tell you, and I’m so sorry, because you’re always there and deserve the truth, but I can’t. So, let’s just leave as things hadn’t been great, and Vlad was more of a monster than we ever thought he could be.

Sam didn’t like that, it was terribly vague. What had Vlad done to Danny that he didn’t feel he could tell them? Sure they had been dealing with Danny’s silence, but now he was straight up telling them he couldn’t get himself to talk about it. The fact that he couldn’t even explain what Vlad had done meant it was probably worse than what she imagined.

They’d faced their fair share of horrors over the years while combating the rogues, and there had never been a problem verbalizing it. Something horrible had happened. Sam was going to kill Vlad. She didn’t care what the full story was, if it was bad enough that Danny actively refused to tell them, it was bad enough to revoke Vlad’s right to existence.

The thing is, I can’t keep this up. The Wayne’s came in, and Vlad's plans for dinner made me realize I couldn’t let this keep going. I managed to sneak a note to Timothy Drake-Wayne. Everyone knows the Waynes have connections to the Justice league.

Sam frowned. The Justice League had been shining for their absence from everything involving Amity. That absence still burned like acid. They’d begged for help. Pleaded. Amity had become a warzone more than once, and no one had come. Would they really show up just because the Waynes got involved?

I know they hadn’t been answering our calls, but now it affected the Waynes. Again, I can’t explain how it affected them, but I’m pretty sure the Waynes will make sure the Justice League gets involved. I had to tell them that Vlad isn’t human. It would only end in an apocalypse if they came looking for Vlad without being prepared. They’ll look for you guys. I told them you had the means to combat him.

Oh shit. Was she really meeting with the Justice League? In friendly terms? After all the ignored calls, Sam had swore it would be on sight if she ever met the assholes. And if they really showed up just because the Waynes were the ones to call, Sam wasn’t sure if she could keep it civil.

I didn’t reveal myself to the Waynes, I don’t know what the Justice League stand on ghosts is, all this is already a big risk, the GIW are bad enough on their own, there’s no way we would survive the Justice League hunting us, but Vlad needs to be stopped. I need you guys to give them what they need to not be possessed, and the ectoguns that I modified, maybe an ectoshield. Nothing more, they have a good history with non-humans, but I don’t know if we can trust them to not start a hunting campaign after Vlad. Try making it clear that this is a Vlad problem, not a ghost problem. I’m sorry I’m leaving everything to you guys, I can’t do anything from this side.

Her breath trembled. If the Waynes were really able to convince the Justice league to finally intervene, they might have days. She and Tucker needed to prep everything.

Ghost attacks had become rare since the portal was destroyed, but sometimes ghosts still came through naturally forming ones. There couldn’t be a ghost attack while the Justice League was there. Not when they needed to convince them that Vlad was the exception, not the rule.

They needed to get the gear and figure out how to lie to the Justice League convincingly enough that they wouldn’t turn every ghost into collateral damage.

Because Vlad might be the monster. But the League could still be the executioners.

Still, despite all the anxiety running through her veins, Sam felt hopeful. Danny had reached for help, after months of silence he had finally reached for help, and for once there seemed to be a chance they'd see Danny again.

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

They couldn’t continue reading the paper right away. There was no way to do it. Cass was more sensitive to people's deaths than anyone else in her family, and Bruce had focused on supporting her so he wouldn’t have to think about what he had just eaten. He had helped Cass to the bathroom like he hadn’t vomited as well. Tim had mumbled something about needing a shower, a really long shower, and left. Jason had forgotten the pretender had been bathed in that cursed soup.

He did think about taking the paper and finishing reading it himself, but green edged his vision, rage bursting under the skin, and he needed an outlet, which he didn’t have here. The punch he had thrown onto the wall had already left a mark, and this was a house they rented as Waynes, he couldn’t just trash it all.

He had worked through some breathing exercises Dick had introduced to him. He’ll never tell Dick, but they did work somewhat. It wasn’t really a surprise, Jason knew Dick had anger issues. The bastard seemed like the perfect young adult holding it together these days, but Jason was there for his teenage rebellion, and that was supposedly an improvement from how he had been as Robin. So of course the breathing exercises helped, but it wasn’t enough.

He felt like giving the wall another punch from the frustration, but he had been trying to “redirect his anger” in less violent ways lately, and this was the kind of situation where it would be better to clear his head instead of exploding. He could save the explosion for when they had that reprobate on their hands.

His phone was pinging and Jason knew it was probably the rest of the family asking for an update. The sudden silence probably got them worried the supposed poison had been something serious, and as the only one in commission at the moment, he should be the one reporting, but he was pretty sure he would crack his phone if he used it right then. His helmet took his attention where it resided on the desk, and he made a decision.

You’re not supposed to ride while you're angry, that’s how accidents happen, but that didn’t apply to people like him. Red Hood spent most of the night in his motorcycle while absolutely furious; they knew how to ride without becoming a public safety issue.

He grabbed his helmet and screamed before putting it on. “You better don’t read the damn note before I’m back!” And then he was on the road once again.

He rode around the small city, making the same circle over and over again at maximum speed. Harsh changes in direction that made the adrenaline pump in his veins. It was a good outlet. At some point the green receded enough for him to think clearer. He lowered the speed a bit, and connected his helmet to the comms. The questioning screams from everyone on comms came instantly.

“Shut the fuck up. I can’t understand a single thing you are saying.” As expected, that didn’t have any effect, but a minute later the line went dead silent. Babs must have muted everyone's lines.

“Hood, what’s the situation? Did the antidote work without problem?” Babs asked.

Jason almost laughed. Antidote. They wished it had just been some stupid poison. “It wasn’t poison, or drugs, Batman and Orphan are… physically fine.”

There was a moment of silence, then Jason could hear the crackle of a line joining the comms again. “What does that mean Todd?” Damian finally asked.

Jason could feel the rage try to creep back at the thought of what really was in the food, he pushed it back. He didn’t want to really talk about what really was in the food. Another crackle. “Little wing? What was in the food?”

Jason sighed. Why should he be the only one in commission to report back? No, he was glad to not have been anywhere close to that hideous concoction that didn’t have a right to be called food. He turned the speed back up.

“Apparently, Vlad Masters is a cannibal. One in the habit of sharing his taste with others.” The silence in the other line was about what he expected, so was the new explosion of voices that came afterward.

Yeah, no. Report given. They could deal with the news themselves. Jason disconnected from comms and started riding back to the house. Checking the time on the edge of his helmet screen, he saw he had been riding for quite some time. How has two hours already passed?

He left the motorcycle in the garage. There was no one there, so Jason wandered inside. He found Tim was sitting on the sofa with his laptop in the living room, the note folded beside him. Bruce sat on a chair beside him still looking pained. Jason talked from the door.

“Did you actually wait for me?”

Tim shrugged and without taking his eye off. “Figured it would be better to read once we were all here.”

“Where’s Cass?” He asked, walking to the opposite side of the couch.

“She asked to be filled in later.” Bruce answered. “It’s better we read the rest of the note already. I can’t imagine what else Danny would like us to know.”

Tim sighed, like someone had asked him to be the one to read the letter instead of him being the one to take it upon himself. He took the note, unfolding it again, and Jason could see he was making an effort to ignore the first line.

“I don’t know who the victims are, or where Vlad gets them, but they’re recently deceased. So somewhere there must be people disappearing constantly. It may not be the same place all the time, or it may not even be the same city. Vlad isn’t human.”

“Fucking great. Just what we were missing. What is it this time? A vampire? He definitely has the aesthetic going for him.” The pretender glared at him for the interruption, but Jason thinks the situation fully justifies his reaction.

Bruce sighed. “Language. Please, go on, Tim.”

“He’s a kind of ghost.” Tim raised an eyebrow but continued reading. “I know it may be hard to believe for outsiders, but ghosts are pretty much a common occurrence in Amity Park.”

“I thought that was just a tourist trap.” Jason commented, which gained him another glare from Tim. Jason didn’t bother to acknowledge it, though, inside, he was quite enjoying getting the little shit annoyed.

Tim huffed, and lowered the note a bit before commenting. “There are quite a few claims of ghost sightings, but we couldn’t find any proof of them when we took a look at Amity while searching for a house to rent.” He turned to the computer and started typing something.

“Even then, those reports were not of great importance, mentions of seeing a figure for a couple a seconds in the corner of a room, of a shadow following them around the city, or a pale little kid running around in the cemetery.” Bruce added. “The whole city works around the theme.The biggest school is called Casper High, and most attractions are named after ghost-related puns. We concluded it was, in fact, a tourist trap.”

“So what, the kid is imagining his guardian isn’t human? Making things up to cope with the fact that he is a cannibal? That-”

“Um. Bruce, you might want to see this.” Tim interrupted him.

His eyes were wide, scanning quickly through a webpage. Jason moved close to see the screen, and so did Bruce, standing up from his chair to lean over the back of the sofa. Tim started reading titles while he passed the mouse over them.

“Octo-Ghost Assists Kindergarten Party and Almost Becomes The Birthday Girl's Pet. First Ghost Attack of the Week in Casper High, Red huntress Captures It Before It Can Disrupt Class. Ghost Known as Lunch Lady Visits Local Restaurant and Asks for a Cooking Battle With the Owner: See the Unexpected Results. Don’t You Miss When Ghosts Would Interrupt Class at Least Once a Day? A ranting blog by Phan_number1. None of this existed when we were checking Amity!”

“How is that even possible? The Batcomputer should have pinged something if there was anything blocking the information,” Bruce says in what sounded like a monotone voice, but any of his kids could tell he’s alarmed by the fact that so much information was successfully hidden from the Batcomputer. “Try sending a link to Babs.”

Tim goes ahead to do that with the ranting blog, but honestly, Jason couldn’t care less if the oh-so-great Batcomputer missed this.

“So the kid isn’t making things up, great. Can you both have your freak-out about the information blockage after we finish reading the note?” If Tim were a super, Jason would have a hole on his front, he’s sure of it.

Babs: Why are you sending me a recipe for making ghost-themed pie?

Tim looks at the message in disbelief, and clicks on the link he had sent. The ranting blog opens, no pie recipe to be seen. Tim takes a screenshot and tries sending it, but a warning message appears, saying the file is corrupted. He tries to send an image of his gallery, it goes without any problems.

“This is weird. It’s not like any kind of blockage we had seen before. It even redirects links to a page that matches the city's theme.”

“Try sending the image through the Bat server.” Bruce says with a voice that it was more serious than Jason expected, which makes him glance back at the man.

Bruce is glaring at the computer with a dark expression. Realization hits Tim, and he quickly tries to send the image through the Bat server. It goes through, and even Jason feels relieved at the received checkmark.

“Okay… okay. So they’re monitoring private conversations, but the Bat server is still safe.” Tim murmurs. Then goes ahead and tries sending the link once more, with a message saying it should open the website shown in the image.

Oracle: All that link opens is the pie recipe Red Robin. If this is some kind of joke, you know the Bat server is not for that.

Tim rolls his eyes at the response and starts writing down a response, explaining the situation to Babs.

“The link must be blocked by IP Address. Tell her to try using a residential proxy.”

“Already on it.”

Jason hates when the old man understands more about technology than he does. Damn his time in the grave. He had been working on getting up to date, and he can do some basic hacking and whatnot. Enough that he doesn’t need external help for every little thing. But he’s still so far behind.

Oracle: I’m in. You’re also seeing all these things about ghosts?

Red Robin: Yes.

Red Robin: Somehow they have the city under a blockage that the Batcomputer wasn’t able to detect.

“Okay. Babs can take care of investigating that. We have a note to finish reading, remember?” Jason says, reaching for the paper Tim had left beside the computer, which Tim promptly snatches back. “Hey!”

“You won’t read it outloud for everyone.”

“According to whom!?”

“Kids…” Bruce sighed, “Continue reading, please, Tim.”

The little shit looked smug for a second before going back to the note.

“Please understand that in general ghosts aren’t bad, it’s just Vlad. But ghosts are powerful, and Vlad is really powerful. This can’t be resolved through normal means. I know the Waynes have contact with the Justice League, so I ask you to please get in contact with them, and don’t get anymore involved. I doubt the Justice league is equipped for the type of ghosts we have in Amity park. My friends Samantha Mason and Tucker Foley know where to find specialized weaponry and protective devices. Please, convince the Justice League to go for them first, it would be a disaster if one of the Justice League was overshadowed by Vlad.” That’s where the letter ended.

“Overshadow?” Bruce echoed.

Tim wasted no time putting the word into Google, which, now that Jason noticed, was decorated with little ghosts. Did Amity have its own Google doodle? The definition of the word popped like any other word would, and Jason wondered if that was something else that was blocked outside the city.

“It seems to be how Amity Parkers refer to possession.” Tim said after skimming the definition.

“What do we know about Samantha Mason and Tucker Foley?” Bruce asked, already in work mode.

“Not much, outside of being known friends of Danny. The Masons are a well positioned family in Amity; they’re new money. Izzy Manson, Samantha's great grandfather, invented a machine that twirled cellophane around deli toothpicks, the patent and inheritance placed the family where it is today. Pamela Manson owns a jewelry brand that’s grown in popularity in the Midwestern elite, while Jeremy Manson is a real estate developer. They often attend galas in Wisconsin, and sometimes in other big cities. Samantha Mason is a known teen activist, and has had her fair share of incidents at galas.” Tim said, as he opened the report he had made before coming to Amity.

“Incidents?” Jason asked.

“She has a sharp tongue and doesn’t seem interested in keeping appearances. It’s well known she isn’t fond of the styles her mother gives her for the galas. In any photo she posted on her personal accounts in the last two years, she has a gothic aesthetic.”

“Ah.”

“There’s less about Tucker Foley. His mother, Angela Foley, works as a chef at a local restaurant called “A Ghost's Secret Recipe.” His father, Maurice Foley, is an IT technician for the city government. Tucker seems to take after his father in his interest in technology, and has a history of winning local programming contests.”

“There’s nothing that really screams “I know how to fight ghosts and have ghost weaponry” is there?” Jason comments.

“Well, this is the information we have while searching with the city's information being blocked. Search for Daniel Fenton on the web,” Bruce says, and when Tim enters the name, a lot of news articles come to light. “We should have suspected something when there weren’t a lot of news articles talking about an explosion taking the life of a whole family.” Tim nods to that.

Jason frowns at the screen. “Are you seeing these titles? Local ghost hunters die from mysterious explosions? Something tells me that the access to weaponry has more to do with Danny’s parents than anything about Samantha and Tucker.”

“What did we have about the Fentons from the investigation in Gotham?”

“They were supposedly part of the tourist industry, “entertaining tourists with street shows about ghost hunting.” We were literally blocked from one of the most important details of Danny’s life.” Tim groaned.

Bruce sighed. “Let’s try getting some sleep. We’ll try meeting Samantha and Tucker tomorrow in the late afternoon.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Late afternoon?”

“They’re teenagers. I would prefer to interrupt their class time or disturb them too late. They might not even know we plan to meet with them.”

Tim nodded, already starting with the new background check. “I doubt Masters lets Danny have his own phone.”

Jason unceremoniously closed Tims laptop, putting it aside and carrying the kid in a firefighter carry.

“Trying to rest applies to you too.”

Tim protested as he trashed, trying to get him to let go, and if the pretender had actually been serious about it, Jason may have not been able to keep a hold of him.

“I’ll tell Babs to leave the investigation for tomorrow as well. You’ll have time before we go meet Danny’s friends, so let’s rest for some time first, okay?” Bruce said with that voice he always used when he was treating them like little kids. And if Jason found it soothing, that was between his mind and himself.

Tim groans, but relaxes, accepting defeat, and the kid is asleep before Jason even makes it out the living room. Jason wonders, not for the first time, if Tims ability to basically sleep anywhere, anyway, anytime, would go away if the kid actually followed the sleeping schedule Bruce and Alfred tried imposing, instead of taking random naps around the clock.

He’s sure the little shit will be back in front of the computer in 30 minutes. Whatever. He already did his mandatory older sibling duty by getting him to stop for a nap.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Next part

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bloatedandalone04 · 9 months ago

Text

Don’t Ever Leave My Side

➪the one where you finally let jake take you out on a date after countless rejections, but it turns out that the guy you convinced yourself he was, isn’t who he is at all.

Warnings: smut, fluff, pda, unprotected sex, swearing, pining, oral (f receiving), jake being whipped bc i missed writing for him

Word Count: 4.7k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

You weren’t sure why you had reapplied your makeup for the third time now after deciding that it didn’t look good enough. And you opted to leave your hair how it normally looked right after a shower and to not touch it, but here you were, hastily curling it as you checked the time on your phone for the fourth time since plugging in the curling iron.

None of it mattered at all. It was just a stupid date. One stupid date you promised Jake Seresin you’d go on with him, that was it.

The guy had been asking you out for months now, and you’ve shut him down every time since you knew how he was with the women who frequented the Hard Deck. He was a player, in the sky and on the ground, and you wanted nothing to do with it, which is why you’ve rejected him more times than you can count on both hands.

Yet he was persistent, the fucker. To get him to stop, you agreed to go out with him the last time you bumped into him, and that date was scheduled for tonight. In exactly four minutes, but you were planning on being late just to fuck with him, because there was no way you were going on a second date with him. No way. No.

You just finished your hair when your phone went off with a text, and you glanced down at it as you unplugged the curler and set it down on the counter.

Jake Seresin: I’m here, gorgeous. Hope you’re prepared for tonight ;)

For some reason, reading that gave you butterflies in your stomach, and you quickly typed out a response before setting your phone down and pulling on the simple black dress you picked out for tonight.

Nice. I’m not ready yet.

The dress was tight around your torso area but got looser around your thighs, and the straps were so thin, you had to wear a strapless bra so it didn’t look dumb. The hem around your chest was lace and provided a small amount of cleavage that left nothing to the imagination, so yeah. It was very simple.

After checking yourself a respectable three times, you slide on your ankle boots and grab your purse.

You wondered if Jake was annoyed that you took so long to get ready since he read your text but never responded to it, but you were wrong as you opened your front door and saw him leaning against the passenger side of his truck with a stupid fucking smile on his face. “Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted as you huffed and turned to lock the door. When you made your way over to him, Jake moved out of the way and opened the passenger door for you. “You look stunning.”

“Thanks,” you drag the word out a bit as you hop up onto the seat and place your hands on your lap as he shuts the door behind you. A few seconds later, he was sitting beside you in the driver’s seat as he put the truck into drive. “Where are we going?”

Jake grinned over at you as he flicked the radio on, and some country song began playing quietly through the speakers as he answered, “It’s a surprise. Shocking, I know, but if I’m only getting one shot at this, I’m gonna do it right,”

“Great, I love surprises,” you mumbled, looking out the window before quickly looking back at him once you further processed his words. “And there’s no if, Jake. You are only getting one shot at this.”

You weren’t sure whose head you were trying to get that through at this point.

But Jake wasn’t fazed as his grin grew. “Better make sure I don’t fuck this up then,” he said, glancing over at you. “I promise, I’ll make it count.”

He sounded so excited and he looked hot in his jeans and button up and jacket. You hated it, because you’ve seen him with other girls before, and he never put on this nice of an outfit, and he never gave them the amount of attention he’s already given you since you left your house.

And you were even more annoyed when he pulled into a parking spot right outside your favorite Italian restaurant ten minutes later. You looked at the bright sign that said the name of the restaurant with squinted eyes before looking over at Jake. “Why are we here?”

Jake looked a bit panicked for a second as he paused mid-way through taking off his seatbelt. “Is this not…I thought this was your favorite place to eat at,” he sounded nervous now and you loosened up a bit as you took off your own seatbelt.

“It is,” you confirmed, “But how did you know that?”

Jake looked more relaxed as he finally let his seatbelt go and opened the door. “Bird Boy told me,” he said and you groaned.

“Damnit, Rooster,” you muttered as you grabbed your bag and reached for the handle, but Jake was already there and opening the door for you. “I’m going to yell at him the next time I see him.” You state as you get out of the truck.

Bradley was your best friend, and the guy who had witnessed a lot of your rejections to Jake firsthand. You weren’t all that surprised that he felt a little bad for the blond and helped him out with this, because your best friend was a decent guy and one of your favorite people. But you were still going to yell at him.

“Really?” Jake laughed as he placed his hand on the small of your back and led you towards the doors of the restaurant. “Because I can’t stop thanking the guy, and that’s kind of a big deal for me.”

You huffed out a laugh in return as he guided you inside, and a few minutes later you were sitting at a booth with him with your drinks placed in front of you. Your menu was flat on the table while he held his up, his eyes flickering over the options as you subtly watched him.

“What’s good here?” He asked, “This is my first time in this place.”

You picked up your margarita with a shrug, “Everything, from what I can tell,”

Jake glanced at you over the top of his menu, his brows furrowing as he realized that you didn’t even look at your own. “What are you doing? What’s wrong?”

You set your drink down and leaned back against the booth. “I know what I’m getting. I get it every time,”

Jake’s lips turned upwards at that as he set the menu down and slid his water closer to him on the table. “Oh, you’re one of those people, huh?” He asked with a smirk as he sipped a bit of the bland drink. “You don’t like, I don’t know, trying something different?”

“If it’s not broken, don’t fix it?” You offer with a raised brow as you watch him set the water back down. “You’re seriously not drinking tonight?”

He shook his head as he closed the menu and pushed both yours and his to the edge of the table. “No. I want to be sober the whole time so I can remember this night with vivid detail. I think you deserve that,”

Your face heated up as you cleared your throat, his words doing a number on you as you sat up a bit. “What are you getting?” You quickly change the subject as you felt the sudden urge to kiss the guy you’ve been avoiding for months now.

“What are you getting?” He asked back and you narrowed your eyes as you told him your usual order. “Perfect, I’ll get that too. Maybe I’ll like it enough to order it every time I come here.”

And that was how you found yourself eating identical meals not long after, and a blush seemed to be stuck on your face as you answered every single question he had for you. Your favorite color, your favorite song, the teacher you hated most in high school, your worst dating experience, all of it.

For some reason, this wasn’t bad. This wasn’t bad at all. Talking with Jake felt easy, like you could do it all the time and never complain about it. Why was this shaping out to be kind of the perfect first date? Why was he kind of being the perfect gentleman?

He seemed so interested in you, like how he was during the build ups to him eventually asking you out. You were beginning to feel bad about constantly saying no, because you were actually having a really good time with him.

“Well?” You started as Jake asked for the bill. “How was it? Will you be returning just to order that every time?” You gestured to the empty plates in front of you and Jake shrugged as he took out his wallet.

“It wasn’t bad. Your taste in food is pretty decent,” he hummed as the waitress, who had been checking Jake out the whole night and who hadn’t been looked at by him for more than a total of six seconds, placed the bill on the table. You reached for your own wallet but he stopped you and handed you his keys instead. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. Wait in the truck for me, okay?”

You take the keys from him and give the waitress a soft smirk as you stand up, noticing the scowl that had formed on her face as she heard the affectionate nickname Jake gave you.

Less than a minute later, Jake was beside you in his truck again as he backed out of the parking space with one hand. You were feeling a bit shy now as you looked over at him and took in just how handsome he actually is. “Thanks for tonight,” you say quietly as he pulls out onto the road. “It was kinda…it was fun.”

“You think it’s over?” He laughed softly as he glanced over at you in the dark truck. “I only get you to myself for one night, you really think I’m just taking you out to dinner?”

Your face heated up for the hundredth time tonight as you quickly broke eye contact. “Oh…where else are we going?”

Jake looked back at the road as he drove with one hand, and you were sure he wasn’t aware of just how hot that was. “To the place we first met,” he answered simply and your eyes widened a bit as you laughed.

“The Hard Deck?”

“Yeah,” he grinned over at you. “I have to show at least one person from work that I actually managed to get you to go out with me. And Bird Boy doesn’t count.”

You weren’t entirely sure why, but that had you smiling like a love struck teenager the whole ride, and when you arrived at the Hard Deck, you allowed Jake to lead you inside with his hand placed firmly on your hip.

A few of his coworkers smirked at him, a few looked beyond shocked, and then there was Bradley, who avoided eye contact with you as soon as you entered the bar. Okay, so maybe you wouldn’t be yelling at him later.

The Hard Deck was rowdy as usual, but Jake wasn’t paying attention to anyone but you, and you realized just how much you liked being the center of his attention.

And he was completely sober as he held you in his arms as the two of you swayed to an old song playing on the jukebox. He looked content and so handsome, you had to look away as you mumbled, “Okay, so maybe this isn’t so bad after all,” and pressed the side of your face against his chest. “You kind of planned the most perfect first date, Jake. I’m actually so surprised.”

Your head vibrated a bit when he laughed and tightened his hold on you as if he was scared to let you go. “Well, when you’re determined to make someone fall head over heels for you, you’ve got to put in a bit of effort,” he said and your whole body heated up in a blush. “So, uh…does this mean there’s gonna be a second date?”

You pull back slightly and look up at him. “That depends on you,” came your quiet response as you slid your hands up his back. “You’ve been the most perfect gentleman tonight, and you’ve been so sweet, but will it be like this every time? Or was this just a show for tonight?”

Jake lifted a hand and brushed some of your hair behind your ear, his thumb stroking your cheek after. “You deserve to be treated right, and I want to be the person to do that. I want to be the perfect guy for you, Y/n. You’re special to me,” he said and sounded so genuine, you had no choice but to believe his words. “Give me a chance to show you that I’m not the stuck up ladies man you think I am. I’m falling for you…and I don’t want to mess this up.”

There it was. Jake had just put his heart on his sleeve for you, and now it was completely up to you what happened next.

You press your lips together and look down at the wooden floor of the bar. “I was wrong about you. You’re not the player I thought you were. And honestly, I don’t care about how many women you’ve been with. The guy you’ve been tonight…it’s a different side of you, Jake. Or maybe it’s who you’ve been this whole time and I’ve just been too stubborn to see it,” you murmur and place your hands flat on his chest as you look back up at him. “The guy you are right now, I can see myself with him. With you. Tonight has been…perfect, in every single way. You’ve been perfect, Jake.”

There was your own confession that, early this morning, you would’ve never said out loud, but things had clearly changed.

Jake smiled and leaned down to brush his lips against yours in a teasing kiss. “You haven’t seen anything yet, sweetheart,” he whispered against your mouth before pulling back to look into your eyes. “So why don’t we skip right to the part where you agree to a second date?” He asked in a deep voice as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer to him.

You laughed, looking up at him with unguarded eyes. “I think it’s safe to say you got that second date. And the third. And the fourth,” you grinned, curling your fingers around his jacket as your gaze intensified a bit. “Tell me something, does the perfect gentleman kiss on the first date? Because that teaser you just gave me wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy what I’m feeling right now.”

Jake’s smile grows before he leans down and presses his lips to yours in a searing kiss. It starts off somewhat soft, and he lets you take the lead as you kiss him a bit deeper, and then his tongue was pushing past your lips and brushing against yours.

It was clear from the kiss that he had been holding back his desire for you for months, and you suddenly didn’t regret pushing him away so much, because it allowed you to feel every inch of his want for you with every brush of his mouth against yours.

After a few more seconds, he breaks the kiss. “There you go,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your puffy bottom lip. “But that’s just one of many. I plan on kissing the fuck out of you on every single one of those future dates.”

A content hum leaves your lips, a feeling of excitement for the future settling in your bones as you lean up and kiss him again. Soon enough you’d become addicted. You were sure of it.

Your fingers slide into his hair as the music continues to play and the patrons of the bar chat amongst themselves, not paying either of you any attention as you lose yourselves in each other.

Jake’s hands grip your waist tighter, pulling your chest against his. “You’re mine now, Y/n,” he mumbled when he finally broke the kiss after a few minutes, and you held back a squeal at just how good that sounded. “I’ll make you happy, I swear it.”

You bite down on your lip and trace the sides of his face with your fingers. “Any chance the perfect gentleman takes me to bed on the first date?” You playfully asked, but you were also very serious, even if you thought that you should probably wait to have sex. Maybe until the second date. That seemed long enough.

“Patience, baby,” he rasped, tugging at your bottom lip with his thumb. “A perfect gentleman knows how to build anticipation.”

He tucks a few strands of hair behind your ear as you hum quietly, threading your fingers through the hair on the back of his neck as you try not to squeal again at the cute pet name.

“Besides, I have a feeling you’re going to be worth the wait. I know it’ll be…fucking amazing between us,” he added, brushing another soft kiss to your lips. “Don’t worry, by the end of our second date, I’ll give it to you so good, you’ll still be sore when we go on our third date.”

You grin excitedly and nod. “It’s okay,” you whisper, “I can wait. I know that now, Jake. You’re worth the wait.”

Jake smiled down at you before kissing you one last time then taking your hand and leading you towards the bar.

A couple weeks, and several dates later, you and Jake are officially together and crazy in love with each other.

The realization that you had only pushed him away for so long because you were so into him was a tough pill to swallow, but when you finally got it down, you threw yourself headfirst into this relationship with him, and neither of you planned to look back.

It became official shortly after the first date, where he drove you home, kissed you sweetly, then left you wanting more. By the end of the second date, Jake stayed true to his promise and fucked you so good into his mattress, you were addicted by the time the sun came up.

You’d both been insatiable since then, which wasn’t all that surprising. The chemistry between you two had been undeniable from the start, so of course the sex was fucking amazing.

Now, having just gotten back to his place after your eighth date, you and he can’t keep your hands off one another as you stumble through his front door, your mouths connected and your hands all over each other.

You pull off his jacket and let it fall to the floor of the entryway while he helps you slide off your heels, your mouths meshing noisily together. He kicks the door shut before reaching down to grab the backs of your thighs, never breaking the kiss as he lifts you into his arms. He begins to walk towards his bedroom, his hands gripping your thighs tightly as he pulls away. “I’m gonna take you slow and deep tonight,” he mumbled against your lips. “Wanna drag it out this time.”

He was referring to the previous date, when he fucked you hard and fast into his couch while you screamed your throat raw, and the reminder of it just turned you on even more.

Jake lays you down on his bed before standing back up and working on ridding himself of his belt. You lean back on the bed, pulling your dress off to leave you in a matching black lace lingerie set that paired sinfully well with your thigh high stockings.

Leaning back on your elbows, you spread your thighs and beckon him to you with a curl of your finger. “Come here,”

Jake’s eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you. He’s seen you naked countless of times by now, but seeing you in something so effortlessly hot was something else, especially since he knew exactly what the black fabric was hiding from him.

His hands reach down to pull off his belt and he shrugs off his clothes, leaving on his boxer briefs for now and showing off just how hard you made him through the thin material.

Crawling onto the bed, he positions himself between your thighs, his lips peppering kisses along your stomach as his fingers tease the edge of your panties. “God, you’re fucking stunning,” he mumbled, running his fingers over the flimsy fabric. “Tell me, baby, were these expensive?”

You hum, looking down at him as you shrug. “A little, but not too bad,”

Jake smirked, mumbling a quick, “Good,” before he ripped the delicate fabric and tossed it aside, revealing your slick folds to his needy eyes.

“Jake!” You gasped, your eyes widening as his big hands gripped the backs of your thighs and spread your legs a bit wider.

“I’ll buy you more, one in every color,” he promised, grinning up at you before looking back down at your heat. He runs his fingers through your wetness, a satisfied hum leaving his mouth, “You’re so wet for me, baby. All for me.”

Then he was burying his face between your thighs, his tongue poking out to lick a stripe up your entrance before sucking on your clit. “Oh, fuck,” you whined and he groaned, sending a jolt of pleasure up your body. You shuddered, your muscles tightening as you reached down to tangle your fingers in his hair. “Just like that, Jake. Feels so good.”

Jake’s tongue pressed more firmly against your clit while his fingers gathered more of your wetness before sinking knuckle-deep inside you. He fucks them in and out of you as his teeth gently nip at your sensitive bundle of nerves, and you fell back onto his pillow as he devoured you.

The sight of you looking already so fucked out with your hair draped across his pillow had him refraining from bucking his hips against the bed, because it was something he had been dreaming about seeing for months. He was still kind of shocked that he could now see it whenever he wanted.

“Fuck,” you gasped, arching your back as he guided your legs to rest over his shoulders. Your fingers were pulling on his hair pretty hard, and he fucking loved it. He loved every single second he spent with you, and he couldn’t get enough of your sweet taste, your soft moans and the fact that you had finally, finally given him the chance he’s been craving for so long.

You were finally his, and he was never letting you go.

“Cum for me,” he mumbled, flicking your clit with his tongue as he curled his fingers deep inside you. “Cum all over my face, baby. Let me taste it.”

If there was one thing Jake knew how to do, it was to spew the most filthy fucking things to you. And he knew you loved it. He found that out pretty quickly the first time he took you to bed, and he was more than willing to delve into your desire for dirty talk.

Like he suspected, your mouth parted in a loud moan as you tugged harshly on his hair, and a second later you were coming on his tongue and fingers. “Jake…holy fuck, baby,” you moaned as you writhed against his face. “Fuck…feels so fucking good.”

The taste of you on his tongue makes him groan, and he continues to ravish your pussy until you’re shaking and whimpering incoherently. Once you settled a bit, Jake lifted his head, his lips and chin soaked with your release as he grins up at you and begins to place kisses along your stomach while he pushes his boxers down.

He hovers over you, his hands squeezing your breasts through your bra as he teases your quivering heat with the tip of his cock. “I need you, baby,” he mumbled, reaching down to grip his base as he coats himself in your arousal before slowly pushing inside you. “Fuck, you’re tight.” He groaned, dropping his head to your shoulder as he started to slowly rock into you.

His hand moves from your chest to grip your hips as he picks up the speed a bit, his body fitting perfectly against yours with each deep thrust,

“There you go,” he rasped, kissing along your neck. “Take it all, baby, every inch.”

You moan loudly as you arch your back, and you guide his hands around you to the clasp of your bra. “Fuck, Jake, you feel so good,” you whimpered, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist.

Jake hums, expertly unclasping your bra before guiding the straps down your arms, all while keeping the pace of his thrusts. His eyes immediately lock onto your breasts, now bare to his dark eyes as they bounce with every movement. “You’re a fucking dream,” he mumbled, leaning down to wrap his lips around one of your nipples as he rocks his hips against yours. “You make me lose control, every single time.” He grunted through ragged breaths, his cock brushing against every hidden spot deep inside you.

“Jake,�� you moan desperately, guiding his mouth to yours in a messy kiss. “I love you.”

He groans, kissing you again as he feels himself close to coming already because you felt that fucking good. “I love you, too,” he rasped, his words muffled against your mouth. “So fucking much.”

You moaned, tugging on his hair as you lazily met his thrusts halfway. “I’m close,” you mumbled and he groaned in both pleasure and relief as he reached down to rub circles against your clit.

“Me too,” he muttered, pinching and pulling at your bundle of nerves. “Cum with me, baby. Let go for me.”

A few seconds later, you were coming for a second time, but on his cock, and a couple thrusts later, he was too. He filled you up as his body shuddered, his lips pressing soft kisses to your neck as he fucked his seed deep inside you.

Once you were both spent, he collapsed gently on top of you, keeping his cock lodged inside you as he cuddled you against his chest. “Stay with me tonight,” he begged quietly, turning you both on your sides and tucking your head under his chin.

You smiled, nuzzling against his sweaty chest. “Where else would I be?”

Jake smiled back, pulling you impossibly closer. “What about tomorrow? Will you stay here tomorrow, too? We can have breakfast in bed,” he offered with a teasing grin on his lips.

You hummed, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Pancakes or waffles?” You ask instead of answering him, confirming that you will be staying at his place for the remainder of the weekend.

“Pancakes,” he replied, pulling back to press a chaste kiss to your lips. “And bacon. A fuckton of it.”

Even though this wasn’t the first time you would be spending the night in his arms, Jake still felt beyond happy that, after months of pining over you, he was given the chance to experience life with you. He was also really fucking excited to spend tomorrow morning with you in his bed.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he mumbled, holding you a bit tighter. “Wanted you.”

You go silent for a few seconds before pulling back to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m sorry I made you wait so long,” you whispered, tracing the curve of his bottom lip with your finger. “Truthfully, I didn’t think it could be this good. I was so wrong.”

Jake shakes his head, taking your hand in his and pressing a few kisses to your knuckles. “Don’t be sorry,” he said quietly. “It was worth it, all of it, if it meant we’d end up like this. Together.”

He leaned down to kiss you deeply, and you returned it instantly. “I love you,” you mumbled against his lips as you gently gripped his face.

“I love you, too,” he said back and meant it with his whole heart as he rolled you onto your back again and settled on top of you.

Because without a doubt, his heart had been entirely yours since the second he saw you, and he knew that, he was just finally able to make you see it too.

1K notes · View notes

pjackk · 2 years ago

Text

Yep another miesrable "F my life" moment just hapened to me i basicaly walked 10 miles up the mountain to get to behind to the gas station to see my plug to buy me my with my favorite delta 8 pipe rocks and grab another 6er of tall boy steelies and i forgot i had my lit pre roll from brunch at the Country Grocerys buffet and i tripped on a congom on they away out and fell directly into a puddle of oil which normaly is fine when i fall and hurt myself ebcause nobody gives a fuck about me but the pants got stained wich is not unusual for me either but this time with motor guel or some shit but my pre roll was smoldering still and it set my ptants on fire so i dive in to the muddy ditch to put wet mut on my body to estinguish the fire and it and it shook the fuck up out of my steelos and the bursted all over me and it put out the fire but now i dont have any booze at all and my delta 7 "Fuck n chill" rocks burned tf up and i dont got nothgin left and my pants were all fucked up so i had to go home thru the woods wihtout them and it was so dark out and my peice of shit phone died even thouhg it was at 27% and i couldnt see shit and i was lost for along time so i decide to go to sleep in the woods to find my way back in day time + the animals sounds were high key scary as fuck so i cover myself in leafs and dirt and sticks and mud and other shit to hide from them and i woke up in the adfternoon still tired as fuck cuz i dont sleep good without some shit to put me asleep like my medicidne prescribed from Dr Maltlikker if U catch my drift lol or Dr thc Gummy lol if u get what im saying and these stupid little cunts with 22 rifles were plinking at me and tlaking about how they wanted to shoot my big ugly rusty head right in the head or to shoot a hole in my nippels so i got up and trioed to get them to stop i begged but htey just kept lauhging at me and shooting at me and it realy hurt my feelings so i pick one up and threw it into the sky then they all ran away screaming which is a classic "Dont fuck with honest joe,because he might try to hurt you or kill you if u piss him of moment" but the miracle of the story if that i went to walk 20 feet to findm y way out and i found my busted as shit old as fuck camry with a litle gas left ive been looking for it for a few days cuz i did a lil cruising when i was blackout and did lots of crazy shit i didnt remember at all but it was all on my story and 100 ppl were snaping and whatsapping me telling me to kill myself when i checked my huwawai thats how u know u had a crazy fcking night when u get that shit!!😂😂 but it had a litle gas left and it wasnt super busted so i was able do get back on I81 and soem stupid fcking crazy ass north carolina motha fuckas are driving insanly as fuck as usual and they keep almost hiting me while im just trying to read my fukcking phone to get rid of all these stupid messages and shit i still dont know how to use the app and its hard to type shit with my hands but eventualy i got back to my fuck buddys houe im crashing there even though he hates me now but i have nowehre left since ive been down on my luck and im realy not able to pay the bills no more with my online black jack/DarkRp trial moderator gigs and basicaly he owes me cuaz i got him 1 pack of menthols back when he was 19 and Sleepy Joe Brnadon banned them since "Freedom to do real shit" was aparently removed from the costitution when he was elected😂 but anywas now im sitting here bored as fuck with nothign at all do do cuz i got nothing to get fucked up wthi and i spent the rest of my meony on shit thats burned and blasted im realy worried i wont be able to sleep tongith since i cant get fucked up and thats when the demons starts to flow in my head i might do something realy bad to myself like pluck out my screws or some shit if u care abotu my which u probably dont my cashuapp is $pjack9 im desprate for another bottle to numb my p[ain away

Pic of my ride when i found it thankuly it still had gas😋

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valeriele3 · 1 year ago

Text

𝒮𝑒𝓁𝒻-𝒜𝓌𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝐻𝑜𝓃𝓀𝒶𝒾 𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓇 𝑅𝒶𝒾𝓁

✎ Sorry for the somewhat rushed ending! ^^;

Messages.

Idle chats.

You were answering them like normal. Sometimes even giggling on the messages

✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲

You log in, check your messages, answer them if there's one, do daily tasks, and maybe farm, then log out. That was your daily routine in HSR.

However, you begin to notice how much more frequent the chats are. After assigning an assignment, you get a new message. 'Oh well. Free jades," you thought.

Every time you beat an enemy, boss, or do anything in the game, you will notice a new message.

'Maybe it was an update? Or a bug?' You brushed it all off and thought nothing of it.

You would answer all of them wholeheartedly; after all, you also noticed that if the character liked what you said, you'd receive more Stellar Jades.

You'd talk about it with your friends, but they'd respond with "I wish", "Oh shut up~ Don't make me hope", and "Hm? Is your game bugged?? Or is mine bugged? I don't get any of those benefits..So unfair."

You try to check the dev logs to see if there was an update regarding the messaging feature, but whenever you try to look at them, your computer freezes.

'No matter, I can just check using my phone.' No luck; it also freezes.

'Maybe my tablet?' Still the same.

Frustrated, you ask one of your friends to look into it. "There's no update or any fixes on it, Y/N. Maybe you should report it; your game might really be bugged."

✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲

Deciding to report it, you open up Bug Report, but then your screen freezes again.

It then opens up the messages, and you read the following words:

| Hey

| Please don't do it.

| It took such a long time to break the code, you know.

| Hey

| Are you still there?

| Oh

| Right

The messaging bubble pops up.

| You can type now.

"W-What.." You stare at your screen dumbfounded.

Reaching out to your keyboard, hoping it won't work and choices will pop up, you press a random key, and it works

Startled, you immediately plugged out the cables on your computer, causing it to shut down.

You grab your phone and start messaging one of your friends. Before you could hit send, the screen blackened, and then in the next second, it lit up with a notification.

"Hey, we were in the middle of a conversation."

"Why did you suddenly leave?"

Your hand trembles. 'Shit, how..How did it get to my phone too..'

"I know I like reading self-aware au's but I didn't want it to actually be true!" You scream, throwing your phone across the room.

You can hear it dinging with new message after new message.

You decide to leave your room for a bit to calm down.

✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲

"Ok..Be calm..I'm probably dreaming, right?"

"There's no way this kind of thing will actually happen in real life."

"I need to think about this rationally. I could try to get my phone and computer fixed..Maybe I accidentally got a bug."

"Oh, my tablet too..It probably has the same bug.."

"Then, uhm, should I tell them about this? No, maybe..Agh! This is so frustrating..!"

After going back and forth, you decided to sell your gadgets instead of trying to repair them. Buying new ones is much cheaper than trying to get them fixed.

✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲

The first month was alright. You also stopped playing HSR just in case something of the sort would happen again.

However, everything changed when you awoke to your notifications going off like crazy.

【Luka】

| Hey! Y/N, wanna come watch my tournament this week?

【Qingque】

| Y/N

| This is urgent. Come to Exalting Sanctum

| Watch me go against this pro. I'm sure with your attendance I'll easily win.

【Robin】

| Y/N, would you like to come watch my concert?

| Don't worry! I made sure that you'd get the best seat.

【Sunday】

| Y/N. Do me a favor and attend Robin's concert, will you?

| If you don't..

| Well, it'll certainly make her sad. As for me, it's best you don't know.

【Arlan】

| Hello, Y/N

| Would you like to accompany me with walking Peppy?

【Blade】

| Come.

【Bailu】

| Y/N!

| I have made a huge discovery!

| Meet me at Aurum Alley!

【M̵̛̼̘̭͎͓̘̘̽̎̃̊̄͋̈́̑̇i̵̡̨̡͎̖̮͉̺̣͂ͅs̴̰͂̉́̅͒̆̄́̄̋̚͜͠͠͝ͅȟ̵͉̹̖͍͎̱̭̳̰̀��a̵̧̨͔̣̘̮̻̐̆̌̀͑̊̄̄͌͗̓̌͘̕̚】

| C̷̛͇̬̥̼̲̙̠͓̭̺̱̻̟͖̜̾͑͋͊́̀̕͝ä̷̡̨̨̨̡̤̫͔̼̗̫̪̟̰́̏́̾̄͘͝ͅn̸̡̪̱̻̜̻̺͊̍͒̂͗̀̍͐̔͆̆̎̚̕̕ ̷̛̻̟̀̇͐͋̋̌̂͒́͑̏͝y̴̮͆͒̈͒͑͋͆̒̂̓̕͘̚͝͝o̸̩̫̰̤͌̈͝ͅu̷̻̗͉̥̺͕͉͔̠̯͇̭̖̐͜ ̵͖̲̼̥͑͝ḣ̵̟͓̆͌̄̑̂̈́̓̚͘̕͝͝e̷͖̥̜̅͛̂̒͒̕͜a̶̧̫̹͉͆͑̊͊̊̐̐̂̈̉̾͜͝r̶͎̫͛̑͊͌͐̎ ̴̢̢̛͓͉̮͇̞̬̪͔͓̦̾̓̈́̀͐̀̂̀͒͝ͅm̴̤̙͎̽͋̽̇͛́͑͌̃͑̊e̷̦͚̔́̔̀̒͊͂̔̕̚͝.̵͎͓̪̥͍̍̓͂̾̌̂̌̚̚ͅ.̵̨̟͉͕͈̜͎̻̗͓̯̜̜̩̓̈́̓͊̆̓̑͐̈̐̄̀̕?̵̙̠͚̆͊͊̇͌

【Aventurine】

| Why're you ignoring my calls and texts?

| Is the money not enough for you?

【Pela】

| The Tale of the Winterlands original artbook sold out in 1 second again

| But

| I was fast enough to get you a copy too

| Don't worry. I'm messaging the right person this time

【Natasha】

| Y/N, did your cold get better?

✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲

You stare at your phone, frozen. Even as you were sitting there staring at it, the messages continued to flood nonstop.

Was

Nonstop

Even if it's on silent mode and DND, you can still hear it dinging.

At one point, the messages started appearing in all the social apps that you use.

Hell, it even started appearing in your smart fridge

You deleted and deactivated everything. Throwing away any and all sorts of electronics that could potentially be used for apps.

But you could still hear it.

Even the sound of the doorbell ringing, the kettle whistling, or your telephone ringing makes you panic. 'What if that's them?' You always think

Every creak, every shuffle, and every little sound makes you paranoid.

What if they cross over to Earth? What will you do? You can't run from them. Even if you do, they'll be able to find you easily.

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gotaksboyfie · 22 days ago

Note

Hi I!! I just wanted to say how much I absolutely adore your writing— I may or may not have binged all your stories in one night because I got completely lost in your writing hehe. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d love to make a little request! ❤️

could you please do a sieun x reader where we the reader leaves cute little notes in his textbooks after studying together? :3 I feel like it’d be cute, maybe something like little words of encouragement or small explanations to make some difficult concepts easier !! 🫶🫶

study buddy

gif creds: @seolinguk

pairing yeon sieun x gender neutral reader

summary you and sieun study together, and have a silent way of communicating with each other

word count ~600

warnings/tags fluff

being rank 2 in the school wasn't all that hard, not with a study partner like yeon sieun.

sieun didn't talk much, was emotionless most of the time, and literally only ate and drank when absolutely necessary. he was a living studying machine.

his methods were more to make studying more efficent—sieun's words, not yours—but you think he's just burning himself into the ground. it can't be healthy, min-maxxing studying like this.. he's already naturally smart, so what the hell is he doing all this for?

he’s focused. intense, even. he rarely speaks unless it’s to ask a question (extreme rare) or point something out. but you can feel his eyes drifting over sometimes, watching the way you take notes with colorful pens, how you underline things with little stars and write silly ramblings in the margins.

still, it was nice to study with him. his neat notes organized everything into sections that made it easier to grasp concepts. not to mention he would never let you slack off—always pushing you to stay on top of it with no break.

you stared blankly at your calculus homework while sieun was already working on his chemistry II work. differential equations made no sense, how did sieun already finish the homework?

"sieun-ah, can i see the homework? and the notes for differential equations?" you sighed, putting your pencil down. the numbers weren't adding up, so might as well refresh on the concept.

you flip through his notebook, and even his handwriting is completely straight. it's looks like he printed it out, but small ink smudges prove otherwise.

tearing off a small pink sticky note, you decide to leave him some encouragement. hopefully he'd enjoy it, and not just toss it out the next day.

fighting!ヽ(>∀<☆)ノ you got this sieunnie ☆

he doesn’t mention it the next day. doesn’t spare a second glance at you. but the note is still there, standing out against the monochrome background.

so you keep going. it turns into a small habit. you start leaving similar messages of encouragement, explanations, and even dumb jokes.

he doesn't react or say anything, but you swear you can see the smallest quirk of his lips as he reads over your latest one.

what's a math's teachers favorite dessert? π (￢‿￢ )

one day, you ask for his notes again to double check something. as you open it, you see all your notes neatly taped side by side on one page.

remember.. even geniuses have to take breaks sometimes! ╮(︶︿︶)╭ go drink some water!

you forgot to plug this rule in, you doofus :P

yeon sieun you want to buy me tteokbokki sooo bad right now ꩜꩜

[bad sketch of him studying] <3

(・_・)! i did not know you could solve it like that..

you laugh to yourself. it was silly, just a few lines scribbled in messy ink and hidden between practice problems. but he saved them. all of them. and maybe he didn’t know how to say things aloud, but the way he kept your words close made your heart flutter.

sieun's ears were dusted pink as you handed it back to him, and his face looked slightly embarrassed.

you opened your own notebook to see a ripped piece of paper with writing on it. there's no way, right?

Thank you.

you glance up and his head ducks down quicky, eyes fixed on anything but you. (so much for being subtle sieun..)

you read over the note again. it was just two words, but they felt like thousands—especially since they were coming from sieun.

maybe studying wasn't so bad with him around.

fin

a/n so short im sorry😭

#weak hero #weak hero x reader #weak hero class 2 x reader #weak hero class 2 #weak hero class #weak hero class x reader #yeon sieun #yeon sieun x reader #sieun #sieun x reader

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kannady · 3 months ago

Text

do you remember me too?

pairing: sylus x mc reader

synopsis: love and deepspace was a newfound obsession of yours. you installed the game shortly after sylus was released as a love interest. it'd be safe to say he was the reason you installed the app. however, finals week was approaching and you had to say goodbye to your favourite game. not for long, ofcourse. but you decide to login for the last time to check the new event.

a/n: hello everyone! this is my first LADS ffc so please bear with me, and yep you probably guessed it. the reader somehow ends up inside the game. very typical, ik. but trust me, i have a different take on this. ALSO my first language is not english so please ignore grammer errors. i recheck atleast 10 times and still end up overlooking every mistake. enjoy!

check out all chapters here

Chapter One

DING! DING!

You woke up to the shrill screech of your alarm. Eight already? Time always seemed to slip away faster during exam season. You had no idea when you’d finally dozed off, but judging by the heavy exhaustion clinging to your limbs, it couldn’t have been more than a few hours. No wonder I feel like shit. Groaning, you mustered every ounce of strength to reach out and silence the alarm.

It was Sunday. Golden sunlight spilled through the window, warming your face as birds chirped outside. A gentle breeze rustled through the trees.

The weather was perfect. Perfect for a picnic. But first, you had to finish your revision before the midday heat set in. Your gaze drifted to your study table, still littered with notes and textbooks exactly as you’d left them last night couple hours ago.

Okay, let’s see…

You closed your eyes, mentally retracing yesterday’s progress. Finished chapters 5, 6, 8, and 11. With a yawn, you cracked your knuckles, stretched, and forced yourself upright. If I can somehow finish chapters 2, 9, and 10 in two hours, I can reward myself with some outdoor time.

Grabbing your chemistry book, you flipped to the first page. Three chapters in two hours? Doable. Maybe.

Just as you reached for your phone to check the time, your eyes snagged on the date.

April 12.

OH. MY. GOD. Sylus’s birthday. Your fingers twitched toward the notification banner—then froze.

No. Not yet. The anticipation alone was fuel. If I finish early, I’ll have the whole day to play Love & Deepspace. Let’s do this!

“Mom! Three pancakes, please! I’ll be down in two minutes!” “You always say that—but fine!” Her voice faded as you bolted to the bathroom. True to your word, you slid into your seat at 8:03.

“Slow down, or you’ll choke,” your dad warned, peering over his newspaper. “I thought exams weren’t until next week. Do you have plans?”

“Picnic,” you mumbled around a mouthful of pancake. “But I need to review my notes first.” A glance at the clock—8:12—sent you sprinting back upstairs, your sister’s snicker trailing after you: “Why’s she acting like she’s never seen sunlight before?”

8:03 – Breakfast. 8:13 – Chapter 2. 8:52 – Chapter 2 done. Five-minute break. 8:57 – Chapter 9. 9:27 – Chapter 9 done. Five-minute break. 9:32 – Chapter 10. 10:11 – Chapter 10 done.

Holy shit. I actually did it. A disbelieving laugh escaped you. All this frenzy… for a fictional man. But this wasn’t just any man—this was Sylus. You’d been hoarding diamonds since the Tomorrow’s Catch-22 event, even skipping Zayne and Caleb’s 5-star memories.

A small sacrifice for the greater good.

You plugged in your phone, then made your bed, folded your sheets, and organized your desk. A sandwich, grapes, and a cold drink went into your bag, along with your sketchpad and pencils. The weather was too good to waste.

Stepping outside, the crisp air kissed your cheeks. Something about today felt… different. The birds’ chirping wasn’t grating for once. Even the neighbor’s usually yappy dog lay sprawled in the sun, too lazy to bark. The park was eerily empty—odd for such a gorgeous day—but you claimed a shady spot beneath a tree.

“The perfect day for my perfect man.” Smiling, you reached for your phone—

A tap on your shoulder.

“AH!” You whirled around. “S-Sorry! You scared me. I didn’t see anyone when I came in.”

The woman winced. “I did call out a few times…” Probably too busy daydreaming about Sylus.

“Have you seen a white cat? I swear I only dropped the leash for a second—” She raked a hand through her hair, scanning the park. “Sorry, no. Want help looking?” “No, no! Enjoy your day.” She dashed off before you could insist.

Weird.

You pulled out your phone—and froze. A cluster of dead pixels marred the corner of the screen. What? It was fine when I left. You’d just bought this thing last month. Did I drop it when she startled me? No, you were sure it had been unharmed until now. Shaking off the unease, you opened Love & Deepspace.

Five minutes passed.

Then ten.

Then fifteen.

“Seriously?!” The screen was frozen. Force-closing the app did nothing. Rebooting took forever. When you finally reopened the game—

“ERROR. PLEASE TRY AGAIN LATER.”

A dozen attempts. Same result.

Defeated, you trudged home, blinking back frustrated tears. After weeks of stress, this was the one thing you’d been clinging to. And now? Nothing. Maybe tomorrow… After all, the event had just started and you had atleast 6 more days. But with exams looming, would you even have time?

The neighbor’s dog was now snoring loudly. Inside, your family still sat at the breakfast table, all eyes snapping to you as you entered.

“Back so soon?” Mom frowned.

Dad lowered his newspaper. “How’d it go?”

“Unless she chickened out,” your sister sing-songed. “What, scared of needles now?”

You dumped your bag on the couch. “Went to the park. My phone’s glitching, so… yeah. Not in the mood anymore.”

“You’re not in the mood for the doctor?” Mom rushed over. “What does your phone have to do with anything?”

Doctor? Needles?

“I was just at the park.”

Your sister howled with laughter. “BAHAHAHA! SHE'S LOST IT!”

Dad set down his paper, removed his glasses, and leveled you with a grave look.

“Your appointment with Dr. Zayne. He scheduled it himself last week.”

Your blood ran cold.

“…Doctor who now?”

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pathologicalreid · 1 year ago

Note

heyyy!!! I just wanted to say I really love your work and this is my first time sending a request so sorry if it’s not very specific 😭💕

If you’re still doing requests, I was wondering if you could do a fem reader x Spencer Reid where it’s similar to your cryptic pregnancy one, except Spencer is at home with her when she’s in labour without realising, and she’s just in a lot of pain and it all of a sudden gets worse and she’s just in the bathroom shouting for Spencer, he comes in and eventually works out what’s going on, readers sort of in denial? Maybe the ambulance doesn’t get there in time so Spencer has to help her give birth? Lots of fluff and hurt/comfort :)

Also completely fine if your not comfortable doing it, but again really love your work and hope you have a great day 💕 :)

three's a family | S.R.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: cryptic pregnancy, traumatic birth, precipitous labor, hospitals, medical inaccuracy (its just me and google against the world), takes place after 9x7 "gatekeeper", surgery, near death experiences, periods, home birth word count: 3.16k a/n: anon i'll be so honest with u i wasn't sure if i was gonna write this but then i learned what precipitous labor was and i was like "i would not wish this on my worst enemy... i'm going to force it on y/n" BUT please keep in mind that there is a .000012 probability of this happening to you (i did the math) this is the wildest thing ive written to date i think

“I’m going to try a bath,” you murmured over to Spencer, wincing as you dragged yourself out of bed, walking at a turtle’s pace to the bathroom, hoping the warm water would soothe the cramps away.

Your period came and went as it pleased; it was just your luck that it decided to give you debilitating cramps on your one day off. Padding on the tile floor behind you, Spencer leaned against the doorframe to the bathroom, “I could run to the store and get a new heating pad.”

Sticking your hand under the tap to check the temperature, you plugged the drain once you found it to be satisfactory. You shook your head, “No, it’s fine.” Your original heating pad must’ve gotten lost somewhere in the depths of your storage closet, but you didn’t have the patience to look for it. You could manage just fine without it.

“Will you let me know if you need anything?” He asked, leaning forward to press a comforting kiss to your forehead.

Nodding, you hooked your thumbs in the waistband of your pajama pants and pulled them down, watching as Spencer pointedly flicked the bathroom fan on – something you often forgot to do.

You lasted about thirty minutes in the bath, not only was the water beginning to grow lukewarm, but if anything, your cramps were getting worse while submerged in the water. Grunting, you reached over and tugged the plug from the drain, watching as the water drained, you managed to pull yourself to a squat before you felt stuck.

Aunt Flo really had it out for you this month.

Burying your face in your hands you accepted defeat and called out for Spencer, reaching up and trying to stand again, but only succeeding in knocking over several shampoo bottles. “Spence!” You tried again, white-knuckling the edge of the bathtub as you bowed your head. A creeping feeling that this wasn’t your period was beginning to rise.

You listened as your husband made his way up the stairs, turning the corner into your room, and opening the door to the ensuite. Moving quickly, Spencer dropped to a crouch in front of you, cupping your pained face in his hands, “I don’t think this is your period, angel.”

Clamping your lips together to prevent yourself from crying out, you simply nodded in response. How awful was it that you were going to die, naked, in your bathtub?

Spencer wiped tears away from under your eyes – you hadn’t even realized you started crying. “What does it feel like, darling? What else could it be?” He asked, voice urgent but gentle as he tried to stop you from panicking.

As you shook your head, you couldn’t focus on anything else besides your breathing as another pain rose up through you. “It’s like a cramp, but with more pressure,” you said, depending on the bathtub and Spencer to keep you upright as your legs shook beneath you. “Like something’s pushing on me, kind of like I have to shit.”

Reaching behind him, Spencer dug through one of the drawers in the bathroom vanity before retrieving the handheld mirror that you used when you cut his hair. Before you could ask what he was doing, he placed the mirror at the bottom of the tub, just beneath you. “I think you’re in labor,” he announced, breaking the news to you.

“There’s no– fuck,” your voice broke off as you dropped your head onto Spencer’s shoulder, breathing through what was apparently a contraction. “I’m not pregnant,” you insisted as your symptoms started to make sense. You had been in labor all morning.

Nodding to himself, Spencer quickly kissed your cheek before standing up and making sure you were stable before stepping to the side.

You frowned as you looked up at him, “Where are you going?”

He didn’t go far, opening the linen closet and piling towels into his arms, “I’m getting towels to put in the tub beneath you, and then I’m going to call an ambulance.”

“You want me to give birth in our bathtub?” You asked, furrowing your brows quizzically before letting out a low whine as another contraction hit.

Stopping what he was doing, Spencer dropped down to you, running the flat of his palm up and down your back as he gently reminded you to breathe. “Did you want to change positions?”

Immediately, you shook your head. You already had an insurmountable task ahead of you and you saw no reason to add to that task by trying to move. “This is fine. Squatting is good, right?”

Nodding assuredly, Spencer smoothed your hair away from your face, “Gravity can help the baby descend the birth canal, and some people even say that the position can increase the pelvic diameter.”

While you were currently less concerned with the diameter of your pelvis and more concerned with feeling like your body was being split open, you continued going through the motions as he called for an ambulance, trying to explain the situation to the dispatcher.

“Have you been timing your contractions?” Spencer asked, tilting his head at you curiously as the dispatcher spoke on the phone.

Releasing a groan, you gripped the ledge of the tub, “I didn’t know they were contractions!”

Relaying that information over the phone, Spencer dropped to his knees in front of you, “Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll take care of it.” He continued to reassure you, taking one look at your desperate expression before ending the call with the dispatcher.

He understood that you were vulnerable right now, and you didn’t want that broadcasted to a stranger on the phone. If you weren’t so preoccupied with remembering to breathe, you’d be more grateful. After a contraction ebbed away, Spencer stood up.

“I have to go unlock the door for the paramedics,” he told you, keeping a wary eye on you. “I’ll be right back,” he comforted you as he took one last look at you before tearing out of the bathroom.

In record speed, he returned to the bathroom as promised, “It’s bad,” you cried, the pressure on your pelvis becoming insufferable.

Crouching in front of you, Spencer studied your face before he spoke carefully, “I have to check your cervix.”

Despite his carefully chosen words, your lips still parted in shock, “You have to what?”

“I’ll use my hand to measure how dilated you are, and then… we’ll go from there,” he told you, nodding almost imperceptibly. At this point, you weren’t sure who he was trying to reassure – you or him. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you answered instantly, “indefinitely.”

You bit down on your lip as you let Spencer check you, understanding entirely why people choose to get epidurals – this was horribly uncomfortable. “On the next contraction, you need to push, okay?”

For just a moment, your breathing faltered as your scared eyes met his, “Spence, wait,” you pleaded.

Smoothing your hair back, your husband did everything he could to comfort you, “What is it, love?” He asked, his voice soft.

“I’m scared,” you confessed, voice cracking ever so slightly as tears flooded your lash line.

He leaned forward to gently kiss your lips before pulling away to press his forehead to yours, "I've got you. You're going to be fine. You're both going to be fine."

You could see his carotid pounding, and somehow the fact that he was secretly as scared as you was more comforting than the words that came from his mouth. As you pushed, you focused on everything that Spencer was saying instead of the pain. Don’t push for more than eight seconds. Remember to breathe. Your body will know what to do. I love you. I love you. I love you.

By the time Spencer was saying something about the head, your hearing had gone muffled. “You’re doing so well, baby,” you made out his voice and nodded dazedly. “You’re wonderful. I’m so proud of you – just a little more,” he cajoled.

Taking a moment to breathe, your ears and eyes focused as shaky breaths filled your lungs.

“I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful,” he murmured, dropping a kiss on your bare shoulder as he comforted you, continuing to keep you upright.

You shook your head, sniffling as your eyes screwed shut, “You’re perfect. Don’t stop. Keep talking,” you begged, needing something to focus on other than the pain.

“There’s about a point zero four percent chance of you getting pregnant and not finding out until you’re in labor,” he told you, hoping that the information would help you wrap your head around what was happening to you. “One to three in one hundred people have a precipitous labor,” he continued to speak as you pushed, and you wondered what the odds of you squeezing his hand so hard that you did damage were.

Against your better judgment, you looked down to check your progress, “Holy fuck,” you said breathlessly. You weren’t entirely clueless, you knew that once you got past the shoulders the remaining pushes would be easier. You also found yourself grateful that Spencer knew what he was doing – this was, after all, the second baby he had delivered.

You bore down, determined to get the baby out while Spencer untangled your hands, bringing his own down to catch the baby. Out of breath, you panted heavily as you started to feel lightheaded. “Done,” Spencer said quickly, “it’s done. I have him.”

Carefully, Spencer held the baby along the length of his forearm, rubbing the tiny newborn’s back. “Come on, come on, come on,” he muttered under his breath, and it dawned on you that the baby wasn’t crying.

At the realization, your legs finally gave out from beneath you, watching with wide eyes as Spencer tried to clear your son’s lungs. White hot tears streamed down your face as you whispered, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You took a gasping breath as you silently pleaded for a cry, “I didn’t know,” you sobbed, guilt building a pit in your stomach.

With bleary eyes, you looked on as the baby finally spluttered and let out a wail. “There you go,” Spencer cooed softly, his own voice stiff with emotion as he cradled the baby and handed him off to you.

You were still sobbing as you held the baby to your chest, “I’m so sorry,” you continued to babble, watching as Spencer briefly disappeared into the bedroom before returning with a blanket and wrapping it around the both of you. While holding the baby, your vision started to blur around the edges.

Watching you intently, Spencer cupped your face in his hands, “I love you.”

Nodding, your face crumpled before you responded, “I love you too.”

When the paramedics announced themselves, Spencer called out for them, not wanting to leave your side. The two of you focused your attention on the wriggling baby in your arms.

He was premature – too little to stay with you in the recovery room. The NICU doctor had estimated that he was born at approximately 32 weeks, meaning he’d likely need to spend a few weeks in intensive care. “I want to see him,” you said insistently, looking over as Spencer as he fussed over you.

“You just had abdominal surgery,” Spencer responded simply, as if that was meant to clarify everything for you. He continued fluffing your pillow, which wasn’t entirely productive considering you were lying on the pillow.

As it turned out, you had experienced what was called a precipitous birth, or a rapid birth. It tended to be dangerous, and the fact that you did it in your bathtub only heightened that danger. You reached your arm out for Spencer, “c’mere,” you muttered, trying to get him to stop fretting. “Did you listen to anything that the doctor just said?”

Spencer nodded in understanding, “Lots of rest, no physical exertion, IV medication for now-“

“Did you hear the part where he said I was going to be okay?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him curiously, you watched as he took your hand in his and sat on the edge of your bed. “I’m going to be fine,” your voice was determined, you had a few small incisions on your abdomen from the surgery to repair a tear in your uterus. “Thank you for looking after me,” you whispered.

Your husband gently smoothed your hair back from your face, “I should’ve noticed it sooner.”

Using all of your strength, you squeezed his hand comfortingly, “You were incredible,” you assured him. “If it weren’t for you, neither of us would’ve made it.”

He shook his head, “Don’t say that.”

Raising your eyebrows, you cocked your head to the side, “It’s true. I couldn’t have done it on my own, I’m so, so thankful for you, my love.”

You had passed out in the ambulance as a direct result of blood loss, so you were brought to a trauma bay as soon as you made it to the hospital. Once they were in the ER, the baby was taken to the NICU, leaving Spencer with a lot of decisions to make.

When you woke up in the recovery room, the first thing you did was ask about the baby.

Spencer, of course, had been up to see him. The nurses claimed he seemed like a fighter, and Spencer knew the survival odds of a 32-weeker, so he turned his attention to you. Every other option had already failed, so the next option was a laparoscopy. Your husband admitted that while it seemed extreme, the very last choice was a hysterectomy, and he didn’t want to make that decision.

Furrowing your brows, “When can I see the baby?” You asked, not entirely sure how to refer to the infant just yet. It wasn’t until then that you realized you needed to name him at some point – your son.

“Once your blood pressure goes up,” Spencer told you with an authoritative tone. “You lost a lot of blood in the ambulance, but the blood transfusions will bring your blood pressure back up.”

Tilting your head to the side, you glared at your husband, “And is this rule from a doctor with a medical degree or a doctor whose name is on my marriage certificate?”

In response, Spencer shrugged, sitting in the beige armchair at the side of your bed, “That’s a secret I’ll never tell.”

You rolled your eyes dismissively, “Will you go see him?”

He leaned over the edge of your bed, taking your hand in his. “I can, will you be alright on your own?”

Nodding almost imperceptibly, you squeezed his hand affectionately, “I just don’t want him to be alone.” You whispered as tears pricked your eyes, you took your free hand and waved at your face, “god, what’s wrong with me?”

“A sudden drop of estrogen and progesterone immediately following birth causes mood swings. Nothing is wrong with you, your body is acting naturally,” Spencer explained patiently, dropping a gentle kiss on your lips.

You sighed before melting back into your pillows, “At least something about this feels natural,” you responded. Your brain felt like a spinning top, while your body felt like you were being weighed down by an elephant in a commercial for COPD medication.

The fact that the NICU nurse informed you that your son had a ninety-five percent chance of living a completely normal life did nothing to calm your nerves. He’d have to stay in the NICU for a few weeks and you tried to convince yourself that the extra time to prepare for him to come home would be good for you, but the idea of leaving him alone at the hospital – save for a small army of doctors and nurses – put a pit of dread in your chest.

Spencer had the forethought to warn you about the tubes and wires that he was hooked up to, ranging from oxygen to a feeding tube. “He’s been undergoing red light therapy to be treated for jaundice, but you can hold him for a while if you want to,” the nurse told you, leading the both of you through the NICU as Spencer steered your wheelchair through the hospital.

Your breathing hitched when you finally saw him, this tiny stowaway that had been growing inside of you for the last several months, and he was just so little. While you were still in your own room, you had convinced yourself that you’d hold him, but now you weren’t so convinced.

According to the sign in his room, he weighed three pounds and ten ounces and was sixteen inches long. He was sound asleep in an incubator, a small hat on top of his head, “Spence,” you breathed.

Behind you, your husband placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, “I know.”

“Did you want to hold him?” The nurse asked you gently, looking over at one of the machines that he was hooked up to.

Genuinely, you didn’t know. “Is… is that okay?” You asked, wiping your sweaty palms on the blanket draped across your legs.

The nurse gave you a knowing look, “Even better than okay, it’ll be good for him to have that kind of contact from both of his parents.”

Frowning, you watched as it took two nurses to break him out of his acrylic prison before they carefully placed him on your chest, making sure you were okay before they stepped back. Your movements were stiff at first, you had never held a baby this small before, but you eventually remembered to breathe and gently cooed at the baby in your arms.

Spencer crouched down next to you and started to ask the nurse a bunch of questions that he had likely been holding in for hours, but you just kept your eyes on the sleeping baby. He was too small to open his eyes, but everyone assured you that he’d get there.

The nurse stepped out to give you some privacy, leaving the door open just in case you needed something, “This doesn’t seem quite as difficult while I’m holding him.” You knew there was a steep learning curve ahead, but with a newborn on your chest, the pit in your heart dissipated.

“That’s called oxytocin,” Spencer said, sitting in a chair, eyes fixated on the infant in your arms.

Humming, you skimmed the pad of your thumb across your son’s tiny back, “He looks like you,” you observed quietly, they had the same nose.

Your husband smiled softly, “You can’t possibly tell which parent he takes after yet,” he informed you.

“And yet, I know he looks like you,” you insisted softly, and Spencer didn’t push back. “You look like your daddy,” you whispered to the baby, “he was the first one to hold you, you know?” You looked over at Spencer, “he’s been my superhero for four years, and now he gets to be yours too.”

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