#more light and fun and camp

[lostworldss]

kinda want to replay a choices series again because i need a new distraction from my personal life, but i can’t decide which one

[ilovethatstupidmouse]

I got hit with an evil curse sowwyyy. Rough draft designs for Fluttershy and Dash in my au! They're teens in this picture. Rainbow isn't short, Fluttershy is just weirdly tall for a Pegasus and Will get taller :-)

Also I am obsessed with platonic (shippers welcome) Rainbowshy they have so much lore in my head. Aouuu childhood friendship that lasted into adulthood.... Opposites of each other... A pre established bond within a bigger bond (Mane 6) like they have more history together to me than they have with the others idk. My thoughts!!!!

[idle-compy]

this is like the most poorly done edit ever but i couldnt get the idea out of my head

[dreamberry24]

Drawing old ocs for April yayyyy

[nerdie-faerie]

Just when I think the day's going well, I crash a golf cart

[crickwater]

I don't know if this is a hot take but halsin is hands down the worst companion and that could be easily solved by having him join you at the beginning of act 2 and giving him literally anything to do in act 3 except hit on you

[silvery-stars]

would it be sacrilege of me to say that i am kinda hashtag Underwhelmed by the percy jackson show

[dyingstarsinyoursky]

Portugal and Spain blackout huh?

That was a wild day.

Like it existed outside of time and space.

That was my last day in Portugal before my flight back to the UK.

Power went out at 11:33am. My neightbourhood got power at 21:45, except my building that only got power at 23:45

The weather was great, so I went to a park with a friend. We just spent the day chatting and keeping each other company

Super chill day on a beautiful day. But what a surreal experience

[bentreznor]

why on earth do you even want a fe4 remake if you dont want anything to change just go play the original game.

[flux1563]

Fun Camping ft Yeji

Words : 7k

Tags : public sex, crempie, squirting

Yeji sat in the backseat of the car, knees drawn to her chest, as the vehicle bumped along the dusty road. The sun had begun to dip below the tree line, casting an orange glow across the landscape. She watched as the last of the daylight played hide and seek with the shadows, the warmth slowly retreating from the glass. Her friends, Yuna, Lia, Ryujin, and Chaeryeong, chattered excitedly in the seats around her, their laughter a welcome cacophony in the confined space. They were on their way to the camping grounds for their first trip together, a weekend getaway from the city's suffocating embrace.

The car pulled into a small clearing, the headlights piercing the gathering darkness. Yeji's eyes scanned the area, spotting a solitary tent pitched in the distance. Her heart skipped a beat as she caught a glimpse of a figure emerging from the shadows, his silhouette backlit by the fading day. He looked up as the car's engine cut out, and for a moment, their eyes met. His features were sharp and defined, a stark contrast to the soft light behind him. Yeji felt a strange pull, an inexplicable attraction that made her pulse quicken.

The girls tumbled out of the car, stretching their legs and surveying their surroundings. They were a mix of excitement and nerves, all of them city-dwellers with more experience in shopping malls than in the great outdoors. Yeji took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the cool, earthy scent of the forest. The crunch of gravel underfoot was a stark reminder of the unfamiliar territory they were about to inhabit for the next few days.

The figure from the tent approached them, his footsteps muffled by the thick grass. He had a friendly smile and a casual confidence that seemed to belong to the wilderness itself. "Hello, ladies," he greeted, his voice a low, easy rumble. Yeji felt her cheeks warm as she took in his handsome face and the way his clothes hung from his frame with an effortless style.

Her eyes darted back to the tent, and she mustered the courage to speak up. "Could we, like, set up our tent next to yours?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound too eager. The guy's smile widened. "Of course," he said, gesturing to an empty spot nearby. "There's plenty of room."

They watched him approach, his movements fluid and sure, and Yeji couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious about their own tentative efforts. Her friends had already unfurled their tents, but the poles lay scattered around them like a game of pick-up sticks.

"Do you need any help?" the guy offered, and Yeji felt a wave of relief wash over her. His eyes were a warm brown, crinkled at the corners from his smile. Yuna, ever the extrovert, stepped forward eagerly. "Yes, please!" she exclaimed, and the others nodded in agreement.

The guy introduced himself as Y/n, and he set to work with an ease that suggested he'd done this a hundred times before. Yeji couldn't take her eyes off his hands as they deftly worked the tent poles into place. His forearms flexed with the effort, and she found herself imagining them around her own waist, holding her close. She bit her lower lip to keep from smiling at the thought, trying to focus on the instructions he was giving her friends.

Sweat beaded on Y/n's forehead and trickled down his neck, making his shirt cling to his toned chest. Yeji's gaze lingered on the damp fabric, tracing the lines of his muscles. She felt a warmth spreading through her that had nothing to do with the exertion of setting up camp. The air grew thick with the scent of pine and the faint smell of male sweat, and she found it oddly comforting.

Her friends chatted with Y/n as they worked, asking about his camping experiences and sharing their own excitement for the trip ahead. Yeji hung back, not wanting to interrupt the flow of conversation, but also not wanting to miss any moment of his company. She watched as he demonstrated the correct way to tie a knot, his eyes focused and intense. The way his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed made her stomach flip.

When the tents were finally standing tall, the girls thanked him profusely, their voices a little too high-pitched for the serene setting. Y/n just shrugged it off, his smile never wavering. "It's no problem," he said. "I enjoy helping out." His gaze lingered on Yeji for a beat longer than it had on the others, and she felt a thrill run up her spine. She hoped he hadn't noticed the way she'd been staring, the way her cheeks had turned pink every time their eyes met.

"So, girls," he began, turning to address the group. "I can see this is probably your first time camping." He chuckled good-naturedly at their nods. "Why don't we make it a little more interesting?" He suggested. "How about we all share some activities around the campfire tonight? Nothing too crazy, just some stories and maybe a little friendly competition."

Yuna, ever the adventurous one, was the first to agree. "That sounds like so much fun!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. Lia and Ryujin exchanged a look, then shrugged in unison. "Why not?" they chorused. Chaeryeong nodded, a hint of excitement sparkling in her eyes.

Yeji felt her heart flutter. The thought of spending the evening with Y/n, sharing stories and laughter, was more than she could have hoped for. She didn't even mind the prospect of embarrassing herself with some campfire games. Anything to spend more time with him.

As darkness fully descended, they gathered around the fire Y/n had expertly built. The flames danced and crackled, casting flickering shadows across their faces. Yeji's eyes never left him as he began to speak, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to resonate with the very earth beneath them. He told a ghost story that had the girls clutching each other and shrieking with a mix of fear and delight. Yeji found herself leaning closer, the warmth of the fire and the sound of his voice wrapping around her like a comforting blanket.

When it was her turn, Yeji's mind went blank. What kind of story could she tell that would hold a candle to his? She stumbled through a childhood tale of a camping trip gone wrong, her voice quieter than she'd intended. But Y/n listened intently, his eyes never leaving hers, and she felt a strange comfort in his attention.

The night went on, filled with laughter, roasting marshmallows, and the occasional jump scare as one of the friends tried to startle the others. Yeji couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so alive, so free from the pressures of their everyday lives. And as she sat there, the flames playing in Y/n's eyes, she knew that this trip was going to be a weekend she'd never forget.

But eventually, the embers of the campfire grew low, and the night grew quiet. The crickets and owls took over the symphony of the forest. With a yawn that seemed to echo through the trees, Lia announced she was turning in. "It's been a long day," she said, rubbing her eyes. "I can't wait to see what tomorrow brings." The others nodded sleepily, and one by one, they began to crawl into their tents.

Yeji lay in her sleeping bag, listening to the rustle of leaves and the gentle snores of her friends. Her mind raced with thoughts of Y/n. She replayed every moment they'd shared, from his first smile to the way his eyes had held hers as she told her story. Her body felt hot and restless, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she needed to be closer to him.

With a quiet whisper, she unzipped her tent and slipped into the cool night air. The moon cast a soft glow across the campsite, guiding her steps as she approached his tent. Her heart hammered in her chest, unsure of what she was about to do. But she took a deep breath and whispered, "Y/n, can you come out? I need a little help."

The zipper on his tent unfurled with a soft hiss, and Y/n emerged, blinking against the moonlight. His eyes searched for hers, a question in his gaze. "What's up?" he asked, his voice low so as not to wake the others.

Yeji's cheeks flushed. "I... I just can't sleep," she admitted, her voice shaky. "Could you... tell me another story?" It wasn't the truth, but it was the closest she could come to expressing her need for his company without revealing the tumult of emotions roiling within her.

Y/n studied her for a moment, then nodded. He led her away from the campfire, the warmth of his hand on her back as they found a secluded spot besides the lake.

Yeji's tank top was indeed braless, and the fabric clung to her skin, revealing the outline of her erect nipples. She had chosen the outfit with care, hoping to catch his attention. The cool night air made them even more prominent, and she couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation at the effect she was having on him. She sat down on a log, the bark rough against her bare legs, and watched as he took a seat next to her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body.

He began his story, weaving a tale of adventure and mystery that had her on the edge of her seat. But as he spoke, she found herself focusing less on the words and more on the way his lips moved, the way his breath hitched slightly when he got to the scary parts. The desire to kiss him was overwhelming, a physical ache that she could no longer ignore.

Yeji swallowed hard, her eyes darting to his mouth and then back to the fire. She hadn't meant for things to go this way, but she couldn't deny the attraction that had been building all evening. "Is this what you want, Yeji?" Y/n asked, his voice dropping to a whisper that seemed to resonate through her very soul.

Her heart hammered in her chest, and she nodded, unable to form words. He leaned closer, his hand coming to rest on her knee, sending shockwaves through her body. She looked into his eyes, and she saw a hunger that mirrored her own. Her breath hitched, and she could feel the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of her shorts.

"I can't deny it," she whispered finally, her voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of the lake's water. "You are so attractive to me, and every time I see you, I just get... hornier."

Y/n's eyes searched hers, a silent question lingering in the air. "Show me, then," he said, his voice low and gruff. Yeji's heart skipped a beat. She had been hoping, dreaming even, that he felt the same way, but she hadn't dared to voice it. Now, here they were, in the quiet of the night, the stars their only witnesses.

Her hands trembled as she reached for the hem of her tank top, lifting it over her head. The cool night air kissed her skin, raising goosebumps along her arms and the swell of her breasts. She saw his eyes darken as he took in the sight of her, and she felt a thrill of power at his reaction.

"No bra already?" Y/n said, his voice a mix of amusement and lust. The words hung in the air between them, heavy with implication. Yeji felt a flush of heat spread across her chest, but she met his gaze, unabashed. "What can I say?" she replied with a shrug, trying to keep her voice light. "I like to be comfortable."

Yeji slid off the log, her legs feeling unsteady. She reached for the button of her shorts, her fingers fumbling in the moonlit darkness. With a soft click, she released the fastening and began to lower the zipper. She could feel his eyes on her, could almost hear the sound of his breath catching as the fabric parted. Her palms grew damp with anticipation, and she took a deep breath before pushing the shorts over her hips.

"No underwear too?" Y/n's voice was a hoarse whisper, a question and a challenge all at once. Yeji stepped out of the shorts, leaving them in a pool at her ankles. She was completely exposed before him, the chilly night air making her skin prickle with goosebumps. But she didn't feel cold; the heat of his gaze was more than enough to warm her.

With a nod, she stepped closer to him, her bare breasts brushing against his chest. His hand slid up her thigh, his thumb grazing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "Fuck me beside this lake, Y/n," she whispered, the words a seductive promise that sent a shiver down his spine.

He took her hand, leading her to the water's edge. The moon cast a silver path across the lake, guiding them to a small, secluded cove. The water was cold, but Yeji didn't care. She could feel the warmth of his hand in hers, the strength of his body as he pulled her closer. They sank into the soft sand, the water lapping at their legs as they kissed with a hunger that seemed to have been building for an eternity.

Yeji's skin tingled where his fingers touched her, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He unhooked her bra, letting it fall to the ground with a soft thud. His eyes raked over her body, and she felt more exposed than she ever had in her life, but with Y/n, she didn't feel vulnerable. She felt powerful. His hand cupped her breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple in a gentle caress that made her gasp.

While his mouth found another, exploring the sensitive skin of her neck, his other hand trailed down her body. Yeji's legs parted of their own accord, inviting him closer. He didn't waste the opportunity, sliding his hand between her thighs to find the warm, wet heat that awaited him. His fingers danced over her clit, teasing and circling until she was moaning his name, her hips bucking against his hand.

"Have you ever squirted before?" he murmured against her ear, his voice a low rumble that sent a bolt of excitement straight to her core. Yeji had read about it, heard whispers from friends, but she had never experienced it herself. The sensation grew stronger with every stroke, building like a crescendo inside her.

"No," she replied breathlessly, her voice a barely audible whisper.

Y/n's eyes searched hers, the intensity of his gaze setting her ablaze. "You don't want me to?"

Yeji's breath hitched, and she managed a shaky nod. "I want it more than anything," she confessed. His hand stilled for a moment before continuing, his fingers working magic on her sensitive flesh.

With a knowing smile, Y/n's thumb slid lower, finding the slickness that coated her folds. He teased her entrance, making her squirm with need. His eyes never left hers as he pushed a single digit inside her, curling it in a way that sent waves of pleasure through her body. Yeji gasped, her eyes going wide with surprise. She'd never felt anything quite like it before.

He watched her closely, reading her every reaction, every gasp and whimper. His touch grew more deliberate, his movements more precise. Yeji's back arched as he hit a spot inside her that made her toes curl. Her breathing grew ragged, and she could feel the tension coiling in her belly. "There," she panted, "right there."

Y/n's hand worked faster, his thumb pressing against her clit in a rhythm that made her entire body hum. Yeji felt something building, something she couldn't quite put into words. It was as if every nerve ending in her body was tuned to the beat of his hand, the ebb and flow of his touch. "I think something wants to come out," she murmured, her eyes squeezed shut.

"Just let it," Y/n encouraged, his voice a soft growl. His fingers danced over her, his movements sure and steady. Yeji's hips rolled, meeting each stroke with a silent plea for more. The tension grew tauter, the coil of pleasure in her belly tightening with every second that passed.

And then, it broke. Yeji's eyes flew open, a cry torn from her throat as she felt a warm gush flood over Y/n's hand. Her body spasmed, muscles clenching around his fingers as a torrent of wetness erupted from within her. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever felt, a delicious mix of pleasure and release that made her toes curl.

"Ahh, so good," she breathed, her voice a tremulous whisper.

Encouraged by her response, Y/n's hand slid down to her waist, gripping her firmly as he pushed her down onto her knees. Yeji looked up at him, her eyes glazed with passion, as he freed his hardened length from his shorts. The sight of his big, throbbing cock made her mouth water, and she eagerly leaned in to take him in her mouth.

"I had no gag reflex," she whispered, her voice a seductive promise. "Do it as hard as you can."

Y/n's eyes darkened with desire at her words, and he didn't waste a second. He pushed against her mouth, his cock sliding past her lips with an ease that surprised them both. Yeji's eyes watered at first, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned in, eager to take more of him in, her tongue swirling around his shaft as he grew harder with every passing second.

But her mouth was indeed small, and Y/n's cock was substantial. Despite her lack of gag reflex, she found herself struggling to accommodate him fully. She could feel the head of his penis hit the back of her throat, and she had to work to relax her muscles and let him in deeper. He watched her with a mix of admiration and hunger, his hand guiding the back of her head, setting the pace.

Her jaw began to ache, a delicious soreness that she hadn't felt since her first time giving head. Yeji's eyes watered as she took him in, her cheeks hollowing with every suck. The sound of his pleasure spurred her on, and she focused on the task at hand, eager to make him feel as good as he had made her. Her tongue danced around the head of his cock, exploring every ridge and vein, tasting the salt of his arousal.

"Ahh, so tight, Yeji," he groaned, his hand tightening in her hair. His praise sent a jolt of pride through her, and she redoubled her efforts. She felt him swell against her tongue, his hips bucking slightly with every deep-throated moan. The sight of his muscles tensing, the way his eyes rolled back in his head, told her that she was doing something right.

"Glukkk glukk glukk," was the only sound she could manage, the rhythm of her mouth matching the pounding of her heart. She was lost in the sensation of his cock sliding in and out of her mouth, the taste of him coating her tongue. It was a primitive, carnally satisfying act that she had never experienced quite like this before.

Y/n's grip grew firmer, guiding her movements with an urgency that was palpable. His hips began to thrust in time with her bobs, pushing deeper and deeper until she could feel the tip of his cock nudging the back of her throat. Yeji's eyes watered, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she took a deep breath and forced herself to relax, to take him all in.

"Ahh, fuck," he groaned, his voice strained. "You're taking it all, Yeji." His words were a heady mix of praise and desperation, and she felt a thrill run through her. She knew he was close, could feel his cock pulse in her mouth.

And then he was there, his hand tightening in her hair. "I'm going to fill your throat," he warned, his voice a harsh whisper that sent a shiver down her spine. Yeji nodded, her eyes locked on his. She wanted it, needed it, the ultimate act of submission and intimacy.

With a growl, Y/n thrust into her mouth, holding her still as he released his load. Warm, salty cum flooded her mouth, and she swallowed greedily, not wanting to miss a drop. The sensation was overwhelming, and she felt a rush of satisfaction that was almost as intense as her own climax had been.

He pulled out slowly, his cock glistening in the moonlight. Yeji sat back on her heels, panting slightly, a smear of cum on her chin. Y/n reached down, his thumb swiping it away with a tenderness that belied the roughness of their encounter. He brought it to his mouth and licked it clean, his eyes never leaving hers.

"You're incredible," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. Yeji felt a blush creep up her cheeks, but she couldn't help the smile that spread across her face. They had only just begun their camping trip, but she knew that it was going to be one she would never forget.

The night was still young, and the promise of more adventures, more shared secrets and passionate moments, stretched out before them like the endless expanse of the starlit sky. Yeji reached out, her hand trembling slightly, and touched his thigh. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice hoarse from her earlier cries.

Y/n's smile was soft as he leaned down to kiss her, the taste of themselves mingling on their lips. "We're just getting started," he said, his eyes gleaming with promise. And with that, he stood, pulling her to her feet, and led her back to their makeshift love nest beside the lake.

The water had cooled their overheated skin, but the desire between them had only grown stronger. Yeji watched as Y/n shrugged off his shirt, revealing the sculpted chest she had been admiring from afar all evening. He was beautiful, a masterpiece of muscles and tattoos that she hadn't noticed before in the firelight. Her eyes traced the lines of ink that danced across his torso, telling a story she longed to hear.

He turned to her, his expression questioning. "Is this day your safe day, Yeji?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. She knew what he meant—he was asking if she was on birth control, if it was okay for them to proceed without a barrier. She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes."

The tension between them grew thick, the air heavy with the promise of what was to come. Y/n stepped closer, his cock hardening again as he reached for her. He pulled her into a kiss that was both gentle and demanding, his tongue sliding against hers in a slow dance that made her knees weak.

"Take me," she whispered, her eyes full of desire as she looked up at him. "I want all of you."

Y/n didn't need any further prompting. He gently laid her down on the soft sand, the water's edge kissing their toes. Yeji spread her legs wide, inviting him in, her eyes never leaving his as he positioned himself above her. His cock nudged against her slick entrance, and she gasped as he pushed inside. The sensation was exquisite, a perfect blend of pain and pleasure that made her entire body sing.

"Ahh," she moaned, her nails digging into the sand as he filled her completely. He paused for a moment, giving her time to adjust, before he began to move. The rhythm was slow at first, almost gentle, but it soon grew faster, more urgent. Yeji could feel every inch of him, stretching her, claiming her in a way that she hadn't been before. "U can empty ur seed inside me," she breathed, the words a seductive invitation that sent a tremor through his body.

Y/n's hips snapped forward, his movements becoming more erratic as he lost himself in the sensation of her tight pussy. Yeji's legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, urging him on. "Fuck me harder," she whispered, her voice a desperate plea.

Her words were a catalyst, igniting a fire within him. He began to pound into her, each thrust pushing her closer to the edge. Yeji could feel herself stretching around him, her body accommodating his size in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying. "You're so deep," she gasped, her voice strained.

Y/n's eyes bore into hers, his face a mask of concentration as he drove into her with a ferocity that spoke of his desire. She could feel him hitting places inside her that no one had ever reached before, and it was both uncomfortable and incredibly arousing. "You like that?" he growled, his voice thick with need.

"Yeah," she breathed, her eyes fluttering closed. "You stretch me to my limit." Her words were a whimper of pleasure that seemed to spur him on. He pushed deeper, the sand beneath them shifting with their movements. Yeji's hands slid up his back, her nails digging into his skin as she tried to hold on to something, anything, as the waves of pleasure crashed over her.

"Cum on my cock yeji, let's cum together," he said, his voice thick with desire. "Let me feel it." His words were a command she couldn't resist, and she felt the beginnings of another orgasm build deep within her. Yeji's hips rocked against him, her pussy clenching around him as she chased her peak. "I'm going to," she moaned, the tension coiling in her core.

He watched her face intently, his own expression a mix of concentration and pleasure. "Now," he murmured, his voice a soft encouragement that sent her hurtling over the edge. Yeji's orgasm washed over her, her body shaking as she came, her pussy spasming around his cock. She could feel the warmth of his cum filling her, his body tensing as he released himself inside her.

Their breathing grew ragged, their bodies still entwined as they rode out the aftershocks of their shared climax. Yeji's eyes fluttered open, finding his gaze. He was smiling down at her, a look of pure satisfaction etched into his features. "You're incredible," he murmured, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to resonate through her very soul.

"Ahh, so good," Yeji managed to say, her voice still thick with the remnants of pleasure. She felt a warmth spread through her chest, a sense of connection that she hadn't anticipated. They had been strangers just hours ago, but now, they shared something intimate and profound.

Y/n pulled out slowly, his cock glistening with her juices. He leaned down to kiss her, a soft, lingering press of his lips that seemed to promise more than words ever could. Yeji's arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. "How much time we have, Yeji?" he whispered, his breath warm against her skin.

Her eyes searched his, a mischievous smile playing at her lips. "Just fuck me until sunrise," she replied, her voice a seductive purr that seemed to echo across the still water of the lake. Y/n groaned, his cock already hardening at the thought. They had hours to fill with passion and pleasure, and he had no intention of wasting a single minute.

They explored each other's bodies, the sand sticking to their skin as they moved through the night. Y/n lifted her onto her hands and knees, her ass in the air as he positioned himself behind her. "This is going to be intense," he warned, his voice a dark promise. Yeji nodded, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

He pushed into her from behind, his cock sliding through her folds with ease. She was still wet from their earlier encounter, and the sensation of him filling her was almost too much to bear. "Ahh," she gasped, her voice muffled by the hand she had pressed against her mouth to keep from screaming.

He began to thrust, his movements powerful and demanding. Yeji's eyes rolled back in her head as she felt herself building towards another climax. This time, she could feel the pressure building deep within her, the promise of something more intense than she had ever felt before. "Cum for me," he rasped, his voice strained with his own need. "Let go."

Her body responded to his command, and she felt the first wave of pleasure wash over her. The second was stronger, her pussy clenching around him as she squirted, the warm liquid spilling onto the sand. "Ahh, yes," she moaned, her body shaking with the force of her orgasm.

They switched positions, moving to missionary as the moon climbed higher in the sky. Yeji straddled him, her legs trembling with the effort of holding herself up. She began to ride him, her breasts bouncing with every bounce. The sensation of his cock sliding in and out of her was exquisite, and she knew she wouldn't last long.

Y/n watched her, his eyes hooded with desire as she took him deep within her. His hands roamed her body, teasing her nipples until they were stiff peaks, his thumbs brushing against her clit with every downward stroke. "Come for me," he whispered, his voice a caress that seemed to coil around her very soul.

And she did. Yeji threw her head back, her hair cascading over her shoulders as she came, her pussy spasming around him. But he wasn't done with her yet. He flipped them over, his hips pistoning as he took over the rhythm. He was relentless, pushing her closer and closer to the edge until she was begging for release.

Finally, with a roar that seemed to shake the very earth, he came, his warmth filling her completely. Yeji collapsed against him, her body boneless and satisfied. But she wasn't done yet. There was still so much more to explore, so much more to feel.

They moved to the spooning position, their bodies entwined like lovers lost in a passionate embrace. This time, their movements were slower, more tender. The vanilla sex was a sweet counterpoint to the intense passion that had come before, a gentle reminder that there was more to their connection than just raw, animal lust.

Yeji felt cherished in his arms, his cock sliding in and out of her with a lazy, easy rhythm that had her purring with pleasure. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss, one that she knew she would hold onto for the rest of her life.

But the night wasn't over yet. They moved to the standing doggy position, her legs shaking as she braced herself against a nearby tree. Y/n pounded into her, his strength and stamina seemingly endless. Yeji felt her orgasm building again, her cries growing louder with each passing second.

The pleasure was so intense she thought she might pass out, her legs giving way beneath her. But Y/n held her up, his arms like steel bands around her waist. "Take it," he growled, his teeth grazing her ear. "Take all of me."

And she did. Yeji screamed his name, the sound echoing through the night, as she came for the third time. Her legs buckled, and she would have collapsed if he hadn't been there to catch her. They sank to the sand, their bodies entangled, their breathing ragged.

But even as she lay there, spent and satisfied, Yeji knew that she wanted more. This was just the beginning of a night that would change everything.

With the first light of dawn peeking over the horizon, they moved to the edge of the lake. Y/n picked her up, her legs wrapped around his waist, and she could feel his hardness pressing against her. "Flying squirrel," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear.

Yeji's eyes widened with excitement. It was a position she had read about but never tried. She nodded eagerly, and he didn't waste a moment. He leaned back, holding her firmly as he entered her once again. The sensation was incredible, the cold water lapping at her back as he thrust into her, the contrast sending shivers down her spine.

He held her ankles in his hands, her body weightless as he fucked her with a fervor that seemed to defy the breaking day. Yeji could feel her pussy clench around him, the walls tightening with every stroke. It was a feeling she had never experienced before, a mix of pleasure and pain that was utterly intoxicating.

Her legs began to quiver, her muscles no longer able to hold on. But Y/n didn't slow down. He pushed into her harder, his movements more deliberate. "You're going to squirt for me," he murmured, his voice a dark promise. And just like that, she did.

The orgasm hit her like a wave, her body shaking as she sprayed him with her release. The sensation was so intense she couldn't help but scream, her voice echoing across the still water. Y/n's grip on her ankles tightened, his own climax building.

And then it was over, their bodies coming to a rest. Yeji leaned her forehead against his, their breathing in sync as the first rays of sunlight kissed their skin. The warmth of the sun seemed to seep into her very bones, chasing away the last vestiges of the night's chill.

They lay there for a moment, their bodies entwined, the only sounds the gentle lapping of the water and their mingled breaths. It was a moment of pure peace, a respite from the passion that had consumed them.

But even as the light grew stronger, Yeji knew that the fire between them wasn't going anywhere. They had only just begun to explore each other's bodies, to uncover the secrets that lay hidden beneath the surface. The camping trip was going to be a weekend of discovery, of passion, of moments that would be etched into their memories forever.

And as the sun fully broke over the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold, they kissed again, a promise of what was to come. The air was electric with anticipation, and Yeji felt a thrill run through her.

The next few hours passed in a blur of pleasure, their bodies moving in a dance that was as old as time itself. They tried new positions, each one more thrilling than the last, pushing each other to new heights of ecstasy.

As the first light of dawn began to break, Yeji's eyes fluttered open. Her vision was hazy, her eyelids heavy with exhaustion and desire. Y/n's fingers were still working their magic, teasing her clit as she lay beneath him, her body a canvas for his art. She felt the warmth of his cum still inside her, a testament to their passionate night.

"We should get back to the tent," she murmured, her voice a hoarse whisper.

Y/n nodded, his eyes dark with satisfaction. He leaned down to kiss her, the taste of the night's passion still lingering on her lips. Yeji felt a thrill run through her as his tongue slid against hers, a gentle reminder of what they had shared.

He stood, pulling her to her feet with a gentle tug. Her legs were shaky, but she leaned into him, her body craving his touch. He swept her up into his arms, cradling her against his bare chest as they made their way back to camp. The cool morning air kissed her skin, sending a delicious shiver down her spine.

But the chill was short-lived. Y/n's fingers found her still-sensitive clit, and she gasped as he began to tease her. The sensation was intense, and she couldn't help but squirt again, her body responding to his touch like a well-tuned instrument. She felt the warmth of his cum flooding her pussy, mixing with the coolness of the night.

He chuckled, the sound deep and satisfied, as he carried her back to their tent. Yeji's head lolled against his shoulder, her eyes still closed, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm. "You're insatiable," he murmured, his voice filled with admiration.

"It's all your fault," she replied with a sleepy smile. "You make me feel so... alive."

"And I'm not done with you yet," he said, his tone a dark promise that sent a thrill through her. Yeji's eyes snapped open, and she looked up at him, her gaze locking onto his. "We have the whole weekend," he reminded her, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"You're so sensitive," he murmured, his voice filled with wonder.

"It's all you," she breathed, her hands reaching up to clutch at his shoulders.

Yeji wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him in closer. She felt the warmth of his cum mixing with hers, a tangible sign of their union. And as they moved together, the sun rising in the sky outside, she knew that she had found something special—something that went beyond the physical.

Yeji's eyes remained tightly shut as Y/n picked her up, the weight of his cum still inside her. She felt his strong arms wrap around her, cradling her against his warm, naked chest. His heartbeat was steady, a reassuring rhythm that seemed to sync with her own racing pulse. Her legs automatically wrapped around his waist, drawing him closer.

As they stumbled back towards the tent, the cool early morning air kissed her flushed skin, sending shivers down her spine. Yet the warmth from his body, and the slickness between her thighs, kept her in a haze of pleasure. She felt his fingers slip down to her pussy, sliding through the wetness that still coated her from their encounter by the lake.

Y/n began to finger her with purpose, his movements slow and deliberate. Yeji gasped, her body responding immediately to his touch. She could feel the cum trickling out of her, mixing with her arousal, creating a delicious mess that only seemed to excite him more. "You're so wet," he murmured, his voice thick with lust.

Her hips rolled against his hand, seeking more friction, more pleasure. The sensation was almost too much—the combination of his cum inside her and his fingers outside was overwhelming. Yet she couldn't help but push into his touch, eager for the release she knew was coming.

The walk to the tent was a blur of sensation. Each step he took sent waves of pleasure through her, her pussy clenching around his fingers. She could feel herself getting closer and closer to the edge, her breath hitching in her chest. And just when she thought she couldn't take any more, she felt it—another orgasm ripping through her, making her entire body convulse.

Her legs tightened around him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she came, her pussy spasming around his fingers. "Ahh, Y/n," she moaned, her voice a desperate plea.

He chuckled, his breath warm against her neck. "I told you I wasn't done," he said, his voice filled with satisfaction. Yeji couldn't help but smile, even as her body trembled with aftershocks. He had proven to be more than she had ever imagined, a lover who knew exactly how to push her limits and give her what she needed.

They reached the tent, and he gently laid her down on the sleeping bag. The fabric was cool against her overheated skin, a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies. Yeji's eyes remained closed, her chest rising and falling with every ragged breath. She was spent, her body still pulsing with the aftermath of their love making.

Yet she felt his hand move between her legs once again, his touch gentle as he began to clean her up. The tender gesture made her heart swell, filling her with a warmth that had nothing to do with the physical. "You're amazing," she murmured, her voice still thick with passion.

Y/n chuckled, the sound low and intimate in the early morning quiet. He slid his fingers inside her, his touch now more exploratory than demanding. Yeji's eyes shot open, and she watched as he brought his glistening hand to his mouth, licking away the evidence of their night together. The sight was so erotic she could feel herself getting wet again.

He leaned over her, his eyes dark with desire. "I want to taste you," he said, his voice a soft growl that sent a shiver down her spine. Yeji nodded eagerly, spreading her legs wider in invitation. He didn't need any more encouragement—his mouth was on her, his tongue swirling around her clit with a skill that had her arching off the sleeping bag.

The sensation was exquisite, his tongue and teeth bringing her to the brink again. Yeji's nails dug into the fabric, her body tensing as the orgasm built. "I'm going to come," she panted, her eyes squeezed shut.

"Look at me," he ordered, his voice firm. Yeji opened her eyes to find him watching her, his gaze intense. She didn't know why, but his demand made the moment even more intense. She locked eyes with him as her body began to convulse, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave.

He didn't stop, even as she came, his tongue lapping at her pussy, tasting her release. Yeji's body was a symphony of sensation, each stroke of his tongue a new note in the crescendo of pleasure. And when she thought she couldn't possibly take anymore, he slid two fingers into her, curling them in a way that made her scream his name.

Yeji's orgasm was so intense she could feel it in every part of her body, a pulsing heat that seemed to radiate from her core. "Oh my god," she gasped, her chest heaving with the effort to breathe.

Y/n pulled back, a smug smile playing on his lips. He leaned down to kiss her, his mouth tasting of her, and she eagerly devoured him. The intimacy of the moment was almost too much to handle—the way their bodies were entwined, the way they moved together as if they had been doing this forever.

Yeji's eyes fluttered open as the sun kissed her face, the light filtering through the tent's fabric. She felt a gentle pressure against her, and she realized that Y/n was still inside her, his cock half-hard and nestled in the warmth of her pussy. She stretched languidly, her muscles protesting the movement, reminding her of the marathon they had shared through the night.

"Mm," she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep. "What time is it?"

"Afternoon," he replied, his voice lazy and satisfied. "You've been out for a while."

Her eyes widened in shock, and she sat up abruptly, the sleeping bag pooling around her waist. "What?!"

Yeji's friends were sitting around the campfire, roasting marshmallows and sharing stories, when she emerged from the tent, her cheeks flushed and her body still humming with the aftermath of their passion. They all turned to look at her, their eyes widening in surprise before breaking into peals of laughter.

"What?" she asked again, her voice filled with confusion.

"Looks like someone had a busy night," Lia teased, her eyes flicking down to the evidence of their encounter still glistening between Yeji's legs.

Yuna elbowed her playfully. "Be nice, she's obviously still in a daze."

Ryujin and Chaeryeong couldn't hold back their grins. "Someone's got a glow about her," Ryujin said.

Yeji's eyes went wide as she looked down, and she screeched, slapping her hand over her mouth. "Oh my god," she mumbled, her face burning with embarrassment. She had never been so exposed in front of her friends, and the realization was mortifying. She quickly scrambled to pull on her clothes, the fabric sticking slightly to her still-damp skin.

Her friends watched her, their laughter subsiding into snickers as they realized her predicament. "It's okay, we all knew you'd hit it off," Chaeryeong said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Besides, you both looked pretty happy when we saw you coming back."

"Yeah, we figured you'd be in for a wild night," Lia added with a wink, passing her a stick to roast a marshmallow. "So, spill the tea. How was it?"

Yeji couldn't help but grin, her embarrassment fading into a warm glow of satisfaction. "It was... amazing," she admitted, her voice still a little breathless. "Better than I ever imagined."

[lynxgriffin]

Eldritchrune - Kris's Birthday

Story Setup Eldritchrune Masterpost

Close to the end of their journey, Kris has a small celebration with the beasts, and reflects some on both their past with their brother, and the light world ahead.

(Reminder that I draw these scenes out of chronological order!)

YAY managed to get another part done! This one won the poll, so had to go with it first! At least Kris finally gets a nice, happy moment with all the beasts they've recruited!

Alt text under the read more:

Page 1

Panel 1 - Wide opening shot. Kris sits facing Ralsei, with the rest of the Fun Gang surrounding them. The Gang now consists of Susie, Noelle, Lancer, Berdly, Catti and Jockington, and Monster Kid. The Fun Gang have set up camp in a hollow crater, the landscape around them rocky and barren. Everyone is lit solely by the glow of a campfire in the center of the crater. Ralsei addresses Kris: “Get plenty of rest, Kris.”

Panel 2 - Medium shot of Kris and Ralsei, still across from each other with the fire between them. Ralsei continues, “Tomorrow we face the last bound god before the Dark Fountain…it’ll be our toughest fight yet!” Kris responds, “Yes. I understand.” They stare into the fire.

Panel 3 - Closeup on a happy Ralsei as he holds up one claw. “And since we’re so close to the end…”

Panel 4 - “...I thought I’d conjure up a special surprise for you!” Ralsei moves his claws, and magically congeals a plate, food and frosting all together in a swirling center.

Panel 5 - Ralsei holds up the finished object in front of the fire: a small frosted cake, topped with strawberries. “SURPRISE! Happy birthday, Kris!” he declares with a broad smile.

Page 2

Panel 1 - Ralsei holds the cake up in the foreground. Kris looks at it in surprise. Behind them, Susie and Noelle look on with interest. “Wow! Is today really your birthday, Kris?” Noelle asks.

Panel 2 - Closeup on Kris. They scratch at their head in confusion, and respond, “I… Is it? I’ve lost track of the days since arriving here…”

Panel 3 - Medium shot as Ralsei happily hands the cake to Kris, who takes it. He says, “Well, I’m not sure if it’s exactly today. But by my estimates you should have had one by now! So now is as good a time as any!”

Panel 4 - A wider upshot as Kris takes the cake, and the beasts watch. Berdly leans in closer, curious, and asks, “What do you humans do on these ‘birth-days,’ as you call them?”

Kris replies, “Well, typically…you eat cake, or some other sweet treat, and you spend time with your friends and family.”

Panel 5 - Kris stares into the fire again, and continues, “And usually, they also give you gifts.” Behind them, as if in abstract shadow, is an image of a younger Kris surrounded by the other Dreemurrs, all smiling. It seems to be a memory of a past birthday.

Page 3

Panel 1 - Closeup of Kris still looking into the fire, their eyes hidden by their hair. A shadow seems to fall over them. The memories of happier times still hurt.

Panel 2 - Lancer pipes up: “Ya got the cake and friends part right here!” Kris turns to see Lancer and Susie smiling at them, and gives a small smile back.

Panel 3 - Noelle leans in over Kris as well, her head taking up most of the panel. She says, “Sorry, we don’t have any gifts for you…but two out of three isn’t bad, right?”

Kris’s smile broadens a little, and they reply, “No, it is not.”

Panel 4 - Kris pulls out a smaller knife…

Panel 5 - And in a shot focused on the cake, begins to slice the cake into equal pieces with the knife.

Panel 6 - Kris offers a piece to Catti, who happily licks it up. “Tasty.”

Panel 7 - Kris tosses a piece across the fire to Berdly, who catches it in his mouth. “Thanks, Kris!”

Panel 8 - Kris turns around and tosses another piece into Susie’s open jaws. “Hell yeah, cake!” she says, excited.

Page 4

Panel 1 - A wide shot as the whole Fun Gang sit around the fire, enjoying their cake slices, small as they are. Kris works on eating their own slice. Noelle says, “That was good! …Do you think there’ll be lots more cake in the light world?”

Panel 2 - Medium shot of Kris, who turns to look up at Noelle. “Yes, there are. But I would have thought you’d be interested in the humans more,” they say around a mouthful of cake.

Panel 3 - Noelle looks off to the right, and responds, “Sure, I’ll have some, if they’re soft… I don’t like the hard bits, like armor and bones.”

Panel 4 - Wider shot as Noelle leans back against Susie, snuggling into her side. “I mostly want to get to the Light World and quiet this feeling in my mind…once I do that, I’ll be happy,” She says.

Susie grins, and says, “More for me, then! I can’t wait to get to the Light World and all that food…”

Page 5

Panel 1 - Susie rests her head on the ground, and continues, “I’m gonna eat up all those humans and finally feel full!” She smiles and licks her lips at the thought. Lancer sits just nearby.

Panel 2 - Wider shot of all the beasts around the fire. Across from Susie, sitting in a loaf, Catti says “Greedy.”

“Oh come on, like you aren’t excited for the food!” Susie responds with an annoyed look.

Panel 3 - Medium shot as Catti looks up towards the dark clouds above them, grinning broadly. Behind her, Jockington also looks Skyward, his body wiggly. Catti says, “Not just that. Open skies. Sun. Fresh smells. New magic.” Jockington adds, “It’s been, way too long since we, learned a new technique!”

Catti reiterates: “Lots of things. Looking forward to them.”

Panel 4 - Wider shot as Kris turns to Monster Kid, who’s been quiet this whole time. They’re mostly buried underground, but their tail is currently out of their mouth. Kris asks them, “You’re looking forward to leaving the Dark World, too?” They reply, “Y-yeah, Kris! I wanna eat some humans too, but…also wanna be someplace niver, y’know?”

Panel 5 - Closeup on Monster Kid’s face as they continue: “Here it’s really hard to find food. And it’s so dark and cold, and e-everyone’s trying to fight each other… I hate it, yo.”

Page 6 

Panel 1 - Wide downshot of the whole Fun Gang huddled together in the empty crater. The barred landscape stretches out around them. Berdly looks to the skies, and says, “Yes, it’s true. The terrain here is so bleak and devoid of sidequests.”

Panel 2 - Closeup on Berdly as he smiles, looking excited and proud. “But if the Light World has as many humans as you say, I’ll be able to max out my volume in no time!”

Panel 3 - Susie looks away and sticks out her tongue, clearly annoyed at the prospect. “Oh goody, we’re aaaall excited for that…”

Berdly, not picking up on her sarcasm, just continues to beam proudly. “And rightfully so!”

Panel 4 - Noelle nudges her enormous nose against Kris’s back, and says, “We’re all really excited to see the Light World with you, Kris.”

Kris turns back towards her slightly, and smiles. “Me too.”

Panel 5 - Kris reaches around the fire to hand the now empty plate back to Ralsei, who takes it.

Panel 6 - Ralsei makes the plate vanish into shards of nothing with a wave of his claws. “Then let’s get some rest!” he says, satisfied.

Panel 7 - The small campfire is now extinguished. Only a thin wisp of leftover smoke rises from the blackened wood and coals.

Page 7

Panel 1 - A wide shot of the crater, still at night. With the campfire out, all of the eldritch beasts are now asleep. Monster Kid is buried underground. Catti is sleeping as a loaf, with Jockington resting on her back. Berdly sleeps with his head tucked under one wing. Susie and Noelle sleep snuggled up together, with Susie’s long tail curled around them. Kris lays nestled between them, long hair and shaggy fur serving as a makeshift bed. Ralsei stands off to the side.

Panel 2 - Medium shot of Kris. They lay awake between the two beasts, staring up at the sky. They look pensive.

Panel 3 - Slightly closer, Kris looks down and to their right. Ralsei asks from offscreen: “Kris! Are you feeling all right?”

Panel 4 - Downshot of Ralsei as he looks up towards Kris. He spreads his arms out in a hopeful gesture. “I know perhaps this isn’t the sort of birthday you would have had back home, but I was hoping I did okay on such short notice…”

Panel 5 - Closeup on Kris as they close their eyes. “I just…” They take a deep sigh.

Panel 6 - Kris looks up from the makeshift bed, looking sad. “I can’t remember the first birthday I had with mom and dad and Azzy anymore.”

Page 8 

Panel 1 - Shot of the dark skies above. Thick clouds silently roll across a starless expanse. “The whole day feels like it’s completely gone.”

Panel 2 - Wider shot, with Ralsei in the foreground. He still watches Kris carefully. “Oh, I see. I suppose Seam has asked for quite a few payments from you during your time here…perhaps you sold the memory?”

Panel 3 - Closeup on Kris as they squeeze their eyes shut, trying to block out budding tears.

Panel 4 - “Yes. Likely,” they say. Kris sadly holds up their left hand above their head. Their hand is missing the pinkie finger…another payment to Seam.

Panel 5 - Closeup on Ralsei as he looks downward. “I’m sorry, Kris.”

Panel 6 - Medium shot as Kris hugs themself, still nestled in the hair and fur. “Asriel would usually get me a book he thought I’d like, and I’d complain about it, but then read it cover to cover in one night. Once I learned how to read, anyway,” they say with a small smile.

Panel 7 - Low angle shot as Kris continues to reminisce, watching the dark clouds above. “Mom and dad also always got me a square of chocolate. I don’t know how they afforded it.”

Page 9

Panel 1 - In a flashback panel, Asriel and Kris sit across from each other outdoors, each leaning against trees. Simple woods surrounded them, and a lazy river rolls by just past them. Beyond the river are a few small homes and farms from the town. Kris holds an apple, while Asriel has a book and feather pen. Both are talking, looking happy. 

Kris speaks over the flashback: “Azzy and I would go and sit by the river in the summer, and he’d point out plants and animals and tell me to give them science names. Even when I said crass or foolish ones, he wrote them down and said he would petition to get the names changed.”

Panel 2 - Closeup on Kris as they look away, the memory still feeling a bit sad to them.

Panel 3 - Closeup on Ralsei, interested and responding to the stories. “Your brother sounds like a generous soul.”

Panel 4 - Kris looks down, still sad and reminiscing. “He didn’t have to be so nice to me. Everyone said he’d leave town and go do great things.”

Panel 5 - Another flashback panel, this time in Azzy and Kris’s shared room. It looks similar to their room in canon, but much older and more bare-bones, with simple wood walls. Kris sits on the edge of their bed, listening. Asriel sits on the edge of the bed, looking pensive, his cheek resting against his hand. 

Kris continues over the flashback: “But he…he told me that he didn’t like that pressure. That I was more fun to hang around than whatever great thing the town expected him to do.”

Page 10

Panel 1 - Closeup on Ralsei. He looks on, his tattered scarf flowing behind him. A curious smile crosses his face. “The way you have spoken about him, all this time…I am so curious to meet him.”

Panel 2 - Kris nestles down into the bed of fur and hair, and shuts their eyes, drifting off to sleep at last. They mumble, “Maybe…maybe soon.”

Panel 3 - Wide shot of all the beasts, asleep in the crater. Kris finally sleeps as well, tucked between Susie and Noelle. It’s dark, and quiet. In the foreground, Ralsei remains awake and watching, his back to the camera. It’s unknown what he’s thinking.  

[kissandtellus]

Lessons 1-5

Synopsis: Sylus takes you on a Camping Trip to satisfy his more…primal urges. Don’t worry, Sylus isn’t so mean after getting what he wants from you.

Warnings: Outdoor smex , breeding, holding in coom, Use of ‘Sweetie’ and ‘Princess’, PredatorxPrey quink, Sylus is a little meanie but he makes up for it!

Sylus loved the thrill of the chase. Even when his pretty Kitten was playing so hard to catch. Darting between the trees, scurrying around bushes. But she was far from quiet. Sylus had the chance to snatch her up multiple times. But where was the fun in that?

It was you who suggested the forest on the National Park for this hunt. Sylus suggested buying out the entire area for the weekend so he could have you all to himself.

But what would the fun in that be?

The sun sat in the sky as dusk looked over. Your eyes darted to the crack of a twig and you froze like a deer in headlights.

But it wasn’t your ferocious silver haired boyfriend, instead is was a cute little bunny.

“Aren’t you so cute?” You whisper with a giggle. But that giggle turned into a muffled cry of terror when a hand wrapped around your mouth from behind.

His hot breath tickled your ear as he whispered, "Found you, my little kitten." His free hand snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against his hard body. You could feel every ridge and muscle pressed against your back. His red eyes gleamed with amusement and excitement.

"Should've been quieter while you were admiring the bunny..." He nipped at your earlobe playfully, knowing it tickled you. His hand slowly slid down from your mouth, tracing a path along your collarbone. "Running through the woods in those cute little boots.”

You pulled your head away with a pout. “You’re no fair. I swear you can practically smell me, you big oaf.” You huff.

"Big oaf, huh?" He chuckled, releasing his hold on you and stepping back with a mock wounded expression. "And here I thought my tracking skills were impressive." He circled around to face you, his red eyes glinting mischievously in the fading light.

Sylus grasps the back of your neck, pushing your chest against the trunk of a pine tree.

His other hand moves to your waist, holding you pinned against the rough bark of the tree. His face inches closer to yours, his warm breath fanning over your lips as he speaks in a low, commanding tone. "Maybe I should just keep you trapped here until nightfall."

"You know... running from a predator like that only makes me want to chase more." His thumb traces small circles against your neck, making you very aware of how much stronger he is. "And I really do love catching my prey." He leans in closer, his lips almost brushing against your ear.

You try jerking from his hold, using your speed as an advantage but Sylus clicked his tongue with a chuckle.

"Ah ah ah..." He tightened his grip on your neck and waist, easily stopping your attempt at escape. His voice dropped lower, more dangerous now that he knew you were trying to get away again. "You can't run forever." His lips captured yours suddenly, silencing any further protests.

His rough fingers grasped the edge of your leggings, the very same pair that he had bought you because of the way they hugged your ass.

"And would you look at that... my little kitten dressed so perfectly for running." He grins against your lips, his hand sliding underneath your clothing to trace the curve of your lower back. His fingers trail downwards slowly, purposely taking his time. "Wasn't I right about these leggings?"

“Pervert.” You struggle under his grip but Sylus grows tired of your games, of your pathetic attempts of escape.

With a swift motion, he lifts you up and wraps your legs around his waist. His hands squeeze your backside possessively, the fabric of your leggings thin enough for him to feel every curve. "Keep struggling, little thing. See if I don't fuck you right here against this tree."

“Y-you wish.” Well. Shit. You should’ve known those words would be your undoing.

His eyes darkened dangerously. "Damn right. Here's your warning, Kitten. One more smart-ass comment like that..." His fingers dug into your backside harder. "And I will bend you over this tree and pound into you so hard the entire forest hears." His voice dropped dangerously low.

“You cheated.” Well, there was your last comment.

A cruel smile spread across his face. "Oh, you naughty little thing." In an instant, he turned you around and bent you over the tree trunk. He pushed your upper body down so your face pressed against the rough bark. "You just had to push me, didn't you?"

You struggle to find your words and balance. But his fingers find purchase in your hair.

"I think it's time I taught you a lesson." With his free hand, he roughly pulled down your leggings, exposing your bare backside to the cool forest air. His hand came down hard on your right cheek, leaving a red handprint. "First lesson: don't provoke a predator."

He ignored your plea, his hand coming down again on your left cheek this time. "Second lesson: when I give you a warning, you listen." His fingers dug into your hair tightly, keeping your face pressed against the tree as he continued to spank you firmly. Each slap echoed through the quiet forest.

After several more spanks, his hand moved to your core, rubbing roughly through your wetness. "And the third lesson..." He slid two fingers inside you without warning, pumping them in and out as he continued to spank your reddening bottom. "Is that I always win."

He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear. "You're so fucking wet, Kitten. Did you enjoy that?" He didn't wait for an answer, instead thrusting his fingers deeper inside you while his palm continued to spank your ass.

“N-no!” You deny, despite your wetness leaking down into the pile of leaves at your feet. “A-Asshole…”

He chuckles darkly, his fingers curling inside you to hit that sweet spot. "Such a dirty mouth on such a pretty little thing." He removes his fingers abruptly, making you whimper at the sudden loss. The sound makes him smirk. "Spread your legs wider, Kitten."

He doesn't wait for you to comply before kicking your legs apart himself. He unbuckles his belt and pulls down his pants, freeing his hard length. Without preamble, he grabs your hips and slams into you from behind, making you cry out as he fills you completely. "Lesson four..."

He starts pounding into you harshly, each thrust punishing and deep. "Lesson four is that when I fuck you, you take it like a good girl." His hand reaches around to cover your mouth to muffle your noises as he continues to ruthlessly claim your body against the tree. "Understand?"

You know better than to ignore his orders. “Y-yes!” You cry out, fingernails digging into the bark of the tree.

"That's my good girl..." He continues to fuck you hard and deep, his fingers occasionally slipping down to tease your clit. His other hand moves to your hair again, keeping your head pressed against the tree. The sound of their bodies meeting fills the forest as he takes you with wild abandon.

Sylus’ wild thrust has your knees weakening to the point he’s taking you from behind on all fours on the forest floor. You don’t care about the dirt on your knees or the leaves in your hair. Sylus is fully enjoying this animalistic ritual.

He growls low in his throat as he watches your body move beneath him. His grip tightens on your hips as he drives into you harder and faster. The forest seems to disappear around them as they get lost in their primal mating dance. Sylus leans forward slightly to bite your shoulder, sinking his teeth into your flesh.

With a final deep thrust and a groan against your neck, Sylus comes inside you. He stays buried deep for a moment before slowly pulling out, his release dripping down your thighs. He sits back on his heels, breathing heavily, looking at your disheveled state with satisfaction. "Lesson five..."

"When I cum inside you, you keep it there until I say otherwise." He watches as you stay on your hands and knees, his hot liquid leaking out of you onto the forest floor.

He watches with hooded eyes as his release slowly drips out of you despite your best efforts. He smirks and slowly reaches out to spread your cheeks apart, watching more of his seed escape onto the leaves. "Such a mess..." He murmurs, his faux coos making your chest tighten as you feel more cum dribble down your thighs

You reach back to cover your entrance, trying desperately to keep his semen inside with a broken sob. “I-I’m sorry…”

He catches your wrist before you can cover yourself, pulling your hand away. "Leave it." He says firmly, keeping your hand trapped behind your back. He reaches out with his other hand to spread your cheeks even wider, exposing your red, puffy, and thoroughly fucked hole to the cool air.

"Look at that little mess." He says mockingly, tapping your hole gently. You whimper at the sudden contact, feeling even more of his hot liquid spill out. "Pathetic little thing can't even keep my come inside." He laughs softly, shaking his head in amusement.

“You’re so mean to me…” you sniffle, despite knowing how much Sylus spoils you.

He laughs again at your pouting. "Sweetie, I could throw you on my bed, eat your pussy for hours, then cover you in kisses and call you my good girl. Yet here you are, knees full of dirt, covered in my jizz, complaining that I'm mean."

Sylus pays your head condescendingly, brushing your hair out of your drool covered chin.

"So tell me, my spoiled little princess, am I really that mean?" He leans forward slightly, letting go of your wrists so he can pinch your still-reddened bottom gently. Nightime has finally fell over the forest but his glowing red eyes nearly glow in the darkness

“Y-yeah.” You hiccup, your thighs shaking.

He chuckles darkly, his fingers moving from pinching your bottom to spreading you wide again. The cold air hits your sensitive flesh, making you shiver. "Prove it then." He commands softly, his thumb pressing against your used hole. "If I'm so mean, push me away."

"Come on, Kitten. If I'm really treating you so badly, fight me off." His thumb presses deeper, feeling his own release coating your insides. His other hand moves to your hair, gently tugging your head back so he can see your face in the moonlight. "Push. Me."

You weakly lift your hands and try to shove at his solid chest, but you’re thoroughly exhausted from the chase and your ruined insides.

He doesn't budge an inch from your weak shoves. He just smirks down at you, his thumb continuing to press into your hole, feeling your inner walls spasm weakly. "Pathetic." He murmurs, leaning down to press his lips to yours in a soft, gentle kiss.

The contrast between his soft kiss and the way he's treating you is stark. His tongue slides against yours gently, coaxing a soft whimper out of you. When he pulls back, he laughs softly. "Mean to you, huh?" Another soft kiss lands on your cheek.

He suddenly stands up, pulling you up with him by your hair. Your legs shake as they try to support your weight after being spread so wide for so long. Sylus throws you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, making you yelp as his semen spills out again.

“S-shit Sy!”

"Such a sweet princess like you shouldn't swear." He smacks your bare bottom playfully as he walks with you. He chuckles, carrying you back to the campsite.

This would be a long trip.

[deansbeer]

so uh

camping with dean/beau/jensen (i can't choose), and it's like really raining out and cold. the tent and sleeping bags are practically doing nothing to keep you warm, so the two have to snuggle up together for warmth… which eventually leads to smut may or may not be based on an experience i had (partially)

hi baby!! i meant to post this sooner but i got distracted with work <3

♡ ⋮ minors do not interact.

synopsis 𓏵 stuck in a freezing damp tent during a raging thunderstorm, you and dean find creative ways to stay warm together.

warnings 𓏵 smut | forced proximity (they share a tent) | semi-public sex | unprotected sex (use the rubber) | dirty talk | sharing body heat | cunnilingus | fingering | mild temperature play.

the rain hasn’t stopped for three hours now, and you’re pretty sure your teeth are going to chatter right out of your skull. this whole camping trip was dean’s idea — something about “getting back to basics” after the last hunt went sideways. you’d agreed because, well, when dean winchester flashes that crooked grin and says “come on, it’ll be fun,” you apparently lose all common sense.

except now you’re in the middle of nowhere, oregon, in what feels like a hurricane, and the tent is about as waterproof as a screen door. water’s seeping in from the corners, your sleeping bag feels like you crawled inside a wet paper towel, and you can’t feel your toes. dean’s on the other side of the tent, and you can hear him muttering curses under his breath as he tries to stop another leak with duct tape. because of course he brought duct tape camping.

“this was a terrible idea,” you announce through chattering teeth, pulling your damp sleeping bag up to your chin. it doesn’t help. if anything, the wet fabric just makes you colder. “we could’ve been in a motel right now. with heat. and walls that actually keep water out.”

“yeah, well,” dean grunts, giving up on the duct tape and tossing it aside. “the forecast said partly cloudy. how was i supposed to know partly cloudy meant biblical flood?” he’s soaked too, his flannel clinging to his shoulders in a way that would be distracting if you weren’t actively dying of hypothermia.

“maybe check more than one weather app next time?” you suggest, but there’s no real heat in it. you’re too cold to be properly angry. “dean, seriously, i can’t feel my feet. or my hands. or... anything really.”

he turns to look at you then, and even in the dim light of the camping lantern, you can see the concern flash across his face. dean winchester might play tough, but he’s got a protective streak a mile wide. “shit, sweetheart, you’re shaking like a leaf.” he moves closer, reaching out to touch your face. his fingers are cold too, but still warmer than your cheek. “fuck, you’re like ice.”

“we gotta warm you up,” he says, already moving into problem-solving mode. “body heat’s the fastest way when you’re this cold.” he starts unzipping his sleeping bag with determined movements. “come on, we’re combining these things.”

“what?” you blink at him, brain moving sluggishly from the cold. “dean, that’s...” but he’s already spreading his sleeping bag on the tent floor and motioning for you to bring yours over. the practical part of your brain knows he’s right — shared body heat is survival 101. the other part of your brain, the one that’s been harboring a crush on dean since the day you met him, is screaming.

“unless you wanna lose some toes to frostbite, get over here,” he orders, and that snaps you into motion. you crawl over with your sleeping bag, helping him zip them together into one large cocoon. the whole time, you’re hyperaware of how close he is, how his t-shirt is soaked through and clinging to his chest.

“lose the wet clothes,” he says matter-of-factly, already pulling his flannel off. “they’re just making it worse.” when you hesitate, he rolls his eyes. “come on, we’re both adults here. nothing i haven’t seen before.” which is a lie — he’s definitely never seen you in your underwear — but you’re too cold to argue.

you strip down to your underwear with numb fingers, trying not to think about the fact that dean is doing the same thing two feet away. when you finally slide into the combined sleeping bag, wearing nothing but your bra and panties, dean’s already there in just his boxers. the touch of his skin against yours is like fire and ice at the same time.

“jesus,” he hisses, when you press against him. “you’re like a frozen ice cube.” but he doesn’t pull away. instead, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest. “c’mere, gonna warm you up.” his body heat feels incredible, and you can’t help but burrow closer, dignity be damned.

“better?” he asks after a few minutes, and honestly? yeah. the shivers are starting to subside, replaced by a different kind of tension. because now that you’re not actively dying of cold, you’re extremely aware that you’re pressed against dean’s very naked, very warm chest. his hands are rubbing slow circles on your back, and it’s supposed to be warming, but it’s also doing other things.

“yeah,” you manage, voice coming out breathier than intended. “so much better.” your face is tucked into his neck, and he smells like rain and leather and that uniquely dean scent that’s been driving you crazy for months. his hands are large and warm on your back, and every sweep of his fingers sends little sparks through you.

“good, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and his voice is different now. deeper. “can’t have you freezing on my watch.” one of his hands slides lower, resting just above the waistband of your panties, and your breath hitches. “you know,” he continues, and you can hear the smirk in his voice, “there are other ways to generate body heat.”

you pull back enough to look at him, and his eyes are dark in the lantern light. “dean,” you breathe, but you’re not sure if it’s a warning or encouragement. probably both. “we shouldn’t...” but even as you say it, your body is pressing closer to his, seeking more contact.

“and why not?” he challenges, hand sliding up to cup your face. “been wanting to do this for months, sweetheart. and if we’re gonna be stuck in this tent all night...” he trails off, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “might as well make the most of it.”

“months?” you repeat in slight disbelief, brain short-circuiting a little. “you’ve wanted...” but he cuts you off with a kiss, and holy shit, dean winchester is kissing you! his lips are soft but demanding, and when he nips at your bottom lip, you open for him immediately. the kiss is hot and desperate, months of tension pouring out all at once.

“fuck,” he groans when you break apart for air. “knew you’d taste sweet.” his hands are everywhere now, sliding over your sides, your hips, the curve of your ass. “been driving me crazy, you know that? walking around in those tight lil’ jeans of yours, bending over in front of me...” he punctuates each word with a kiss to your neck, and you’re practically melting.

“oh, dean,” you gasp, hands clutching at his shoulders. “please...” you’re not even sure what you’re asking for, just that you need more. he seems to understand, rolling you onto your back and hovering over you. the sleeping bag is tight quarters, but he manages it, settling between your thighs like he belongs there.

“gonna warm ya up,” he promises, voice rough with want. “gonna make you feel so good you’ll be begging me to cool you down.” his mouth trails down your neck, across your collarbone, and when he reaches the edge of your bra, he looks up at you. “this okay?”

“god, yes,” you breathe, and he grins, that cocky grin that makes your stomach flip. he unhooks your bra with practiced ease, tossing it somewhere in the tent. his mouth is on your breasts immediately, and the contrast of his hot mouth against your still-cool skin makes you arch beneath him.

“perfect, sweetheart,” he mutters against your skin. “so fucking perfect.” he lavishes attention on each breast, using his tongue and teeth until you’re squirming beneath him. when he finally starts kissing his way down your stomach, you know where he’s heading, and your whole body tenses in anticipation.

“dean, you don’t have to...” but he’s already hooking his fingers in your panties, pulling them down your legs. “oh god,” you gasp when his mouth finds you, hot and perfect and exactly what you need. he eats you out like he does everything else — with single-minded determination and skill that should be illegal.

within minutes, you’re writhing beneath him, one hand clamped over your mouth to muffle the sounds you’re making. the rain might be loud, but you’re pretty sure the whole forest doesn’t need to hear what dean winchester’s tongue is doing to you.

when you come, it’s with his name on your lips, like a prayer and your fingers tangled in his hair. he works you through it, only pulling away when you’re shaking for a completely different reason than cold. “told you i’d warm you up,” he says, looking entirely too pleased with himself as he crawls back up your body. you can taste yourself on his lips when he kisses you, and it’s filthy and perfect and you need him inside you right now.

“wait,” you breathe against his mouth, reaching between you to palm him through his boxers. he’s hard and hot and when you squeeze, he groans into your mouth. “i need you. de, please.”

“yeah, baby?” he asks, but he’s already shoving his boxers down. “you sure about this? because once i have you...” he trails off, but the intensity in his eyes finishes the sentence.

“i’m sure,”,you tell him, wrapping your legs around his waist. “been sure for months.” that seems to break his control. he lines himself up and pushes in slowly, and the stretch is perfect, exactly what you needed. when he’s fully seated, you both need a moment, panting heavily into each other’s mouths.

“holy fuck,” he breathes. “you feel incredible, baby girl. so fuckin’ tight.” he starts moving, slow at first but quickly building to a rhythm that has you seeing stars. the sleeping bag restricts movement somewhat, but it also keeps you pressed close together, every inch of skin touching. “not gonna last,” he warns, and you can feel him trembling with the effort of holding back.

“don’t,” you gasp, meeting him thrust for thrust as much as the confined space allows. “wanna feel you. want you to come inside me.” the words make him groan, hips stuttering. a few more thrusts and he feels like he’s on cloud nine, face buried in your neck as he empties himself inside you.

you lie there catching your breath, still tangled together in the sleeping bag. the rain is still pounding on the tent, but you’re warm now, flushed and satisfied. “so,” dean says eventually, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “still think camping was a terrible idea?”

“the worst idea,” you agree, but you’re cheesing hard. “we should probably do it again sometime. you know, just to make sure we’ve got the whole body heat thing down.”

he laughs, pulling you closer. “deal. but next time, i’m checking five weather apps.” you’re about to respond when he shifts inside you, still half-hard, and your words dissolve into a gasp. “actually,” he grunts, voice dropping back to that dangerous register, “storm’s not supposed to pass until morning. might need to keep generating heat all night. you know, for safety.”

“yeah, yeah. for safety,” you agree breathlessly, already rolling your hips against his. after all, you wouldn’t want to get cold again. and if dean winchester wants to spend all night keeping you warm? well, who are you to argue with survival tactics?

[rosachae]

bend (her) like beckham | manon x reader

⁍ requested: yes! thank you anon ⁍ genre: slowburn fluff, angst. idol!manon x soccer player!reader. posh spice/david beckham dynamic spinoff. wingman megan and wingman beabadoobee (soccer player!bea) ⁍ a/n: thank you so much for requesting this, anon! as i've said in previous posts, sorry for the delay in getting this out. i hope this is what you were looking for. i had a lot of fun writing this. ⁍ w.c: 20.3k ⁍ warnings: curt language, nsfw/suggestive themes, mentions of painkiller abuse and injury. ⁍ synopsis:

y/n is one of the best midfielders the sport of women's soccer has ever seen. manon bannerman is a part of the global girl group sensation, katseye. they couldn't be any more different. that much was made clear after a chance hookup lead to their paths crossing once again at a pregame performance. who knew a little note would be the start and end of everything?

los angeles glittered in a way that felt almost artificial, like a city made for the lens of a camera instead of real life. you’d flown in the day before, checked into your hotel, and tried not to overthink the weight of the season opener. it wasn’t your first time playing in a packed stadium, but the buzz around this match was different. the whole country was watching. so were the brands. so were the scouts. so was everyone who had ever told you you were too young, too bold, too much.

but tonight wasn’t about that. tonight was bea’s birthday.

you hadn’t seen her in months, not since the team usa off-season camp in colorado. she played for angel city fc now, and technically, she’d be your rival on the field tomorrow. but friendships like yours didn’t vanish just because you wore different kits. when she called earlier in the week and said “don’t you dare miss my party,” you hadn’t even pretended to hesitate.

the house was tucked high in the hills, the kind of place only athletes, actors, and internet famous people seemed to know about. you’d barely made it out of the car before you heard someone call your name. 

bea was already there, walking up to your car with a large shiteating grin on her face. 

“would you look what the cat dragged in. y/f/n. i thought you were gonna flake,” 

“beatrice laus. funny seeing your dopey face. you won’t be so happy when i wipe the field with your ass tomorrow.”

bea grimaced when you dropped her full government name, but then shook her head with a short laugh. “shit talking already? and on my birthday? have some class.” 

you rolled your eyes playfully when she leaned in for a quick hug, the tattoos on her arms glittering under the strobing lights filtering through the windows of her house. you hug her back stiffly, wincing slightly at the heavy smell of alcohol seeping into her clothes. 

“jesus, bea. how the hell do you plan on even waking up tomorrow?”

bea shrugged, her grin not once slipping from her face as she looped her arm through yours. she practically tugged you up the stairs and into her house, voice raising to be heard over the thumping music. 

“nevermind that, why don’t you have something to drink? live a little!”

you narrow your eyes. “this sounds like some shitty attempt at sabotage if i’ve ever heard it. you know we have a game to play.”

she waved her hand dismissively. “you only live once. let me enjoy my night.” then she trailed off when something catches her eye in the far corner. “while you go be mopey somewhere else, i have some babysitting to do.”

the last thing you heard before she disappeared into the crowd was a loud “hey! get off my chandelier!” before the music droned out any and all legible string of sentences. 

you shook your head, laughed under your breath, then let your gaze wander the room. you didn’t recognize many people. a few fellow athletes, a handful of streaming personalities, a tattooed actor from that one netflix show. everyone was dressed like they had nowhere to be the next day. there were polaroids passed around and a tray of neon shots no one really wanted to take but did anyway for the aesthetic. 

if you were being honest with yourself, you’d have rather been anywhere else. the music was too loud, the house too crowded, and the air smelled like expensive perfume and the kind of liquor that burned going down. it wasn’t like you to be out so late the night before a game, especially not one like this. season opener. national spotlight. everything to prove.

but bea had asked, and saying no to her had never been your strong suit.

still, as the night wore on, your patience wore thin. you were tired of smiling at people you didn’t know. tired of pretending to care when someone told you they’d seen your nike ad. you’d already dodged a half-hearted attempt from some girl you vaguely remembered, the one who thought flirting was a sport and boundaries were optional. you were sick of people trying to shove shots into your hands like you hadn’t worked your entire life for the game. you knew what coach would say if he saw you here. not angry. just disappointed. the thought alone made your stomach twist.

you kept your face neutral. unreadable. it was easier that way.

with a quiet sigh, you peeled yourself away from the crowd and wandered toward the back of the house. the hallway was long and dimly lit, the thrum of bass dulling the farther you walked. you passed a bathroom, a guest room, a door that was half-cracked open with coats spilling out like it had given up trying to hold everything inside.

eventually, you found the balcony. or maybe it found you.

it was empty except for a flickering candle on the railing and the city stretched out beneath you like a lit-up promise. out here, the air was cooler. you could finally breathe. you stayed there for a while, long enough for the hum of the party behind you to fade into background noise. the city had a rhythm of its own. the occasional whoop of a car down in the canyon, the buzz of neon from somewhere in the distance, the faint echo of music bleeding out from other houses stacked along the hills. the kind of place where it felt like everything was happening all at once.

you were so caught up in the quiet of it that you didn’t notice her step outside.

not at first.

it was the click of the sliding door, soft but intentional, that pulled your attention. you glanced over your shoulder, only half-interested. and then you saw her.

she stepped into the light like she didn’t care who was watching. slow, unhurried, utterly unbothered by the idea of being seen. dark eyes, high cheekbones, that exact kind of poised elegance that didn’t feel practiced so much as inherited. her dark brown boho braids framed her face in a way that had your breath catching in your throat. several strands of hair framed her face like they belonged there, delicate against her smooth complexion. she wore low rise jeans and a tank top that showed off her toned stomach, the belly chain around her stomach ricocheting light as if they were diamonds on her skin. for a second, you genuinely thought she might be a model.

you looked away before you could be caught staring.

didn’t matter. she noticed anyway.

“you hiding, too?” she asked, voice low and smooth like she’d spent the whole night not saying much and was only now deciding to use it. 

you couldn’t place her accent but the little teaser you got was enough to have you wanting to hear more. 

you huffed a quiet laugh. “something like that.”

she walked over, leaning on the railing beside you. just far enough to be polite, just close enough to make your skin buzz.

“i get it,” she said. “it’s loud in there.”

you nodded. “and a little too… curated.”

she smiled at that. not wide. just a tug at the corner of her mouth like she wasn’t used to smiling for strangers but decided to anyway.

“you here for bea?” she asked.

you nodded. “old friend. team usa.”

“ah. so you’re an athlete.”

you glanced over, eyes narrowing a little. “that obvious?”

“the way you stand. the way you didn’t drink the shot someone tried to give you. and…” she paused, letting her eyes drag across you for just a second too long. “the quads.”

you laughed, caught off guard. “okay. fair.”

she tilted her head, curious. “soccer?”

“football,” you corrected, smiling despite yourself.

“right. of course.”

a beat passed. the silence was comfortable now.

“you?” you asked.

she shrugged. “just here with friends.”

you raised a brow. “you don’t seem like a ‘just here’ kind of girl.”

“maybe i’m not,” she said, and you couldn’t tell if it was a challenge or an invitation.

maybe it didn’t matter.

because five minutes later, you were still talking. ten minutes after that, your hands brushed. twenty minutes later, the city wasn’t what you were looking at anymore.

maybe it was the way she looked at you.

not with expectation, not with hunger, but with this quiet kind of curiosity that made your skin feel warmer than it should have in the night air. like she was studying you. like she wanted to figure you out without asking for anything.

the ride back to the hotel was quiet. you’d called the car, sat side by side in the back seat, close but not touching. her knee bumped yours when the car hit a bump on the freeway. she didn’t pull away. neither did you.

when you got to the room, you unlocked the door like you’d done it a hundred times before. the key clicked, the door swung open, and you stepped inside without looking back. you tossed your phone onto the desk, kicked off your shoes, and reached for the bedside lamp. the soft yellow glow filled the room, casting long shadows over the rumpled comforter and the single armchair pushed against the corner.

you heard the door close behind you.

she lingered near it, one hand still on the handle like she hadn’t made up her mind. her gaze swept the room, thoughtful, slow.

“this what five-star athletes get?” she asked, lips twitching like she was fighting a smirk.

you glanced over your shoulder. “you coming in, or just here to rate my accommodations?”

she smiled then,  slow and deliberate, before stepping inside and letting the door click shut behind her. “depends. you planning on entertaining your guest?”

“depends,” you said, mirroring her tone. “you planning on staying?”

she walked the room like she had all the time in the world. dragged her fingers along the edge of the desk, paused at the foot of the bed, tapped the corner of a framed photo of some abstract skyline you hadn’t noticed before. her presence filled the space without effort. you weren’t sure if it was the way she moved or the way she looked at everything like it might tell her a secret.

“nice view,” she murmured, peeking through the sheer curtain.

you didn’t answer. you were watching her.

she turned, eyes landing on yours again. “you always bring strangers back to your hotel room?”

“only when they look at me like that.”

she tilted her head, feigning innocence. “like what?”

“like they want something.”

“maybe i do,” she said. then, after a beat, “maybe i don’t.”

you crossed the space between you without thinking. your fingers found the edge of her jeans first, then slid up to the curve of her waist. her hands came up to your collar, light and curious, not pulling you in but not letting go either.

“this where you ask for my name?” she asked, voice low now.

“do you want me to?”

she considered it. “no.”

you nodded. “then don’t tell me.”

the kiss was slow when it landed, soft and searching, her lips brushing yours like she was figuring out how you liked to be kissed before committing to it. she tasted like peppermint and a whisper of something floral. her skin was warm under your hands. 

you didn’t rush. didn’t fumble.

the pace stayed lazy, deliberate. clothes came off in between teasing comments and almost-touches. her mouth ghosted over your throat and she muttered, “what are you thinking about?” against your skin.

you breathed out, “only you.”

she laughed quietly, a little smug. but she said nothing more when you pulled her down with you onto the bed.

whatever came next wasn’t about knowing each other. it was about the way her hips moved against yours, the way her hand held the back of your neck like it meant something, the way she moaned into your mouth when you bit her lip a little too hard. it was about how quiet the room got except for the sounds you made together, the rustle of sheets, the rhythm of bodies learning each other’s language one kiss, one breath at a time.

she didn’t ask anything of you. neither did you.

but when she kissed your shoulder, your jaw, the place just under your ribs like she wanted to remember it, you wondered if she might be trying to leave something behind.

only by the time morning came, the space next to you was empty.

she was gone.

for a moment, you wondered if you had imagined the whole thing. but then you spotted the note. it was folded in half and placed neatly on the pillow, written on the hotel’s stationery in small, looping handwriting.

thx for the night. –meret

you sat there with the note in your hand for a long while, memorizing the name, the shape of it, the way her face lingered in your memory even though you hadn’t known it for more than a few hours.

you didn’t know her last name. you didn’t know what she did or where she was going next. you just knew her name was meret, and she had vanished like smoke. without a sound, without a trace, save for that single line in ink.

you slipped the note into your bag before getting up.

by the time you stepped into the stadium that afternoon for the pregame warmups, you’d almost convinced yourself to forget her.

almost.

__

‎ 

manon didn’t get back to the hotel until almost four in the morning.

technically, it was closer to four-thirty. the sun was already brushing against the edges of the horizon, and downtown los angeles looked too clean for how she felt. her braids were coming undone, her shirt was buttoned wrong, and she had the faintest mark under her jaw where someone’s teeth had lingered longer than they should have. she didn’t bother adjusting any of it. the lobby was empty, the elevator was slow, and when she caught her reflection in the mirrored wall, she just looked at herself once, then looked away.

she tried to be quiet pushing into the room. she really did. but the key card stuck a little in the lock and her boots thudded against the carpet when she kicked them off. that was enough to wake sophia.

“manon?” sophia’s voice was raspy, low with sleep. “is that you?”

a rustling followed, then lara’s voice came from the second bed. “god, it is her. jesus. what time is it?”

“you’re lucky we’re not on live right now,” daniela mumbled into her pillow. “i’d be exposing your walk of shame in real time.”

manon didn’t say a word. just slipped into the bathroom and shut the door. but that didn’t stop them.

“i want a full debrief in the morning,” megan called out. “i want names, timelines, weather conditions.”

“was she pretty?” lara asked, her voice high with curiosity.

“was she good?” daniela countered, only to be met with silence. she continued after a beat. “she’s quiet. that means yes.”

manon returned ten minutes later in fresh clothes. she looked clean but guilty, more ammunition to fan the fire.

megan sat up, stretching like a cat. “you smell like someone else’s perfume.”

“and success,” sophia added.

“how was she?” lara asked, immediately elbowed by yoonchae.

manon finally spoke, voice dry. “you’re all freaks.”

megan gasped. “rude.”

“don’t dish it if you can’t take it,” sophia said, tossing a pillow at her. “you disappeared with a stranger and came back looking like a victoria’s secret campaign. we’re allowed to be nosy.”

“it’s a sisterhood,” daniela said solemnly. “this is what you signed up for.”

manon climbed into bed besides lara without answering. she kept her expression neutral, but they all clocked the faint smile she tried to hide when she turned toward the wall.

she only managed to get two hours of sleep before she had to get up and prepare for the day ahead of her. 

they had spent the morning rehearsing, the afternoon getting glammed, and now they were all dressed in stage outfits that shimmered when the sun hit them right. hair slicked, nails done, in-ear monitors already tucked into place.

by the time the van pulled up to the stadium it was 2p.m. the teasing had died down, replaced by the kind of focused energy only performance days brought. manon sat by the window, earphones in, sunglasses pushed up into her hair. she hadn’t said much since leaving the hotel. the others assumed she was just in the zone. none of them noticed the way her fingers tapped restlessly against her thigh, or the way she kept glancing down at her phone like it might tell her something she didn’t know yet.

the van pulled into the private tunnel, slowing to a crawl. stadium security swarmed the entrance, and huge vertical banners hung from the outer walls. each one showed a different player. bold block letters. intense, stylized headshots. pure american sports propaganda.

the others were talking about stage positions when manon saw her.

it wasn’t just recognition. it was impact.

her gaze snapped to the banner like she’d been physically pulled by it. the face on the vinyl was unmistakable. same mouth. same eyes. same jawline that she had kissed in the dark just a few hours ago.

manon didn’t move. didn’t blink. for a full three seconds, she forgot to breathe.

megan caught the shift immediately. she felt it in the way manon’s posture changed. the sudden stillness. the air around her turning sharp and quiet.

megan leaned forward, her voice low and curious. “hey. you good?”

manon didn’t answer right away. then she blinked and turned her head, too fast to be casual. “yeah. fine.”

megan narrowed her eyes. “you sure?”

manon nodded. too quickly. “just nerves.”

megan didn’t push. not yet. but she filed the moment away, sharp and clean, and said nothing else as the doors to the van opened and the sound of the crowd roared in from outside.

your face was the last thing she expected to see.

if manon was being honest with herself, she still didn’t know why she went back to your hotel last night. it wasn’t like her. that kind of impulse,  reckless and raw, didn’t usually make it past the filter she kept up in public. especially not in a city like this, where eyes were always watching. 

maybe it was the way you looked at her on that balcony, like she had hung the stars herself. like all of los angeles could burn and you wouldn’t notice, not with her standing there in front of you. 

maybe it was your mouth, the way it curved just slightly at the corners when you smiled, like you were holding back a secret only she was allowed to know.

whatever it was, it pulled her in. and now, seeing you again like this ten stories tall on the side of the stadium, all fire and focus and unapologetic light, she froze. manon wasn’t sure whether to laugh or run.

not that it mattered. alas, the decision was already made for her.

katseye was being ushered through the underground tunnels, their in-ears already clipped in, stage crew calling out cues like the whole night balanced on a stopwatch. they’d prepared for this for months. late-night rehearsals, endless fittings, vocal run-throughs in hotel lobbies. she was ready for this. or at least, she had been.

but then the lights in the stadium dropped to black, the crowd erupting as the announcer’s voice boomed overhead, and manon felt her pulse stutter.

she was center-stage, spotlight trained directly on her, and all she could think about was the way her stomach flipped.

the beat dropped. the opening note hit. the others moved like second nature, muscle memory taking over. but manon’s breath caught. because across the pitch, down the sideline tunnel, she saw you.

you were half in shadow, your kit not even fully visible yet, but your face was unmistakable.

the distance between you was too far for logic, too far for clarity, but somehow, impossibly, she saw it. the way your expression went slack, the way your mouth parted, the way all the blood seemed to drain from your face.

and just like that, the lights weren’t the only thing that came crashing down.

you knew, and so did she.

it was only going to get complicated from here.

the pregame show was electric. clean transitions, perfect harmonies, not a single misstep. katseye had performed in bigger stadiums before, but tonight felt different. louder. tighter. like the air was wired. manon didn’t know if it was the fireworks or the roar of the crowd or the way the grass looked under the lights, but something about the whole thing made her chest feel like it was being wrung out.

then the game started and the pressure shifted. the girls were all but ushered off field and into a private viewing box, given barely a minute to greet fans.

the stadium stayed loud, the drums kept pounding, but manon’s attention had narrowed. she was supposed to be watching the match, they all were. but the second she saw you step onto the field, she forgot the plot entirely.

you were everywhere. cutting through defenders like they were suggestions. calling for the ball with that calm, commanding urgency. scoring once, assisting twice. but it wasn’t your footwork or your stats that had her losing her mind.  it was the fact that you were you.

because what were the odds? what were the actual, statistical, cosmically humiliating odds that the girl she’d kissed breathless in a los angeles hotel room would turn out to be you?

manon sat frozen in her seat, arms crossed tight over her chest, trying not to freak out visibly.

megan noticed anyway. the chinese girl peered over at her, speaking quietly so none of the other girls could eavesdrop but just loud enough for manon to hear. “you okay?”

“fine,” manon said, too fast.

“you look like you’re about to throw up.”

“just hot. adrenaline. post-performance crash.”

megan raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. not yet.

manon wasn’t too sure how much time had passed of her sitting uncharacteristically still, her eyes following you as you ran up and down the field. it was almost unfair how good you looked, she decided. memories of the night before kept flashing in her mind against her will, an embarrassed flush crossing her cheeks just subtly for sophia to give her a weird stare. but, within what felt like minutes (but was most definitely an hour and some change), the game ended. your team had won. it was only the opening game of the season, but the crowd ate it up regardless. 

manon didn’t clap. she couldn’t. she was too busy staring at you, her mouth slightly open, her thoughts absolutely feral.

after a beat, she turned slowly. “hey… what’s number fourteen’s name?”

megan looked at her like she’d just asked what two plus two was. “are you serious?”

manon blinked.

“you mean y/n?”

“y/n,” manon repeated under her breath, like it tasted different now that it had a name attached. “what’s her whole deal?”

megan looked suspicious. “why do you sound like you’re about to launch a background check?”

“just answer the question.”

“okay… let’s see. olympic medalist. league mvp. rookie of the year. huge nike deal. she’s on the cover of like, three magazines this month. wait, didn’t you guys go to bea’s party last night? they’re pretty close friends. i’m surprised you didn’t run into her. they played on the national team together.”

manon couldn’t help but whistle lowly, a teasing grin crossing her lips despite the thoughts running rampant in her mind. 

“damn, mei. who knew you were so well versed in this sport?”

megan simply grinned widely. “what can i say? brainrot tiktok doomscrolling leads you down paths you don’t come back from.”

then she cut herself off, her mind already jumping to the next factoid to spit out to the older girl.  megan continued after a hum. “she’s also apparently really private, hates interviews, has this weird thing about not letting anyone film her workouts, and—wait. wait.” she narrowed her eyes, her voice dropping. “why are you asking?”

manon stayed quiet.

then, like clockwork, megan’s jaw dropped. “no.”

“megan—”

“no. manon. no.”

“i didn’t know it was her.”

“you hooked up with y/n and didn’t even ask for her name?!”

“i was going to,” manon mumbled. “but then i panicked and left.”

“how do you panic after-“ she paused, looked left and right, then whispered aggressively.“- s.e.x?”

“i don’t know! it was intense! i needed to breathe!”

megan stared at her like she was watching a slow motion car crash. “manon, you ghosted the golden girl of women’s soccer and now you’re sitting here looking like you want to crawl into the grass and die.”

manon’s cheeks flamed a bright shade of crimson. she looked anywhere but at megan. before she could come up with a comeback, the door to the private viewing box and opened and in walked their manager, clipboard in hand. his voice cut through the room loudly. 

“alright, time to move!”

manon groaned softly but pushed herself up, more than happy to move on and pretend the conversation never happened.

megan gave her a pointed look. “oh, this isn’t over. not by a long shot.”

manon forced a pained half smile, still feeling the heat of embarrassment, and followed their manager out.  the words between her and megan hung unfinished in the charged air, the other four girls none the wiser of the war raging in her mind. 

the universe sure did have a funny way of bringing things full circle. 

__

‎ 

over the next week, your thoughts had been completely tangled around meret manon bannerman. at least, that’s what a quick google search said her name was. you practically held the note she left to your chest the very second you got back to your hotel room after the game. 

thx for the night. -meret 

the words were crinkled now, the pen ink smudged. 

every time you closed your eyes, you could still feel the way your heart dropped in your chest when you saw her pregame. you could still feel the way your blood ran cold when she looked in your direction in that brief, electric moment. 

she was stunning. 

her movements were engraved into your mind as strong as your earliest childhood memory. her every move was captivating, her pretty face full of expression every time she appeared on the jumbotron. the more you thought about it, part of you was embarrassed you hadn’t recognized her sooner. especially after the night you spent together. 

yet, stronger than whatever embarrassment you felt, here you were. unable to shake the phantom trace of her hands on your skin, the way she looked under those bright stadium lights. how the light caught her body in just the right way, how her stage outfit made her stand out like her own special star. 

perhaps you shouldn’t have been so surprised when bea approached you after the game, a knowing gleam cemented across her face. 

‎ 

“so? spill.”

you turned to face her when she approached you in the athlete tunnels. she was sweaty, just as tired as you, and yet she still found the energy to seek you out and level you with those teasing eyes. if she was bothered by her teams loss, she didn’t show it. she had far more ‘pressing’ matters to attend to. 

you narrowed your eyes. “what are you talking about.”

she practically scoffed as if the answer was obvious. “you and manon, that’s what. don’t forget it was my party you left together. which, by the way, fuck you for ditching so early.” then she shook her head, her faux aggravation shifting into something softer. “what happened when you guys left?”

you glanced away, unwilling to meet her gaze. “nothing happened. we just talked.”

bea raised an eyebrow. “really? because you played like someone was watching you.”

you crossed your arms defensively. “i’m not going to give you the whole story.”

bea’s grin widened. “come on, you can trust me.”

hesitation tightened your throat. the weight of bea’s gaze felt heavy like she was waiting for something, a truth you weren’t sure you wanted to give away just yet. for a moment you looked away, the memory of that night flickering in your mind. the way manon’s laugh had sounded, the heat of her hands sliding along your skin, how the world had shrunk to just the two of you. you took a slow breath, chewing on your words as if deciding whether to swallow them whole. finally, you let out a quiet sigh, the tension in your shoulders easing just enough. 

“okay,” you said, voice low and a little reluctant, “we hooked up.”

bea’s eyes sparkled with satisfaction. “thought so. now, spill the details.”

‎ 

and you did. kind of. you didn’t tell her everything, just enough to stop her wicked grin and avoid the flood of questions you knew would come next.

but that was a week ago.

now, as you waited for the practice facility’s elevator to open with its little ding, you realized one simple fact. perhaps you’d made your biggest mistake yet by trusting that information with beatrice laus of all people. 

it was supposed to be your day off. but, of course, here you were. fresh out of an impromptu strategy meeting with your coach, clipboard in hand, scanning over a revised game plan you barely had time to digest. the soft thud of your sneakers echoed as you walked through the quiet corridor, music and chatter spilling faintly from a nearby training room. you pressed the elevator button, already planning to retreat to a quiet corner and study your matchups in peace.

the doors slid open with a calm mechanical hiss. you stepped inside without looking, preoccupied with your notes. but the second they closed behind you and the soft red glow above the buttons lit up, you realized you weren’t alone.

you heard it first. a small, startled sound, like someone had just choked on their own breath. you looked up, and against all odds, there she was.

manon.

she was standing off to the side, spine straight as a rod, arms folded tightly across her chest like she was trying to make herself smaller. her eyes met yours for only a second before flicking away, as if even looking at you might unravel whatever thread of composure she had left.

you froze. your brain fired off a thousand questions, all scrambling for space at once. still, you managed to speak, your voice quieter than you expected.

“meret…? what are you doing here?”

for the briefest of seconds, manon flinched when her name dropped from your mouth. she’d almost forgotten she left a note for you the morning after, the reminder sending a chill down her spine. but she didn’t correct you. in some way, it sounded almost special coming from you. 

despite whatever awkward nerves consumed the space between them, manon somehow conjured enough confidence to unlock her phone and flash the screen in your direction. a text chain between herself, bea, and megan was all you saw. 

“i was told there was some kind of conference room,” she said, voice trailing off as she glanced back at her phone. “megan said bea was giving her a tour of the facility. told me to join.”

you didn’t say anything. you didn’t have to. the moment your eyes skimmed the screen, the truth of it was written all over your face. manon noticed immediately.

with a sigh that sounded more tired than angry, she shoved her phone into her jacket pocket and leaned back against the elevator wall.

“right. clearly i walked into a setup.”

you scratched the back of your neck, guilt crawling in slow and steady. “yeah. sorry. that’s probably… my fault.”

for a moment manon simply stared at you. it took a moment for your words to fully register, but when they did, she knew what you were talking about instantly. the admission that another person knew of your hookup had her nervously itching the skin above her wrist. 

some part of you couldn't help but feel surprised as you watched her. the way she looked down, embarrassed. the way she bit the inside of her cheek as if she could will herself to disappear from this moment and hightail it back home as if nothing happened. she was so different to how she was the night you spent together. it was almost like night and day. 

after a moment, you sighed. 

“you need a ride home?” you asked before you could stop yourself, heart racing.

she looked surprised. for a moment she seemed to mull over her thoughts, tentative. and then she nodded with a resigned sigh. 

“please.”

‎

the drive was quiet at first, save for the low hum of the engine and the occasional shuffle of manon adjusting the sleeves of her jacket. los angeles glowed outside the windshield, all neon haze and soft gold streetlights stretching across pavement. you kept your eyes forward, fingers flexing slightly on the wheel, trying not to let the silence settle too heavy between you.

she didn’t speak, and neither did you. the only thing she did say was a low “chateau marmont” and a frustrated “can’t believe i flagged my driver and guard away.” other than that, nothing. 

you flicked on your turn signal even though no one else was on the road. something about the sound filled the space, made it feel less like the two of you were suffocating under the weight of a memory you still hadn’t figured out how to name. every few minutes you could feel her shift in the passenger seat, like she was building herself up to say something but couldn’t quite manage it. you didn’t push. you didn’t dare.

you had run every possible version of this drive through your head. in one, she pretended it never happened. in another, she confessed she regretted it. in one especially (oddly) hurtful version, she looked at you and said it was a mistake. so now, with the real thing stretched out before you, you kept your mouth shut and tried to focus on the road.

manon cleared her throat softly.

you glanced over, just briefly. she was staring out the window, jaw tight, fingers curled into the hem of her sleeve like she was grounding herself with the fabric.

“so,” she started, voice quieter than you’d ever heard it, “we’re really not going to talk about it?”

your grip on the wheel tightened just slightly. your stomach twisted. “i wasn’t sure you wanted to.”

she didn’t answer right away. she turned her head slowly, eyes on you now instead of the window. 

”well… how about we start with the acknowledgement that this is a pretty awkward first impression we could have possibly had of each other.”

you let out a quiet breath, a short laugh escaping before you could stop it. “yeah,” you said, glancing at her again, this time longer. “i guess jumping straight to a hotel room isn’t exactly the standard getting-to-know-you route.”

manon smiled, just barely, but it softened the tension in her face. “you think?”

you shrugged. “could be worse. you could’ve never left a note.”

“i almost didn’t,” she admitted. “i panicked. wasn’t sure if you’d think it was weird.”

“i thought it was nice,” you said honestly, drumming your fingers lightly on the wheel. “though if i’m being honest, i’m surprised you signed your name as meret.”

she blinked, caught off guard. “why’s that?”

you glanced at her, the corners of your mouth twitching upward. “i googled you after the pregame show. figured out real fast who i’d been in bed with.”

manon groaned and buried her face in her hands. “oh my god.”

“to be fair,” you continued, teasing now, “you were kind of impossible to ignore. all that hair whipping around, the outfit, the lights.”

she peeked out from between her fingers, face flushed but amused. “so you’re telling me you learned everything about me before we even had this conversation.”

“not everything,” you said, shrugging. “just the basics. stage name. discography. three fan edits.”

manon laughed, the kind that crinkled her nose and made you bite back your own grin. “you’re worse than i thought.”

“you were very memorable,” you said simply and that shut her up again, her gaze flicking back to the window, a shy smile tugging at her lips.

“besides, not everything,” you continue, eyes back on the road now. “just enough to feel like you're completely out of my league.”

she blinked. “why would you think that?”

“because you’re manon bannerman. international popstar. face of like five brands. terrifyingly attractive. meanwhile, i’m just a girl who likes to kick a ball really hard.”

manon grinned. “you’re kidding, right?”

“not even a little bit.”

“well, now you’ve made me feel like i need to impress you,” she said, and her voice had taken on something lighter, like she was letting herself breathe for the first time in the car. “we didn’t even do proper introductions.”

you pulled up to a stop sign and looked over again. her expression was softer now, curious, open.

“okay,” you said, shifting in your seat so you could offer your hand between the console. “i’m y/n. professional ball kicker.”

manon let out another laugh. “manon. i think all your googling saves me the backstory.”

you took her hand, your fingers brushing hers in a way that felt more deliberate than casual. you held it just long enough to feel the warmth of her skin, the quiet weight of the moment.

“nice to meet you, manon. officially.”

her mouth curled into the faintest smile, something soft and unreadable in her eyes. “likewise,” she said, and her thumb swept lightly across your knuckles before she let go.

there was a brief silence, charged and delicate, before she spoke again.

“and for the record,” she said, voice lower now, “i signed the note with meret because that’s who you were with that night.”

you turned toward her just slightly, pulse quickening. her gaze was steady, unwavering. there was no teasing in her voice, no sarcasm. just truth.

“so which one are you right now?” you asked, quieter than before.

her lips parted, a breath caught between sentences. she didn’t answer right away, but when she did, it was slow and sure.

“i don’t know,” she said. “but you make it really hard to pretend like that night didn’t matter.”

your hand shifted on the steering wheel, grip loosening, breath catching just for a second. you swallowed the sudden lump in your throat.

“did you want it to mean something?” you asked, the words barely a whisper, edged in something raw and real.

she didn’t answer at first. but she didn’t look away either.  that silence said more than any ‘yes’ ever could.

she was quiet for a long time. you didn’t rush her. the hum of the engine filled the silence, a steady rhythm under the buzz of traffic.

you turned down a quieter street, one lined with swaying palms and golden-orange streetlights, the sky above slipping from dusk into something darker. it was the kind of road where the world felt paused, like whatever existed beyond your windshield didn’t matter as much as what was happening inside the car.

the tension between you hadn’t disappeared. it still lingered, heavy and unspoken, but it softened somehow. it didn’t cut anymore. it settled, warm and aching beneath your skin.

then manon hummed, low and thoughtful, and it made something pull taut in your chest.

“tell me something about you.”

you glanced sideways. “suddenly interested?”

a short laugh slipped from her lips before she could stop it, as if the absurdity of the situation was finally kicking in. “i think we skipped every step that comes before a casual hookup. why not start now?”

you scoffed, but it came out quieter than you intended. “you can’t just put me on the spot like that. not when the only thing i can think about right now is you.”

the silence that followed wasn’t awkward. it was thick. charged. like even the air between your bodies was listening. you weren’t sure where your sudden boldness came from, but it sat between you now like a weight. she didn’t flinch. if anything, her breath hitched just slightly, and her lips parted like she wanted to say something but thought better of it.

the hotel came into view far too quickly. the moment the security guard popped open the boon gates and you pulled into the parking lot, the car slowing and stilling in a shadow cast by the building, the tension was harder to ignore. the music from the radio played low, a dull thrum in the background.

manon didn’t move to unbuckle her seatbelt. didn’t reach for the handle. she just stared ahead, and after a pause that felt like an eternity, she finally spoke.

“i keep thinking about it,” she said quietly, voice almost lost under the music.

you didn’t ask what she meant. you didn’t need to.

you swallowed, your hand twitching slightly on the gearshift. the air between you was tight again, warm with memory.

“me too,” you said, the words dragging out of your chest like a confession.

she turned to look at you. then it happened. one moment all you saw was a familiar fire in her eyes, the next she practically crawled over the console to straddle your lap behind the wheel. her knees pressed into either side of your thighs as she settled into you, the steering wheel digging into the small of her back. but she didn’t flinch. didn’t adjust.

it wasn’t tentative. it wasn’t soft. it was immediate and wanting, like she had been holding her breath since the moment she saw you and finally let herself exhale. your hands found her hips automatically, gripping tight through the fabric of her low rise jeans as if that might ground you in the moment. it didn’t. nothing could. not with her mouth on yours, not with the way she moved against you like she remembered exactly how your body felt the last time she had you.

there was something about her. the way she kissed you like she was starving, like the memory of your touch had kept her up at night. she was all urgency and heat, her fingers slipping up the back of your neck, threading into your hair like she didn’t care how messy it got. your breath caught in your throat when she rolled her hips just slightly, seeking more, daring you to pull her closer.

it was messy. too hot. too fast. it felt like a freefall, and still you didn’t stop. couldn’t. not when your heart was racing in time with hers, not when every nerve in your body lit up under her touch.

she pulled back just barely, her lips brushing yours, her breathing heavy. her eyes were darker now, glassy in the dim light.

there was just something about her that was so numbingly intoxicating. clearly, she felt the same way. 

finally, she broke the silence. “i want to keep seeing you,” she said, voice low but steady.

you swallowed hard.

 “i want that too.”

she leaned in again, slower this time, her eyes flicking from your lips to your eyes and back like she was trying to memorize the moment. your breath caught as she got closer, her hand grazing your jaw, the air between you thick with heat.

but then she shifted.

her hip nudged the wheel with just the right force for the car horn to explode into the quiet night, loud and jarring. she jolted in surprise, and in that split second, her forehead collided hard with your nose.

“fuck!” you hissed, the sharp crack of impact making your eyes water instantly. pain bloomed, fast and hot, and before you could even register what happened, you felt something warm drip over your lip.

“oh my god,” she gasped, immediately pushing back off you. manon’s face was a mask of panic. “i’m so sorry. i was trying to be smooth, not concuss you!”

you gave her a weak, bloody smile. “well. you left an impression.”

“okay, no,” she muttered, already reaching for the door handle. “you’re coming upstairs. i’m fixing this.”

‎ 

megan clocked you the second you walked through the hotel suite door, her eyes lighting up with immediate mischief. she was curled up on the couch with her phone in hand, idly scrolling through unread text messages. but the second she saw you and manon step inside all flushed, tousled, and  breathing just a little too hard, she knew. her lips parted into a slow, satisfied grin.

clearly, her and bea’s plan worked.

then her gaze dropped to your nose, the blood streaking down. whatever teasing remark she was about to toss out died in her throat, replaced by a sharp snort she couldn’t hold back even if she tried.

“what the hell did you do?” she laughed, eyebrows raised, eyes dancing between the two of you. 

manon groaned beside you, dragging a hand down her face. “i’m never living this down, am i?”

from across the room, sophia’s head snapped up the second megan snorted, her brows pulling together in confusion. for a moment she thought maybe daniela, lara, and yoonchae had come back already from their ice cream run. instead, she saw you. her eyes widened when she caught the mess of your shirt sleeve trying to stop the flow of blood pooling from your nose. 

“oh my god— what happened?” she stood from where she was sitting, already making her way over before either you or manon could answer. her hands hovered near your face, gentle but firm. “are you okay? does it hurt to breathe?”

you blinked, a little overwhelmed by how fast she’d turned into someone’s concerned older sister.

manon could feel her soul leaving her body. “i headbutted her. didn’t mean to. i swear i didn’t mean to.”

sophia gave her a quick look but didn’t stop her fussing. “you definitely nailed her. jesus, you’re lucky her nose doesn’t look broken.” she reached for the tissue box on the counter and pressed a wad of them gently into your hand. “come on. bathroom’s this way. let’s clean you up before anyone passes out.”

“it’s not that bad—” you tried, but she was already halfway down the hall.

“i’m not negotiating with someone who’s actively bleeding,” sophia called back. “manon, get over here. you’re helping.”

manon let out a quiet, horrified sound and followed like a scolded dog. behind her, megan cackled into a throw pillow.

“god, this is better than anything i could have hoped for,” she said between fits of laughter. “and lara thought nothing juicy would come out of this week. girl’s gonna scream when she hears about this.”

manon shot her a scowl over her own shoulder, a warning glare. the chinese girl simply doubled over even harder. 

sophia stood over you in the cramped hotel bathroom, gently tilting your chin back with a practiced kind of care. the light above the mirror buzzed softly, casting a faint glow over your blood-streaked shirt and manon’s guilty expression lingering in the reflection behind you.

“you’re lucky,” sophia said as she dabbed carefully at your nose with a damp cloth. “it’s not broken. just a nasty bump.”

you nodded stiffly, trying not to move your head too much. “thanks. sorry for barging in like this.”

sophia gave you a half-smile. “not your fault. though next time maybe try ringing the doorbell instead of bleeding through it.”

manon hovered awkwardly near the bathroom door, arms crossed tight against her chest. “i didn’t mean to slam into her. it just… happened.”

megan, leaning on the hallway wall just outside, snorted. “yeah. so did that lipstick on your neck, babe.”

you nearly choked, eyes widening as you instinctively reached for your collar. manon’s ears flushed deep red.

“megan,” sophia warned, but there was no real heat behind it. “don’t make her pass out from embarrassment while she’s still mid-bleed.”

“hey, not my fault they walked in looking like they just got thrown around in a wind tunnel,” megan shot back. “this is gold.”

you let out a weak laugh, unsure where to look. “uh… i’m y/n, by the way. we didn’t really get to do introductions with all the blood and chaos.”

sophia’s expression softened as she rinsed the cloth out under the tap. “sophia. and you’ve already met our resident menace out there.”

megan popped her head back in. “pleasure to meet you, superstar. bea’s been talking you up for months.”

your brows raised. “she has?”

“mmhm,” megan said, clearly enjoying herself. “but i guess someone didn’t get the memo.” she nodded her head very aggressively in manon’s direction. 

a quiet beat passed before you turned slightly toward manon, barely thinking. “guess you should’ve been paying attention, meret.”

it was instinctual, the name slipping from your mouth like muscle memory. you didn’t even realize what you’d said until you heard the sharp intake of breath from behind you.

sophia froze mid-dab. her head whipped around so fast it was a miracle she didn’t pull something in her neck. the look on her face was immediate, intense, like you’d just said something sacrilegious.

“i’m sorry,” she said slowly, setting the cloth down on the sink. “what did you just call her?”

you blinked. “meret…?”

sophia stared at you for a long second, then turned slowly toward manon, who now looked like she wanted to crawl into the floor.

“oh,” sophia said, voice dropping just enough to sound dangerous. “you’re the one.”

megan cackled from the hallway. “i’ve been trying not to say it all night.”

you looked between them, suddenly very aware of just how small the bathroom was. “what one?”

“the girl,” megan grinned. “the one she snuck out of bea’s party with.”

“you didn’t tell them?” you asked, turning to manon.

“i didn’t tell anyone except megan.” manon muttered, rubbing the back of her neck. 

sophia folded her arms, expression unreadable but not unkind. “well. it’s nice to finally meet you properly. meret doesn’t show up often.”

manon gave her a tired glare. “can you not?”

sophia held up her hands. “just saying.”

you smiled awkwardly, wiping the last of the blood from your upper lip. “well… it’s nice to meet you both too. even if i’m bleeding and weirdly exposed.”

megan appeared in the doorway again, smug as ever. “if this is how you usually meet people, i get why bea said you needed help.”

“megan,” manon warned, shooting her a glare.

sophia just laughed, stepping back to rinse her hands in the sink. “honestly, this is kind of iconic. blood, secrets, confessions. what a night.”

“okay,” manon muttered, suddenly pulling open the bathroom door. “i’m walking her out.”

you blinked. “you don’t have to. ”

“i insist,” she said, already stepping into the hallway, clearly in need of escape.

you followed her past megan, who gave you a little finger wave and an exaggerated wink. “good luck, superstar.”

manon didn’t stop until you were at the hotel room door. she reached for a small notepad from the side table, scribbling quickly, her handwriting sharp and messy. then she tore the page off and shoved it into your hand with a bit more force than necessary.

“here,” she said. “for your shirt, if you want me to cover the dry cleaning bill. or whatever excuse you decide to use.”

you looked down at the number, then up at her. “you really think i’d let you pay for dry cleaning?”

she shook her head. “i think you’re not gonna throw away a perfectly good excuse to text me.”

you didn’t deny it. “i wasn’t planning on it.”

her eyes lingered on yours for a second too long. “good.”

before you could say anything else, sophia’s face twisted into a look of displeasure. “manon, ask her if she wants to stay for tea or something! don’t just shove her out like a scared raccoon!”

“go!” manon hissed, practically shoving you outside of the hotel room and shutting it firmly in your face. 

for a moment you just stood there, overwhelmed and confused. but then you moved. you couldn’t help the smile that broke across your face as you stepped into the hotel elevator, sliding the note with manon’s handscrawled phone number into your pocket. another momento of the enigma that was meret manon you could add to your collection. 

whatever this was, it definitely wasn’t nothing.

__

‎ 

you weren’t exactly sure when the shift happened.  when something casual and unspoken between you and manon began pulling at the edges of something deeper. maybe it was the moment you finally worked up the nerve to text her, her number saved under a single lowercase ‘m,’ always sitting stubbornly at the top of your messages, no matter how many hours passed between replies. you’d fall asleep with her words still open on your screen, wake up to find she’d responded in the middle of the night, like she couldn’t help herself either.

maybe it started in switzerland.

katseye was in zurich for a tour stop, the city glittering beneath early spring skies, and you were there too. you were called up for a friendly between team usa and team switzerland. you hadn’t planned to see her. hadn’t even thought she’d answer. but you sent the text anyway, a plain “u free?” with no punctuation and more hope packed into two words than you’d admit out loud.

what followed wasn’t what you expected. she met you outside a station, hood pulled low, no cameras, no glam team. just manon, just meret, just her. it was supposed to be a quick drink, something light and easy, but it ended in a motel outside the city center, the kind with too-thin walls and a view of nothing but train tracks. her body curved beneath yours, soft and certain, her breath catching every time you said her name. her curls were free from their usual boho braids, dark and wild against the pillow. she looked impossibly beautiful, more so than you remembered, more than you thought you could handle.

or maybe it started when you were both in the states, the girls in town for a broadcast performance set to air on every major american network that weekend. katseye had already taken over the charts. now they were coming for television too.

‎ 

you were deep into training, your jersey soaked through and clinging to your back from hours of drills under the unforgiving florida sun. the number fourteen on your shoulders practically burned beneath it, your skin hot, your body running on muscle memory and stubbornness alone. you were the best midfielder in women’s soccer for a reason. no way were you letting a little heat slow you down.

but then you saw her.

she was standing just inside the athlete tunnel, mostly hidden from view, like she hadn’t quite decided whether or not she wanted to be seen. it felt almost cinematic, like the roles had flipped. your brain flashed back to the season opener, that first impossible moment when your eyes found hers in the middle of the chaos. and just like that day, everything else faded.

you stopped cold. for the first time in over three hours, you shot the soccer ball into the net one last time and turned away from the field. you tuned out the ache in your thighs and the gatorade keg that practically had your name written on it. all you could focus on was her.

she wore a baseball cap pulled low and a facemask that covered most of her face, but you knew the shape of her by now. the curve of her shoulders, the way she leaned to one side like she didn’t have a care in the world, her fingers brushing along the hem of her hoodie like she was waiting for something to happen. you jogged toward her, skirting around a bench and ignoring the sting in your calves. and then you hugged her, no hesitation, no second guessing.

if she was surprised, she didn’t show it. if anything, she melted into you, pulling you closer, both of you half-hidden by the shade of the tunnel. you were still catching your breath when you pulled away, sweat clinging to your forehead, eyes searching hers for a reason.

she didn’t give one.

instead, manon slipped her mask down to her chin and bit the inside of her lip without meaning to. her gaze dragged over you slowly, like she didn’t care that you were a mess. your face was flushed, your jersey damp, your socks streaked with dirt. and still, to her, you looked annoyingly good. you smelled like sun and effort and something warm she couldn’t name. her heart was pounding and she couldn’t decide if she wanted to kiss you or stare at you forever.

you blinked, thrown by her silence. “what’re you doing here? is everything okay?”

she nodded, and her smile curled into something that made your chest tighten. her palm pressed flat against your chest like she wanted to ground herself in the heat radiating off you. her voice was soft but certain.

“yes. i just wanted to see you.”

one thing led to another. it always did with her.

you don’t even remember how you got there exactly. one second you were standing in the tunnel, manon’s hand still resting against your chest like she didn’t want to let go, and the next, you were both slipping through a side entrance to the locker rooms like you had done this before. maybe not here, not in this exact spot, but the rhythm of it felt familiar. inevitable.

the hallway was quiet. the air conditioning inside was a stark contrast to the heat outside, but your skin still burned, pulsing with leftover adrenaline and something else entirely as manon led you by the wrist down the hall, past rows of lockers and benches, until she found an unlit corner behind a set of closed doors. it wasn’t glamorous. scuffed tile floors, abandoned water bottles, a broken clock on the wall.  but it didn’t matter. you weren’t thinking about any of that.

she pushed you gently against the wall, eyes searching your face like she needed to make sure you wanted this too. you didn’t say a word. you didn’t need to. your fingers were already curling into the hem of her hoodie, pulling her closer until there was no space left between you.

her mouth found yours, warm and insistent, tasting like strawberry chapstick and something sweeter, something that made your knees weak even though you’d been running drills all morning. you kissed her like you hadn’t seen her in weeks, like the sound of her voice saying your name in that low, accented way had been echoing in your head nonstop since the last time. maybe it had.

her hands were everywhere. your waist, your jaw, your thighs, her fingertips slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts with a quiet urgency that made your breath catch. you pressed your forehead against hers, noses bumping, eyes half-lidded as your pulse pounded in your throat.

“we shouldn’t,” you muttered, barely believing it even as the words left your mouth.

manon just smiled, slow and wicked, and kissed you again. “i know.”

but neither of you stopped.

the locker room was quiet but your breathing filled it, ragged and uneven, her soft moans barely restrained as she rocked against you. your back hit the wall again, and you let it, let her take whatever she wanted, gave it willingly because god, you wanted her just as badly.

‎ 

or perhaps, counter intuitively enough, it was that night in seoul. 

‎ 

you had flown in for a friendly against south korea, the stadium packed, the energy wild with national pride. katseye happened to be in the city too, riding the chaos of a promo week that had them performing on every major music show and showing up to every brand partnership event possible. you’d barely caught glimpses of manon through screens. a fan cam here, a blurry group photo there, but nothing real. not until megan messaged you late one night, her name lighting up your phone with a simple question. 

  [9:30 p.m.] can u come? she won’t admit she’s sick but she needs someone.

you knew who she was talking about instantly. 

despite your body aching from ninety minutes of pushing yourself to your physical limit, despite the early call time you had the next morning, you were already grabbing a hoodie and digging through your backpack for whatever you could carry. pain meds. electrolyte packets. a heat patch from the drugstore across from your hotel. a bag of honey-dipped crackers and one of those vitamin drinks that tasted horrible but worked. little things she had mentioned once, weeks ago in passing. things you didn’t even realize you had remembered until you were stuffing them into your arms.

megan met you by the emergency exit of their hotel. she didn’t say much, just pressed the keycard into your hand with a meaningful look.

“she’s in 1903. don’t be weird. and don’t let the staff see you.”

you laughed under your breath, heart pounding with nerves, but still you nodded. “thanks, mei.”

when you slipped into the room it was dim, the curtains drawn tight. manon was bundled into the bed, hoodie half-zipped, hair loose and messy around her pillow. she didn’t look glamorous. she looked pale and worn out, her skin too warm under the soft light of the bedside lamp, a tissue box on one side of her and her phone facedown on the other. her eyes fluttered open when you came in, and for a second she didn’t say anything. just blinked at you like she wasn’t sure if you were real.

“you actually came,” she said finally, her voice rough and barely above a whisper.

“of course i did,” you said, your own voice quieter than usual. you slipped off your shoes and dropped the bag onto the edge of the bed. “megan said you were dying. this is me saving your life.”

she laughed, tried to at least, but it turned into a soft cough. you sat beside her, pulling out everything you brought, lining them up on the nightstand. her eyes followed your hands as you laid down the heating pad, the tea sachets, the exact brand of menthol patches she liked for muscle aches.

“you remembered,” she murmured.

“yeah, well. you kind of say a lot of things when you’re drunk on post-show adrenaline,” you teased, but the warmth in your voice gave you away.

she didn’t answer right away. just watched you with this look in her eyes, like you had peeled her open without trying, like it scared her and thrilled her all at once.

you helped her sit up, propping the pillows behind her, your fingers brushing hers every time you adjusted something. she was burning up, and it made your chest hurt. she shouldn’t have been performing that hard. she should’ve been resting, drinking soup, wrapped in seven blankets and watching cartoons like she used to as a kid.

“do you want me to go?” you asked after a while, once she had taken the meds and curled back under the covers.

her answer was immediate.

“no. stay.”

you didn’t climb into bed, not right away. you just sat there, your back against the side of the mattress, close enough that her fingers could find yours if she reached. she did, eventually, her hand falling limp into your lap. you held it gently, your thumb tracing the faint calluses along her palm.

it was quiet. not tense. not charged. just… quiet. comforting. the kind of silence that made your chest ache in a way you weren’t used to.

after a long stretch, manon spoke again, barely above a whisper.

“this is scary,” she said. “how much i like this.”

you looked up at her, and for once, she didn’t look away. she let you see it all. the vulnerability, the truth, the walls she had built so carefully, now lowered just enough to let you in.

“then don’t be scared,” you said softly.

she didn’t answer, but she didn’t let go of your hand either.

you stayed there until the sun began to rise. no kisses. no tension. no clothes tangled on the floor.

just her hand in yours and the quiet question over whether something had shifted. 

‎ 

but it didn’t. it never had.

you and manon had defined the rules from the beginning, sharp and clear like lines drawn in chalk. strictly physical. a situationship that worked when your paths happened to cross. a night here, a hotel room there, nothing deeper than sweat and stolen time. you were constantly on the move, bouncing from city to city with your team, and she was prepping for katseye’s world tour, about to disappear into stages and spotlights across six continents. it made sense this way. clean. easy.

besides, you were polar opposites.

you felt most like yourself with your cleats in the mud, jersey soaked, surrounded by teammates shouting directions and coaches losing their minds on the sidelines. 

manon thrived in controlled chaos under stadium lights and camera flashes, her body moving in perfect rhythm, her expressions rehearsed and weaponized. 

you liked quiet mornings. she liked the buzz of late nights. and neither of you believed in fairy tales.

the night you first brought up boundaries, it had been her who said it out loud.

‎ 

“no feelings,” manon said, sitting cross-legged at the foot of your hotel bed, her fingers twisting the drawstrings of her hoodie. “just fun. that’s the deal, right?”

you nodded, trying to ignore how the word ‘feelings’ lodged like something sharp in your chest. “right.”

it should’ve been enough.

but sometimes she said things that chipped away at the walls you both worked so hard to keep up. like the night in sacramento, when her lips were still pink from kissing you breathless and she laid on her side, staring up at the ceiling like she was scared of what she’d see if she looked at you. her voice was quiet, but you heard every word.

“i’m not ready to be a headline,” she said. “megan still gets tagged in edits with that livestream where they basically forced her to come out. like it was content. and lara…” she trailed off, jaw tightening. “lara got eaten alive for being honest.”

you understood. of course you did. you had teammates who were careful with who they followed on instagram, who they sat next to at press conferences, who they hugged too long after a goal. women who chose privacy over peace of mind. you’d done the math too many times to count.

“then we keep it simple,” you said finally, your voice steady even though your stomach was twisting. “just us. when we can. no strings.”

and you meant it. you both did.

but it was getting harder by the day.

harder when her name lit up your phone and your heart jumped before you could stop it. harder when her voice dropped to a whisper just for you, even when her whole group was around. harder when you caught her watching you after you’d already looked away.

you told yourselves the rules were still in place. but deep down, you both knew the game had already changed.

‎

truth be told, manon wasn’t sure when everything started to change, either.

she told herself it was still casual. convenient. she liked the way things were. the thrill of control, the ability to slip in and out of someone’s life without consequence. it was easier that way. clean. you were supposed to be just that, a beautiful complication she could walk away from whenever the schedule got too packed or the spotlight too harsh.

but somewhere along the way, she stopped walking away.

it was sophia who called her out first.

they were backstage at a commercial shoot waiting for touch-ups, manon’s face already half-painted in shimmer. sophia sat beside her, legs kicked up on an unused stool, casually sipping her coconut water like she wasn’t about to drop a bomb.

“is it just for the sex?” she asked, not even looking at manon when she said it.

manon blinked, caught off guard. “what?”

“you and her. is it just the sex?”

there was a beat of silence. manon forced a laugh, but it came out tight.

“obviously,” she said. “i mean… that’s the whole point.”

sophia looked at her then, eyebrow raised. “you’re lying.”

“i’m not.”

“you are.”

manon didn’t answer after that. she didn’t have to. the lie was already starting to fray, tugged loose thread by thread every morning she woke up. with every text she sent you between layovers, when she should have been sleeping or doing vocal exercises or scrolling past the mess of her notifications.

you had started becoming a part of her rhythm, tucked into the margins of her day like something familiar and necessary. it wasn’t defined. it wasn’t labeled. but it was there, humming beneath everything like background music she couldn’t turn off.

and then the tabloid dropped. a headline splashed across one of the biggest entertainment sites. 

katseye’s manon skipping practice to be with mystery lover?

the photos weren’t all that incriminating. a blurry shot of her slipping into a black suv, another of her walking through a hotel lobby with a baseball cap pulled low. but the article did what it was designed to do. it stirred the pot. people started speculating, naming names, dragging innocent people into a story they had no business being in. her phone exploded in minutes.

the group was shaken and management was furious. manon got defensive. sharp-edged. she told them she was giving her all, and she was. she hadn’t missed a single show. she was nailing every vocal, every formation, every interview. she was doing everything right. but inside, she was spiraling.

she hated how exposed it made her feel. how the idea of being seen with you now felt like a risk instead of a relief. she hated how much it scared her, not because of her career, but because of what it meant. what it had already become.

so she shut everything down.

she stopped replying to your messages. stopped opening them, even when she saw the little preview on her lockscreen. she told herself it was necessary. strategic. protection. but the truth was simpler than that.

she was terrified.

even when you were in the same city, just blocks away, she didn’t reach out. not when she passed by the cafe you mentioned stopping at before matches. not when she saw a clip of you post-game, sweat glistening on your forehead as you gave an interview. not even when megan threw her a pointed look and said, “you know she flew out on her own dime just to be here, right?”

radio silence. it was easier that way.

at least, it was supposed to be.

__

‎ 

the scans were already up on the screen when you walked into the medical suite on crutches, your sock balled in your fist, blood from a turf burn drying on your shin. the pain in your foot throbbed with every step, but you barely noticed it. not compared to the ache twisting behind your ribs.

dr. vasquez didn’t say anything at first. just motioned for you to sit, then turned back to the monitor. the x-ray glowed quietly behind her.

“third metatarsal,” she said finally, voice calm, clinical. “clean fracture, just above the base. you’ll need to be non-weight bearing for at least three weeks, maybe longer, depending on how your body responds.”

you stared at the image, the thin white line splitting the bone like a crack in porcelain. it didn’t feel real. it didn’t feel like your foot.

you should have seen it coming.

but your head had been somewhere else entirely. still spinning from the headline you saw that morning. you’d already re read it ten times over since it dropped. it was a tabloid splash with manon’s name in bold, alongside a photo that could have been anywhere, but you knew. the angle, the outfit, the timing. it was from the day you snuck out the back of the hotel after one of her shoots. your hood up. your hand brushing hers just before she pulled away.

katseye’s manon skipping practice to be with mystery lover?

your fingers had gone cold when you saw it. not because of the implication, but because she hadn’t said a word. no explanation. no warning. just silence. it had been days. messages unopened. voice memos unplayed. nothing.

you were still thinking about all of it when the ball ricocheted across the scrimmage line. still thinking when you pivoted to intercept, not noticing carly’s sprint until it was too late.

you remembered the moment in pieces.  the sharp twist of her cleat, the angle of her hip, the deliberate weight behind the collision that sent you crashing down. she hit you low. too low. too late.

you couldn’t prove it, but you knew it was on purpose. the way she looked at you when you hit the ground, the flicker of something smug in her expression before the medics were even called. she had always hated how much press you got. how coaches praised your instinct, how you never had to fight for minutes. jealousy made people reckless. sometimes it made them cruel.

and now you were here, sitting under sterile lights, the pulse in your foot screaming with every heartbeat.

“what’s the recovery window?” you asked finally, voice hoarse.

dr. vasquez’s expression softened, but her tone stayed steady. “if we’re aggressive with rehab, maybe six to eight weeks. but that’s pushing it. you’d be cutting it dangerously close.”

your stomach dropped. you did the math before she even finished.

“so i’m out.”

she didn’t say yes. she didn’t have to.

you leaned forward, burying your face in your hands. the shame hit first. then the anger. not just at carly, or at the injury. but at yourself, for being distracted. for letting manon live rent-free in your head while everything you’d worked for slipped through your fingers.

there were fifty-two days until the world cup.

dr. vasquez sat beside you, softening just a little. “i know this is hard. but if you push too soon, you risk long-term damage. you could make it worse. you could lose more than just this tournament.”

you nodded, even though every part of you rejected it. your fingers clenched the edge of the bench so tightly your knuckles ached.

“you’re going to have to sit out,” she said gently. “even if the team makes it all the way, it’s unlikely you’ll be cleared in time. i’m sorry.”

you didn’t say anything. you couldn’t.

your whole life was built around movement.  training, matches, chasing the ball like it was oxygen. and now you were expected to watch from the sidelines while the biggest tournament in your career unfolded without you. 

all because you let yourself care about someone who didn’t even bother to check if you were okay.

‎ 

you didn’t cry until later.

not in the medical suite, not in the locker room when you sat numbly in your uniform for another forty minutes, not even when you hobbled to your car and stared at the steering wheel like it might tell you what to do next.

but later that night, with the lights off and your foot elevated on a stack of pillows, a half-eaten protein bar abandoned on the nightstand and the taste of metal in your mouth from biting down too hard on your molars.  that was when it cracked. when it finally all broke open.

it started slow. the kind of crying that barely makes a sound. a quiet leak of emotion that felt more like an exhale than a sob. but then it grew, sharp and raw, a frustration so tangled you couldn’t pull one feeling free from another.

you were furious. at carly, at your bad luck, at the way the world moved forward even when you were stuck standing still.

but most of all, you were hurt.

manon hadn’t reached out. not once. not even after the tabloid dropped. not after the photo. not after your injury, which was now spreading across headlines too. 

usa star midfielder suffers metatarsal fracture ahead of world cup.

it was too much. the noise, the silence, the pain.

so you shut it all out.

you turned your phone off. stopped checking your messages. stopped opening apps. even the sound of a teammate’s voice on your voicemail made your stomach twist.

the pain in your foot was manageable at first. dr. vasquez had prescribed a standard course of anti-inflammatories, mild painkillers. but it wasn’t just the break that ached. it was everything else. your body didn’t want to move. your head didn’t want to think. every reminder of the game, of the tournament slipping by, it all made your chest tighten.

so you took more than you needed. then something stronger. then something else altogether when the first bottle ran out.

days blurred together after that. your crutches leaned against the corner of your room, untouched for hours at a time. dishes piled up. emails went unread. you had your surgery, but rehab appointments were missed, then rescheduled, then ignored.

you told yourself it was fine. that you just needed time. that you’d bounce back.

but weeks passed, and you were still stuck in the same space. not just physically, but in your mind.

the silence between you and manon stretched like a fault line. neither of you said the words. neither of you reached across the gap. and maybe she had her reasons. maybe she was scared. maybe she didn’t know what to say.

but so were you.

what was there to say when everything you had built—  your career, your momentum, your carefully guarded heart— was crumbling around you, and the one person who made you feel less alone in all of it had disappeared without warning?

you were benched. fractured. falling into something you couldn’t name yet, not fully. not until the days started feeling like fog and the nights like nothing.

you had always been the strong one. the composed one. the one who never buckled under pressure.

but now you were slipping, and no one knew just how far.

‎ 

you didn’t hear the knock the first time.

it was the second, louder, more impatient, that made you jolt upright on the couch, a thin line of drool drying on the corner of your mouth. your ankle throbbed where it was still loosely elevated on a pillow, your muscles aching from staying curled in the same position too long. a sharp pain shot up your spine as you moved, and you cursed under your breath, blinking toward the door.

when you opened it, half-limping, half-squinting at the afternoon light, bea was already pushing her way inside.

“jesus christ,” she muttered, eyes scanning your apartment. “have you moved in the last three days?”

you didn’t answer. didn’t really need to. the answer was all around you. plates on the kitchen counter, unopened mail, a cluster of pill containers on the coffee table. a heating pad sat unplugged on the floor, next to an untouched resistance band draped across a crumpled pair of joggers.

bea toed a pile of athletic tape with the tip of her shoe, then turned to look at you, arms crossed.

“i texted you a dozen times.”

“i know.”

“and called.”

you nodded.

she paused, letting that hang for a second, before exhaling slowly. “okay. you want to be mad, you can be mad. you want to shut people out, fine. but i’m here now, and i’m not leaving until you stop looking like the ghost of someone i used to win olympic gold with.”

you looked away, your jaw tightening. “i’m fine.”

“you’re not.”

there was no judgment in her tone. just fact. clear and simple.

you sank back onto the couch and ran a hand through your hair. your fingers brushed the edge of your temple, where a dull headache had been living for most of the day.

“my foot’s fucked,” you muttered.

“yeah, i figured.”

you closed your eyes for a beat. “world cup’s gone.”

“for now,” bea corrected, sitting on the arm of the couch. “not forever. you’ll get back there.”

“you don’t know that.”

“no, but i know you,” she said. “and you’re not the kind of person who gives up. or hides out like this. what’s really going on?”

you didn’t answer. not right away. bea gave you time.

finally, you said it. “i’ve been taking the meds.”

her gaze flicked to the bottles.

“more than prescribed?” she asked quietly.

your silence was enough of an answer.

bea sighed and leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “okay. look. i’m not here to lecture you. i get it. you’re in pain. physically, emotionally, whatever. but this?” she gestured at the mess, the closed blinds, the lingering haze in your eyes. “this isn’t you.”

you bit the inside of your cheek.

“you need to go to rehab,” she said, gently now. “not just for your foot. for your head. your heart. get back to feeling like a person again. you owe that to yourself.”

you stared at the floor. “i just… i can’t even think straight.”

“then let someone help you think,” she said. “start small. one step. you talk to dr. vasquez. you get back in the gym. you cut the pills. even if you don’t believe you can, just act like someone who might.”

your chest hurt. not in the physical way, not like your foot, but in the deeper, heavier way. like something caved in.

“she hasn’t even called,” you said suddenly. it slipped out before you could swallow it back.

bea blinked. “manon?”

you nodded.

“do you want her to?”

you didn’t know how to answer that either. 

it felt silly. no matter how many times you wracked through your brain trying to make sense of the hurt you felt, it never made sense. why were you so bothered? you weren’t even dating. manon had made it very clear that whatever you had going on meant less to her than it did to you. 

still, you knew the answer was yes. if the swiss girl was to call in that moment then, you would have answered without hesitation. 

after a beat, bea sighed.

“okay,” she said, softer now. “then leave that part. for now. focus on what you can control. your body. your recovery. get strong again. then decide what comes next.”

you let the silence stretch out again. not as long this time.

eventually, you nodded.

you didn’t say thank you. didn’t have to. bea saw it in the way you started stacking the pill bottles into a bag. in the way you pulled the blinds open an inch. in the way your voice didn’t break when you finally asked, “will you drive me to the clinic tomorrow?”

“yeah. of course.”

for the first time in weeks, you let someone help you.

__

‎ 

manon hadn’t planned to ghost you. not really.

when the tabloid dropped, splashing her name across headlines with words like “mystery lover” and “missing rehearsals”, her stomach turned so hard she almost threw up backstage. it didn’t matter that the photo was grainy or that she hadn’t missed a single scheduled rehearsal. what mattered was that katseye’s name was being dragged, and her face was at the center of it.

management was livid. not at her directly, not at first, but at the optics. they didn’t ask questions about where she’d been or who you were. they didn’t want the truth. they wanted control. so she apologized, bowed her head, promised to focus, promised it wouldn’t happen again. she cut off the distraction.

you.

it was supposed to be temporary. just enough time to let things cool down. she performed like everything was fine. every camera flash, every dance rehearsal, every note sung like her lungs weren’t filling with something heavier each day.

it worked. kind of.

the group dynamic stabilized again. management backed off. the scandal passed, replaced by some other trending story. the comments under katseye’s posts stopped mentioning the photo.

but something in her didn’t settle.

she felt it when megan looked at her for a second too long during vocal warmups. when sophia threw her a side glance during dinner, chopsticks paused mid-air. when she hesitated before asking if she was “doing okay” in the most nonchalant tone she could manage.

then one night after practice while the group was sprawled out in the dorm’s main room, pizza boxes open and a drama humming softly on the tv, lara finally said it.

“you know you’ve been weird lately, right?”

manon looked up from her phone, blinking. “what?”

“standoffish,” daniela added from where she was braiding yoonchae’s hair. “like, emotionally constipated but in french.”

“i’m literally fi—” manon started.

“you don’t have to lie,” sophia cut in gently. “we know it’s about her.”

for a moment manon didn’t say anything. she looked back and forth between the faces of the five girls looking back at her. all knowing, all patient, and all careful as if they were afraid the wrong word would set her off. 

manon then turned to sophia and megan pointedly, her face twisting up in betrayal. “you told them?”

lara interrupted with a soft shake of her head, reaching a hand out to gently grasp and squeeze manon’s knee. an action rooted in comfort and reassurance more than anything. “don’t be mad at them. we all kinda put two and two together. you were practically glowing after florida.”

“then you started moping after the tabloid,” daniela added, less accusing than concerned. “you ghosted her, didn’t you?”

manon didn’t answer, and they didn’t push. they didn’t need to. the silence said enough.

megan was the one who broke it.

“you should call her,” she said quietly, tugging her hoodie sleeves over her hands as if trying to make herself smaller. “it’s not too late.”

“yes it is,” manon snapped, the words escaping before she could stop them. too quick, too sharp, more reflex than thought. she wished she could pull them back the moment they were out in the air, but no one flinched. they just looked at her like they already knew she felt that way.

sophia leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. her voice stayed calm. “she probably thought you didn’t care.”

manon’s jaw tightened. “i do.”

“then tell her,” yoonchae said softly, barely above a whisper. “or at least let her explain. you owe her that much.”

and maybe they were right. maybe she did owe you something.

but the part no one understood, not even herself most days, was that caring about you terrified her. you were everywhere. in her chest, in the spaces between her ribs, in the long silences after the lights went down on stage and the applause faded and she found herself alone with her thoughts.

so she nodded. not to them, but to herself.she’d call. eventually. that was the plan. 

that was, at least, until the photos showed up. they found her in the middle of dance rehearsal.

her phone buzzed twice in her pocket before her instructor scolded her into checking it during a water break. and there it was. a text from megan with just a link.

she clicked it.

the article wasn’t long, but the headline was bold.

star midfielder y/n l/n sparks new romance? mystery woman spotted leaving rehab clinic with athlete.

and underneath it, a gallery of images.

you, stepping carefully down the concrete steps, a compression boot still strapped to your foot. you, shielding your face with a hoodie. and beside you, a woman. one hand steadying your back as you climbed into a car.

manon felt the bottom drop out of her stomach.

it didn’t matter how innocent it might have been. didn’t matter how professional the woman looked.

she shoved the phone into her bag and didn’t finish rehearsal. didn’t wait for approval or sign out. just walked straight out the back exit and into the evening air, rage clawing up her spine and sinking deep into her shoulders. jealousy bloomed before she could even name it. bitter and sour and fast.

you looked good. better than the last time she saw you. like you were getting stronger. like you didn’t need her. and maybe you didn’t. maybe she’d made it that easy to walk away. to replace her.

she hated that she had no right to be angry. hated even more that she was anyway.

her fingers hovered over your name in her contacts. the one still saved under something stupid. not your full name. not even your nickname. just a little sun emoji, because that’s what you were. what you’d become. blinding. impossible to ignore.

but she didn’t call. you were still in the same city, at least for another few days. 

perhaps she should have. 

‎ 

by the time she was outside your hotel, she didn’t have a plan. she shouldn’t have come, she knew that much. bea had texted megan your hotel and room number, and one thing led to another. 

the next thing she knew, she was knocking on your door.

one knock. then another. then silence.

her hands clenched at her sides, her pulse screaming through her eardrums. when the door finally clicked open, there you were. eyes tired, hair damp like you’d just gotten out of the shower, wearing a hoodie that was too big and probably stolen from one of your teammates. your boot was still on. your expression crumbled the moment you saw her.

“manon.”

“who is she?” manon asked, skipping hello. skipping anything remotely human.

you blinked. “what?”

“the woman in the photos. is that what you do now? go from one secret to the next?”

your face paled. then hardened.

“you don’t get to ask me that,” you said quietly.

manon’s throat burned. “so it’s true.”

you exhaled like you were trying to hold it together, like the air itself was too sharp. then you turned your back to her, walking back into the room, and left the door open for her to come inside. 

she did.

when you opened the door you expected bea. maybe one of the team trainers, perhaps even room service. but the second you saw manon standing in the hallway in a zip-up jacket and baseball cap, mouth drawn tight, your stomach dropped.

“you could’ve called.” you said when she stepped in behind you, the door slamming shut. 

manon tugged her cap off and with it, the air shifted. it always did when she was close.

you didn’t speak and neither did she. not until her eyes landed on the overnight bag by the couch, your rehab paperwork half-tucked beneath it.  

“who was she?” manon asked, again, sharp. “the one in the photo. leaving the office with you.”

you frown. “it’s not what you think.”

it truly wasn’t. your rehab caseworker was a woman nearly twice your age, a woman with a husband and kids. she was helping you. 

truthfully, at this point you didn’t think manon even deserved the answer. 

“really?” she laughed bitterly. “because from here, it looks pretty obvious.”

your jaw clenched. you couldn’t begin to describe the emotions embroidering themselves into you in this moment now. anger. frustration. disbelief. you were angry at yourself for staring, for still being so inconceivably taken aback by her sheer beauty despite it all. you were angry for still finding her so breathtaking even after seeing her for the first time after weeks of silence. she ghosted you. she left you to pick up the pieces of something she left shattered. 

above that, you were angry she had the guts to show up and demand answers like you owed her anything.

you didn’t even bother asking how she knew where you were, you knew bea had something to do with it. 

instead, you scoffed. “you’ve got some nerve, meret.” you say her name with a kind of venom that made her flinch, even if she tried not to show it.

she took a step closer. “don’t turn this on me.”

you shake your head disbelievingly. “what do you want from me? you show up after leaving me in the dark, and expect me to welcome you in with open arms?”

“you think I wasn’t losing my mind watching my name go viral for something that wasn’t even real?”

real. you scoff, biting your tongue. the words you wanted to say begged to be let out. instead you shook your head. 

 “you didn’t have to disappear.”

manon laughed, hollow, like it scraped something raw inside her. “my career was on the line.”

“so was mine!” you nearly shouted, and the sound of your voice bouncing off the hotel walls startled you both. you closed your eyes for half a second, forcing yourself to breathe. “but I didn’t ghost you. I didn’t pretend like none of it happened.”

“i wasn’t pretending,” she said, softer now, but the edge hadn’t fully left her voice. “i was trying to fix it before it got worse. management was on my ass. the girls were on edge. and then that headline—”

you shook your head, stepping away from her. your foot ached as you moved, but you didn’t care. the pain grounded you more than anything she said. you cut her off. 

“you ghosted me to save your image, fine. but don’t you dare come in here accusing me of anything.”

her eyes narrowed. “so you admit there’s something to accuse you of?”

your chest heaved. “no. i’m saying you don’t get to act like a victim.”

she was silent for a beat, long enough for the air between you to feel toxic. then she gestured toward the bag and the paperwork she’d seen. “what even is all that?”

“don’t act like you care now, manon.” you scoff. 

manon’s face twisted up with a kind of hurt that she felt in the core of her being. for a moment she just stared at you. she so badly wanted to say all of the things that plagued her mind the months you’d known each other. she wanted so badly to drop to her knees then and there, to swear on her life— her career — that not a single day had passed where you didn’t cross her mind. 

instead, her frustration got the better of her. 

“we weren’t even together,” manon snapped, eyes flashing.

“i know we weren’t.”

“we said it was just sex. fun.”

“yeah,” you said, louder now, “but it stopped being fun a long time ago, didn’t it?”

manon had nothing else to say. knowing that you felt the same way she did should have felt like relief. like a breath of air. instead, it felt bitter. it left a taste in her mouth she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to swallow. 

your words weren’t a confession, and she knew it.  

she swallowed. “it wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

you laughed. a melancholic, tired kind of sound that shook your body with the weight of all your pent up emotions. “then let’s just pretend like none of this happened. that’s what you wanted, right?”

the words hit their mark. you saw it in her shoulders, in the flicker in her jaw, in the way she wouldn’t meet your eyes now.

you stepped back, your boot knocking into the corner of the bed.

“go.”

manon grabbed her cap off the counter, turned to the door, and paused. 

“maybe this was a mistake.”

the door clicked shut behind her with a soft finality that sounded louder than the shouting ever had. and just like that, the room shifted. heavier, colder, emptier. the silence rushed in all at once, like water filling a void. you didn’t move for a long time. just stood there, breathing shallowly, your pulse still racing from everything she said. from everything she didn’t.

it wasn’t until your eyes dropped to the floor that you saw it.

a piece of paper, half-tucked beneath the corner of the nightstand. crumpled, like it had been carried around too long. worn thin, like it had been folded and unfolded over and over again. you weren’t sure when she’d left it. maybe when you turned your back, maybe before the fight even started.  but somehow, it felt like the loudest thing she’d said all night.

you hobbled over slowly, the pain in your foot barely registering now beneath the weight in your chest. when you picked it up, your fingers shook. the ink was faded in places, smudged at the edges, but the handwriting was unmistakable. familiar. careful.

i think i love you. –meret

you stared at it for a long time, something breaking open inside you with every second that passed. all the things she hadn’t said, all the chances you both missed, pressed into six quiet words. not a plea. not a promise. just the truth.

and it came too late.

__

‎ 

another week passed since your argument. you were still in los angeles, and there were now two days until the world cup opener. 

the stadium was completely empty, silent except for the distant hum of the city beyond the floodlights. you sat alone on the cold metal bleachers, the late afternoon sun sliding slowly behind the stands, casting long shadows across the empty pitch. the grass looked impossibly green, the goalposts still standing like silent sentinels, and every inch of the field called out to you with a quiet ache you couldn’t ignore.

you looked down at the note again, the ink smudged where your fingers had held it too tightly. the weight of those six words felt like a stone inside your chest, heavy but delicate all at once. then your eyes shifted to your foot. the boot had been taken off only a day ago, but every time you put weight on it, there was a sharp reminder that your body was still fragile. the pain was duller now, not enough to keep you off the field, but enough to remind you that your foot had betrayed you once, and you weren’t sure if you had forgiven it yet.

your team had made it through without you. barely. sitting on the sidelines, pacing the hospital halls with a phone pressed to your ear, hearing the whistles and scores secondhand had been a slow kind of torture. but somehow they had pulled through. by grit, by luck, and by sheer will. it should have been enough to light a fire inside you, something fierce and unbreakable, ready to carry you onto the field again.

but your mind was elsewhere.

you could still hear manon’s voice when your eyes closed. the way she had said your name in the hotel room, the way her frustration had cracked just enough to show something softer underneath. the fight had burned through every part of you, but it was the silence after that cut deepest. the click of the door, the empty room she left behind. it stayed with you like a shadow you couldn’t shake.

you knew katseye was still in la. you knew it was their final stop before they headed back to europe for an undetermined amount of time. you probably wouldn’t see her again for a while. 

in twenty minutes you had your final medical exam. it was the moment that would decide if you were really ready to play. you should be getting up, walking to the clinic, proving to everyone including yourself that you were ready to play. but your body refused to move. your foot still ached, but more than that, your heart did too. the ache in your chest pressed down like the cold metal seats beneath you, heavy and inescapable.

you almost didn’t register the feeling of someone approaching you. you didn’t need to look up to know who it was. the sound of her sneakers on the metal steps had been careful, deliberate, but not quiet enough to mask the familiarity.

“i thought i’d find you here,” bea said quietly, her voice floating down like it belonged to the quiet.

you didn’t turn around. not at first. the note was still warm in your hands, soft from how many times your fingers had traced its edges. you knew the creases by heart now, the way the folds had started to tear, the way her handwriting had smudged just enough to feel like a memory slipping away.

bea eased down onto the bleacher behind you, one row up, her elbows braced on her knees, eyes fixed on the same field you hadn’t been able to stop staring at. for a while, she didn’t say anything else. just breathed next to you, steady and quiet. then she hummed knowingly. “you’re gonna miss your checkup.”

her tone wasn’t urgent, but the weight of what she was reminding you of pressed in anyway.

you nodded slowly, the answer already formed before she asked. “i know,” you said. your voice came out low, but solid, like the decision had already rooted itself in you. “i’m not going.”

the silence that followed wasn’t surprised. it was careful.

“what do you mean?” she asked after a beat, not accusing, just trying to make sure she understood you.

you finally turned your head, just slightly, just enough to look at her over your shoulder. “i mean i’m not doing it. i’m not going. i don’t think i can.”

bea leaned back a little, her brow creased, confusion shifting into something quieter. “you’ve waited for this for weeks,” she said, not unkindly. “the whole rehab, the work, everything. all of it.”

you nodded again, the motion small but sure. “i know. but something in me still doesn’t feel right. my foot’s almost there, yeah, and i’m technically cleared to test it. but it’s not the pain that’s stopping me.”

she didn’t press you. didn’t speak. just stayed with you in the quiet, letting it stretch a little, like she knew there was more and she was willing to wait for it.

you took a breath and let your eyes fall back to the field, the light now golden and low. “everything else in me still feels shaky,” you said. “like i could take the field tomorrow and my body would show up, but the rest of me wouldn’t.”

you didn’t realize you were gripping the note until your thumb brushed over the paper again. the edges had curled, worn thin from the way you kept holding it like it might hold you back together.

“she left this,” you said, your voice quieter now.

bea glanced at the paper in your hands, then back at you. “how do you feel?”

the question sat in the air for a long time before you answered. “like i was halfway in love with her the second i saw her.”

bea tilted her head, her eyes gentle. “is it still there?”

“yeah,” you whispered. “it never really left.”

she looked down at her hands, then up at the empty field. “you know… we’ve both played through pain. done it for years. and i get it. sometimes you have to. but this?” she nodded at the note. “this doesn’t sound like something you should be playing through.”

you stayed quiet.

“you love her,” bea said, not a question this time, just a quiet truth placed between you.

you nodded again, barely, the motion so small it might’ve been missed if she hadn’t already known the answer.

for a while, all you could hear was the buzz of the stadium lights overhead, the slow groan of one flickering to life after another. the field looked too perfect, too green, too untouched. it felt like a painting, still and silent, waiting for someone to step into it.

“so why are you still here?” 

you exhaled slowly, staring straight ahead. “because if i miss this exam, i don’t play. and if i don’t play, then what was all of it for? the injury, the rehab, the sacrifice… what was the point?”

bea didn’t look away from you. she stayed still for a moment longer, then finally spoke again.

“maybe it wasn’t just for the game.”

you turned your head, uncertain.

“maybe it was for more than that,” she said. “for learning that your worth isn’t measured by the next match. for giving yourself permission to want something you can’t chart on a scoreboard. for figuring out that there’s a difference between playing through pain and playing like you actually want to be there.”

you looked down at the note in your hands again, your voice almost too soft to hear.

“i don’t know if she wants to see me. not after how we left things.”

bea didn’t hesitate. “then find out.”

“it’s too late,” you said, not with certainty but with fear.

“it’s not,” she said. “she’s still in the city, right? the tour ends tonight?”

you nodded, barely. “yeah. the bowl.”

“then you don’t need a plane. you don’t need a manager or a doctor or a pass. you just need to go.”

you opened your mouth, hesitating. “what if i’m wrong? what if i go, she doesn’t want to see me?”

bea gave you a look. not harsh. just steady. “then at least you’ll know you weren’t too scared to try.”

the stadium around you was still. the sun nearly gone now, the lights casting that familiar pregame glow over the field. the ache in your foot felt distant for once, like your body had finally decided to follow your heart’s lead.

“the medical team—” you started.

“i’ll cover for you,” bea said. “i’ll tell them you needed time. they’ll deal.”

you stared at her, overwhelmed. “why are you doing this?”

she gave a small smile. “because i’ve seen you fight for everything else in your life. now i want to see you fight for this.”

you blinked hard, throat tight.

“thank you,” you whispered.

bea stood with you, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “go,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “before i start getting emotional and ruin my whole cool persona.”

you let out a breath that was half laugh, half something closer to release. “too late for that,” you said, your voice shaky but warm.

and this time, when you turned and started walking down the bleachers, it didn’t feel like you were leaving something behind.

‎ 

‎ 

the show had ended, but the air still pulsed with it. every surface backstage hummed like it had absorbed the sound and refused to let it go. the concrete beneath your feet felt warm, as if it had held the energy of thousands of stomping feet and was still deciding whether to let it fade.

somewhere beyond the heavy doors, the crowd was still roaring. you stood near the back exit, just out of sight, half shielded by a wall of black storage trunks marked with shipping labels and tour codes. it smelled like sweat and vinyl and adrenaline. somewhere along the drive, bea must have called megan to give her a heads up that you were on your way. it was likely megan’s doing that you were let backstage without any hassle.

you hadn’t planned what to say. not on the drive over. not in the slow, stalling walk through the backstage corridor. your mind had been too loud and too blank at once.

your phone hadn’t stopped vibrating since you arrived, tucked deep in your jacket pocket. it buzzed again and again. the coaches, the medical staff, your name probably floating across a dozen group chats in varying degrees of concern, irritation, disbelief. you’d silenced everything. not because you wanted to be reckless, but because this moment didn’t belong to anyone else.

you needed it to be yours.

when the door opened from the far side of the stage, a fresh wave of cheers rolled in, muffled but still enormous. then the sound shifted. boots against metal, quick voices calling for clear paths, crew shouting directions over each other as the final load-out began. a golf cart beeped somewhere near the loading dock.

and then, in the middle of all that movement, she appeared.

manon.

she was walking with the rest of them at first, laughing at something, her head turned toward one of the other girls. her shirt clung to her back with sweat, her hair damp and tangled from the heat of the stage. her face was still flushed, bright from the lights, from the movement, from whatever high came with finishing something that had taken months to build.

you almost stepped back when you saw her. the way your breath caught felt involuntary, like your body had been holding it in anticipation for longer than you realized.

and then she saw you.

she stopped like she’d hit something.  like her whole body forgot what it was supposed to do. her mouth parted slightly. one step, then another, slower this time. the girls kept moving without her, unaware or pretending not to notice. now that you thought about it, you definitely didn’t miss the sly glances megan and sophia shot your way. but, before you could dwell on it, your attention was brought back to the woman of the hour.

the sound around you blurred for a second, not disappearing but dulling. like someone had turned the volume down on everything except the space between you and her.

her eyes stayed on yours, wide, searching. her lips moved before her voice did, like she had to try it out first just to believe it was real.

“you’re here,” she said. not an accusation. not even a question. just a quiet fact she hadn’t expected to say out loud.

you nodded. “i couldn’t miss this.”

manon blinked, slow and dazed, like she was surfacing from deep water. she looked exhausted, like the kind of tired that clings to your bones. but still, impossibly, unfairly beautiful. there was a glazed softness in her eyes, as if the stage had taken something from her and left behind a quiet kind of wonder. strands of hair clung to her damp temples, her breath still unsteady, and yet she carried herself with the kind of grace that made it hard to look away

you stepped closer, letting the words rise from the place where they had been buried for too long. she didn’t step away. you fished into your pocket and found the note she left you. not the first one where she thanked you for the good night together, but the second. you couldn’t shake its words from your mind no matter how hard you tried.

her eyes dropped to the note and recognition flickered across her face in an instant. her lips parted slightly, then pressed together as she swallowed. the weight of memory settled in her throat.

you hesitated for a moment, opened and closed your mouth. there were so many things you wanted to say. maybe an apology, an icebreaker to dull the hurt you made each other feel in that hotel room. instead, your words slipped out before you could fully register them, second nature.

“i love you.”

manon froze, her breath catching as if your words had cracked the stillness between you. for a long moment, neither of you moved. the air felt thick, heavy with everything left unsaid, everything too fragile to touch. then, slowly, her eyes lifted to meet yours. wide, uncertain, searching. a flicker of something raw and unguarded passed through her gaze, breaking through the stunned silence.

she swallowed again, voice barely above a whisper.

 “i… don’t know what to say.”

you continued so she didn’t have to. you take another step closer so that you were only a foot away, swallowing for the nth time since you arrived. you folded the paper delicately in front of her and placed it back into your pocket with the kind of care fit for gold. when you talk your voice is barely above a whisper, but she hears you loud and clear.

“you don’t have to say anything. i just needed you to know.”

manon’s eyes softened. you didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t the way her chest slowly deflated like she was finally releasing a breath you hadn’t even noticed she was holding. her face relaxed, the tension in her body collapsing as if your words made everything right. as if suddenly, everything made sense. 

she closed the distance between you, her voice slow and careful as she lifted a hand to rest on your arm, hesitant. she moved with the softness of someone afraid their very touch would burn. she didn’t want you to pull away. 

“i didn’t want the world to ruin what we had,” she admitted, her voice soft and honest. “but i almost did that myself.”

you nodded slowly, feeling the tightness in your throat, the weight of everything that had passed between you. the words tasted bittersweet but true.

she reached out then, her fingers trembling just a little as they lowered from your shoulder and brushed against your hand. the touch was tentative, fragile, but it grounded you both in the moment. you didn’t rush.

“i love you, too,” she whispered.

it was all you needed to move.

when your lips finally met, there was none of the noise or flashiness you might have expected. no fireworks burst in the air, no grand gestures to announce your feelings to the world. instead, the kiss was steady and gentle, as if it had been waiting patiently for this moment to arrive.

it was quiet, a soft meeting of lips that felt like a secret finally shared between two souls who had been searching for each other in the dark. the warmth of her mouth against yours was steady and sure, offering comfort instead of urgency. it was a calm reassurance, a slow and deliberate connection that spoke louder than any shouted confession ever could.

the kiss deepened just enough to hold the weight of everything you’d both been carrying. frustration, hope, regret, love. it was like the first solid step after a storm, the foundation beneath your feet that had been missing for so long. 

when you pulled apart, her smile hit you like a burst of sunlight, lighting up her entire face. you barely noticed the soft rustling and muffled giggles as megan tumbled to the floor, caught off guard by the moment. she, yoonchae, sophia, daniela, and lara were practically piling on top of each other behind the corner, like a comically awkward tower of kids trying to sneak a peek at the kiss. their eyes wide and curious, they peeked around the edge in a jumble of limbs and whispered excitement, struggling to stay quiet but failing spectacularly.

even when megan clambered back up, embarrassed. even when manon rolled her eyes at them before turning back to you with a warm smile.

all you saw was her.

__

you didn’t win the cup.

the team barely made it out of the group stage before collapsing under pressure, slipping out of the tournament with a loss that tasted more like betrayal than defeat. the fine came quickly after. five figures. stern wording. a statement released to the press so the league could pretend like they were doing something about it. you didn’t necessarily expect that purposely missing your health examination would lead to such a big consequence, but you didn’t fight it. didn’t argue. didn’t even flinch when the payment went through. because the truth was, you didn’t regret a single thing.

being off the field meant time, and time meant manon. 

katseye had left for the european leg of their world tour two days after the tournament ended, and you went with them. not officially. not publicly. but you were there. slipping into venues through side doors, helping manon rehearse choreography by counting beats on your fingers, sitting backstage with a spare towel and gatorade like it was the most normal thing in the world.

the phone calls changed, too. they got softer. longer. manon stopped hanging up first. she stopped hiding behind excuses, stopped changing the subject every time it got too close to sounding like love. somewhere between paris and prague, you spent more time together. long train rides across europe, cheap hotel rooms between tour stops. the kind of nights where everything slowed down just enough for both of you to exhale. 

by the time the new season came around and you flew back to los angeles, the fear that used to wrap itself around manon’s ribs like wire had finally started to loosen its grip. the phone call confirming you were cleared to play the next season was celebrated, the two of you spending the night together in the best way you knew how.

carly wasn’t so lucky.

she didn’t just get benched, she got dropped. her contract terminated, her name wiped from the team’s socials like she was never there to begin with. the league didn’t offer an explanation, but they didn’t have to. everyone had heard the recording. it passed through group chats and newsrooms like wildfire. her voice, smug and casual, bragging about how she’d gone in harder than necessary during that scrimmage. said she was tired of you being treated like you were untouchable. like some golden girl. said you needed to be humbled.

jealousy cost her everything. and for once, you weren’t the one left picking up the pieces.

the season opener came fast. same stadium. same energy humming under the lights. bea’s same infuriating grin across the athlete tunnel as the crowd was already spilling into the aisles.  drums echoing in the distance, flags waving.

 but something felt different this time. like the tension had shifted.

katseye was there, dressed down in team hoodies and dark glasses. they weren’t performing this time, but rather watching. not for the cameras. not for a paycheck. just as fans.

manon stood at the edge of their section, fingers curled around the railing. her shoulders were straight, her posture easy, and stitched across her back in bold white lettering was your number.

fourteen.

you didn’t see her at first. you were too locked in. cleats tapping against the tunnel floor, eyes scanning the pitch. everything sharp and focused and familiar. until the sound shifted. a wave in the noise,  sharper, higher, a cheer that didn’t quite match the moment. and when you turned, she was there.

stepping down from the suite, walking toward the sideline like she belonged there. like she’d done it a hundred times before. her expression unreadable, her pace calm and sure. security didn’t stop her. the cameras didn’t look away. and when she reached you, she didn’t pause.

her hands came up to your face, warm and steady, and she kissed you. right there. in front of the fans. in front of the world. it wasn’t a stunt. it wasn’t a reveal. it wasn’t soft or hesitant or staged. it was real.

open. certain. hers.

the photos hit twitter before the first whistle blew. your name and hers started trending in less than ten minutes. a thousand different versions of the same headline began circulating.

 power couple. surprise romance. soft launch, hard launch, everything in between. it couple status: confirmed.

for a while, it felt like everything tilted off its axis. interviews you hadn’t agreed to. red carpet invites with both your names spelled wrong. paparazzi waiting outside practice and tabloids stitching together timelines that didn’t make sense. people fell in love with the idea of you before they even understood the reality. they cropped photos, made edits, wrote essays on your love like it belonged to them.

but beneath the noise, beneath the flashbulbs and thinkpieces, the truth stayed simple.

you chose each other.

even when it was inconvenient. even when the schedules didn’t align. even when you were halfway across the world, talking through time zones and static and exhaustion. when your bodies were too tired to move but your hearts still found ways to reach.

you fought for it.

and manon, who once thought being loved out loud would cost her everything, now wore your hoodie through airport terminals, took your hand in front of fans, leaned her head on your shoulder when the cameras flashed like she wasn’t scared of being seen anymore.

she hadn’t expected any of it. not the attention. not the weight of being talked about like you were something bigger than just two people trying to love each other the best way you knew how.

but when she looked at you, she knew she’d do it all again.

[velaris-fic-repository]

Mishaps in Babysitting

@sjmxreaderweek May 10th Prompt: Free Day

Azriel x Archeron!Reader, Nyx is a menace

“Now, you’re sure you’re alright doing this?” your sister, Feyre, asked you by the door. She and Rhys were going out into Velaris tonight for a much needed date night just the two of them.

Nesta, Cassian and the Valkyries were in Illyria with the non envied task of dealing the camp leaders. Elain had agreed to a little trip around Prythian with Lucien, who had offered to show her all the various court gardens - among other things - and so the two of them could get to know each other a bit better. A chance to get themselves on better footing, as it were. Mor had a date of her own tonight and Amren was visiting Varian in Summer.

That left you at home to watch the Inner Circle’s beloved child, your precious nephew, Nyx.

“Feyre, if you try to talk yourself out of going through me one more time, I’m going to lose it.” You offered her an easy, loving smile. “I know it’s hard to leave him, but you have more than earned this. Go, spend a night with your husband. The little guy and I will be fine. If it makes you feel any better, Azriel said he should be home soon. The two of us won’t be alone for long.”

Feyre shook her head, the pins in her hair glittering like stars in the light as she did so, “I never meant to imply that you couldn’t handle it-“

“-And,” you interrupted her, “I never said you did. Feyre, I promise everything will be fine. Let me do this.” Your face took on a softer, guilty expression. “It’s the least I can do.” You didn’t need to specify what you meant.

Feyre frowned, but nodded, “okay.”

Rhys swept around you to hold her from behind, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Ready to go, darling?”

Feyre looked at you and finally nodded, more sure this time, “yes, I am.”

“There you go!” you said, “go out, have fun, we’ll be here when you get back!”

Rhys sent his feline smile your way over your sister’s shoulder. “He’s quite the handful on his own, you know. I’m sure I can call Azriel before we leave.”

You swatted playfully at your brother in law, “I’ll be fine! Besides-“ you put a hand over where your young bond with Azriel glowed in your chest- “if I need him, he’ll know.”

Rhys smiled.

“Nyx is smarter than his own good,” Feyre warned, “don’t let him trick you-“

“-Stop worrying! Both of you! Shoo! Out! Go! Out! Out!”

The couple laughed, sending a few more words of advice and thanks over their shoulders before leaning into each other on the lamp lit sidewalks of their beloved city. You watched them go with a soft smile before pushing off the door and walking back inside.

You rounded the corner to Nyx’s room shortly after. “Alright, Nyx what are you and your favorite auntie gonna get up to?” you teased.

You’d expected to find Nyx playing with his toys where his father had left him. In hindsight, you should have known better.

“Nyx, sweetie?”

Nothing. The room was empty aside from the entire toy box being strewn about. You carefully picked the toys up as you called out to the room, expecting Nyx to be hiding somewhere inside, maybe in the closet, where the toy box was… Hmm…

Okay, you could play this game.

“Nyx? Nyx where are you? Huh. I guess he’s not here. Welp, I guess I could at least responsibly put these toys away.” You were laying it on thick, you knew, but that was half of the fun.

You opened the closet slowly, finding the toy box tucked into the darkest corner with its lid slightly propped up. Little giggles sounded from the box, which was all you needed to know.

You crept closer and then all at once, yanked the box lid off. “There you are!”

Nyx, with his little wings tucked close to him, giggled up at you, amusement shinning in his eyes that looked so much like your sister’s.

“Gotcha!” You said, reaching for your nephew. That was, you did, until the world folded around him and you grasped nothing but thin air.

You blinked.

Had Nyx ever winnowed before? You felt like you’d have remembered something like that.

Dread spiked in your stomach for a moment until you took a deep breath, setting off into the house. This was alright, all you had to do was find him. All he had done was extend - and mildly increase the danger of - his hide and seek game.

You heard rustling in the kitchen and raced there.

Nyx, to your growing horror was spreading his little wings on top of the cabinets, perched like an adorable, little mischievous gargoyle.

“Nyx, honey, this isn’t funny anymore. You could get seriously hurt up there. Let me reach up there and pull you down.”

Nyx shook his head, “nuh-uh, auntie. I’ve got wings!”

“No! No, no, no. Nyx, sweetheart, please just stay there, I’m gonna get you down. Stay there.”

“Better idea!” He shouted in a way that reminded you so much of Cassian. He leaned forward a few times, preparing to launch from the cabinets. “Catch me!”

He launched himself from the cabinets, gliding down towards the counter. You scrambled to catch him, but there was no way you were going to make it in time.

Before Nyx could collide with anything, his descent was stopped by a hand clutching the back of his shirt. Azriel was home, and had Nyx grabbed by the scruff.

“So it looks like someone hasn’t been behaving for his auntie like he’d promised,” Azriel said, wryly.

Nyx flailed a bit but quickly realized that he wasn’t going to be escaping the strength of his uncle’s grip and quit.

“I’m sorry, Uncle Azzie” Nyx said in a sad, deflated voice.

“Don’t say sorry to me, say sorry to your auntie.”

Nyx sent sad, remorseful eyes your way, bringing tears to your eyes as well.

“Sorry…” he warbled.

“Aww,” you cooed getting closer to him. “It’s alright little buddy. You just scared me, that’s all. We all care an awful lot about you, you know that?”

He nodded.

“We want you to be safe,” you said, “and sometimes being safe means not doing every little thing you want to do. Sometimes, a fun idea can be dangerous. That doesn’t mean never do anything fun again, just think about what could happen to figure out if it’s safe. Make sense buddy?”

“Uh huh!”

“Good,” you smiled, “now, promise you won’t winnow away from us and Uncle Azzie will let you down so we can play. Sound fair?”

Nyx nodded vigorously.

“Okay.”

The rest of the evening went by far smoother. You tired Nyx out playing and then set him to bed. You and Azriel sat leaned against each other on the couch not too far away from the little one’s room.

“Thank you,” you sighed, “for coming.”

“I felt your terror through the bond,” Azriel said, sounding about as tired as you felt, “there was nowhere in the world I wouldn’t have left to come to you.”

Your heart swelled, “Az.”

“I don’t know what is wrong with human males for you to think that isn’t the treatment you deserve,” Azriel growled.

“Thank you, Az,” you said, kissing his cheek.

“Don’t ever thank me for that again. I don’t deserve praise for what I would do naturally.”

Not having the energy for even this back and forth, you simply sighed and leaned your head on Azriel’s shoulder. His wing moved in to drape over you like a blanket as the two of you rested there.

Rhysand and Feyre came home to find you and Azriel snoring on each other. Quietly snickering, they checked on their sleeping son. Happy to see all their loved ones were safe and accounted for, they draped a blanket over the two of you and left you to sleep.

[supercutszns]

Luke x reader where a girl, daughter of Aphrodite, flirts with him and insults the reader, causing her to avoid Luke, but later he manages to find her and confesses that he actually likes them... I don't know if they should already be together or not, but I believe in you!!! you write very well :ooo

Sorry if the idea is bad or you wouldn't want to write something like that, if that's the case please pretend you never read this 🤡🤡🫶

true colours; luke castellan

wc + pairing: 3.6k, luke castellan x child of iris! reader

synopsis: everyone wants luke castellan, including you. curse your mother for getting your hopes up.

warnings: friends to lovers, reader is very insecure, bullying, lee fletcher & will solace cameo!! some angst with a fluffy ending

notes: thank you for the request!! as always this is longer than i anticipated but hope you like it :) i also combined it with another request for a child of iris reader (i also identify as a child of iris sometimes so i lovee writing for them) also i’m pretty sure lee + a lot of parts of this are ooc sorry but i havent read the books in about a year so hopefully everything’s fairly accurate!🌈

You knew this summer would be different because your mother sent her wishes twice as much. On the first day of July, when children flood into Camp Half-Blood like a hive of wild bees, a rainbow always lights up the sky. 

This year, there were two. 

As a child of Iris you’re technically supposed to be in the Hermes cabin. But your love for art, for music, for fun, has made you a particular favourite of the Apollo cabin. Most of your friends are there. They tolerate you singing in your soft, often unsure voice. They love when you catch sunlight and filter it into prisms of colour on their cabin walls. 

You’d probably move in there permanently if it weren’t for Hermes. Or rather, his son.

Over the last few months, in the sticky summer heat, your mother knew you would fall in love. 

It's not any surprise you love Luke. Everyone loves Luke. A fact that's becoming more obvious every passing day. 

It used to bother you less. You’ve always been his meagre, hopeless friend, never any real competition to these girls. You’d basically taken yourself out of the running and instead decided to pine after him in the very back of your mind. A safe, deluded fantasy that would never happen. 

Until recently, where it seems less like a fantasy and more like a terrifying possibility. 

Over the past few weeks Luke has gone out of his way to be sweet to you. Or at least you think so. He’s spent extra time talking to you at lunch, laughing at your half-formed jokes almost in earnest. At bonfires he saves you a seat, grabs you a marshmallow on occasion. You even made him a friendship bracelet of sorts—admittedly a little ugly—but he’s never taken it off. Not since the day you gave it to him. 

Not to mention helping you last week before the archery competition. His hands lingering over yours as he steadied your bow, the curls of his breath on the back of your neck when he stood behind you. 

“Don’t be nervous,” he says, a tinge of mirth in his voice. “You just steady your aim and first is as good as yours.”

(You came in fifteenth.)

You don’t want to say that it’s him weakening your aim, making your pulse beat out of your neck. His nose brushes against the back of your jaw as he leans forward and you smell the pine on his skin. Is this friendly? Is he this close on purpose? Are you delusional?

It’s all you’ve been thinking about these past few days. So when Luke Castellan’s endless admirers come to the forefront of your mind, you feel like all those moments of potential buildup have been ripped away. 

“You alright there, sunshine?” 

He takes you out of your spiral with a teasing lilt you love. When you look at him, his face is a shimmering warmth, complete with boyish smile. 

“Yep,” you reply, trying to ignore the nickname making your insides flutter even though you know he’s saying it ironically.

You’ve always had a gift for identifying colour. It’s the thing you pay attention to most. Something inherited from your mother, you suppose. So you’ve memorized the way Luke’s eyes melt in the sunlight. How his scar blends with his pinking cheeks when it’s hot outside. You never told him, and you probably never will, but you’ve painted him from memory quite a few times in the Apollo cabin—always with the excuse that you were practicing. It's so blatantly obvious you're in love with him there's no point in your friends bringing it up.  

The two of you are meandering around camp before dinner, a tradition Luke started early on in the summer. You talk about high points of your day (mostly you) or share nuggets of gossip you’ve heard around camp (mostly him). It's the thing you looked forward to every morning. A time when his words are just for you. 

Idle chatter flows as you keep walking. Sometimes your arm brushes his and you have the embarrassing urge to tug yours away. You do your best not to stare at him too long or laugh too loud at his jokes. 

“Hey, Castellan!” Someone calls. 

Luke’s head turns. Your heart plummets. A beautiful girl, Aphrodite cabin, you think, is heading towards you. She’s all honey-spun hair and dazzling pink lips, and it’s obvious she knows it. You don’t know her name. But Luke does. 

They fall into conversation the second she arrives. It’s just greetings, pleasantries, but there’s a coy smile on the girl’s face that betrays any sense of disinterest. “Heard you’re not too keen on pairing up with us for the Chariot Race next week. What gives?” Her tone is pouty and playful as she taps Luke’s shoulder. She side-eyes you, lips curling imperceptibly. “I’m sure you’ll have a better chance with us.”

He lets out a strained chuckle. “Dunno, just thought it was fine to switch it up.”

Just like that, you’re out of the loop again. More of her friends flock after her, and soon Luke is tangled in a whole other world. They’re all glowing with a kind of righteousness you only get when you’re popular. You know Luke has friends, tons of them. He's the leader of the cabin with the most campers. Not to mention assertive and gorgeous. His presence is so inviting it’s a challenge not to fall in love with him. 

So you can’t blame this girl, the one that keeps touching his arm and giggling. It’s not like you’ve staked your claim on Luke—no one even knows you exist. As much as you want him to be yours, you know you’ll never stop someone from taking him first. It’s your fatal flaw, you think. Cowardice. 

You end up sidelined completely. Watching him swathed in people more charismatic than you plants an ache deep inside you. All your wishful thinking feels sour now, a pipe dream, a bedtime story to help you sleep better. Somehow it hurts more knowing that it’s nobody’s fault but yours. These people can’t be doing this on purpose. It’s just who they are. It’s who you are—always a step behind, always daydreaming. You are your mother’s daughter, after all. Just a prism reflecting everyone around you. 

Eventually, one of the boys in the group takes notice of you. He’s not nearly as captivating as Luke is—you don’t find the colours of his eyes hold as much depth. There’s also a haughtiness when he looks at you. He sneers, “What the hell do you have on your face?”

It draws the attention of others in the group. You feel like a naked sculpture in an art gallery. “Uh, what?” You stammer. 

Some of them purse their lips. The girl with Luke lets a laugh slip. You’re pretty sure you look like an idiot, waiting there with your brows wrinkled in a daze. Their gazes keep flicking over to your cheek, so your hand flies up there before you can delay any more. When you press your fingers to the side of your face, they come away tacky and pink. Mortification constricts you.

Paint. It’s leftover, half-dried paint. The colour of Luke’s cheeks in the sun. 

“Oh,” you say dumbly. It’s drowned by snickers. All you can do is find Luke, the only face you know, and ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?” without sounding too hurt. 

You know you failed when your voice comes out wrong and his ebony brows push together. “I thought it looked—”

He never gets to finish because the golden girl laughs a little louder, the pink tones in her face a little darker. “Oh my Gods, you’re that Iris kid that’s always singing, right?” She giggles sharply, cornflower eyes darting between her friends. There’s something in there you can’t quite pick up on, until it flushes the pupils of all her friends, and they all grin with a secret knowledge they want you to see. “You’re, like, really good!” The girl simpers, but her bottom lip pulls between her teeth to soften another laugh. 

“Oh, so good!” Another friend piles on. 

Their passive-aggressive chuckles start to sound like hail on a window. You shift further away from them. Dirt slides beneath your shoe, and you long to kick up more of it, displace yourself, disappear. 

You don’t look at Luke. The giggly, flaxen girl has already turned back to him, and you’re sure he’s enthralled once more. You try to stir up the image of Luke’s closeness during archery practice, the lilac bruise on his knuckles when he angled your bow, but it doesn’t take. Now, it feels like you’ve dreamed it. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Luke leaning down to catch a whisper from the Aphrodite girl’s ear. The boy that first commented on your cheek leans closer to you again. He’s suffocatingly smug when he grins, “Why are you still here? Shouldn’t you go … wash that off? You don’t want to look like that at dinner.” He snorts. “For an Iris kid, you really aren’t good at taking a message.” 

If you were a more confident person, maybe you’d point out how that didn’t really make sense, or how stupid it sounded coming out of his mouth. But the sentiment of it wounds you, and you’re weak enough as is. 

"Guess you're right," you mumble. You wipe your face of paint as you leave. The memory of Luke’s skin stains you until you wash your hands off in the sink. 

You haven’t talked to him since. 

It’s been a few days of you avoiding him, and it’s hard to explain to anyone why you’ve been doing it. How do you tell the truth? Luke Castellan is a work of art and you are … a weird doodle, or something. Despite your adoration, you know there’s no reason he should feel the same for you. Everyone loves him for a reason. Everyone must ignore you for one, too. 

“Why haven’t you been talking to Luke?”

The question breaks your concentrated silence in the Apollo cabin. You’ve been sitting here for a while now, humming to yourself over a mostly blank canvas. The cabin is dusted with a lilac haze, thanks to your manipulation of the light streaming through the windows. Helps you feel less like you’re at camp and more like you’re in a fairytale. 

“Helloooo, lady, I asked you a question.”

You begrudgingly look up. Lee Fletcher, head of the Apollo cabin, is at the mouth of the cabin, gazing at all your supplies strewn about the floor like they’re a bunch of unsavoury substances. “It looks like a hurricane came in here. Now why aren’t you talking to Luke?”

“How do you know I’m not talking to him?” You mutter as Lee sits beside you. 

“Uh, because you’ve been sleeping here multiple nights in a row and you never do that. And you don’t sit with him at dinner. And whenever we see him you drag me in the other direction—”

“Lee!”

“I’m just saying, you should probably talk about it. My beautiful voice can heal wounds, yes, but not of the heart.” He splays a hand across his chest in mock theatrics.

You don’t say anything. The familiar weight of the brush against your fingertips is far more comforting than trying to talk, so you busy yourself with your canvas again. “He waits for you, you know,” Lee continues, quieter. “In the morning. And before dinner. He always asks if you’re here.”

“Oh,” you say, and your wavering voice betrays your expression. But you think of everyone else at camp, their gleaming smiles and their celebrated parents, their own cabins and friends and dreams, how you don’t seem to have any of those. You think of the girl whispering in Luke’s ear. All her shades of beauty. You know it’s wrong to compare yourself, to be jealous. You’re just … sad.

The cabin darkens from a lilac to an imperceptibly gloomier shade. A blue sort of longing gets caught in your throat, blurring the colours on your canvas. But you keep your brush steady, focused on the scratch of its bristles so you don’t have to hear what you say next. 

“I think I love him, Lee.” And then, “But I don’t think he loves me.”

There’s no sound except the scraping of your brush when it’s run out of paint, and a sniffle when a tear rolls down your cheek. 

“Oh,” Lee fills the silence the way you did just moments before. Then he says your name, laced with pity, and hugs you on the floor of his lavender cabin. 

“You want to help me lead the bonfire song tonight?” He asks after a minute. “Or at least … come to the bonfire song?” 

“No to the first, yes to the second.”

You wish you said no to both. 

The spot you choose after dinner is right next to the fire so you can distract yourself with the golden flecks of flame. Fire is so fluid, so complex, from a colour perspective. But no matter how close you get, the searing warmth can’t hide Luke’s gaze peering over the embers. 

He will not. Stop. Looking at you. 

The singing from the Apollo kids usually soothes you but tonight it’s just making you anxious. All this attention so close to you. Will Solace has been sitting next to you this whole time, your unofficial assigned companion for the night thanks to Lee. One of his siblings beckons him over, and he shoots you an apologetic look, hesitating. "Just go," you wave off kindly. "It's all good." He's not entirely convinced, and you aren't either, but he squeezes your shoulder with thanks and leaves you anyway.

Now you’re acutely aware the space next to you is wide open. And so is Luke, it seems. There’s an awkward moment where your gazes slide over each other and he weaves out of his current crowd towards you. So you do the most mature, sound thing you could possibly do in this situation:

You say you have to go to the bathroom to no one in particular and get out of there. 

It’s dark, but you’ve got sharper eyes than most. Soon the noise of the campfire is behind you. You traipse through the camp towards the bathroom,but you don’t get far before you hear something that makes your stomach drop in the worst and best way. 

Luke, calling your name. 

At first you think you can get away with not hearing him. Then he calls a second, a third, a fourth time, punctuated with, “Come on, I know you can hear me, can you just turn around?”

He’s got longer legs than you so the next time he speaks it’s practically in your ear. “Hey, just look at me. Please. I want to talk to you.”

There’s something so tender in his voice that it makes you cave immediately. But you already feel so fragile, you can feel the tears behind your eyes. You know you won’t have the strength to talk to him. 

His hand curls gently around your wrist and it sends warmth all the way up your arm. He says your name again, softer, and you love the way it sounds. You can’t meet his eyes, but you already know what he looks like. Even in the dark you picture him crystal clear. 

“Look at me,” he repeats. “I just—I need to know what I did wrong.”

His dark eyes are full and apprehensive when you heed him. You notice how much you’ve missed studying his face—the slight bunch of his brows, the tensing in his jaw. And you almost delude yourself that he’s missed you just as much, the way he squeezes your wrist and rakes over your expression.

“Why are you ignoring me?” He asks. 

“I’m not—”

“You are. I know you. Just tell me why.” 

He looks so sweet, so earnest, and it kills you. You think of the way he looked when all his friends made fun of you. It all comes up before you can help it. 

“Do you always let me walk around looking like an idiot?” You ask bitingly, staring at the floor. “The thing, with the paint on my cheek—why didn’t you tell me? I looked so stupid and all your friends just laughed at me!” 

His face falls. “I tried to tell you, I thought—”

“It’s okay to say you don’t like me, or that you’re embarrassed, or whatever, but I …” You swallow, tears thick on your lower lashes. “Everyone makes fun of me. I don’t know why you don’t.”

“Because I do like you,” he states, hand moving up to your forearm. 

“Don’t say that,” you whisper. “You’re so much … better, you know you are, and I don’t want your pity, or your spare time. I just—I made something up in my head that wasn’t there and I only noticed it the other day after you talked to that girl and that guy made fun of me and I’m really, really sorry—”

“It looked cute. I was trying to say I didn’t tell you about the paint because I thought it was cute.”

There’s a lull.

“What?” You blink stupidly. 

“I know I should’ve told you about it, but I swear I was going to before dinner, I didn’t think we’d run into anyone before then.” His cheeks tinge red. “I had this whole dumb thing planned out where I’d wipe it off your cheek and tell you how cute it was once you got embarassed. I was waiting to tell you. I was thinking about it the whole time.”

His hand on your arm is a frighteningly grounding thing. You're dumbstruck by that alone. Your lips part, but all that comes out is, “Why?”

A gentle laugh tumbles out of his throat. “Why do you think?”

His other hand comes up to brush your cheekbone, where the paint had been, and you can imagine him doing it to you on that day. How you'd probably react just the way he said you would, the way you are now. A warm orange glow blooming in your chest. “But the girl—”

“She tried whispering to me how much she liked my bracelet,” he smiles fondly. “Told her you made it for me. It shut her up. I don’t know what that guy said to you but I chewed ‘em all out the second you left. They knew I wasn’t happy. I tried looking for you but you were gone. I don't like them, you know."

You don’t know what to say. It’s too difficult, too uncertain for you to jump the gun on this. So you just stare at all the shifting colours on his face as he moves closer to you. All this time going over his every detail, and there's still more to be enthralled by.

“I found the paintings,” he says, voice so close you can feel it brushing your skin. “The ones of me. I was looking for you in the Apollo cabin a week ago and you left one out. I knew it was yours because ... I mean, there’s no one in the world that can make me look that … beautiful.” 

The last word is apprehensive but it’s spoken with an unimaginable tenderness. He looks a little teary himself. You think you’re dreaming. “I knew I had to tell you after that. I’ve been trying to tell you. But you started pulling away from me so I thought I was making it all up.”

“Tell me what?” It’s a ghost of a question between you, an impossible thing, but the hand on your arm slips around to your back and he presses it there with such certainty. 

“You’re really gonna make me say it?” He cocks his head, but you nod. “I’m in love with you, I think.”

The words cascade over you in ribbons of warmth. Your brain feels fuzzy, seperate from the rest of your body. Your mouth opens multiple times but you can’t seem to control what comes out. “Luke, are you joking?”

“Not even a little.”

“But you’ve got so many other—”

“I want you.”

“I am literally the most incompetent person alive; I can’t sing, I can’t talk to people, I have a weird knee—”

"Your knee is fine!"

"I'm just saying, this makes no sense from an outsider perspective, it's—"

“Okay, clearly the telling thing isn’t working so I guess I’m just gonna have to kiss you.”

It happens so quickly you don’t have any time to think (probably for the better). You let out a surprised “oh” before his mouth silences you, stopping every other thought. He’s gentle, thumb still rubbing your cheekbone, other hand still firm at your waist. You want to panic—where should you put your hands? How do you know you’re doing this right? But he steadies you, the way he always does, and you give in. 

He starts to smile against your lips. You’re almost positive the intensity of your heartbeat could summon a storm. When he pulls away, he kisses the corners of your mouth and you think you’re going to evaporate. “I don’t think I’m very good at this,” you whisper.

“You’re perfect.” He grins a little when your hands tentatively tug at a curl on the nape of his neck. “And none of that stuff you say is true. I mean, you’re definitely a better singer than me.”

Leaning close to your ear, he warbles out a song you know but gets the words horribly wrong anyways. You can’t help but laugh. “Okay, maybe you have a point.”

He hums and chuckles with you. You swear the moon gets brighter when he wraps his arms around your waist to kiss the side of your face. “Next time you paint me, I want to be there when you do it.”

You blush harder than you ever have in your life. “Only if you try painting me,” you say quietly.

“Of course. You’re very pretty, so I’m sure my horrible artistic skills won’t even make you look bad.”

Luke lets you press your face into the crook of his neck. You soak it up for all it’s worth. 

In the morning, you wake up in the same position. Your nose tucked against his collarbone, the shade of pink you love freckled across his cheeks. You can't wait to paint him again.

When you look out the window, you say a silent, grateful prayer to your mother.

She's given you two more rainbows.