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[mobiloittetechblogs]

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[forlix]

𝐝𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞・b.c.

— incurable playboy turned doting boyfriend was a character development arc nobody saw coming for christopher bang, including (especially) his frat brothers.

words・2.8k pairing・frat president!chris x gn!reader genres・fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, college!au, fuckboy!chris, boys being boys, kissing, implied sex so mdni warnings・substance use, talk of past heartbreak

a/n・here is "nobody believes you're dating" w/chan, requested by none other than my @rachalixie for my 2k event !! anny, i hope u love this fic as much as i love u; thank you for allowing me to write something so self-indulgent <3

In the deafening throes of one of Phi Mu Alpha’s spring kickbacks, Minho finds Jeongin and Seungmin standing in motionless silence by the kitchen counter. Both boys are gaping at something with an intensity that dips egregiously into the realm of creepy. He moves to pour himself a shot.

“What the fuck are you people looking at?”

Seungmin prods a pointer finger in the relevant direction. It takes a few seconds of scanning the scene for Minho to find what he’s referring to. He digs a knuckle into his eye, instantly confused by what he’s seeing. Maybe the gaping is justified.

The windows and doors have all been thrown open to invite the balmy April weather into the foyer of the frathouse. There’s a large crowd of people huddled around a long, foldable table stationed before the stairs; Jaehyun clutches a ping-pong ball between his fingers, singular eye squinted shut as he takes aim. The number of remaining solo cups dwindles rapidly, as does the players’ sobriety.

Something—someone—is missing.

Not to say “beer pong virtuoso” was one of the reasons Chris was elected frat president, but you’d think the guy had a career path in basketball with how he’s given the entire Greek life community alcohol poisoning by courtesy of two or three plastic balls alone. Minho has never known him to miss a shot, let alone miss out on a game.

Today, however, the reigning champion is only spectating, seated above the ongoing match on one of the steps of the main staircase.

A beautiful stranger is sitting beside him, cheek pressed to his shoulder as you peer at the match through the bannister.

You say something inaudible. The laugh it earns from Chris is bright enough to pick up from a few streets down. He leans in to murmur something in return, and you slide your hand over his nape to pull his mouth onto yours, light blush crawling up and over your ears. The way Chris melts into you can only be described as familiar, his eyes slowly fluttering shut, finger hooking delicately beneath your chin, grin going lopsided as your lips part—

“That’s enough,” Minho hisses, tearing his eyes away with considerable effort. “Aren’t you ashamed? Just fucking ogling.”

Jeongin shakes his head, grinning. “It’s dinner and a show. We’d be idiots not to.”

By dinner, he must mean the gallon of chocolate milk he’s been drinking from for the last hour. He now holds out said gallon with the intent to cheers. Seungmin picks up the entire handle and does the same.

Minho sighs, clinks his glass against theirs, and they throw back their respective refreshments in unison.

“Anywho.” Jeongin swipes the back of his hand over his mouth before going on. “You guys know who that is?”

Minho resurfaces with a wince, relishing in the bitter aftermath, then motions for Seungmin to give the bottle back straightaway. He arrived to the function late and he’s not nearly as drunk as he’d like to be.

Seungmin obliges Minho only after another heady swig. “No clue. Probably just another fling, no?”

“Mmm,” Jeongin hums in assent. “It’s Chris we’re talking about, after all.”

"Agreed. Case closed.”

There’s an air of finality in Seungmin’s voice—but Minho isn’t so sure.

Perhaps because he has never noticed that Chris had dimples until now; or because you fold so naturally into Chris' side after your kiss ends, head nuzzling against the crook of his neck and hand seeking out his to hold in your lap; or, most likely, because Chris' eyes seem to return to you when he looks at you, as if his gaze drifting anywhere else is but a momentary departure from where it really belongs. As if he comes home every time you come into his line of vision.

Whatever the reason, the idea coalesces in Minho’s mind, even as inebriation begins to fall over his cognitive faculties like a curtain, that the boys have got it wrong.

Jeongin utters his name, jolting him out of his trance. There’s another shot lifted halfway to Minho’s lips that hasn’t budged in minutes. “Whatcha thinking about?”

Minho looks at Jeongin first, Seungmin next, then back at Chris and his stunning companion. He’s not inclined to answer the question in full, but he can in truth. A coy smile crosses his face.

“Threesome?”

Jeongin laughs hard enough to collapse onto the kitchen island. Seungmin drags a hand down his face. “Come on, man.”

In the corner of his eye, you’ve gone back to kissing again, slow and sweet and secretive. Chris' gentle hold on your jaw shields you from view but fails to hide his lovesick smile. Dimly, Minho thinks that maybe his friend has met his match.

Then, he takes four shots in rapid succession—and stops thinking altogether.

Christopher Bang’s love life is like a horror movie and romcom spliced together: a fiasco of a film to which his housemates have front row seats.

The frat’s upperclassmen live in sets of four-bed, two-bath suites comprising a small common space with a kitchen and a sitting area, sandwiched by bedrooms on either side. It is in that common space that Changbin, Hyunjin, and Jisung often see or hear Chris stumbling home after a night out, entangled with a different attractive stranger every time—so often, in fact, that they’ve come to believe that he’s deathly allergic to anything bigger than a one-and-done hookup.

They can’t judge. In part because they’d be throwing stones from glass houses, but also because the man’s penchant for empty physicality is far from unfounded. His past self gave pieces of his heart to the wrong people, contracted first-degree burns from the guileless warmth he sought out. Now, his version of “intimacy” is less a connotation of closeness than it is a self-contradiction, for it should be impossible for so much distance to remain between two people in a single bed.

Chris hasn’t vocalized any of this. Nor have his housemates discussed it with each other. The knowledge simply exists in the air between the four of them like something akin to taboo, dipping in and out of acknowledgement depending on the circumstance.

This might be the circumstance of all time.

At around 11:40 A.M. on a Saturday, three doors in the suite open at once. Hyunjin and Changbin aren’t coincidence—the latter is coercing the former to go to the gym again—but they lift their eyes to the opposite side of the living room, and the slice of milk bread dangling from Hyunjin’s lips very nearly takes a fatal fall. Changbin manages to snatch it up with an extended hand.

Chris has just emerged from his room as well. Your silhouette follows close behind, your mouth stretching into a yawn as you massage the sleep from your eyes. You’re sporting a mesh green sweater identical to one Chris owns. They find Chris' accessories more interesting than his clothes, though: two hickeys peeking out from beneath his jaw and the base of his neck.

Chris sees Hyunjin and Changbin right away, and his expression goes utterly blank, not unlike their faces as they watch you close his door meticulously. You turn around and gasp.

The four of you stare at each other for what feels like multiple business days. At least, Hyunjin, Changbin, and Chris stare at each other; your eyes dart between the men on the other side of the room and the man next to you, silently pleading for him to say something. He does not for a long while.

Then, he lunges for one of the throw pillows on the couch and flings it at Hyunjin like a shot put. It ricochets off his chest and lands on the floor rather anticlimactically.

“Distraction!” Chris yells anyways, grabbing your hand and tearing towards the exit, wild grin on his face. “Go, go, go!”

Your raucous laughter lingers even after you’ve been hauled away, accompanied by an unintelligible, breathless shout of something along the lines of my toothbrush—and then the front door clicks shut, and there are two.

Changbin and Hyunjin lock eyes, struggling to process what just happened. Hyunjin is the first to move, wandering hesitantly into the bathroom that Chris and Jisung share. Nothing about the place looks out of the ordinary.

“Well, shit,” Hyunjin says out loud.

That is, aside from the two toothbrushes slotted in the holder on Chris' side of the counter.

Something moves in the bathroom window, catching his attention. Hyunjin looks over just in time to spot you and Chris dart out onto the lawn two floors below. Chris has his arm draped over your shoulders, yours wrapped around his waist. Your smile is discernible all the way from here, and Hyunjin sees a perfect mirror of it on his friend’s face when Chris glances at the frathouse over his shoulder. 

Has he always had dimples?

Moments later, Changbin joins him in peering out the window. A high-pitched cackle erupts from the older boy’s lips. “Look at that idiot.”

Standing off to the left is a tiny, astonished Han Jisung, his arms full of groceries, jaw sitting squarely the grass and whites of his eyes on full display as he watches you and Chris stroll away.

Hyunjin laughs with his whole fucking body. Changbin whips out his phone and takes a picture.

When you finally breach the topic, it’s because you don’t think you can physically study for another minute—but also because, after multiple long months of fruitless sparring, your curiosity finally wins.

Your boyfriend is seated in your desk chair, feet kicked up onto your mattress with his laptop propped up on his thighs. His features have rearranged themselves into an expression of intense focus as he pores over his production homework. You can hear music blaring through his headphones from all the way here.

You uncross your legs from below you, scootch across your bed, and lift your hands to cradle his cheeks. He startles as if coming out of a trance, then begins to smile when he reads the words hi, Channie off your lips.

His headphones fall around his neck. He sets his laptop down onto your desk with a dull thunk. The next thing to drop is you when Chris seizes you by the waist and tackles you into the mattress. The somber atmosphere of your study session is shattered by your muted laughter and Chris pressing his lips to every inch of your exposed skin he can. He saves your mouth for last.

“Hey, beautiful,” he answers, but only after kissing the living daylights out of you, the syllables soft and silky with adoration. “Missed me?”

You drag your eyes from his brown irises with blown pupils to his sloping nose, from his disheveled dark locks to his cordate lips, so plush and warm against your own that you swear you still feel them there. You brush a hand over the back of his neck, your head now spinning so badly that you barely remember what you wanted to ask him.

“Always,” you say. “I was starting to feel jealous of your homework.”

He chuckles. “Shit, I’ll drop out of college right now, baby. Just say the word.”

“You’re perfect,” you hum.

“Says you,” he murmurs, nudging the tip of his nose against yours.

Your lips find each other’s again—needless to say, your study sessions aren’t known for their productivity. Some time passes before you come up for air. Even afterwards, Chris doesn’t let you go far, pulling you into his chest by the curve of your waist, nuzzling his cheek into your hairline. You only need to whisper for him to hear your question.

“Can I ask you something?”

“'Course,” he returns, and you’re close enough to sense him tighten with apprehension. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, don’t worry.” You print a kiss to the side of his neck for extra reassurance. “It’s just…I’ve been meaning to ask how your friends feel about me.”

He tightens with something else now: surprise, you’re guessing; you’re hoping. You hadn’t seriously considered that the answer could be negative, but it’s dawning on you now that the possibility of that isn’t zero.

“Where’s this coming from?” Chris inquires, his tone opaque.

You hesitate, mentally reviewing your interactions with your boyfriend’s social circle. Hyunjin and Jisung can’t make eye contact with you when they speak to you. Minho does nothing but make eye contact with you whether he’s speaking to you or not. Jeongin and Seungmin can maintain small talk for about ten seconds before they start looking like they’d rather be anywhere else. Changbin is the only one you’ve held a conversation with, and only because you were going up the same stairs at the same time and the alternative would have been mind-numbing silence.

What is the best way for you to say this?

“Well,” you begin, “I can’t help but notice that they act a little—when I’m around, they’re a bit, uh—”

“—crazy,” Chris offers. “Completely fucking bat-shit crazy.”

“Yes. Exactly that.”

Chris threads a hand through your hair, the comforting gesture doing nothing to assuage your worry. It seems there’s some truth behind your impressions. Your next words are tinged with a quiet sadness.

“I’m not imagining things, then?”

“No, angel,” he sighs. “But not for the reasons you think.”

A beat passes. Chris perceives your silence as a chance to backtrack, to opt out of this conversation if it’s one he’s not ready for. He would’ve leapt at the opportunity once.

But he realizes in that moment, with your voice gentle against his ears and your touch so doting upon his skin, how much has changed since he met you: from the color of the sky to the word home and everything in between, including his cynicism towards love and all the iterations of forever it holds. 

With that epiphany comes another, then another: he wants you to know why his friends are acting insane, wants you to know about him and his past and all the wounds of his you never know you healed, wants you to spend the rest of this forever with him.

His pointer finger dusts beneath your chin, a wordless request for you to look at him, and he nearly liquifies when you do and he finds entire constellations in your eyes. 

“It’s a lot,” he mumbles, though he suspects you know that already; he suspects you know about the other stuff, too. 

You bring your hand to the side of his face, bring your forehead to rest upon his. Your closeness washes over him like a low summer tide lapping over sandy shores, a soothing balm spreading over scorched flesh. 

“It’s you,” you breathe. “I will love it just the same.”

Chris' held breath comes out in shudders.

So this is warmth.

Minho and Felix are watching anime on the couch when a knock comes at their door, unfortunately during a pivotal moment of a pivotal episode. 

Minho hits pause with a ghastly groan. Felix laughs and rises to his feet, dashing into his room to grab the two silver necklaces he’ll be loaning out for the evening. “Coming!”

Outside, Chris is standing alone, hips and thighs accentuated by a pair of tight-fitting dress pants, sculpted chest and collarbones framed by a thin, cream-colored shirt with the top three buttons undone. Most of his hair has been pushed off his forehead, leaving a few locks free to fall over his right eyebrow. He’s rolling up his sleeves when Felix opens the door, veined forearms flexing as a result of the effort.

“Well?” He asks. Minho cranes his neck to look past Felix.

Both boys start to holler and whistle like excited macaques.

“What in the Calvin Klein is this?” Felix shouts, spinning Chris around by the shoulders. “You look insane, bro. Holy fuck.”

“What’s the occasion, young man?” Minho inadvertently sounds like a gruff uncle. “Where are you going dressed like that, huh?”

Chris' laugh comes easier nowadays. What’s more, it comes in a way that reaches the rest of him, that ends in a tiny, high squeak that you really have to look for in order to hear.

Felix and Minho can't help but replicate his smile. Those clothes look good on him, yes—but happiness looks better.

“You guys are silly,” Chris giggles. Dimples indent his cheeks as he accepts the necklaces from Felix. “Thanks, man. I’ll give ‘em back tomorrow.”

“No rush,” Felix replies, grinning. “Have fun, yeah?”

“We will.” Chris starts to retreat down the hallway, hands moving to clasp the jewelry around his neck, but not before he blows the both of them a kiss.

“Be back before ten!” Minho hollers; Chris laughs again, turns a corner, and disappears.

Felix closes the door. His smile falters fast. Minho has brought his face mere centimeters away, his expression thoroughly humorless.

“Tell me only the truth, Lee Yongbok,” he deadpans.

“O-okay—”

“Is Chris in a relationship?”

“—oh.” Felix frowns. “Well, yeah.”

Minho blanches. “How—how long?”

“One year, give or take? Anniversary’s today.”

Minho is stunned. Felix is stunned that Minho is stunned.

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

[assetfinx]

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[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

how do you think leona would do if he falls in love?

Here are my thoughts in bullet-point/headcanon form for ease of reading! Key word there being my thoughts. (There will of course be different interpretations based on who you ask this question to.)

Standard disclaimer: These points are nothing more than my opinions and I am NOT saying my opinions are any more or less valid or “correct” than yours. Please, I’m not pre-book 1 Riddle/j It’s fine to have other takes; just remember to be mindful in how you communicate differences in opinion.

To start with, here's how I think Leona would deal with the experience of first love:

Firstly, I definitely feel that Leona is the type of person to not easily fall in love. There are many examples in canon of Leona rejecting the love he receives from others, whether it be from his own family (Cheka, Falena), dorm members (Ruggie, Jack, Savanaclaw mobs, etc.), or other peers. Even though he desires others’ approval and praise, he also simultaneously believes the compliments are insincere or that he may not be deserving or worthy of it, that he hasn’t “earned” it. It’s also difficult for him to be emotionally vulnerable with others, and I feel that this would extend to romantic circumstances.

Continuing from the previous point, I think it’d be a slow burn. Like, the feelings develop gradually and manifest in small but increasingly more forward-facing ways like his gaze lingering for a second or two longer than usual, him getting slightly irritable when he smells (I 100% believe that smell is a Big Thing for beastmen) some other guy on the object of his affections, or simply… his mind wandering to them, maybe in a daydream.

A lot of it is Leona musing about the situation and then being in denial. He’s not so oblivious as to ignore what are clearly blossoming feelings, but he's not so hasty as to act on them right away. He'd sit with those feelings, examine them, question them. What is it that he is experiencing and why, how did things come to this, etc. He may even try to convince himself it's a phase or he's "too good" for this or he's "above" this. Really takes a long time to wrestle with his emotions and to sort them out. And then when he has come to his conclusion, he might not be very pleased with it because (as I said before), he has self-esteem and self-worth issues despite outwardly presenting himself as confident and in-charge.

For a while, he keeps his distance and observes. He’s nothing if not a big cat biding his time, keeping an eye on his prey until—BAM! Down comes his paw, ensnaring the mouse. It's like a game of chess or... cat and mouse. You have to watch your opponent and predict their moves, then plan your own moves two or three or more steps ahead of them. He'd want to gauge if they're already taken, if they seem to express an interest in him too, what they like and dislike, information like that. The last thing Leona'd want to do is charge in, guns blazing, only to be rejected and have his pride hurt.

He may also go out of his way to test the object of his affections by purposefully engineering scenarios to see how they react. At first, it's subtle things that could easily be passed off as coincidence or happenstance. For example, maybe Leona would accidentally bump his shoulder against yours or as he's walking by his tail flicks you. That's just the start though. He'd put more pressure on over time. Like he'd be more confrontational, putting himself in your path as some obstacle to overcome, still being sort of an asshole to see how you handle yourself around him.

Leona tells himself he has the upper hand, and he's usually pretty consistent about hiding his feelings to that end. It might peek through here and there, but they easily read as him being tsundere as per usual. I think that would be his way of coping, because deep down he doesn't want to admit that a part of him is scared to feel this way. It's something else he could fail at, someone else he could frighten away or destroy.

With time, I think he'd become more confident. He has a better grasp of the other person, he's been able to sort out his thoughts. But the thing is, his pride is still a major deterrent. Instead of coming out and saying it, it would become another game. If you've ever read or watched Kaguya-sama: Love is War, it'd be similar to that. Leona would push for the other person to be the one to fall for him and confess first. Part of it is he's kind of afraid to be so emotionally vulnerable, part of it is that he's desperate to be wanted and needed by others, and part of it is that he feels he needs to "earn" that love by winning you over. He wants that sweet, sweet validation from you. He wants YOU to choose HIM.

I think he expects a certain amount of push and pull. If the game's too easy for him, the (psychological) hunt loses some of its thrill. I think he'd also be the type to seek a partner that isn't just a blind yes man (despite him giving off the vibes that he wants to be in total control, especially in his own dormitory); they should be able to keep him on his toes one way or another, and they shouldn't idolize him in a really unrealistic way--because then he worries what would happen if they learn about his flaws. Would they see him differently? Reject him? Etc.

It'd take a considerable amount of time and effort, but slowly he'd let the walls around his heart down to let you in--but ONLY if you pass his tests and prove that you can be loyal, trustworthy, and cognizant + accepting of all his flaws. He has high standards, so he's pretty picky about who he allows to be by his side. I don't think he'd be happy having to like... put in a fake "perfect prince" act or airs for someone else. Pretending to be someone you're not in order to have love might be just another source of stress for him.

He would take a more aggressive approach if the object of his affections makes it obvious that they return his feelings. More "accidental" touching (but of course nothing that breaches into something they find discomforting), intentionally dropping phrases that come off as flirtatious, demanding to spend more time together, etc.

If they're not into it, he'd respectfully back off. However, that won't stop him from moping about it in private later.

Then, assuming a scenario in which he and the person he's romantically interested in get together/start formally dating:

I think he'd be a lot more blatant and shameless about "showing off" his affections and/or the relationship in general. Overt flirting at this point, casually laying his head on the shoulder or wrapping an arm or tail around you, etc. Who cares who sees? Let them know you're already taken.

Oh yeah, he's really into physical touch (within whatever limits you deem to be acceptable; he respects your autonomy). Cuddles while napping, hand holding, head pats, listening to your heartbeat, etc. It grants him a sense of security that you're like... physically there with him.

I think words of affirmation are also up there, however I don't think he would appreciate it if it's like... overdone. Too many compliments might start to feel disingenuous or even smothering after a while (what comes to my mind specifically is how he reacts negatively or with denial to his brother, Cheka, Kifaji, and even his own dorm members praising him).

As I mentioned earlier, I think there'd be a lot of banter and teasing; Leona strikes me as someone who likes to toy with his pre or puts up a fight; he still has his pride and won't take sass lying down, he'd definitely retaliate but in a playful way.

Slightly whiny and needy. Key word: SLIGHTLY. He's not going to go full yandere on you. I believe that Leona would be somewhat insecure about the relationship and wants you to validate him with your presence. Like, if you're lying down somewhere and try to get up to leave... he might pout and be all dramatic about it, maybe throw in a sarcastic line about how he's "a delicate prince" and how he'll "wither like a flower" without you.

Slightly possessive. Again, the key word: SLIGHTLY. He's not going to restrict your movements or demand complete control of your life. However, he might sulk if he like... sees some other guy hovering or getting handsy, obviously making you uncomfortable. (If it's a particularly bad day for him, Leona might get intrusive thoughts about being the "second pick" and his partner leaving him for some "better" guy.) We've already seen he can get pretty territorial when it comes to Savanaclaw and the Botanical Garden, so I think at some point he'd also step in to intimidate people he feels are becoming a problem for his S/O. It's not the case for every situation though; his partner should be able to handle themselves or let him know when he's overstepping.

I think he'd be a little more tolerant of things his partner pulls. They're the one exception for certain things, like touching his ears or being more willing to listen to their requests to go to class or to try this new vegetable.

He'd try to distance his S/O from his family, especially in the beginning. Leona would tell them he doesn't think they're ready to meet the royal family yet (especially knowing the rocky relationship he has with his family), but really a lot of this stems from his pride. Falena, for example, honestly might make him look uncool by infantilizing his "baby bro".

Leona doesn't really go out of his way to plan grand gestures (he's not Kalim). If he does anything "big", it's probably like sending Ruggie to your doorstep with fancy flowers and a notecard or something. What he values isn't the "frivolous" stuff, but spending quality time together (even if it's doing nothing in particular). Might still spoil you on, say, special occasions, but he generally dislikes making a big deal of these things.

I think he'd be into you wearing his clothes. It's an easy visual indication that you're intimate enough to do this, but also it cloaks you in his smell so every other beastman in the immediate vicinity also knows you're "marked". Leona tosses his unworn blazer over you, casually saying, "Keep it."

Speaking of!! I think he’d also really like the idea of marking (bites, scratch marks, etc.) or scenting his partner. Just animalistic stuff like that, y’know. I’m sure he could hold himself back if they’re not comfortable with these aspects.

I do believe he has the capacity to be very sappy, but I don't think he'd want to be at this level all of the time. It would probably be limited to private settings and done sparingly, sort of like a treat?? Cuz if he does it too often, then it might lose its "special" feeling, and I also feel like he wouldn't be open to being all squimshy 24/7. Usually his sappiness is sarcastic.

Going to keep it 100 here, he's going to be more vulnerable around you (especially in private), and that means potential traumadumping. That's not to say that he'd do it super frequently to go into full-blown details, but his S/O would be one of the few people he feels comfortable enough with to open about his deepest insecurities and fears. He sometimes needs someone to hear him out, a shoulder to cry on, etc. Of course, he's not going to treat his partner like an unpaid therapist. Leona just... needs some extra support every now and again, reminders that he's doing fine, you know??

IMPORTANT ADDITIONAL NOTES:

Leona being in love would NOT smooth out all the rough edges to his personality. He's not going to white knight/act like you constantly need his protection, he's not going to bend over backwards and do anything and everything his partner asks of him. He still has a will and he can and will disagree or argue if he's opposed to something. He'll still let you handle yourself as needed.

Leona being in love would also NOT magically cure him of his personal issues and struggles. This is also true of the other characters who have deeply rooted trauma, but I feel this point should be included as a reminder anyway. It's of course not his entire personality, but his past experiences will impact how he interprets and reacts to things in present day (hence him being needy/wanting validation, etc.).

Like all relationships (whether romantic or platonic), it would not be flawless. There will be highs and lows, fights and disagreements, etc. This is normal in any relationship; what matters is that you're able to be mature enough to patch things up afterwards and learn from those rough patches.

[nipuni]

Alright, time to share my opinions about Veilguard!! I have both criticism and praise so bear with me as I jump from one extreme to the other 😆 spoilers ahead of course!

The game has a very rough start with the dialogue being formulaic and rushed and the characters overexposing. It feels like a heavy handed attempt at summarizing all of previous games' lore for newcomers or in case you forgot but it's so overdone it feels coddling and trivializes a lot of previous events. Luckily this gets better once all of the introductions are out of the way, though the excessive hints and clarifications continue until the end sadly.

The locations are absolutely incredible and very diverse!! This is a highlight of the game for me. There is so much detail and care in every map and there are so many of them. My pc is struggling to reach medium settings and yet everything looks stunning. The verticality of the maps is so imposing and the graphics have a very dreamy quality that I love. I also enjoy the maze-like structure to the maps, it's more linear but makes everything look a bit more intentional. The color and light direction was amazing, all the visual development really!! it has to be one of the prettiest games I've ever played.

When I started I have to admit it did not feel like I was in Thedas and it all felt a bit theme-parky, if that makes sense. A lot of previously important and established world elements that made Thedas what it is were overlooked or made irrelevant. But the more I played the more it started to feel a bit more similar to Inquisition, for better or worse depending on what you feel about Inquisition. But!! this also feels like a selectively sanitized version of Thedas compared to previous games. In it's attempt to stay safe and uncontroversial in some aspects it loses a lot of substance and it changes the tone. The surface level politics, ignoring previously established major societal issues and a tell-don't-show approach makes the world seem more simple and shallow with no grey areas to explore. ( the humor also falls flat and out of place often too, and WHY is everyone always smirking, enough!! godlike beings are destroying the planet please this is not the time for Marvel banter aaaa )

The pacing at the start is a bit of a mess. It is so fast it felt like jumping from one world shattering discovery to the next with no time to process. The characters also seem to underreact to important information and major developments. It felt like the game was rushing me through all this to get to the part of the story it wanted to tell me while I was still wrapped in my shock blanket trying to catch my breath lmao. I really like all the key story points they touched upon, I just wish they dwelled more on them to give them more narrative weight. ( though blaming every bad thing to ever happen on the Elves was certainly..a choice )

I think the writing could have used more subtlety in the first half and more boldness in the second 😆 but I loved the thematic parallels between Rook and Solas and how every quest informs the main storyline. I do wish Rook was given more impossible choices and put in more difficult situations that forced them to lie or betray their own to better drive the point home though ( listen I just love a Trolley problem!! we need more of those, I'm the Trolley problem's number one fan!! ) I feel like they missed the chance to put Rook in Solas' role and be as vilified and hated for it as Solas was despite their best intentions which would make Rook's regrets stronger and in turn make their escape from the fade all the more impressive and give them a better understanding of Solas to either use against him or earn his respect. The line 'they called me the Dread Wolf, what will they call you when this is over' from the trailers was so good I was waiting for this!! But everyone just loves Rook no matter what!!

But I feel like I stated too many negative aspects in a row so moving on to some things I enjoyed!

The characters were very lovable to me. The romances weren't as long or impactful as I would have liked but I enjoyed all the companion quests. Emmrich is a delight and his quest is so wild and fun. I loved learning about Nevarra and I was awestruck by the Grand Necropolis. The mourn watch was so interesting, it showed a whole new side of Thedas' lore I knew nothing about! and I loved Manfred! Davrin is so charming, he became a favorite. I loved his quest too and learning more bits and pieces about the Dalish was great, I wish we got more. Seeing the Wardens through his quest also made me enjoy them a lot. Assan was very cute too and I'm glad he was treated as an animal and not turned into a goofy Disney sidekick too much lmao 😭 Lucanis is hilarious. The fantasy Spain/Italy was a bit silly and off at times but he is very sweet! and I love the Spite possession, that was so fun I'm glad they kept him that way! Bellara is adorable, her first backstory quest made me cry and I just love a nerd! I wish the second part of her story was written better however, and she sort of devolves into 'it's hard, I wish it was easy but it's hard' dialogues too often sadly. Anaris and the Forgotten Ones' portrayal was underwhelming and anticlimactic which was disappointing. Harding is also very cute and her Titan plotline was the most interesting to me, I bawled my eyes out in her quest!! I love the dwarven lore of this universe I'm so happy we got more of it!! ( she also fucking died in my playthrough?! I was devastated what the hell 😭 'whatever it takes' WEUEUGHHHG I'M SO SORRY) Neve was a slow burn for me because of my choices in game slowing that relationship down ( saving Treviso I mean, perdón amor 🙏 ) but I love detective novels and she is such a badass I ended up loving her. Taash was unexpected, I didn't think they would be so young. The coming of age story was sweet, though I found myself cringing a lot too at the handling of it I have to admit ( and the Lords of Fortune in general, and the Antaam...and que Qun..listen- kajshfgf ) but I also enjoyed learning more about the first expedition and the Qunari in general despite the messy writing and choices. I also loved Antoine and Evka! and Strife! And I haven't even read any of the novels they are in 😆 also Mila!!!! and her dad oh my god and Felassan haunting the narrative!! speaking of haunting, I would have loved for Cole to be in the lighthouse too I think it would have worked well 🤔 especially with the whole 'reading Solas' secret diary' thing the game had going on lmao

Everyone seems to get along except for a bit of friction that is quickly resolved at the start, which is hmm missed potential? I would have preferred more tension personally. I enjoy the drama! gives me more to work with and gives you a better grasp on everyone's personality by contrasting values. I think they wanted to speed run a found family trope for the new hero to establish some emotional stakes early on but it ended up making everyone seem like a group therapy session instead. The group meetings also have everyone either state the obvious or repeat the same opinion or conclusion to each other, I would have loved these meetings to have more bickering, have people get mad and storm out and also get to listen to different takes on a situation. Make Rook struggle more to take the reins and keep the team functional, learning how to be a leader.

Speaking of Rook! ( who in my case has a northern British accent that I loved so much 🥺) They seem to have a very established personality. I was expecting more of a blank slate but I'm lucky that the personality they went for kind of matches what I would normally choose in a first playthrough. Though the lack of range in the choices is irritating and takes away some replayability and role playing potential. Rook is very supportive and selfless, I wasn't expecting this tbh! But it all made my Rook turn into the team's weird supportive necromancer mom so it worked out in the end I guess lmao. I can't wait to draw her!!

I was so overwhelmed by the amount of information we got about Solas and his past!! I was expecting answers but not these many and not for them to be such an integral part of the plot!! The game feels like it's about him more than anything else. His arc is the best written out of all. He is mentioned in every conversation, he's the main advisor and the narrative foil, you get to talk to him often, you work for him and with him and go into his memories it all feels so surreal to me lmao I love him so I'm delighted ngl! but also making the other Evanuris so cartoonishly evil makes Solas into such an obvious choice of an ally, god of trickery or not, that it sort of takes the decision out of your hands and makes some dialogue options and companions' opinions seem almost nonsensical. I have no idea how this game would feel to someone who absolutely hates Solas' guts honestly. I suppose I will find out soon enough 😆

About Solas' story, I loved it! I somehow also feel that I knew it already, all the speculation and theories that Solavellan fans were crafting for years were so accurate that it was all very validating. Even the wildest ones! Solas as the Maker, the elves spirit origin, Mythal giving him a body, the war with the Titans, the origin of the Blight, Solas being on your side as advisor, I can go on, we knew!! Also I have to mention this I'm sorry but they made him look so hot!! unbelievable. And the bloodied teary eyed pathetic look in the end ouurghhh I'm cheering and clapping!!

The romance conclusion was so lovely 😭 the Loki and Sigyn ending we deserved to such a mythological epic!! and open ended enough for all of us to cook!! and we got to see him fight and transform into the Dread Wolf!! and whimper and cry!! and bleed and love!! that's all I ever wanted, incredible we were really spoiled what the hell I still can't believe it 😭 GDL acting was brilliant as usual! the visuals were also incredible and exactly what I had in mind when I imagined where the story may go, the eclipse, the giant wolf, the glowing eyes, the Elvhenan ruins, the statues, even the hair lmao it all aligned exactly to what I've been painting all these years but better I was thrilled 😭

Solas backstory with Mythal also offers players that didn't romance him a chance to see him act out of love and show a side they wouldn't be able to reach otherwise and I think it was smart! also very tragic and sheds more light into all of his choices and words and his relationship with Lavellan too and the parallels and reversals and uughh thoroughly enjoying the emotional distress 👌

Pleasing both the Solas lovers and haters at the same time was always going to be hard with him being such a polarizing character by design and the world states being so different but I think they did a good job! at least from my side of things.

I think my favorite part besides the Solas related stuff was the Blight. I loved how horrific and gross and threatening it was! I've always loved the concept of the Blights and I'm glad it was such a huge part of the story in this game. I also loved Treviso!! has to be the most beautiful city in Thedas ahhh and the Necropolis!! the gardens!! Vorgoth!!! Kal-Sharok!!! I can't believe we got to see it!! and a Titan!!! the giant floating face of Ghilan'nain in the clouds??? and the huge archdemons and dragons!! oh and that warden dragon trap in the shape of a griffon?? and the giant blight tendrils!! the siege at Weisshaupt was outstanding!! and the floating panopticon castle situation in Minrathous uughh there is so much I loved.

OH I also enjoyed the Varric arc even though I saw it coming since the trailer it was still played well and it was touching 🥺

The ending felt a bit jarring to me in tone though, a bit too cheerful considering...the horrors. Over half the continent destroyed and most of the problems Thedas had before the game are still there. Veil in place and all 😆

But I had fun!! I'm nitpicking really, the conclusion to Solas' story feels very satisfying to me which was my main worry so I'm happy. It is a good game!! with a sort of soft reboot feel to it and aimed at a younger audience which is probably what they were going for? You can sort of feel the struggle the team went through during production in the way the target audience seems unclear sadly. I also can't help feeling like this is an ending, so much was revealed and resolved!! but maybe I feel that way because that is what I felt after Shadowbringers / Endwalker in FFXIV once my favorite part of the story was wrapped? They can always pivot to a new continent and expand on the world and cultures we know almost nothing about, but that is always harder to sell so I have no clue where they will go from here 😵‍💫

Anyway I'm still processing a lot of stuff that I will probably talk (and draw) about later, this is already long enough!! for now I'll look up how to get the artbook because the art direction of this game is fantastic!! I would love to hear your thoughts too really, I'm curious about the experiences of players who made different choices and with different tastes to mine!!

[flkwh0re]

Team Player

Pairing: Step-mom! Wanda Maximoff x Coach! Natasha Romanoff x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Age gap (Legal), Step-mom/Step-daughter relationship, Coach/Player relationship, Cheating, Manipulation(??), Threesome, Mommy Kink (W), Degrading, Spitting, Cum play(??), Fingering, Oral, Dom/Dom/Sub dynamic, Natasha has a penis, Unprotected sex, Brief breeding kink, Face riding

A/n: Love this dynamic, very odd unusual pairing tho 😭

Word count: 1,568

Today was the day of your final game of your college teams basketball game. You anxiously waited around for your dad to show, knowing he’d probably not. He always had some excuse like being busy at work, or having made plans already.

That was never the case though, it was always the fact that he was just pure lazy and didn’t give two fucks about you and the stuff you did.

It hurt you, it hurt you badly. Your step mom, Wanda, on the other hand was amazing. Stepping up to take his place any moment she could. You honestly didn’t believe how the woman married that man, but little did you know she only stayed for you.

Wanda had developed a small crush on you, then it grew. Anytime she watched one of your games, she’d have an aching throb between her thighs. Watching your skilled body move around the court, the sweat dripping down your body. The tone in your voice as you yelled at your teammates, trying to get their attention. You truly were the mvp of the team, and everyone adored you.

As you stood around by the door waiting for him, one of your teammates informed you that your couch wanted you in the locker room. You huffed and began to walk away from the entrance, until the door flew open. You craned your head around and there stood Wanda.

“Oh my god Wanda you made it!” You yelped as your arms flew around her body, your taller figure towering her. “I couldn’t miss my favorite girls final game, now could I?” She chuckled, earning a giggling and smile from you.

“I’d walk you to the gymnasium, but coach wants me. Plus the game starts soon, so I’ll see you after?” You asked. “Why don’t I come with you? I have something I wanna try on you.” She hummed, to which you shuddered and nodded with confusion.

What could she possibly want to try, were your thoughts while you two walked to the locker room. Her hand resting on your back, almost too close to your ass.

Once the two of you reached the locker room, you guided her into where your coach was. “Coach Romanoff?” You asked, the older woman turning around. “Oh hello Y/n, I needed to discuss some things with you before the game. Who’s this?” Natasha pointed to Wanda.

“Oh this is Wanda, my step-mom.” Wanda extended her hand to Natasha. “Nice to meet you..?” Wanda paused, “Natasha.” She responded. Wanda nodded, “Nice to meet you Natasha.” Natasha nodded and took her hand, “Like wise.”

After a while of Natasha discussing game plans with you, Wanda’s hands rested on your shoulders. Massaging the tense muscles. “Detka, you’re so tense. What’s wrong?” She quipped, and you nervously eyed the two women. “I- just nervous I guess.”

You lied as well as you could, you knew it wasn’t believable thought. It was hard to hide the fact you had a massive crush on your step-mom, alone with your coach. You knew it was wrong, all so very wrong.

Natasha and you messed around a couple times, quickly shutting it down when you two were almost caught by one of your teammates. You didn’t know that Wanda knew though.

She had caught you texting her multiple times about non-basketball related things, but chose not to say anything. She did feel rather protective of you, which is why she insisted on coming with you to see Nat before the game.

Wanda hummed, then glanced up at Natasha. “I know that’s not the reason, it’s because your step-mom’s hands are rubbing across your muscles and your filthy coach keeps eyeing you. Such a dirty girl you are.”

A gasp escaped your lips, Natasha eyes painfully trained on Wanda. “What do you mean by that, Wanda?” She asked sternly, her teeth gritted.

“Oh don’t act like a fool, I know that you know you get Y/n here to whore herself out to you.” Another gasped came from you, Wanda’s fingers found your lips and pushed past them.

“Hush you little slut, don’t you act surprised either.” Whimpers escaped your lips, a groan erupted from Natasha. Wanda laughed darkly, her fingers toying with your mouth.

“Why don’t we help you out before the game? We can’t have you this tense before the game, it is the final after all.” Wanda suggested, and Natasha thought for a second before agreeing.

Wanda retracted her fingers from your mouth, earning a whine from you. Her hands slide down to the hem of your jersey, pulling it over your head followed by your bra.

Her long fingers tugged at your perky nipples, using your spit that lingered on her fingers to wet them. Wanda looked up at Natasha, “Don’t just stand there, get over here.” Natasha hurriedly walked over to the bench, sitting down next to you.

Her lips attach to your nipple, biting and sucking. As she did this, Wanda’s hands worked at your tense arms and shoulders. It drove you crazy having your step-mom standing behind you, while your coach was latched to your nipple.

Natasha’s hands wandered across your stomach, tracing your abs. Her hand then slipped past the hem of your basketball shorts, teasing your clit through your soaked panties. Her mouth left your tit, capturing your lips.

Her tongue tangled with yours, and you were so caught up in the kiss you hadn’t noticed Wanda moving to sit on the opposite side of you. Wanda watched the two of you as Nat pumped her fingers into your pussy, and your tongues dancing with one another. She also hadn’t failed to realize the prominent bulge in Nat’s pants.

She kneeled down in front of Natasha, unbuckling her belt and tugging her pants down. Wanda’s hand rubbed Natasha through her boxers, causing her to groan into your mouth.

Wanda pulled her boxers down, her cock springing free from its restraints. Wanda admired the woman’s size, her hands pumped at Natasha cock a few times. Her tip leaked with pre-cum.

Wanda’s lips wrapped around the coach’s cock, sheathing her cock down her throat. The sight of Wanda sucking off your coach quickened the arrival of your orgasm. Nat removed her hands from your panties, making a show of her cleaning them off. Even having Wanda lick your arousal off them.

“C’mon baby, come help mommy suck your coach’s cock.” Wanda suggested, as she grabbed your hand leading you to kneel in front of Natasha. Your tongue ran down Natasha’s dick, as so did Wanda’s.

You both took turns sucking her off, but Natasha was most fond of the way Wanda pumped the base of her cock and sucked her balls, while you sucked the tip of her cock.

With one final squeeze at the base of her cock, Natasha’s cum spurted into your mouth, you taking everything she gave. “Open your mouth, let me see her cum in your mouth.” Wanda demanded, so you stuck your tongue out. “Spit it into my mouth.”

You complied, trying your best to spit Nat’s cum into her mouth. Once you did, Wanda’s lips latched to yours. Your lips moved hungry against each other, cum dripping down both of your mouths.

Natasha pulled you to your feet, pulling off your pants and panties then, onto her lap. Giving you a searing kiss on the lips. Wanda took hold of Natasha’s cock, guiding it to your pussy. As you sunk down on Natasha, you whined at her size.

She began to bounce you on her cock, while Wanda took your hand and guided you to her pussy. Natasha lips suckled at your nipples, her fingers dug into your hips. You tried your best to finger Wanda as well as possible, but Nat’s erratic pace made all thoughts in your head disappear.

“M’ gonna breed this little pussy.” Natasha husked against your chest, throwing all abilities to think out the door. “Here, come eat mommy out while Natasha fucks you.” Wanda spoke up, aching for her own release.

Natasha helped you lay down, spreading her legs and shoving her cock back into you. Wanda straddled your face, her pussy hovered over your mouth. Your tongue flattened out past your lips, and Wanda began using your tongue to get off.

Wanda and Natasha shared a kiss as they both used you to get them own orgasms. Wanda furiously rode your face, while Natasha’s pace became unsteady. Her cock twitched, then her cum spilt from her cock. Yours and Wanda’s orgasms following quickly behind.

You lapped at Wanda’s pussy, drinking up all of her arousal. Nat pulled her cock out of you, your hole clenching around nothing. You whine at the empty feeling. “Hush baby, you gotta get out of here quickly. The game is about to start.” Natasha said.

Wanda quickly hopped of your face, then helped you collect your clothing and redress. She pressed a quick kiss on your lips. “You do good out there and I’ll reward you later on. Okay?” She whispered in your ear and you nodded, then she sent you on your way.

“What did you say to her?” Natasha asked as her eyebrow cocked. “Don’t worry about it coach, you better get out there too.” Wanda teased, and they both slipped back into their clothes.

Your team winded up winning the game, and Wanda kept her promise. Natasha also followed along.

Masterlist

[astrologydray]

Underdeveloped Sun Signs in Astrology: The Shadow Side of Each Zodiac

Aries (March 21 – April 19)

Underdeveloped Aries acts like an impulsive toddler. Impulsive tantrums when they don’t get their way. Rushes into everything without thinking — relationships, careers, fights. Egotistical hero complex: Wants to “save” or “fight” even when nobody asked. Fear: “If I’m not first, I’m nothing.” Learning patience, strategy, and that strength isn’t loudness.

Taurus (April 20 – May 20)

Underdeveloped Taurus becomes a stubborn couch potato. Terrified of change, even when it’s necessary. Materialistic to the point of emptiness — obsessed with luxury but emotionally hollow. Lazy loyalty: stays in toxic friendships and jobs just because they’re familiar. Fear: “If I change, I’ll lose everything. Learning that true security comes from within, not outside comforts.

Gemini (May 21 – June 20)

Underdeveloped Gemini is a chaotic trickster. Talks a lot, says very little — empty words for attention. Chronic liar or exaggerator — reinvents themselves for every crowd. Easily bored, so leaves projects, people, and promises half-finished. Fear: “If I stay still too long, I’ll become irrelevant.” Mastering focus, integrity, and depth of thought.

Cancer (June 21 – July 22)

Underdeveloped Cancer is emotionally manipulative. Weaponizes emotions to guilt-trip others. Hyper-clingy, needs constant reassurance. Dwells endlessly in the past, unable to move forward. Fear: “If I’m not needed, I’m nobody.” Building emotional resilience and healthy detachment.

Leo (July 23 – August 22)

Underdeveloped Leo craves applause like oxygen. Attention-seeking theatrics: will create drama just to stay center stage. Arrogant and dismissive: believes they’re better than others without earning it. Validation addict: self-worth rises and falls with others’ opinions. Fear: “If I’m not adored, I don’t exist. Shining with genuine confidence instead of seeking hollow validation.

Virgo (August 23 – September 22)

Underdeveloped Virgo is a relentless critic. Nitpicks everyone and everything — including themselves. Paralyzed by perfectionism: won’t start projects unless they’re guaranteed to be flawless. Passive-aggressively resentful when others don’t meet their impossible standards. Fear: “If things aren’t perfect, they’re worthless.” Embracing compassion, flexibility, and trust in imperfection.

Libra (September 23 – October 22)

Underdeveloped Libra loses themselves in others. Chameleon syndrome: changes personality to fit whoever they’re with. Conflict avoidant to a toxic degree — will let problems fester rather than address them. People-pleaser at the cost of personal truth. Fear: “If I rock the boat, I’ll be alone. Developing authentic boundaries and courageous self-expression.

Scorpio (October 23 – November 21)

Underdeveloped Scorpio is a vengeful puppet master. Secretive to the point of paranoia — trusts no one, not even themselves. Manipulative power games: emotionally blackmails and tests loyalty constantly. Consumes itself with jealousy and grudges like poison. Fear: “If I’m vulnerable, I’ll be destroyed.” Learning trust, forgiveness, and the power of transformative vulnerability.

Sagittarius (November 22 – December 21)

Underdeveloped Sagittarius is a reckless preacher. Preaches wisdom they don’t live. Blind optimism: refuses to acknowledge problems until it’s too late. Irresponsible escapist: runs from anything that feels “too heavy” or limiting. Fear: “If I stay too long, I’ll be trapped.” Learning commitment, honest humility, and deeper wisdom beyond adventure.

Capricorn (December 22 – January 19)

Underdeveloped Capricorn is a cold-hearted climber. Sees people as stepping stones instead of relationships. Emotionally cut off: treats vulnerability like weakness. Obsessed with status but feels chronically empty even at the top. Fear: “If I’m not successful, I’m worthless.” Finding soulful success and reconnecting with emotional integrity.

Aquarius (January 20 – February 18)

Underdeveloped Aquarius is a detached rebel without a cause. Rebels for rebellion’s sake, not for real change. Emotionally aloof — treats feelings like an annoying glitch in the system. Thinks they’re intellectually superior and looks down on “common” people. Fear: “If I conform, I lose my uniqueness. Embracing true human connection and grounded activism.

Pisces (February 19 – March 20)

Underdeveloped Pisces is a lost dreamer. Escapes reality into fantasy, addiction, or martyrdom. Lacks boundaries and becomes a sponge for other people’s emotions and problems. Plays victim instead of claiming their power. Fear: “If I face the real world, I’ll be crushed.” Becoming a grounded visionary who can manifest dreams into reality.

[purplereina11]

In a match where the scoreboard tells only half the story, a fierce on-pitch rivalry between you and football royalty, Alexia Putellas, evolves into something electric — something unspoken, but deeply felt. Between the lines two players lock eyes, trade touches, and blur the line between competition and connection. What begins as a game becomes a gravity neither can resist.

Part 10 Other Parts

Word Count: 8k

The sun is barely climbing over the rooftops when you step out of the car, the soft hum of the engine fading behind you. The air is crisp, the early morning quiet except for the distant thud of a ball being struck somewhere across the facility grounds.

You smooth your palms over your thighs out of habit, then shove your hands into your hoodie pocket to keep them from fidgeting.

Your agent is already there, leaning against the low wall outside the entrance, phone in one hand, iced coffee in the other. She looks up as you approach and gives you a small, knowing smile.

“You look calm,” she says.

You snort, tugging your sleeve over your fingers. “That’s because I’m trying very hard to look calm.”

She straightens up and walks beside you toward the door. “It’s not a trial. You’re not being judged.”

“Feels like it.”

She glances sideways at you, her voice a little gentler now. “They want you here, remember that.”

You nod, but your stomach still feels like it’s been wound tight not because you're unsure of your own ability, you’ve played your way into these conversations. You’ve earned this, but this is Barcelona. The team all your coaches had always warned you about being giants of the game, and now you're stood here with an opportunity to join one of the greatest teams.

You stop just short of the glass doors, your hand hovering near the handle. You hover just outside the entrance to Barcelona’s training facility, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, the cool concrete beneath your sneakers grounding you more than you'd like to admit.

The building looms a little larger in person. Sleek. Clean. Familiar, in a way but not yours. Not yet.

“You ready?” she asks, offering a small, confident smile.

You force a breath out of your nose. “I think so.”

She studies you for a second. “You look ready.”

“I’m not.”

She laughs under her breath. “Good. You shouldn’t be. If you weren’t a little nervous, I’d be worried.”

You give her a sideways look. “That your pep talk?”

“That’s realism. Here’s the pep talk” she nudges your elbow, her voice quieter now. “You wouldn’t be here if they weren’t already sold on you. This isn’t an audition. It’s a conversation. Don’t try to impress them. Just be honest, be you.”

You nod slowly, the words helping a little, you glance at the door but still haven’t moved.

“Want another second?” she asks.

You hesitate, then shake your head. “If I wait any longer I’ll leave.”

She smirks. “Alright then. Showtime.”

You pull in one more deep breath, open the door, and step inside heart steady but loud in your chest.

⚽️

You’ve been in that meeting room with Pere and the Barcelona staff for what feels like hours numbers, contracts, development plans, strategy, potential. All of it fascinating. All of it a lot. Eventually, you’d excused yourself for the bathroom. Just a moment to breathe, to get out from under the weight of everyone’s attention.

On your way back, you turn the corner and there she is. Alexia. Wearing soft jeans and a cropped sweatshirt, a small tote slung over one shoulder. Casual. Effortless, but not by accident.

You freeze for a second, surprised. Not that she’s here you knew from the text she showed you yesterday that some of the players had been asked to come in. Still. Seeing her now, in the middle of all this, throws you more than you expect. She seems different somehow, more the Alexia you met on the pitch, not the one you've had in your home and the one in hers.

She sees the look on your face before you can mask it something caught between 'what the hell is happening' and 'why does it feel like everyone in this building knows more than I do'. You feel like you've gone from a big fish in a little pond, to a little fish in a big pond,

She stops in front of you, closing the gap when you hadn't, eyes searching yours for a beat. “You okay?” she asks, voice quiet.

You give a small laugh. “I don’t know. It’s a lot. I think my brain’s halfway through melting.”

She nods, like she understands more than she says. “They’re going to take you to another room, right?” she asks gently.

You nod. “To meet… whoever came in. Yeah.”

She smiles, just a little. “You already know one of them.”

You huff. “Right. You.”

There’s a beat, then, softer, not pushing, not assuming, but she can see how overwhelmed you are, she says, “We can go out for a drink later if you want, or when you come back to mine… we can just chill. Put on a movie. Order something. Hang by the pool, whatever. You don’t have to talk about any of this.”

You blink, you swallow around the lump in your throat, then nod once, gratefully. “Okay,” you say. “Yeah. That sounds really good. Anything other than how great I am and how great the club and I can be together, I feel like I'm being set up for a marriage or something”

Alexia actually laughs and for a moment, just a breath, the weight lifts, "They really want you here, we've been missing something the first half of the season and they really think you are that missing piece"

You raise an eyebrow. “No pressure, then.”

She shrugs, exaggeratedly casual. “Only a little. But hey… could be worse.”

You squint at her, lips twitching. “How?”

Her smirk curves, slow and deliberate. “Could be PSG. Or Lyon. Or wherever else is throwing money at you and pretending they know how to make paella.”

You laugh, the sound easing something tight in your chest.

“And besides…” she continues, stepping just a little closer, her voice softer now, playful but edged with sincerity, “if you came here… you’d already have a place to stay.”

Your eyes narrow suspiciously. “Are you offering to be my landlady now?”

“I’m offering to be… supportive,” she says, eyes glinting.

You raise a brow. “Supportive how?”

Alexia pretends to think. “You know. Late-night tactical analysis. Motivational playlist curation. Professional-grade post-match cuddles.”

You choke on a laugh, shoving her lightly with your shoulder.“Cuddles, huh?”

She shrugs, unapologetic. “Barça believes in a holistic approach.”

You’re still smiling when she steps back, just enough to keep it from slipping into something heavier.

“Come see the others,” she says, voice gentler again. “No pressure. Just... people who want you here. Me included.”

And even though you haven’t made any decisions yet, not officially you realise, as she starts walking toward the meeting room and glances back to make sure you’re following… she's the only thing your currently fully sold on.

You watch her walk a few steps ahead, confident and casual, as if this is the most natural thing in the world — as if you haven’t just spent the morning with your entire career hanging in the balance.

When she glances back to check that you're coming, you put one foot into the other and fall into step beside her. Down the hall, around the corner and then she opens a door.

You follow her inside.

The room’s warm, brighter than the one you’d just come from, the light spilling in from tall windows and bouncing off polished floors. It smells like coffee and fresh sweat and something distinctly familiar like locker rooms and match days and something that feels close to home.

A few players are already there some you know by name, others you’ve only faced on the pitch. Aitana’s sitting on the arm of a couch, gesturing animatedly mid-story. Patri's got her ankle resting on her opposite knee, arms crossed, watching with a half-smile. Ingrid looks up from her phone when you enter, and gives you a little wave.

You blink, caught off guard for a second not by who is here, but by how it feels. Relaxed. Not staged.

They’re not sitting in formation waiting to pitch the club like agents in disguise. They’re just… there, waiting for you. Like they want to be.

Aitana hops up first. “Finally,” she says, grinning. “We were starting to think they locked you in with the sporting director.”

Ingrid chuckles. “Or she ran off to Lyon.”

“I thought it was PSG,” Patri adds.

You snort, shaking your head. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Alexia gestures for you to sit, then sinks onto the armrest beside where you land. There’s a pause, a natural one, just a beat and then Aitana leans in, voice light but sincere.

“Look… we’re not here to convince you with a script or anything. We just wanted you to know. If you come, you'll thrive. You’ll have people here that we all agree you'll connect easily on the pitch.”

You meet Alexia’s eyes for a second, she doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t need to. You’re still not sure what your answer is, but this feels like the start of it.

Alexia slides down from the armrest and eases onto the sofa next to you, shoulder brushing yours just enough to feel deliberate. The warmth of her presence settles into your side like it’s been there a hundred times before.

You’re barely settled before the banter kicks off. “So,” Aitana says, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, “what’s it gonna take? Do we need to promise you free coffee for a year or... unlimited almond croissants?”

Ingrid raises an eyebrow. “She’s not signing with a bakery, Aitana.”

“I mean,” you grin, “if a bakery was making an offer, I might consider it.”

Patri laughs. “Great. We’ve lost her to carbs.”

“You see?” Aitana points at the group, mock-scandalised. “She gets it. She belongs here.”

“She hasn’t even agreed to anything yet,” Ingrid says with a smirk. “Calm down before you start stitching her name on the locker and scare her away coming on to strong”

Alexia, cool and quiet beside you, just smiles. “I’ll take care of that when the time comes.”

You glance at her, raising a brow. “Confident.”

She meets your gaze without flinching. “I don’t make offers I don’t intend to follow through on.”

That earns a few teasing ooohs from around the room. You duck your head, biting back a smile. “Is this what she's like in training?"

“Worse,” Ingrid deadpans.

“Much worse,” Patri agrees. “And louder.”

“But i'm fun,” Alexia adds, nudging you gently. “You’d survive.”

Aitana leans in again. “We’re not saying it’s perfect but she's a good captain I'll give her that”

The room goes quiet for a half-beat, the weight of her words hanging there not pressure, just honesty. Alexia shifts beside you, voice lower now, meant only for you. “And when you need a break from all that back there,” she nods subtly toward the boardroom you came from, “this is where you’d come, always someone in here.”

You look around the room the grins, the soft smiles, the way no one seems to be pretending. “I should get back,” you murmur. “They’ll think you lot kidnapped me.”

Alexia smirks. “I technically did.”

You stand, a few others offering playful goodbyes and exaggerated pleads to please sign already. You toss them a mock salute as you head for the door. As you step back into the corridor, the hush of the building hits you again the shift from warmth to formality just behind the walls.

You turn the corner and further down the hallway, you spot Mapi in conversation with Irene and beside them Mateo. He’s mid-wiggle, clearly bored of standing still, holding what looks like a half-eaten croissant in one hand and some kind of superhero action figure in the other.

He turns, spots you and lights up.

“Coco!” Before you can react, he’s sprinting little legs pumping, croissant forgotten, full beam on his face.

Your heart stutters, you bend instinctively, just in time to catch him as he launches himself into your arms. “Hey, buddy,” you laugh, steadying him as he hugs you with all the energy only a small child can summon.

“You came back,” he says, as if this was a personal promise you’d made to him specifically.

You glance up. Irene offers a soft smile, her arms crossed, watching the two of you. Mapi looks mildly amused, but doesn’t interrupt.

“I named you,” Mateo insists, still wrapped around your neck. “You’re Coco now because you gave me chocolate ice cream.”

You blink, the absurd sweetness of it hitting somewhere low in your chest. He pulls back just enough to look at you. “Right?”

And behind you, faintly from the room you just left someone calls out, “She’s getting recruited by a toddler now. This club’s pulling every angle.”

Mateo is still clinging to your neck, face beaming like the sun, when he suddenly pulls back with a gasp like he’s just remembered something critical.

“Oh!” he says urgently, small hands on your shoulders now, eyes wide. “Did you forget about our date?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Our... what?”

“Our date,” he repeats, very serious now, like this has been officially calendared. “I said about playing with my super cool toys, you promised, Coco.”

Irene muffles a laugh behind her hand. Mapi coughs, clearly pretending not to be deeply amused. You try and fail to keep a straight face. “I did?”

Mateo nods with the solemnity of a man making dinner reservations for two. “And I picked some toys out for us play already”

Your heart actually stumbles. “Right,” you say, lips twitching. “How could I forget?”

“You almost did,” he says gravely. “But it’s okay. I remembered for you.”

You’re about to respond when a familiar voice drifts from behind, “Careful, Coco,” Alexia calls, stepping out into the hall. “He’s already more convincing than half the board.”

Mateo perks up at the sound of her voice. “Alexia’s not invited,” he declares, turning to make it official. “It’s a date.”

Alexia raises both eyebrows at you, smirking. “Wow. Rejected by a three year old.”

“He said it’s a date,” you say, hands up in mock apology, Mateo nods firmly, still holding your hand.

Mateo still clinging to your hand like a tiny gatekeeper of your destiny when he turns back toward Alexia, eyes narrowed in the most dramatic, three year old kind of way .“You can’t come,” he announces again, pointing a finger at her like it’s law. “Coco is my friend.”

Alexia raises both hands, palms out in surrender, mock-offended. “Wow. Okay. Possessive much?”

Mateo steps slightly in front of you, like he’s protecting you from her now. “You always see her. I don’t.”

Irene tries and fails to contain her laugh. Mapi just looks amused in a we’ve completely lost control of this situation sort of way.

You grin and lean closer to Alexia, lowering your voice just enough that only she hears, “Is that jealousy again?”

She scoffs, but her smirk gives her away. “For a toddler?”

You shrug, teasing. “A very charming toddler. You should be worried.”

She gives you a long, sidelong look one that says I am, but not for the reasons you think before leaning in just enough to murmur back, “He’s not the only one who thinks you belong here.”

Your heart does a small, traitorous flip. Mateo tugs your hand again. “Come on, Coco. I’ll show you where I got my snack from.”

Alexia sighs dramatically. “He’s already stealing you away.”

You flash her a grin over your shoulder as Mateo drags you forward. “What can I say?” you call back. “The competition’s fierce in Barcelona. He has the guts to do something about it”

Alexia watches you go, shaking her head but that smile stays on her face a long time after you disappear down the hallway.

Mateo’s tugging your hand, when Irene gently steps forward, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Amor,” she says, soft but firm, “Y/N has a meeting now. An important one.”

Mateo slows to a stop and looks up at her, then back at you, frowning like he’s been gravely betrayed. “But we were gonna—”

You crouch down to his level, still holding his hand, and give it a gentle squeeze. “I know, mate. But I have to finish some boring grown-up stuff first.” He crosses his arms, lower lip sticking out in a classic pout. You lower your voice, conspiratorial. “But I promise I’ll come play with your toys. We’ll set it up, okay? I’ll talk to your mami. We’ll pick a day. Just us.”

He studies you, clearly weighing the sincerity in your voice like a tiny negotiator. After a long moment, he finally nods once, very serious, “Okay. But you can’t forget again.”

“I won’t,” you say, holding up a pinky. “Swear on ice cream with sprinkles.”

He hooks his little finger around yours, solemn as anything. Deal sealed. As Irene gently guides him back down the hallway, you stand and glance back just in time to catch Alexia watching with a look on her face that’s hard to name.

⚽️

You walk back through the front door of Alexia’s house, the quiet of the evening wrapping around you, before you can even get your shoes off, Teddy comes bounding down the stairs to greet you, tail wagging furiously as he jumps up to say hello.

“Hey, buddy!” you laugh, kneeling down to scratch behind his ears. “Did you miss me? I know i’m sorry i didn’t think i’d be so long”

He barks excitedly, practically vibrating with energy, as he hops around your feet. You give him one last affectionate pat before he dashes back up the stairs, eager to show you that was where Alexia is.

You take your time heading up, the weight of the day starting to sink in. The house feels warm, quiet, a little slice of calm. You reach the top of the stairs and stop outside Alexia’s bedroom, leaning against the doorframe.

Inside, she’s propped up in bed, reading a book by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. She looks up as you enter, her eyes flicking from the book to you, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

“You look tired,” she murmurs, her voice soft. She pats the space next to her on the bed.

You grin, leaning against the doorframe, feeling the weight of the day on your shoulders. “Long day,” you reply with a small sigh. “A lot of decisions.”

Alexia raises an eyebrow, then pats the bed again, a teasing smile appearing. “Come here. Just for a bit. No football talk I promise.”

You hesitate for a second, but her warmth is inviting, and the idea of just sitting in the calm of her room, even for a moment, feels good. You push off the doorframe slowly, feet dragging just a little as you cross the room, feeling the ache of the day settle deeper now that you’re finally in the quiet. Alexia watches you without a word at first, her book forgotten at her side, a softness in her expression that you don’t think she realises is there.

Teddy beats you to the bed, leaping up like he owns the place which, given how often you’ve both crashed here lately, might as well be true. He circles at the foot of the bed, settles, then promptly stretches out until he’s pressed against your legs when you sit down.

Alexia’s head tilts as she watches the two of you, a lazy smile tugging at her mouth. “He’s getting bold. Must feel comfortable here now.”

You laugh under your breath. “Yeah, well. He’s not the only one getting too comfortable.”

Alexia chuckles softly at that, but doesn’t deny it. She shifts, her shoulder brushing yours for just a moment as she turns slightly to face you, pulling the blanket up over both your legs like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?” Alexia murmurs, voice low, gentle.

You let your head drop back against the headboard with a sigh. “Just… everything. The clubs. The offers. It’s a lot.”

She hums, thoughtful. “But you already know what you want, don’t you?”

You glance at her sideways, lips twitching. “Maybe.”

She grins. “Liar.” You laugh, letting your eyes close briefly, the smile still on your face. “So what do I need to do to tip the scales?” Alexia teases after a long beat of silence, her tone lighter, laced with something softer underneath.

You peek an eye open at her. “What, you volunteering as official Barcelona recruiter now?”

“Someone’s got to step up,” she fires back easily, giving you a little nudge with her shoulder. “They clearly didn't seal the deal today. If they were serious, they’d have sent me into the boardroom.”

You scoff. “You think you’d have sealed the deal?”

Alexia’s smirk turns slow, dangerous. “I know I would.”

It’s playful, but there’s something humming underneath it now the kind of teasing that feels closer, heavier, like it might tip over into something else if you let it. You grin, shaking your head, trying to play it off. “Dangerous levels of confidence.”

She shrugs like it’s nothing. “I’ve been told.” And then, her smile twists into something smug, knowing. “So…” she starts, voice syrup-slow, stretching it out deliberately. “Are you exclusively into your coaches’ daughters, or does your interest widen to players too?”

You actually choke on your breath, caught so off guard it makes her laugh, soft but wicked. “Wow,” you manage, rubbing a hand down your face, both flustered and trying very hard not to show it. “You’ve been waiting to throw that one out, haven’t you?”

Alexia leans in just enough that you can feel the warmth of her against your side, her grin all teeth now, eyes glinting. “Maybe,” she says. “Kika an Ellie weren't discussing it very quietly.”

You shake your head, cheeks warm, trying not to laugh as you groan into your hands, “Unbelievable.”

“I’m just saying,” she continues, merciless now, “Barcelona has a history of… very persuasive players.”

You glance over at her, caught somewhere between exasperated and charmed. “Is this part of the official pitch?”

She shrugs, settling back, her smirk lingering. “Off the record.”

You laugh, the tension in your chest finally cracking, falling away into something easier. You lean your head back again, letting the quiet settle in once more. Teddy sighs dramatically at your feet, clearly over both of you. “You’re trouble, Putellas,” you murmur, eyes half-lidded.

You stare up at the ceiling for a long moment, letting the silence stretch, but your mind is anything but still.

You tilt your head toward her, voice low, lazy, but edged with something more intentional now. “Ironic, though… you saying you’d have sealed the deal by now.”

Alexia hums, pretending to focus on her book again, but you catch the flicker of a smile she tries to hide. “Yeah?” she murmurs, pretending innocence.

You let your gaze linger on her now, slower, less guarded. “Yeah,” you say quietly, letting the weight of your words settle. “Considering I’ve been pretty openly waiting for you to make a move.”

That makes her pause. Her fingers still where they toyed with the edge of the page, and for a beat, she doesn’t look at you, but you see the corners of her mouth twitch, like you’ve both stepped over an invisible line neither of you have dared cross until now.

“Oh,” she says finally, glancing at you from the corner of her eye, playing it cool but you see the flush that creeps just under the surface. “Is that right?”

You nod once, slow, letting her feel the honesty in it. “Pretty obvious, I thought.”

Alexia exhales a quiet laugh, leaning back into the pillows like she’s still pretending to play it casual, but you don’t miss the way her throat moves as she swallows. “Well…” she says softly, voice dipping lower now, more intimate, like the air in the room just got heavier. “Maybe I was giving you space to figure out if you actually wanted Barcelona… or just… certain players.”

You smirk at that. “You mean certain captains?”

Alexia lets out a soft, breathy laugh, finally turning fully toward you now, eyes meeting yours in the dim light, and this time there’s no hiding what’s in them. “Maybe I like to see someone work for it a little,” she murmurs.

You laugh, shaking your head. “Brutal.”

She shrugs, but the playfulness is thick now, layered over something warmer, heavier. “You still haven’t given me your final answer,” she adds, but there’s a teasing tilt to her tone now, like you both know she’s not just talking about football anymore.

You hold her gaze for a beat longer than necessary, the pull between you electric and thick in the stillness of the room. “Maybe I’m still waiting on the official offer,” you say, voice dipping lower.

Alexia’s eyes flick down to your mouth for just a heartbeat before she smirks again, softer this time, and leans back like she’s letting you stew in it a little longer as her book is put on the nightstand. “Maybe you’ll get it,” she whispers. “If you’re patient.” And with that, she pulls the blanket up, settling deeper into the bed like she hasn’t just knocked the air right out of your lungs.

You sit there for a few more moments, the weight of what was and very much wasn’t said still hanging between you, thick and heavy in the quiet of the room. Alexia watches you, expression unreadable now, eyes softer but still carrying that teasing glint.

Eventually, you let out a breath and stretch, the movement slow and deliberate as you peel yourself out from under the blanket. “Alright,” you say, forcing your tone back to light, even though you feel anything but. “I should let you sleep.”

You move to stand, brushing your hand casually over Teddy’s head as he lets out a content sigh, completely oblivious to the slow burn playing out above him.

“Goodnight, Alexia.”

You turn to leave, but before you can even make it to the doorway, her voice cuts through the stillness quieter now, but laced with something heavier. “Where are you going?” she asks, soft, but there’s an edge to it now. Like she already knows the answer but can’t help herself.

You glance back over your shoulder, giving her your best innocent smile, even though you know your eyes are giving you away. “To bed,” you say smoothly, pausing in the doorway just long enough to let the silence pull tight. “To be patient… apparently.”

Alexia blinks at that, and for a split second, you catch the flush rise in her cheeks before she laughs under her breath and shakes her head at you, like you’ve managed to flip the game on her, just a little, “Touché,” she murmurs, but there’s no hiding the warmth in her voice now, or the way her gaze lingers on you just a bit too long.

You grin to yourself as you turn fully, padding down the hallway toward the guest room, your heart thudding in your chest. Patience never felt so dangerous.

⚽️

The morning light creeps in too early, filtering through the thin curtains of the guest room, but you’re already awake.

You’d been awake for a while, really tossing and turning, brain refusing to slow down. Replay after replay of last night. Of the way Alexia looked at you. Of the things you both didn’t say out loud, but left hanging in the air like a loaded question.

Teddy is sprawled on the floor, snoring softly, completely at ease, which is more than you can say for yourself.

You rub at your face, exhaling into the quiet and that’s when you hear it a soft knock. You blink, caught off guard. You glance at the clock. Early. Too early for anything to be casual. Another knock, even quieter this time.

When the door cracks open, there she is. Alexia. Messy hair, oversized hoodie, shorts peeking out beneath the hem. She’s hugging her arms around herself like she wasn’t sure she was actually going to knock until she was already standing here.

you frown softly, confused. “Everything okay?”

She lingers in the doorway, awkward, she shrugs, but it’s forced, and when she finally meets your eyes, there’s something vulnerable there you weren’t expecting.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she says, almost like she’s admitting defeat.

You search her face. “You want a drink?”

She shakes her head once, quick. “No. I… I just…” She huffs out a breath, frustration at herself clear now. “Can I—? Can I just…”

She doesn’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t have to. You pat the space beside you without needing more explanation.

Alexia pauses only to close the door behind her, then stands there for a moment, still hugging herself like she’s debating if she’s gone too far, crossed too many lines at once.

You tilt your head. “You okay?”

She lets out a breathy laugh, but it’s thin, almost sheepish. “No. Yes. I don’t know.”

You soften at that. “Come here.”

That’s all it takes. She crosses the room quickly this time, crawling onto the bed without hesitation now, like if she slows down, she might overthink it and bolt. She settles into the space beside you, tentative at first, but when you lift the blanket, she slides in like she’s been doing it forever.

It’s quiet again, only this time it’s different, her head finds your shoulder, hand brushing your stomach lightly like she’s testing the water.

You can feel the tension bleeding out of her slowly, as if she’s finally letting herself lean into the comfort she usually walls off.

“This is dangerous,” you murmur into her hair after a few heartbeats of silence.

She hums. “Yeah. I know.”

You swallow thickly, the weight of her pressed against you sending your heart into overdrive. For a while, neither of you says anything. It’s soft, still, intimate in a way that speaks louder than words.

“If you had a bad dream you only have to say, I'll protect you from the monsters” you joke.

Alexia lets out a soft laugh against your skin, her breath warm where it touches your collarbone. “No” she whispers, voice barely there now. “No bad dream”

And just like that the last thread of pretence snaps, her hand slides up your side, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt, grounding herself, grounding you. “Alexia…” you murmur, warning and want tangled together.

She looks up at you then, and everything that’s been simmering between you is there, raw and unspoken in her gaze.

You notice it before she says anything.

The way she subtly shifts her neck, rolls her shoulders like she’s trying to work out something tight, but failing. You see the little winces she tries to hide, the stiffness in the way she adjusts under the blanket.

You brush your hand lightly over her shoulder, feather-soft, testing. “You’re tense.”

“I’m fine,” she says too quickly

You huff a soft laugh. “You’re a terrible liar, Alexia.”

She groans quietly into the fabric of your shirt as she buries her face but doesn’t deny it.

“You want me to help?” you offer, gentle, giving her the space to say no even though you can already feel her wavering.

“I’m okay,” she mumbles again, but it’s weaker this time. You feel her body giving herself away more than her words.

You smile, waiting her out, fingers brushing softly over the nape of her neck. She caves first, predictably. “…Maybe,” she grumbles finally, like it costs her pride just to admit it.

You grin, leaning down so your breath ghosts over her ear. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

She huffs again, but this time it sounds more like a laugh. Reluctantly, Alexia rolls onto her stomach, the blanket pooling low around her waist. She stretches out, arms folded under the pillow, her hair tumbling loose across her back. She tenses again when your hands gently sweep the strands aside.

“Take your shirt off,” you say, soft, careful, but there’s no teasing now just sincerity. “You’ll feel it better.”

She hesitates for a breath, but then leans up enough to peel the hoodie over her head, tossing it somewhere beside the bed. She pauses with the shirt, glancing back at you like she’s giving you one last chance to change your mind. To change her own mind.

You don’t. She doesn't.

She pulls it off slowly, exposing the smooth expanse of her back, the soft curve of her spine, and all that ink that you’ve caught glimpses of before, but never like this.

Your breath catches slightly, unprepared for how much seeing her like this, bare, vulnerable, open would punch the air right out of your lungs.

Her tattoos stretch and shift with every subtle movement, each one telling a story she never quite lets anyone read up close.

You settle carefully, straddling the backs of her thighs, keeping enough space not to overwhelm her, but close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off her skin.

Your hands hover above her back for a second longer than necessary, your gaze trailing the ink as your fingers finally, carefully, make contact. Her skin is warm, soft, the tension sitting in the knots of her shoulders almost immediately under your touch.

She shivers slightly when your palms glide over her shoulder blades, not from cold but from something else neither of you names.

“Jesus, Al” you murmur as you feel just how tight the muscles are under your fingertips. “You’re more tense than I thought.” Little did you know you were the reason for most of it, her being half naked and you touching her in ways she'd only envisioned before.

“Told you I was fine,” she mumbles into the pillow, but you can hear the slight strain in her voice now.

"Clearly a lie" You start working slowly, carefully, thumbs pressing deep into the muscle, finding the tight knots and coaxing them loose, feeling the way her body tries to resist at first, and then finally starts to yield.

Your fingers follow the trail of her tattoos, tracing them unintentionally, like your hands are memorising more than just tension. Neither of you speaks for a long stretch.

The only sounds in the room are your quiet breathing, the occasional soft hum from Alexia when your hands hit a particularly sore spot, and the faint rustle of the sheets beneath you both.

The atmosphere is thick, heavy with something that hangs unsaid and maybe Alexia feels it too, because after a long silence, she finally lets out a breath that sounds a lot like surrender.

“…You’re dangerous,” she mumbles into the pillow.

You smile softly, still working over the knot in her shoulder. “Takes one to know one.”

Her laugh is low, muffled, and when she finally tilts her head to glance at you over her shoulder, her eyes are softer than you’ve ever seen them.

You keep working in slow, steady circles, fingers pressing deep into the tightness beneath her skin, but your touch softens now, lingering longer than strictly necessary.

Alexia breathes out a low sound not quite a sigh, not quite a moan, but something in between that makes your pulse jump in your throat.

Your thumbs brush over the dip at her lower back, feeling the way she shivers slightly beneath you. Her skin is impossibly warm, the rise and fall of her back slow and heavy now, like she’s finally giving into the weight of your hands and maybe it’s the early morning haze, or the tension that’s been simmering too long between you both but you push your luck.

Without overthinking it, you lean down, softly at first, a gentle brush of your lips against the curve of her shoulder, barely there, more breath than kiss.

Alexia tenses, but only for a second. Then you feel her sink back into the touch like she’s daring you to keep going.

So you do.

You trail another kiss, slow, just below the line of one of her tattoos. Then another, a little closer to her neck this time, feeling the way her breath catches when your lips linger just a moment longer.

Her head turns slightly into the pillow, exposing more of her neck to you now like she’s not going to say it out loud but she’s giving you permission.

“You’re pushing your luck,” she murmurs, voice thick, low, but there’s no real warning in it. It’s a challenge she's hoping you'll take. A crack in her usual iron wall.

You smile against her skin, letting your lips hover there, your breath warm over the sensitive spot just below her ear. “Maybe I am,” you whisper back. “Maybe you like it.”

Her breath is shaky now, her hands curling into the sheets beneath her as you let your mouth explore her neck and still she doesn’t stop you. Her body tells you everything her mouth refuses to.

Your hands slide lower, palms smoothing over the small of her back, not pushing, just grounding, feeling the way she arches slightly into you. Her body instinctively searched for the contact, you obey kissing between her shoulder blades as your fingers wander bumping over her abs and unintentionally grazing the underside of her breasts as you caressed her soft skin.

The air between you is thick, electric now, no more teasing just weight. Just heat. Just the way your name would sound on her lips if she finally let herself say it the way you both want.

You lean in again, trailing one last kiss along her spine, slow, deliberate, tasting the skin there like a promise and Alexia exhales like you’ve stolen all the air from her lungs.

It’s feels like a loaded spring, coiled tight, waiting for someone anyone to make that move, you swallow, your hands still resting over the curve of her lower back, your thumbs brushing over her bare skin.

“Alexia…” you murmur, almost a warning, almost a plea.

She turns her head toward you properly this time, eyes dark, unreadable, but there’s no hesitation in the way she looks at you now. All that bravado, all the teasing and deflecting, stripped away until there’s only this raw, quiet honesty sitting between you.

Her gaze drops to your mouth. Lingers there and that’s it, that’s the thing that snaps the fragile thread holding you both back.

You shift your weight forward, slowly at first, giving her one last chance to pull away, to shut it down. She doesn’t. She meets you halfway, her mouth finds yours in a kiss that’s nothing like the teasing, controlled games you’ve been playing all week. It’s messy, breathless, aching with everything that’s been building under the surface. There’s no patience left. No walls. Just the desperate crash of mouths, the scrape of teeth, the way her body turns underneath you, hands finally reach for you, dragging you down fully against her.

You groan into her mouth, feeling the way she arches up into you, like she’s been starving for this just as much as you have.

“Finally,” she mutters against your lips, breath hot, voice wrecked now, all the smoothness stripped from it.

You smile into the kiss, your hand sliding up her side, feeling every inch of her, taking hold of her breast, “I was to be patient, remember?”

She laughs, breathless, but it turns into a soft gasp when your mouth finds her neck again, kissing, tasting, letting yourself sink into her properly now.

Her hands tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, her breath ragged in your ear as she lets herself fall apart beneath you.

You've been dancing around this moment for what feels like forever, and now that it's here, it's all you can do not to devour her whole.

Her breath hitches as your fingers trace the line of her collarbone, then drift lower to the swell of her breasts. She arches into your touch, the air thickening with want. You lean in, capturing her mouth with yours in a kiss that's been brewing for days, weeks, maybe even longer. It's messy and hungry, all the pent-up frustration and desire spilling out between you.

Your hands roam her body as if it's a map you've been dying to explore, while her own fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer. The room is a blur of soft light and shadow, the only thing that matters the heat of her skin and the sweet taste of her mouth. You break the kiss to explore her neck, feeling the tremble of her pulse beneath your lips as your teeth graze her sensitive skin.

Her breathy moan fills the room as you move down, your mouth finding her breasts. You tease her nipples, rolling them between your fingers as your tongue darts out to taste her. She gasps your name, her body writhing beneath yours. The anticipation has turned to urgency, the gentle strokes of your hand turning into something more demanding. You feel her wetness through her underwear, and it's all you can do not to rip them off and dive into her fully. You ease her back onto the bed, your kisses following the line of her abdomen until you reach the juncture of her thighs. The scent of her arousal fills the air, driving you wild.

You kiss along the inside of her thighs, your hands gripping her hips to keep her still as she tries to buck against you. Your tongue darts out to trace the edge of her panties, making her quiver. You can feel the heat emanating from her, the way her muscles tighten in anticipation. With a final teasing kiss, you pull the fabric aside and taste her, her sweetness making your senses reel. She cries out, her hands reaching for your head, her hips lifting to meet your eager mouth.

Alexia's legs spread wider, giving you full access to her most intimate parts. Your tongue delves into her folds, exploring her with a hunger that's been building for far too long. Her hands are in your hair now, holding you to her, as you lick and suck with an intensity that's unbridled. Her moans crescendo, her breath coming in ragged pants as you bring her closer to the edge. You feel her tense, her legs quivering, and you know she's almost there.

With one hand, you slip two fingers inside her, curling them in the way you hoped she’d like. Her body clamps down around you as she starts to come, her moans turning to whimpers of pleasure. You don't stop, instead pushing her harder, feeling her climax wash over her in waves until she's trembling and panting beneath you. You kiss your way back up her body, her taste still on your lips, her eyes glazed with passion as she looks at you.

The air in the room is still thick, heavy with everything that just happened everything that had been simmering for weeks, months, finally spilling over the edge.

The sheets are tangled, bodies loose and sated, the frantic edge replaced by something softer now. Your breath finally evens out, but your heart still hasn’t quite caught up. Alexia is quiet beside you, stretched out on her stomach, head turned toward you, hair messy and spilling over the pillow.

For a while, neither of you says anything. It’s not awkward. It’s something else. Fragile, intimate in a way that feels almost more dangerous than the kissing, the touching, the heat.

You let your fingers trace lazy lines over the curve of her spine, following some the ink you memorised by touch first and now by sight in the early morning light.

She doesn’t stop you, in fact, she leans into it, her body soft and relaxed now, the walls she usually wears like armour nowhere in sight.

“You okay?” you murmur finally, your voice still rough from all of it.

She hums, but it’s soft, almost shy. “Yeah.”

You watch her for a beat longer, taking in the flushed skin of her cheeks, the swollen curve of her lips. You smile, small but real. “That was… unexpected.”

She laughs quietly, burying her face into the pillow for a second, and for a rare, rare moment she lets you see her flustered. “I think we’re past pretending it hasn’t been on the table for a while,” she says finally, muffled into the pillow.

You laugh softly, letting your hand rest at the small of her back, thumb brushing there in slow circles. “You think?”

She finally looks at you fully now, eyes still soft but clearer, like she’s grounded again. “It’s different now, though,” she says, and there’s no tease this time. “No going back.”

You nod, serious now. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

She holds your gaze, something quiet but heavy sitting between you, not fear exactly, but the weight of what it means. For her. For you. For everything that could be complicated now, but instead of pulling away like you half-expect, she shifts closer, sliding her arm lazily across your waist, tucking herself against you without saying more.

You feel your heart squeeze, comfortable silence settles again, softer this time, the kind that comes after a truth you’ve both stopped running from. Alexia breaks it eventually, voice low, teasing but edged with something more vulnerable underneath. “…So, do I get the exclusive now? Or are you still holding out for more coaches’ daughters?”

You groan, laughing into your hand. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Nope.” She grins into your skin, smug now, but her hand tightens gently on your waist, grounding you both. “But I’m also not sharing.”

You turn your head, pressing a kiss into her hair, lingering there “Good," you whisper. “Because neither am I.”

[wonderlandwalker]

Developments pt. II: Exposure | Steve Harrington x reader

𝐩𝐭. 𝐈 / 𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 / 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱

summary: what happens when everything and nothing changes, when your world is at the edge of annihilation, and Steve is studying the phenomenon.

word count: 5.6k

tags / content warnings: more cockblocking I can't help myself, hurt/comfort if you squint, mdni, smut, my limited vocabulary trying its hardest to not sound repetitive, Dutch expressions that probably don't actually exist in English but do now

a/n: my life may be falling apart but at least there's still fictional men and reblog reactions that make me smile, hopefully this lives up to its precursor I fear I might be losing braincells

The past few days have been... strange. Not in any dramatic, earth-shattering way, but in the quiet, unsettling manner of a clock suddenly ticking out of rhythm—the kind of change you feel in your bones before your mind can articulate it.

Not bad.

Not heart-breaking.

Not even awkward, really—no stilted conversations filled with painful pauses, no forced laughter ringing hollow between you.

No, this was something quieter.

Something more unnerving in its subtlety.

Diffidence.

Which was ridiculous. Infuriating. A cosmic joke of the cruellest variety.

Because just seventy-two hours earlier, Steve Harrington had pressed you into his mattress with the reverence of a worshipper at an altar, his confessions spilling against your throat like secrets too sacred for this world. And you’d kissed him back with equal desperation, nails scraping down his spine as he moved over you, his name leaving your lips over and over and over like a mockingbird discovering its new favourite melody. The morning after, he’d made you pancakes—slightly charred, just the way you liked them—and watched you eat with this soft, dazed expression, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

It had been effortless. Natural. Like you'd been doing this for years instead of hours. And then—

Nothing.

No lingering touches in the hall—no casual brush of fingers that lingered just a heartbeat too long. No warm palm settling against the small of your back to guide you through doorways. No stolen kisses behind the Family Video counter, breathless moments between the VHS racks where he'd crowd you against the shelves, his lips finding yours in the shadows between customers.

Just... Steve.

The same Steve who still drove you home without being asked, even when it was twenty minutes out of his way. Steve, who still passed you the last slice of pizza without hesitation, who still remembered to grab your favourite candy bar when he stopped for gas. Steve, who still looked at you like you'd hung the goddamn stars—only now there was something newly cautious in his gaze, something fragile and measured, like he was afraid of being crushed beneath their celestial weight.

The Waterloo of it existed in the way you understood. Able to read the fractures in his composure like Braille beneath your fingertips—how his confidence splinters under pressure like thin ice trying to bear an ever-growing weight. His smirk just a fraction too tight when he was worried and his jokes landing a beat too quick when he deflects. Because for all his effortless charm, all that golden-boy popularity that came so naturally to him, Steve Harrington approached love like a penitent approaching communion, all-consuming, self-immolating, giving until he was hollowed out—like it was something to be earned through blood and sacrifice, something he had to deserve. 

And now? Now he looked at you like you were both the salvation and the executioner. Like loving you was a game of Russian roulette where he'd already spun the chamber five times and survived, and this last shot awaits. You could see the calculation in his eyes—the gambler's dilemma. Go all in; sign his soul over without reservation? Or fold now, walking away while he can still pretend his heart is intact? You knew it from the way his hands hovered near yours but never quite touched, fingers twitching with the ghost of a caress he wouldn’t allow himself. You saw it in the careful distance he maintained, the space between you measured like a man navigating a minefield—every step a potential detonation. He’d chosen to love you; that much was undeniable. But you also knew the gambit had already been made, that he didn’t know how to let himself be loved in return. Not when every instinct in him screamed that good things were borrowed, not kept, and that happiness was just the prelude to loss.

So he waited.

And you waited.

The two of you balanced on the knife’s edge between the leap of faith and the fall.

This wasn’t rejection.

This wasn’t regret.

This was Beckettian limbo. Waiting for Godot in a mall parking lot, watching shadows lengthen as hope curdled into something bittersweet. The agony wasn't in the absence of answers but in the infinite possibilities each unanswered question contained—was he giving you space or creating distance? Was this patience or retreat?

Was he waiting for you to run?

Was he waiting for some invisible string to be pulled?

Was he already running himself?

You were this close to convincing yourself it had all been in your head—that the tension between you was just another ghost you’d conjured out of want and wishful thinking. You’d almost swallowed the lie whole.

Until Eddie Munson—bedlam incarnate, meddler of divine proportions—reached between you like a thief in the night and yanked the pin from your stalemate grenade.

It happened like this:

Robin, in her infinite wisdom (or more accurately, in her current state of sugar-deprived hysteria that has her vibrating in place like a hummingbird on espresso), practically launches Eddie toward the back room of Family Video with a desperate whine that borders on ultrasonic. Her fingers twitching toward the empty candy wrapper on the counter like a junkie eyeing their last hit. "I know he stashed candy bars back there. Find it, Munson, or so help me God—” The threat loses impact when she punctuates it by nearly face-planting into the counter. And Eddie, ever the chaotic neutral force in your lives, obliges, sweeping toward the employee area with all the gravitas of a man marching to the gallows.

The locker is... depressingly empty, because Steve Harrington has the organisational skills of a concussed squirrel. The interior looks like a tornado swept through a TJ Maxx clearance aisle—a single spare vest (slightly wrinkled, probably from that time he used it as a pillow during his lunch break—"It’s ergonomic!" he’d insisted, as if that made any sense at all), a half-empty bottle of cologne he no longer wore (”I needed to test drive it!” He’d argued when confronted, as if his "signature scent" was a goddamn Camaro he could take for a spin around the block), and—aha— the coveted candy bar. A king-sized Snickers slightly melted from being forgotten in the summer heat, wedged behind a mint condition (clearly unread) copy of "Employee Conduct Guidelines". Eddie’s about to declare victory and return to Robin’s good graces (or at least avoid another plastic fork ambush—seriously, that shit stings) when a small, glossy rectangle flutters to the ground. It drifts down with all the grace of a falling feather, spinning lazily like it’s got nowhere urgent to be (which would be poetic, if it wasn’t about to detonate his life like a stray missile in a china shop)

His stupid monkey brain—always curious, never helpful—screams at him to pick it up. Logic, self-preservation, and approximately three seconds of common sense lose the battle to sheer, self-destructive instinct.

So he does.

And—

Oh.

Eddie’s higher brain functions short-circuit, neurones firing and fizzling out behind his eyes like a busted string of Christmas lights.

Shit.

It’s one of those Polaroids.

The kind you’d been strategically hiding for Steve, who, for all his alleged detective skills, somehow hadn’t managed to uncover this particular landmine.

And there it is, staring up at him in damning, saturated colour: a snapshot of bare skin bathed in low light, the smooth curve of your waist disappearing under rumpled sheets that Eddie suddenly, violently, wishes he could shred with his teeth. And your eyes—Christ, that look—something so utterly foreign to him that his pulse stutters like a misfiring engine. It’s the kind of look that makes him think, for one delirious second, about dropping to his knees and taking up religion—because surely this is divine retribution.

Maybe he’d been a war criminal in a past life.

Maybe this was karma for swiping that pack of gum when he was eight.

Or maybe God was just an arsehole with a particularly fucked-up sense of humour, sitting up there on his cloud and cackling as Eddie’s soul left his body in slow motion.

He should burn it.

He should eat it.

He should—

But then—because this mystery deity apparently finds his suffering hilarious—the break room door groans open with a creak so nerve-shreddingly ominous it sounds like nails dragged across a chalkboard. You and Steve walk in mid-conversation, shoulders brushing, laughing about something undoubtedly stupid—completely unaware that Eddie's world has just tilted on its goddamn axis like a bored kid shaking a snow globe. The kind of violent, nauseating tilt that sends all his internal organs sloshing against his ribs. He should shove the photo back in the locker. He should pretend he never saw it. He should let Steve find it himself later—preferably when Eddie is at minimum three state lines away, maybe starting a new life as a goat farmer in Vermont.

But he doesn't. Because while Eddie's charisma stat might be maxed out, his wisdom score has always hovered somewhere between "questionable" and "actively self-destructive". So he stands there, frozen like a bug in amber, a bee drowning in golden honey—Polaroid welded to his stupid, traitorous fingers—as you finally register his presence. Steve follows your line of sight a beat later, and oh fuck, this is bad.

In all the time you've known each other, Eddie's been rudimentarily brash, crude, and gloriously callow. Now? Every single shred of his DNA seems to have been rewritten overnight. Someone's taken the Eddie Munson operating manual and hit select all → delete.

"Uh," he says, brilliantly eloquent. His eyes perform a frantic tennis match between the incriminating photo in his hand, the dangerous twitch of curiosity at the corner of your mouth, the frankly unfair amount of exposed skin your summer clothes display (making his fingers spasm like wanting to reach for the forbidden fruit of Eden itself), and Steve's expression, which has gone so arctic that Eddie can actually feel the frost forming on his own eyelashes from across the room.

Here's the thing: Steve genuinely couldn't give less of a shit about Eddie rifling through his locker. Hell, he uses the thing so sporadically he'd be shocked if there was anything in there worth stealing. But the way Eddie's looking at that photo? The way his breathing's gone all jagged, like he's been sucker-punched by lust and forgot to be ashamed about it? Like he'd been struck by lightning and sent the storm a thank-you note?

Yeah.

That gets his attention.

Because Steve knows that feeling. Knows it in the way his own pulse jumps when you look at him. Knows—with sudden, violent clarity—that the Polaroid currently burning a hole in Eddie's hand is one of yours. One of the ones you'd tucked away. One of the ones he hadn't found.

The air in the room curdles. Three heartbeats stretch into eternity. Somewhere, the universe is taking notes for its next comedy special. Steve’s posture locks—the calm before the storm, every muscle coiled tight beneath his skin. The carbonated fizz of the soda in his hand is the only sound in the crushing silence, bubbles popping like distant gunfire. Then the storm breaks: his jaw clenches, and his eyes sweep through Eddie’s foundation like a wrecking ball.

Something raw crawls across Steve’s face. Not anger. Not alarm. Assertion. A silent, seething mine that blows through the room. You’ve seen Steve in many moods—smug, pissed, reckless—but this? This is something new. An undiscovered decimal that changes the entire equation. Something hot and primal, that same flicker of virtue twisted into vice that made him spend hours between your thighs, savouring your undoing like Judas betraying Christ with a kiss.

Eddie’s expression snitches on him instantly, darkening as his gaze drifts back to you. It lingers—too obvious, too long—on the hitch of your breath, the teeth digging into your bottom lip, like he’s already imagining things he has no right to. “Munson—” Steve’s voice drops into a register that would send most sane men sprinting for the hills, the kind of tone that prophesies bloodshed. “Eyes are up here.” 

Eddie’s hands fly up in surrender, the Polaroid fluttering to the floor like the first leaf of autumn—ominous, inevitable. But there’s a new cadence in his voice, something reckless and intrigued, the curiosity of a starving animal in a trap debating whether to chew its own leg off. “Hey man, no hard feelings. Just—uh—didn’t exactly expect that to be lying around like some kind of—” Steve takes a step forward. Eddie takes two steps back, knocking into the table hard enough to send a mug catapulting to the ground. “—highly classified erotic artefact,” Eddie finishes, voice pitched higher than usual, flashing a grin that’s all nerves and zero bravado.

You can feel it in the air—the shift from a fleeting southbound breeze teasing through the open window to the suffocating vacuum of withheld dares and arsonist heat. The change is tectonic, the kind that splits the earth between before and after. It should frighten you, this dissolution of restraint, reluctance disintegrating like cotton candy in the rain, leaving behind only the sickly-sweet residue of possibility. It would frighten you—if you didn’t know it. If you hadn’t heard that same voice murmuring filth against your stomach, dripping with devotional ruin. If it didn’t send an electric current racing from your membrane straight to your marrow.

Across the room, Eddie’s smirk falters. He’d looked the gift horse of Steve’s restraint square in the mouth—and now finds himself staring down the barrel of a loaded gun as the reality of his miscalculation hits. Then—

The dam bursts.

Eddie scrambles backwards so fast he nearly trips over his own shadow in his haste to escape the flood. The tension solidifies into something palpable as Steve turns to face you. For a moment, he simply stares—an apex predator amused by the detritivore that dared trespass in his territory, calculating whether to devour you whole or savour you slowly. It’s the same razor-edged focus he’d worn that night when he pinned you to his sweat-damp sheets, when he’d growled "again" against your throat and insisted, asserted, stipulated that he needed to feel you clenching around him even as his own spend leaked down your thighs between thrusts. That look that said mine and more and never enough, the one that turned your blood to gasoline and your nerves to lit fuses.

Your fingers twist in the fabric of your top—contemplating tearing it off yourself to feel his skin against yours faster—but the thought disintegrates when his knee nudges your thighs apart, pressing his body flush against yours. Jealousy rolls off him in waves, thick enough to choke on, and God help you, you revel in it. The phantom of his touch lingers in every hot breath that skates over your skin, in the way his hips slot against yours like a key turning in a lock. His mouth crashes into yours, hands bruising into your waist as he lifts you onto the break room table with the practised ease of a man who’s been praying for this. The wood creaks beneath you, a feeble protest swallowed by the groan that tears from his throat. And you—Christ—you realise with dizzying clarity that you’re already addicted to this side of him. To the way his control shatters when it comes to you. The way he needs to brand the truth into your skin: you’re his. He’s yours. His hands dig into you, urgent as a sinner’s grip on salvation. His lips brush your temple, soft as a benediction. You melt into him like a sacrifice on an altar, pliant and willing when his palms glide over your chest; it’s with a reverence that borders on fear—hesitant, hungry, as if touching you might unravel him instead.

This isn’t fealty.

It’s revelation.

Steve kisses like he’s composing his last confession—every sigh you give him a psalm he’ll spend eternity trying to recite to perfection. His mouth drifts lower, a crusade down your body, pausing to worship at the inside of your thigh. His nose nudges the sensitive skin there, lips parted against your pulse as if tasting divinity. Not demanding. Surrendering. A disciple on his knees, ready to die for the privilege of dedication. "Steve—"  Your voice shatters, cracking not from desperation but from something far more forceful—love, molten and thick. He answers with a low hum, the vibration travelling straight to your core.

Warm.

Approving. 

Devouring.

But still, he doesn't rush, doesn’t take.

Moving over you with the precision of a scholar deciphering sacred texts, each touch a deliberate translation of supplication. When his knuckle tilts your chin up, the eye contact is nearly unbearable—his gaze burns with the intensity of staring at the sun without blinking. "Tell me this is real," he murmurs, the pad of his thumb tracing your swollen lips. His voice cracks on the plea: I can't lose you. Tell me what to do, how to keep you—every word is another wingbeat higher, another reckless ascent toward combustion. You can almost see the wax dripping from his shoulders as he flies ever closer to it—the heat between your bodies threatening to melt both your hearts.

His mouth finds yours before you can answer, stealing the breath you'd gathered to reassure him. It's a claiming, last-ditch effort to brand himself into your memory should the Gods tear you apart tomorrow. His hands map your body, fingers pressing into your flesh hard enough to leave tomorrow's bruises. The irony isn't lost on you—this man who fought against every chain now begging to be bound, this once-carefree Icarus who sees the wax melting from his wings and chooses to keep flying, because his tragedy lies not in the fall but in the willing surrender to the innate burn, to this delicious damnation.

He’s almost come full circle—so close to acceptance, yet still hovering at the precipice, one flutter away. His skin scorches where you touch him, eyes burning with the effort of maintaining control when every atom in his body screams to dissolve the last fragile boundary between yours and mine until there’s no distinction left. The last of the shreds of doubt melting beneath your fingers as they tighten in his hair. The heat of you is irresistible, a gravitational pull dragging him deeper into orbit. His hand slides under your skirt, calloused palm skating up your thigh to discover the truth he already knows: you’re falling apart just as fast as he is.

A broken sound escapes you as you arch into his touch, your body ablaze against him. Your own hands map his skin with starving intent, drifting lower, lower, tracing the hard planes of his abdomen before dipping beneath the waistband. His fingers brush higher, hot and slick with your arousal, drawing a ragged groan from his throat that you swallow like communion. The sound vibrates against your lips—pure animal triumph—as his thumb circles with devastating precision. Fuck, how does he always know? That sweet spot that makes your thighs tremble, that perfect pressure as two fingers sink deep, curling just right, and a silent scream tears through you. "Fuck, baby," Steve pants against your mouth, his voice wrecked. "You’re so fucking perfect." The praise liquefies your spine, but you still manage to slide your hand under his jeans, grasping him through the strained fabric. The second your fingertips graze that velvet heat, he jerks forward with a gasp, teeth scraping your earlobe in retaliation—

The door flies open like a gunshot. "Jesus Christ!" Robin’s voice slices through the haze. Steve’s body slams over yours in a protective arch, his forearm braced against the table as he glares over his shoulder with venom. "Buckley," he snarls, voice dripping with murderous intent. She covers her eyes with a sigh so dramatic it would make Shakespeare weep. "In my defence—" she yelps, "your shift started ten minutes ago, and there’s this very persistent customer asking about the horror section you organised like a psychopath!" Steve doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. You can feel the furious pound of his heartbeat where his chest presses against yours, a wild counter-rhythm to your own.

"Robin", you drawl, sweet as poisoned honey, "if you don’t turn around and walk out right now, I will tell Vickie about the time you—" "GOING!" she shrieks, already backpedalling. The door slams hard enough to rattle the framed employee-of-the-month certificates.

The silence that follows is worse.

The momentum’s gone, but the wreckage remains. His forehead drops to your shoulder with a thud, his breath coming in ragged bursts against your collarbone. You can feel the restraint vibrating through him—every muscle coiled tight enough to snap.

You can’t help it—you laugh, the sound shaky with adrenaline and lingering lust. His head snaps up so fast you hear his neck crack, eyes blazing with unfiltered heat. "Oh, you think this is funny?" he growls, nipping at your jaw with sharp teeth before soothing the sting with a swipe of his tongue. His hands slide back under your thighs, hauling you flush against him in one motion. The hard line of him pressed insistently between your legs wipes the smirk right off your face—along with every coherent thought in your head.

"Keep laughing, sweetheart," he murmurs against your throat, lips dragging a searing path down to your pulse point. "See what happens when my shift ends."

The hour that follows—after Steve had hesitantly detached himself from you with a plea in his eyes and your lipstick smeared across his jaw like war paint—stretches into eternity.

It’s longer than the time you got drenched by a speeding car ploughing through a frozen puddle on your way to school, icy water seeping into your socks until you squelched with every step. Longer than Aunt Margie’s infamous "Bridge Club Confidential" lecture, where she’d waxed poetic about the "sensual strategy" of trump cards while you stared into your punch glass praying for spontaneous combustion. Longer even than Eddie’s dare at Rick’s party, when you’d sat statue-still for sixty minutes while Dustin balanced a Dorito on your nose and Steve—unhelpful bastard—kept making you laugh just to watch you fail.

Because Steve Harrington doesn’t make idle threats.

He feasts on them.

Every excruciating minute carves a new circle of hell into your sanity. Steve moves through the store like a man possessed, his brain reduced to binary code: 1. You’re the one. 0. Everything else is noise. His pacing is a slow-burn torture—languid and deliberate, letting the heat of his chest sear into your back as he reaches for a misplaced copy of The Terminator, his biceps flexing just enough to make your throat go dry. He makes sure his lips graze your jaw when he slots returned tapes onto the shelf exactly where you’re standing, his exhale hot against your ear. Then he’s gone again in a heartbeat, leaving only the phantom imprint of his promise throbbing under your skin.

And you’re no martyr. Not when every stolen glance from Steve—heavy-lidded and determined—pours fuel on the fire in your gut. Not when the brush of his fingers against yours as he "accidentally" hands you the wrong receipt makes your pulse stutter like a bad VHS tape.

Until Robin, bless her deadpan soul, reaches her limit.

"That’s it." She slams a stack of returns onto the counter hard enough to make the Jawbreakers jump in their display, rattling like tiny, panicked witnesses. "Eddie’s covering Steve’s shift."

Eddie opens his mouth— "No." Robin jabs a finger between his eyebrows. "I don’t care that he doesn’t work here; it’s not that hard to say ‘Be kind, rewind’ and take people’s money. What is hard is watching you two orbit each other like horny vultures waiting to dive in." She shoves Steve’s keys into his chest. "Do humanity a favour and go home. Fuck it out. Write each other sonnets. Carve your initials into a tree. I don’t care. Just end this before I drown us all in holy water."

And well.

You don’t need to be told twice.

The store’s entrance barely shuts before Steve's crowding you against the scorching hood of his car, his body pinning yours to metal that burns through your skin. You gasp at the dual sensation—the sear of the sun-baked steel beneath your thighs and the far more dangerous heat of Steve's palm cradling the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, hips grinding against yours in a way that makes your vision blur. The parking lot's empty, but you'd barely care if it wasn't—not when he kisses like he's trying to carve his name between your ribs.

But then—the cruel, calculated tease that he is—he steps back. Lets you sway there for one dizzy second before guiding you into the passenger seat with a hand low on your back.

The silence during the drive isn't uncomfortable—it's charged, vibrating with everything left unsaid and undone. You can practically hear the filthy refrain looping in Steve's head, matching the pulse pounding between your thighs: not yet. Not here.

Your fingers creep toward his thigh like a separate entity, drawn by magnetic need. The muscle tenses beneath your touch before you even make contact. When your nails scrape up the inseam of his jeans, his grip on the steering wheel turns white. "Don't," he warns, voice gone dark. But his dick twitches traitorously beneath your wandering palm, the thick line of him already straining against denim. The hypocrisy would be laughable if you weren't so busy revelling in the power thrumming through your veins.

His hand closes over yours — not to stop you, but to press your palm harder against his erection. The groan it wrenches from him vibrates through your entire body, your own breath catching in time with the stutter of the speedometer as his foot slips on the gas. "Keep doing that," he grits out between clenched teeth, "and you're going to regret that."

As the car takes another turn, you realise you've miscalculated.

Badly.

The math had been simple—fifteen minutes to his place, ten if he sped—but you hadn't accounted for the way his jaw would clench every time you shifted in your seat. The engine had roared like a living thing as he took corners too fast, and now the tires screech their protest as he slams into his parking spot.

The ignition cuts.

One heartbeat of silence.

Then he's on you, pressing you into the window with enough force to fog the glass, his mouth hot and demanding against yours. There's nothing gentle in it—just hunger, raw and unchecked. His teeth catch your lower lip as his hand slides up. When his mouth closes over your nipple through your shirt, tongue circling just hard enough to make you arch, you're half-ready to drag him into the backseat and fuck him right there. But before you can so much as gasp his name, he's gone—door flung open, his footsteps sharp on the pavement.

Your door swings open next, his hand extended.

It might look chivalrous to anyone watching, but you know better. That grip on yours as he tugs you out is a demand, not an offer. The walk to his front door is a blur, his arm locked around your waist like he thinks you'll bolt. The lock clicks shut behind you, and then—

Déjà vu hits like a sucker punch. This is exactly what you haven't been able to stop thinking about. And yet—

Completely different.

Last time, he'd been a man on a mission, determined to show you every filthy fantasy you'd ever pulled from him. Methodical. Precise. A slow unravelling that left you begging. Now?

Now he doesn't wait for begging.

Now he hauls you onto the kitchen island with a roughness that sends a bowl clattering to the floor, his hands already pushing your thighs apart. There's no patience in him—just certainty and something darker, something that curls low when his gaze drags over you like he's already deciding where to start. His palm splays across your stomach, pressing you against the cold granite as he leans in, and the revelation hits you — he doesn't just want to worship at your altar. He wants to be the architect of your canonisation, the hand that lifts you to sainthood even as he drags you through the exquisite torture of your own destruction.

If you had one wish in this crumbling world—it wouldn't be fame, wouldn't be fortune, not even the hollow promise of world peace—you would ask for this. The devastating press of his body, the sinful cadence of his voice whispering filth and vows. You'd take it until your lungs forgot how to expand, until your heartbeat stuttered into arrhythmia, until the last frayed thread of your consciousness could only comprehend the grip of his arms and the sweet poison of his words. Even then, especially then, you’d ask for more of this.

You're already ruined beyond salvation—a ship dashed against the rocks, hull splintering on unforgiving shores, yet somehow grateful for the carnage that means you've found land at last. His name spills from your lips in a ceaseless litany, your thighs clamping around his hips in wordless supplication, speaking in the sacred tongue of want, your body offering its final surrender at the temple of his undoing. The light at the end of this tunnel isn't absolution—it's hellfire, and you're so consumed by its gravitational pull that reality has dissolved at the edges. The world narrows to the sweat-slick press of his skin against yours, to the animalistic sounds tearing from his throat, to the obscene stretch as he sheaths himself inside you in one devastating thrust, a broken sob caught between your teeth—until his mouth crashes over yours, swallowing the sound as he buries himself to the hilt. You feel him tremble—not from restraint, but from the way your body takes him in frantic, greedy pulses, as if trying to draw him deeper still.

The fat of your ass shifts under his punishing grip as you grind down, chasing that perfect angle until he swears he can feel your heartbeat through the slick walls clenching around him. Your shared sweat makes a mess of everything—the slide of his abdomen against your clit, the way your thighs stick to his hips, the obscene squelch as he moves through your dripping cunt like he was carved from the same divine stone that shaped you. Every convulsive ripple of your inner muscles seems designed to ruin him, to reduce this beautiful, dangerous man to nothing but base instinct and desperate thrusts. Then—just when you think he's wrung every possible reaction from your body—he does something that steals what little breath you have left. With agonising slowness, he withdraws until only the flushed, leaking head of his cock remains seated inside you, that unbearable stretch reduced to the barest teasing pressure. Your hips jerk uselessly, chasing that delicious fullness, but he pins you in place with one broad hand splayed across your ass while the other yanks open the nearby drawer in search of something. You open your mouth—to tease, to protest, to beg with words so filthy they'd make a sinner blush—but he gives you no chance. In one brutal snap of his hips, he's buried inside you again, the force of it driving you up the surface until his forearm bands around your waist to keep you still. The punched-out moan that escapes you sounds broken even to your own ears.

The rhythm he sets is punishing, each thrust calculated to make your vision whiten at the edges. Your tits bounce obscenely against his hungry mouth, nipples pebbled and oversensitive from his teeth scraping urgently against them. Tears bead at the corners of your scrunched-shut eyes as you bite your lip—until his command slices through the haze: "Open your eyes.”

When you obey—when your bleary vision finally focuses through the haze of pleasure to see the obscene glisten between your thighs, your own arousal painting his cock in irrefutable evidence of your desperation—a shutter clicks, echoeing as the bullet going through the church, the camera flash immortilizing everything as your body arches in perfect, ruined ecstasy.

He's not just fucking you. He's curating it—assembling irrefutable proof of your complete surrender to his arbitration. Cataloguing how beautifully you come apart beneath him. Documenting how even when reduced to a shuddering, tear-streaked wreck, all your broken pleas still ask for the same thing: him. Only him. He captures it all—the flutter of your lashes when his thumb swipes through the streaks on your cheek, the way your throat works around silent screams when he angles deeper. His next words are the final nail in the coffin of your consecration, divulged against the column of your throat: "Let me show you how pretty you look when you cum on my cock."

[kalinazlatkova]

“The Art and Making of Arcane: League of Legends” 🎨🎨🎨🎨 Book Review Under the Cut 

⋆｡°✩*ੈ✶⋆.˚✩‧₊˚⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚⋆˙⟡⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⊹.˚⟡ ݁₊˚⊹⋆☆˖°

If you enjoy my work, please consider supporting me on Ko-fi 👛🫙✨🖤 Thank you! 🥰

Hi All! 😊 As I have amassed loads of Art Books throughout my degree and in my work as an illustrator, I thought I could do some reviews so those of you who are just now embarking on your art journeys and wondering whether something is worth spending money on, can make an informed decision about what part of your creative development you want to put your money towards.     I’m thinking of structuring the reviews in five key areas, with books earning a palette for each area they score against, with a total of five palettes being the max, and a brush being awarded in areas where a book can only score half a point. As someone from a working-class background who is also neurodivergent, I’m especially mindful how these things can impact the way in which we access information and new knowledge. Of course, if you have any suggestions on what else should be included, please let me know and I’ll be happy to consider this in future too. 😊  

Now! Off to the main bit... 

Is the book Useful? 🎨 

I think this would of interest not only to fans of the game and series alike, but also less experienced artists who want to learn about the motivation, inspirations, ideas, and thought processes behind the storytelling, characters and plotlines. Alex and Chris (the Creators) talk about the history and background of how it came to be, how the right group and studio of people were found to bring it together, and how the story and visuals were built from the smallest details to the major production hurdles. There are the back scenes of the storyboarding and character designs, with frameworks and the timeline between the layouts of the game vs the show. The book also goes down into details on the music, lyrics, color schemes, speeds of animation, backgrounds and the in-depth world building of Arcane. It pays attention to the visual and personal development of the central characters, their set bases and their props. Given all of this, I would say – Yes. It is a very useful source and guide on master adaptation, for those already interested in the game as well as those who have just come into its world now, brought in by the art of the show before they got caught in the story.  

Is the book Engaging? 🎨

The book design has been planned thoroughly, and the content is very well paced. There is good overlay between photographs, illustrations, game graphics and show scenes alongside the text and other visuals. The design of the book is beautifully done, with phenomenal coloring, and good spacing between the texts and images. As someone who struggles with big chunks of text, and a very temperamental attention span, the way that the chapters and sub-sections of the book are broken up, helped me quite a lot in managing to keep my focus and my mind engaged at one page at a time, without feeling the need to put it down indefinitely or jump ahead and move on to the next bit before I was done. Therefore, I would say – Yes. It is manageable, digestible, and entertaining, which makes it a joy to engage with, and even more so because it can be done so easily.  

Is the book Accessible? 🖌️ 

There might be some pages where people who are easily visually overstimulated might struggle to keep with the text, as the graphics fill the sheet and overlay each other quite strongly. However, if you are someone who prefers the strong visuals of a comic book or a graphic novel, then this might not be an issue for you at all. Overall, the blocks of text come in small chunks and are set in narrow columns with a max of 15 words to a line at its longest (on average up to 10), which makes the text easier to follow. Though the typesetting of the book is primarily in serif fonts, and on some pages the text blocks are slanted to fit the visuals’ layout better. I have an advantage that I have a digital copy and can easily zoom into the text, though if you had the physical copy of the book (judging by the format size of 23.5 x 3 x 32.4cm) there might be some pages where you struggle with the smaller lines. From what I have been able to find out, the standard hardcover edition weighs approx. 800gr, which isn’t very light to carry or hold up with one hand, especially considering a thick rectangle is less manageable than a single bag of sugar or bottle of water for example. In terms of language, it is written in plain English (in EN speaking countries) and even though I am not a native English speaker, there were no overcomplicated structures or words I was unfamiliar with at any time. So overall, I would say Yes and No. It is up to you to decide whether any of the above is a deal breaker regarding accessibility, but if it is in the physical aspects, I would advise in looking for a digital copy alike myself as well.  

Is the book Affordable? 🖌️ 

Well. When I was looking for a copy, unfortunately there were no paperbacks available, and the only hardbacks were second hand varying in price point from £40 - £80 GBP. Which is about $50 – 110 USD, or €45 - 95 EUR. I also could not find any free digital copies, so my only option was to buy the book on Kindle for £14, or approx. $18 / €16. Given that when I was a student, I used to live on £1 a day (my family is poor), I think that up to £80 for a single art book is a high price to pay, especially for a young person who isn’t in full time employment. But even though I am a working adult now, I still wouldn’t pay this for the book given that the actual cost was £40 before it went out of stock, and the price has been inflated solely because the book isn’t physically available anymore. Due to this, and because it is the right thing to do, before making a purchase, I would adamantly encourage you to check with the library(ies) near you first. If they have it, you can borrow it for free and make copies, scans or take pics of it if you’d like to make your own digital copy. If this is not an option, look for it online and check if there are any torrents on the sites you have access to where you live. Only if you exhaust all other options, or if you are dead set in buying a physical copy for a memento / getting it signed by the artist type of keepsake, should you consider purchasing it at the inflated price. So even though the book might be affordable to those who have the money, that simply isn’t applicable to most people, meaning that – No. It isn’t affordable as it would not fall into most people’s budgets easily or without being looked at as a luxury.    

Is the book Worth it? 🎨

Even though due to points 3 & 4 above, I cannot give the book a full 5 palettes, and must settle only on 4, I would say – Yes. It has been great to learn more about the backstory and history of Arcane and the people who made it possible. The work they’ve put in for years, each single step in their journey and the care and dedication that has been poured into the creation of this new world. It has been lovely to gain an insight into the visual development of the series, as well as the character building, and the considerations awarded to all the small things that make them the characters that they are and the characters that we love. I may have never played LoL but I absolutely loved the show. Though even if I hadn’t seen it, from the perspective of a graphic designer, I can certainly appreciate the beauty of Arcane and this book still. And if like me, you are new to this world, then I suspect the book will make you love it even more. It’s worth it.  

[luludeluluramblings]

Damian Wayne’s Obsession with Smalltown!Reader

A/N: Strictly Platonic, this ain’t no Game of Thrones.

A/N: I’m over halfway done with Part Six, but I need to fluff it up. Life is just exhausting me right now. I feel like my writing is downgrading despite my efforts. But, I’m assuming that’s just the exhaustion.

A/N: Also, how y’all feel about AI art? I have some images of the Smalltown Folks for visualization purposes, but I’ve been keeping them ambiguous in the story. I plan on giving background information on them, so if y’all wanna see ‘em lemme know.

Warning: Slight Obsession and Yandere Themes

Damian is so similar to his father and Tim in the way he sees Reader, his blood sibling. But, only after he realizes his mistake in pushing them away. He is one of the many that refuse to like reader on principle, yet the one of the quickest to fall into the obsession after the realization hits.

Damian has always thought of himself as the blood-son. Though, he’d grown less fanatical than he once was about it. It became his way of reassuring himself whenever he falls short of being Robin, or he can’t seem to live up to his own high standards. He’s the blood son, he is family. Bruce won’t abandon him. He’s worthy. He has a cemented place here.

His training and time with the League of Assassins caused him develop this need to constantly proof himself. Which still influences his behavior despite the family working to pull him from that unhealthy mindset. It’s still there, buried deep, and the fact that he was Bruce’s only biological child helped him keep that mental state at bay.

Finding out about the existence of Reader made that believe falter. Worse yet, Reader coming to join the family ripped that coping mechanism right out of his hands.

Bruce didn’t even know Damian existed until Thalia just dropped him off, and everything he and Bruce had took effort and time and so much work.

Yet, Reader instantly got it all. With no work, no fight, no blood, no sweat, no choking back tears because god forbid he cries. Reader had Bruce first. Reader had what he fought so desperately for.

That’s what stung. Damian was less concerned about being replaced as Robin, he had earned that title. But, he was concerned about being replaced as Bruce’s child. He no longer felt he had that exclusive connection to Bruce.

Damian can’t help but take it out on Reader. Yes, he has grown a lot of a person since coming to live with Bruce. But, Reader was just so fragile and weak and frustrating. It brought back a lot of old negative feeling he had thought he moved past. It didn’t help that Reader seemed to always be trying to squirm their way into his life. What more did they want to take from him? They’re nothing like him, or Bruce. Or anyone in this family. They don’t belong.

It isn’t until that night in the Kitchen, when they offer food the peace-offering to Damian, that he realizes he may have been wrong. That expression, that cold look, that had appeared on Reader’s face had look startlingly like Batman Bruce.

And, when the stopped attempting to talk to him, to wriggle their way into his life, he could shake the wrongness of it. Of course, his pride told him he had won and, for a while, he felt satisfied.

Until that phone call. Reader was always talking on that damn phone. Clinging to it like a lifeline. A weakness.

Damian overhead the conversation Reader was having with their other half-brother. The gentle reassuring tone. The unconditional love and care. Things he had craved. Things he sees other people have that he’ll never admit he wanted.

At first, he assumed it was a lover they were talking to. That love between family members still being a slightly foreign concept to him. But, when Reader confirmed it was their brother, something in him clicked with realization.

He wanted that. And, worse yet, he could’ve had that. But, Reader was now giving him that blank look. One of a stranger. Their walls had come up. They were no longer allowing Damian access to what they had previously offered him. How dare you withhold it? That affection is mine.

Of course, he’s disappointed. In himself and with Reader. He finally realizes that Reader had just been offering that love to him and he’d stubbornly foolishly refused. It’s not his fault, he didn’t know. It’s not his fault.

But, the thing about blood is that there will always be a connection. He has time. He can break those walls back down and bury himself in Reader’s affection. They already had a place for him anyway. He’ll let them cool off a bit before he tries again. In the end he is just taking what he’s owed.

[linderosse]

For me, Link and Zelda from the Skyward Sword story are my favorite versions, I really like this kind of doomed love, but I always felt that Zelda's character had more room to develop. Like, can she remember her past memories of being a goddess? Does she feel guilty for taking advantage of Link? Will she be able to get along with the rest of her companions as she once did when she returns to Skyloft? or will her people begin to worship her as a true god? And Link, what would he think?

This is a very, very good question!!!

I’ve been saving it in my inbox for quite a while— but now I finally get to answer it.

Sun is a complex character for sure.

She’s Hylia reborn; the incarnation of the goddess who fought the first Imprisoning War. She remembers most of it— the war, and how it ended. But like she says in the game, she’s also still herself; still sunshine and clouds and freedom and sass; still the same Zelda that Sky fell in love with. She is both at once, and that kind of contradiction has the potential to weigh someone down.

Fortunately, Sun in Wisdomverse has had a lot of time since her adventure to figure out how she feels about her new/old identity. She’s long since made peace with that duality, and is comfortable being both Hylia and Zelda.

However, various others across the eras may react to her differently because of her identity as the goddess Hylia.

Let’s go over them!

(Warning: This is pretty long, but I had a lot of fun writing it. Enjoy!

And don’t worry, there’s a tl;dr at the end for the folks who want it. :)

The people of Skyloft

I’d say most everyone is now aware that Sun is Hylia reborn. Some of the townsfolk do revere her as a goddess, but others treat her mostly the same. Sun usually prefers that, since it can be difficult to form connections when people put you on a pedestal. Her closest friends know that, and hang out with her as normal.

Sun also makes an effort to be a leader as well as a goddess. Her status as an incarnation of Hylia gives her an advantage, but she still has to work to earn people’s trust— especially with a proposition as bold as moving to the world below. Right now, she’s focused on building a life for her people on the surface. More on that in Wisdomverse :).

Wild

This is also why, in the Wild|Sun comic, Sun refers to the past actions of the goddess in third person. Wild knows that Sun’s the reincarnation of Hylia (in TotK, the goddess statues’ voice will remind him of her). But Sun doesn’t want to remind him of that at the moment; doesn’t want her identity as the goddess to put distance between them.

Still, when Sun speaks, she does so with the authority of Hylia herself. She can truly attest to Hylia’s faith in the heroes who share the spirit of the man she loves. Wild knows that, and appreciates the reassurance.

Sky

Sky has long since forgiven Sun for “using him.” He doesn’t regret the adversity he faced, and he would do it again in a heartbeat. Sun was always a goddess to him.

But Sun hasn’t fully forgiven herself for Hylia’s plan; for leveraging Sky’s emotions to get what she needed and save the world. She reckons a fragment of that guilt will always be lodged in her soul.

Flora

Wild is at least mildly religious, but Flora is not. Flora believes that the goddess existed, of course, but she no longer prays to her, and prefers to live life on her own terms.

Flora hasn’t yet worked out what to think of Sun as a goddess, now that they’ve met. They’re friends, and they still hang out, but that internal tension still pulls at Flora— the question of “For all those years, why didn’t you help me?” Wild privately thinks that the goddess tried; and was able to help Flora release her abilities when it mattered most. But that isn’t enough for Flora. Flora has currently compartmentalized it— treating Sun and Hylia as two different people. Eventually, though, Flora will need to search for answers: with Sun, and within herself. Sun does not know that Flora feels this way.

Wild again

For that matter, it was probably really strange for Wild, the first time he met Sun. Kind of like if a mildly religious modern Christian got to have a chat and go skydiving with Jesus. I’m not Christian, but I am religious, so I can imagine how weird but potentially cool that might be.

This is actually a thing for a lot of Links and Zeldas in Wisdomverse/LU; many of them get to meet their heroes. Dawn meeting Fable for the first time probably felt something like an American meeting George Washington— same thing with Hyrule and Legend, or Legend and Four.

Of course, there’s a bit of tension there for some of the other pairs, due to relevant events. It’ll be fun exploring that when the time comes— in both The Secrets We Keep, and in Wielders of Wisdom :).

Tl;dr:

In short, it’s clear that Sun remembers.

In Wisdomverse, she has access to some of the memories and a portion of the powers she did as Hylia (like the sealing ability she used in Wielders of Wisdom Ch1), but she prefers people to treat her as Zelda most of the time.

Sky has forgiven her for using him, but Sun hasn’t forgiven herself. Wild thinks she’s cool, and Flora has a bit of repressed frustration about her. The people of Skyloft appreciate her, but still wouldn’t blindly follow what she says.

Sun is both Hylia and herself at once, and comfortable in that identity.

She’s one person— she’s Zelda— and that’s enough for her :).

Masterpost

[livin4woso]

Avoidance and Acceptance (mapi+ingrid x reader)

Summary- reader transfers to Barcelona where feelings develop for the only two people you shouldn't fall for, and in an attempt to not make them show, they are left avoiding the two people they want to see most. However maybe these feelings arent so one sided.

Transferring to Barcelona felt like a dream come true. The current champions' league winners were interesting in signing you for 300k from Manchester city. This wasn't your first time in spain after having a loan spell to athletico Madrid in the 22/23 season you found your preformances had gained you a first team place and you're performances between the sticks against Barcelona during the group stages of the champions league had earned some eyes on you. Enough for a Transfer over there while you knew you weren't going to be the starting keeper being the number 2 keeper to the best team in the world was an offer you can't say no too.

The move was rather fast in the January transfer window so your signing went rather under the radar while in progress until the big move which lets say some city fans were not the most pleased about your departure as many believed you were the next big keeper for England at just 23 making many first team debuts which is rather unseen in the goalkeeping community.

The first few days of training were rough, to say the least. Although the language wasn't new, the intensity and pressure to perform well that was definitely a big change for you. You had a few individual keeper sessions with Cata, and your performance was raising a few eyebrows as you looked like a promising threat to Catas' starting position. Then it was time to see if you were the real deal as stopping shots from the goalkeeper coach is very different to having the likes of Alexia Eva Claudia and Mapi taking shots and freekicks at you.

You were brought into full team training with being in goal when the girls would play smaller sided games and you had been blessed with ingrid and mapi as your back line for the game and thier chemistry off the pitch is as good on the pitch it was like they could read eachothers mind when defending and made your life a little bit easier. As you blocked each shot when you were getting up mapi or ingrid would come and pat your back or compliment you and while you know it was just them being friendly the way they looked at you with such passion you couldn't help but start to fall for them... both of them.

Maybe it was the Norwegians cerulean eyes that felt like they saw into you're soul or her nickname the princess of norway because right now you feel like you could get down at her feet and bow before her presence. Or maybe it was mapis intricate sleeve of tattoos each one you could so faintly make the detail out when she faced towards you and how the sun shone so perfectly on her face highlighting the light coloured freckles on her face.

You were quickly snapped out of thought when the ball came flying at your stomach, and without having time to react, you had been winded and were hunched over, trying to get some air back into your lungs again. "Shit y/n, are you okay?" Ingrid asked concern in her tone "mhm" you groan, sticking your thumb up with your face burried in the grass still. Ingrid helps you up off the floor, and you silently thank her as you tighten the velcro on your gloves and try to shake off the thoughts of the two women circling your mind.

Going home that night was certainly interesting lying on your sofa scrolling on social media you couldn't help but follow them as they were your new teamates so it was almost like a rite of passage however what you didn't expect was for them to follow back instantly you thought it would have took atleast a few hours. It was sad to say that this got your hopes up more than it should have and in hopes for maybe another sign you decided to post of your story to see if they would view it as quick as they followed.

Unfortunately the results wasn't the same however each time you clicked on there profiles and saw them together you felt guilty of your feelings and it was almost as if your conscious was trying to smack your heart back to sense and find someone else to like. However, every interaction with the two women had you falling hard and faster then you had expected even seeing them in the corridors would have your heart racing. It was an issue and one you needed to fix quickly.

It was dinner, and the night previous, you had decided to go on hinge and try and meet someone new and just completely ignore all feelings for your teammates. You were talking to aitana and keira who you had become close friends with "yeah i mean this weekend im going on this date with this girl but i think im throwing myself in too fast ive only been here 2 months" you say to keira trying to reason out the date " no but y/n this isnt like you, you normally love going out and dating and dont deny it ive heard the stories" keira said and you nearly spit your drink out from the mentions of your past actions "kieraaa you were not meant to mention anything about them" you said in a hushed tone. Aitana was looking at you with a glint of confusion but also curiosity as although her English wasn't great, she could tell that whatever was said had gotten a reaction out of you.

However what you didn't notice was two people who may have been snooping on your conversation was mapi and ingrid. They had took some keen interest on you when you were at city and had done some previous research on you before moving to Barcelona. But the mention of this date was not sitting right with either of them, but also ingrid had some digging to do from kiera from these stories she had just learnt about.

As you left to go and get ready for the gym mapi followed you down the hall and ingrid went to kiera and so the questioning began. Mapi was quick to get to you "so y/n i heard you have a date this weekend you excited" she said with a smile on her face however her eyes were piercing as if you were in an intervention. "Mhm yeah i mean just.. just trying things out" you could barley look at the defender even tho you were of a much taller stature than her "hmm alright you don't seem so sure but i just wanted to let you know we're having team building on Saturday at mine and ingrids if you need an excuse to get out of it" she said winking at you and walking away leaving your knees weak.

There was no team building at their house it was a setup to get you by yourself at thiers for a confrontation of your feelings as you weren't the most obvious at keeping them concealed. Meanwhile ingrid was still trying to pry the stories out of keira "please i heard you talking about them and she's so modest and quiet she can't have done anything that bad" Ingrid pleaded with keira "okay fine but you have to swear to not tell anyone because she'll kill me if i told anyone" keira responded giving in "i swear i won't" replied ingrid almost smirking knowing shed won "so basically a few years ago lets just say y/n was a bit of a party animal and we were out celebrating the end of the season and at around 11 we lost sight of where she had gone." Keira started with ingrid looking at her with pure focus " so we texted her and she said im back home im busy which everyone knew what that meant so the next day we sent lucy to go and bring her breakfast as she was probably hungover but as she opened the apartment and went in the bedroom to wake her up she found not one girl in her bed but two" keira said almost laughing at the embarrassment of your face when you knew you'd been caught "omg really didn't expect that from her" Ingrid said "yeah well from her reaction even now to this day you can tell it was not her first rodeo" keira said laughing and ingrid had gathered all the information she needed.

That night, ingrid and mapi were discussing their next move, although you were a few years younger that was not stopping either of them. "I told y/n that we had team building here on Saturday to get her out of that date," mapi said to ingrid while shuffling closer to ingrid to wrap her arm around her waist. "Mhm, well, i found out that she's slept with more than one girl before, and it wasn't just a one-time thing," ingrid said, almost proud of her discovery.

Saturday flew round for the three of you. You had an excuse to get out of a date and extra time to see ingrid and mapi, and they were excited because they had a plan to confront you. You had DMd mapi asking what time to arrive for the team building, and she had said around 5pm. After getting changed into some relaxed wear that still looked good enough for the occasion as neither of the older women very often saw you out of training clothes. You arrived at their apartment and as you opened the door you saw you were the first one thier which wasnt an issue but it meant you had to directly make small talk with them without trying to become a puddle.

"So when abouts are the others getting here?" You aksed sheepsihly while sitting at the kitchen island "hm oh sweetie no one else is coming we just have a few things we wanted to talk about with you" Ingrid said walking closer to you and it was if the whole world just stopped moving and you were frozen in your spot. "Oh right, yeah," you said, stuttering out.

"We've noticed that maybe you either have a staring problem or a crush on one of us and we just wanted to make this issue clear" mapi said in a spanish accent making you go feral but also struck with embarrassment "erm im sorry i dont really know what to say" you began to say trying to think carefully about your next words "no its okay cari keep going" mapi said the spanish pet name not helping your thought process. " okay erm maybe i have a crush on you well not just one but both and i know i shouldnt and im really sorry if it makes you uncomfortable i can leave" you began rambling trying to frantically apologise "hey hey no we never said it was a bad thing we just wanted to know before we did anything that was all" Ingrid said grabbing your hand from where it rested nervously tapping on the counter. "Huh, what? i dont understand what you're saying," you said, trying to wrap your brain around the suitation. "Cari, we like you too, and we want you to give us a chance," mapi said, looking directly at you. In this moment, you felt like you were in a fever dream it all felt fake.

"Yeah, i mean, yeah, of course, yeah, you can have a chance," you said, sounding way too eager. "Okay good we'll see you Tuesday night 8pm and we'll take you on a real date so you might want to cancel that other one" mapi said smirking knowing that you had only tried to go on a date as a distraction from them. " yeah course im gonna have to go now ive got a date to cancel on" you said leaving the kitchen and just as you're about to leave you shout down the hall "by the way you looked very good tonight, both of yous" "you too cari" mapi replied as you smiled and waved leaving their apartment.

"Well, that was successful,no?" Ingrid said to mapi once you had left. Meanwhile, you were skipping down the hallway. And since that night you're relationship had been great and still to this day you still didn't know that kiera had shared one of you're craziest stories atleast it wasn't the time youd been nearly caught with 3.

A/N- Sorry for the disappearance guys ive been super busy, so im sorry if this isn't the best as im a bit rusty as i haven't written in ages, but some recs would be nice.

[ilylovelyz]

Please do literally anything with Kenma I’m obsessed with him rn

⍣ ೋ how they fell in love

˚ · . kenma kozume & oikawa torū

kenma kozume — because you made him an apple pie. it seems silly, yeah–but that's truly what made him began developing feelings with you. not because of the many hours you spent playing with him in silence, talking to basically yourself as he was too shy to respond to a female. not because you gave him your very detailed and simplfied notes you made specifically for him because you knew that he's be too tired out of his mind from the winning-streak he did last night to pay attention today. no, it was because you made him an apple pie, something he only mentioned once in passing.

"hey ken.." you cheekily say, a large grin written across your face. kenma looks up from his nitendo, eyes greeting you silently before they move back to his screen. "wow! such a greeting!" you tease, despite being ignored so blatantly, you couldn't help but giggle at his intense expression that he sports while playing.

you feign a sigh, your hand coming up to tap at his wrist, earning a surprised flinch from the blonde. his hand quickly pulls away, allowing you to take advantage of the opening he gave you and snatch his nitendo from his other hand. "y/l/n-san.. what are you doing..?" he groans out, his hands trying to reach over the desk to steal back his game.

to anyone else, it looks like he hates you. maybe he does–, but to you, that's just the way he speaks. "oh please, you can spare a minute or two." with that, you're smiling greatly at him and suddenly pulling out a black container, setting it on top of his desk. "ta da~!" you laugh, your hands laying on top of your knees anxiously.

his cat-like eyes glance up at your own, confused, he just sits there. you dart your eyes back up to him and to the container, hoping that he'll get the message to open it. it seems to work, "...you wan't me to open it?" you roll your eyes at his response, "noooo, it's just gonna stay on your desk for all eternity.. jeez—just open it already!" kenma jumps at your raised tone, rushing to open the container in hopes of settling you down.

he blinks down at the contents inside the container, his hands resting on the edges. "this is.. apple pie..? for me?" he asks, his tone more soft onces he realizes. "i made it, for you." you smile, urging him on to taste it. "here," you lift a the pink fork on the inside, slicing the apple pie and lifting it up, only stopping in front of kenma's mouth.

he glances up at you once more, his eyes training onto the piece of apple pie. it does look yummy... finally, he moves forward and takes the bite into his mouth, chewing it slowly to inspect it. you watch him closely, watching for any reactions.

with a swallow, he sits there, his eyes looking elsewhere. "it was good," he admits, earning a content laugh from you. before you could ask him anything else, you heard the call of your name. you follow the voice, seeing that it's your friend standing in the doorway. she calls for you, wanting you to come with her.

"enjoy it, kenma-chan," you say, giving him back his console and walking away. kenma stares at you blankly, still holding the fork in his hand as he watches you leave the classroom. his eyes glance back at the miniature apple pie, sighing softly. he digs his fork in for another piece. he's glad you left, that you didn't see him blush so much when he took the first bite of the best apple pie he's had in awhile.

oikawa torū — because you stood out from the others and stood your ground. despite the two of you not dating or talking, you were still running the "relationship". he thought because of his looks, you'd easily give in like the rest of them, fall to your knees and end up heartbroken when he'd leave. but no, you made him work for it–for you. hell, he couldn't even tell if you liked him back. he didn't even realize it, but he was chasing you around like some lovesick puppy, following your orders and looking up at you like you were some goddess. he finally realized it when you called him out for it, and even then, it made his heart pound in his chest for you.

oikawa watches with those pretty brown eyes of his, they reflect of his target, you. he chews on his pretty lips, ripping the skin of their delicate flesh. his features, oh his pretty features, once so relaxed and perfect, are now scrunched up into a face of worry and fear.

he watches you, his eyes occasionally darting to the random guy next to you whenever he talks to you once more. in this moment, oikawa wishes so bad he was in your proximity, he wants to hear what the stranger is saying to you. is he flirting with you? is he asking for your number? maybe he's a family member. no, wait, no family member would move close to you like that.. no, no family member would wrap their arm around your shoulder!?

oikawa leaves the court, running hurriedly to where you sit. he ignores that the game is about to start, and that he hasn't even stretched yet. he makes his way up the bleachers, hastely walking towards you. but it seems your attention isn't even on him, it's on the guy next to you instead. or is it? from what he sees, it is. but really, you're just letting the scene in front of you play, it's cute to see oikawa this way about you.

"y/n-chan." he says, trying to make his voice sound as stern as possible. you feign a giggle at the guy next to you, pretending to not hear oikawa to bait him even further. it works, as before you can react he's wrapping his hand around your wrist and pulling you up from your seat and down the bleachers, practically dragging you out of the gym.

you hold back a menacing laugh as oikawa pushes you against the wall of the gym, seeing the hurt and fear on his handsome face. "y/n-chan, who was that? why'd you ignore me?" he asks, his lips pulled downwards into a frown. he cups both of your hands into his own, holding them tightly. "huh? what are you talkin' about? i didn't even know you were there." you say, acting dumb about the whole situation.

"yes you–, y/n-chan who was that guy?!" he whines, desperate to know the answer. his whining is cut short when you snap back your hands from him, lightly pushing him away from you. "why do you care? we aren't even dating." your voice is feigned with annoyance, your arms crossed upon your chest.

his heart drops at the realization. right.. the two of you aren't even a thing. his eyebrows furrow at the thought, he thought, just like the rest, you'd be the one to ask him out, not the other way around. if the two of you aren't even a thing, then why does he care? much to his own expectations, he doesn't even know.

he sighs deeply in defeat, his hand subconsciously moving towards yours. his eyes are glued to the ground, lips stuck into a thin line. you try not to let it show, but it breaks through, your laugh just escapes through your throat, confusing the already upset oikawa. "what's so funny?" he asks, his eyes wide at your sudden outburst. "haha–it's–it's, really nothing, heh–, you're so cute, toru," you struggle to say, emphasizing the use of his first name, he's begged you to call him by his first name, but you've just never done that.

his heart fluters at the use of his name, blush coating his cheeks so nicely. cute? "oh.. oh, were you messing with me?" he asks timidly, his hand coming up to scratch at his nape. oikawa lightly scoffs when you nod, still laughing at your own cruel joke.

finally, with a last chuckle, you nod your head, smiling mischievously at him. "so then.. who was that guy?" he asks, feeling more confident within himself. you shrug your shoulders, "a friend i paid $5 to act like he was flirting with me."

oh. oikawa sheepishly backs away, his face painted a light color of pink. he feels his phone vibrate, probably a text from iwaizumi calling to see where he's at. just as he takes out his phone and is about to open it, you're pushing yourself forward, your hands planting themselves flat on his chest as you get onto your tippy toes to give a longing kiss onto the apples of his cheeks.

"good luck," you say cheekily, returning flat onto your feet and walking away from the dazed oikawa. he can only turn his head to watch as you walk back into the gym, his cheek tingling in the spot where you kissed him. god, you just have him wrapped around your finger.

please like and repost with tags

[gpcwsl]

I know this is a throwback but I was wondering if you could do Alessia x royal!R (Swedish) and she scores THAT back heel goal? I think it’d be funny to see royal!R react to it and “threatening” Less with revoking her honorary citizenship for knocking Sweden out of the Euros

Alessia Russo x SwedenRoyal!Reader

slip note

WC: 908

MasterList

Warnings: Emotional tension and building attraction between characters, Possible romantic interest with a figure of royalty (Princess Y/n Y/l/n), Intimate, private communication (note with phone number exchange), Public attention and curiosity from teammates, Feelings of hesitation and uncertainty about the developing relationship, Pressures of balancing professional life with personal connections, short?

Song: Back to you - Selena Gomez

It was a warm, electrifying evening in England, and the stadium was buzzing with excitement as the semi-finals of the 2022 UEFA Women’s Euro Championship came to a thrilling close. England had just secured a remarkable 4-0 victory over Sweden, with Alessia Russo’s iconic backheel goal at the 68th minute being the standout moment of the match. The crowd roared in unison, and her teammates surrounded her, celebrating the well-earned win.

As the match ended, and the England team made their way off the pitch, Alessia found herself surrounded by teammates, still riding the high of their victory. But her eyes were drawn to a familiar figure approaching the pitch—Princess Y/n, making her way down the steps to shake hands with the players.

But amidst the celebration and the noise, Alessia’s gaze briefly wandered toward the royal box. There, watching the game with an air of grace and poise, was Princess Y/n Y/l/n, a Swedish royal. Alessia couldn’t help but notice the way the princess’s eyes followed the game with a mixture of passion and pride, even as her country’s team faced the crushing defeat. There was something captivating about her, something Alessia couldn’t quite put her finger on. She quickly shook the thought away, focusing on the triumph in front of her.

Alessia felt a slight flutter in her chest as the princess came closer, her regal presence commanding attention. Y/n moved gracefully, exchanging words with each of the players, until finally, she reached Alessia. The English striker, trying to hide her nerves, smiled warmly as she extended her hand to the princess.

“Congratulations, Alessia,” Y/n said, her voice laced with a soft, Swedish accent. “You and your team played incredibly well today.”

Alessia shook her hand, a bit starstruck. “Thank you, Your Highness. It was a great game for all of us.”

Y/n’s smile widened, and her eyes twinkled with a playful glint. “Though, I must warn you, knocking Sweden out of the Euros might result in the revocation of your honorary Swedish citizenship,” she teased, her tone light but with a hint of mischief.

Alessia laughed, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Oh no, I’ll have to make up for that somehow,” she joked back. “Maybe a visit to Sweden is in order?”

“Perhaps,” Y/n replied, her gaze lingering on Alessia for a moment longer than usual. “But it’s not over yet, you know.”

Alessia nodded, feeling a spark between them—something that went beyond just the competition.

Before Y/n walked away, she leaned in and, with a subtle move, slipped a small note into Alessia’s hand. Alessia blinked, surprised, but before she could react, Y/n had already turned and joined the rest of the royal party. The note burned a hole in her hand as she stared at it, unsure of what had just happened.

Once back in the changing room, Alessia’s teammates were still buzzing with excitement, but a different kind of energy filled the air as they noticed the small note in Alessia’s hand.

“Come on, open it!” Millie urged, her eyes glinting with curiosity.

“Yeah, what’s the royal message?” Lucy teased, her tone full of playful suspicion.

Alessia hesitated, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. “It’s nothing,” she muttered, trying to play it cool.

But the team wasn’t having it. “Let us see!” Jess chimed in, trying to snatch the note from her hand.

Alessia was quick to hide it, slipping it under her jersey and away from their prying hands. She felt oddly protective of it, as if it was something precious.

Finally, after a moment of peace, Alessia carefully unfolded the note, her heart racing with anticipation. The words were simple, yet they sent a rush of excitement through her:

“I’ve never been one to enjoy competition, but watching you on the pitch today was a real pleasure. If you’re interested, I would love to get to know you better. Here’s my number: ********** - Y/N Y/L/N.”

Alessia blinked, reading the message again to make sure it wasn’t just her imagination. Her fingers trembled as she tucked the note into her pocket, her thoughts racing. Princess Y/n had left her phone number. Was she asking her out?

Before she could overthink it, her teammates were still circling around her, begging her to read the note out loud. Alessia’s heart hammered in her chest, and she decided to keep it to herself. She didn’t want to share this moment with anyone—not yet, at least.

As the team celebrated their victory, Alessia remained a little quieter, her mind swirling with thoughts of the princess. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was brewing between them—something beyond the pitch, beyond the competition. The note, simple as it was, had given her a glimpse into something that could be more.

Her teammates, ever observant, noticed the slight blush on Alessia’s cheeks and the way her gaze kept drifting back to the pocket where she had hidden the note. “You’re not fooling anyone, Russo,” Millie teased, winking at her.

Alessia smiled but didn’t say a word, the note still burning a hole in her pocket. As the night went on, and the celebrations continued, all she could think about was Princess Y/n Y/l/n and what could come of this unexpected connection.

The game may have ended with England victorious, but for Alessia, the real match had only just begun.