#n chiqui...

[alessiasfreckles]

amnesia - part 3 (ona batlle x reader, alexia putellas x reader)

Part 2 here!

warnings: angst!

a/n: hope you enjoy x

----------

“What are these pictures?” you asked, turning to look at Ona. Her eyes were wide, lips parted, and you pushed down the sudden urge to kiss her. “Ona? What’s going on?”

Alexia started to back away. “I’m going to, um, leave-”

“No, stay, please?” you asked, and she hesitated before nodding once. You looked back at Ona. “What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry, I, I didn’t know how to tell you- I-”

“Were we dating? Are we dating?” 

“I- Yes, we’re dating,” she told you, her voice small. “We’ve been together for nearly 7 months.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked. Ona had expected you to be angry when you found out she’d lied to you, to shout, yell. She wasn’t expecting your voice to be quiet and cold. Tears were brimming in her eyes, threatening to fall. 

“I just- I was so scared, so, so scared, I thought you were going to die,” she explained, voice cracking on the last word. “And when you woke up, I- I didn’t want to overwhelm you, I wanted you to remember, I didn’t want to tell you that- that it was my fault.”

“What do you mean, your fault? How was it your fault?” 

“I, we, we were having an argument,” she said, and the tears began streaming down her face. “We were having an argument, it was my fault, I said something, and you left. I hurt you and you left, and the next thing I knew I was being called to the hospital because you’d been in an accident.”

Your body felt cold. “What did you say?”

“I’m sorry, it was stupid and unkind and I wasn’t thinking, I was tired and-”

“What did you say, Ona?” 

“I- I said you were too much. That I just wanted some peace and quiet after training and you were being too much.”

The words felt like a punch to your gut, though you weren’t sure why. You had the distinct sensation that you’d been told that before, throughout your whole life, you’d been too much for other people. That you’d learnt to make yourself smaller, not to take up too much space, to make sure you weren’t being too much. 

“So you’ve been lying to me?” you asked, trying to ignore the iron fist around your heart. You knew the accident wasn’t Ona’s fault. What she said was awful, and really fucking hurt to hear, but still - the car hitting you wasn’t her fault. But what you couldn’t get past was the lying.

“No, I-”

“You lied to me, about who you are, about who we are, about who I am. You told me we were friends, best friends. Best friends wouldn’t lie to each other,” you frowned. 

“No, I just-” Ona protested.

“I want to be alone. Can you go, please?” you asked quietly, not looking at the brunette. You heard a sob, and then her footsteps as she left, the door closing softly behind her. 

Alexia felt torn. She cared about both of you so much, and it broke her heart to see Ona in so much pain, but you had a right to be upset.

“Would you like me to go as well?” she asked gently. 

You thought about it, then shook your head. “No, can you stay, please? Maybe we can, uh, go through the other photos and you can tell me about them? See if that helps me remember anything.”

“Of course, chiqui,” she said, and brought the corkboard down off the wall. You collapsed onto the sofa, grateful to be sat down, and tried to push the thoughts about what had just happened out of your mind.

“So, this one is from your first game at Barcelona,” she pointed to a photo of you and your teammates in the changing room after the game. You’re sweaty and you look tired, but you’re smiling brightly. 

“I remember that, I think,” you said. Not the game itself, but the feeling, the rush you got, the crowd cheering when you stepped on the pitch. 

“This is from one of our walks before a game. I’m not sure which one, but it looks sunny,” she said, squinting at a photo of you, Salma and Ona. You looked at the photo, the way Ona’s arm was around your shoulder. 

“Um, this is from the Champion’s League final last year,” she quickly moved on. 

“We won!” you blurted out. “Right? I remember! I don’t remember the game, but I remember celebrating.”

“Si!” Alexia grinned. “You were so proud. You even scored a goal, do you remember?”

“Really?” you asked, eyes wide. “I don’t remember that.”

As she showed you more pictures, you tried to concentrate on her words, but kept finding yourself staring at the pictures of you and Ona. 

“Don’t think too badly of her, bebé,” Alexia said softly. “It was wrong of her to lie, but she was trying to do the right thing. She was scared. We all were, when we heard what had happened. We- we didn’t know if you were going to wake up. She loves you.”

Deep down, you knew that you loved her too. It was an unmistakable feeling.

“I just feel so betrayed,” you explained, looking at a picture of you and Ona. Someone else must have taken it - it showed the two of you sat on a bench somewhere, Ona leaning against your shoulder, you pressing a kiss to her head. “I don’t even know who I am anymore, really. I’ve been relying on other people to tell me who I am, who they are. To tell me the truth. She lied about us, but she lied about me as well. I know she was scared, but- but how does she think I feel? I woke up with no memories of anything about my life, about any of it. I feel so stupid.”

You sat quietly for a minute, Alexia unsure of how to respond. The silence was broken by your stomach rumbling, providing a welcome distraction.

“Oh, I guess there’s no food, right?” you asked, realising just how hungry you were.

“Actually,” Alexia said, getting up and opening the fridge. “Ona got all of your favourites. She cooked, too, so you don’t have to do anything, just heat it up.”

“She did?” 

“Si.”

“That’s… that’s very kind of her,” you said. The iron fist around your heart loosened slightly. 

“She loves you, bebé,” Alexia said, her smile not quite meeting her eyes. “She really does.”

Heating up one of the meals Ona had prepared for you, Alexia let you get settled back into your apartment. It still didn’t really feel quite like home, but you were glad to be out of the hospital anyway. As the two of you ate, she told you more stories about your time at Barcelona, and you felt glad that at least she was telling you the truth. 

“So, what about us?” you asked, scraping up the last bite on your plate.

“What do you mean?” Alexia asked, raising an eyebrow. Her heart sped up slightly as she thought about her feelings, feelings she’d long kept hidden.

“Well, what’s the story of our friendship? Is there anything I should know about there? Any drama that happened, any secrets? Please, no more secrets,” you said with a wry smile. 

Alexia took a deep breath.

[onas-batlle]

sacred new beginnings

pairing: lucy bronze x ona batlle

warnings: none

synopsis: after finding out that ona hasn’t gone on a proper date in years, lucy offers to take her out on a couple of purely platonic dates. just to get the anxiety out of the way, of course. why else?

a/n: i know people voted for this fic to remain an x reader, but i couldn’t bring myself to not make this about lucy & ona, so I edited it a bit! unsure if i will publish an x reader version of this because i’m not really bothered, but we shall see 😊 i also have no idea if there is a lake for fishing in barcelona, so suspend your belief for a bit please!

Ao3 Link

———

There’s no time to feel more out of the loop than when one’s circle of friends discusses their romantic escapades, and that was exactly how Ona felt as the number of dates she had been on recently was a big, fat zero. Being basically married to her job did not allow for many dating opportunities, and truthfully, once the Spaniard finally slowed down enough to even think about finding some romance - the lasting kind, not that friends with benefits type - the extent of her fame quickly quashed those chances. She found the increased attention rather overwhelming and quite frankly scary, and women only wanting her for her celebrity meant that a genuine relationship was not in the cards at the present.

Come to think of it, she wasn’t even sure she really wanted to play the dating game; the horror stories heard from teammates often causing her to recoil in her chair – Bruna’s about a date bringing their mother along and then having an allergic reaction to the shrimp still fresh in her mind. The last time she had even attempted a romance had been with Felicitas Rauch, and that had ended before it had really even began. She’d been basically celibate since then, and apparently, this was borderline unheard of, if the yell of Mapi León was anything to go by.

“What do you mean you haven’t dated in years?” Mapi questioned, the drinking of her coffee abandoned as she turned to gape at Ona.

“I don’t know, just haven’t really gotten around to it,” she shrugged, cheeks turning hot as she noticed the eyes of most of her club team on her. A certain pair of sparkling hazel eyes trained on her made her flush even darker, if possible, and she averted her eyes as quickly as she could. Despite her obvious discomfort, Mapi pressed on. “Not a single date or nothing?”

“Eh, had a fling with Feli for like a month before it kind of- “

“That was over a year ago, amiga. And from what I heard, you didn’t even go on a proper date,” Patri butted in, and Alexia smacked the back of her head as she regarded the Spanish fullback’s embarrassment at that statement.

Seeing the slightly pitying looks from her teammates, Ona went to speak, but before she could scramble together a sentence to alleviate the embarrassment, Lucy chimed in. “What’s keepin’ you from datin’ now?”

Ona paused, mulling over the reasons in her head before settling on an answer. “I guess I’m kind of nervous about dating again. I don’t even know if I can still flirt.”

A poor reason, admittedly, but better than revealing to her team about her anxiety around her sky-rocketing fame post-World Cup. At least she could attribute that excuse to everyone else’s constant anecdotes about bad experiences within the dating realm.

“Everyone is a bit awkward at least once, chiqui. There’s no reason to be nervous,” Alexia said soothingly, shooting a glare at Mapi who snickered a little at the fullback’s answer. After fixing Mapi with her own pointed look, Ona let out a sigh.

“I know, but I can’t help but feel that way, sabes?” That was met with an understanding silence from her team before Lucy slammed her hand on the table and shot up out of her seat.

“I can do it!” she boomed, a smug smirk on her face.

“¿Qué?” came the response from around the table, everyone furrowing their brows at what Lucy just said. Seeing the confused faces of her teammates, she slowly sat down again and cleared her throat before beginning to explain her genius plan.

“Think about it, Ona hasn’t gone on a date in ages, right? And she’s nervous about the awkwardness that will come along with it. If she goes out on a couple of fake dates with me, and I make it as horrific as possible, then she can get those bad date experiences out of the way, and get used to going on dates again! What do you say?”

With that, Lucy mimed an explosion with her fist and glanced around the table to garner people’s reactions. Mapi was nodding in agreement, Alexia’s brow was furrowed in contemplation, and Cata just looked thoroughly confused. Flicking her eyes towards Lucy, Ona saw the Lioness staring at her expectantly.

Truthfully, it was lowkey an awful idea, but Ona supposed that it would help her get the ‘back on the dating scene’ jitters out of the way and would allow her to spend some time with Lucy, who she shamefully had nursed a small crush on for a while now.

“Okay.”

“Okay?!” came someone else’s shout, but Ona was too focused on Lucy’s determined pump of the fist to locate where the protest came from.

“That was easy,” Lucy spoke into the Spaniard’s ear as she gathered her into a crushing hug, and grinned at Ona once she let go. “I will see you on Wednesday for Bad Date #1.”

There was nothing she could do but nod.

---

It was only when Ona was sat on the boat that the regret came rushing in, narrowing her eyes at Lucy who was fiddling with the fishing poles a few metres away. It was not a secret that she had a strong dislike for fishing, the smell of the bait, the unstable feeling of floating on water in a boat the size of a tin can, and the gleam of the fishhooks bringing her back to the disastrous fishing trips with her father and older brother.

Many days were spent in a small fishing boat, with her father’s disappointed sighs being the soundtrack to her disgust at the dead fish that surrounded her, and a lurching stomach created by the movement of the water below. She supposed this is why Lucy chose it for Bad Date #1.

“Chin up, darling. Let’s get ready to catch some big fish!” Lucy thrust a fishing rod at Ona, shocking her out of her memories and with a little bit of grumbling, the younger woman begrudgingly took it, Lucy’s face lighting up in a smile at her behaviour.

Following her lead, Ona attempted to bait her hook with a particularly fat mealworm that still wriggled between her fingers. Maybe it was poor timing, but a small movement from Lucy caused the boat to shift suddenly, and Ona’s hand got caught on the sharp point of the fishhook. She let out a hiss of pain and went to go suck the wound, forgetting that she was clutching a slimy worm in her hand until she was practically eyeball to eyeball with it. Not exactly expecting to be so up close and personal with a mealworm, Ona let out an almighty scream and tossed it away.

To her horror, instead of plopping harmlessly into the water, it found it’s way to Lucy’s lap. The older woman’s scream echoed around as well, and Ona had to stifle a grin as Lucy turned to narrow her eyes suspiciously at the Spaniard.

“Having trouble with your bait?” Lucy questioned and held up the worm Ona had sent flying in her direction, the initial shock having worn off and leaving behind an expression of amusement.

“I hate you Lucia Roberta,” Ona grumbled, swatting away the mealworm that Lucy had now started dangling in her face.

The older woman just laughed and dropped the bait back into the bucket, deciding that teasing Ona in the middle of a bloody lake was not a good idea. “Oh, you don’t really. Plus this hasn’t been too awkward now, has it?”

“I suppose not. I feel too sick to be awkward.” Ona did look a bit pale, and she quickly sucked in a breath and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force her breakfast to stay down in her stomach where it belonged.

“Just try and focus on the fish, not the boat swaying.” Lucy advised, placing a warm hand on Ona’s shoulder. If she had been anywhere other than a small boat swaying in some water, Ona would have blushed, but she currently found herself rather preoccupied.

“Lucy, I don’t think you understand that the smell of the fish is also making me feel very sick,” she gritted out, clenching the seat she was sitting on with a white-knuckled grip.

“Look, I have some spare plastic bags if you need one, okay? Here, I’ll rebait your hook and we will try again.”

Ona opened her eyes and nodded grimly, accepting the plastic bag Lucy had in her outstretched hand and the newly baited rod. Once both of them had finally settled, casted their lines and were waiting for a bite, they began to chat a bit about Ona’s life with United in Manchester, and Lucy’s experience in Barcelona before Ona had come home and rejoined the team. Slowly the Catalan felt herself beginning to feel less ill, her teammate and friend doing a great job at distracting her from the situation that the Lioness herself had put them in.

After a half hour or so, they were interrupted by a tug on Ona’s line, and the Spaniard looked at Lucy with wide eyes. “What do I do?”

“Reel it in?” Lucy responded, grinning a little at Ona’s alarm.

“Mierda, it’s very strong!” Ona spoke as her muscles flexed, trying incredibly hard to reel the fish in. But the stupid thing absolutely refused to budge, the fish at the end of the line fighting for it’s life to remain in the water. A particularly strong tug made Ona almost fly into the water, and pleaded with her eyes for Lucy to give her a hand.

“Here, let me try.” With that, Lucy abandoned her line, and shuffled closer to Ona, the Spanish woman suddenly finding her senses overwhelmed with everything Lucy.

The press of her warm shoulder against Ona’s, the positively intoxicating perfume that she had on, and the fact that she was close enough that Ona could see the small sun spot close to her right eye had the Catalan so captivated that when the English woman said something to her, Ona jumped in shock and accidentally dropped the rod that she was holding.

The both of them watched as the rod got tugged away by the fish who was no doubt celebrating being free, before it eventually came to a stop a few metres away and floated, still, on top of the water.

“Lo siento,” Ona grimaced, biting her lip in embarrassment. She half expected Lucy to growl at her, but instead the other woman’s face split open in a wide grin, and she let out a laugh.

“That was one of funniest things I think I’ve seen in my entire fishing career.”

Ona glared playfully at the English defender before picking up a paddle. “We should go retrieve it, no?”

Lucy nodded and picked up the other paddle, the two of them slowly steering their boat towards Ona’s rod. Soon they were almost close enough to reach it, but suddenly Ona stopped her movements and frowned at something in the water just ahead of them. Lucy turned to look quizzically at her fellow defender, and nudged Ona in the side when she saw the slightly worried expression her face.

“Lucia… is that.. a shark?” Ona squeaked out, pointing at a grey shape that lurked in the distance.

Lucy squinted, trying to gauge what it was, but Ona had already begun to panic a bit, despite the fact that sharks were most likely not residing in a random lake in Barcelona.

“I don’t think-” Lucy managed to squeeze out but Ona had already snatched the rod out of the water and was now frantically moving her paddle as quickly as possible.

“I don’t care! Row, please Lucy,” the smaller woman begged, sending Lucy such a look of genuine fear that the Lioness just bit back a smile and placed her own paddle into the water to guide them back to shore.

Once they two of them had made it safely back onto land with Ona looking slightly green with fear and motion sickness (“Lucy, I’m not kidding it was a shark!”), the Spanish fullback took a few steps on shaky legs before collapsing into Lucy’s side, who wrapped her arm around the other woman’s waist to prevent her from falling over.

“Not a very successful trip, huh?” the English woman spoke, gesturing to their very empty cooler where the fish they caught was supposed to go.

“No, but at least we were not eaten,” Ona replied before checking her watch and looking back hopefully at Lucy. “I have 3 hours before my brother will be over, so would you want to go out for something to eat?”

“Well, considering the fact that we are currently fishless, and I don’t want to starve, I will accept.” With that, the pair made their way back to Lucy’s car, equipment in hand and chattering the entire way.

“What have you got planned for Bad Date #2? Might be hard to beat this.”

“Just wait and see, Ona. Wait and see…”

---

As soon as Ona stepped foot in the mini golf course and made eye contact with the tacky pirate ship that resided in a murky fake pond, she let out a groan and immediately turned on her heel. Lucy was quick to grab the smaller woman by the shoulders, however, and strong armed her towards the counter, the Lioness wiggling her eyebrows at Ona in amusement.

Saying that Ona hated mini golf was an understatement. She could stomach regular golf from all of the times that her friends had dragged her down to the nearest course, but to shrink the clubs and add on a bunch of screaming children made the experience almost unbearable. Plus, it was hard. No wonder Lucy chose this as a bad date destination.

“Can’t believe you brought me to a mini golf course of all places!” Ona complained, glaring daggers at the brightly colour obstacles scattered about everywhere.

“It’s only mini golf, Ona. The only people who are gonna witness this are like ten,” Lucy laughed while paying at the counter and motioning for the Spanish woman to select a ball colour.

“Well ten year olds can be very mean,” she retorted back, selecting a bright green one and pretending to throw it at her as the English woman pretended to collapse to the floor, wounded. With a yellow ball in hand, Lucy steered her towards the first hole and gestured for the younger woman to go first. “Aye, c’mon. Let’s see if you’re as good at mini golf as you are at football.”

After flipping her the bird and earning a very scandalised gasp from a nearby mother, Ona lined her body up to hit the ball and… missed. Lucy let out a bark of laughter from behind her and Ona turned to shoot her a glare, feeling the heat of embarrassment crawl up her neck as she puffed in annoyance at the English woman’s smirk.

“Forget being a World Cup winner, we’ve got a future mini golf world champion on our hands.”

“Why would they make golf, which is already hard by the way, even smaller?” Ona replied, disgruntled. Lucy, bemused but unsympathetic to her complaints just grinned before yelling “Swing again!”

To Ona’s credit, she did. But unfortunately, her club flew out of her grip and hurtled a few metres away, spinning just clear of a small child who toddled around another hole. Turning back to Lucy, the Catalan saw her bent double in laughter, unable to keep it in after watching Ona fling her club into the air. Seeing Lucy smile caused the corners of Ona’s mouth to turn up slightly, but she quickly tampered down the fondness that had begun to sneak its way into her heart.

“Ha, ha, very funny,” Ona deadpanned while she collected her club, wincing apologetically at the parent of the toddler she almost took out and traipsing back to Lucy who had managed to compose herself.

“How about I give you a hand, aye? So you don’t accidentally maim any more children.”

“I’ll have you know that I didn’t actually hit him,” Ona responded, blowing a rather childish raspberry at Lucy, “but I’ll take you up on your offer.”

She wasn’t too sure what the Lioness had meant by giving her a hand, but as Lucy dropped her own club to the ground and made her way towards Ona, the Spaniard eyed her cautiously. Wrapping her arms around Ona, Lucy let out a huff of laughter as the smaller woman tensed at the unexpected physical contact.

“Here, hold the club like this.” Lucy’s breath tickled the back of Ona’s neck as her warm hands grasped the smaller woman’s and left her slightly breathless, cheeks heating up for what felt like the thousandth time that day. Slowly Ona allowed herself to relax, opening herself up to the other woman’s guidance and moved where Lucy wanted her to stand. She felt herself almost mourn the loss of the fullback’s warmth as she released Ona from her hold, the slight autumn breeze making the lack of her body heat more apparent. Ona could blame her flushed cheeks on the cold, of course, but a feeling stirring in her gut begged to differ.

Shaking herself from those traitorous thoughts, Ona steadied herself to hopefully hit the ball accurately this time, Lucy’s cheers making its way into Ona’s ears.

“Don’t swing as hard as before. Give it a light tap,” came the encouraging advice from the defender, and Ona took a final breath in, not unlike one she’d take before a rare occasion when she would have to convert a penalty kick.

Ona heard the whoosh of the club through the air as she swung before she felt it make hard impact against something solid.

Clearly, she had overestimated the distance Lucy had put between the two of them, and instead of softly hitting the ball like she was advised to, Ona had swung the club back as far as she could, and had ended up smacking Lucy hard in the shin.

“Ow, fuck!” Lucy groaned, clutching her leg. “My legs are literally my money-makers, Ona, and you know my knee is hanging on by a string.”

“¡Dios mío, Luce! Are you alright?” Ona rushed towards her in horror, praying that she hadn’t given the Englishwoman an injury that could cause a premature retirement or one that would leave her benched for months. As the Spaniard bent over to peer at Lucy’s face, Ona could see that it had lit up into a shit-eating grin, the contact not as bad as she had originally thought.

“Ay, don’t scare me like that, idiota!” Ona growled, smacking Lucy on the shoulder as her thundering heart began to slow again.

“For a world-class athlete you sure are clumsy. Almost as bad as Less!” Lucy chuckled as she straightened up, before gesturing for Ona to take a fourth attempt at the ball. “Don’t worry about me, just focus and swing gently.”

“Missing the ball three times, accidentally throwing the club away, and now hurting you will definitely win for worst date ever,” Ona muttered as she went to take the shot, yet again. Her comment was met with a wry smile from Lucy. “That’s what we’re here for, no?”

For the next few hours, the both of them made their way from hole to hole, with Lucy expertly navigating the ball past the obstacles and Ona bumbling her way through them. It was positively infuriating how good Lucy was at everything, but every time she sunk the golf ball into the hole and shot a cocky smirk the Spaniard’s way, Ona’s insides turned to mush. Her own skill only improved marginally, but the more mistakes that were made, the more she and Lucy were able to relax into some comfortable teasing. Somehow, even when faced with the activity of her nightmares, Ona felt as though she was able to get into her stride and even start to enjoy herself a touch.

They were now down to the final hole, and while Lucy had given Ona a very thorough and obvious beating, the Catalan was determined to at least win one round. Whether it be pure, stupid luck, or what Ona will say later was complete and utter skill, the ball rolled into the hole after one single hit. Lucy didn’t care how it happened. All she cared about was that the other woman had actually just gotten a hole in one.

“You fucking did it!” she yelled into Ona’s face, as surprised as every single human being on the course that she had managed to pull that off. Everyone else had, after all, been witness to her poor attempts to golf for the past few hours.

“Sí, I did!” Ona shouted back, but the only thing she could focus on, even in the wake of her own sporting brilliance, was the cheeky sense of pride and fondness that was painted on Lucy’s excited features.

Not dissimilar to how she has done on the pitch, Ona hurled herself at her, Lucy tossing her club to the side in anticipation and catching the Spaniard with an unexpected passion. Tightly gripping her t-shirt, Ona could feel the other fullback’s rippling muscles under her fingertips, and as she gazed into Lucy’s elated face, she had to take a nervous swallow.

Lucy spun Ona’s body around, almost whirling into, but narrowly avoiding a treasure chest that had been bolted into the ground, and the only thing Ona found herself wanting to do was kiss her. So she did.

Even though the Spanish defender had just spent the past few hours humiliating herself in front of Lucy in the worst way possible, the English woman kissed Ona back with a similar joy, warm hands finding their home on the backs of Ona’s thighs. Lucy’s lips were as soft as Ona had always envisioned them to be, and a part of her soul seemed to sigh with contentment at the contact.

For a moment it was like it was only the two of them in the world, the screams of kids, chatter of people, and tweets of birds fading into the background. All Ona could register was the grip Lucy had on her thighs, the way their bodies fit together perfectly - almost like two pieces of a puzzle, and the way Lucy’s tongue teased the seam of her lips, making her head spin deliciously.

Soon they both had to draw back from the kiss, air becoming a necessity, and Ona leant her forehead against Lucy’s with a smile. After a few beats, the Lioness buried her face into her neck, and Ona felt Lucy’s mouth curve into a grin.

“My champion.”

Those two simple words had Ona’s heart beating a million times faster, and Lucy laughed at the feeling, but as she mindlessly walked them backwards, she lost her footing and sent the both of them stumbling gracelessly right into the man-made lake smack bang in the middle of the mini golf course.

The two of them let out a pair of matching god-awful shrieks at the sudden feeling of icy water, but they soon dissolved into peals of laughter at the utter absurdity of what just happened. Blind to the judging stares of the public around them, Lucy sent a small splash Ona’s way, which soon became a fierce splash battle as the Spanish woman - not one to lose a fight - sent tidal wave after tidal wave straight into Lucy’s face.

“Oi, you got that in my bloody mouth!” she groused playfully, and attempted to tackle Ona to the ground, the pair still floundering in the dirty lake. Unluckily, or luckily in the case of everyone else, a disgruntled staff member hauled the both of them rather unceremoniously out of the water and escorted them to Lucy’s car. Turns out Pablo did not care that Ona had won a World Cup before, and slapped the both of them with lifetime bans. If Ona celebrated the fact that she could never be dragged back to play mini golf again, then that was no one’s business but hers.

Despite being sopping wet in the middle of a carpark, Lucy in Ona’s eyes looked positively radiant. Droplets of water shone on her eyelashes, and her shirt clung to her body, showcasing every curve and harsh ridge of her musculature. There was no denying that she was mouth-wateringly attractive, nose ring glinting in the sun and lips turned up in a cocky smirk. Her eyes had also started to carry out their own appraisal of Ona’s shorter figure, and she shifted awkwardly from foot to foot at the way Lucy’s hazel eyes seemed to pierce into her soul. Her intense gaze made Ona feel as if the Lioness could peer into the very depths of her psyche, and quite frankly, that kind of intimacy scared her a little.

“What a, how do you say? What a freaking disaster,” Ona spoke, a timid attempt to break the heightening tension between the two of them.

“Guess I delivered on my promise on a second horrific date,” came the response, but they both knew that was far from the truth. The older woman’s dimpling smile and shining eyes undid all of her efforts to make that a bad date, and in a rare moment of honesty, Ona allowed herself to accept, if only for a moment, that she was falling in love with Lucy Bronze.

Following her small hum of agreement, they both fell silent again, just taking in each other’s presence. Ona tried to dull the burst of emotion that had welled up in her, but Lucy’s hand cupping her jaw and brushing away a stray smear of mud caused the Catalan’s breath to hitch and sent her efforts flying out of the window. Heart pounding unbearably fast, Ona broke away from her grasp and heard Lucy let out a sigh. “Gotta get you home now. It’s bloody cold.”

Ona nodded at her words and they both slipped into Lucy’s car, Ona apologising profusely for drenching and muddying the English woman’s car seat. The ride back was nice, the conversation light-hearted and easy, however it was impossible to deny the suffocating tension hanging in the air between them. As they pulled up to Ona’s house, Lucy turned to face her, and Ona noticed her gripping the steering wheel tightly.

“Guess you’re ready to go out and date new people now, huh?” Lucy spoke, a tinge of sadness lacing her words despite the small smile she shot Ona’s way. The Spanish fullback sent back a half-hearted grin back. “I guess so.”

The car was silent for a second. “I think I should be getting inside. I’ve got a meeting tomorrow.”

The only thing Lucy could do was say a quick “see you later” before Ona clambered out of the car and made her way to her front door. Pausing, Ona turned back to look at the car and caught a glimpse of Lucy staring at her with an unreadable expression on her face. It was only after she had let herself in that Ona finally heard Lucy’s car pull away from her house, and she finally allowed herself to collapse against the door, countless thoughts running through her head.

She was well and truly fucked.

--

It had been two weeks since her mini golf ‘date’ with Lucy, and Ona was just about to embark on her first proper date in literal years. As she stared at her own reflection in the mirror, Ona couldn’t help but mourn the fact that her feelings towards the English fullback were likely to remain unresolved. Things between her and Lucy had been rather stilted after that day, the only words exchanged being as mundane as asking for the time or to pass the salt. Truthfully Ona felt kind of hurt at Lucy’s indifference, but in all fairness, she hadn’t exactly tried to talk about that kiss either and instead had opted to ignore her, so it wasn’t fair to put the blame on Lucy. Maybe Ona was just doomed to be alone forever.

Shooting a glance at the clock and seeing that it was time to go, Ona swiftly brushed her hands once more over her outfit, checked her makeup, and grabbed her keys before heading out to the restaurant.

The girl Ona was going on a date with, Elena, was a friend of Alexia’s girlfriend, and her captain was adamant that this was a match made in heaven. Smart, funny, and a passionate Real Madrid hater, Alexia had also mentioned that Elena was accustomed to hanging around with footballers, so Ona didn’t have to worry that she was trying to date her for her five minutes of fame which was something that Alexia too has had some experience with.

The initial part of the date was nice, Ona thought, both of them just getting the small talk out of the way and getting to know each other, the two of them bonding over their shared love of a musical artist. The food was adequate as well, and much to Ona’s relief, Elena did not have an allergic reaction to the shrimp, nor did she bring her mother along like Bruna’s horror date. Things only took a turn when Elena hit her with a completely unexpected question.

“Who is she?” Elena spoke, “The girl you’re in love with.” Her query caught Ona incredibly off guard, and the only thing she could get out was an awkward stammered denial, which she knew was thoroughly unconvincing to even the most gullible of people. The expression on the other woman’s face wasn’t angry however, instead a soft look of sympathy painting her face as she placed a hand over the footballer’s.

A beat passed before Ona hung her head and decided to spill her guts to her date. “She’s my teammate at Barcelona and I’m pretty sure I ruined it because I’m so awkward. We kissed and then I ignored her the day afterwards which means that she definitely hates me, and not only have I lost my chance with her but I’ve also lost her as my friend, and now we are going to lose all of our games and then the Champions League because I think that if I have to go on the pitch with her again I will throw up. She even made me have fun mini golfing and everyone on Earth knows that mini golf es el deporte del diablo and that I absolutely despise it with my entire being... except for when I was playing it with her.”

Elena thoughtfully listened to Ona small spiel before offering her a gentle smile.

“I know I don’t know her, or the extent of your situation, but something tells me that she won’t be opposed to your affections. My advice? Go find her. Tell her how you feel. The worst thing she could do is reject you, and from the little that I’ve heard, she definitely won’t do that.”

“You really think so?” Ona said, feeling a little hopeful at her words.

“I do.”

“Okay.”

Ona sat there awkwardly until Elena laughed and motioned for her to get up. “What are you still doing here? Go!”

“Now?”

“Sí, now!”

Taking in a shuddering breathe, Ona strengthened her resolve and stood from her seat, slightly more invigorated. “Okay, I will. And I’m sorry for running out on you like this.”

“Ay, not the worst date I’ve been on. Good luck out there,” she grinned, and Ona felt a sense of overwhelming appreciation for the woman across from her. Maybe in another life they could have become something, but right now, all she wanted was Lucy.

“Gracias. Truly,” Ona responded before slapping several bills down on the table. “Dinner is on me by the way.” And then she was hightailing it out of the restaurant.

Ona found herself pounding on Lucy’s door before she had even registered that she had no idea what she was even going to say to her. A wave of doubt passed through the Spaniard as she wrung her hands on the doorstep, and thoughts of escaping to the comfort of her own home to down a tub of ice cream were getting increasingly more enticing. Those plans were short-lived however, because the door swung open and revealed Lucy who stared at her, her hazel eyes wide in surprise.

“Hola.”

She wanted to smack herself for that stupid opener, but Ona refrained from doing so as she could have sworn that she saw a corner of the defender’s mouth tilt upwards. Maybe all was not lost.

“Hola,” Lucy responded, and was quiet after that, silently telling Ona that the ball was in her court.

“You look well.” Nice one.

Lucy smiled properly at that one and decided to put Ona out of her misery a little. “You’re all dressed up. Hot date tonight?”

Ona didn’t miss the way Lucy’s grin became slightly strained at her words and felt a surge of confidence fill her heart, so she decide to take the plunge.

“Sort of. I- Look, Lucia, I’m sorry for how I treated you after our… kiss. I messed up and ignored you for like a week after, so now you probably hate me, and I can not blame you. I know we said that the dates were not real and for me to get over my nerves, but then I couldn’t help but start to pretend that this was real.” Lucy stayed silent, her expression unreadable, but her eyes were shining with something that made Ona’s stomach flutter, and she took that as a sign to keep going.

“The girl I was just out with, Elena, noticed something was off immediately, and so I told her that I love you. Because I do. And if I’m not wrong, then I think you like me too. If you do have feelings for me, I’m so sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner and spared us from all of this pain, because I’ve been stuck in this hole of sadness for the past couple of weeks. So por favor, just tell me that I haven’t missed my chance.”

“I love you too.”

Lucy’s response was quick, her words confident, and to Ona in that moment, she was sure that Lucy was the most beautiful person in the world. The small fly-away hairs that escaped from her bun, the freckles that were dotted across her skin, the stray eyelash that rested on the apple of her cheek, all made a rush of fondness spread throughout Ona’s chest.

With that admission, she tentatively reached out to rest a hand on Lucy’s jaw, and she leaned into Ona’s touch as her arms circled around the smaller woman’s waist.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Lucy breathed. Ona gave her a quick nod.

“I asked you to go on those fake dates hoping that you would give me a proper chance afterwards. I’ve liked you for a long time, you know?” she confessed, leaning in to brush her nose against Ona’s skin.

“You could’ve just said something instead of subjecting me to sharks and mini golf,” came Ona’s reply, but her tone held nothing but fond amusement.

“I still don’t think that was a shark,” Lucy, eyes crinkling in laughter as she thought back to Ona’s panicked paddling at the lake.

“I’m telling you, I saw a fin!” the younger woman protested, but there was no real fight in it, Ona long having accepted that she may have overreacted a touch. That didn’t mean she wanted to give Lucy the satisfaction of being right, though.

“So, how does Elena rank on the scale of bad dates. You must be an expert after both of ours, so gimme a number from one to ten. Spare no gory details,” Lucy smirked, her hands creeping up to place themselves firmly on Ona’s face, lips within a hair’s breadth away from the Spaniard’s.

“I think that was the worst date I’ve ever been on, because it wasn’t with you.” And hearing those words, Lucy kissed her.

[south-of-heaven]

Priestly fic where she is the sister of dom and she joins TJD and she has secret feelings for them

More ways than one || Rhea Ripley x Reader x Damian Priest

Summary: When you joined the judgement day together with your brother you did not expect it to go like this

A/N: This is honestly one of the most fun things I've ever written so I hope you enjoy :)

You've recently joined Judgment Day alongside your brother, Dominik Mysterio, and the experience has been both exhilarating and nerve-wracking. However, there's a certain dynamic duo in the group that's been catching your attention in a way you never expected – Rhea Ripley and Damian Priest. Despite your dad, Rey Mysterio's warnings to stay away from them, you find yourself drawn to the Eradicator and the Punisher.

There's something intriguing about Rhea's fierce confidence and Damian's mysterious charm that keeps pulling you in. You know it's risky, especially considering the age gap between you and Damian, but you can't seem to resist their magnetic presence.

As days pass, you find yourself catching feelings for both Rhea and Damian, and it mortifies you. You're only 24, and while that may not mean much between you and Rhea, the difference between your ages and experiences feels vast when it comes to Damian.

Yet, the two don't make it easy for you. They love to tease you, saying suggestive things that make you nervous and blush, and they seem to have a mischievous glint in their eyes whenever they see your reaction. Little did you know, they were already aware of your feelings before you even realized them yourself, and they're just enjoying flirting with you.

One night, you find yourself alone on the bus with Rhea and Damian. The atmosphere feels charged with tension as they look at you with knowing eyes. You feel your heart race, not sure what to expect.

"Join us," Rhea says with a smug smile, as Damian leans in closer.

Your breath hitches as you try to comprehend their proposition. "What do you mean? I already joined you, didn't I?"

Damian chuckles softly. "In more ways than one, sweetheart."

You feel your cheeks flush, and you look away, unable to meet their gaze. "I-I can't," you stammer, feeling overwhelmed by the implications.

But Rhea places a gentle hand on your cheek, turning your face to meet her eyes. "You're not the only one with feelings here," she says softly. "We've noticed how you look at us, and we feel the same way."

"And age is just a number," Damian adds, his voice low and seductive. "What matters is how we make each other feel."

You can hardly believe your ears. They feel the same way about you? Your heart races with a mix of excitement and uncertainty. But as you look into their eyes, you see nothing but sincerity and genuine affection.

Before you can respond, Rhea leans in, her lips brushing against yours in a gentle kiss. Your body trembles with anticipation, and you can't help but kiss her back, the sensation sending a rush of emotions through you.

Damian wraps his arms around both of you, drawing you closer in an intimate embrace. "We want you, Chiqui," he whispers, his lips ghosting against your ear. "Just as much as you want us."

In that moment, all doubts and reservations fade away. You're captivated by their affection, and the three of you share a connection that feels electric and undeniable.

As the night unfolds, the lines between friendship and desire blur, and you find yourself in the arms of both Rhea and Damian. Age may be just a number, but the love and passion between you are very real.

With Rhea and Damian, you discover a profound connection that transcends boundaries and expectations. You realize that love doesn't always fit neatly into societal norms, and what matters most is the happiness and fulfillment you find in each other's arms.

In the embrace of your Eradicator and Punisher, you find solace, joy, and a sense of belonging you never thought possible. And as the three of you share a night of intimacy and affection, you know that this is just the beginning of a beautiful journey filled with love, excitement, and the magic of unexpected connections.

[sendsummon]

spell out your url using song titles!

s. si no estás, iñigo quintero

e. everlong, foo fighters

n. nerves, dpr ian

d. deity, aries

s. sanctuary, laica

u. unholy, sam smith + kim petras

m. moonlight, kali uchis

m. murder on the dancefloor!, sophie ellis-bextor

o. ophelia, the lumineers

n. ni muerta, chiquis + snow tha product

stolen from: @inrovina

tagging: @futurehunting + whoever else sees this!

[shippinghazards]

URL Tag Game!

Rules - Spell out your url with songs and then tag as many people as there are letters in your url!

s - Semi Charmed Life, Alex Melton

h - Hallucinogenics, Matt Maeson

i - IdgaF, AUDREY NUNA

p - People, Libianca

p - PULL UP, KUN

i - I Don’t Care, Friday Pilots Club

n - Ni Muerta, Chiquis & Snow tha Product

g - Guns & Roses, Bohnes

h - HURT ME, Suriel Hess

a - aftermath, vaultboy

z - Zombie, Bad Wolves

a - A Little Bit Yours, JP Saxe

r - RECKLESS ABANDONMENT, the Spill Canvas

d - death wish, LØLØ

s - SHUT UP, Hayes Warner

tagged by @billyharris

tagging active mutuals bc there are too many letters in my url 😮‍💨: @beautifulviolent @nikofrpstheremix @chinaofrps @jackdwscn @lovestrings @reveriiewrites @musingsforthefleet @tayymuses @kalospias @wuunderstruck @cowgvrl

[ceyya-testi]

USERNAME SOLD

u rojey

h rojeu

dob n by

wi m teo

w y atanabe

minje c ong

o kimliz

chiqui p ta

k t nemoto

wi m nteu

ahye q n

jaeh z e

jeongw x oo

nishim k ura

Le o isa

t Leeseo

win z teu

q aehee

do d nghyuck

w v nteo

yiren f

i aoirei

m haerin

gyu m vin

x n nyu

ahyeo j n

minjeon s

[srisvks]

💜

' ¿otra vez? debo ser una maravillosa compañera de baile ' dice con gracia, tomando de la mano a la chica que parece que ya tiene unos cuantos tragos de más. ' acepto, pero luego vamos a pedir una botella de agua a la barra ¿sí? ' ladea la cabeza, antes de tirar de ella para llevarla a la pista de baile donde se congrega la gente.

' ¿quieres bailar conmigo? ' va tan borracha y confundida que le importa poco quién es la persona a la que se dirige. necesita olvidar y perderse en la música es lo ideal para conseguirlo.

[lorsdelapluie]

The scene takes place in the world of Puss in Boots 2, in Far far away. The reader in all my one shots concerning this world is the incarnation of bad luck, they are literally just trying to go through life and enjoy however they can.

IT IS HERE THE NSFW CHAPTER LADIES AND GENTS. EAT THIS UP. Im sorry it took so long but I hope it's gonna be worth it :' D

Note: "Chiqui" is spanish pet name that means "Little one".

Part 2- Mi Pareja.

Death was a jealous entity, you got to learn this the hard way. After your first encounter, which occured now several months ago, the wolf would oftenly visit to check on you. Pretending to check if the Lloronas weren't still mad at him for stepping in their ritual and therefore would take their revenge on you. Of course, you didnt buy any of this, you were pretty sure that Las famosas Lloronas didn't hold grudges against you and they probably forgot about that accident. As they were deeply focused on the man they were hunting and not you, you just happened to be in the way. And how would any creature in Far far away dare to hold grudge against Death itself.

Right now, you were stuck in a pool of mud, your high boots now uneapperant as you had your feet deep in this. You couldn't move, and by some strike of luck, a group of men were trying to help you. Tying a rope around you waist as they were trying to pull you away. You perceived every word with crips clarity as they gave you instructions to help you get out of this mess. Hearing every scruff and octave in the men's voice, something which reassured you in some way, making you think of the voice of your protector for the past few months. You felt the rope dip under the back of your belt, scratching your skin. That hurt. But as the pression on the rope grew, the pulls too, you soon could pull out your leg of the mess. You were walking right through this shit, and soon as you came closer to the shore, a hand extended to you.

Your eyes roses, encountering the face of the guy in front of you. He had pale blue eyes, strong face features and pretty brushed golden hair. His outfit, his face and his gentle way of brigging you back on the land with soft smile, even though you cleraly looked like a mess, made you wonder if you were not in front of a prince. What prince, this you could not know. Why ? Cause there was not only one prince in Far far away. Many of them were wealthy, which was the case of the one in front of you, you assumed.

"Who are you ?" you murmured out of curiosity. You turned around, looking at the lake of mud that you just left then your eyes met those pale blue eyes that were looking at you with concern. "Oh, sorry, I completely forgot about the part where i need to be civilized. So, thank you !"

"Vania. Prince Vania. And you are ?" So he was a prince indeed. He slowly grabbed your arm pulling you on the earth, further away from the lake as he looked at the rest of the men that looked like they belonged under his orders. He was ordering them to get you something to clean your... destroyed boots. "And please dont mention it, it's normal to help anyone in distress right ?"

You nodded, forgetting totally to answer the first question. You didn't see the need in doing so. Why would a prince need to know the name of someone who was selling flowers to get by life. Right ? But his gaze never shifted, one brow arching as to ask you to, silently, once again.

"Y/N... I'm sorry sir, I have nothing to offer you, I'm a simple florist... I can't see what any of my possession could bring to your Majesty."

"Fear not my dear. I do not seek for gifts. A smile on this soft face of yours, is already plenty enough to re-pay me." Did all prince talked that way ? What a weirdo you thought. Did he really expect you to swoon like the princesses or other women might do. You let out an awkward chuckle as you slowly slide your arm away for the grasp of Vania.

Deep down, you could sense that the discussion going on right now wasn't right, it was weird. The prince in front of you didn't do anything wrong, no. And here he was kneeling in front of you as he took care of your shoes once a towel was handed to him. Did he thought of you as another potential concubine ? Please, God no. And as soon as you were about to tell him that he needed not clean your shoes that you were much capable of doing so yourself, you could hear a whistle.

No one seemed to notice it, except you. This whistle... You knew where it came from. From a place that wasn't bathing in the sunlight, coming from the muzzle of that dear.. dear wolf. You turned around, searching for him.

As the sunny day turned into piercing winds and low temperatures, like those early dusk and unforgiving pitch-black nights. Was it already that late ? You were standing, facing towards the lake of mud, your eyes searching desperatly for the silhouette of the wolf that you knew was there. You shivered and wrapped your shawl tighter around your shoulders. You needed to go back home, if he manifested his presence to you, he wasn't pleased. You turned around to look at your savior.

"I need to go back home. Thank you once again." You didn't wait for an answer as your legs decided it was time for you to go. And you ran, you needed to go back home. You knew you weren't gonna be safe there, but something inside your mind just yelled at you to go there. For what ? Find an angry wolf ? Why would he be angry for anyway ? Where was he hiding, you could feel his piercing eyes on your back, burnin two holes that didn't help you feel at ease at all. He didn't say a single word, just a simple whistle. This whistle that have heard him do with so many of death's victim. You could picture the glint in his eyes that you knew so well, going from annoyed, to neutral, to hot. This was not good for you in any way. As your mind wandered, you were running, running for your home. When you could see the field of colorful flowers appearing behind the hill, you sighed of relief, your small home resting next to the prettiest lake that might exist. You took the stairs that were leading to your nest. And once you were inside, door closed behind your back... You sighed as you let yourself slid down against the wood. You looked at your boots, taking it off rapidly to throw it to the side. Stupid muddy lake.

But as soon as you stood up, you could sense a freshness settling inside your home. A shiver ran down your spine, feeling your heart rate increase whenever you knew he was inside your home. Inside your safe walls.

"Made a friend back there Chiqui ?" and there he was, his low and raspy voice coming out of the only dark corner of the room. Could he possibly travel thanks to the shadows. You could ask him that someday. But that someday was surely not today, with how the situation was turning. Embarassment settled in your chest, why were you blaming yourself when you did nothing wrong. He just helped you.

"He just helped me... I would hardly call that befriending someone." This must have been a wrong answer considering the low growl that came out of his muzzle. To his own eyes, Death was rarely wrong, moreover was never wrong when he was angry. Which he painfully looked right now?

"Are you implying that I imagined what I saw? That kid on his knees in front of you? With his hand around your arm?" As these words came out of his snout, the wolf’s paws left the shadow in which they comforted. He approached. Dangerously. His lips retracting and that growl coming from the bottom of his throat was a clear indication of his annoyance. "His eyes scanned through you when you were facing backwards, looking for me. I shouldn’t have whistled. I should have come out of the shadows and taken the head of this cheap prince."

Fuck. You made the wrong decision, didn’t you? This is exactly what to do if you want to get murdered. Don’t scream. Don’t get angry. Let him ramble. You looked down, you knew better than look at him right in the eyes when he was angry. It scared you.. Not a lot but a little, probably a natural instinct to fear what was created to end one's life.

Fuck. Miercoles...

But Death wouldn't take you right ? Not because of some misunderstanding. He cared about you. But that behavior awfully looked like a...

Territorial behavior.

It’s just two words, but the implications behind it make your lungs constrict and your heart race. Other adjectives spring up around it, bringing a wave of excitement with them.

Territorial. Possessive. Jealous. You were probably just thinking it right now. Sure Death has been following you around like a shadow those past few weeks. You were awfully suspiscious about that behavior. You even joked about it, but now.. Now he seemed more agressive than usual. And you would be damned but it did aroused you. Well.. Still does.

"Chiqui ?"

He called out, and as you rose your eyes from the floor, the wolf was now in front of you. Did he call for you prior to that ? Wait, he was really close. His eyes were looking right throught you, those white pupils locking into yours. There he was, doing it again.. Reading right through you. And right now ? You were pathetic. Patetically blushing head over heels as you realised your arousal over the wolf in front of you and his display of possessivity.

His muzzle opened, but no voice came out of it. You raise your eyes to look at the wolf ashamed of the feelings curling up inside you right in the moment. And you could have sworn, you saw his eyes darken for a moment. And before you could say anything to defend or ask what was he on about.

"Me vas a volver loco." he breathed in a strained voice as if he was holding himself back. Holding himself from launching onto you.

You will drive me mad, that's what he said. And you murmured back, in that splendid language that was spanish, that he already did that to you. Hearing you speak in your native language always made him stop for a moment. His chest halting as if Death was catching its breath.

“How much do you like this shirt?” he asks, voice lower and more gruff than he probably intended.

“Not much.”

And just like that it shreds with a quick jerk of his claws, and the pieces land somewhere near the corner of the room as he tosses them aside with a careless flick. Some yelp left your mouth, and yet as you should feel afraid.. Embarassed to be half bare in front of him, you didn't try to hide away. You swore that as he looked at you, you saw his throat boped.

You shake your head and laugh softly, trying to ease the tension that was building inside of you as you got shyer and shyer because of his gaze on your body “I feel like some kind of sacrifice in front you like this.”

His blood races, and his muzzle that was above you a few moments ago fell into your neck as his tongue licked that sweet skin of yours. You gasped, but dont try to lean away from the wanted touch. Feeling the teeth brushing on each other side of your throat, when his hands were now roaming over your body hurrying themselves to get you off those layers.

“A worthy offering,” he says, unwrapping that tissu belt and your pants as if you were his most precious treasure. “Any entity would be pleased with such a gift.”

You come to him willingly, eagerly, running your hands over the back of the wolf, nuzzling your fingers inside the white furr. Pressed against his body, the warmth of your body warming up his cold one, as his mouth left your throat to nibble on your ear.

“What about...Hm. A terrible, fearsome monster? Would I make a worthy sacrifice for him, too?”

“That depends on whether you were a willing tribute.” he answered as he stopped himself from nibbling the rest of your body.

“And if I was?”

“If you were, Chiqui…” he says, as his hands slides now on your bear cheeks to carry you towards what was your bed. “Then I would have no choice but to worship you.”

The words are low and rumbling, spoken into the soft skin of your inner thigh as he inches closer and closer to your inner thighs. You gasps again and shifts for him, opens for him, trembling with anticipation. Never you would have thought to see The so feared wolf between your thighs, ready to devour you. And with the first swipe of his tongue over your warm, swollen flesh, you cry out and arches against his hold.

The sight of you struggling to keep your voice to yourself, and those thighs closed is more erotic than anything he ever could have imagined. Wrapped around you soft, plush body, squeezing you tight, keeping you still when you buck and writh with pleasure, it draws on that same dark instinct howling up from the bottom of his soul.

A word keeps repeating in his head, like a mantra as his muzzle devour you, making a wet mess of yourself.

Claim you.

But he was settling for devouring you instead, savoring the offering you bring to him so sweetly.

The taste of you only stokes those instincts higher, stronger, closer to the brink of blissful oblivion. Something he never dared to imagine as he was...Death himself. And you were nothing but a beautiful alive being. Your thighs bracket the sides of his head, pushing against his soft furr and he grunts in approval, tightening his grip on you and sinking his fingertips into the curve of your ass.

You were both lost in the moment, him not caring for the claws of his back paws clawing at the floor and leaving marks in the wood. And you not caring enough to keep your voice down as you were riding, the soft sensation of his tongue and teeth literally eating you out.

Knock knock.

That caught you off-guard. You both stopped, looking at each others. The ears of the white wolf perking at the top of his head. Before you could see a frown appear on his face, a growl pushing its way behind his teeth. Unhappy. Who was-

"Darling are you okay ?"

Wait.. That voice. You were pretty sure you recognize it. It was the prince from earlier. Did he follow you here ? Did hear you ? Wait. Darling ? That nickname was revolting. The face of the wolf raising from between your thighs, as his tongue passes upon his upper lip, a growl settling in the back of his throat. Not a desiring growl, but a threatening one. That was not good, your legs grabbed him in place, crossing behind his neck. Blocking him.

"Chi-"

"I'm quite busy at the moment ! Could you please go away." you ask in a strangled voice as you were slowly coming down from your high state. You didn't really catch what he answered you cause the next moment Death's tongue was back on you. It doesn’t take long until your body is taut and straining again, cries wishing to grow louder and more insistent. Mostly when the wolf between your thighs pushes against that sweet sweet spot. And yet you could hear that SO annoying voice coming from behind the door.

"Desaparece cabron !" You yelled, ash he stroked and eased you through every spasm of your climax, keeping you firmly held on the bed as you were doing for him, coming apart against his tongue.

Stars. You were seeing stars, literally. A laugh rumbling between your thighs, as you looked down at Death sliding his thumb to collect the rest of you on his lip. When you were finally settling down, your thighs were freeing the man you had in a choke hold.

"If I only knew you could curse like that."

"Is he gone..?" You breath out.

"Por favor, don't mention him ever again. He is far. Now it's my time. And I need to know, one important thing."

You looked at him frowning, wondering what could he possibly ask in that moment. You pray, please no more question about if they were friends or not..

“How much of me do you want, Chiqui?”

How much ? You asked yourself that question a while back. You were looking at Death's back as he was walking in front of you in some dark forest, two months ago. The spores of some mushrooms in the environment making your imagination run wild. You wondered if he knew already back then.. You pictured him above you, licking his teeth like he often does when he is about to eat up a meal you prepared. Hungry or impatient... You couldn't say. And you would look down at his inner thigh, cheeks growing hot. Would you like that ?

The answer doesn't come right away, Death wondering if you were unsure. But his eyes wandered, looking at your still moving hips, chasing the pleasure he was more than willing to give you. When he pressed his teeth into you skin in a small reminder, though, you gaze up so lustfully up at him.

And fuck, were you beautiful, once again you could see his chest raise. Your eyes glazed with pleasure, lips parted on a gasp, cheeks flushed.

“All of you,” you whisper. “I want all of you, Death.”

His answering groan echoes in the room. Leaving you breathless, you could almost taste the anticipation and the craving in the air.

“Are you sure?”

Soflty, your hands run through the puff of his cheeks. Your fingers ruffling the white hair. And your look gave the answer, you were looking at him like he ever wanted you to look at him since he first laid his preying eyes on you.

Maybe it’s what he always needed. Someone to be patient with him. Someone to be dedicated to him.

He has now a hand on each of your thighs, holding you open, as he raised from the floor, towering you down, one knee resting now on the bed.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” You breathe. “Yes, I trust you.”

One hand leaves your thigh, catching your chin between his fingers, tipping your head forward. “Look down, Y/N. See what you do to me.”

Between your legs, you could see his cock, hard and pulsing against your damp thigh (wait when did he get rid of his pants), you could feel the red rushing to your cheeks. That was...big. And it didn't look like any human male sex you had ever seen.

Not like you intentionally seen lots of them.

A laugh echoes in the room, while the wolf deciphers the expression you display. His face regaining its previous poise, his mouth opening and laying his fangs around your throat. Slowly, the fingers that had explored your entrance find their place again to continue this work of relaxation. He and you both knew that if you weren’t relaxed enough, this whole thing could be a lot more painful than either of you wanted. You push your head back, resting on the matress within a soft moan.

“That’s it,” The wolf grates out when you bear down and shift open to take him deeper. “Just like that, Chiqui.”

You could feel his voice rumble against your throat as he slides his tongue against you skin once again. Pressing his jaw around you, catching your breath. Enough pressure to cut your breath when you took too deep breaths. As warmth floods through you with his graveled praise. Warmth and trust and painfully sweet tenderness that only ratchets up every other sensation.

The feeling of Death’s fingers breaching you, filling you, diving deep and branding you from the inside out, is like absolutely nothing You’ve ever felt before. Pulsing and alive?, twisting and shifting and fitting itself to the shape of you. And you could feel him grind against your thigh, trying to releave some of that build up tension in between his legs.

“So mesmerizing. Do you think you can take some more?”

He asked as he pulled his teeth away, locking his gaze into yours. You nod, but he brings his free hand up to cup your chin, tilting your head up toward him.

“Let me hear your words.”

“Yes! I want more. Por favor.”

“Ask, and it’s yours,” he rasps, and pushes in another finger that makes you gasp.

Your thighs shake from the impossible, building waves of pleasure and the Wolf tightens his hold on you, spreading you even wider as his three rather larger fingers dives deep and retreats.

His knotted cock bumps up against your inner thigh, and a small pulse of uncertainty moves through you. You had no idea how you were going to take all that. Long, thick, and already weeping from the tip, your core tightens just looking at it.

Death seems to read your hesitation as if you were an open book in front of him, because he leans in to whisper low and dark into your ear.

“I’ll make sure you’re ready for me, Chiqui.”

Inside of you, the fingers he’s impaled you on shifts and twists, growing thicker somehow as he spreads them. The stretch of it boarders on too much, making you squirm and moan and press back against him, but you are not about to ask him to stop. When you tangle your hands into his furr and pull his head forward to claim his mouth, he growls and presses even deeper, fitting himself against the spot he drove you wild with just a few minutes ago.

There, right there, hitting that sensitive spot inside and ripping another scream from you as you climax crests and breaks. He works you through every spasm, drawing the pleasure out until you are half-certain you are going to pass out from it.

"Death-"

Your words cut off at his sharp growl and his tongue crashes past your lips. He’s ravenous as he strokes his tongue deep, hand on your throat, keeping you pinned in place. And when he notches his cock against your entrance, the clawing need to have him inside steals your breath.

Death breaks the kiss and looks down. Expression hungry, an animalistic growl, he watches himself nudge against you once, twice, before sliding the blunted tip inside.

Just that—just the smallest part of him—is already enough to make you feel stretched and full. His shuddering breath breaks against your shoulder as he drives his hips forward another inch, then another, until you are meeting him thrust for gentle thrust, groaning at the impossible feel of him sliding deeper.

“Dios,” he says. “Déjame tomarme mi tiempo contigo. Me estás absorbiendo.”

You hear him, but with each inch gained you are getting more impatient. Letting out a small moan of protest, you shift your hips, straining to take more of him, and his answering growl rumbles all the way through you.

“Greedy. So greedy, my Y/N. Shall I be merciful and give you what you want?”

“Please,” You gasp. "Por favor, deja-"

You don’t get to finish begging.

With a powerful upward thrust, he fills you up entirely and wrenches a ragged scream from the back of your throat. He’s there, bottomed out, sunk to the hilt in you. You are stretched so full that for a few long moments all you can do is drop your head back against the bed and close your eyes, trying to adjust to the feel of him.

“Bellissima,” he murmurs, rolling his hips in a way that makes another moan rasp from your throat. “Look at you taking me so well, my mate.”

Mate. You knew that was a language used between wolves. Inside a pack... A mate is a partner. A partner for life. You knew thanks to that , that Death is mindless at this point, too far gone into the magic being woven between the two of you to think about what he’s saying.

When you look down and see yourself stretched around him, feel the insistent pulse of him inside of you and the light press of his teeth against your neck, searching a way for the back of it, there’s no part of you that shies away from that word.

My mate.

It’s not enough, not nearly enough. Reaching up to wrap an arm around his neck for leverage, you grind into his thrusts and move restlessly against him, begging for more. More pleasure. More touch. More of the wild, incredible feel of him.

You must moan at least some of it out loud, because he growls low in his throat. “You need more from me, Chiqui?”

“Yes! Please.”

When he pulls out of you, you cry out sharply in protest. It’s only a couple of seconds, though, before he’s got you turned around and pushed up against the cotton of the sheets,his teeth finds the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your body, his hand pressing you into the bed, as he slams back into you.

It’s more intense than before, heavier, deeper. You don't know if that was the bite at the back of your neck that was driving you to madness, or the feeling of his knot pushing inside you. Stretching you to the maximum, making you scream his name. It was burning you up from the inside out until it breaks with a ferocity that blanks your vision out for a few long, ecstatic moments.

He comes just after you do, driving deep and exploding in you, locked by his knot, with a wash of heat that makes your belly flutter and your body go lax under his.

You obviously had a hard time coming down from that feeling you just had. But so did he. The erastic breathing that you could feel against your neck as the fangs did not let go, brought you little by little back to the world of the living. Soon you could hear the movement whipping the air from the wolf’s tail. Then the bed began to crack. Death let go of your neck, the moment the creak reach his ears, he was leaning to hard on the bed, and was about to break it.

Slowly, you could feel his weight lifting up from you, and his tongue running on the mark and the droplets of blood he left behind. A soft sigh left your lips as you could feel the knot of the male above you softening and he could finally pull out.

And as slowly, he reaches down to take your numb body against him, his nose nuzzling against your jaw just under your ear his a soft hum.

"You smell like me."

A small laugh escpaed your lips. You surely didn't expect that to come out first. You were relaxed in his arms, completely sated, andhe couldn't help but internally purr in pleasure to see you so undone. And a smile even peeked out at the sound of your laugh.

His mate. Satisfied. Happy. Utterly fucked-out and his.

"You reeked of the kid earlier. I thought I was going to lose my mind." he growled against your ear, flattening his ears back at the thought surely bothering him again.

"Feels like you did."

Despite your laugh, the wolf growls at the mockery. "It is not a mistake, Chiqui. You are mine. And now... Everybody will know that Death itself maked you."

Oh... And here you go blushing again, and it was his turn to laugh.

[kayleighjennifer]

Rendezvous (Vicky Losada x reader)

⚠️smut⚠️

“Girls, can I quickly have your attention? Our new signings just arrived” The head coach Alessandro said and you look up from your phone.

You feel like you can’t breath when you see Vicky, your ex, looking straight into your eyes. You don’t hear anything besides your breath. Why does she have to follow you? You left Barcelona because the two of you broke up, went to Mancity and after she signed with City you went on loan to Roma.

“Y/n, are you okay? You look like you’re fainting”. You can hear the Norwegian accent of Sophie. “Hm? Yeah I’m fine” You breathe out and quickly look at your football boots. “Hey, I’m Vicky and from Mancity, I look forward to playing with you”.

Her voice is still as hot and Vicky’s voice sends shivers down your back. “Aren’t you ask from Mancity?” Sophie asks and you just nod, stand up and hurry out if your room, to start warming up.

Vicky looks after you and bites her lip. You always have such an innocent vibe around you, which arouses her so much.

The reason Vicky chose Roma was you. She knew that you would have to play two season with Roma so she wants to make things right again. You ended the relationship back then because of Vicky’s jealousy and the growing fame and not because someone fell out of love or cheated. But every time you went out, which was pretty often since you were way younger back then and just wanted to live your life, Vicky got even jealous of your best friend, causing one too many fights and the media, they just assumed your relationship, of course noticed the change in your dynamic and started to constantly ask you about it.

After a few minutes of peace and quiet you see the rest of the team approaching you. “Okay, as a warm up we’ll do partner exercises. One has the ball and needs to get from the one side of the pitch to the other while the other one has to try to get the ball”. You love good tackles so it was one of your favourite drills.

Once again you were so caught up in your thoughts that you don’t notice Vicky standing right in front of you. “Do you wanna partner up with me? I don’t know anyone besides you Chiqui” (little one). You choke on your spit, but see that everyone, even Sophie who you normally partner up with, already has a partner. “Don’t call me little one and I don’t have another choice, everyone already has a partner”. You used to love it when she called you Chiqui but right now, it brings back too many painful memories.

You grab the ball from her hand and copy the rest of your teammates, standing at the white line. Vicky sighs and stands next to you. Alessandro blows the whistle and you start running with the ball. The midfielder can quickly snatch the ball from you which frustrates you. Normally you’re the best at this drill but right now you’re loosing, which is a feeling you hate. “Y/n, Vicky, go back to the line and now you switch roles”.

Vicky starts this time and somehow you’re not able to get the ball, leaving you more frustrated. “Y/n what’s going on with you? Come you’ll try again until you’re able to get the ball”. Alessandro seems to be somehow pissed which makes you even more frustrated. You’re not able, even thought you start to tackle Vicky more, every tackle gets dirtier, to get the ball until the third round where you simply slide into Vicky’s ankle, sending her to the ground.

She groans in pain and holds her ankle. You look at her in shook, not being able to move. “The fuck Y/n, what’s wrong with you?” Vicky looks at you in pain and with fearful eyes.

The medics arrive quickly and Alessandro approached you angrily. “Y/n you’re out for the next game, what were you thinking? If it’s something serious, I swear to god, you’re not being allowed to play until she recovered, you understand? I don’t care what happened between you at Barcelona or Manchester City, but right now you’re a team. And you’ll act as one, you understand?” He yells at you and you’re only able to nod, feeling more guilt than you ever have before.

“I’m sorry coach, I don’t know that I was thinking”. You only see now that Vicky was taken with the medics. “You don’t have to tell me that. Get your fucking shit together and go to Vicky” He shoved you your water bottle and you turn around, making your way to the medic room. You knock at the door and step in. When you don’t see Vicky anywhere your heart drops even more. What if you broke her ankle? “Oh hey Y/n, what’s up? You did tackle the new one very dirty I must say” One of the medics say and you simply nod. “Uhm where is she?” Your voice is shaking. “She’s in the physio room, no worries, it’s nothing a bit of tape can’t fix”. You turn around and quickly walk to the physio room. You quietly knock at the door, not knowing what you’d say.

“Come in” Vicky says and you do as you’re told. There she is, laying on the bed, with only her top and panties. Her ankle and lower leg is completely taped and you swallow hard.

Vicky sees you still standing in the doorway, staring at her ankle regretfully. “Do you always welcome the new ones this way?” She jokes and you can’t help the small smile on your lips.

“I’m sorry, it was total unprofessional of me and so dumb, how bad is it?”. You close the door behind you and move closer to her, inspecting her ankle. “It is sore but alright chiqui. Well yes it was very stupid of you, but I guess I deserved it” You look questioning at Vicky.

“I really acted like an obsessed asshole back then and I’m sorry about that, I was just insecure and scared of you leaving me”. You get a chair and sit down next to her, trying not to stare at her tights. Vicky notices it, but only smirks. “It’s alright I guess, it’s in the past and I’m over it”. Both of you know that it’s a complete lie. “It doesn’t seem like you’re over it cariño” You press your tights together, trying to ease the building arousal. “Are you alright mi cielito?(my little heaven) You seem tense over there?” You blush and look at your hands. “Uh yeah, I just feel bad about it, I’m really sorry, but I need to go, catch you later tesoro (treasure) ” You want to facepalm yourself it using the nickname and stumble up.

Vicky grabs your hand before you can leave. “I don’t think so. I think I can help you relax, no? And I know how you can make up for the dirty tackle” Vicky’s eyes are dark and she bites her lip. “What do you mean?” Your voice is small and you can’t look anywhere besides her lips. Her hands find their way to your waist, guiding you between her legs. You swallow hard. “You know exactly what I mean and you can’t fight it. Your eyes are nearly as dark as mine. Just let me lead you”

You simply nod and you finally feel her lips on yours again. You missed it so much. Your hands find their way into Vicky’s hair and push her closer if it’s even possible.

She stands up and turn you over, so that you’re underneath her. She moves her lips to your neck, biting and licking it and quickly discharges your top.

“You got even more beautiful wow” Was all Vicky was able to say and starts leaving kisses everywhere.

“Don’t tease, please”. You beg and Vicky pushes down your shorts and pantie, finally connecting her lips with your clit. “God I missed your taste”. Her comment makes you blush but you still continue to moan her name.

After a few minutes and her adding two fingers you come, moaning her name loudly. “You did so great chiqui” She smiles against your lips

[alessiasfreckles]

amnesia - part 12 (ona batlle x alexia putellas x reader)

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11

a/n: sorry for the long wait, not much left now!

--------

The next morning, when you looked on your doorstep, you half expected to find Alexia or Ona stood there waiting. Instead, you found the usual pastry and drink, and couldn’t help but feel the smallest tinge of disappointment. 

You’d been messaging both girls late into the night, about everything and anything, except for what had happened between the three of you. You knew you’d need to talk about it at some point, but for now, you just wanted things to be good. And so did they, by the looks of things. Accompanying the pastry and drink was a handwritten note from Ona, reading ‘Good morning chiqui! We hope you have a wonderful day today. Dinner is on us tonight x’. Interesting.

As you headed to your physio session, you tried to ignore the rising anticipation in your belly, the soft feeling of hope working its way through your body, eager to see the two women, but nervous as well. You didn’t even know if you would see them - there was a good chance they’d be outside for training, or in the gym, and so far all of your sessions had been in the smaller physiotherapy rooms.

When you arrived, the physiotherapist greeted you with an amused smile. 

“You have some admirers,” she noted, nodding towards a beautiful bouquet of flowers that was resting in a vase. You couldn’t help but blush, rolling your eyes fondly at the gesture, already knowing who was behind it. “Today we’re in the gym, but you can leave your things here and we can get them when we’re done.”

“The gym?” you asked, surprised.

The physiotherapist nodded. “Yes. You’re making very good progress - you really only have minimal injuries considering what you went through, and we can move you to the real gym now. You should be able to go back to training with the others soon, maybe in a month or so. The biggest problem is the muscle atrophy from being in the coma, but once we get your body back to where it was before, you’ll be good to go.”

Your mouth hung open in shock, and your face suddenly felt very warm as you realised that tears were gathering in the corners of your eyes. You hadn’t expected to be back so soon, and you couldn’t wait to be able to train with the others again, to get out there and play football, the thing you loved more than anything else in the world. 

As you walked to the gym, you wondered whether the rest of the team would also be in the gym or if they’d be outside. As you got closer, your question was answered - you could hear various sounds coming from the gym, shoes against treadmills, the thud of weights hitting the ground, but also the soft murmur of your teammates chatting, the occasional peal of laughter. That meant Ona and Alexia were probably there, too. 

You took a deep breath before pushing open the door, trying to steel your nerves. At first, when you walked through, no one batted an eyelid, all preoccupied with their own routines. But then Mapi looked up, and yelled out your name.

“You’re back!” she grinned, running over to you. You felt a twinge of guilt, remembering that the two of you had been good friends before the accident, and that you’d been so caught up in everything going on with Ona and Alexia that you’d forgotten about your friendships with the other players. Soon enough you were surrounded by your teammates, including the two you were most nervous about seeing. 

“I’m not back properly yet, but I’ve been promoted to physio in the gym, and I should be able to start training with you guys again in a month or so,” you told your teammates, blushing slightly at the attention you were getting. For some reason you couldn’t meet the two women’s eyes, too anxious about what you’d find there. The team let out cheers and whoops at your statement, people leaning over to ruffle your hair or give you hugs.

After a few minutes, the physiotherapist clapped her hands together. “Okay, okay, in order for her to be able to train with you again, she needs to get fit enough first, which she can only do if you all let her get on with her physio session in peace, okay?”

Your teammates chuckled and backed away. Only then did you look up at Ona and Alexia, who were watching you intently. Ona was biting her lip, a nervous frown etched into her forehead, whilst Alexia looked more stoic, trying hard not to let anyone see how desperate she had been to see you and how worried she was about you. When you met their eyes, you instantly felt calmer, the bundle of nerves in your stomach washed away and replaced by a soft pang of familiarity.

When you smiled at them, they both relaxed instantly, the line between Ona’s eyebrows melting away, Alexia’s eyes softening as she met yours. They smiled back, and you couldn’t help but think about how beautiful they both were, each in their own way.

As the physiotherapist went through your exercises your mind kept wandering, and you kept catching yourself looking over to where they were going through their workout, Alexia jogging on one of the treadmills, Ona over by the weights. Every so often they would look over at you and your eyes would meet, and you’d smile, blushing, and look away again quickly. It felt like having a crush for the first time.

You lingered when your session was over, reluctant to go so soon.

“Don’t forget, your things are in my office,” the physiotherapist reminded you with a knowing smile. “And don’t worry, we’ll be back tomorrow.”

At home, you put the bouquet in a vase, admiring the flowers. One looked slightly different to the others, but you couldn’t quite figure out what it was. Regardless, the bouquet was beautiful, and your stomach fluttered at the thought of the women buying you flowers. 

By the time evening rolled around, you were starting to get hungry, and you wondered what Ona had meant by her note this morning. Just as you thought about messaging her to ask, the doorbell rang, and you opened it to find a delivery person holding a paper bag emblazoned with the logo of a nearby restaurant. 

As you headed back inside your apartment, you took a quick picture of the bag and sent Ona a text.

[Y/N]: so this is what you meant with your note this morning :)

[Ona]: Yes!! 

Along with her message was a picture. You recognised the background as her kitchen, and on the counter was a paper bag just like yours, the restaurant logo on the side.

[Ona]: Ale got food too, so we’re all eating together but apart :) 

Warmth spread throughout your body, and you sent Alexia a quick message, sending her the same picture you’d sent Ona. As you opened the bag, your kitchen filled with the smell of food, and your stomach growled. You kept messaging both women as you ate, unable to deny the way your heart skipped a beat every time you received a new message from them, a smile glued to your face. By the time you fell into bed a few hours later, you’d exchanged hundreds of messages, and your cheeks hurt from smiling.

When you checked the front door the next morning, you were surprised to find a sweater next to the usual drink and pastry. Picking it up, you instantly recognised it as Ona’s, the one you would always borrow when you were at her place, the fabric soft between your fingers. You brought it up to your face and inhaled deeply, your lungs filling with the familiar scent of her perfume, and your mind filled with memories of the two of you.

You wore the sweater to your physio session, reluctant to take it off. When you arrived, the physio nodded over to the table again with a grin. “Another present for you.”

On the table was a protein shaker adorned with stickers of your teammates, and you couldn’t help but let out a laugh. Everyone had their own drinks tailored to their needs, and when you picked the shaker up you smiled as you realised they’d already filled it for you, a sticky note on the back telling you what was in it. You took the shaker into the gym with you, and when your teammates sidled in slowly, your eyes were on the door, waiting for Ona and Alexia to come through and see you using their gift.

When they did, their eyes scanned the gym, looking for you, and they immediately smiled when their eyes landed on you. You felt a rush at the sight of them and internally rolled your eyes at your behaviour - you were acting like a teenager with a crush rather than a grown woman. Still, you gave them a quick grin before going back to focusing on your therapy, and tried to ignore the way your heart had skipped a beat when they’d smiled at you.

[theluttleprince]

Play-N-Skillz, Becky G, Thalia, Chiquis - Baila Así (2022)

[im-the-jellyfish]

I'm terribly sorry but you just made it worst, or better

what if, Kuroo and y/n meet again but Kuroo is the only one with memories of their past life?

i almost broke down reading this wtf elly why would u say that :D

or what if only y/n has memories of their past life? what if kuroo met someone else before y/n could come running back into his arms?

"you said you would wait for me"

"i don't even know you"

she would look at him— hurt, betrayed— he promised

he said no matter how long it took he would wait for her.

but she couldn't do anything, right? so she weakly hits his chest, her head hung low as she turns and walks away— leaving kuroo baffled with the hollow pain that throbs in his chest, "wait, no"

he calls out to her but she was already far gone— and for the second lifetime, kuroo loses her again

[citybops]

chiqui citybops...

y/n necrocarnival...

[angelthesis]

being honest sometimes i have to stop myself from saying chiqui is pretty so i wont scare her away n end up blcoked

[allthatchernobyl]

A PROPÓSITO DE OKUPAS

1. ARRIBISTAS Y ALIENADOS.

Creo que fue Paul Schrader el que dijo alguna vez que existían dos tipos de personajes: los arribistas y los alienados. En Okupas (Bruno Stagnaro, 2000), el papel de arribista le corresponde a Ricardo Riganti (Rodrigo De la Serna) y el de alienado al Pollo (Diego Alonso). Ricardo es un veinteañero de la clase media en decadencia que afloró hacia el final del menemismo; estudia (o estudiaba) medicina, vive con su abuela y se pasa el día tirado sin hacer nada porque tiene el pasar asegurado y, también, porque nada lo motiva demasiado. El Pollo, en cambio, vive en el docke con un grupo de personas y sobrevive delinquiendo en un Buenos Aires agobiante, lleva las leyes de la calle escritas en el cuerpo y la decepción en la mirada. Por algún motivo que una realidad social distorsionada en la década del 90 permitió, el Pollo y Ricardo son amigos desde chicos.

Cuando Clara (que grande Ana Celentano), la prima de Ricardo, lo llama para proponerle que se instale en la casa desalojada y viva ahí hasta encontrar comprador, Ricardo ve la posibilidad de la aventura. Si eso sale mal, tiene la casa de su abuela, y si eso también sale mal, tiene la casa de los padres. Pero cuando Ricardo llama al Pollo y en ese solemne acto lo invita a vivir con el en ese caserón del orto, el Pollo ve la posibilidad de salir del docke y de todo lo que eso significa.

Un gran momento de la serie, o al menos uno que pone en palabras lo que la dinámica ya dice, llega cuando Ricardo le quiere soltar un discursito sobre la educación a Sofía (Rosina Soto, su vecina y novia temporal, pongámosle) y ella le corta el chorro enseguida y le dice que "esas vacaciones raras" que él está viviendo, para ella son "la realidad". Sopapos así, Ricardo va a recibir todo el tiempo, y todo el tiempo intentara prevalecer y pertenecer. Lo que pretende el personaje de De la Serna es romper ese cerco establecido por la condición social e integrarse a la realidad de esa gente con la que ahora convive: así quiere tomar merca, vengarse de los que se la hicieron pasar mal, aprender a robar, hacerse el picante con un grupo de músicos en un baño público y demás. Nada de esto se impondrá al caudal de la amistad, que es el que guía y da calce espiritual a Okupas, pero Ricardo no puede ni podrá pertenecer por más empujado que se vea por las condiciones establecidas por el panorama socio-económico.

El Chiqui y Walter, en cambio, son más circunstanciales: parte del paisaje urbano (no nos olvidemos que el Chiqui aparece dos veces antes de ser el Chiqui, sentado en la calle y pidiendo monedas) que la historia toma para sí y que a partir de esa incorporación cobran dimensión humana. Son los que estaban ahí, y que el azar y el destino (y la ficción) se encargan de potenciar y dar carnadura. El engranaje se pone en marcha.

2. EL CASERÓN DEL ORTO y LAS MULTITUDES INQUIETAS.

Un personaje no menor a todo esto es el caserón del orto; la casa que es desalojada en la primera -e inolvidable- escena de la serie y que albergara a los cuatro protagonistas de ahí hasta el final. El caserón, que transformara y será transformado, no sirve solo de anclaje para los "okupas" ni de guarida sino que es el que motiva toda una serie de situaciones. Es un lugar misterioso que alberga imposibles: el altar que Sofía le enseña a Ricardo en el capítulo 2, el escondite que Miguel (Jorge Sesán) le devela al Pollo y a Ricardo en el capítulo 7 (y con el escondite, una historia que ellos ignoran: fuera de campo narrativo) o el pequeño y privado campo de tiro que en el mismo capítulo Miguel le enseña a Ricardo. Es el lugar que desde temprano el Pollo se pondrá a arreglar con sus manos, el lugar que nos permite el lujazo de Perlata, el polo magnético que atrae a Miguel. Es el centro neurálgico de la fiesta del "traje sandía" y el bombazo estético más poderoso de la serie con los rollingas al poder. Es el telón de fondo que en sus paredes lleva escritas las consignas de su tiempo y del pasado, el que sitúa a la realidad como algo mucho más palpable que lo que puede un paper de sociología escrito con esmero. El audiovisual tiene eso: el poder de la imagen y la posibilidad de conjugarse con el sonido -no es un señalamiento descriptivo aunque lo parezca sino el resaltamiento de una virtud que yace en la naturaleza del concepto-. Y por eso, tal vez, sea hora de hablar de lo que hizo Netflix con la serie.

Ver Okupas en buena calidad era una deuda pendiente para más de una generación forjada y atravesada por esos once capítulos y el precio a pagar, digámoslo desde ya, no ha sido demasiado alto. Lo que no significa que no tengamos quejas ni vayamos a dejarle pasar a la N grande sus caprichos de siempre. Pero ver claramente esas cosas que siempre intentamos descifrar entre la negrura y los pixeles gigantes de la versión que se encontraba en youtube -al tiempo que permite el acercamiento de un público nuevo (las fugaces tendencias así lo prueban)-, ha sido un placer. Ahora bien: la tijereta censora de Netflix se ha impuesto, aunque mínimamente, y por más que sea algo chiquito y que seguramente se pasa por alto, en esta casa lo vamos a repudiar siempre porque al Dios de la censura ni un vaso de agua. Y es que encima, para el caso, es totalmente arbitrario y no se qué culo viene a limpiar. Pero bueno.

Con la música pasa algo que ya veníamos digiriendo: se sabía que para que Okupas pueda ser remasterizada y puesta en circulación por la vía legal, había que pagar los derechos o cambiar buena parte de la banda sonora. Netflix eligió el segundo camino (un poco se entiende: Okupas tenía muchísimas canciones que seguramente deben salir un huevo) y llamó a Santiago Motorizado para que se encargue de eso. Y a priori, no se me ocurre ningún músico vigente más acertado que Santiago para la labor, aun cuando lo suyo se inscriba en la movida post-Cromañón y por ende post-2001, post-menemato y, obviamente, post-Okupas. Creo que, en principio, para los momentos que requerían "música incidental", Santiago hizo un buen trabajo, discreto y con su firma, que se amalgama bien con la sustancia desesperanzada de la serie. Con las canciones propiamente dichas, los fans nos ponemos un poco más ariscos. El primer ruido grande apareció tras la llegada de la muchachada a Quilmes, esa escena iconográfica con los cuatro caminando en un gran plano general, bajando por la calle. En la versión original, en ese momento sonaba Come together, ese himno rockerísimo de los Beatles que dotaba a la escena por venir de una adrenalina y un sentido de comunión impermeable. En la versión nueva, la canción que va en su lugar es Vienen Bajando, que apela a la concordancia entre lo que se ve y lo que se escucha pero tiene un tono melancólico y bajonero que no le hace justicia al estado anímico del pasaje. Algo parecido sucede en lo que sigue al momento en que Ricardo y los grandulones del docke dejan atado al Negro Pablo: en la original sonaba otra vez Come together y acá suena Chica de oro, que a la distancia anímica ahora le suma un desajuste a la armonía entre imagen y sonido. Claro que este no es el problema: lo que se ve y lo que se escucha no tiene por qué ir en la misma dirección, el problema es que acá la canción viene a ocupar un lugar que nosotros ya teníamos asociado a otra canción, y en la comparación, nuestro Mató, pierde.

3. VISITOR(S) Q o DE TEOREMA A ESTE TIEMPO.

Pero volvamos a lo importante. Toda maquinaria narrativa del estilo de Okupas, es decir, aquella narrativa que plantea un viaje y una transformación (tan vieja como La Ilíada) necesita de un elemento X para alterar la ecuación y llegar al resultado que toque (y que no tiene por qué ser el buscado). En el caso de Okupas, ese papel le toca a Miguel, que aparece recién sobre el final del capítulo 7 y funciona como el Visitor Q de Takashi Miike o el Terence Stamp de Teorema (Pier Paolo Passolini, 1968). Lo curioso del caso Okupas es que, en principio, la lógica de El Visitante funciona a la inversa: Ricardo llega a un mundo que no le es propio y parece ser él quien es capaz de transformar ese espacio pero es el espacio (y otras cosas) lo que termina por transformarlo a él. Dicho más claro -o intentando yo mismo aclarar todo este asunto-, Okupas está lleno de factores que alteran la ecuación: las interrelaciones que la serie propone no son casi nunca asintomáticas (uy, que palabrita se me metió, sepan entender los tiempos que corren) a excepción, tal vez, del caso de Sofía que rechaza la irrupción de Ricardo en su mundo. Después, el Pollo altera la vida de Clara, Severino la de Chiqui, Ricardo la del Negro Pablo, y bueno, creo que se entiende. El cartografiado que propone Okupas no es tan linealmente el de las causas y las consecuencias sino el de las motivaciones y lo que es capaz de filtrarse de una persona a otra.

Si en Teorema el visitante de Stamp da su pelea contra el capitalismo intrínseco de la más recalcitrante era industrial y el de Visitor Q la da contra la disfuncionalidad en un terreno mucho mas librado a la locura, los múltiples visitantes de Okupas no tienen un enemigo claro en común sino que batallan contra lo que Spinetta llamaría todos los males de este mundo. Lo que ninguno de los tres casos ignoran es que la línea entre el bien y el mal tiene mucho de fantasía. 

El Pollo es el eje moral de Okupas y por eso ocupa el lugar que ocupa (a veces paternalista, a veces castrador, casi siempre macho de pelo en pecho y amigo entero y leal) pero no por eso la serie se aplica a ver con sus ojos. A cambio, Stagnaro elige una mirada más general y abarcativa (apoyada en un registro cercano al documental, muy en boga por aquellos años) y filma con simpleza aquello que otro habría complejizado en pos de un subrayado de índole moral. Lo que no quiere decir que Stagnaro no preste atención a los detalles de orden visual y que esté atento a sus personajes, a como se mueven y como dialogan con el mundo. Dicho en criollo: Stagnaro no filma como vigilante. Asume y hace gala del don del narrador omnisciente, cada vez más cerca de la extinción, y apela al desarrollo de los tiempos muertos para que la historia se cuente sola. Porque Okupas contiene, a priori, dos argumentos centrales: el que aflora a partir de la escalada de venganza va venganza viene con el Negro Pablo y la que se aplica al desarrollo de los personajes y a forjar el sentido de la amistad más plena.

Que la serie destine un capítulo entero (uno de los mejores) a la aventura quilmeña es, a su manera, una declaración de intenciones: vamos a perder el tiempo -ese valioso accesorio de la sociedad de consumo- vagando por las calles, hinchando las bolas en cada antro que encontremos y haciendo lo que hacemos. No haremos nada en este capítulo que no sea seguir a nuestros protagonistas en su vida y nada saldrá de esta aventura que no sea el endurecimiento de vínculo. Nuestros amigos, orgullosos de su condición, prefieren convivir con sus culpas que someterse a lo que hoy llamaríamos la lógica de la deconstrucción.

Claro que Stagnaro filma, como buena parte de su generación, contra el conservadurismo y a contracorriente de la social-democracia y su buena conducta, lo que le da una postura ya no moral sino ética a su dirección. En este sentido, la serie pone en el centro unos cuantos temas importantes para la juventud (infinita, me gusta pensar) y expresa su disconformidad allí: la propiedad privada, la ilegalidad, las instituciones, el aparato represivo y unas cuantas cosas más.

4. LA MARGINALIDAD EN LA FICCIÓN.

Hace algunos años, el cineasta César González escribió un texto a raíz del éxito de El Marginal y todos los progresistas de buena conciencia lo compartimos en nuestras redes. Así como a la distancia César se arrepentía de haber participado en el nacimiento de la serie, este servidor se arrepiente de haber comulgado con aquellas ideas seguramente debidas en el terreno de la realidad pero definitivamente fuera de lugar en el terreno de la ficción o más precisamente de arte.

Okupas fue posible en su tiempo histórico por la construcción del denominado Nuevo Cine Argentino (o Nuevo Nuevo Cine Argentino) que, a su vez, fue posible por las condiciones sociales, económicas y políticas del menemato. Hija de Pizza, Birra y Faso, Okupas (la conexión es directa: Stagnaro dirigió ambas) se hace lugar en una televisión imposible. Viene a poner relieve donde reina la banalización y el cuerpo mancillado a pelear contra lo agotado y estéril del modelo televisivo de los 90.

Okupas no ofrece garantías, a diferencia de casi todo lo que sobrevino en esa línea (primero Tumberos y Sol Negro, más adelante El puntero y El marginal hasta llegar a esa nueva tira de Suar que tanto despelote hizo en esa tierra yerma de indignaciones pasajeras que es Twitter) y esa es una de las grandes virtudes que posee la serie. Okupas no te asegura comodidad ni identificación, no juega con construir personajes amables (que los tiene) ni se sienta a reflexionar sobre las consecuencias de decir o mostrar tal o cual cosa. Sabemos que el imperante estado de las cosas no permitirá jamás algo así: todo debe ser debatido y sometido a juicio previo, sobre-analizado para no herir susceptibilidades y puesto con sentido educativo para que nadie vaya a pensar que acá hay malas intenciones. (Y sí, sin embargo, ahí tenés a los productores de Tinelli poniendo a Ana Frank en una pantalla mientras suena Paulina Rubio para la indignación de la pobre plebe tuiteril.)

En el primer capítulo de la segunda temporada de El Marginal se escucha "No hay tercera posición; o coges o te cogen". Miguel le dice algo parecido a Ricardo sobre el final del séptimo (u octavo) capítulo de Okupas: "O lo matas vos o te mata él". El Chiqui, al rato, acogota el pavo que recibieron como paga por su trabajo con Peralta y compañía y se justifica frente a Walter diciendo que es la supervivencia del más fuerte. Nada de esto es una gran revelación en términos de comprensión: es así y punto. Caetano (que dirige el episodio mencionado de El Marginal y no-tan-casualmente codirigió con Stagnaro Pizza, Birra y Faso) imprime esa verdad en el rostro de sus presos y Stagnaro en el de sus lúmpenes, por englobarlos de alguna manera más o menos tramposa. Y para que esta verdad funcione es necesario el verosímil, que pasa menos por las buenas o malas actuaciones que por los espacios y la identificación genuina ya no con un personaje sino con un gesto perdido en el amplio registro. El realismo funciona en Okupas (y de a ratos en El Marginal) porque no es impostado ni tampoco está motivado por una búsqueda de la satisfacción, es decir, no intenta hacer al Otro a imagen y semejanza del Otro que espera e imagina el espectador: ahí esa distancia con El Puntero, que dice si acá hay un pibe pobre va a ser esto, esto y aquello y si acá hay un político va a ser esto, esto y aquello. Okupas, sin embargo, y esto me parece lo más interesante, no está hecha desde la desmitificación consciente: su tiempo, revulsivo, no se lo permite. Es decir, no es el opuesto al caso citado anteriormente (que sería un compendio de lugares comunes de la buena intención y de la representación social con ínfulas edificantes) sino que es una ficción que opera con los elementos contextuales de la realidad pero no resigna autonomía. Okupas es por y para Okupas. No es una serie para verla y decir "los políticos son todos garcas", "estos negros de mierda" o "los chetos son todos una bosta". Sus personajes no nacen para el juicio y el estereotipo sino que afloran del caldo mismo del arquetipo ficcional. Pelea por (y a veces gana) su lugar en el mundo y defiende su condición sin miramientos.

El modelo de representación en Okupas deriva de su naturalidad y su inteligencia a la hora de moverse en los recovecos de las relaciones interpersonales. Que en su noción de clásico moderno se manifieste la sociedad y el espíritu de su época no habla tanto de sus intenciones como si de su capacidad para entablar un dialogo honesto con sus pretensiones. Okupas no es un fresco de época ni un retrato de. Llega a esos lugares porque primero tiene la valía de ser otra cosa. Y ahí puede que esté la diferencia principal con estos otros productos televisivos que nombraba antes: Tumberos se propuso retratar la vida de los presos comunes en una cárcel argentina y encontró un universo pintoresco que funciona a medias y esta repleto de caricaturas. El Puntero quiso mostrar al último escalafón de la clase política y cayó en la trampa del desentendimiento y el gorilísmo afectado que ve militancia y grita chanta o ve pobreza y grita grasa. Para colmo de males, se transformó en tira diaria, que siempre termina por agotar cualquier potencia que pueda yacer bajo su estructura. Tal vez sea El Marginal la que más se acerque a Okupas de forma involuntaria. Es decir: también es una serie caricaturesca (como Tumberos) y llena de vicios televisivos (como El Puntero) pero tiene, ocasionalmente, el pulso narrativo y algunos personajes suficientemente heavys para bancarse la pantalla. Claro que no alcanza la gracia ni la expresividad de Okupas, pero al menos echa algo de humo aún en el contraste que generan las diferentes direcciones y los cambios de rumbo de una temporada a otra. El gran problema de El Marginal esta en otro lado que, a su manera, también representa su espíritu de época: el cable a tierra (personificado en Martina Guzman) que pretende lavar la cara de la historia y hacerla apta para los tiempos que corren.

Es cierto que hay cierta injusticia en esta comparación: el ámbito en el que crece Okupas es casi anárquico, mucho más salvaje e imposible. Maleza entre los yuyos altos. A El Marginal le toca un tiempo de mayor obediencia y es pastito bien recortado para que si alguien se escandaliza, tenga en la escena siguiente un vasito de agua a mano para volver a sentirse cómodo entre sus cosas.

Siempre me acuerdo de esa anécdota que dice que Lawrence Olivier y Dustin Hoffman se llevaron para el culo en la filmación de Marathon Man porque sus métodos no coincidían para nada y que, cuando Dustin Hoffman se pasó un par de noches sin dormir para dar el tono del personaje, Lawrence Olivier preguntó: ¿no puede simplemente actuar?

Esto, que parece –y puede que sea- una anécdota traída de los pelos, me sirve para seguir pensando alrededor de los puntos esgrimidos en aquel texto de César González y que es un poco el que estructura este punto 4 junto a muchas horas de twitter y algún que otro capricho personal. Nada tengo en contra de los actores no profesionales interpretando a otros o a sí mismos en las ficciones pero noto cierto dogmatismo alrededor de quien supone esta práctica como esencial. Buscando realismo nos olvidamos que el cine viene del vodevil y buscando fidelidad nos olvidamos que los actores actúan. Con esta nueva tira de Suar, cuyo destino desconozco y espero nunca ver, floreció mucho esta idea que resumiré así: ¿¡Pero como ese cheto va a hacer de villero si no piso una villa en su puta vida!?

(No caeremos en la trampa de señalar como boludos que –hasta donde sabemos- Liam Neeson nunca mató a nadie ni Sigourney Weaver fue al espacio. Me parece que no hace falta ponerse tan arbitrarios. )

En el precioso documental que Anna Maria Tatò le dedicó a la crepuscular figura de su entonces –y desde hacía 20 años- compañero de vida, Marcello Mastroianni, el actor italiano ponía su semilla del lado Lawrence Olivier del asunto y decía algo así: No entiendo a estos actores americanos. Necesitan compenetrarse en el papel como si en ello se les fuera la vida. Si les toca hacer de un tipo triste, ¿llegan a su casa y cenan en silencio con cara de orto? Es insoportable. Cito, como la memoria me lo permite, mal, pero más o menos esa es la idea. Y en estas declaraciones, además del contraste que aparece entre una técnica y otra, entiendo lo siguiente: estamos poniendo las preocupaciones de la vida cotidiana en el lugar equivocado, le estamos exigiendo respuestas a un universo que se configura principalmente de preguntas y estamos dejando a los placeres de lado. Si el cine –o el arte en general- no pueden desligarse de estas preocupaciones, hacer la suya, tomar caminos aledaños, romper su propia cabeza contra la pared, todo pierde interés y el fuego se apaga hasta ser solo cenizas; producción en masa que atiende la agenda y rellena casilleros. Y ahí esta Netflix, punta de iceberg, para confirmarlo. Y ahí estuvo la escuela de Cesare Zavattini para que tampoco vayamos a creer que esto es solo cosa de la contemporaneidad. Lo que preocupa ahora es que no parece haber nadie –o muchos, tratemos de no ser drásticos- dispuestos a sacudirse la modorra y tirar un par de patadas, a equivocarse y chamuyar, a disfrutar de los gestos gratuitos, a ir al frente con lo que le quema en el pecho.

[knightofameris]

⇽   𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 ◜𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚜' 𝚌𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗◞ 

𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑠' 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒: blacklist “ameris 500 celebration!” if you don’t want to see any of my posts about this celebration! 

—𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐒—

So I have a few people (mutual and some others!) I want to thank ;u; I wanted to make this a separate post because I felt really bad for how long the first post was ahhhh, I didn’t want to make you guys scroll through it lol. If you do end up scrolling through it. Bless your soul. 

@ptersparkers​ - my LOVELY LOVELY SCOUT. I really do hope you see this (might just screenshot this and send it to you tho lmao). I always love seeing you on my dash and you are literally a badass for dealing with some people’s shit like, fuck bro you’re amazing LOL. We’ve literally been moots for over a year and you were the first mutual i’ve ever really talked to since my Marvel blog. I love you so much and I know you’re going to do great in life and in all your endeavors. And congratulations on getting published! I’m so proud of you and you know what? I know Tony Stark would be too LOL 

@kuroos-babie​​ - HI CHIQUI. i love u sm i want to give u as many kiths as you want. when I’ve barely dipped my toes in making content for Haikyuu you assured me that it’s okay! and it really helped and i appreciate it so so much cus I don’t think I would’ve continued writing and posting for this blog. I mean, I can never not write and I do love sharing my work but it is nerve wrecking. also stop making me want to have kids asdhfkjahfk

@stcrryskies​​ - i remember seeing you a lot on my dash cus you would interact with brie and chiqui and a few others and then I was like, I should really really follow her she seems REALLY COOL. and AHKFASKHF BRO WHAT ARE THE ODDS THAT WE WERE BOTH IN MARCHING BAND??!?! IN THE SAME CIRCUIT AND CLASS?? bruh. like thinking about it, we’ve probably walked past each other when we’d have full retreats for competitions or finals or just walked past each other in competitions 👁👄👁

@crocyoota​ - im so sorry that im so awkward lkasjdfhljfglfsjg and we haven’t interacted much besides like,,, being horny on main lmao. i fucking respect the fact that you have no shame tho like. couldn’t be me but also, i have been horny on main so what am i saying 😗.  but I do remember you being one of my first haikyuu moots??? and it made my heart BURST

@saetyrn9​​ - i full on reblog all of your stuff so much onto my main and it makes me laugh how much we reblog each other’s stuff aksdhfkasf;j i also just overall enjoy seeing your presence on my dash! even if we don’t talk much besides here and there, it is always v fun owo also. ur smut is also so good i’m--

@renesis-jj​ - thank you for all your kind words and your support. I love talking to you and i love that we’ve developed a sort of friendship even though I thought I was just gonna be a reader of yours LOL your works are always fantastic and I’m sorry tumblr is such a dumb dumb ):< I don’t really know how our like friendship began but thank you for listening to me when I needed it most. Even though... I am still... embarrassed... 

a few other mutuals that I hope that I can interact with some more in the future! 

@tetsusbabe @chibishae34 @keijiskitten @stonersugawara​  @tui-lah @miy4bot @k-eijiakaashi (if I missed anyone i’m SORRY I appreciate you too!! i’m just stupid!!!)

if u want to be mutuals tho just hmu! i actually would like to follow more people. My tumblr dash is more dead than ever compared to when I first came on here. im a little bad at keepign conversation 🥴🥴 but if u ever want to chat i’ll do my best lol (I follow back on @thestarsintheknight​ btw!!)

AND TO ALL MY EMOJI ANONS OMG I LOVE YOU GUYS SO MUCH. even if you guys stop coming by you guys have literally made my day so much more bearable through this quarantine. i really really wish i asked for anons sooner and i wish i did more interactions on this blog sooner. I think one of these days I want to do an appreciation post for each anon I have ;u; ahhhh i just need to push out more content which is definitely why i’m doing this self ship sorta thing to thank you and ALL my followers. 

i know these people will never see this BUT know about this account so they could see it: i’ll just give her the nickname of vivi-chan AHAHAH, my other half who could literally be my childhood friends/enemies to lovers, shade/edge/LMAO, i don’t even know what nickname to give this person but “conversations that come out of left park”, and okay jk this person will see it cus u actually have a tumblr and checks tumblr often but, @the-deaf-archer​ y’all are people who support me irl and h o n e s t ly to me, it’s actually really really really special that you guys are the few people i actually do know irl that know about this blog because i’m absolutely BABY. just don’t read the smut. or. whatever. idc do what you want but damn i will cry.