#the game felt like a game ready for launch

[raevpng]

all these rumours

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

masterlist

summary: times azzi was sick of subtle and quiet hints and attempts to hard launch with her longtime best friend and girlfriend. frustration and chaos ensues however, when she fails. multiple. times.

a/n: thank u for ur patience once again lovelies 🥹 im still gonna edit this but this is my longest one shot ever so i hope it��s still enjoyable 😭 tell me ur thoughts <3

azzi knew more or less that there was a hefty price to pay for the dream life she chased.

she knew that eventually, the talent she’s harnessed and worked on for years would pay off – that the world would know what she could do. who she could be.

picture perfect form, unshakable morals, a humble yet competitive spirit.

that was who azzi fudd is. the kind of basketball player kids dreamed to be.

and she got it – she has what she’s worked so hard to do all her life. she got in the basketball capital of the world, she had a team that felt more like family, friendships that grounded her, people she’d bleed for.

and somehow, in the middle of all of that—she fell in love.

people were always stunned when she told the story. the story of how she met her soulmate, her twin flame, her everything.

paige bueckers.

every bit of a great athlete azzi is. she led with a kind of love and passion for not only the game, but for the people she played with. she had the kind of faith that swayed you, and a personality that left everyone wanting more.

and really, azzi understands. she understands why the internet obsessed over every interaction they had. every glance, touch, every shared laugh. they were absolutely enamored with their dynamic.

she understands cause she was living it.

she found a lover in her best friend. and god, azzi could never forget how softly their relationship had blossomed. how gently they had crossed the line between platonic and romantic. she remembers the soft confessions, the nervous first date, the jealousy they felt as they tried to hide from each other throughout their highschool careers.

she remembers how tough it was for paige had to watch azzi go with a boy to prom, and for azzi to watch as the media spun narrative after narrative of paige’s latest rumored boyfriend.

a hundred moments they had to swallow their love and smile like it didn’t sting.

but when azzi got to uconn, everything changed.

they were no longer living parallel lives — they were living the same one. suddenly it wasn’t just about quiet stares and lingering touches. it was about navigating something real, something tangible. they had a much harder time trying to bury their affections for each other. hands lingered a little longer than necessary, stares burned in a way that friends definitely did not do.

they tried to hide it. they really did.

nonetheless, everyone caught up to it pretty quick.

including their coaches and staff.

and safe to say they had a very thorough talk about media training and deal that yes – there was no rule that they couldn’t date, but it had to be very quiet, down low.

and it was easy.

kinda.

they were surrounded by the best team mates, who supported them through thick and thin. who, sure, maybe gagged at their quick kisses and cuddles during move nights or quick embraces in locker rooms before a game. but through it all, even with the chaos, azzi was content. grateful, even.

but now?

now it was different. they weren’t teammates anymore. they weren’t under the same roof, with the same jersey, following the same rules.

and azzi, has quiet as she had been during their years in uconn, was absolutely dying to show off her girlfriend.

because why not?

she can now.

and she was so damn ready.

–

forget about ending it with a bang, they started it with a bang.

the 2025 draft was much anticipated, not only for the fates of their future rookies in the league, but for the fashion, the glitz, the glamour.

and azzi?

she made damn sure she showed up. she pops out in the glittery black dress that hugs her curves perfectly, with her hair styled in curls that cascaded down the expanse of her bare, toned back.

and she came with a statement to make.

she made sure to stay by paige’s side for photos, smiling at her in a way that no longer held back adoration. heart eyes, the fans said. she posed for pictures as paige wrapped her hand around her waist, smiling with a love-sick, dopey grin that only fueled the flutter of butterflies in her stomach.

and if that wasn’t enough, she smiled to herself victoriously as she settled down in her very own seat.

in paige’s table.

she smiled knowingly, already anticipating the craze that is their fans, knowing that some of them doubted she would be there. she was excited to stir chaos, to send the clear message that she’s been by her girlfriend’s side and she’s here to stay. that no matter where she goes, she’ll always be close to follow.

her name wasn’t being called yet, but she looked like the proudest person in the room when paige’s was.

but to her surprise, as the night settled down and they returned to paige’s hotel room, it still wasn’t enough.

she remembers being tangled up in hotel sheets, bare underneath the covers as she ran her fingers through her tussled hair. the night had been nothing but hectic, and she half expected paige to pass out by the time they entered their hotel room with the amount of media, socialisation, and tequil shots she had downed in celebration of her draft night.

safe to say, the night had in fact not gone down that road, and instead ended with paige’s hands wandering and azzi not being able to resist.

cause who was she to deny her number one pick girlfriend? she couldn’t – not when she wanted it just as much. not when paige mouthed at her neck, whispering thanks and gratitude and confessions in a way that made azzi’s heart skip a beat and ignited a warmth in her stomach. she remembers the way paige had glanced up at her from between her legs, looking up as if she was the one who had been drafted. she remembers the gentleness, the passion, and the silent promises between each kiss and each release.

“you okay there baby?” paige had said as she exited the bathroom, her loose button up long gone as she climbed into bed again, quickly wrapping azzi into a warm embrace as she breathes in her scent.

“hm.” she hummed, setting down her phone by her pillow. she was scrolling through social media while paige had gone to clean up, and much to her dismay, her message still wasn’t clear to some.

she reached up to plant a soft kiss to her girlfriend’s lips. “saw some people saying we were ‘bff goals.’” she scrunched her nose, bringing a quiet giggle from paige.

“is that a bad thing?” paige laughs softly, brushing away azzi’s hair to kiss her forehead.

azzi gasped.

“what kinda best friend sits at a draft table and gets hugged first?” azzi shook her head, as if personally offended. “i am very obviously your girlfriend, thank you.”

paige just laughs, eyes fond as azzi sinks deeper in her embrace.

“let’s try again then.”

–

she’d kept the hints going, subtle but steady, while paige threw herself into her rookie season.

likes on tiktok edits, continuously coming to her games, even helping paige settle in texas barely a day after they had been “separated.”

the big one came unexpectedly, on a regular thursday afternoon.

she’d been cleaning her room, hair pulled up and sleeves rolled to her elbows, with paige propped up on facetime. on screen, paige was standing in front of her bathroom mirror, rambling about practice and the new weight room, her voice bright as she pulled her hair into a sleek ponytail.

azzi half-listened. mostly, she stared.

her eyes were fixed on the way paige’s biceps flexed when she tightened her ponytail. the gloss of her lips as she applied balm. the arch of her brow as she talked, animated and glowing.

“ma, you good?” paige smirked when she realised azzi was no longer listening, laughing at the glossy look in azzi’s eyes. “something distracting you?”

azzi coughed and rolled her eyes, though the blush creeping up her neck gave her away. “just admiring what’s mine, that’s all.”

paige smiled, almost shy as her cheeks tint a pretty shade of pink at her girlfriend’s possessiveness. “i miss you, baby.”

azzi’s smirk faded, replaced with something heavier. her voice dropped to a murmur as she sat on the edge of her bed. “i miss you more, p. it’s not the same here without you.”

paige pouted, like she felt it in her chest too. “it’s weird seeing you more on a screen again. i’m so used to just walking downstairs when i missed you.”

“now it’s six hours and a flight just to hug you for a day,” azzi sighed.

paige pouts even harder, sighing dramatically. “i just miss my girl. you’ve been looking too damn fine in my jersey. you trying to kill me?”

and that’s when it hit her.

azzi shot up, rummaging through the clutter on her desk—books, lip gloss tubes, tangled chains – until she found it.

she held up the delicate silver necklace, triumph written all over her face. a small heart charm beside a number 5.

“baby,” paige laughed, eyes lighting up. she knew that face. “what are you planning?”

“you’ll see.” azzi smirked.

see if they can deny this now.

spoiler: they can.

–

the tiktok blew up instantly – a dancing video with suni and anna. but that wasn’t what caught people’s attention.

no, it was the subtle glint of silver that caught the light every time azzi moved, delicate, gleaming, and undeniably there.

from the second the video went live, suni and anna had teased her relentlessly, eyebrows raised, smirks smug.

“oh they’re gonna eat this up,” anna said gleefully as she posted it, watching the likes skyrocket in real time. and azzi beamed, half proud, half smug.

suni leaned over her shoulder with a knowing grin. “you really wore that necklace for this?”

azzi shrugged smugly, beaming like the mastermind she was. “they better catch on this time.”

she thought this was it. they had to get it now.

and for a while, it seemed like they had. comments poured in. likes exploded. azzi refreshed the app every few minutes, heart racing, already imagining the thinkpieces, the ship edits, the finally, we have confirmation!! tweets.

but a few hours later, when she opened her phone, her jaw dropped.

comments flooded in:

“i wear my best friend’s number too lol”

“okay but this could still be platonic?”

“my bestie gave me a necklace like that 🥰”

what the fuck.

azzi slammed her phone face-down onto her bed, letting out a long, dramatic groan.

“you’re fucking lying.” she muttered under her breath, already on her feet and storming down the hallway to kk’s dorm with one mission in mind: complain. violently.

she flung the door open without knocking, mouth open and rants waiting to spill out when she heard it.

paige’s voice, warm and amused, drifting from kk’s phone screen.

“hey, fudd,” kk grinned, turning the phone to reveal paige’s face, all soft lighting and softer smiles. her girlfriend brightens up immediately, smiling that soft smile reserved only for her.

“hey, babe,” paige greeted. but her smile faltered as soon as she took in azzi’s stormy expression.

“uh oh. what happened?”

“oh, you know,” azzi drawled dramatically, flopping down on the edge of kk’s bed like the world’s most exhausted gay. “just the fucking allegations.”

kk blinked. “azzi. they can’t be allegations if you’re actually dating.”

“nah,” paige cut in, already catching on. she chuckled, leaning closer to the camera. “by allegations, she means best friend allegations.”

a beat of silence.

and then kk howled with laughter, doubling over as azzi swatted her shoulder.

“it’s not fucking funny.” she whined, ignoring how paige smiles fondly, eyes crinkling and bright.

“how are we still getting best friend allegations?” azzi rambled, pacing now. “i sat at her draft table. i’ve been in texas more in the last two weeks than my own parents’ house. i’m literally wearing her number around my neck like a promise ring.”

kk wipes a tear that escaped her eyes as she catches her breath, “you kill me, genuinely.”

“shut the fuck up kk.”

“okay, okay,” she wheezed, holding up her hands in surrender. “just be more obvious, then. you know how the internet is. unless you’re holding up a giant neon sign that says ‘i’m in a gay relationship with paige bueckers’ they’re gonna think y’all braid each other’s hair while you watch love island .”

“should i tattoo it on my forehead?” azzi deadpanned. “i’m dating paige bueckers across my fucking hairline?”

“i’d be down,” paige chimed in helpfully.

azzi shot her a look.

paige grinned sheepishly. “sorry.”

kk just rolled her eyes for what had to be the fifth time. “no one said that. just make another tiktok. with paige this time. don’t you literally have a visit planned soon?”

azzi groaned again but nodded, slumping down into kk’s desk chair with a dramatic exhale.

“fine. i guess i’ll try again.”

“aww.” paige cooed at azzi’s jutted lip, clearly dejected at her failed attempt at yet another hard launch. “don’t worry babe, we can do that trend you’ve been wanting.”

azzi’s head snapped up, a hopeful smile dancing on her lips, “really?”

“of course, baby,” paige said, voice low and warm, and if azzi had been any closer, back in her arms where she belongs, she would’ve kissed her silly on the spot.

“ew, gross.” kk gagged, “this feels like watching my parents kiss.”

azzi flipped her off without even looking, already envisioning the tiktok that would put rumours to rest. hopefully. maybe.

they’d stop calling it platonic.

–

the restaurant was bustling with quiet noise – the clink of silverware against ceramic, the soft murmur of conversations blending with occasional bursts of laughter. dim lighting bounced off polished wood and wine glasses, casting everything in a warm glow. it was perfect, not because of the fragrant waft of food everywhere, (although that did help) but because she was here, with her again, back where she belongs.

they were sat on a spacious round table. and even though they were in the middle of the restaurant, surrounded by people and different conversations, azzi barely heard the hum of the world around her.

all she heard was paige.

“and then nai says it’s because i’m pale like casper the ghost. what does that have to do with anything?” paige sighed mid-rant, her hands animated as she recounted something that happened during shootaround, her voice trailing into another tangent about a meme she saw that morning.

and azzi would like to think she was a great girlfriend. she’d say she was attentive and ready to listen. but right now, with her girlfriend so soft and so close to her again? she couldn’t help but stare.

she was watching. warm eyes fixed on paige’s every expression. the way her nose scrunched when she laughed, the way her lashes fluttered when she looked down at her plate, the way her voice softened just slightly whenever she said azzi’s name.

god, it’s sickening how in love she was. maybe kk did have a point.

paige leaned forward suddenly, noticing the face her girlfriend had when she was in her head again. reaching across the table, she laced their fingers together. like it was the most natural thing in the world.

and it was.

her thumb brushed slow circles into the back of azzi’s hand as she watched azzi register her gentle actions.

“anyways,” paige said, a little quieter, a little gentler. “how are you doing, baby? still bothered about the rumours?”

azzi sighed before she could help it, spine straightening at the mention of the issue. paige laughed softly, lifting their hands and pressing a kiss to the smooth skin just below azzi’s knuckles.

“you have no idea.” azzi rolled her eyes, softening slightly at the affection. she fished her phone out to show her girlfriend a screenshot of the many tweets and tiktok comments. “look. best friend, former team-mate, anything but girlfriend. it’s ridiculous!”

a blur of screenshots filled the screen as paige squinted. tweet after tweet, tiktok after tiktok, each one circled or underlined in red like she was building a case. best friend. former teammate. “normal friendship between girls.” platonic. platonic. platonic.

paige cackled at a particular comment. “yall reaching. i look at my best friend the way paige does and we’re not dating.” she read aloud, biting her lip to stop a very inappropriate laugh from escaping.

“someone tell her…” paige started shakily, “if she looks at her best friend the way we look at each other…”

azzi’s hands shoot up to cover her mouth, knowing her girlfriend’s next words.

paige was near tears. “they’re probably-”

“gay.” azzi deadpanned, snickering into her hands as she tried to remain quiet.

paige didn’t even try, doubling into a loud laughter as she hid her face from curious stares.

“gay,” she repeated, muffled into her palms, before peeking back up at azzi with tear-glossed eyes and the widest grin. “god, i love you.”

azzi just huffed, still scrolling. “tell that to the internet.”

she opened tiktok on azzi’s phone, still in her hand with a sly grin. “wanna make it now?”

azzi’s eyes brightened instantly, nodding animatedly as paige leaned in to plant a soft kiss on her forehead.

—

they filmed it first try – azzi tilted her head, eyes wide with innocence. “how much was it?” she mouthed.

paige looked exasperatedly at the camera. “two hundred dollars.”

azzi let out a cute little gasp, a soft smile contrasting paige’s reaction. “that’s not bad!”

azzi could barely contain the shake of her body as she cackled at the slow motion of paige’s reaction. they both cracked up the moment the audio cut, laughter bubbling as paige nuzzled her face into the crook of the younger’s neck. they rewatched it ten times before even moving, paige pointing out how soft azzi looked in her sweater and her innocent smile.

“they gotta get it this time.” paige reassured as azzi typed up her caption.

princess treatment everytime i’m with her. 😇💗 #spoiled

then she hit post.

hard launch.

again.

they got up to stroll to paige’s car, scrolling through the initial reactions. thousands of likes, comments, even videos in response to the tikok flooded in almost initially. paige peeked over azzi’s shoulder as they sat, scrolling, her free hand still tangled with azzi’s.

“see ma?” paige murmured against her ear. “i think they really get it this time.”

azzi beamed, sliding into the passenger seat and sighing at the familiar scent of paige’s car. her favourite car freshener, her laundry detergent, the faintest whiff of her favorite perfume. Home.

“finally,” she whispered, curling into her seat with a grin.

princess treatment indeed.

but later that night, after dinner and after kisses and after laughter faded into quiet, they lay on paige’s couch. azzi was nestled between her legs, back pressed to paige’s chest, scrolling aimlessly on her phone while paige mindlessly played with the end of one of her braids.

“babe?” azzi asked quietly, tone dull.

“hm?” paige kissed her temple.

wordlessly, azzi flipped her phone around and shoved it in her face. paige stared, blinked, then winced.

“oh fuck, you were serious.”

–

“i know that look.” kk narrowed her eyes, watching azzi through the mirror as she twisted her curls into place, securing them with quiet precision.

soft music flowed from kk’s speaker, the low hum of kk’s r&b playlist mixing with the gentle clatter of makeup brushes. paige had a game in connecticut today, and they had decided to get ready together before boarding the team bus to the game.

“whatsoever do you mean, kamorea?” azzi asked, tone syrupy and suspiciously innocent. she didn’t even look up, just kept applying mascara to thick, long lashes that fluttered innocently.

kk squinted, reading between every single line. “nah, don’t play. you’re gonna do something to ruin the internet again aren’t you?”

a smile.

“maybe.”

kk shivers.

–

they had finished the game with a high. dallas took the victory as the crowd went wild – paige had once again scored the most points within the team and god she felt like floating. she exuded an electric energy, that dizzying, dazed smile stretched across her face as her eyes scanned the crowd, searching.

they land on azzi. always azzi.

always azzi, cutting through the overwhelming noise and cheer. it was cheesy to think, but it genuinely felt like those cheesy rom-com movies azzi adored, even years in their relationship. the roar of the arena faded to a hum when their eyes met, and paige’s smile softened like it always did. like she only saw her.

they were ushered out quickly once the game wrapped, fans still screaming, staff buzzing. azzi and kk lingered back in a hallway as the crowd thinned. kk had been filming a vlog the entire day, azzi giggling into the camera, cheeks hurting from smiling as they goofed around, waiting for them to be allowed back to the venue.

“hey, y'all can come back in now.” a staff member had said, halting kk’s rambling to her phone.

“thank you!” kk replied politely before turning to the vlog, tone changing in an instant. “guys, we’re about to go see paige bueckers!” she squealed dramatically like a fan, making azzi roll her eyes and laugh.

kk skipped to paige’s side the second they stepped in, faking stage fright with exaggerated gasps, wringing her hands as paige blinked at her, amused. still, a slow yet fond smile stretched across the blonde’s features at her friend’s theatrics.

she opened her arms, inviting an embrace as kk squealed and jumped into a hug, acting like she’d won a contest. azzi giggled from behind the camera, heart swelling when paige’s eyes flicked up to find hers, warm and instinctive. she opened her mouth to probably call her over for a quick peck before noticing the camera, tilting her head in a silent question.

azzi mouths “she’s vlogging.”

paige nods swiftly in understanding, wrapping her arms around kk as she rants about her first tech. azzi couldn’t help but swoon, heart softening at how paige was just glowing. she was radiant even after a tough game, so full of life as she interacted with the team. everyone adored her, loved her in a way that only pure adoration and respect could bring.

she doesn’t even wanna know how googly-eyed she looked right now, admiring her girlfriend, thinking of everything they went through. years of hiding everything, their affection, their love for each other.

and suddenly, azzi had had enough.

she was not about to sit quietly while the world missed the entire point of the most important thing in her life.

and she knew exactly what to do.

–

she rummaged around her suitcase, looking for the item paige had gifted her months ago.

the phone case.

it was a joke, really. they had been scrolling through social media when paige started giggling at her phone – a case a fan had designed.

“look at this, baby,” paige had grinned, tilting the screen as azzi took a peek. “some fan really made this.”

it was obnoxiously pink, bold letters stamped across it like a headline.

“excuse me,” azzi had scoffed, pouting dramatically. “position’s already filled, thanks.”

but paige had only laughed harder, tapping on the link to buy it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. she bit her lip to stifle her giggles as she silently ordered it, filling in her details with a mischievous smile. it didn’t take long for suspicious silence to get noticed by azzi though, gasping when she saw the screen.

“the fuck?” azzi gasped as paige snickered. “paige.”

“it’s for you,” paige said sweetly, azzi widening her eyes sassily. “you’re welcome.”

“fuck no.”

now though, azzi had never been more thankful for a phone case. “thank the lord for a weird girlfriend.” she muttered under her breath, snapping it onto her phone with a click and smirking as the lettering caught the light. bright pink. unmissable.

so, expect a lil something today.

the three bubbles appeared almost instantly, azzi smiling at how fast paige responded despite her being at practice.

should i be scared?

azzi giggled, biting back a laugh as she typed:

perhaps i’m using the phone case.

a pause.

the phone case? the one you swore you’d never touch?

maybe.

azzi typed with a smirking emoji, giggling as paige replied with a thousand shocked face emojis.

game time.

–

she was getting dolled up with her stylist when she decided to snap the picture. skin glowing from glam, hair curled to perfection by her stylist, the light hitting her skin just right. and yeah, maybe it was intentional that her legs looked perfect in the picture, almost distracting from the actual purpose.

the phone case clear as day with bright pink letters – a loud and proud declaration.

paige bueckers’ girlfriend.

“you menace,” hayley smiled, peeking over her shoulder as azzi typed out the caption.

azzi smirked, cheekbones sharp and eyes playful as she posed one last time in the mirror. “it gets to a point,” she sighed, tossing her hair dramatically, “where i’m like, maybe i do need to spell it out for them.”

hayley laughed, running her hands through curls gently, nodding in agreement. “baby, you’ve spelled it, shouted it, danced it, and now you really put it out there in bright pink letters.”

“real.” azzi nodded in agreement, looking over the story one last time.

post.

and then she waited.

the notifications came in like an avalanche: shocked emojis, screaming replies. fan edits already popping up her for you page with another taylor swift song. she tried not to let her hopes up too much, knowing the pattern from her previous attempts. still, she let herself breathe, heart thumping in her chest like she’d just sprinted across a court.

a buzz cuts through her thoughts, bringing a soft smile to her face.

paige bueckers’girlfriend huh?

azzi could already imagine the proud smirk on paige’s face, fingers dancing across the screen to reply.

you lucky woman.

paige’s reply came instantly.

god, i agree.

and just like that, azzi felt the warmth rush to her cheeks, biting her lip as she tried to calm the way her chest fluttered. she bit her lip, fighting down the stubborn blush paige still managed to coax from her, setting her phone down as she fanned her face. she glanced at hayley, who was definitely watching.

“don’t.” she warned, burying her face in her hands.

“you’re so in love.”

it was a simple sentence. one she’d heard multiple times from fans, friends, and family alike. she heard it when they posted a picture, played a game together, went to a family event together, or when a friend caught them staring at each other for too long. it was written in the way she and paige looked at each other, or in every quiet hug after a tough game, every stolen glance across a crowded room. yet, she couldn’t help but think back to everything – how it had started between them, and how this giddiness had yet to fade. she had a sneaking suspicion it never will.

because it was true. it was real, and it was theirs.

and maybe that was enough, the sure feeling she had when they made eye contact in a crowded room, the softness of paige’s touch even after a rough game, the unwavering support of the people around her and the fans.

that was enough.

she looked at the mirror, still smiling.

“yeah,” azzi whispered, almost to herself.

“i really am.”

[crazziforazzi]

Red Jersey

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

One shot

Warning: MDNI, Possessive!P, Mild dom/sub dynamics

A/N: This started out as a cute little post-game one-shot I drafted after the match… then I went to work, came back, and rewrote it into whatever this is now. I will now be closing my laptop and pretending this never happened, okay? We don’t talk about it.

But in my defense, I did promise to deliver something if P dropped 20. Next time I’m betting on 25+

Word Count: 4k words

Azzi Fudd was in big fucking trouble.

Not the catastrophic, relationship-on-the-line kind of trouble. More the you knew what you were doing and now you’re dealing with the consequences kind. The kind of trouble where your girlfriend doesn’t raise her voice, doesn’t throw a fit, she just misses three open layups in the first half of a game she should be dominating and avoids eye contact the whole time.

That kind of trouble stung, because it meant Paige was actually upset. And Azzi couldn’t even say she hadn’t earned it.

It had started with the post. Their hard launch, yesterday. Paige had known it was coming, they’d even laughed about the case together when it arrived in the mail. She’d said Azzi could post it whenever she felt ready. Azzi had felt ready. Paige, apparently, had felt… too busy to react.

Sure, they had agreed Azzi would be the one to go public first, to slowly place the signs for their fans. But she hadn’t expected complete silence from her girlfriend. No like, no repost, not even their pink heart emoji. Just…nothing.

And that silence? It annoyed the hell out of her.

And she knew it was stupid. She knew Paige was barely online these days. She knew that one like didn’t matter when her girlfriend made sure she woke up to a good morning text every single day, and treated her like a princess whenever they were together. But still, Azzi liked to be claimed. In every way possible.

So yeah, maybe Azzi was feeling a little petty when she showed up to the Wings-Mystics game today. 

Her hair was still perfect from the event she’d been at the day before. Her natural makeup hit just right. She even pulled on the jeans Paige loved and decided on a cropped white UConn shirt that left just enough abs and her piercing peeking out. She looked good. Hot, even. First official WAG game and she was showing up for it.

But when she was greeted by Georgia Amoore instead of her own girlfriend first, with a cheeky grin and a "You want this?" Azzi caught the jersey, smiled, and pulled it on right over her tank top without missing a beat.

Okay, maybe she paused for a second. But only because she knew Paige would be annoyed. Her girlfriend was way too possessive for this kind of shit.

Which made her do it anyway.

She’d barely been sitting for a few minutes, casually chatting with the girl next to her, when she saw them. Or more accurately, felt it first. The stare.

When she looked up, Paige and Arike were jogging toward the sideline for warmups. Paige wasn’t even trying to hide the glare. Azzi met her eyes across the court and raised her brows, all faux innocence, like what? Someone else gave it to me.

She didn’t expect Paige to actually come over to her side of the court. But she did.

With Arike flanking her, both of them bouncing the balls casually as they strolled toward Azzi’s section like they had no other place to be. Paige didn’t say anything right away. She just gave her that look. The one that said 

You think you are funny, huh?

"Interesting jersey choice," Arike said with a sly grin, clearly enjoying the drama way too much.

"Georgia said she didn’t want it getting wrinkled on the bench," Azzi shot back smoothly. "I’m just doing her a favor."

"Mhm," Paige murmured, eyes flicking up and down slowly. "Bet she appreciated that."

Azzi tilted her head, playful. "Bet you noticed."

That earned her a look. Paige didn’t respond though,—just turned back to warm up again with Arike, glancing over at Azzi every once in a while before shaking her head. Each time, Azzi just smiled back sweetly, all charm and no remorse.

Now it was halftime, and Azzi sat very still in her seat, Georgia’s red jersey still on, and maybe regretting everything, just a little.

Paige had gone 1-for-6 in the second quarter alone. She’d gotten beat on defense twice, once by Citron, and passed up an open three just to dish to Smith, who wasn’t even ready for it. It was a turnover.

It was bad, like noticeably bad. The kind of bad that made sports Twitter start asking if something was wrong.

Azzi chewed the inside of her cheek, eyes fixed on the Wings bench. Paige was pacing in front of the seats, towel draped over her shoulders, head down. She wasn’t even pretending to be composed anymore. Nalyssa tried to say something to her. Paige just nodded and looked up, directly at Azzi. And Azzi… flinched.

Shit.

This wasn’t what she meant to do. This was supposed to be fun. 

Azzi thought she’d fire Paige up. That it’d get her locked in. She thought Paige would come out swinging, torch the Mystics for daring to even flirt with the idea of taking what was hers. She thought Paige would have the kind of game where she dropped 25 just to spite the Mystics, the kind of night that ended with her backing Azzi against the door as soon as they got to the hotel room and saying mine in every possible way.

That was what Azzi had expected. A little fuel. A little bite. 

Not throwing off her game. Not making her doubt everything.

Azzi tugged at the collar of the jersey, suddenly very aware of how obvious it was. Bright red. Amoore #8. 

Cute… if you weren’t Paige Bueckers watching your girlfriend flaunt someone else’s name across her chest less than 24 hours after hard launching your relationship.

She chewed her lip as the players made their way into the tunnel. Paige didn’t look up once. Not toward the bench. Not toward the crowd. Certainly not toward Azzi.

Azzi had wanted a reaction. Just… not this one.

This wasn’t the fun kind of jealousy. This wasn’t Paige rising to the moment and proving a point. This was Paige shutting down, overthinking, spiraling, playing like she was stuck in her own head.

And Azzi, still stubborn, still too proud to admit it out loud, was starting to realize that maybe she’d misjudged the line between teasing and testing.

She slouched lower in her seat, elbow on the armrest, chin buried in her palm. 

She decided to open the group chat. UConn Huskies 💙💍. 

It had been buzzing with activity all game, mostly with playful jabs and updates. A few GIFs. Some exaggerated "OOPS" messages after Paige’s third turnover. Classic KK.

Azzi didn’t even want to scroll down to see the vote percentages. She knew what option was winning. Judging by Jana’s flame emojis and Sarah’s unhelpful "👀👀👀," her teammates were thriving off this chaos.

And then there it was:

KK: "New poll: What should Azzi do to fix being a dick and wearing the enemy’s jersey?"

Option 1: Beg for forgiveness after the game.

Option 2: Buy new shoes for lil Paigey.

Option 3: Put on that lingerie she packed and wait in the hotel room for Big Daddy Bueckers.

She exhaled, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Do I defend myself? 

The silence lasted maybe thirty seconds. Then the floodgates opened.

Finally, she typed:

Azzi: Okay but… do you guys actually think she’s mad at me?

The words hit her like a slap. And suddenly, all the teasing and jersey-stunting didn’t feel worth it. Not if Paige was hurt. Not if she was second-guessing herself. Not if Azzi did that.

Sarh: Girl.

Morgan: She is mad.

KK: I’d be mad. I am mad. You look like you are repping Georgia like y’all go way back 😭

Caroline: Azzi, you literally hard launched yesterday and then pulled the most passive aggressive side chick stunt of all time 💀

Sarah: Also. She missed a layup which she almost never does. What do you think?"

She stared at her phone, jaw tight. No more playing it cool. She had to fix this.

She opened Paige’s contact, stared at the empty message window, hen finally typed:

Babe, are you ok?

Read, almost Immediately. 

But nothing else. No bubble. Just that quiet little confirmation that Paige saw it, and still wasn’t ready to say anything back.

Azzi’s chest tightened. She glanced to make sure her dad wasn’t watching, took a breath, and typed the kind of message that might break through. The kind that usually worked when normal words weren’t enough. The kind that brought Possessive Paige out of hiding.

It was her asking for a second chance in Paige’s language.

Can you please come out and show them why, even if I wear someone else’s name on my back right now, I only ever moan yours when we get home?

Remind me who I belong to. I’ll be good for you when you do. Promise.

She hit send and was ready to see the effect.

Azzi sat on edge the entire second half—barely blinking, barely breathing—silently praying Paige would settle in. The arena was loud, tense, alive with every possession, but all Azzi could hear was her pulse hammering in her ears. Her hands were clenched in her lap, fingers curled tight in the hem of Georgia’s jersey. She hadn’t sent another message after that last one—but she didn’t need to.

Because Paige had read it. And now Paige was responding.

It wasn’t smooth. It wasn’t pretty. She was getting double-teamed off the inbound, blitzed every time she touched the ball, and still not getting much help. But she was fighting. Hard. Every floater came with a shoulder dipped through contact. Every pass was threaded like a dare. Every drive ended with her hitting the floor and popping back up like it just fueled her.

Azzi didn’t move. She just watched.

By the final stretch, Paige had clawed her way to 13 points. And then, with just seconds left in regulation, she pulled off a screen and hit a cold-blooded three to tie the game and send it to overtime.

Azzi shot up before the ball even dropped through the net, hands in the air, mouth wide, screaming without thinking. Pride surged through her like a flood. She was full of relief and awe and love. This was her girl.

And then Paige turned. She didn’t look at her teammates. She didn’t even glance at the bench. She looked straight at Azzi.

Their eyes locked across the chaos, and Azzi’s whole body went still. Paige didn’t smile. Didn’t smirk. She just stared, held her there, then lifted her hand and pointed. One deliberate motion, right at her chest. Right at the red jersey.

You are mine.

Azzi’s heart stuttered so violently it nearly made her dizzy. Paige’s eyes burned into her with a promise so sharp it almost hurt. It said, You wanted a reaction? You got it. Now get ready for what’s coming.

Azzi looked down and suddenly couldn’t stand the feel of the jersey she was wearing. The red. The number 8. The smug little game she thought she’d been playing. It felt like wearing someone else’s skin. 

Her fingers flew to the hem and yanked it over her head, not caring who saw, not thinking about the cameras or Georgia or anyone else. She folded it once, maybe out of guilt, maybe just habit, and set it down behind her on the seat like it was something she no longer had permission to wear.

Azzi froze in place, heart stuttering. She didn’t even realize she was still wearing the red jersey until she looked down and suddenly hated it all over again. Her fingers yanked at the hem and she pulled it over her head like it was on fire, not caring if the arena cameras caught it or if Georgia saw. She couldn’t keep it on anymore.

When she looked up again, Paige was mid-huddle, sweat slick on her skin, hair damp, jaw tight but her eyes were still on Azzi. She’d seen the jersey come off. Of course she had. She was waiting for it.

And now she looked at Azzi like she was taking inventory. Her eyes dragged over Azzi’s now-bare shoulders, her fitted white UConn crop top, the deep rise and fall of her chest as she tried to catch her breath. And then, so subtle it almost didn’t register, Paige nodded.

It wasn’t a "thank-you" or a "you’re off the hook" nod.

No.

It was more of a a good girl nod. A that’s more like it nod. A you’re-in-so-much-trouble-later-and-I-hope-you-know-it nod.

Azzi sank back into her seat, suddenly hyper aware of every part of her body. Her pulse raced, her throat dry, her skin flushed with heat that had nothing to do with the arena lights. It was anticipation, pure want. The dizzy, sweet ache of having poked the wrong version of the bear and realizing, too late, that the bear liked being poked.

She tried to steady her breathing, tried to look composed, but she already knew.

She was in trouble. The kind of trouble that would show up in slow drips of sweat down the back of her thighs later, with Paige hovering over her until Azzi was begging for release.

And god, she deserved every second of it.

Overtime didn’t go how Azzi had hoped.

It started well enough. Paige hit a tough two right off the jump, then James came up with a steal and fed her for another clean finish at the rim. The Wings had momentum, briefly. But as always, without structure, without support, it crumbled fast. Missed switches, bad spacing, no real plan. And even Paige, locked in and pushing through, couldn’t hold the whole team together on her own.

Still, she fought. She always did. And she still finished with 20 points. Came damn close to a triple-double  through sheer willpower alone. She didn’t quit. She just ran out of hands.

The crowd emptied quickly after the final buzzer. People were already halfway to the parking lot by the time Azzi stood from her seat. Paige stayed behind, as always. She signed every poster, took every selfie with the kids pressed against the railing, even as her body sagged a little under the weight of the loss. Her smile was tired, but it was still there. Her shoulders tense, but still straight. That was Paige. Win or lose, she showed up.

Azzi watched all of it from courtside, the red jersey balled up in her hand now. It didn’t feel like a statement anymore, just a mistake she was ready to be rid of.

She made her way across the court toward Georgia, who was still near the bench, smirking like she’d just watched a live drama unfold and maybe enjoyed it a little too much.

"Thanks for the loan," Azzi said lightly, holding it out.

Georgia accepted it with a grin and a quick once-over that lingered a beat too long. "Anytime," she said, flicking her gaze over Azzi’s shoulder, straight toward Paige, who was still watching. Still tracking. "Though I gotta say... it looked better on you than it ever did on me."

Azzi didn’t dignify that with anything more than a tight smile, already turning away.

She lingered by the baseline with Lili and Amari, pretending to laugh, letting the noise of the court fade around her. She didn’t check her phone. She didn’t need to. She knew Paige would come to her.

And she did.

Azzi felt it before she saw it and then an arm wrapped around her from behind, firm and familiar, dragging her a step off balance.

Azzi didn’t resist. Her body fell into Paige’s without hesitation, like it had been waiting for permission. Her shoulder pressed under Paige’s jaw, her back tucked tight against her chest, and for a second, she just stood there. Breathing, absorbing. 

Paige smelled like heat and sweat and the same damn perfume Azzi had been sleeping in when she missed her too much. She hadn’t realized how much she missed this, Paige’s weight on her, the sense of being held intentionally, not just lovingly but fully possessed.

And Paige? She didn’t say hello. She didn’t ask. She just held her there, one hand gripping her waist, the other resting low on her hip, fingers splayed like a warning sign to anyone watching.

Mine.

Then Paige looked down at her with that maddeningly smug smile. "You really think you can wear someone else’s name on your back and not answer for it?"

Azzi blinked up at her, breath stuttering. "I thought it would get you fired up," she admitted. "That you’d…y’know, prove a point. On the court."

"Oh, I did," Paige murmured, eyes unblinking. "And now I’m going to prove the rest of it. Not here. Not in front of all these people. But you are going to pay for it."

Azzi swallowed. Her entire body responded to that tone, it was low and clipped. The kind of tone that promised she’d be lucky to walk straight tomorrow.

"I mean," she tried to deflect, voice lighter, "you’ve definitely made your point already…"

Paige didn’t even blink. "No. That was the warm-up."

Before Azzi could say another word, a voice behind them groaned dramatically.

"Oh my god. You two still lookl disgustingly obsessed with each other. Nothing’s changed."

Paige didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look away.

"Disgusting and exclusive," she said coolly, her voice dropping to a murmur as she leaned down, close enough that only Azzi could hear the rest. "And territorial as hell. Keep that in mind when I have you face-down tonight."

Azzi’s breath caught. Her heart forgot how to beat. Paige straightened like nothing had happened, throwing a casual wave toward a passing staffer.

Azzi just stood there, blinking like she'd been hit by a truck. One that smelled like sweat and victory and consequences.

She’d pushed. Paige had pulled.

And now she was in so much trouble. And she loved every second of it.

By the time they finally started heading out, the arena was almost entirely empty besides the staff cleaning up. Azzi had Paige’s gym bag slung over one shoulder, ignoring the way Paige kept glancing down at it with an expression that practically screamed give it to me. But Azzi just shook her head.

"No," Azzi said firmly, swatting her hand away. "Absolutely not. You carried the team tonight. You played forty minutes and got a bruised knee. The least I can do is carry your bag."

Paige narrowed her eyes. "Azzi—"

"Babe," Azzi cut in sweetly. "Let me be a good girlfriend and carry your stuff for once. You always carry mine."

Still, she muttered under her breath the entire walk to the parking lot, and Azzi caught enough of it to know that "good girlfriend" was going to be revisited. Thoroughly. Later.

When they reached the car, Azzi popped the trunk and turned to grab the keys from her back pocket, but Paige was already standing there, palm extended. Silent and Expectant. 

Azzi met her eyes and couldn’t help the grin that tugged at her lips. She dropped the keys into Paige’s hand like she was surrendering something more than just a fob.

"I may carry your stuff," she said, saccharine sweet, "but I’m not giving up passenger princess treatment."

Paige cocked her head, that sharp smile slowly spreading. "You are really pushing your luck and my limits tonight, princess."

"Pushing," Azzi echoed, already sliding into the passenger seat. "Not over it."

"Yet," Paige murmured.

They shut the doors almost in sync, the cabin falling into soft darkness. The air shifted, quiet and charged. No noise, no lights, no crowd. Just them. Paige’s hands on the wheel. Azzi practically vibrating beside her.

And Possessive Paige finally alone with her girl.

Paige turned toward her without a word, eyes sharp in the shadows, and reached out slowly, like she’d been holding back for too long and was finally ready to take. Her fingers found Azzi’s jaw, curling under it, her thumb brushing up the line of her cheekbone, firm and unhurried. She guided her in like gravity, lips brushing once, soft and purposeful, then again, deeper, hungrier, heat blooming between them.

"I missed you, baby," Paige murmured against her mouth, voice low and possessive, the baby nearly swallowed by how close they were.

Azzi let out a whimper, high and helpless, her fingers already clawing at the back of Paige’s neck, tangling into the damp curls stuck to her nape. She pulled her in again, harder this time—mouths crashing, breath catching, her legs shifting to pull Paige closer over the console. Their kisses turned messy fast. All tongue, teeth, gasps. Azzi made a small, broken sound every time Paige tugged at her bottom lip. 

It had only been two days, but with the month before that hollowed out by travel and tension and late-night missed calls, it felt like she was kissing life back into her lungs.

Paige leaned in harder, pinning Azzi into the seat. Azzi folded under her without resistance, knees parting, one thigh pressing up against the console. Paige's hand slid from her jaw down to her throat, thumb pressing right beneath her jawline. Azzi’s breath stuttered, eyes fluttering shut. Her whole body pulsed under Paige’s touch.

She was already shaking.

Paige didn’t stop kissing her until she felt it, felt how gone Azzi was. Then she pulled back just slightly, hovering above her, lips swollen, eyes black with promise. Her hand never left Azzi’s throat. She didn’t squeeze. She didn’t have to. The weight of it was enough.

Her smirk was slow, calculated, absolutely devastating.

"I haven’t forgotten about your little stunt," she said, voice low and deliciously cruel. "You think just because you handed the jersey back, you’re off the hook that you are a good girl again?"

Azzi’s pupils blew wide. Her breath hitched so sharp it was almost a gasp. She swallowed, her whole body taut with anticipation, thighs squeezing together without permission.

Paige leaned in closer, lips grazing her jawline, her voice dropping into something even darker. She was all breath and threat, velvet and warning.

"You’re not getting off easy tonight. You want to play games in public? You want to wear someone else’s name on your back and act like you don’t know who you belong to?"

Azzi whimpered, hips twitching upward like she could grind against the air. She was panting now, eyes dazed, hands tightening into Paige’s hoodie like an anchor.

"You’re mine," Paige growled against her ear. "And you’re gonna remember that for days."

Azzi couldn’t speak. She just nodded, desperate and shaking.

Paige kissed her once more, harsh and claiming, then pulled back, just far enough to look her in the eye.

"First I’m going to hold you down and make you scream my name over and over again until it’s the only one left in your head. And then I’m going to make sure your thighs are too sore to pull another stunt like that for a long time."

Azzi made a sound that was half-moan, half-plea. Her head fell back against the headrest, lips parted, eyes dazed.

"I’m serious," Paige said, softer now, but no less threatening. "I’m not going to rush it. You’re going to feel every second of it. And you’re going to thank me when it’s over."

Azzi’s voice finally broke through, wrecked and trembling. "Yes. Please."

Paige smiled, dark, satisfied, cruel in the way only someone who loved you could be before pulling away and starting the car.

Azzi Fudd was in big fucking trouble. She was about to pay for every second she spent in that red jersey. And god, she couldn’t wait.

[narwhalandchill]

wuwa rambles incoming, on the negative side ish (?)

so i also ended up downloading wuwa to test it out despite being fairly confident in the assessment that it Will not be a long term thing for me (and yeah stand behind that one after day 1 and some today) and like

firstly yes the state of the game is in shambles lmao like it really wasnt finished in time for release in terms of performance and polish At All. on my side luckily the overall experience has been more or less okay on medium graphics with some glitches and a total of two crashes but its still like. this isnt an optimized game at all. ppl rly have been taking genshin being incredibly cautious with new systems and additions (so that the game actually Functions) for granted i suppose 💀 and or consistently taken the most uncharitable angle towards it . like yes we shouldve had xyz since forever but i 100% believe theres actual spaghetti code behind things taking long and that hoyo genuinely wants to be very careful w it for good reason. but yeah artifact presets where still

secondly as much as the world is like, pretty and vast with many sceneries that make for a beautiful vignette to Look at and all kinds of trinkets to run towards and engage w for that quick dopamine release, i think the fact that the story and lore of the world is just so fucking inconsequential and terribly communicated makes it just. Incredibly hard to Feel anything for it. its like a cake with stunning decorations except u take a bite and realize its all just fondant and no actual flavor. its just there. i dont have any thoughts nor feelings for it bc the worldbuilding is such a failure that i care neither for this place nor the characters whose stories are supposed to be selling me on the entire game. and that really sucks bc this place really Does look stunning in places and i Wish they would give me something to care about but its just the backdrop for the (admittedly fun) pokemon echo farm and ur exploration progress and the combat system

character-wise i also just dont mesh with vast majority of them much. they dont stand out enough from one another and no one except for like scar has actually made me very intrigued about anything at all regarding the world. designs vary from ugh to fine with some that i do like but they still arent like . the kind of Instant recognizable design that just Hits. they look fine but they lack the (jenshin) impact that makes you want to forfeit ur mortal possessions to them

now there is One (1) exception to this to be fair and thats sanhua but thats Literally just bc she is so fucking gender envy to me design wise. like its almost perfect just like that. literally if only her top wasnt open in the back . Id wear that shit SO hard for My scifi fantasy waves that wuther self insert oh my god. she looks like a middle school OC id make JSJSKSKDKUSKDK i love herrr literally the only reason i continue playing tbh . And she has ice powers too she is literally made For Me 💀

(jen forbidden lore tldr a niche finnish Banger of a fantasy book series that rewired my brain at 10 had an Excellently written girl protag who among other things gained op draconic ice powers of eternal winter and since then that simply became My main character daydream self elemental power of choice Always hsjsjsjskvkd)

the combat i think is where wuwa stands out and it definitely lets u engage more with the enemies. like ultimate evasion and counters Feel satisfying and building up ur characters unique mechanic like sanhuas ice constructs for her powered up charge atk Feels satisfying i def think theres a lot of potential there but in terms of A Future Meta in a gacha that wants money idk where things would ultimarely go in the future. but ya that stuff is solid.

enemy designs are also cool but suffer from that same lack of context to make me intrigued w the world theyre a part of. like cool eldritch creature ig but it doesnt give heebie jeebies the same way as seeing like. the husks in the chasm for the first time. where u instantly go oh fuck How. Why. Who were they. bc u know there Will be a relevant answer . etc . which is a shame. make me fear for my life smh

anyway for me my pulls have been like ridiculously bad i am genuinely not joking that getting sanhua on my first starter banner multi is the only reason i stuck w it. like. prior to this morning and getting aalto from the 20 free pulls . i have not received a Single non f2p new 4*. i have chixia c3 who i do Not like. yangyang c2. baizhi c1. Literally i kid you not the other new 4* i pulled today was . Yuanwu. so like considering the event and log in thats also c1 yuanwu c1 sanhua (latter of which i obvi have no issue w). and then my starter 5* was the worst case scenario 💀 Walmart gaming i mean. if u think hes cute cool but i am not at All enthused. id have taken Anyone over him lmao

so thats fun . i mean its fine im not gonna play long term i like sanhua and playing her w baizhi and someone like yangyang or aalto its fine for what i intend to do w it for now. & none of the future 5* rly appeal to me either

ultimately the game definitely has potential but it just. released too soon in a shoddy state and in many ways (mostly relating to its open world) i think is too reliant on just resembling genshin without actually innovating on top of that foundation or distinguishing itself from it. and the failure of its story to make players care about its world At All doesnt help. Do i think the world and lore are shit w 0 potential? well obviously no bc its so poorly communicated i cant even fucking tell you what it is About. but any possible potential there was definitely not utilized how it should so eh

now personally i have absolutely no horse in this toxic drama clownfest of a gacha game war arms race other than its not worth the time nor effort. so i truly have no particular feelings of fervent support nor some schadenfreude about kuro and for competitions sake i Do hope they manage to salvage the situation and that wuwa manages to flourish in the end but ironically enough the genshin "killer" number two more or less seems to have went the way of the other one aka ToF. so thats something i suppose lmao

Like there is something very painfully ironic about it all and it is hysterical in that sense. at least that much i can admit hsiajsks. But truly if some ppl find that wuwa offers them sth better than genshin then good for em, dont let my highly lukewarm reception ruin ur enjoyment. just end the fucking drama farm and disingenuous claims to gas up ur own cope and hype

(and to be clear. i would Not have played like 8 hours yesterday if i wasnt genuinely engaged w trying the game out and having fun lol. its just very clear to me that this early rush of ADHD dopamine oh new game new things to burn through new exploration shinies short term quick fun is very likely all wuwa is going to have on offer for me personally)

anyway thats just me so feel free to share yalls thoughts too if ud like

[mercvry-glow]

Where we fit

parings. jack abbot x wife!reader

warnings. none really! implied age gap, but not mentioned (jack late 40s, reader late 20s early 30s), they're parents, dogs, it's just really soft and sweet!

notes. technically a continuation of busy bee but can be read as a stand alone! I really loved it and thought they could all use a moment to themselves. as always enjoy and feedback is majorly appreciated and I love each and every one of you!

wc. 1400+

busy bee

There were very few things Jack Abbot liked to do with his free time. Truthfully, he barely knew what free time was—life as Trauma Attending had a way of swallowing hours whole. But when the stretch of days off did roll around, there was nothing he loved more than being with his wife and their five-year-old son, Lucas.

Especially at the park, with a brand new t-ball set, two excited dogs, and the kind of sunshine that made you forget the world could be dark at all.

“Alright, Lukey,” Jack said, kneeling beside his son in the grass, “feet apart, eyes on the ball, and don’t swing like you’re trying to launch it into orbit this time.”

Lucas grinned, missing both his front teeth, and adjusted his grip on the tiny bat with all the seriousness of a pro athlete. “I’m gonna hit it so far, Daddy.”

Your German Shepherd—Ranger—stood alert nearby, tail wagging like a metronome of anticipation. Your Bernese puppy, Riley, was happily chewing on one of the old ropes Jack had brought, completely uninterested in the game.

Jack glanced over his shoulder to where you were sitting on the blanket, hair loose and sunlit, watching the both of them with that warm, quiet smile that made him fall in love all over again. You raised your iced tea in a mock toast when you caught his eye.

“Ready!” Lucas shouted.

Jack stepped back with a mock-serious nod. “Let’s see what you’ve got, slugger.”

Lucas swung hard. Too hard. The bat whooshed above the tee and nearly sent the kid spinning in a circle. He stumbled, caught himself, and looked up with wide eyes.

Jack tried to keep a straight face, but failed miserably. “Okay, maybe orbit was a little ambitious.”

Lucas burst into laughter, running to reset the ball. Ranger barked in encouragement, waiting to chase after a ball.

Jack glanced back at you again—this little pocket of peace and joy the two of you had carved out of a chaotic world—and felt something deep in his chest.

Yeah. This? This was everything.

Eventually Lucas connected on his third swing, the ball sailing a solid ten feet before plopping into the grass. Ranger took off after it like it had been launched from a cannon, barking triumphantly. Riley followed behind, mostly just excited that everyone else was excited.

“That was a good one!” Jack called, clapping as Lucas threw his arms up in the air like he’d just hit a grand slam at the World Series.

“I did it, Mommy!” Lucas yelled, already sprinting back toward the blanket.

You reached out to pull him into your lap, laughing as he nearly knocked over the half full tea. “You crushed it, baby. Think you could show me how it’s done?”

Jack walked over and dropped beside the both of you, brushing his hand across the back of your bare shoulder as he sat. “I think we’ve got a future MVP on our hands.”

Lucas beamed and turned his attention to the dogs, who were now wrestling each other near the tree line, the t-ball forgotten. “Ranger’s not sharing,” he declared with authority, then ran off again to referee the two canines.

Jack leaned back on his hands and looked over toward you, soaking it all in—the quiet, the warmth, the way Lucas’s laughter carried across the breeze like music. “God, he’s getting big.”

“He really is,” you said, watching your son try to wrestle the ball out of Riley’s mouth. “It’s weird. Some days he still feels like our baby. And then other days I blink and swear I’m already seeing the teenager.”

Jack chuckled. “Please don’t say that. I’m not ready for puberty. Or girls. Or him learning sarcasm.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “He already has your sarcasm.”

“Not possible. I am the gold standard of maturity.”

You snorted into your drink and gave him a playful shove.

You both sat like that for a while—quiet, happy. Jack let the sun warm his face and watched his family, wondering how he’d gotten lucky enough to land here. The job, the shift work, the exhaustion—all of it faded in the presence of this moment.

No sirens. No beeping monitors. Just grass-stained knees, wagging tails, and his wife’s hand finding his, fingers lacing together like they belonged that way.

Because they did.

Not long after the sun began its slow dip toward the horizon, casting golden light across the grass and tinting everything in soft amber. Lucas was finally worn out—shirt rumpled, cheeks flushed, hands sticky from the popsicle Jack had gotten him from the ice cream truck that rolled by a few minutes earlier. He was lying on the blanket now, Riley curled up against his side like a warm, fuzzy pillow, her oversized paws twitching in sleep.

Ranger sat a little ways off, tongue out, eyes alert, watching the path like the loyal grump he was. The world felt quiet in a way that only parks at dusk can be—just the occasional bark in the distance, the rustle of wind through trees, and the whisper of Jack’s laugh as you carefully attempted to fold the picnic blanket with a five-year-old and two dogs trying to “help.”

“We really should start bringing an actual bag instead of stuffing everything in the backseat like college kids,” you said, raising an eyebrow at the pile of snacks, sunscreen, a half-bucket of baseballs, and two random socks that had somehow lost their mates.

Jack smirked and leaned down to grab a tangle of leashes and water bottles. “But that would require additional planning. And maturity. Two things I gave up when I decided to become a father.”

You let out a small laugh, light and tired in the best way. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Oh, I know,” he said, brushing past her to drop the stuff by the truck. “It’s basically all I’ve got going for me.”

You rolled her eyes, but the smile lingered. Turning back toward the blanket, you paused—Lucas was fast asleep now, lips parted, one chubby hand still clutching Riley’s paw. The puppy didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

“I’ll get him,” Jack said, already moving before you had even thought to ask.

He crouched down the best he could, gathered his son into his arms with practiced ease, and cradled him against his chest. Lucas murmured something half-asleep and tucked his face into Jack’s shoulder.

“Smells like grass and juice,” Jack muttered with a grin. “Definitely mine.”

He carried Lucas to the truck, gently settling him into the booster seat and pulling the straps over his little shoulders without waking him. While you wrangled the dogs next—Riley, reluctantly giving up her spot beside Lucas, and Ranger, who jumped into the back with the energy of a dog half his age.

By the time they finished packing up, the sky had deepened to that rich, dusky blue, and the first few stars were peeking out.

You leaned against the passenger side door, arms crossed loosely, watching Jack close up the truck bed. He turned and caught your gaze—soft, tired eyes, full of that quiet kind of love that doesn’t need to be said out loud.

But he said it anyway. In his way.

“Days like this… they save me,” he said, voice low. “More than you know.”

You  stepped into him, arms sliding around his waist, resting your cheek against his chest. “I do know,” you whispered.

His arms came around you without hesitation, holding you close, swaying a little in the cool evening air. No rush. No urgency. Just the slow, steady beat of his heart against your ear and the peace of a day well spent.

He pressed a kiss into your hair. “Let’s do it again next weekend.”

“You always say that,” you said teasingly.

“And I always mean it,” Jack replied, voice full of something warm and unwavering.

You both  stayed like that for another beat, the kind of stillness that makes everything else feel far away.

Then the dogs barked from the backseat, clearly ready to go, and Lucas stirred with a tiny snore that made you both laugh quietly.

Jack opened the truck door for you, still holding your hand, and helped you up into the seat before walking around to the driver’s side.

The truck rumbled to life, and as you pulled away from the park, the dogs curled up in the back, and Lucas sleeping soundly, Jack reached over and let his fingers find yours again on the console.

Still, always, home.

mercvry-glow 2025

[ivyues]

Bronze ♡ Diamond ⋅ Lee Felix

Felix challenged you to a Smash match, but he wasn’t ready for your skill.

You were curled up on the couch in your boyfriend’s dorm, legs tucked under a soft blanket, the two of you sharing snacks and quiet laughter as Felix scrolled through an endless stream of TikToks. His commentary was half the entertainment.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw it, sitting untouched on the coffee table like a forgotten artifact: a Nintendo Switch.

“Ooh, is that yours?” you asked, nodding towards it.

Felix looked up from his phone. “Yeah! Have you played before?” His tone held that light, teasing note – like a dad offering to “go easy” on a kid before a board game rout.

You kept your face neutral. “Mhm… a few times.”

He perked up. “Wanna play Smash? I gotta warn you, I’m not amazing or anything. Just play for fun.”

You smiled faintly, picking up the controller. “Same. Just for fun.”

10 minutes later, Felix was staring at the screen in disbelief, watching his character being politely yeeted off the stage – again. 

“Wait, wait—what?” he sputtered, blinking in rapid succession. “How did you—how did you spike me like that?!”

You shrugged, feigning innocence with a shrug and a sugary smile. “Lucky shot?”

“Three lucky shots?!” he exclaimed, dropping his controller in dramatic defeat. “There’s no way. You said you played a few times!”

“I mean… more like a few years,” you finally admitted with a sheepish grin.

Felix’s jaw dropped. “Y/N! You played me!”

“I said I’d played before… technically true.”

He was laughing now, tossing his controller down in defeat. “You hustled me. You pro gamer hustled me!”

You shrugged with mock innocence. “You assumed I’d be bad. That was your first mistake.”

The second round was worse for him. You didn’t just win – destroyed him. Air combos, perfect dodges, even the occasional taunt.

By the third round, he just put his controller down halfway through.

“I don’t know if I’m impressed or emotionally devastated,” he groaned, collapsing backwards into the cushions.

You leaned over him, poking his cheek. “You can be both. It’s called growth, baby.”

He peeked at you with that sunshine grin that always made your heart do a backflip. “I’ve got a hot gamer girlfriend who can crush me in Smash? That’s, like, peak romance.”

Suddenly, Changbin’s voice echoed from down the hall: “DID FELIX LOSE AGAIN?!”

“Again?” you echoed softly, trying not to laugh.

“Oh yeah,” Hyunjin chimed in, sitting on the back of the couch like a perched cat. “He’s got the spirit but not the skill.”

Felix chucked a pillow at the hallway. “You’re all traitors! Leave me to mourn in peace!”

“Dude,” Chan chuckled, eyeing the game stats. “She three-stocked you.”

“I know, hyung,” Felix grumbled, covering his face with a cushion.

Then Han raised an eyebrow at you. “Wait… you’re actually good? Like good-good?””

You nodded with a bashful grin. “I’ve played since I was a kid. Just a hobby.”

Changbin let out a wheeze. “Okay, wait—so our worst gamer somehow ended up dating a lowkey pro?! That’s hilarious.”

Then, Felix turned to you, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Wait! Let’s do 2vs2! You’re obviously with me. Right, babe?”

You arched a brow, smirking. “Naturally.”

The chaos was immediate. Controllers clicked, taunts flew, and Felix got dramatically KO’d within the first minute – but not before yelling, “GO BABY!”

“YOU GUYS SAW THAT? SHE’S DODGING EVERYTHING LIKE A NINJA!”

“Y/N’S A MONSTER!” Han exclaimed.

“She’s terrifying,” Hyunjin added, watching the match from behind the couch.

The match was over within minutes as the final KO came with a dramatic slow-motion explosion. The words “VICTORY” blazed across the screen.

“I don’t even know what happened,” Han muttered. “I blinked and I was gone.”

Felix launched himself sideways onto the couch next to you. “I love you so much, please carry me again.”

Changbin groaned from the floor. “I’ve never felt more disrespected.”

Felix just beamed, arm slung around you. “You should. We crushed you with the power of love and gamer reflexes.”

You smirked. “Mostly the reflexes.”

As the next match loaded, Felix nudged you with a sly smile. “Hey babe… you ever play League of Legends?”

You just snorted and shoved him with your shoulder. “... maybe”

He grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. “Maybe?”

masterlist

[postgamevibes]

TikTok soft launch

Summary: When a casual TikTok study break video accidentally features Luke Hughes in the background, the internet goes wild trying to guess the identity of the mystery girl. As fan attention grows, Luke and the reader navigate the challenges of keeping their relationship low-key while savoring quiet moments together. A soft, sweet reveal that proves some love stories are worth sharing slowly and on their own terms.

*********************************************************

You never meant for it to happen like this.

It started innocently enough: a late-night study break, your phone balanced on a stack of textbooks, lighting just soft enough to make your cramped college dorm room look like a cozy little sanctuary. You were filming a TikTok, the kind you’d seen blown up lately the chill “study break routine,” the quiet moments between exams when all you wanted was a little peace. Your hands showed, arranging a steaming cup of coffee, pulling on a chunky sweater, flicking open a book. Your voice hummed softly narrating a few tips to stay sane during finals week.

Luke was there too, he was never far away anymore.

Tonight, he was leaning against the doorframe, wearing his Devils hoodie, scrolling on his phone, occasionally humming along to some song you couldn’t quite hear. You didn’t think much of it until he popped into the background of one clip, his deep voice answering a question you posed aloud: “Hey, Luke, think I should cram or sleep?”

“Sleep,” he said, voice low and teasing. “Trust me.”

You laughed quietly and glanced at him. “See? He agrees. Sleep wins.”

The video was nothing special to you. Just a quiet night. When you woke up the next morning, your phone was buzzing non-stop. Your TikTok notifications had exploded. Comments poured in from people tagging each other: “Is that Luke Hughes?!”, “OMG, girl, you’re dating Luke Hughes!!”, “Where’s the @???”.

You stared, blinking at the flood of messages. Somehow, your casual video had turned into a viral mystery: who was the voice behind the soft chuckle, the Devils hoodie? Fans were piecing it all together, piecing together your low-key “soft launch” into the public eye.

You hadn’t planned for this.

Luke, meanwhile, found it hilarious. The next day when you facetimed, his grin was impossibly wide. “So, apparently I’m the new TikTok star,” he teased, flicking his hair back.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “Yeah, thanks for crashing my chill video.”

“It’s not my fault the guys kept asking if I was dating ‘TikTok girl’ or whatever.” He winked. “You’ve got a fan club.”

You groaned. “I’m a college student.”

He laughed.

Despite the teasing, you felt the familiar flutter of nerves. School, hockey, and suddenly the unwanted internet fame. You didn’t want the attention, not like this. You wanted privacy, a bubble where Luke was just Luke, not the Devils’ rising star.

That night, you curled up in your hoodie, scrolling through the comments. Some were sweet, some nosy, others downright creepy, you felt exposed.

Luke sensed it.

A few days later, after a long practice, he sent you a text: Come over? I wanna see you.

You arrived at his apartment, the familiar scent of pine and leather greeting you. He was sprawled on the couch, earbuds in, watching game footage. When he saw you, he pulled them out.

“Hey,” he said softly, patting the seat beside him.

You sat close, careful to avoid the lingering soreness in your legs from a long day of classes. Luke reached over and took your hand, his thumb tracing light circles on your skin.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Honestly?” You sighed. “I’m scared. Not of you, or us, but all this,” you gestured vaguely at your phone and the endless notifications, “the attention. I’m not ready for everyone to see this side of me.”

Luke nodded, his eyes gentle. “I get it, but you don’t have to be ready all at once. We can take this slow, however you want.”

His hand tightened around yours. “I’m proud to be with you. Doesn’t matter what anyone says or thinks.”

You smiled, feeling warmth bloom in your chest.

That night, Luke did something small but meaningful. He posted a blurry Polaroid on his Instagram story two coffee mugs, one with “His” written in shaky black marker, the other “Hers.” The background showed your backpack and textbooks stacked neatly.

It was subtle. The perfect “soft launch.”

You laughed when you saw it. “Really?”

He shrugged, grinning. “I’m terrible at subtle.”

You posted a TikTok the next evening, a study vlog with Luke’s hand resting lightly on your knee as you flipped through a notebook. No faces, just quiet closeness.

The comments exploded again, but this time you weren’t afraid. Luke was with you. You were together in this, online and off.

Later, curled up on his couch, watching fan edits and reaction videos with Luke dozing beside you, you felt a quiet peace settle over your heart.

“Soft launch complete,” you whispered, uploading one last video of Luke asleep, face turned away, your caption: Please be nice 🫶🏼

Luke stirred, mumbling sleepily, “Already nice. Especially to you.”

You smiled into the glow of your phone screen, knowing no matter what, you had him, and that was everything.

[purplereina11]

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

Part 15 Other Parts

Word Count: 6k

Anything in italics is a flashback 😊 some of which are what I was supposed to put in the last chapter but forgot 🙈

Enjoy

⚽️

You were sat on the grass at the edge of the training pitch, unlacing your boots and chatting to Marta about the crossing drills from earlier when you heard Irene’s voice from just behind you.

“Y/N… were you hanging out at my place while I was gone for international camp?”

You froze mid-movement, and slowly looked up to see Irene standing there, hands on hips, one brow raised and that classic 'mami knows everything' energy radiating off her.

You blinked. “Uhh…”

Marta smirked and tried to stifle her laugh as she got up and casually walked away, muttering, “Good luck with that.”

You sighed, tugging your boot off and setting it down. “Yeah I did”

Irene cocked her head. “Without me there?”

You held up your hands. “In my defence, I was sad and I just… needed to be somewhere that didn’t feel heavy. Mateo makes me laugh and your wife she kept cooking for me so I kept going back. It felt… safe.”

Irene’s expression softened instantly. “You’re always welcome, you know that,” she said, crouching beside you. “But next time, if she offers you the spare room take it, you stressed her out walking home on your own late at night”

You smiled a little, the first real one of the day. “Noted.”

She reached over and squeezed your shoulder. “And thank you for trusting our home enough to be your escape Mateo adored having you over.”

You nodded, brushing grass off your shorts. “He said he was my emotional support chaos.”

Irene laughed. “He is chaos, but he’s good at loving people who need it.”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “He really is.” you smiled at Irene as Alexia neared, "Clearly he gets that from Lucia"

Irene rose her eyebrows as Alexia plopped down with her water bottle, "You come to my home, you have my wife cook for you-"

"I didn't have her-"

Irene rose a hand and you stopped instantly but couldn't help but laugh, "you have my wife cook for you and all round just dote on you, you use my son as emotional support and you want to get cheeky?"

You smile, "It's a part of my charm"

Lucia opened the door, still in her apron, the smell of something warm and homely drifting out behind her. She smiled at first until she saw your face, eyes red, shoulders drawn tight, silent in a way that wasn’t your usual tired.

Her smile faded instantly into something soft and knowing. “Hey…”

You gave her a weak smile, standing there with your hands in your pockets and Teddy’s lead wrapped loosely around your fingers.

“Wouldn’t mind if I hung out with Mateo for a while, would you?”

Lucia didn’t ask questions, she just stepped aside and opened the door wider. “Of course not. He’s upstairs, probably building a spaceship out of laundry baskets. Go on up.” You gave her a nod of thanks as Teddy padded in quietly. She placed a gentle hand on your back as you passed. “I'm making dinner,” she said quietly. “It’ll be ready in half an hour. You’re staying for it.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Thank you.”

Lucia nodded once, gave your arm a soft squeeze, then called up the stairs, “Mateo! Guess who’s here!”

There was a loud thud, followed by the sound of small feet barreling across the floor, then Mateo appeared at the top of the stairs, eyes lighting up.

“COCO!”

You smiled, eyes already brimming. “Hey, bud. Got room for one more on that spaceship?”

Mateo tore down the stairs like gravity barely applied to him, his socked feet sliding on the wood before he launched himself at you. You barely had time to brace, but it didn’t matter his arms wrapped tight around your waist, his little face pressed into your jumper like he could physically squeeze the sadness out of you.

“I missed you,” he said, voice muffled.

You crouched to his level, hugging him back just as tightly. “I missed you too, little man.”

He leaned back, giving you a serious look. “Are you sad?”

Your lips pulled into a small, bittersweet smile. “Yeah… a little bit.”

Mateo nodded solemnly, like a tiny man with too much wisdom for his years. “Then it’s a good thing I built a base. Sad people need bases, with snacks and blankets.”

You let out a soft laugh. “That’s a rule, is it?”

He stood and took your hand like there wasn’t a moment to lose. “It is now.”

You let him guide you upstairs to his room, which had turned into a mini fort of blankets, chairs, and the entire contents of his imagination. 

Mateo led you into the fort like it was a top-secret mission. You had to crawl under two blankets strung between chairs, with fairy lights giving everything inside a soft glow. Teddy circled twice before flopping down dramatically in the corner as if to say, 'I’m too old for this.'

“Okay,” Mateo said seriously, grabbing a toy sword and holding it out to you, “you’re the knight. I’m the dragon who’s actually nice and just wants to dance.”

You blinked. “The dragon dances?”

“Only when he’s happy.” He struck a fierce pose, then added, “You have to defeat me by making me laugh.”

“That’s not how defeating dragons usually works.”

Mateo gave you a look. “This one is different.”

“Alright then.” You grabbed a plastic shield and a stuffed lion. “Prepare to be defeated, dancing dragon.”

He roared dramatically, waving his arms and falling back onto a pillow like he’d been hit with a spell. You leapt over a blanket pile and started making the lion do a ridiculous voice, narrating its tragic past as a ballet teacher turned king of the jungle. Mateo started giggling before you were even halfway through.

You tried to make your voice serious. “Sir Dragon, I challenge you to a dance battle. Loser has to eat all the popcorn.”

Mateo popped up, gasped, and pointed. “You can’t eat all of it! You’ll explode!”

“I’m willing to take that risk,” you said, deadpan.

He burst out laughing, so hard he had to sit down, shoulders shaking, dimples on full display. You sat beside him, poking his side gently. “You laughing, sir? Are you… defeated?”

Mateo wiped a tear from his eye. “Fine. You win, but only because you’re really funny.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, dragon.”

He held out his hand for a high-five. “Best team ever.” you laughed, really laughed, not the polite kind. The kind that shook your chest and made your eyes water, that cracked through the grief and gave you air again.

Lucia walked by the room and paused at the sound of your laughter, then smiled to herself and quietly let the door close. Mateo had it under control.

You ruffled Mateo’s hair gently, the way you’d seen Irene do a hundred times, and asked, “So, how’s school going, champ?”

Mateo pulled a face like he’d just eaten a lemon. “I don’t like it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? What don’t you like?”

He shrugged, folding his arms and kicking at the edge of a pillow. “It’s too hard. I don’t get it and I don’t wanna go anymore.”

You leaned back, letting him have his moment. “That’s fair. It can feel really hard sometimes. Do you have homework?”

He nodded with a sigh so theatrical it could’ve earned him an Oscar. “Yes but I’m not doing it. I hate it.”

You smiled gently, not teasing, just understanding. “That bad, huh?”

“Worse.”

Before you could say more, Lucia’s voice called from the kitchen, “Dinner’s ready!”

Mateo perked up instantly, like he hadn’t just been mourning the horrors of primary school. “YES!”

You stood up and offered him your hand. “Okay, how about this, we eat, and then after dinner, you and me, we’ll take a look at the homework together. You don’t have to do it alone.”

He gave you a skeptical look, one eyebrow raised. “You’re good at homework?”

You gasped in mock offense. “Excuse me, I was a genius at your age. Ask anyone.”

Mateo considered this for a long second, then nodded. “Okay, but if it’s too hard, we can just say your dog ate it.”

“Deal,” you said, holding out your pinky.

He wrapped his pinky around yours and grinned. “Best team ever.”

“Still the best.”

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

It was a few days after the match, and the stadium had mostly emptied out. You were still in the locker room, towel draped over your shoulders, chatting quietly with Esme and Salma when the door creaked open.

“Coco?” a small voice called.

You turned instantly, heart softening the moment you saw Mateo, still in his tiny Barça hoodie, clutching his backpack to his chest and looking a little lost.

“Teo?” You knelt down as he made a beeline for you, eyes big and damp. “Hey, what’s up? Everything okay?”

He sniffled and nodded but then held out a crumpled sheet of paper. “It’s my homework. I can’t do it. I tried on my own but you said you’d help but I fell asleep the other night, and now it’s due tomorrow.”

You gently took the page from him, smoothing it out as you sat on the bench. Basic addition and subtraction, numbers crossed out and re-written in various colors. Clearly he’d tried, hard.

You gave him a soft smile. “Okay. First of all, I’m really proud of you for trying and second,” you started digging into his little backpack “I know there’s someone in here who can help.”

You pulled out a handful of plastic dinosaurs, green, blue, and red, and lined them up on the bench between you. Mateo watched, confused at first, then intrigued.

“Alright,” you said, “here’s the game, if we have five T-Rexes,” you lined up five “and we take away two…” You moved two aside dramatically. “How many are left?”

Mateo squinted, counting silently under his breath. “Three?”

“Boom. Genius.”

A little smile appeared on his face, the stress fading just a bit. You moved on to the next one, using velociraptors this time. Soon enough, he was giggling, lining up the dinosaurs himself, counting on his fingers, sometimes even using your fingers too.

The rest of the team watched from a respectful distance Marta nudging Esme with a grin, and Salma whispering, “She’s gone full mami mode.”

Mateo didn’t notice, too focused on showing you how he figured out 7 - 4 using a brontosaurus family.

You leaned in and whispered, “You’re crushing it, Teo.”

He beamed. “Only because of you.”

Your heart tugged, and you ruffled his hair. “You’ve always had it in you, little man. You just needed a few extra dinos.”

Mateo nodded solemnly. “Dinosaurs make everything better.”

The door to the showers swung open with a soft creak, steam curling out into the locker room. Irene stepped out first, towel around her shoulders, running a hand through her damp hair then stopped short at the sight before her.

Her brows lifted. “Mateo?”

Still hunched over a worksheet with a small collection of plastic dinosaurs lined up like a math army, Mateo barely looked up. “Hi Mami.”

You glanced back over your shoulder at her, giving a sheepish grin. “Sorry, he had an emergency.”

“Homework,” Mateo clarified with a dramatic sigh, pencil poised like a sword above the page. “We’re on the hard ones now, big numbers.”

Irene raised an eyebrow, but her lips twitched with a smile. “Ah. Of course emergency addition.”

Alexia emerged just behind her, running her hands through the ends of her wet hair. She paused when she saw the little study session, leaning on the edge of a locker with an affectionate smirk.

“I should’ve guessed you were behind the dinosaur deployment,” she said softly, eyes on you.

You shrugged with a smile. “They’re multitaskers. Defenders of prehistoric lands and math tutors.”

Mateo didn’t even look up. “We’re doing eight plus five now. It’s very serious Coco says if I get them all right, I get three chocolate buttons.”

Alexia laughed under her breath, moving to sit beside Irene on the opposite bench. “Bribery. Classic.”

“I call it motivation,” you corrected, tapping the page. “Alright, Teo. Let’s count them out eight dinos here… now add five.”

Mateo arranged them carefully, his tongue sticking out slightly in concentration. “Thirteen!”

You high-fived him gently, careful not to knock the dinosaurs. “Correct! One more and you’re halfway to chocolate glory.”

Irene crossed her arms, clearly holding back a smile. “He’s going to expect dinosaur math forever now, you realise.”

You gave her a small shrug. “I can live with that.”

Alexia’s gaze softened on you as you turned your attention back to Mateo, coaching him through 9 + 6 with two different species of plastic creatures.

“She’s a good one,” Irene murmured to Alexia quietly, though not quietly enough that you didn’t hear.

Alexia didn’t answer, but the look she gave you was all the confirmation anyone needed.

After dinner, with the dishes washed and the laughter from the table still lingering in the air, you ended up curled on the sofa, Mateo snuggled tightly into your side. His head rested on your chest, one of your arms draped around him as his little hand toyed absentmindedly with the drawstring on your hoodie.

Lucia was in the kitchen finishing up, but she'd smiled when she saw the two of you like that like something about it made her chest ache in the softest way.

“You ever seen The Jungle Book?” you asked, scrolling through the movie options with one hand.

Mateo lifted his head slightly, brow furrowed. “Is that the one with the bear and the boy with no shoes?”

You grinned. “Exactly that.”

He shook his head. “Never seen it.”

“Well,” you said, clicking it with a satisfied hum, “you’re about to. It’s a classic.”

As the familiar Disney intro music played, Mateo settled deeper into you, his legs curling slightly as the lights dimmed and the screen glowed. His eyes went wide at the first animated scenes of the jungle, and when Baloo burst onto the screen singing The Bare Necessities, he laughed so hard his whole body bounced against you.

You rested your chin lightly on the top of his head, holding him a little tighter.

"This is good," he whispered midway through, his voice heavy with warmth and the onset of sleep.

You smiled against his hair. “Told you. Bare necessities of life, little man.”

Lucia passed by with a blanket, laying it over the both of you without a word. She kissed the top of Mateo’s head and looked down at you with a quiet, grateful look in her eyes.

By the time the credits rolled, Mateo was completely asleep, soft breaths puffing against your collarbone. You didn’t dare move, just closed your eyes and held him close because in that moment, there was nothing else you needed.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

You were already regretting the colour of your shirt before you’d even parked outside the small house in Mollet del Vallès. It suddenly felt too loud, too bold. You tugged at the collar for the fifth time in as many minutes.

Alexia noticed because of course she did. “Breathe,” she said softly, turning off the engine and resting a hand on your knee. “You’re meeting my mami, not meeting the King.”

“She’s your mum,” you exhaled, trying not to sound like your chest was tight. “What if she doesn’t like me?”

“She will,” Alexia said, certain, like it was fact not faith. “You’re smart, kind, and you make me laugh like an idiot. That’s her entire checklist.”

“She didn’t see me nearly square up to Montse last week.”

Alexia grinned. “She’d probably like you more if she had.”

You gave her a sideways glance, still fidgeting. “Why are you not nervous? I’m literally meeting the woman who made you.”

“Because I already know how this ends.” She leaned over and kissed you softly, her lips warm against your own. “She’s going to adore you and even if she doesn’t? I do. So you’re stuck with me.”

That didn’t fully settle the nerves, but it helped.

You stepped out of the car and followed her up the neat path to the door, before Alexia could knock, the door opened, and there she was, smiling with a dish towel over her shoulder and a warm, open expression on her face.

“Hola, mi niña,” she said, hugging Alexia tightly.

“Mama,” Alexia grinned, holding her for a moment before stepping back and motioning to you. “This is…”

Before she could finish, Eli had already pulled you into a hug, her arms surprisingly firm, smelling like soap and whatever was cooking inside. “It’s so good to finally meet you,” Eli said as she pulled back. “I hope you’re hungry.”

You blinked, startled but smiling. “Always.”

She ushered you both inside. The house was modest and warm, every corner filled with signs of life framed photos of Alexia and her sister, small plants that somehow weren’t dying, Barça memorabilia tucked into corners in a way that didn’t scream fan but quietly said family. It smelled amazing, garlic, tomatoes, something freshly baked.

The dining table was already set, and Eli insisted you sit while she finished the last touches. You tried to offer help, but she waved you off.

“She won’t let anyone touch a thing once she starts cooking,” Alexia muttered as she filled your water glass. “And if you try, she’ll say you’ve ruined the surprise.”

“It’s not a surprise,” Eli called from the kitchen, clearly having heard. “It’s just food.”

“She’s lying,” Alexia grinned.

Lunch was delicious. Comfort food, served in big portions with more love than presentation, and you ate every bite. Eli asked about your childhood, your football journey, if you were settling in well to Barcelona. You tried not to stumble when she gently asked about your family, and though your reply was short and quiet, she didn’t push. Just nodded, her eyes soft.

“I’m sorry you’ve been carrying that,” she said, not pitying, just kind. “You have family here now. Whether you want us or not.”

You blinked fast and managed a quiet, “Thank you.”

Alexia gave your knee a gentle squeeze under the table. Her smile said she was proud of you for not bolting.

After lunch, Eli brought out flan and little cups of café con leche. You were halfway through praising the dessert when Alexia got a call, club-related, judging by the way her brows pulled together.

“I’ll be two minutes,” she said, excusing herself to take it outside.

Eli sat back, sipping her coffee. “You make her lighter, you know.”

You looked up from your flan. “Sorry?”

“She carries a lot. Always has. Even when she doesn’t say it out loud. Since you… she’s just lighter. I see it.”

You felt a tightness in your chest you hadn’t been expecting. “I didn’t do anything special.”

“She wouldn’t love you if you did,” Eli said. “She doesn’t need special. She needs real.”

You opened your mouth, but Alexia was back, giving you both a mildly suspicious look. “You’re not giving her the ‘you hurt her and I’ll bury you under the pitch’ talk, are you?”

“Not yet,” Eli said, her tone sweet, her eyes twinkling.

Alexia rolled her eyes, but she was grinning.

You stayed for another hour, talking, helping clear the table even though Eli swatted your hand away twice. She hugged you when you left, tighter than before, whispering, “You come round whenever you need. No invite necessary.”

As you walked back to the car, still clutching a tupperware of leftovers, Alexia slipped her hand into yours. “Well?”

“I love her,” you said.

“Told you.”

“She called me family,” you said quietly. “That kind of broke me a little.”

Alexia pulled you into a one-armed hug and kissed the side of your head. “She meant it. So do I.”

You looked up at her. “Thank you for today.”

She met your eyes, voice soft. “You mean too much to me not to share you with the people who made me.”

You grinned. “Okay, that’s a little romantic.”

“Get used to it,” she smirked. “I’m a disaster for you.”

You laughed as she opened your car door like a gentlewomen, and as you sat inside holding leftovers and wearing a smile that hadn’t left in hours, you realised this wasn’t just a football contract that kept you here. This was home.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

You barely made it through the door.

The moment you stepped into Alexia’s home, the weight you’d been carrying, on your shoulders, in your chest, behind your eyes crashed into you all at once. Your suitcase slipped from your hand in the hallway with a soft thud, and you just stood there, motionless.

Alexia had heard the door and appeared from the living room, her face already etched with concern. She didn’t say anything at first, just walked toward you with slow, careful steps, like you were made of glass and she wasn’t sure which part might crack first.

You didn’t even lift your head. Just leaned forward and buried your face into her neck, your arms barely lifting to wrap around her waist. You felt her tighten her hold immediately, one hand splaying across your back, the other gently cradling the back of your head. She didn’t speak, she just held you.

Your voice was muffled and hoarse. “I don’t even feel like a person right now.”

Alexia pulled back just enough to look at you. “You don’t have to be anything right now. Just be here.”

You nodded, eyes heavy, jaw clenched against the sting behind them. You hadn’t cried again since the funeral, not in front of your sisters dad. Not in front of the extended family. You’d been the strong one, the polite one, the thank-you-for-coming one, the hand-holder, the shoulder for others to lean on. You’d performed grief like it was your duty and now you were empty.

“I’m so tired,” you whispered. “It’s not even just my body. It’s all of me.”

“I know,” Alexia said softly, brushing your hair back. “Come on. You’re home.”

She didn’t ask you to talk, didn’t ask for details. She just helped you out of your coat, walked you to the bedroom, and sat you down on the edge of the bed. You fell back with a sigh that was more than a breath like it was dragging something heavy out of you. She pulled your shoes off for you, tucked a blanket over your legs, then crawled in beside you fully dressed.

Your head found her chest without thinking, and her arms circled you like they were built to. “I feel numb,” you admitted into the quiet.

“Then feel numb,” she replied. “And when you don’t, I’ll be right here.”

You stayed like that for a long while. The quiet hum of the house the only sound between you, eventually your hand curled into the fabric of her top, and your breathing slowed, each exhale a little deeper, a little less jagged.

Sleep didn’t come easy, but it came, because you were tired and because, for the first time in days, you were allowed to simply exist.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

When your eyes blinked open, the room was quiet, the light dim with the fading orange of late afternoon slipping through the curtains. For a few seconds, you were disoriented mind foggy, body heavy with sleep, the familiar ache of grief still quietly humming in your chest.

Then you noticed you weren’t alone, sitting beside you, his little legs out stretched on the bed a soft toy sat proudly on them, was Mateo.

He glanced at you shyly when he saw your eyes open, as if unsure whether he should say something. “Hi,” he said softly, barely above a whisper.

You blinked slowly, your voice scratchy from sleep. “Hey, buddy.”

He gave you a small smile and reached over to hand you the stuffed toy one of his dinosaurs, the red one with a crooked tail. “Auntie Ale, said you were sad,” he said simply, his tone matter of fact like only a child’s could be, “so I brought company.”

You rolled onto your side to face him, your body still sore with exhaustion but your heart tugged in the gentlest of ways. You accepted the toy, looking at it, then back at him, “Thank you. That’s very thoughtful,” you murmured, your voice catching just slightly.

He nodded solemnly. “He’s brave and funny. So he’s good for when you’re feeling sad.”

You looked around, still half lost in the moment. “Where’s Alexia?”

Mateo shrugged a little. “She said she was going to make some food. Then she got a call and went out the kitchen. I came to be with you so you wouldn’t be alone.”

That cracked something in you, you reached out, pulling him gently into a hug. He didn’t hesitate, curling into you like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I think you’re brave and funny too,” you told him against his hair.

He giggled into your shoulder. “I know.” And for a while, you just sat there in the stillness, holding the boy who reminded you without even knowing how to feel a little more human again.

Alexia’s voice carried gently down the hallway as she stepped into the room, a note of concern behind her whispered tone. “Mateo? You in here? Where’d you go, mi amor?”

You and Mateo both looked up. He was still curled next to you, his hands fidgeting in his lap, his dinosaur tucked under one arm. “I stayed with her,” he said simply, as if it was obvious, like the thought of not staying hadn’t even occurred to him.

Alexia’s eyes flicked to you, softening when she saw you awake, sitting up with a warm tiredness in your eyes. She smiled, brushing her hair behind her ear. “You’re always disappearing on me,” she teased gently, crossing over and brushing her hand over Mateo’s hair. “I was worried, chiquitín.”

You stretched a little, rubbing your face before looking at Alexia. “Actually, it’s good you’re here, I brought something for him.”

Mateo sat up a bit straighter, eyebrows furrowing in curious confusion. “A present?”

You nodded. “It’s in my bag. Ale, can you grab it?”

She nodded, disappearing briefly and returning with your bag. You unzipped the front pocket, gently pulling out a small drawstring pouch wrapped carefully in cloth.

You held it out to Mateo, who looked at it like it might break in his hands. “Go on,” you smiled, nudging it toward him. “Open it.”

He untied the strings with tiny, eager fingers and peeled back the cloth. His breath caught, inside was a small, smooth fossil brownish-grey, about the size of his palm with a gently curving shape to it. A real, actual dinosaur foot print. Nothing museum worthy, but genuine and old, and entirely his.

“This is real?” he whispered, looking between you and the gift, wide eyed.

“Completely,” you nodded. “From my dad. He had it in his collection for years. I told him about you, how much you love dinosaurs, and he wanted you to have it.”

Mateo’s bottom lip trembled as he stared at it, then, quietly and unexpectedly, he started crying. Not a loud cry, no sobbing or tantrum, just silent tears rolling down his cheeks as he clutched the bone like it was the most precious thing in the world.

Alexia instinctively moved to kneel in front of him, her arms around him in seconds. “Oh, cariño, what’s wrong?”

He shook his head, holding the bone to his chest. “Nothing’s wrong,” he whispered. “It’s just i've never seen a real dinosaur before"

Your heart ached and swelled all at once, you reached over and rubbed his back gently. “Well… now you have and it’s yours forever.”

Mateo pulled back wiping the tears with the back of hand, “I’m just so happy”

You smiled, “You are?”

He looked up at you, still teary-eyed, and whispered, “Gracias, Coco.”

Alexia looked over at you, her eyes glassy too now, her hand still stroking Mateo’s hair. You gave her a tired smile, voice a little shaky. “You are the best friend I could ask for, its a little thank you from me”

Mateo still emotional, crawled up to hug you again one arm around you, the other clutched tightly around his dinosaur fossil. “Thank you coco”

“You’re welcome bud”

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

Alexia’s house was alive with warmth and chatter. The table was overflowing with mismatched dishes, homemade paella from Patri, a tray of empanadas from Vicky, Esme’s attempt at a chocolate tart, a little burned, but proudly presented, and a salad from Marta that no one dared criticise too much. Even Jana had brought her famous garlic bread, though it was nearly gone before it hit the table.

You stood quietly near the corner of the living room for a moment, taking it in the laughter, the teasing, the familiar ease of your teammates moving around Alexia’s home like it was their own. The energy was gentle, not overbearing. It was clear Alexia had orchestrated it all perfectly, warm company, exactly what you needed. Exactly when you didn’t know you needed it.

Mateo was in the middle of the living room, holding court like he was in a classroom. He was beaming, his cheeks flushed with excitement, the fossil clutched proudly in both hands.

“And it’s real!” he announced with wide eyes, spinning slowly in a circle to make sure everyone heard him. “It’s a dinosaur fossil. Like a real one. Coco gave it to me from her dad.”

Gasps and 'wows' erupted from the girls. Mapi immediately crouched down with a grin. “Wait, are you telling me you have a real dinosaur footprint and you didn’t invite me to your museum opening?”

Mateo giggled, showing it to her. “You can look but you can’t touch.”

Patri leaned toward you, raising her eyebrows. “You’ve created a monster,” she said with a smirk.

“He’s always been a monster,” Irene said with mock offence as she walked past, ruffling Mateo’s hair. “Now he just has a fossil to protect his treasure pile.”

You laughed softly, your chest lighter than it had felt in days. Watching Mateo wave the fossil in front of Ingrid and Salma like he was handing over the crown jewels, you felt something ease. Alexia appeared beside you, sliding her hand into yours.

“He’s shown everyone that thing twice already,” she murmured into your ear with a soft laugh.

“And he’ll show it twice more before dessert,” you replied, turning your head to meet her gaze.

She squeezed your hand. “I knew you wouldn’t ask for it, but I knew you'd need this.” You nodded, words caught behind a lump in your throat. “I love you,” she added gently.

You exhaled slowly, gripping her hand tighter. “I know.” Then you smiled through it, through the ache, the gratitude, the grief, and the love. “Thank you for knowing.” you pecked her cheek, "I saw the game"

Alexia pulled back slightly to look at you, her brows lifting as she studied your face carefully, gently, the way only someone who truly knew you would. “You watched it?” she said quietly, her voice soft, edged with surprise and something more tender. “At the wake?”

You nodded, eyes scanning the living room where your teammates, your little makeshift family, were still laughing and eating, Mateo now trying to convince Esme that fossils could be used to fight dragons. “Yeah. My aunt put it on, actually.”

Alexia’s fingers tightened around yours, her thumb brushing a slow stroke over your knuckles.

“That’s when I cried,” you continued. “I hadn’t yet that day, I think I was… still trying to hold everything in, but that did it.”

Alexia swallowed, eyes shining as she searched your expression. “I couldn’t not do something,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “It felt like the only way I could tell you I was there even when I couldn’t be.”

You smiled faintly, leaning into her. “It worked.”

She moved back closer, her arm wrapping around your waist now, grounding you. “I didn’t know if it would be too much. I just wanted you to know I was thinking about you. That we were.” her gaze flicking to her team briefly

You took a breath, your forehead resting against her temple for a second. “It wasn’t too much. It was perfect. You made me feel supported even all that distance away.”

Alexia didn’t say anything to that. She didn’t have to, she just pressed a kiss to your cheek and whispered, “Siempre contigo,” against your skin. Always with you.

The wake was quieter than you expected.

Not in sound there was the soft hum of conversations, the distant clink of teacups, the occasional polite laugh as stories were shared but in weight. The kind of quiet that wrapped around your chest and made it harder to breathe.

You sat at the back corner of the room, away from the photos, the framed memories of your mum and sister that lined the front table. Beside you, one of your aunts placed a gentle hand on your shoulder as she turned the TV up ever so slightly.

“They’re about to kick off,” she said softly. “Thought you might want to watch.”

You didn’t reply, you just nodded once as a thank you, eyes already on the screen.

The camera swept across the pitch at the Estadi Johan Cruyff. You could see them there your team, your friends. The place that had become your home so quickly.

Then the commentator spoke. His voice low and measured.

“Today, FC Barcelona Femení are wearing black armbands in solidarity with their teammate Y/N, who recently suffered the tragic loss of her mother and sister. A heartbreaking time as she says her final goodbyes today, and one the team clearly carries into today’s match with heavy hearts.”

The camera zoomed in on the starting eleven lining up for their team photo. Front and centre, held in the hands of Marta and Patri, was your shirt.

Your number. Your name.

Your chest tightened as you blinked rapidly, you hadn’t expected that, hadn’t known they were going to do it.

Then the whistle blew.

You watched the match in a daze. You weren’t even processing the plays, not really. You weren’t watching tactics or formations, you were watching blobs run around the green pitch.

They played hard, for you, Pina scored early on she tapped the black armband on her arm before kissing it. Alexia was everywhere relentless, sharp, leading and in the 74th minute, she scored.

It was a rocket from outside the box, a goal born of fury and finesse, a strike that left the keeper rooted and the crowd roaring but she didn’t celebrate the way she normally did.

No, Alexia ran straight to the bench, one of the staff had already reached for your shirt and threw it to her. She caught it without breaking stride, slowing only as she reached the sidelines.

She held it up right to the camera, your name facing forward, proud, steady. The commentator fell silent for a moment as the image filled the screen and then Alexia kissed her fingers three times.

She blew the kisses, eyes locked on the camera lens like it was a tether to you and then she nodded once, solemn and sure, she tapped the badge, lifted her face to the sky and only then did she move away.

In the room around you, someone sniffed, someone else wiped a cheek, but you didn’t cry. Not at first, it was when your aunt leaned over, whispered, “She loves you so much,” that the tears started.

Silent and endless, you didn’t try to hide them, because in that moment, across a continent and a world away from the pitch, you felt it. The most private person you'd ever met made a public declaration towards you for the world to see.

[drewswife]

summary — when you and drew have plans to meet up with the obx cast for game night, but you started to get an headache mid-way there you didn't tell him because you wanted him to have fun

pairing — Actress!drew x fem!reader

a/n — don't mind the summary i SUCK at them also this was requested so thank you anon! (sorry if there any mistakes i didn't edit this :/)

The buzz of excited chatter filled the air as Drew and I walked toward the restaurant. Tonight was the night – a casual game night with the Outer Banks cast. I’d been looking forward to this for weeks. But as we’d been getting ready, a familiar throbbing had started behind my left eye, escalating into the dull ache that signaled a full-blown migraine.

Each step felt like a hammer against my skull, and the restaurant's bright lights were already assaulting my vision. I plastered a smile on my face, hoping Drew wouldn’t notice. He was so excited, and I didn’t want to ruin his fun.

“Excited?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

“Definitely,” I lied, my voice a little strained.

We found the group already gathered around a large table, laughter echoing around them. Madelyn, Chase, Rudy, Jonathan, and Madison greeted us warmly. As they launched into a story about something that happened on set, the noise level seemed to amplify, each syllable a painful jab.

I tried to focus on the conversation, nodding and smiling at the right moments, but the throbbing in my head intensified. The smells of the various dishes being brought to the table were starting to make my stomach churn.

Drew, seated beside me, leaned in. “You okay? You seem a little quiet.”

“Yeah, just a little tired,” I mumbled, hoping he’d attribute my lack of enthusiasm to fatigue.

They started setting up a board game, and the atmosphere was light and jovial. I wanted to participate, to laugh along with them, but the pain was becoming unbearable. Colors seemed too bright, sounds too loud. I felt a wave of nausea wash over me.

“I’m just going to step outside for a bit,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Get some fresh air.”

Drew looked concerned. “Everything alright?” “Yeah, just need a moment,” I insisted, forcing another smile. The cool night air offered a slight reprieve, but the relief was temporary. I leaned against the brick wall outside, closing my eyes, trying to will the pain away.

After a few minutes, the door opened, and Drew stepped out. His brow was furrowed with worry. “Hey, you’ve been out here a while. You don’t look so good.”

My carefully constructed facade crumbled. “I have a migraine,” I admitted, the words barely audible. “It started earlier.” His expression softened immediately. “Oh, baby. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t want to spoil your night,” I said, my voice thick with the pain I’d been trying to ignore. He gently took my hand. “Your well-being is way more important than a game night. Come on.”

He helped me back inside, quietly explaining to the others that I wasn’t feeling well. They were all incredibly understanding, their playful energy immediately shifting to concern.

Drew helped me gather my things. As we were saying goodbye, Madelyn squeezed my arm. “Feel better soon!”

Outside, walking hand-in-hand, the quiet of the night was a welcome change. “I’m sorry,” I said softly. “I really was looking forward to tonight.”

Drew stopped and turned to face me, cupping my cheeks in his hands. “Hey, don’t be sorry. We can have plenty of game nights. Right now, let’s get you home so you can rest.”

As we walked, he told me about a new study he’d read about migraine relief techniques, his voice calm and soothing. In that moment, despite the throbbing pain, even though the evening hadn't gone as planned, I knew I had someone who truly cared, and sometimes, that’s all that really matters.

tags, @starrii-sturns @spencerreid66 @chrepsi @drewsstars

[livvymd]

Everyone Thinks They’re Dating—They’re Not. (Yet)

First pub golf - george clarke x reader. (Chapter one)

idk im bored so i thought id make a series I guess??

The night air was chilly, and Y/N couldn't shake off the nerves swirling in her stomach. She had done plenty of collabs with ChrisMD, ArthurTV, Arthur Hill, and Chip, but George Clarke was a new face. They had talked here and there through group chats, but she'd never met him in person. She stood outside the pub, trying to steady her breath before walking in.

"You're going to be fine," she told herself, adjusting the straps of her bag. "It's just a pub golf, nothing to be nervous about."

Inside, the pub was warm, filled with the buzz of chatter and laughter. As soon as Y/N stepped in, Chris spotted her and waved, signaling her over to the group already gathered around a table.

"Oi, Y/N!" Chris grinned, standing up to pull out a chair for her. "The gang's all here!"

She smiled awkwardly, her eyes scanning the group. Chip was already animatedly discussing something, ArthurTV was laughing at something Arthur Hill had said, and then her gaze landed on George Clarke. He was sitting quietly, sipping his drink, with an unreadable expression on his face. He looked different in person—taller, more intimidating in a way, but not in a bad way.

"Hey, George," Y/N said softly, forcing herself to meet his eyes.

He looked up, offering a polite smile. "Hey, nice to finally meet you in person. Chris has talked about you loads."

The awkwardness lingered for a second. Y/N shifted in her seat, trying to ease the tension she felt creeping up her spine. She wasn’t sure how to break the ice with him, but thankfully, Chris filled the silence by launching into the rules of the night’s pub golf event.

“Right, we’ve got our first challenge—let's get to it. Y/N, first time, so we’ll go easy on you.”

Y/N chuckled nervously. “I don’t even know what that means, but okay.”

George grinned, his eyes twinkling a little. “Don’t worry, it’s more about the fun than the actual competition. Though, we do tend to get a little competitive. You ready to show us how it’s done?”

She shot him a smile, relieved he was being friendly and easing her nerves a bit. "I think so... I hope so."

The group moved to the first bar in the pub, and Y/N felt the tension between her and George slowly start to fade as the night wore on. They weren’t quite at the point where it was smooth sailing yet, but they started making small talk here and there. George wasn’t flirting, not at all—but there was a certain warmth in the way he spoke, like he was genuinely getting to know her.

At the second bar, the drinks started flowing a bit more freely, and the atmosphere shifted. The laughter became louder, the jokes more ridiculous. Chris, always the instigator, pulled out his phone to record.

“Alright, let’s see who can do the best impression of a famous YouTuber,” Chris challenged.

Everyone groaned, but George stood up first, dramatically adjusting his posture before turning to Y/N. “I reckon Y/N could pull off a ChrisMD impression,” he teased, his voice playful. “What do you think?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Me? I think you’ve had a few too many, George.”

George grinned. “Maybe, but I reckon you can do it. Go on, give us your best ChrisMD.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous the request was, but she stood up, setting her drink down. She exaggerated every part of Chris’s usual antics, throwing in over-the-top commentary about football and making everyone laugh. Even George, who was still sitting back, seemed impressed as he leaned forward.

“Okay, I’ll admit, that was pretty good,” George said, a smirk on his face. “But I still think I could beat you in the impression game.”

“Sure, mate,” Y/N said, rolling her eyes, but there was something in her voice—something playful—that made George’s grin widen even more.

They carried on like this, teasing each other back and forth, slowly starting to feel more comfortable in each other’s presence. The alcohol seemed to loosen everyone up, and as the night wore on, it became less about the competition and more about enjoying each other’s company.

At the next bar, everyone was significantly more drunk, and the playful jokes kept coming. Y/N had no idea when the mood shifted, but at some point, George started calling her “pet” in a teasing tone. She wasn’t sure if it was just a joke or if it meant something more, but every time he said it, her heart skipped a beat.

“Come on, pet, don’t be shy,” he teased, nudging her as she hesitated to take a shot. “You’ve got this.”

She laughed, trying to brush it off, but she couldn’t deny the weird feeling that had settled in her chest. It was a nickname, a joke, right? But it didn’t feel like just a joke. There was something in the way his voice softened when he said it, something in the way he looked at her with that half-smile.

As the night grew late, the tension between them seemed to build. George started calling her “poppet” too, and she wasn’t sure if it was just drunken flirting or something more. There was a teasing edge to his voice, but there was also something sincere in the way he said it. He was enjoying her company, but so was she—and for a split second, the whole room seemed to disappear, leaving just the two of them.

“You’re a bad influence,” Y/N muttered, her words a little slurred.

George leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear. “Me? I’m just helping you loosen up, pet.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and she couldn’t tell if she was embarrassed or excited or both. She wasn’t sure if he was still joking, but the playful vibe between them had taken on a different tone. It didn’t feel like just a joke anymore—it felt real.

As the night wound down and the group began to stumble out of the pub, George pulled her aside for a moment, his hand resting casually on her arm. “You know, I didn’t think we’d get on so well,” he said, his voice low, sincere, with a hint of something she couldn’t quite place. “But I’m glad we did.”

She nodded, a smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, me too. It’s been fun.”

The group began to scatter outside the final bar, everyone full of drink and laughter, limbs loose and stumbling as they tried to figure out taxis and directions. Y/N zipped up her jacket against the cold, cheeks flushed from a mix of alcohol and the lingering buzz of the night.

“You heading back alone?” George asked, his voice quiet but clear amidst the noise of the street.

Y/N turned, blinking at him. “Yeah. I don’t live far, I was just gonna walk.”

George frowned slightly. “I’ll walk you, if that’s alright.”

Her heart jumped a bit at the offer, but she kept her voice steady. “That’s... yeah, sure. If you don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t offer if I did, pet.”

There it was again—that nickname. Her lips twitched with a half-smile, and they started down the pavement together, a little quieter now that the group had broken off. The air between them felt more focused, more personal. Every step away from the others made it feel a bit more like something.

“You were a good sport tonight,” George said after a moment. “Didn’t even act like it was your first pub golf.”

“I think the five shots helped,” she laughed, pulling her sleeves over her hands. “That, and you lot being ridiculous.”

George chuckled. “We’re definitely that. But you fit in alright. Proper natural with the chaos.”

She glanced sideways at him. “You think?”

He nodded, sincere now. “Yeah. You’ve got this way of being... calm, even when everything’s mad around you. I noticed that.”

Y/N’s throat tightened slightly, caught off guard by the comment. No one had ever really said that to her. And the way he said it—soft, like he wasn’t just throwing words around—it stuck.

“Well,” she managed, brushing hair from her face, “you’re a lot nicer than I expected, if I’m honest.”

George raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know. Bit colder? Maybe a bit full of yourself?” she teased, nudging him with her elbow.

He snorted. “Charming. So glad I made a great first impression.”

“You grew on me,” she admitted. “Especially after you started calling me ‘pet.’”

George glanced at her, a small smirk playing at his lips. “Yeah? You don’t mind it?”

“No,” she said, quieter now. “I don’t.”

They stopped in front of her building. Her flat was on the corner of a quiet street, streetlights casting long shadows. She turned toward him, suddenly hyperaware of how close they were.

“Well. This is me.”

George nodded, then hesitated. “I had a really good time tonight. With everyone. But… mostly with you.”

She smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah. Same.”

There was a beat. Just long enough for something to settle in the air. Then he rubbed the back of his neck, a little bashful.

“Would it be mad if I asked for your number?” he asked. “Just... I’d like to text you. Maybe hang out again. Without the golf and the camera crew.”

Her heart leapt, but she tried to play it cool. “That wouldn’t be mad.”

She handed him her phone, and he typed in his number, saving it under George Clarke 🍻. She couldn’t help but smile.

“I’ll text you,” he said, passing it back. “So you’ve got mine too.”

“You better.”

He lingered for a moment, then offered a soft, “Goodnight, poppet.”

Y/N didn’t say anything—just smiled and stepped inside. And as she shut the door behind her, she leaned against it with a quiet laugh, heart racing, cheeks still warm.

Not a bad first pub golf.

[mapis-putellas]

𝑹𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x Reader

Words: 1500+

Warnings: blood

Summary: You’d never seen Alexia lose control on the pitch before. At least, not until today.

The match had started off just as you and Alexia had planned. Barca was up 1-0, with Alexia scoring the opening goal off a perfect assist from Aitana.

But the second half was where everything went wrong.

You were just about to intercept a pass when Arsenal's captain, Leah Williamson, came in with a rough tackle, her elbow catching you hard in the face. You barely had time to react, feeling the impact before you were sent sprawling to the ground with a gasp, pain shooting through your nose as you hit the turf. Everything went a little fuzzy, and you felt a warm trickle of blood start to run down your face.

Before you could even process what had happened, your teammates had gathered around you, waving for the medics to come out. They knelt beside you, one of them pressing gauze against your nose to stop the bleeding. You winced, struggling to keep your focus through the pain, but then you heard a voice that cut through the haze of it all.

"Oye! ¿Qué te crees que estás haciendo?" Alexia's voice was unmistakable, laced with anger in a way you'd never heard before. You turned your head, catching a blurry glimpse of her marching up to Leah, her expression thunderous.

Leah crossed her arms, standing her ground. "It was a fair tackle, calm down," she shot back, but Alexia was having none of it. She shoved Leah, her jaw clenched tight.

"No tocas a mi chica así!" Alexia's voice was low and dangerous, and you could see her fists were balled. Your heart skipped a beat; you'd never seen her like this.

"Alexia..." you murmured, trying to sit up, but the medics held you back. "Wait, please-”

The two were locked in a fierce standoff, teammates from both sides rushing in to pull them apart, voices rising in a chaotic jumble of English and Spanish. You couldn't make out the words, but the tension was thick as everyone tried to defuse the situation.

You couldn't just sit by and watch as Alexia's temper flared, though. With a determined look, you pushed away the medic's hand, standing up despite the dizziness that washed over you. Ignoring their protests, you made your way over, weaving through the bodies until you were right behind her.

"Alexia," you called, reaching out to grab the back of her jersey, giving it a tug.

She whipped around, her expression still fierce, until she realized it was you. Her face softened immediately, her hands lifting instinctively to cup your cheeks as she took in the blood smeared across your face. "Mi amor...you are bleeding," she whispered, her eyes filled with worry.

You managed a small smile, placing your hands over hers. "It's okay, I'm fine. But please, calm down, alright?" you said gently. You could feel the tension in her grip, the way her jaw was still tight, and you could tell she was struggling to keep her composure.

"But she...she hit you," Alexia said. "I cannot let her do that to you."

You squeezed her hands, leaning in a little closer. "I know, I know, but it's just a part of the game. Please, just come with me to the stands so they can clean me up. It's not worth it."

Her gaze flickered between you and Leah, hesitating, clearly torn. She opened her mouth, no doubt ready to launch back into the argument, but you tugged her hands a little closer, stepping into her line of sight.

"Please, cariño," you murmured, letting your voice soften. "Walk me over to the medics. Just...just focus on me."

Alexia looked over your shoulder at Leah again, her eyes narrowing, but then she glanced back at you, her expression softening. "Okay... okay, for you," she murmured, her thumb brushing gently against your cheek.

You let out a relieved breath, giving her hands a reassuring squeeze. "Thank you."

She wrapped an arm around your waist, guiding you gently back towards the sidelines. Her touch was firm and protective, her fingers pressing into your hip as if to shield you from any further harm. You leaned into her, feeling a sense of comfort despite the throbbing pain in your nose.

When you reached the bench, she helped you sit down, crouching beside you and reaching out to gently wipe a smudge of blood from your cheek with her thumb. "You scared me," she admitted softly, her voice laced with concern.

You managed a weak laugh, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her face. "I didn't mean to. But you really didn't have to go after Leah like that. I'm alright, Alexia."

She shook her head, her gaze intense. "No, no está bien. She should not touch you like this." Her hand moved to your shoulder.

You cupped her face in your hands, making her look at you. "I'm okay," you repeated softly. "Just... stay here with me, alright?"

Her eyes softened, and she leaned into your touch, her thumb grazing your cheek. "Always, mi amor. Always."

*

After a visit from the medics to pack your nose, you managed to convince them, and Alexia, that you could head back on the field. She was fuming as she followed you back, shaking her head the entire way.

"I don't like this," Alexia muttered. "You shouldn't be playing."

"Lexi, I'll be fine," you said, giving her a quick, reassuring smile. "They're just making me get an X-ray later as a precaution, but it's nothing serious."

She didn't look convinced. Her fingers grazed the edge of the bandage on your nose, her brow furrowed. "But you are hurt. What if you get hit again? I don't like it."

You gently took her hand in yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Trust me, okay? I'll stay out of trouble.”

Alexia gave you a reluctant nod, though you could still see the worry etched in her expression. She stayed close to you as the match resumed, shooting daggers at anyone who so much as came near you, and by the time the whistle blew, her concern had shifted into a steely kind of protectiveness.

Barca had won, 1-0, and despite the soreness, you couldn't help but smile, hugging Alexia in celebration. She held you close, whispering, "You are too stubborn."

“Says you.” You teased, and she rolled her eyes, though her smile gave her away.

As the celebrations wrapped up, Leah approached, looking slightly nervous as she rubbed the back of her neck.

"Hey," Leah started, glancing between you and Alexia. "I wanted to say sorry about earlier. Really didn't mean for it to be that rough. Are you okay?"

You nodded, giving her a smile. "It's alright, Leah. Things happen on the pitch. I'm all good now."

Leah let out a relieved breath, smiling back. "Glad to hear it." She paused, looking slightly sheepish. "Also, any chance you'd want to swap jerseys? As a bit of a peace offering?"

You blinked, a little surprised, but after a quick glance at Alexia's thunderous expression, you gave Leah a reassuring nod. "Yeah, sure."

You slipped your jersey off and handed it to Leah, who smiled gratefully as she passed hers to you. But Alexia's glare hadn't let up, and the second Leah turned away, you felt Alexia's arms wrap firmly around your waist from behind.

Her fingers spread out across your bare stomach, pressing against your skin as if trying to shield you from the world. She lowered her face to your ear, her voice low and annoyed. "She has no shame, coming up to you like this."

You laughed softly as you tossed Leah’s jersey over your shoulder, leaning back against her. "Baby, she was just being nice."

"She hurt you," Alexia muttered, her arms tightening slightly around you. "And now she asks for your jersey? It's like she doesn't understand who you belong to."

You couldn't help but laugh again, turning slightly in her arms to look at her. "She knows, trust me."

Alexia's gaze softened slightly as she looked down at you, though her annoyance was still clear. "Maybe I should remind her."

Rolling your eyes, you reached up to cup her cheek. "Alexia, I'm okay. And she apologised. I promise, I'm yours."

Her expression finally relaxed, and she leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "You know I do not like sharing.”

You grinned, wrapping your arms around her neck. "I know, baby”

She pulled you even closer, her lips brushing your ear as she whispered, "Then let's go celebrate properly. Away from everyone else."

You laughed, letting her lead you off the pitch, her arm still wrapped possessively around you the entire way.

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @codiemarin @girlgenius1111 @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan

[cosmiclily]

hihihi

would you pretty please write vi x fem reader in a high school au with the slowest slow burn ever? like i want a GUT WRETCHING slow burn that will make me be so impatient like istg GET TOGETHER

anyways thanks 😛

teenage dream - vi x f!reader

wc: 13.8k

notes: this kinda feels like a romcom lol, idk if i like it 100% but i gave it my best 🫡 hope you enjoy it !!!

Senior year was supposed to feel like a clean slate—a final era. Your last shot. You’d promised yourself that this year, everything would be different. Not just different from any other year—different from the last three. You were done wasting weekends locked in your room, scrolling through your phone, or playing board games with Ekko while the rest of the world seemed to actually be living.

No more hiding. No more being the background characters of your own lives.

Ekko had made you swear to it. Sitting on the curb outside the corner store, sharing a bag of chips, legs stretched out into the street like the world could wait for you. He nudged your shoulder and said, “We’re not doing that again. No more hermit mode. No more wasting time. Senior year, we actually live.”

You knew it was corny, but it felt necessary.

So you woke up two hours early.

Yeah, ridiculous. But you needed the time. You stood in front of the mirror longer than you’d ever admit—curling the pieces of hair that refused to behave, wiping and redoing your eyeliner until the wings were almost symmetrical. You cycled through at least four outfits, standing there like your closet held the keys to the future, before settling on something that said—I’ve changed. I’m different now.

By 7:30 a.m., you were sitting at the dining table, chewing toast on autopilot while your parents flipped through their phones and sipped coffee like this was just another monday.

“So,” your dad said, lowering his paper just enough to peek at you, “you ready for your last first day?”

“Yeah!” you said—too fast, too bright. “I mean... it’s still the same people, but... I don’t know. I just don’t want this year to be like the last three, y’know? No more spending every weekend locked in my room or playing board games with Ekko like we’re retired.”

Your parents exchanged the look. That classic ‘Ah, youth’ meets ‘You’ll learn’ kind of glance. Equal parts nostalgia and amusement, probably betting how long your sudden burst of optimism would last.

“Well,” your mom said, pouring coffee into her mug without looking up, “just remember—no recreational drugs, and protection is non-negotiable.”

“MOM.” You nearly launched your toast across the table. “Oh my God.”

Your dad choked on his coffee, sputtering into his mug. “Honey... maybe... maybe don’t start with that.”

“What? I’m being realistic.”

“Oh my God.”

Before either of them could permanently scar your psyche, a car horn beeped twice outside. Your head snapped up—Ekko. Right on time.

You shoved back your chair, snatching your backpack like it was a parachute. “Gotta go! Love you, BYE!”

“Make good choices!” your mom called.

“Text me if you need bail money!” your dad added.

“STOP!!”

The front door slammed behind you.

Ekko was already waiting in his dad’s ancient death-trap of a car, elbow slung over the steering wheel, passenger door popped open for you like always.

“Damn,” he said as you climbed in, giving you a once-over. “Look at you. All grown up.”

“Ugh, thanks. Took me forever. I redid my eyeliner, like... four times.”

“Worth it.” He pulled out of the driveway, throwing you a reckless grin. “This is it. Senior year. We actually live this time.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, half to him, half to yourself. “We live.”

And you believed it.

Right up until the second you walked into homeroom... and saw her.

Slouched in the back row, furthest from the teacher’s desk. One leg kicked lazily over the other. Leather jacket half-zipped over her uniform like the rules were more of a suggestion. Scuffed boots tapping against the chair leg. Her hair tied back just enough to stay out of her face but messy enough to scream I don’t care.

Sharp jaw. Bruised knuckles. That cocky grin—the kind that could ruin a life without even trying.

You didn’t know her. Definitely not. No way. You’d remember someone like her. No one forgot someone like her. But somehow, despite being new, she already had half the class orbiting her like gravity itself bent toward her.

And she didn’t even seem to care. She looked at them like she was doing them a favor just by existing.

She seemed exactly like the kind of girl your parents would warn you about.

And yet...

Your fingers twitched, shoving deep into your pockets.

Nope. Nope. Not doing this. Not today. This is supposed to be my year. My fresh start. I’m not getting distracted by reckless, dangerous, beautiful—

“Hey.”

The voice was low. Lazy. Too close.

You blinked.

She was looking directly at you. Head tilted. One brow arched. A knowing smirk tugging at her mouth—like she’d caught you staring (which, fine, you were) and was absolutely waiting to see what you were gonna do about it.

And just like that—boom.

Your brain blue-screened. Fully fried. Your heart cartwheeled straight into your ribs, then backflipped again for good measure. Your mouth opened. Nothing came out.

Her smirk widened, sharp as a blade. “You gonna stand there all day, or...?”

Panic. Full-body panic. You fumbled for words—any words—but your brain handed you nothing.

“Uh—I mean—yeah—no—I just—uh.”

Real smooth. Stunning work. A masterclass.

Behind you, Ekko let out the loudest, most audible snort, barely covering it behind his hand.

Her eyes dragged down your body, then back up. Quick. Calculating. Like she was deciding whether you were worth her time... or just another face in the crowd.

Then, just as fast as she locked on, she leaned back in her chair. Kicked her foot up on the desk. Looked away.

Ignoring you.

Like you were nothing.

Like you hadn’t just suffered a full cardiac event because of a girl who looked like she belonged on the cover of some underground punk magazine.

Ekko elbowed you so hard you nearly tipped over. “Oh, dude,” he wheezed, “you are so screwed.”

And you knew.

This... this was gonna be a problem.

A massive problem.

──────────────────────

By third period, you already knew her name — Violet Lane, Vi. And by lunchtime, there were already rumors swirling. Not just about her, but about her entire family.

Because, of course, this was high school. New kid? Instant investigation. Gossip was practically its own elective.

Ekko — obviously — had wasted no time collecting intel. By the time you sat down at your usual lunch spot, he was practically vibrating with how much he’d dug up.

“She’s got three siblings,” he started, leaning in like this was classified information. “One girl, two boys. She’s the oldest.”

You raised a brow, poking half-heartedly at your mystery meat masquerading as lunch. “Okay... and?”

“And,” he said, eyes lighting up like he was about to drop the most dramatic plot twist of the century, “they all live with their dad? I didn’t get the full story. And apparently—get this—she’s already been arrested.”

Your head snapped up. “Seriously?”

He nodded, grinning like a cat who just stole an entire rotisserie chicken. “Dead serious. Some kid from bio said his cousin’s neighbor’s sister saw it go down. Or something like that.”

You groaned, half laughing, half horrified. “Oh my God, Ekko. You’ve known about her for — what? — a couple of hours? And you already have her whole life story? Get a hobby. Touch grass. Something.”

“This is my hobby,” he shot back, smirking as he popped a fry into his mouth. “Besides, it’s not like she’s making it hard. You saw her. It’s like she’s asking to be talked about.”

You hated that he wasn’t wrong.

Your eyes involuntarily drifted across the cafeteria to where Vi was sitting — or more like sprawled. She was laughing at something one of the guys next to her said — head tossed back, grin sharp enough to cut glass. Every time someone passed her table, they either tried too hard not to look... or flat-out stared.

You shoved a piece of bread in your mouth and chewed like it was the only thing tethering you to earth.

“Yeah,” you muttered, half to yourself. “Problem. Huge problem.”

──────────────────────

You really weren’t trying to get into Vi’s line of sight. You weren’t trying to befriend her. You weren’t trying anything.

But it didn’t matter.

Because it felt like she was everywhere.

Chemistry. English. Biology. Even your stupid electives. No matter where you went, there she was — like the universe itself had decided to make her impossible to avoid.

You tried. You really, truly tried not to sit anywhere near her. You mastered the art of strategic seat selection, ducking behind taller classmates, pretending to be busy tying your shoe while everyone else picked their spots. But deep down, you knew it was only a matter of time before the odds turned against you.

Apparently... today was that day.

You’d spent the entire week pretending — and failing — not to think about her. Yes, she was pretty. Fine. Yes, she had the kind of magnetic, ice-blue eyes that made your stomach drop and your brain misfire. Whatever. But you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t go there. You couldn’t go there. This was supposed to be your year. Your fresh start. Your last shot before graduation.

And yet...

Friday. Last period. You were itching to go home, to put this cursed week behind you. Of course — because life hated you — you were running late. You half-jogged down the hallway, backpack slamming against your spine, rounding the corner just as the bell shrieked its last warning.

And when you slid into the doorway — panting, flustered — you instantly saw it.

The only empty seat.

Right next to her.

You froze. Completely. Feet planted, backpack straps clenched in white-knuckled fists.

Mr. Heimerdinger’s head snapped toward you, those huge, unsettlingly round glasses magnifying his already too-large eyes until it felt like you were being X-rayed.

“Ms. Y/N,” he said, blinking slowly, voice overly polite in that ‘I’m two seconds away from losing my patience’ way. “Would you please join us?”

You swallowed hard. Loudly.

Your eyes flicked to Vi, who was already leaned back in her chair like she owned the whole back row. One brow raised. A knowing smirk tugging at her lips. She didn't say anything — but her eyes followed you, like she was already guessing exactly how uncomfortable this was making you.

You forced your feet to move. One step. Then another. Backpack thudding as you crossed the room, each step heavier than the last.

Don’t trip. Don’t trip. Don’t trip.

You slid into the seat beside her, trying to make yourself as small as possible, pulling your stuff onto your desk with a shaky sigh.

“Hey, princess” Vi murmured under her breath, voice low enough that only you could hear it.

You whipped your head toward her, wide-eyed. “What?” you squeaked.

She shrugged, looking far too pleased with herself. “Nothin’. Just... didn’t think I’d get to annoy you again so soon.”

Your heart slammed so hard against your ribs you were genuinely concerned the entire class could hear it.

This is fine, you told yourself, staring straight ahead, willing your face not to burst into flames. This is perfectly fine. Totally normal. Absolutely not a complete disaster.

──────────────────────

It was not fine. Actually, it was the complete opposite of fine. It was catastrophic.

You couldn’t hear a single word Mr. Heimerdinger was saying. Not one. You were so focused on pretending Vi didn’t exist that all your brain managed to do was... obsessively catalog everything about her.

Like how, halfway through the class, she started bouncing her leg under the desk. Restless. How the silver ring on her middle finger clicked rhythmically against her pen as she tapped it — over and over and over. How she scribbled messy, half-legible notes on her notebook, pausing every so often like she couldn’t decide whether to care or not.

And then there was... her smell.

Sweet. Soft. Something vaguely warm, like vanilla mixed with something sharper — citrusy, maybe? Definitely not what you expected. Not that you had ever sat around imagining what she smelled like — except apparently you had, because some dumb part of your brain was half-expecting punching bags, cigarette smoke, and... prison cells? Which wasn’t even a real smell. What were you thinking??

You squeezed your eyes shut. Stop. Stop thinking. Stop existing.

“Ms. Y/N?”

A voice. Distant.

“Ms. Y/N.”

“Ms. Y/N!”

You practically launched out of your chair, heart slamming against your ribs. “Huh — what — I mean — yes?”

Half the class turned to look at you. Vi included — brows raised, very obviously trying not to laugh.

Mr. Heimerdinger frowned, adjusting his comically huge glasses. “I asked you a question.”

You blinked. “...Could you maybe repeat it?”

His sigh was long. Painfully long. “What is the molar mass of sodium chloride?”

Your brain completely stalled.

Sodium chloride... sodium... salt. Salt. SALT. Your neurons were firing blanks.

“Fifty-eight point four” Vi whispered from next to you, her voice low, lazy — like she wasn’t even trying, like it cost her nothing to know this.

You blinked. That... that couldn’t be right. Could it?

Was she actually smart?

No way. No way. She didn’t look like someone who paid attention. But then again, neither did you right now.

Still, at this rate, you had no other choice. You swallowed hard. “...Fifty-eight point four?” you repeated, voice way more unsure than you wanted it to be.

For a split second, you braced for impact — expecting disappointment, maybe even an exasperated lecture.

But Mr. Heimerdinger just adjusted his glasses, nodded once, and offered a pleased smile. “Excellent, young child. You were paying more attention than I thought, after all.”

Your jaw nearly hit the floor.

As he turned back to the board, rambling about how beautiful, fragile, and ridiculously expensive the universe was, you slowly turned toward Vi. She was leaning back in her chair, arms crossed, looking way too pleased with herself.

That smug little grin tugging at her lips like she’d just won something.

“Thanks” you muttered, trying — and failing — to sound cool about it.

She tipped her head, all faux innocence. “Anytime.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Didn’t think you were... you know. Someone who paid attention.”

Her grin curved sharper. “Yeah? Didn’t think you were someone who spaced out so bad they forgot what salt was.”

Your face burned. “I did not forget what salt was.”

She raised a brow, clearly fighting a laugh. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

You huffed, turning back toward the board, pretending to care deeply about Heimerdinger’s tangent about molecular bonds, but it was useless — you were hyper-aware of Vi. Of her presence. Of the way her knee barely brushed against yours when she shifted. Of how even that tiny contact had your heart acting like it had no idea how to do its job.

──────────────────────

After that little interaction in chemistry, it was like Vi had made it her personal mission to embarrass you at every possible opportunity.

Anytime she could squeeze in a snarky comment, a teasing remark, or an infuriating smirk—she absolutely did.

Caught you rambling to yourself in the library while rewriting your notes for the third time?

“Didn’t realize you were giving a TED Talk” she’d quip, leaning against the bookshelf like she had nowhere else in the world to be.

Used the wrong pronunciation in French?

There she was, right next to you, snorting quietly, whispering through a giggle, “It’s ‘voilà,’ not ‘voilaay,’ genius.”

Oh—and another thing? She now sat next to you. In. Every. Single. Class.

Even when Ekko was supposed to be your buffer, your safe space, your emotional support best friend—Vi somehow managed to kick him out of his seat just to take his place.

No warning. No shame. Just a lazy, “Scoot, dude,” and Ekko would sigh dramatically but move anyway, like this was some sitcom he’d willingly subscribed to.

“Seriously,” you groaned one morning as Ekko drove you to school, arms crossed tight over your chest. “You have to stop letting her do that. I thought you were my friend.”

“I am your friend,” he grinned, fiddling with the radio until he found some indie playlist that sounded just pretentious enough. “But I also think it’s the funniest thing in the world how red she makes you.”

You smacked his arm. “Traitor.”

“Look,” he said, laughing, “she’s obviously messing with you because you give her the best reactions. You go full tomato mode, and she eats that up. If you acted like you didn’t care, she’d probably get bored.”

“Yeah. Except I do care. And I can’t act cool. Have you met me?”

“Valid point.” Ekko flicked on his blinker. “But also... maybe you secretly like it.”

Your mouth dropped open. “I do not.”

He just grinned wider. “Sure.”

You wanted to argue. You really did. But the fact that your face was heating up again kind of ruined any defense you could’ve possibly made.

And when Ekko pulled into the parking lot and you saw Vi leaning against the wall near the entrance—jacket slung over her shoulder, pink hair catching in the breeze, grinning the second she spotted you—you realized...

Yeah.

This was going to be the slowest, most painful emotional death known to mankind.

──────────────────────

By the time Friday was over, you were fully, completely, and emotionally destroyed.

You’d barely survived an entire week of Vi relentlessly tormenting you with her stupid smirks, her shameless teasing, her... existence. It was exhausting—being hyper-aware of someone’s every move, every glance, every brush of their knee against yours. You felt like you’d been holding your breath since Monday.

And yet, apparently, the universe wasn’t done torturing you.

Because besides Vi... there was a whole lot of nothing going on in your life.

You didn’t know what you expected senior year to feel like, but it definitely wasn’t this.

You expected freedom, maybe. Some kind of movie-magic glow. The year where you’d finally be that girl—the one who had it together. Carrie Bradshaw voiceovers narrating your life while you strutted through the hallways in fabulous outfits, balancing friendships, a thriving social life, and the occasional romantic entanglement. (You probably should stop binge watching Sex and The City.)

But no.

It was just... essays.

Essays. Group projects. Labs. Quizzes. College applications breathing down your neck. Stress acne appearing in places you didn’t even know could get acne. And a very unglamorous amount of existential dread.

There was no whimsical montage. No soulful jazz in the background. Just the sound of your laptop fan threatening to explode as you stared at a blank Google Doc titled “The Impact of Industrialization on Modern Society.”

“This is not what the movies promised me,” you grumbled, slamming your forehead onto your desk. “Carrie Bradshaw never had to write a five-page analysis on the French Revolution.”

Ekko, sprawled out on your bed flipping through a textbook, snorted. “Yeah, well, she also never had to figure out the square root of disappointment, but here we are.”

You groaned louder, pushing your chair back and pacing your room like moving would somehow convince your brain to start functioning. “I thought this year was supposed to be... different. You know? Last year. Bucket list. Memories. Parties. Something. Anything. Instead, it’s just me drowning in homework, applying to colleges I can’t afford, and—”

You caught yourself. Cut the sentence off before her name could tumble out.

But Ekko caught it anyway. His eyes flicked toward you, one brow lifting, waiting.

“Nope,” you said quickly, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t. Not doing this.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he said, deadpan. But the shit-eating grin tugging at the corner of his mouth said otherwise.

“Didn’t have to.” You groaned and flopped dramatically onto the floor, staring up at the ceiling like maybe—just maybe—the meaning of life was written there. “This year is actually trying to kill me.”

“Same,” Ekko sighed, sliding off the bed to lie next to you on the floor. “But hey... at least you’re not totally alone in the dumpster fire.”

“Yeah,” you muttered. “Nothing says ‘senior year memories’ like joint academic suffering.”

For a moment, the two of you just laid there in silence. But no matter how hard you tried to focus on the French Revolution, college deadlines, or literally anything else... your mind kept drifting. Right back to a certain pink-haired menace. And how, somehow, she was the only part of this year that didn’t fit the script.

You eventually sat up, dragging yourself back to your desk, fingers hovering over the keyboard, pretending to care about how the French revolutionized—whatever—a million years ago. But your brain was having none of it.

A groan ripped from your throat. “The semester’s halfway over, and we haven’t been to a single party.” You turned to Ekko, dead serious. “Do you know how much of a loser you have to be to not get invited to anything?”

Ekko flipped another page of the massive history book he’d borrowed from the library and shrugged. “Well... you’re a loser, and I’m always with you, so that just makes me a loser by association.”

You gasped, grabbing the nearest pillow and hurling it at his face. “I’m not the physics nerd here, nerd!”

He caught the pillow with one hand, deadpan. “Wow. Riveting. Such clever insults.” He tossed it back at you. “Inspirational, really.”

“Shut up.” You laughed, shaking your head.

Ekko shut the book with a dramatic thud and leaned back. “Y’know what? No. We’re not doing this. I’m gonna find us a party. I don’t care how. It’s happening.”

You blinked. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack.” He pulled out his phone, already scrolling. “We are not ending senior year as the weird shut-ins who spent every Friday night crying over AP assignments and eating instant noodles.”

A grin tugged at your lips despite the gloom. “Godspeed, soldier.”

“You’ll thank me later.” He shot you a finger gun without looking up. “Or blame me. Either way, it’ll be entertaining.”

──────────────────────

After spending the rest of your weekend (trying to) finish your schoolwork, Monday hit you like a truck.

The second Ekko left your house, you dove headfirst into the mountain of projects still waiting for you—which, unsurprisingly, consumed the rest of your weekend... and then some.

By the time you dragged yourself to school, you looked like a complete disaster. So much for “looking your best” this year. Your gray hoodie had a suspicious stain you couldn’t remember getting, your coffee was roughly 80% espresso, and your backpack felt like it contained the entire French Revolution itself.

By second period, you were one minor inconvenience away from crumbling into dust. You flopped into your usual seat, pulled out your laptop, and pretended to care about whatever class this was—chemistry? Geometry? Who even knew anymore—while your mind spiraled through the same exhausting loop:

Deadlines. Stress. Coffee.

Deadlines. Stress. Vi.

Deadlines. Stress. Vi, Vi, Vi.

Because, of course, there she was again—sliding into the seat next to you like she belonged there, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Vi.

Wearing a red hoodie, pink hair perfectly disheveled in that “I don’t care, but somehow I still look stupidly good” kind of way.

“Morning, princess,” she greeted, her voice lower than usual, a little scratchy like she hadn’t fully woken up yet. She stretched her arms above her head, and just enough of her hoodie lifted for you to catch a glimpse of the tattoo inked along her back—

You yanked your gaze back to your screen like it had personally wronged you. “Don’t call me that.”

“Relax,” she chuckled, nudging your shoe with hers under the desk. “You look tense. Didn’t get your beauty sleep?”

“Not everyone spends their weekend drinking and flirting.” You shot her a glare, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose. “Some of us were actually being responsible.”

“Mhm.” Vi rested her chin in her palm, her smirk lazy and far too self-satisfied. “You mean rewriting your French Revolution essay three times... while binge-watching Sex and the City?”

Your jaw dropped. “How the hell do you know that?”

She tapped the side of her head, all smug. “I’ve got my ways.”

You groaned, sinking lower into your seat, already mentally drafting Ekko’s obituary. It was definitely him. It had to be him. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Her grin widened, the kind that could ruin a person if they weren’t careful. “Face it, sunshine... you’d be bored without me.”

The worst part? She was probably right.

The class dragged on forever—an endless stream of equations or chemical reactions or maybe both; you weren’t sure—but eventually, finally, the bell rang.

As students shuffled out, Vi leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “Hey... wanna grab coffee after school? I promise I won’t make you write any essays.”

For a second, you hesitated. You really shouldn’t. Not with the avalanche of homework waiting for you and your mental stability hanging by a thread.

But then again... maybe a break wouldn’t hurt. Maybe dealing with Vi was slightly less exhausting than dealing with your own brain.

“Fine,” you blurted before your common sense could stop you.

Her grin stretched instantly—cocky, victorious, like she’d just won some invisible game you didn’t even know you were playing. “That’s the spirit.”

As you shoved your laptop back into your bag, a creeping realization settled over you like a bad omen. Was getting coffee with Vi actually a good idea? Probably not.

Maybe it was dangerous. Maybe this—whatever this was—wasn’t just casual teasing anymore. Maybe it was something bigger. Something scarier. Something with the potential to pull you under so fast there’d be no crawling back out.

Not that you were thinking about that, of course. Definitely not. Totally fine. Totally normal.

Absolutely. Totally. Fine.

──────────────────────

By lunch, your internal panic spiral hadn’t stopped.

Ekko sat across from you, rambling about something—maybe a new indie album, maybe a game update—but truth be told, you weren’t hearing a word. Your brain was too busy catastrophizing:

What did Vi even mean by coffee? Was it just coffee? Was it a peace treaty? A trap? Would it be weird? Would it be—

“...and then I pulled out a gun and shot myself in the head.”

Your head snapped up. “What?!”

Ekko deadpanned, holding his fork mid-air. “Oh, so now you’re listening. Cool. Just making sure you hadn’t actually flatlined.”

You blinked. “Sorry. I... zoned out.”

“Zoned out?” Ekko blinked at you. “You’ve been staring into space like a Victorian ghost for the last ten minutes. What’s going on?” His eyes narrowed, suspicious. “Wait... let me guess. Vi?”

You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. “I hate that you know me this well.”

“Oh my God. What did she do now?”

“I...” You sighed, sinking further into the table. “I accidentally agreed to get coffee with her after school.”

Ekko blinked. “...Accidentally?”

“Yes. Shut up.”

A grin spread across his face like wildfire. “So let me get this straight. You got a date with Ms. Criminal Record herself?”

“It’s not a date.”

“Sure. Totally. Not a date.” He wiggled his eyebrows like he was physically incapable of controlling himself.

You groaned louder, shoving a french fry into your mouth just to avoid having to answer.

──────────────────────

You stood outside the little coffee shop two blocks from school, hands shoved deep into your hoodie pocket, already questioning every decision that had led you to this exact moment.

You could still back out. Just make up some excuse tomorrow. Maybe something tragic. Like... your poor dog suddenly died. (Not that anyone would believe that. You didn’t even have a dog. But... she didn’t know that.)

Before you could spiral any further, a familiar voice snapped you out of it.

“Well, look who showed.

You turned—and there she was.

Leaning against the wall like she was posing for some effortlessly cool magazine cover. Pink hair windswept and messier than usual, a few loose strands falling over her face. Her red hoodie hanging a little loose on her frame, but that stupid, infuriating smirk? Oh, that was very much still there—the one that made it impossible to tell whether she was about to flirt with you or ruin your entire life. Probably both.

“You actually came” she added, pushing off the wall with her boot.

“I said I would” you muttered, trying—failing—to sound casual.

She grinned, holding the door open with an exaggerated bow. “After you, sunshine.”

“Stop calling me that” you grumbled, stepping inside.

The place was small but cozy—dim string lights hanging along the ceiling, the faint smell of roasted coffee beans mixing with cinnamon, and some random indie song playing softly in the background. Mismatched chairs, hand-painted tables, and customers pretending to study while actually scrolling through their phones completed the aesthetic.

Vi ordered an iced coffee with two extra espresso shots (because of course she did), while you went with something safer, something warm and without any caffeine. You were already anxious enough without turbo-charging (more) your nervous system.

As you waited, the silence between you felt... weird. Not awkward, exactly. More like... charged. Heavy in a way that made your skin buzz.

When you sat down, she stretched her legs out under the table, and her boot knocked against yours. You weren’t sure if it was an accident. (It wasn’t.)

Vi drummed her fingers against the table. “Didn’t think you’d actually say yes.”

“Yeah, well,” you muttered, stirring your drink unnecessarily. “Didn’t think you’d actually ask.”

Vi laughed, head tipping back slightly, a few strands of pink falling over her eyes. “Fair.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. You stared at your drink like it might offer you answers. She stared at you like you were the answer.

“So...” you started, voice coming out a little tighter than you intended. “What is this? Some new form of torture?”

Vi tilted her head, smirk softening just slightly. “Nah. Just... wanted to hang out. You’re fun.”

You blinked. “You have a really weird definition of fun.”

She grinned wider. “Maybe. Or maybe you just don’t know how to loosen up.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Oh yeah? And you’re gonna teach me how to... what? Break the law? Get arrested?”

Vi actually laughed at that. A real one. Loud, full, and genuine—like you’d just told her the funniest joke in the world. It caught you off guard. The corners of her eyes crinkled in a way that made your stupid heart squeeze in your chest.

“You know that’s not actually true, right?” she said between chuckles.

“It’s not?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No!” she snorted, shaking her head. “Where the hell do you people get this stuff from?”

“Oh, I don’t know...” You gestured vaguely, feigning deep thought. “The seventeen detentions... the rumors... the fact that you’ve been in a fistfight like, what? Twice this semester?”

“Pfft.” Vi waved a hand dismissively. “Okay, first off, one of those wasn’t my fault. That guy walked into my fist. Totally different situation.”

You blinked. “Right. Sure. Completely believable.” You crossed your arms, leaning back in your chair. “Besides, someone’s friend’s cousin’s neighbor —or something, saw it happen.”

Vi raised a brow, her grin sharpening. “Oh yeah? And does someone’s friend’s cousin’s neighbor have a name?”

You squinted at her. “What? Why? What are you gonna do—beat them up too?”

She laughed, taking a sip of her iced coffee like she hadn’t just casually confessed to semi-accidental assault ten seconds ago. “Relax, sunshine. I’m not that bad. I just... have a reputation. Doesn’t mean it’s all true.”

You rested your chin in your palm, narrowing your eyes like you were studying her under a microscope. “So what you’re telling me is... you’re secretly... what? Misunderstood?”

Vi tilted her head, smile softening around the edges. “Maybe.” She shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “Guess you’ll have to figure that one out for yourself.”

The air between you shifted—just slightly. Less banter, more... something else. Something heavier. Something that made your heart do that annoying stutter thing it had absolutely no right doing.

And that was terrifying. Because you realized—maybe for the first time—that under all the teasing, the cocky grins, and the reckless energy... there was an actual person sitting in front of you. Someone complicated. Someone interesting. Someone who was starting to feel even more like a bad idea.

“Yeah...” you muttered, taking a sip of your drink. “Not sure if that’s a good thing or a terrible thing.”

Vi smirked, tapping her boot against yours again. “Guess we’ll find out.”

──────────────────────

The second you stepped out of the coffee shop you fumbled your phone out of your hoodie pocket with shaking hands.

Your thumbs moved before your brain could catch up.

YOU: 🆘🆘🆘 EMERGENCY. CALL 911.

EKKO: what now 💀

YOU: I JUST GOT OUT OF THE COFFEE SHOP WITH VI. SHE WAS. NICE???

EKKO: hold on nice??? vi? pink-haired menace vi?

YOU: YES. SHE WAS ACTUALLY NICE. OR LIKE... FAKE NICE?? IDK. SHE SMILED. NOT THE "IM GONNA BULLY YOU" SMILE. THE OTHER ONE. THE... SOFT ONE.

EKKO: oh no. ur doomed. rip.

YOU: THIS IS NOT FUNNY. IM PANICKING. WHAT IF I LIKE HER. 😭😭😭

EKKO: lmao u’ve BEEN liked her. ur just now realizing?

YOU: SHUT UP. IM SERIOUS. WHAT DO I DO????

EKKO: idk. maybe stop fighting it?? 🤷🏽‍♂️ get ur little enemies-to-something arc going.

YOU: NOT HELPING.

EKKO: ok fine. step 1: breathe. step 2: admit u wanna kiss her. step 3: idk figure it out.

YOU: IM BLOCKING YOU.

EKKO: no u won’t. ur too busy spiraling over vi

You groaned, aggressively locking your phone and shoving it back into your hoodie pocket like that would somehow mute your own brain—and more specifically, your heart—that was now screaming in seventeen different languages.

Nope. Not dealing with this right now.

You decided to power through it. Focus. You had enough problems as it was. Adding "possibly liking Vi" to the pile? Yeah, no. Not happening.

You tugged your hoodie tighter around you as you walked home, headphones in, trying to drown out your own thoughts with music. But it didn’t work. Your brain kept spiraling back to the same stupid question:

What happens now?

Would she treat you the same? Were things going to be weird? Did she think it was weird? Was this a one-time thing, or…?

By the time you unlocked your front door, your head hurt more than your overstuffed backpack. You threw it onto your bed with a dramatic sigh, flopped next to it, and buried your face in the pillow.

Bzzzt.

Your phone lit up. A text from an unknown number.

Unknown Number: got home safe?

You blinked. Sat up. Stared at it.

You: ??

You: who is this?

Unknown Number: the love of your life, sunshine.

Your stomach dropped—and flipped—and caught fire all at once.

You: vi??

Unknown Number: ding ding ding 🏆

You stared at the screen, jaw slack, brain buffering.

How the hell did she even get your number??

Another text popped up before you could even process:

Vi: relax. i bribed ekko with gummy worms. not my proudest moment.

Vi: worth it tho.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, completely useless. No thoughts. Head empty. Just static and panic and... butterflies.

You: you’re unbelievable.

Vi: yeah yeah. but admit it... you missed me already.

You flopped back onto the bed, phone to your chest, letting out the loudest, most dramatic groan the universe had ever heard.

It was pathetic, but the actual truth was that you kinda did.

──────────────────────

By the time morning rolled around, you were running on approximately three hours of sleep, sheer panic, and the lingering chaos of that text conversation. You had stared at your phone way longer than you should’ve last night, reading and rereading her messages, debating whether each one was a joke, flirting, or some strange Vi-brand mix of both.

Needless to say, you looked like death. Again.

Slam.

Your locker door shut louder than intended, making you jump. And of course—because the universe loved making your life worse—there she was.

Vi.

Leaning casually against the locker next to yours like she lived there now. Hands stuffed into her red jacket pocket, head tilted.

“Morning, sunshine.” The smirk was back in full force. “Sleep well?”

You deadpanned. “Absolutely not.”

She chuckled. “Weird. Wonder why.”

“Oh, gee, yeah, I wonder,” you shot back, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “It’s almost like someone decided to text me stupid stuff until midnight.”

Vi grinned, walking in step with you down the hallway. “Midnight? Weak. I could’ve gone longer.”

“God, you’re exhausting.”

“And yet,” she bumped your shoulder lightly with hers, “here you are. Still showing up.”

You side-eyed her, heat creeping up your neck despite your best efforts. “Yeah, well. Someone’s gotta supervise you before you get arrested for... I don’t know... breathing wrong.”

Vi laughed. That warm, genuine kind of laugh that made something in your chest tangle into a knot.

As you rounded the corner toward class, a familiar voice cut through—

“Well, well, well,” Ekko drawled, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. “Look who’s become... inseparable.”

Your face practically caught fire. “Shut up.”

Vi just raised a brow, grinning. “What, jealous?”

Ekko scoffed. “Please. I don’t have the emotional energy to handle two of you.”

You shoved past both of them. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be throwing myself into the nearest garbage can.”

“Oh, we know,” Ekko called after you. “We absolutely know.”

Vi just laughed again, falling into step beside you. Like she belonged there. Like this was... normal now.

And the scary part? You kinda wanted it to be.

Then days turned into a week. Then two.

And somehow... Vi didn’t go away.

She started showing up more. Sliding into the seat next to you like it was her God-given right. Stealing your fries at lunch without asking. Sending you dumb texts late at night—things like, “Are sandwiches technically tacos?” followed by, “No, but seriously, I have evidence. Prepare yourself.”

She was... just there now. In your space. In your routine. In your head.

And God help you... you liked it. Way more than you should.

But the more time passed, the more this uncomfortable little thought started gnawing at your brain like a rat in the walls:

Maybe that coffee “date” wasn’t actually a date.

You were the one who read it wrong. Of course you were. It was Vi. Vi flirted like she breathed—effortless, constant, automatic. With everyone.

This was probably just... a game to her. A joke. Maybe she liked seeing you flustered. Maybe you were just something fun to mess with—a puzzle, a toy, a distraction from her own boredom.

So you didn’t say anything. You shoved it down. Bit your tongue every time she called you sunshine, or princess, or sweetheart with that infuriating, devastating little grin.

Because what if you asked—“What is this? What are we?”—and she laughed? What if she said, “Relax. Don’t take it so seriously.”? What if you ruined everything?

Because as exhausting as it was, as much as your brain scrambled every time her knee brushed yours under the cafeteria table, or she slung her arm around your shoulder like it meant nothing... you didn’t want her to go away.

You liked this.

You liked her.

Even if it hurt a little.

Even if it meant pretending you were totally fine with being “just friends.”

Even if it meant ignoring the fact that every time she smiled at you, your heart felt like it was trying to jailbreak out of your ribs.

And as you lay sprawled out on your bedroom rug—half-heartedly scrolling through social media, half-staring at the ceiling—you found yourself thinking:

What would Carrie Bradshaw do?

Probably something chaotic and self-destructive. Probably humiliate herself so Big would stay with her... and then cry about it to her friends over overpriced brunch.

Unfortunately, you weren’t a successful writer in your mid-thirties with a nicotine addiction and a talent for making terrible life decisions look glamorous.

Before you could spiral any further, a voice interrupted from your doorway.

“God, you look awful.”

You sat up to see Ekko leaning against the doorframe, a box of pizza on his hands.

“Thanks,” you deadpanned, dragging yourself off the floor. “Nice to see you too.”

“Who died?”

“My dignity.”

Ekko snorted, kicking the door shut behind him. “Again? Damn. How many lives does that thing have left?” He put the box on your bed and sat down on your desk chair. “Brought you pizza. Though honestly, I figured you were dead since I didn’t hear from you.”

You opened the box with a groan. “You weren’t wrong.”

“About?”

“She doesn’t actually like me,” you mumbled around a bite of pizza. “She’s just... being Vi. Y’know. Flirts with everyone. Makes stupid jokes. Drives me insane.”

Ekko gave you a long, unimpressed look. “I don’t know if this helps, but... she doesn’t flirt with everyone. She’s actually kinda rude most of the time.”

You snorted, nearly choking. “Wow. Thanks, I feel so much better now.”

Grabbing a slice for himself, Ekko leaned back against the chair. “But the real question is... do you actually like her?”

Your silence was deafening.

“Right,” he sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Okay, well, if you’re gonna keep wallowing like a sad Victorian ghost, I’m officially dragging you out of this pit before you start writing love letters by candlelight or—God forbid—buying a typewriter for aesthetic purposes.”

You squinted at him. “...What?”

“If you actually read the texts I sent you, you’d know I found us a party.” He gave you a look that screamed “Yes, I’m awesome. Worship me.” “It’s next Saturday.”

You groaned, flopping back onto your bed like the dramatic mess you were.

Because somewhere between promising yourself you’d actually live this year—and whatever the hell living even meant—came the inevitable downside: socializing.

A thing you categorically hated.

“I have plans next Saturday,” you tried, weakly.

“You’re going to the party. Not up for debate,” Ekko shot back, already calling you out with zero mercy. “And no, rewatching Sex and the City for the hundredth time does not count as plans.”

You scowled, hugging a throw pillow to your chest. “I’m not in the mood to socialize, okay? I’m one hundred percent sure Vi’s gonna be there, and I am not emotionally prepared to watch her flirt with other girls.”

“God, I hate her,” you muttered.

“Sure you do,” Ekko snorted, spinning lazily in your desk chair. “You hate her so much that you’ve memorized the exact shade of her stupid eyes.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

You groaned. “Seriously, Ekko, I cannot deal with her right now. I just... I need a break. A Vi detox.”

“Tough luck,” he shrugged, propping his feet up on your desk. “Last week you were practically begging me to find us a party, and guess what? I delivered. So you’re coming.”

You sighed dramatically. “Why does the universe hate me?”

“It doesn’t. You just have a crush.” He grinned like the menace he was. “And if you don’t go, it’s like... letting her win.”

You blinked. “Win what?”

“Your sanity. Your dignity. Your spot in the food chain. I don’t know. Something important.”

You buried your face in your hands. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

And annoyingly… he was right.

That’s how you found yourself being dragged into a house you didn’t even know the owner of on Saturday night.

The second you stepped through the door, the overwhelming smell hit you like a brick wall—a chaotic cocktail of cheap beer, weed, sweat, and the unmistakable stench of too many underage boys crammed into one place. Whoever’s house this was clearly had no concept of fire codes, personal space, or carpet maintenance.

Music blared from a speaker that was definitely not designed to handle bass that heavy. The floor vibrated under your shoes. Bodies were everywhere—crammed into corners, perched on countertops, lounging on beat-up couches, or tangled together on the stairs. Half of them you’d never even seen before in your life.

Were these people even from your school? Where did they come from? Did someone open a portal to the next town over?

You tugged your sleeves down over your hands, already regretting every life decision that led to this moment.

“I feel like I’ve walked straight into hell,” you muttered, glaring as someone stumbled past holding a bottle of something that was absolutely not soda.

“C’mon,” Ekko grinned, annoyingly chipper about all of this. “Let’s get something to drink.” Without waiting for your consent, he hooked his arm around yours and practically dragged you toward the kitchen.

You wove through the crowd, sidestepping sweaty bodies, dodging two girls aggressively making out against a wall, and narrowly avoiding being collateral damage in an increasingly hostile beer pong argument.

The kitchen wasn’t much better—just slightly less packed. The counters were a crime scene of half-empty bottles, red Solo cups, discarded bags of chips, and mysterious sticky puddles you decided not to investigate.

Ekko let go of your arm long enough to rummage through the chaos. “Alright, what’s your poison? Mystery punch that’ll probably kill us, or…” He picked up a bottle, sniffed it, and immediately recoiled. “...something that smells like nail polish remover.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Tempting.”

“Yeah, we love a choice between food poisoning and gasoline.”

Still, you grabbed a cup—more to have something to fidget with than any real desire to drink it—pointedly ignoring the suspicious floating things in the punch. “Remind me why I let you talk me into this?”

“Character development,” Ekko smirked. “Also... senior year. We’re supposed to make bad decisions. It’s, like, a rule.”

You sighed, leaning against the counter, tapping your cup but not drinking yet. Your eyes scanned the crowd—half on autopilot, half on edge—until, like clockwork…

There she was.

Leaning against the doorway to the living room, one boot casually kicked back against the frame. Vi’s signature leather jacket was—surprisingly—nowhere in sight, abandoned for the night. Pink hair pulled back just enough to show off the sharp undercut, with a few loose strands falling perfectly (and infuriatingly) over her forehead.

A half-empty beer bottle dangled lazily from her fingertips as she laughed at something the girl next to her said—a pretty brunette with a red streak in her hair and a hand resting just a little too comfortably on Vi’s arm.

Like gravity itself had shifted, every nerve in your body zeroed in on her. Of course she was here. Of course she looked stupidly, unfairly cool. Of course she had that cocky, heartbreaker grin tugging at the corner of her mouth like she owned the house.

Ekko followed your gaze, groaned, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh no. Don’t do it. Don’t even start.”

“I’m not doing anything,” you shot back, defensive. “I’m literally just standing here.”

“Mmhmm. Sure.”

Then, because betrayal runs deep, Ekko mumbled something about “blue hair” and promptly vanished into the crowd. So much for ‘Yeah, I won’t leave your side. I’m your emotional support human.’

“Traitor” you muttered under your breath.

With a sigh, you glanced back toward the doorway—because you were weak and apparently a glutton for pain—but... she was gone.

Vi was no longer there.

The brunette she’d been talking to was still standing there, frowning and glancing around like she hadn’t expected her conversation partner to ghost her either.

For one brief, ridiculous moment, you actually wondered if you’d hallucinated her. Maybe the combination of party fumes and emotional damage had finally fried your brain.

“Cool. Awesome. I’m officially losing it,” you muttered, pressing your palm to your face.

“Miss me, sunshine?”

Her voice—low, smug, dangerously close—purred into your ear.

You jolted so hard you nearly flung your drink. Whipping around, you came face-to-face with her.

She was standing way too close. Hands shoved into the back pockets of her ripped jeans like she hadn’t just scared you half to death. Her cropped tank showed off toned arms and tattoos that curled out from beneath the fabric.

“Not really,” you shot back, trying—and failing—to sound casual.

Vi grinned, tilting her head. “Liar.” Her eyes flicked over you, softer now, almost fond. “Didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

“Didn’t know you’d be here either,” you mumbled, instantly hating how breathless you sounded.

“Oh please.” She bumped your shoulder lightly with hers. “It’s me. Of course I’m here.” Her grin softened just a fraction. “Glad you showed up though.”

You blinked. “Wait... really?”

“Yeah.” Her smile was lazy but genuine. “Parties are boring without you.”

And before you could even begin to figure out what the hell that meant, a voice from the living room yelled over the music, “SPIN THE BOTTLE! LIVING ROOM. NOW.”

Vi’s eyes lit up instantly. “Wanna play?”

You looked between her excited face and the drink going warm in your cup. “Screw it.”

You tipped the cup back, downing the whole thing in one go. It didn’t taste as bad as you expected—but it wasn’t good either. Wincing, you wiped your mouth. “Let’s play.”

Vi grinned wide, her fingers curling gently around your wrist. With a playful tug, she pulled you toward the living room. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

You knew—you just knew—you were gonna regret this. But with her looking at you like that, and the growing crowd surging in the same direction, any resistance felt... pointless.

Senior year was made for bad choices, wasn’t it?

A circle had already formed on the floor—red solo cups, empty bottles, and shoes scattered around like landmines. Someone shoved an empty beer bottle into the center, laying out the rules with a drunken grin: spin the bottle, kiss whoever it lands on. No chicken-outs. No take-backs.

Hovering awkwardly at the edge, you felt whatever flimsy bravado you’d gathered start to crumble. But Vi didn’t let go of your wrist. Instead, she tugged you down next to her, thigh pressed firmly against yours, anchoring you to the spot.

She nudged your shoulder, smirking. “Relax. It’s just a dumb game.” Her voice softened, losing some of that usual cocky edge. “If it lands on someone weird, we can just pretend it was rigged. I’ve got your back, sunshine.”

...God, why was she being nice? Friendly. Sweet, even. This wasn’t fair. She wasn’t allowed to be hot and considerate. It was emotional terrorism.

The bottle spun a few times—cheers, groans, awkward laughter as strangers kissed. Your nerves shot through the roof every time it started slowing down.

Then someone nudged the bottle toward Vi. “Your turn, Pinky.”

Vi rolled her eyes but smirked, leaning forward and giving the bottle a lazy flick of her wrist. It spun wildly, clattering against the floor as the whole circle leaned in to watch.

Your stomach dropped.

The bottle slowed... slowed... then—

It landed on you.

A stunned beat of silence. Then someone let out a sharp whistle. Another voice gasped, “No freaking way.”

Your entire face went up in flames. You swore you could feel the heat radiating off your skin.

Vi blinked, like she hadn’t expected it either. But then her grin stretched wider—less cocky, more... mischievous. A softness tugged at the corners of her mouth.

She scooted in closer, her voice low enough that only you could hear. “Wanna skip? Or...” Her gaze flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes, softer now. “...Or do you want me to kiss you?”

You swallowed. “It’s... it’s the game, isn’t it?” you mumbled, trying—failing—to hide how badly you wanted to say yesjust because it was her.

Vi didn’t say anything. Instead, her hand slid up, fingers finding the side of your neck, warm and gentle. Her nose brushed yours as she leaned in, close enough that you could feel her breath, hot and uneven against your mouth.

Then she kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed, or rough, or showy like you expected. Neither of you fought for dominance. None of the dumb clichés. It was... soft. Warm. Her lips moved against yours like it was the most natural thing in the world—like you were something delicate, something meant to be held like this.

It made your head spin. Your fingers twitched uselessly against the fabric of your jeans, torn between gripping onto her or pushing her away before you fell any deeper into whatever trap this was.

When she pulled back—just barely—her forehead lingered against yours, her breath mingling with yours. Her thumb brushed lightly at your cheek, absent, casual... like muscle memory. Like this wasn’t a big deal to her. Like it was nothing.

And that’s when the crack split straight through your chest.

Because as much as you wanted to believe—God, you wanted to believe—that this meant something, you knew better.

This was just Vi being Vi. Flirty. Charming. Sweet when it suited her. A kiss for the sake of a game. A moment that meant absolutely nothing to her while it meant way too much to you.

You weren’t special. You were just the person the bottle landed on.

Of course she didn’t really want you. Not like that. Not really.

“Excuse me” you muttered, barely able to get the words out before the lump in your throat suffocated you.

You scrambled to your feet, ignoring the laughter and the teasing whistles from the crowd. Your chest felt too tight. The walls too close. The air thick like smoke.

“Hey—wait—” you heard Vi start, but you were already pushing through the bodies, practically shoving your way toward the front door.

The cold air outside hit you like a slap the second you stepped out. You gulped it down like you’d been drowning, wrapping your arms around yourself as you paced toward the curb, trying to make the knot in your chest unclench.

“Damn it,” you hissed under your breath. “Damn it, damn it, damn it.”

“Hey. Hey—wait.”

The door creaked open behind you, and heavy boots clattered down the porch steps.

You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

“Sunshine, what the hell?” Her voice was a mix of confusion and something—something almost guilty. “Why’d you run off?”

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to keep your back to her. “Go back inside, Vi.”

“What? No.” Her boots crunched against the gravel as she stepped closer. “Are you—what’s wrong?” Her voice softened, worried now. “Did I… did I do something wrong?”

You shook your head quickly, biting the inside of your cheek until it hurt. Because talking to her—hearing her voice that soft, that close, that worried—when you knew it was probably just more of the same sweet nothings would break you.

“It’s… It’s nothing,” you managed, voice shaking. You wiped at your eyes with your long sleeves, trying—failing—to stop the sting of tears. “I’m just… I’m being stupid. You didn’t do anything.”

Vi huffed, trying to laugh it off, like it might fix something. “Was the kiss that bad?” she joked, a crooked smile tugging at her lips. “C’mon, sunshine... I didn’t think I was that bad.”

Your stomach twisted.

It’s a joke to her.

God. Of course it was.

“Jesus, Violet.” You spun around, not caring that your eyelashes were wet or that your voice was barely holding steady. “Is this all a joke to you? Is that what this is?”

Her smirk faltered, confusion knitting her brows. “What?”

“You—” Your hands flew up, gesturing wildly between the two of you. “You tease me. You flirt with me. You ask me to get coffee. You make me—” your voice cracked, sharp and bitter, “—you make me like you. You make me think maybe... maybe this means something.”

You shoved your hands into your hair, tugging at the strands like it might ground you. “And for what? For a laugh? For fun? Some experiment? Am I just—what—a game to you, Vi?”

Her face fell, eyes widening. “What? No. No—no.” She stepped forward, hands half-raised like she wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if she was allowed. “That’s not—God, that’s not what this is. I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean what, exactly?” Your voice was sharp now, brittle and trembling. “Didn’t mean to lead me on? Didn’t mean to kiss me like I was—like I was something more than just another one of the girls you flirt with?”

“I never—” Vi’s breath caught. Her jaw clenched, and for a second, her eyes softened like she was about to say something real—something honest. But the words got stuck. “It wasn’t supposed to—Shit.”

Before she could untangle herself, another voice cut through the tense silence.

“Hey.”

You turned, breath still ragged, to see Ekko jogging up from down the sidewalk. His eyes scanned the scene—your tear-streaked face, Vi standing frozen, guilt and frustration painted across her features.

“The hell happened?” Ekko asked, glancing between the two of you, then settling his gaze on you. His entire face softened. “You good?”

“I’m fine,” you lied, wiping at your face again. “Can you—can you just take me home?”

“Yeah. Yeah, c’mere.” Without waiting for permission, Ekko shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over your shoulders like a shield. He shot a glare at Vi, jaw tight. “You seriously upset her this bad? What the hell, Vi?”

“I didn’t—” Vi started, reaching out, but you flinched away before she could touch you. Her hand froze midair, hovering like even she didn’t know what to do with it anymore. “It’s not what it looks like, I just—”

You stepped back, hugging Ekko’s jacket tighter around yourself. You looked her dead in the eyes, knowing exactly how exhausted, hurt, and done you must have looked—hating how your voice trembled, but pushing through it anyway.

“I just… need some time.”

Vi’s lips parted like she wanted to argue—wanted to explain, to fight for whatever this was—but no words came out. Her hands balled into fists, then relaxed, then balled again, as if even her own body couldn’t decide whether to hold on or let go. She just stood there, helpless, watching as you finally turned your back on her.

Ekko’s arm slipped around your shoulders, firm and grounding. “C’mon,” he murmured. “Let’s get you home.”

You let him lead you away—away from the party, from Vi, from the chaos. And not once did you look back.

If you did…

You were afraid you might break completely.

──────────────────────

The drive was quiet. The only sounds were your soft sniffles and the low, rattling hum of the old engine in Ekko’s beat-up car.

He didn’t say anything at first—just drove, hands steady on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road like he knew you needed the silence.

Eventually, he broke it. “You wanna talk about it?” His tone was gentle. Careful. He didn’t push—you could either dump everything out or let it stay bottled. Your choice.

You let out a shaky breath, staring out the window like the night sky might have answers. “I’m so stupid, Ekko.” Your voice cracked, raw. “I don’t know what I was thinking. We were talking and... she was being so nice. Saying she was glad I came. Acting like... like she actually cared.” Your fingers curled tighter around the fabric of his jacket. “And then suddenly, we’re sitting in a spin the bottle circle—like, seriously, what are we, fifteen?”

You scrubbed at your face aggressively, frustrated with yourself for crying, for feeling. “And because the universe hates me, it was her turn. And the bottle just—of course—had to stop on me.”

Ekko’s hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel. “Did she… do something you didn’t want?” His voice was careful now. Protective. Ready to fight if he needed to.

“No,” you blurted out quickly. “No. Nothing like that. She... she kissed me. And it was... God, it was good. It was soft, and warm, and... she was being so... careful. Like she actually cared.” Your throat tightened. “And that’s exactly why I had to get out of there.”

Ekko glanced over, brow furrowed. “Okay… but I still don’t get how it went from that to... you crying in the middle of the street.”

You sighed hard, leaning your head back against the seat. “She made a joke. A stupid, dumbass joke about not thinking the kiss was that bad. Like—like it was just... funny. Like it was nothing to her. And I just—” You let out a bitter laugh that didn’t sound like you. “I realized I’m a joke. I’m the joke.”

“I don’t—” Ekko started, but you cut him off, voice rising.

“She flirts, she teases, she calls herself ‘the love of my life’ like it’s some punchline. And then what? Nothing. Nothing ever comes of it. Who the hell does she think she is?” You threw your hands up in frustration. “She kisses me like it means something, like it’s real, like—like I’m not just the idiot who watched her flirt with some random girl the second I walked into that party.”

Ekko pulled into your driveway, shifting the car into park. He leaned back, raising an eyebrow as he looked over at you. “Okay, so... do you want my opinion? Or should I just sit here and nod like an enabler?”

You sniffed, wiping your face with the sleeve of his jacket. “Go ahead. Let’s hear it.”

He pointed a finger at you. “First off... I think this? This is more about you than her.” You opened your mouth to argue, but he held a hand up. “No. Uh-uh. Let me finish.”

“She’s single. She can flirt with whoever the hell she wants.” He gave you a look—firm but not unkind. “And also... she doesn’t know you like her.” His head tilted. “Like, actually like her. Until a month ago, you would’ve rather eaten glass than admit you didn’t hate her. Hell, you probably still wouldn’t admit it.”

He gestured between the two of you. “You think everyone’s a mind reader? Not everyone’s mentally connected to you like I am.”

You opened your mouth to fire something back... but nothing came out. Because he wasn’t wrong. Not even a little bit.

Ekko sighed, softer this time. “And look... I’m not saying you don’t have a right to be upset. You do. If she really likes you—like likes you—she could’ve been clearer. She could’ve handled this way better.” His hands tapped the wheel absently. “But you both? You’ve been dancing around each other for months. Pretending. Poking. Flirting. Fighting. And neither of you wants to admit it’s real unless the other says it first.”

You swallowed hard, throat tight, heart heavier than before—but not in the same way.

“I think,” Ekko continued, glancing over, “you both need some time. To figure your shit out. And then you need to sit down, talk it over... and actually talk.” He nudged your arm with his elbow. “Without yelling. Without storming out. Like actual functioning humans.”

You stared at the dashboard, then sighed. “I hate feelings.”

Ekko grinned. “Yeah. I know.”

──────────────────────

The week that followed the absolute disaster of that party was, without a doubt, one of the weirdest weeks of your life.

Vi gave you the time you’d asked for. Completely. No texts. No teasing. No dumb flirty comments. Not even that annoying smirk she always threw your way when she passed you in the hall. Nothing. It was radio silence.

And God... it felt awful.

You felt empty.

How could someone who’d only been in your life for a few months leave a void this massive? It didn’t make sense. It shouldn’t make sense. But it did.

Everywhere you went, there were things that reminded you of her. A song playing in someone’s car that you knew was on her playlist. A broken vending machine that still had the dent she put in it after punching it last month. Even stupid little things—like seeing strawberry gum at the corner store and immediately thinking of her.

More times than you wanted to admit, your thumb hovered over her name in your contacts. Ready to text. To send a dumb picture. Or ask if she still wanted her hoodie back. Or say... something. Anything.

And every single time... you locked your phone, shoved it back into your pocket, and told yourself you needed to get your head on straight. That if you were going to talk to her, it needed to be for real. Not another half-baked argument. Not another awkward almost-conversation.

You didn’t see her at lunch. You didn’t catch her between classes. It was like she was a ghost—everywhere and nowhere all at once. You couldn’t tell if she was actively avoiding you or if the universe was just being cruel.

“Can you not look for her every five seconds?” Ekko’s voice dragged you out of your thoughts. He was halfway through annihilating the saddest excuse for a cafeteria chicken sandwich you’d ever seen. “Seriously. Either do something... or stop torturing yourself.”

You sighed, slumping forward, poking half-heartedly at the fries on your tray. “I’m not—”

“You are.” He pointed at you with a fry. “You keep pretending you’re not, but every time someone walks past that door, you flinch like it’s her.” He chewed, swallowed, then added, “It’s getting sad, dude.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I know... I know. I just... I don’t know what to say to her.”

“Try ‘hey.’ Or ‘can we talk?’ Or, I don’t know, literally any words that exist in the English language.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Look, I get it. You don’t wanna screw it up. You wanna do this the right way.” He paused, looking at you seriously. “But avoiding her isn’t the right way either.”

“I’m not avoiding her,” you muttered, though you knew it was a lie.

Ekko snorted. “Yeah. Sure. That’s why you nearly dove behind the vending machine this morning when you saw her coming.”

You winced. “That was... situational.”

“Sure, bro.” He popped the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth. “Totally situational.”

You sighed, letting your head thunk against the table.

You were miserable. And this wasn’t fixing anything.

You missed her.

God, you missed her so bad it physically hurt.

And maybe... maybe it was time to stop running from that.

For the rest of lunch, you sat in silence, pretending to care about Ekko’s ongoing rant about how cafeteria pizza should be a crime against humanity. But your mind wasn’t really there.

It circled the same thought, over and over like a broken record:

“Talk to her. Just… talk to her.”

Easier said than done.

Your knee bounced under the table as the anxiety built. You were so deep in your own head that you didn’t even realize lunch had ended until Ekko snapped his fingers in front of your face.

“Earth to emotionally constipated lesbian.” He stood, slinging his bag over one shoulder. “You good?”

You nodded. Sort of. “Yeah... yeah. I’m gonna do it.”

Ekko’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah. I mean... I have to.” You shoved your tray aside, gripping the strap of your bag like it was some kind of life preserver. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep pretending like it didn’t happen. Like none of it meant anything.” You swallowed hard. “Even if it’s just to get closure... I need to know.”

“Okay, yeah!” Ekko grinned, clapping you hard on the back. “Now we’re talking! So... what’s the plan?”

You stared at him blankly. “I have... absolutely no fucking idea.”

He groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face like this was somehow his problem too. “Damn. Why do I always gotta do everything around here?”

You snorted. “Tragic, really.”

Rubbing his eyes like you were physically exhausting him, he muttered, “Alright, first of all—you cannot ask me how I know this.”

You squinted. “That’s... very suspicious.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved you off. “Look, I’ll text you her address. You still have her hoodie, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“Cool. Use that as your excuse. Tell her it’s her favorite hoodie and she’ll literally die without it. I don’t know. Be creative. Improvise. Lie a little.”

You blinked at him. “...I don’t know how you got her address, and I don’t think I wanna know. But you’re a lifesaver.”

“Damn right I am.”

The rest of the school day was a blur—an endless loop of your brain spiraling between panic and regret. You barely heard anything your teachers said, your leg bouncing under your desk the entire time as you worked yourself into a mental breakdown over:

How the hell were you going to explain knowing where she lived without sounding like a stalker?

What the hell were you even going to say when you got there?

“Hey, sorry I accused you of using me in front of half the party.”

“Hey, my bad for melting down after you kissed me in front of everyone.”

“Hey, I think I might actually be in love with you and it scares the absolute shit out of me.”

No. Nope. Absolutely not that last one. Not even under threat of death.

By the time school ended, you had worked yourself up so badly that your hands were actually shaking as you punched the address into your phone.

The walk there felt longer than it probably was. Every step sounded like a countdown to your own execution. You stopped a few houses away, took a deep breath, and before you chickened out completely, you fired a quick text to Ekko:

You: just got here. if i die tell my mom it was self-inflicted.

Ekko: 🫡 soldier’s death. respect.

You stared at the door. You could still back out. Run. Pretend you got lost. Fake a kidnapping. Anything.

But no. You were here. You owed it to yourself to face this.

You raised your fist and knocked.

A few seconds later, the door swung open, revealing a girl with long blue hair and sharp eyes. She looked vaguely familiar, but you couldn’t quite place where you’d seen her before.

“Uh... hi.” You tried your best not to sound like you were about to have a stroke. “Is Vi home?”

The girl blinked at you, unimpressed. “Yeah? Who’s asking?”

“It’s... uh... Y/N. I’m one of her classmates.” Your voice was way too shaky for your liking.

The moment your name left your mouth, her bored expression morphed into something far more interested. Her eyebrows shot up. “Ohhhh. You’re Y/N?” Her lips curled into a mischievous grin. “Damn. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Your stomach flipped. “...Is that... good?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. “Fat Hands is upstairs. Second door on the left.” She jerked her thumb toward the stairway behind her. “You can go up.”

“...Fat Hands?” you echoed, confused.

“Yeah.” The girl smirked. “It’s a long story. You should ask her about it sometime.”

You didn’t know whether to be concerned or amused. Probably both.

Clutching Vi’s hoodie to your chest like it was some kind of emotional shield, you nodded. “Uh... thanks.”

“Good luck,” she added, a little too cheerfully. “You’re gonna need it.”

You gulped and stepped inside, every nerve in your body screaming.

Each step up the stairs felt like climbing a mountain. Second door on the left. Second door on the left. You hovered in front of it, fist raised but frozen midair. Your heart was hammering so hard you could feel it in your teeth.

This is so stupid. This is so stupid. Why am I like this?

But before you could talk yourself out of it... you knocked.

From the other side, her voice came through—groggy, surprised, and a little confused.

“Yeah? What—?”

The door creaked open.

Vi stood there, in an oversized t-shirt, hair messier than you'd ever seen it, one eyebrow raised the second her eyes landed on you. Her lips parted slightly, caught somewhere between confusion and disbelief.

“...Y/N?”

You swallowed, throat dry. “...Hey.”

Her expression shifted—surprise first, then caution, then something softer that she quickly tried to mask behind a casual lean against the doorframe. Her arms crossed, like she was bracing herself.

“I brought you this.” You held out the hoodie—hers—the one you'd conveniently “forgotten” to return. Every speech and rehearsed line you’d come up with vanished from your head like smoke.

“...Okay...” Vi took the hoodie slowly, like she wasn’t sure if it was a gift, a trap, or both. “Why are you... I mean... what are you doing here?”

You shifted awkwardly on your feet. “Can I... come in?”

For a second, she didn’t answer. Her mouth opened like she was about to say something, then closed again. Then quietly, almost hesitant—

“...Yeah. Yeah, okay. C’mon in.”

She stepped back, letting you into her room.

It was... surprisingly clean. Organized chaos. Posters covered the walls—bands, old boxing matches, graffiti art. A few half-built mechanical things sat scattered across her desk, alongside a screwdriver and a pair of welding goggles. The air smelled faintly of citrus, metal... and Vi.

You stood there awkwardly, not sure whether to sit, stand, or bolt out the door. The silence between you was suffocating.

“Uh, I...” you tried, but nothing made sense anymore. “I had this whole speech, about how this is your favorite hoodie and you really needed it back, and how I’m an idiot for not returning it sooner and—”

Vi sighed, dragging both hands over her face. “Look... if you’re here to yell at me again, just get it over with. I swear, I still have no idea what the hell I did that night.”

You inhaled sharply. “That’s... that’s the thing.” Your gaze dropped to the floor, then back up to meet hers. “You didn’t really do anything. Not... not technically.”

Her brow furrowed. “Then why...?”

“Because...” You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing the words out. “Because you drive me insane, Vi.” Your voice cracked. “You flirt. You joke. You act like it’s all fun and games. You kiss me like it means something, and then... the second I walked into that party, you were flirting with someone else.” Your throat tightened. “And I didn’t want to care. I really didn’t. But I do. I care way more than I should. And it scared the hell out of me because... because I thought it was just a game to you.”

Vi’s face softened instantly. “Hey... no. No, Y/N...” She stepped toward you, then paused like she wasn’t sure if getting closer was allowed. “It wasn’t a game. Not to me. Not... not with you.”

“Then why do you act like it is?” your voice broke—thick with frustration and something dangerously close to heartbreak. “Why do you call me every pet name in the book and keep proclaiming you’re the love of my life like it’s some kind of joke? Like I’m supposed to just laugh it off and pretend it doesn’t mean anything?”

Vi flinched, like the words physically hit her. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out for a second. Then finally—

“Because that’s... that’s how I am, Y/N. That’s how I’ve always been. Joking’s easier. Safer. I didn’t think you’d... I didn’t think you’d ever actually... care.” Her voice softened, breaking. “I didn’t think I was allowed to hope you would.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

You blinked, stunned. “...Wait. What?”

Vi dragged a hand through her hair, pacing a few steps like she couldn’t sit still with everything bubbling out of her. “Yeah. Yeah. Look, you think I was messing around? God, Y/N, I’ve been terrified. You’re...” she shook her head, laughing bitterly. “You’re smart, you’re gorgeous, you’ve got your shit together... I never thought I had a chance. So yeah, I flirt. I joke. That’s what I do. But that kiss?” Her voice dropped, raw, trembling. “That wasn’t a joke. That wasn’t a bit. That was... real. And I’ve been losing my mind ever since.”

She stopped pacing, turning to face you fully, breathing like it physically hurt. “I wanted to kiss you. I wanted it so bad. And then you ran, and I... I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to make it worse.”

Your breath caught. The tension between you was like a live wire—crackling, fragile, dangerous.

Vi bit her bottom lip, then let out a shaky laugh, almost self-deprecating. “...I really fucked this up, huh?”

You stared at her. “...You kinda did.” You crossed your arms. “But it’s okay... because I kinda fucked this up too.”

She winced, then smiled—soft, lopsided, and so Vi it hurt. “Yeah. Fair.”

And God... seeing Vi— reckless, cocky, unbothered Vi—standing there looking vulnerable, nervous, uncertain... it tugged at something deep in your chest.

You exhaled a shaky breath. “...So what the hell do we do now?”

Vi blinked at you, surprised for a second, then grinned—tentative but real. “I don’t know. But... maybe we stop running from it.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper when she added, “From... this. From us.”

Your heart stuttered. “...Yeah. Maybe we do.”

Vi stared at you like she was waiting for permission. Like if she even breathed wrong, you might vanish. Her fingers twitched at her sides—like she wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if she was allowed to.

And you were tired. Tired of pretending. Tired of fighting it. Tired of holding yourself together like you weren’t seconds from falling apart every time she looked at you like that.

“Vi...” you started, but the words barely made it past your lips.

Her gaze dropped to your mouth. Her tongue darted out, nervously wetting her bottom lip, and that—God, that—snapped something inside of you.

“Screw it,” you whispered.

You stepped forward at the same time she did, like gravity itself finally gave up pretending you two weren’t being pulled together. Her hands cupped your face, tentative at first, but the second she felt you lean into her touch—like you needed it—her grip tightened.

And then she kissed you.

Not like the playful teasing at the party. Not like something for show, or a joke, or a dare. This was different. This was desperate, and clumsy, and real. Her lips were soft but firm against yours, a little shaky, a little frantic, like she’d been thinking about this every second since the last time and had no idea if she’d ever get to do it again.

Your hands fisted in the front of her shirt, pulling her closer, like you could physically make up for all the distance and the hurt and the confusion that had built between you. Her arms wrapped around your waist, holding you like something precious—like she was terrified of letting go.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, both of you were gasping like you’d just surfaced from underwater.

“...Okay,” Vi rasped, smiling so softly it hurt. “Okay. Yeah. We’re really doing this, huh?”

A laugh bubbled out of you, watery and real. “Yeah... I think we are.”

Her thumb brushed your cheek, gentler than you’d ever thought Vi could be. “I meant it, you know... what I said. None of this was ever a joke. Not you. Not... us.”

Your hands slid up, cupping her jaw, your thumbs tracing the line of her cheekbone. “I know. I... I didn’t want to believe it at first. But... I do now.”

Vi grinned, but it was softer than her usual cocky smile—almost shy. “Guess that means you’re stuck with me now, huh?”

You pretended to think. “Hmm... yeah. Guess I am. What a nightmare.”

She chuckled, dipping her head to kiss you again—softer this time, slower, like she wasn’t in a rush anymore. Like she had all the time in the world now that you weren’t running from each other.

──────────────────────

The next morning felt... weird. But the good kind of weird. The kind that made your stomach flutter every time you remembered how Vi had kissed you, how her hand fit perfectly in yours, how the two of you had talked until way too late—about everything. About the party, about the feelings neither of you had been brave enough to say out loud until now. About you. About her.

So when your phone buzzed with a text from Vi that read:

“Get ready. I’m picking you up for school. No arguments.”

—you couldn’t even pretend to be annoyed.

And true to her word, ten minutes before you were supposed to leave, a loud, familiar motorcycle engine rumbled outside your house. You peeked through the window to see Vi leaning against her bike, looking all cocky like she wasn’t absolutely whipped.

Your heart did a stupid little flip.

By the time you grabbed your bag and stepped outside, she was grinning. “Mornin’, princess.”

“Morning,” you said, trying not to smile like an idiot.

She handed you a helmet, waiting for you to strap it on before sliding onto the bike. The second you wrapped your arms around her waist, she squeezed your hand against her stomach like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Ready?”

“Yeah.”

The ride to school was a blur of wind, adrenaline, and the kind of giddy happiness you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Meanwhile Ekko who had stood on your front porch, and knocked for longer than he had to, was calling you like no tomorrow. His brows furrowed. “Hello? You alive? Where the fuck are you?”

He was ready to call your parents when the distant sound of a motorcycle made him glance toward the street.

His eyes squinted. “No. No way.”

Sure enough, he watched as a very familiar red motorcycle pulled into the school parking lot... with you sitting on the back of it. Arms around Vi. Laughing.

And then—oh.

Vi parked, kicked the stand down, and helped you off like it was the most normal thing in the world. And when you slid your helmet off, she took it from you, casually threading her fingers through yours as the two of you started walking toward the school entrance.

Hand in hand.

Ekko blinked. Stared. Looked down at his phone like it might be lying to him. Looked back up and shook his head, snorting under his breath as he shoved his phone back in his pocket. “About damn time.”

As he caught up to you two, he didn’t even bother hiding his smirk. “Wow. Look who finally figured it out.”

Vi shot him a grin. “Took some elbow grease, but yeah. We got there.”

You rolled your eyes, blushing. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m absolutely starting.” Ekko wiggled his eyebrows. “I’m milking this for weeks.”

Vi threw an arm around your shoulders. “Let him. He earned it.”

And for once, walking into school didn’t feel heavy. It didn’t feel complicated. It felt... kinda perfect.

──────────────────────

masterlist

[ditsycafe]

game over, try again || n.r

pairings : nishimura riki x female!reader

genre : fluff, fluff, fluff

warnings : pinning reader down, niki losing at Mario Kart, tackling

a/n : do not in any way plagiarise, translate my work to another language or claim my work as your own.

Nishimura Riki sat cross-legged on the floor of his bedroom, controller in hand, eyes glued to the screen. Then intense music of Mario Kart filled the room as his girlfriend, Y/N, sat beside him, a smirk plastered on her face.

“You ready to lose again,” she teased glancing at him with playful confidence.

Riki scoffed, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for battle. “You got lucky last round. This time, I’m not holding back.”

Y/N giggled. “Sure sure. Just try to keep up, okay?”

The countdown began. 3…. 2…. 1…. GO!

Riki shot off the starting line, drifting around corners with practical precision. But Y/N was right on his tail, dodging obstacles, expertly launching red shells at him whenever he got too far ahead.

With the final lap approaching, Riki felt the pressure. He was in first place—until, at the very last second, Y/N unleashed a blue shell.

“No, no, no—“ he yelped as the shell struck, spinning him out just inches away from the finish line. Y/N’s character zoomed past, crossing the finish line first.

“YES!” she cheered, throwing her arms up in victory. “I won again!”

Riki stared at the screen in disbelief. “Are you serious?! That was sabotage!”

she laughed, leaning closer. “Nope. That was skill. Admit it, Riki, I’m just way better than you.”

Riki narrowed his eyes, a mischievous smile creeping onto his lips. “Oh yeah?”

Before Y/N could react, he tossed his controller aside and lunged at her, wrapping his arms around her waist and gently tackling her onto the floor. She shrieked in surprise, laughing as he hovered over her, his face inches from hers.

“Say I’m the real champion,” he teased, pinning her wrists down playfully.

Y/N wriggled beneath him, still laughing. “Never! The scoreboard doesn’t lie!”

Riki pouted dramatically. “Fine. Then I guess I’ll just have to tickle it out of you.”

Her eyes widened. “No, no, Riki—“

Too late. His fingers found her sides, and Y/N burst into uncontrollable laughter, squirming as he mercilessly tickled her.

“Okay! Okay!” She gasped between giggles. “You’re—sort of—a champion.”

Riki grinned, finally letting up, and collapsed beside her on the floor. They lay there, catching their breath, giggles still escaping between them.

“You know,” Riki murmured, turning his head to look at her. “Even when you beat me, I still kinda like you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her smile was soft. “Lucky for you, I kinda like you too.”

He reached over, lacing his fingers with hers. “Rematch?”

she smirked. “Only if you’re ready to lose again.”

And just like that, the game continued—both on the screen and between them.

all rights to this work belongs to me @ditsycafe.

[rmytears]

○ alexia putellas x teen reader (reader has a name in this)

↳ warnings: no warnings.

A LITTLE HOT-HEADED.

If someone had to describe Maya, they'd probably get stuck on the first word that came to mind: difficult. Difficult to read, like a book in a language you don't understand; difficult to comprehend, like a puzzle with pieces that don't quite fit. Her gaze, often lost in deep thoughts, challenged anyone who tried to get close. And when she spoke, she did it with such sharp sarcasm that it could slice through the tension in the air. It was as if she enjoyed bewildering others, each hidden laugh and every frown part of a game where she always held the lead.

But there was another word that fit her: good. While her personality might have seemed like a maze, on the soccer field she shone with her own light. With the ball at her feet, she transformed. It was as if everything else disappeared and only she and the game existed. Obviously, she needed to improve—she was still very young—but she had potential, enough that trying to ignore it felt like an offense. Maya was good.

As the season progressed, her name began to echo among the first team players. "Have you seen this girl from the B team?" The words spread like ripples. And so, like foam, the rumors reached Alexia's ears, who couldn't ignore the stories about this girl everyone seemed interested in lately.

Intrigued, Alexia decided it was time to see this young promise for herself.

FC Barcelona B vs. RCD Espanyol. The match was going perfectly for the Blaugrana colors. The sun shone intensely on the grass, while the stands filled with a sea of blue and garnet shirts that vibrated with every touch of the ball. The B team players moved the ball with a fluidity that left the fans in a constant state of euphoria. With each pass, each run, it seemed the team was destined for a clear victory.

Maya sat on the bench, observing from her position. With the first half already consumed, her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. She had been training hard, waiting for her chance to shine, and that moment came when the coach called her to get ready.

However, as she settled into the game, a figure from the opposing team began to make herself noticed, making the atmosphere tense. The Espanyol player, a blonde with tight braids who seemed to have made a personal decision to make Maya's life impossible, started getting too close. Every time Maya received the ball, the opponent appeared like lightning, throwing discrete elbows and disguised stomps masked as legitimate plays. Alexia could see how Maya tried to concentrate, ignoring the provocations, but frustration began to show on her face.

"It's just football," she told herself while running across the field, trying to maintain calm amid the chaos. But her opponent's tricks didn't cease; the referee, with a distant and uncommitted look, seemed to have decided it wasn't his day to intervene. The fouls continued without punishment, and tension on the field increased. Maya noticed how the Espanyol player became increasingly aggressive, playing dirty, an elbow here, a push there.

With time running and the score still in Barça's favor, Maya found herself increasingly trapped in a mental game that wore her down. Alexia, from her position, could notice how the young player's patience was vanishing. The furtive glances Maya threw toward the referee became more accusatory, and her gestures of frustration more evident.

Finally, after a blatant push that left Maya staggering, something inside her clicked. In an instant of contained rage, she decided it was time to respond. With fierce determination, she launched herself at the Espanyol player with a tackle that resonated like thunder in the stadium. The contact was strong and direct, and the referee's whistle sounded like a war cry.

Maya's face turned from surprise to frustration at seeing the red card the referee raised toward her. Helplessness invaded her as the rest of the team halted their game, stunned by her expulsion. The crowd fell into a sepulchral silence, and whispers spread like an echo of disappointment.

Maya found herself alone in the dressing room, the echo of her steps resonating against the tiled walls as she walked to her locker. The coach's lecture still rang in her head—words about concentration and maintaining calm during critical moments of the game. She sighed deeply while dropping onto one of the benches.

"Hey." Vicky's voice pulled her from her thoughts. Her teammate was already changed and ready to leave, the sports bag hanging from her shoulder. "Don't take today's match so hard. You did well."

Maya just nodded, her fingers playing distractedly with her shoelaces.

"The girls are going for ice cream to celebrate the victory," Vicky continued, leaning against the doorframe. "Want to come?"

"I don't think I'm in the mood," Maya mumbled, forcing a small smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Suit yourself." Vicky shrugged. "See you tomorrow then."

Silence enveloped the dressing room again after Vicky's departure. Maya closed her eyes for a moment, letting the quietness wrap around her. But the peace didn't last long.

"Well, well. Does Barcelona's little star need a moment alone?"

Maya felt every muscle in her body tense at recognizing that voice. The Espanyol player—the same one who had been provoking her throughout the match—was standing behind her. She could feel her presence approaching, invading her personal space.

"What's wrong? Did coach's lecture leave you speechless?" The mocking voice drew closer until Maya could feel her breath on her neck.

It was as if something inside her exploded. In a quick movement, Maya turned and pushed the other player against the wall, her forearm pressing against her rival's chest.

"Don't mess with me," Maya growled, the words coming through clenched teeth. Her eyes sparkled with contained fury. "And for the record, you smell like crap."

A movement at the dressing room entrance caught her attention. Alexia was there, observing the scene with a mixture of surprise and concern on her face. Maya exhaled frustratedly, stepping back to her original spot while rubbing her temples with her fingers—a gesture that caught Alexia's attention, who wondered if it was a sign of stress or perhaps a headache.

Alexia observed both players for a moment before breaking the tense silence. "Is there a problem here?" she asked, her voice firm as she approached them.

The Espanyol player immediately adopted a victim expression. "She just attacked me," she declared with false innocence.

Maya felt her blood boiling again. She lunged forward, but this time found herself contained by Alexia's arms, who firmly surrounded her, forcing her to step back.

"Mara," Alexia's voice was soft but firm as she pulled her away. "Mara, listen to me."

But Maya wasn't looking at her. Her eyes, burning with rage and frustration, were fixed on the Espanyol player, who smiled with satisfaction at her reaction. The mocking smile only served to fuel her fury more, while Alexia's arms kept her in place, her voice repeating what the captain believed to be her name like a calming mantra that she could barely hear over the roar of blood in her ears.

Alexia turned toward the blonde who still remained there, planted as if her feet had grown roots into the locker room floor. Their eyes met briefly before Alexia spoke.

"This isn't your dressing room," she said, her voice firm but controlled. "You have no business here."

No more needed to be said. The rookie—because that's what she clearly was, indicated by her insecure posture and the way her eyes nervously jumped from side to side—took a step back, then another, until finally turning around and disappearing through the door without a word.

Maya broke free from Alexia's grip as if her touch burned. "Don't touch me," she snapped, turning her back to continue packing her things in the sports bag. Her movements were abrupt, almost violent, as she stuffed her belongings one by one.

Alexia didn't move. She stayed there, observing every gesture, every tense movement of Maya's shoulders. The silence grew thick, almost tangible, until Maya couldn't bear it anymore. She could feel the older player's gaze drilling into the back of her neck.

"Am I in trouble?" she asked without turning around, her voice rough as sandpaper. The question hung in the air, a clear reference to the scene Alexia had just witnessed.

"You're Mara, right?" Alexia responded, deliberately ignoring the question.

Maya snorted, turning just enough to throw her a sideways glance. "Why ask if you're so sure you know?"

"Are you always this defensive?"

Alexia's question went unanswered. Maya returned to her task, stuffing her shin guards into the bag with more force than necessary. The locker room sank into silence interrupted only by the rustle of clothing and the metallic clicking of zippers.

"I saw you playing today," Alexia broke the silence again. "You're good."

Maya's hands stopped for an instant. It was Alexia Putellas saying it, after all. The same Alexia whom all the team's girls idolized, whose name was synonymous with excellence in women's football.

"Thanks," Maya mumbled, so low it almost seemed the words had been carried away by the locker room's air conditioning.

"But it doesn't matter how good you are," Alexia continued, "if you can't control your temper, you won't get anywhere."

Those words were like a switch. Maya spun around, her blue eyes shining with indignation. "I don't have any temper or anything to control."

"Well, that's not what I saw when I walked in," Alexia responded with a calmness that markedly contrasted with Maya's agitation.

"You don't know anything," Maya rolled her eyes, but the gesture didn't entirely hide the tension in her jaw.

Alexia tilted her head, studying the younger player's face. She observed how the furrowed brow made her freckle-sprinkled nose wrinkle slightly. There was something fascinating about that rebellion. She sat on the bench, the wood creaking softly under her weight.

"Then enlighten me," she said, leaning forward. "What was happening with that girl?"

"And why exactly should I tell you?"

The question made the corners of Alexia's lips curve slightly. It was refreshing, she had to admit. While most young players looked at her with a mixture of nervousness and reverential admiration, Maya seemed immune to her presence. There was no trace of typical adulation in her eyes, just a direct, unfiltered challenge.

Alexia rose from the bench with a fluid movement, running her palms over her pants in an automatic gesture. "You really are good, Mara," she said, heading toward the door. "Try not to let it go to your head."

She was about to leave when a murmur reached her ears.

"It's Maya."

Alexia stopped dead in her tracks. "Excuse me?"

"It's not Mara, it's Maya," the young player repeated, her voice clearer this time, though she still had her back turned.

"Maya," Alexia repeated, nodding slightly before crossing the doorway, leaving behind a silent locker room and a Maya who, for the first time since the exchange began, allowed her shoulders to relax.

[meazalykov]

yapper

barca femeni x reader

part one - part two here

summary: you always had something to say

warnings: angst, online hate

you've always been the one to fill the quiet. 

if the locker room was silent, you’d throw out a joke. sometimes so bad it would have everyone laughing just because of how ridiculous it was. your teammates loved you for it—or at least you thought they did. 

you didn’t want anyone to sit in nervous energy before a big game. you wanted everyone to feel at ease, to smile, to believe they could take on anything since this was literally barcelona– of course the best club in the world could handle anything. 

“why are you so loud?” mapi teased one day after you cracked a pun about her tattoos during a media day. 

you grinned at her. 

“because someone has to keep this team awake. what would you do without me? shit, i don’t know how you survived without me for long.”

“probably enjoy the peace and quiet,” she shot back, but the grin on her face told you otherwise. 

you knew mapi got all the credit for being the talker of the group, but you easily topped her in that department. kika often joked that you had a built-in microphone, always on and ready to broadcast. 

yet, despite all the jokes, you never felt like it was too much. not until recently. 

training sessions at barça were something you relished, even on your worst days. being surrounded by alexia, kika, and esmee—your closest friends on the team—always made it feel less like work. 

alexia was like a big sister, always ready to listen. kika was your partner-in-crime, teasing you relentlessly, but never crossing the line. esmee? she was your rock, her quiet presence balanced your constant energy, grounding you in ways you didn’t think anyone could. 

after a long training session one evening, you found yourself alone on the practice pitch. penalties were your weak spot, and you wanted to fix that. you lined up the ball, took a deep breath, and sent it toward the net. it hit the post.

“what are you doing here so late?” alexia’s voice startled you.

you jumped, clutching your chest dramatically. 

“you scared me! i could’ve died.”

she smirked, arms crossed as she walked closer. 

“you didn’t answer my question.”

“what are you doing here?” you tried to deflect.

“i asked first.”

rolling your eyes, you motioned to the ball. 

“penalties. i suck at them.”

alexia raised a brow. 

“you’re not even one of the main takers.”

“exactly! that’s why i suck! i need to be better in case i ever have to take one, you know what if you frido or ewa are not available?” you rambled, launching into an explanation of all the ways penalties terrified you. 

alexia didn’t interrupt, just watched you with that calm, almost maternal expression she always had. 

“you’re overthinking it,” she finally said, cutting through your spiral. 

“just keep practicing. you’ll be fine.”

her reassurance helped more than you wanted to admit. alexia had that effect on people, like she could carry all your worries on her shoulders and not even flinch. 

a few days later, you stopped by esmee’s apartment, where she was curled up on the couch with her girlfriend, dani. the sight of them together tugged at something in your chest, a reminder of what you used to have with emily. 

“finally over her,” you announced as you plopped down beside them, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl on esmee’s lap. 

“who?” danielle asked, clearly out of the loop. 

“emily,” esmee filled in. “her ex.”

“oh, good for you,” danielle said with a smile through her dutch accent. 

“it’s about time, right?”

you laughed, nodding. 

“yeah, it only took me almost a year.”

however, later that week, you saw something that made your chest tighten all over again. scrolling through instagram, you stumbled upon a photo of emily with another girl, their smiles wide and carefree in north london. 

it shouldn’t have mattered. you were over the woman three years your senior. however, it stung in a way you didn’t expect. 

then came the champions league quarterfinal against bayern munich. the mistake was small—a misplaced pass, a missed mark—but pernille made you pay for it with a screamer that tied the game. 

1-1. 

after the game, you did your best to shake it off, smiling for the cameras, joking with alexia and frido. you thought you’d done well hiding your disappointment. 

the internet didn’t let it slide. 

“y/n talks too much. maybe she should focus on her game instead.”

“doesn’t she get tired of hearing her own voice?”

“the team probably wishes she’d shut up for once.”

the comments were harsh, cruel, and loud in your mind. you tried to brush them off, but the words stuck, clinging to you like thorns. 

the next day at training, you were different. quieter. focused. when kika asked if you were okay, you only nodded, too afraid that anything you said might annoy someone. 

“you sure?” she pressed.

you nodded again, forcing a small smile. 

“weird,” she muttered under her breath, walking away. 

alexia and aitana exchanged glances, both noticing the shift. esmee tried to pull you into a conversation during a water break, but you only offered short replies, your usual energy gone. 

that night in the locker room, after everyone else had left, you stayed behind, the weight of it all finally crashing down on you. in the showers, the tears came hard and fast, your shoulders shaking as you tried to keep quiet. 

though the locker room echoed, and when you emerged, changed and ready to leave, alexia, kika, esmee, and ellie were waiting for you. 

“we heard you crying,” kika said softly, her eyes full of concern. 

“what’s going on?”

you hesitated, swallowing hard. 

“nothing.”

“don’t lie,” alexia said, her voice gentle but firm. 

“i don’t…” you trailed off, taking a deep breath. 

“i don’t want to annoy you guys.”

they all looked at you like you’d grown a second head. 

“annoy us?” esmee asked, incredulous. 

“i talk too much. i saw what people were saying online, and… maybe they’re right.”

“y/n,” alexia started, stepping closer. 

“we love you. all of us. you make this team better, not worse.”

“you think we don’t look forward to hearing your ridiculous jokes every day?” kika added, her tone light but sincere. 

“you’re the reason we laugh half the time.”

“is that mistake against bayern bothering you?” ellie chimed in. “it happens to everyone. it doesn’t define you.”

their words broke through the wall you’d built, and before you knew it, they were pulling you into a group hug. 

“promise us you won’t let those comments get to you again,” alexia said, her hand on your shoulder. 

you nodded, sniffling. 

“i promise.”

“good,” kika said, grinning. 

“now, what were you going to say about the athletic club match?”

and just like that, you found yourself rambling again. they listened, laughing and teasing you like always, reminding you that this was where you belonged. 

part two here

[taylorman2274]

We Care About You (Part V)

You are forcibly summoned to Teyvat via dream trawling for answers. A long awaited discussion ensues...

Content Warning(s): Xiao Story Quest Spoilers

Notes: SAGAU; GN!Reader;

Word Count: 1.4k

Previous || Next

Taglist: @silverstarred; @victoria1676; @angelofdarkness2; @areaderspov; @andromeda-gay; @ash1; @mercy-not-merci; @toodledoodl3; @jellyedkazoo; @namine123; @innuwu; @agaygothicmushroom; @tired-of-life-86; @fantasyhopperhea; @sweetsourbxtch;

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

After you had decided you were no longer going to play Genshin Impact, you felt as if a massive weight was lifted off your shoulders. Had the past few weeks really taken that much out of you?

"I suppose it did," you assumed as you were playing another game with your friend group. "I haven't felt this relieved in a long while."

You and your friend group spent many hours talking, laughing, raging, and sharing memes. When you noticed it was just past midnight, you felt that it was the best time to get some sleep. You bid goodbye to your friends, closed your computer, and went to take a quick shower.

While in the shower, thoughts began to ruminate in your head. "It's gonna be hard for me to find another game that will get me addicted as much as Genshin did. But maybe something in my backlog might work for now."

The thoughts continued after the shower, after brushing your teeth, and after getting in bed. "I almost forget what game I was playing before I started Genshin. Was it something I finished? If not, maybe I should go back to that."

Before long, you fell asleep. However, unbeknownst to you, your computer mysteriously turned itself back on and began to launch a certain application...

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

"Do I need to remind you again how to perform Dream Trawler?" Xiao asked.

"Nuh-uh," Paimon shook her head, setting down a Seven-Star Lamp. "Paimon has a great memory! First, we offer incense with respect for Rex Lapis. Next, we meditate and think of our target. Then, we shout 'Bring Forth Sin'!

"It's 'Devayaksha, Bring Forth Sin'," the Traveler corrected as they were adjusting the position of the censer.

"Right!” Paimon nodded, setting down another Seven-Star Lamp. “Lastly, we let loose a couple of arrows towards the two yaksha statues to... to uh... uhhh...".

"Tsk. Fools."

This conversation was taking place while the Traveler and Paimon were setting everything up for the Dream Trawler ritual. However, instead of going back to the two yaksha statues on the southern face of Mt. Tianheng, Zhongli suggested they perform the ritual at Luhua Pool.

"If my guess is correct, [Y/N] will most likely panic upon realizing where they are. If that's the case, it would be better for them if they weren't so close to the harbor. It's best if we do not attract any attention."

Both the Traveler and Paimon agreed. Neither of them wanted [Y/N] to be afraid. They only wanted to give them the warmest of welcomes.

"Are you two done yet?" Xiao asked, annoyed at how long it was taking to get everything set up.

The Traveler and Paimon walked up to Xiao. "Yep! Everything's set up just like last time."

Xiao nodded. "Good. Get ready to initiate the ritual."

The Traveler and Paimon nodded in return. They put the incense inside of the censer and began to meditate.

"Since we are dealing with someone from another world, I would imagine that a great deal of focus should be needed to summon [Y/N]. This is especially true since we have no idea what they look like. I'm sure Xiao warned you of the consequences this could cause should you not take this seriously.

Zhongli's words echoed in your mind as you put all of your focus towards [Y/N].

"Hmm..."

[Y/N], who has been with them since the beginning.

"Ohh..."

[Y/N], who has done their best to guide them along their journey.

"Ahh... Hmm..."

[Y/N]. [Y/N]. [Y/N]. [Y/N]. [Y/N].

"Devayaksha, Bring Forth Sin!"

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

...

... ...

... … …

It's cold.

You shifted in your sleep and immediately felt the lack of bedsheets surrounding your body.

Instead, you felt... rock? Sand?

Slowly opening your eyes, you were met with the cloudy midnight sky, trees with orangish-red leaves, and tall, rocky mountain peaks.

"...Wait. ...Why am I outdoors?"

Your eyes slowly began to adjust to the moonlight.

"...And why does this look so familiar?"

You brought your hand to the ground to begin pushing yourself up, but stopped moving once you noticed the light blue glow surrounding it.

"What the hell?!"

Shocking the exhaustion from your body, you quickly rose up from the floor, nearly losing balance as you stood due to how light you suddenly felt. You looked around the rest of your body and found that you were completely surrounded by the light blue glow.

"This has to be a dream... This has to be..."

"My job is done. I'm leaving now."

Startled, you quickly turned around to find three familiar persons standing a couple of yards away from you.

"Huh? Why don't you wanna stay?" A floating pixie asked.

"...Paimon?"

A short, tattooed man with azure hair scoffed in response. "I don't deal with mortals."

"...Xiao?"

You let out a crazed chuckle. "I've got to be dreaming."

Paimon, oblivious to your decreasing sanity, shook her head. "Nope! We summoned you here via dream trawling. Isn't that great?!"

You were silent for a few seconds before you responded. "Dream... trawling...?"

Sensing that you were still confused, Xiao sighed in annoyance. "You are [Y/N], right?"

Hearing the sound of your name shook some sense into you, but you still involuntarily nodded.

"Good. When you're ready to send them back, speak my name." Xiao told the Traveler before disappearing.

However, seeing Xiao disappear right in front of your eyes shook you even further. "Woah...! That looked way too realistic."

The Traveler let out a small cough to grab your attention. "If you wouldn't mind, [Y/N]. We summoned you here because we've been wanting to talk to you for some time now. Please, grab a seat."

They gestured toward a stone table that was definitely not there the last time you visited. They then sat down on the stone seat facing you. When they looked up, they realized that you hadn't even moved as much as an inch. Additionally, you stared straight at them, yet still appeared lost in thought. Sensing that you may still be bewildered about your current situation, they spoke up.

"You don't need to worry about anything, [Y/N]. There is nothing around here that will hurt you," they gestured to the seat again. "Please."

Had they been unable to see your chest moving in and out, both Paimon and the Traveler would have thought you to be a statue.

"This is a dream. This is real. This is a dream. This is real. This is a dream. This is real..."

Paimon shared a worryingly glance at the Traveler before floating on over to you. You were too oblivious to your surroundings to notice her approaching, but when she finally reached out a hand to tap your shoulder, you flinched back. Hard.

"Wahh! Sorry! Paimon's sorry!" Paimon quickly apologized.

Meanwhile, your brain was working in overdrive to assess the situation. "I felt her! I felt her! I'm not dreaming! I'm not dreaming! This is real! This is real! THIS IS REAL!"

"Paimon get back," the Traveler commanded, standing up from their seat. "They're in shock."

"In shock!? What do we do about that?" Paimon questioned.

The Traveler didn't respond, instead, they slowly began to walk towards you.

Becoming more aware of your surroundings, you noticed the Traveler approaching and slowly began to back up, raising your arms in front of your body. "No no no no. Don't come any closer."

However, the Traveler continued to walk forward one step at a time. They raised their hands up in the air. "It's okay, [Y/N]. It's okay."

You shook your head. "No, it's not okay," you rapidly spoke, breathing loudly. "I'm not supposed to be here."

"Yes, you are. We summoned you here."

You backed up into a broken stone pillar. "Why?" you asked, looking behind you for a quick second. "What did I do?"

They stopped in place before a sorrowful gaze appeared on the Traveler's face. "You’ve done nothing wrong."

Silence hung in the air for an agonizingly long time. Finally, you spoke:

"...Nothing?"

The Traveler nodded. "That’s right. We just want to talk."

You slowly lowered your arms. "About... what?"

Both the Traveler and Paimon smiled. "About our future journey together."

Confusion set upon you once again. "What? But I… I said I was done."

The Traveler sadly shook their head. "We know, but we can't let you leave. Not after all you have done for us."

Paimon chirped in. "Exactly! You're our friend after all!"

Your breathing stopped upon hearing Paimon. After all that effort you put into making amends with them. After believing that it was all for naught.

"You... you see me... as a friend?"

The Traveler nodded, their smile growing bigger. "We do."

Silence fell upon the three of you once again. This time, it was the Traveler who broke it.

"I think it's time we all grab a seat. Shall we?"

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

Author's Notes: I was originally going to make this longer, but I once again struggled at trying to write this scene out. It's hard trying to figure out how people should believably react to this scenario.

Because it's never happened before, duh.

Anyways, the next part will be the end of this series. Stick around for the ending!

[noharaaa]

𝐌𝐚𝐝 𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐧 & 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐥𝐮𝐠 (𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐬 𝐱 !𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐫!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫) II

Author’s Note: Disclaimer! This plot is not to encourage drug usage! Don’t do drugs people!

• Reader has no specific gender.

• Parody fic! This is all for jokes.

Enjoy Reading!

╰᭡⿴༘͜─𖧷̷۪۪᪇ ༘᪇𖧷̷۪۪⃟ꦽ⃟:: ᰰ۪۪꧇⿴༘⃕▦᰷᰷ᰰ

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲:

Back in your more questionable days, Choi Su Bong was a frequent (and unforgettable) customer. He’d show up at the oddest hours, paying in cryptic compliments and half-finished rhymes while buying from your stash. You were just trying to make a living, but he treated every transaction like a chapter in some epic cosmic romance. He was the aspiring rapper who thought the universe revolved around him, and you were the unlucky drug dealer stuck listening to his "intergalactic" bars. You thought those days were behind you….until now, when fate (or bad karma) brought him crashing back into your life in the most ridiculous way possible.

prev >>> part 3 ‖ 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

Before the next game, Six-Legged Pentathlon, everyone else appeared to be either psyching themselves up or planning their strategies. You had formed alliances well after the first game, teaming up with Se-mi and Min-su, both of whom seem like mentally balanced individuals. But then, as the timer for team formation was coming to an end, you caught a glimpse of something unsettling from the corner of your eye.

purple hair. Of course.

You already knew who it was before you even turned around, you felt him tap on your shoulder as he stood there with Nam-gyu by his side. “Hey, dealer,” he drawled, his purple hair catching the harsh fluorescent lights above. “Miss me?

Before you could say anything, the buzzer rang, locking you into a team with them.

“Great,” you muttered, already feeling a headache creeping up your brain.

As you sat in the circle waiting for the caterpillar race to begin, the five of you were herded to the starting area, each group bound together in teams. You knew a disaster was waiting to happen. You were seated next to Se-mi, while the purple-haired headache was seated on your other side.

And just when you thought the situation couldn’t get any worse, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted them.

Thanos, slipping Nam-gyu a… pill?

Your eyes widened as Nam-gyu caught your gaze and nudged Thanos, who turned toward you with a grin. “Enjoying the show?” 

You almost rolled your eyes, trying to look anywhere but at the visible build of sweat collecting near his hairline. He was fidgeting like a kid who’d had too much sugar, his leg bouncing up and down like he was ready to launch into orbit.

Classic signs. Oh, great. He’s freaking high.

Nam-gyu leaned over, whispering with an amused grin “Boss said you’re a drug dealer?”

“I was” you corrected sharply, shooting a glare his way. “Past tense.”

“Oh, right. Boss said you were the best.”

Thanos tapped his chest unfazed, “Still got it,” he murmured, shifting his shirt slightly to reveal a silver vintage cross necklace tucked inside. “You know….in case you’re interested.”

“I said im not a dealer anymore. I’m already told you im here to survive, not relive my ‘glory’ days with your… whatever that is.” You gestured at the pill situation vaguely.

“Oh, come on, Dealer! Not even a little for old times’ sake?”

“I’m serious, don’t call me that.”

You folded your arms, determined to ignore him. But then the game announcer’s voice boomed out of the speakers, and you watched as the first group of players was herded to the starting line, their faces pale as ghosts. Your stomach twisted into a knot in ways you hadn’t felt in years.

Okay. New rule, no panicking. you said to yourself.

Except your body did the exact opposite.

As you watched the first few teams fumble their way through the grueling physical challenges, the knot in your stomach tightened. Sweat beaded on your forehead, and your body went stiff..

Thanos noticed your unease because of course he did. He always had a knack for spotting weakness and exploiting it.

“Nervous?” he asked, leaning in just enough to make your skin crawl.

“I’m fine” 

You knew that was a damn lie. You’re scared to death!

“Just a thought you know…” he whispered. “You never know when you might need a little… boost.”

Se-mi moved closer to your side, “Is he for real trying to sell you drugs right now?”

“Apparently. This guy has no off switch.”

He elbowed you softly with his arm in an attempt to get your attention once again. He rotated the pill in his fingers, pretending to check for defects. His lips curled into a sly grin as he shot you a sideways glance.

"Tempting," he whispered at random in English.

You shot him a glare, but your heart was pounding, and your hands were clammy. The anxiety was bubbling up, making it impossible to think straight. You hated that he was there, with that stupid pill and that stupid face offering an easy way out.

“Fine, dammit. Just give it to me” 

Welp! There goes your stubborn pride…..

His grin widened as he pretended to ponder for a moment longer, holding the pill up to the light like it was a precious gem before finally handing it over. “Your wish is my command,”

This guy needs a good punch in the face (gotta make it out of here alive first!).

You swallowed it with a grimace after snatching it from his hand, waiting for the tension in your chest to ease. It wasn't too long before the sensibility of relief crept into your system.

For an oversized grapehead-looking guy? Maybe he wasn't entirely useless, just maybe. But admitting that out loud? Never in your life.

prev >>> part 3 ‖ 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

╰᭡⿴༘͜─𖧷̷۪۪᪇ ༘᪇𖧷̷۪۪⃟ꦽ⃟:: ᰰ۪۪꧇⿴༘⃕▦᰷᰷ᰰ

Author’s Note: (Leave a like! Or reblog! I respond to anyone ❤️)

@nikoeatschemicals

@audrey8864