#this is getting way more attention than it should have...

[wosospacegirl]

Youngest Putellas - platonic! reader

Summary: There was a shadow growing in the Putellas family, unnoticed, while everyone kept their attention on Alexia. Somehow, your mom's house and your city felt too small for both you and your sister.

Warnings: mentions of grief, angst, and just emotional stuff overall.

Word count: 4.5k

Info: This story is set before UEFA 2022. The reader has been in La Masia since she was a kid, went to Barça's A team but moved on loan to Real Madrid. She is about 21 here.

..

Your relationship with your sisters was always troubled. It was the type of relationship that was demanding, laborious even, that didn't stand on its own easily.

It had always been like that, though.

You were 7 years younger than Alexia, 5 years younger than Alba. They were always very close, always telling each other stuff, always getting each other's backs.

Alexia and Alba were the kind of sisters who exemplified what sisterhood was all about. Alba would sneak into Alexia’s bed in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep. She was the one Alexia turned to whenever she was struggling with friendships and didn’t know what to do

They weren't sisters. They were friends. Best friends.

You, on the other hand, always felt just like their relative. 

Someone who grew up in the same house, someone who just happened to have the same parents. 

But when you were younger, it was easier, somehow. You didn't notice how the two girls always seemed to read each other's minds while you were left alone, wondering what they were thinking.

You always thought it was because they were so close in age, they were going through basically the same stuff, the same growing pains.

With Alexia, it was even more difficult, and you honestly couldn't see why. You both enjoyed football, you were introverted and socially awkward in the same way, you had everything to get along, but you just didn't. 

Maybe it was because you two looked so much alike. 

It was hard looking at one's mirror every single day.

Your mum always tried to bring you sisters together, and it worked sometimes. 

Your relationship wasn't completely bad after all, it was just challenging. It was like both parts had to work hard to create a connection that clearly wasn't there.

..

You, foolishly, thought that getting into the Barcelona team would make it all easier, that it would bring you and Alexia together.

But it didn't.

Actually, getting into Barcelona was one of the worst experiences you have ever had. You had worked hard through La Masia to get where you were, to be called up to team A, but you were too young.

You had talent, but you let your emotions get the best of you on the pitch. On a good day, you would shine. On a bad day, you would let the ball slip out of your feet straight to the other team's defence.

The managers always made sure to tell you how different your game style was from your sister, the captain.

"You should learn from her, Y/n," they would say as you were hydrating on a very sunny day. "She has technique, she's composed on the pitch."

"You let your emotions guide you in the worst way possible."

"Alexia always has her head and heart in the game, you just have the heart."

They weren't wrong. Your play style was very different from your sister's. Alexia was collected on the pitch, it was like nothing could shake her. You weren't like that.

"I'm not made of stones" was what you usually said.

In the end, it was easy and good criticism. 

You needed to be more mature, on and outside of the pitch. 

Growing up as the youngest, it was all you would hear all the time. Most families say the youngest ones are the most babied, but in the Putellas family, the youngest was the one who had to grow up fast, trying to catch up to the older ones.

On the 2020-2021 season, you had an okay year. You had good games, bad ones too, but it wasn't nearly good enough for Barcelona. You were too young, still too immature.

But your contract wasn't close to the end, and Barcelona had no intention of paying the lease of a broken contract, so they gave you an option. 

Going on loan to Real Madrid or just accepting you were going to be benched for the remainder of the season.

You left the office without a proper answer. 

If you went to Real Madrid, you knew it would be a pure disgrace to your culer family, especially to your sister, but if you went there, you knew you would be able to play. 

Real Madrid needed a few defenders, and you were good enough for them. Your second option was staying in Barcelona and just... not playing. 

The Champions League was approaching. You knew you would never get there with Real Madrid, but you knew that if you got a medal for winning the UEFA with Barcelona, it wouldn't be by your own doing. The club had made sure you knew you would get zero minutes.

When you got home, Alexia, Alba and your Mom were already at the table, waiting for you to start dinner. 

Normally, Alexia would give you a ride, but you asked her to go without you. Instead, you took the metro, considering and rethinking everything that was said in the meeting room.

Everybody was talking. 

Alexia didn't talk about football, she never did with Mom and Alba. Alexia always said she needed people she could talk to about things other than football. People that made her feet like she was more than just a player. 

Maybe it was one of the reasons why the two of you didn't get along much. Besides football, you didn't have the same interests.

You liked music, playing instruments, mainly piano, which you learned from your Dad. 

He also loved it. He tried to teach Alexia, but he would say she only had coordination with her feet, then he tried Alba, who had the talent, but didn't care to practice, and then he tried you.

Third time's the charm, he said. You had the talent and the passion. You practised with him every night after he came home from picking up Alexia from training. He would sit you on his lap and teach you Catalan songs while Alba would sit at the foot of the piano, her doll in hand, playing house while Alexia would kick the ball against the wall.

It was messy, but everybody was together, everybody with their own interests.

But then Dad died. It was 2012. Alexia was only 18, Alba 16, and you were 11.

Alba and Mom cried a lot. 

Alexia and you not so much, but that didn't mean you didn't feel it in your bones. It wasn't sadness. 

Sadness would be too little to express the emptiness and the numbness that took over your body from such a young age. 

You didn't understand death, but when you asked your Mom or grandma about it, it seemed like they didn't understand it either.

When Alba would cry, you would be the first one to come hug her, say that Dad loved her, and that he was watching over from wherever he was. 

Alexia would come second, not knowing very well how to comfort someone, but feeling the weight of being the oldest.

After Dad, Alexia became, at the same time, more distant, but still more present. 

She was still at home; she didn't move out, even though she could. She was playing for the A team at Barcelona and had played for Spain as well. She chose to stay.

During one night, while you were supposed to be asleep, you heard her and Mom talk. Mom said she was overwhelmed. Alba was getting in trouble, sneaking out, talking with people she shouldn't, then she talked about you. 

You were surprised at first. You had tried your hardest to be the one who didn't cause problems, knowing Mom was missing Dad a lot, but she said she missed hearing you on the piano. 

You hadn't touched it since Dad passed away, months ago. It hurt to even look at it.

You didn't wait to hear Alexia, you went straight to bed.

The next day, you woke up with Alexia on your side of the bed. 

She was sitting there, her Barcelona jersey on. She told you you were going to play, that she wanted to hear a few songs. 

You said no. You didn't want to play for anyone who wasn't Dad.

She ignored you. She dragged you out of bed. The room you shared with Alba still pitch black. She forced you down on the piano bench.

"Play," she demanded, her voice cold, icy.

You shook your head. Why was she doing that? Didn't she know it hurt?

"Now, petita," [young sister] she said again, more harshly.

You tried to get away, but she held you back.

You started playing. Maybe if you finished it, maybe Alexia would let you go.

As you were hitting the piano keys, the same way Dad taught you, you felt the heaviness in your chest changing to something different.

It wasn't lighter, just... different.

You didn't notice you were crying until you felt the tips of your fingers wet. 

Water wasn't good for the piano. Dad never let any of you near it with anything liquid. 

You should stop. Take a towel and clean it, but you couldn't. The song wasn't done yet.

So you kept going. Maybe if you finished it, then Dad would make himself known to you again, maybe you would feel the love people swore he left.

People always told you Dad had gone, but that he was still here, that he left parts of himself in each of his daughters. 

But you didn't see Dad when you looked in the mirror, you didn't see Dad when you looked at your sisters. He was nowhere to be seen because he wasn't here anymore. 

He wasn't going to come back.

The stupid piano would be here, and he wouldn't.

When you realised you were hitting the keys with more force than intended, and Alexia was calling you, shaking you, screaming your name.

"Para ya!" [Stop it!] she shouted. Tears were streaming down her face, she was sobbing, and her face was completely red. "Para, para ya!"

You stopped at the same time Mom and Alba ran downstairs, probably having heard the screams and crying.

Mom didn't know what to do. Alexia was crying hysterically, hands on her face, while you were crying too, but it was like your fingers were glued to the piano. 

You weren't playing anymore, but they were there, on the exact keys they should be on to continue the song.

On one side of the room was the youngest daughter of Eli, a kid who had just lost her father and one of her greatest passions along with it. 

On the other, was the older kid, who had just turned into an adult, but was still very much her baby.

Your Mom went to Alexia, hugged her tight, telling her to breathe. Alba went in your direction, gently taking your hands off the piano while cleaning your cheeks from the tears.

Dad should be here. He would know how to make it better. He should be here. He was the missing piece. Your family wouldn't be the same without him.

You cried on Alba's shoulder, her hand patting your back as if you were a toddler who scraped her knee.

She was murmuring something about also missing Dad, that it was okay.

But it wasn't. She knew it wasn't okay, too.

The chaotic Moment only escalated when Alexia got up from the sofa, getting away from Mom's arms. 

She pointed at the piano, eyes full of hatred. 

"Get it away from here, throw it in the trash, I don't want it here!"

You barely had time to process.

You freed yourself from Alba’s arms before throwing the top half of your body on the piano, holding it tightly. It was cold against your naked arms, but you didn’t mind.

It was yours to keep. Your memory of Dad. The piano was Dad. 

"No! You can't do that," you said in between tears, looking betrayed at both Mom and Alexia. "It's mine, it’s Dad's!"

Why were they doing that? They didn’t want Dad in the house again? How could they see the piano and not feel Dad’s comforting presence?

Didn’t Mom remember how Dad would always sing a romantic song for her on Valentine's Day? Didn’t Alba remember how Dad would play her favourite cartoon songs on the piano?

Had Alexia forgotten how Dad would always play Barcelona’s anthem for her? Had they all forgotten what the piano meant?

Maybe they did remember. Maybe it was just too much for them to look at every day. 

But it wasn’t trash, they couldn’t throw it away, not without erasing Dad’s memory along with it.

"It can't be here," Alexia said between her teeth. "Dad's not here anymore, no reason to keep it."

"Girls, calm down, let's breathe," Mom said, trying to ease the situation, but it didn't work, because you and Alexia continued to argue. 

You didn't remember what you said, you also couldn't remember what Alexia said.

What you did remember was how Alexia told Mom that she would move out if the piano wasn't gone.

Mom had just lost her husband, she couldn't lose her oldest kid, too. So she chose Alexia.

The piano was gone the next morning.

Now, sitting at the table, you looked to the corner of the living room, where the piano was some years ago. 

You stared at it. It had nothing now, it was just a corner. Then you looked at the table, surrounded by what was left of your family.

"I'm moving to Madrid," you said, tapping at the table anxiously.

And that's when it all got so much worse.

..

Alexia didn't drive you to the airport; Alba did. She was smiling, but you could tell how she really felt about the whole situation; she didn't want you to go, didn't agree with it, but she understood why you were doing it.

Mom was still a mystery. The night before your flight, she helped you pack everything carefully, telling you that she was proud of you for following your own pace and for making a decision that she knew was best for your career. She filled your cheeks with kisses and tucked you in before she closed the door to your room.

The next morning, though, she prepared breakfast and cried over your eggs. You didn't say anything, just hugged her tight and told her you were going to be okay, that you were a few hours away. You were moving cities, not countries.

You had a final breakfast with your family, but you couldn't help but look up at the door, the back door everyone used instead of the front one, the door Alexia was supposed to walk through any minute because she was your sister and your captai,n and she needed to say goodbye, right?

You drank a cup of coffee and Alexia wasn't there.

You drank a second one, still no sound of Alexia's car.

When you were on your way to make the third, Mom held you hard. "She's not coming, petita."

"Oh," you said, putting your cup down. "Why? She's got training?"

Maybe she had something important. Ever since you agreed to go on a loan, Barcelona had blocked your access to the players' schedule, so you really didn't know.

Mom opened her mouth, then closed it.

You understood it right away.

Alexia wasn't coming because she didn't want to. Simple as that.

You nodded to Mom, trying to put on a brave face. She was already anxious that you were moving out to a city you'd never been in; she didn't need to know you were sad because your sister wasn't coming to say goodbye.

Your dumb, self-centred sister.

She did everything for her team, especially the youngest players, but couldn't seem to be there when you needed her the most.

You knew why, of course.

Alexia had treated it as some sort of betrayal when you told her you picked Real Madrid instead of Barcelona. You tried telling her, explaining that in Barça you were not getting any minutes as a defender, but she didn't listen.

She told you how selfish you were being, that you couldn't move away from them, that Mom and Alba would miss you—she never mentioned herself���then she talked about how idiotic you were for going to a "low-class club" that barely had won anything.

You told her to stop multiple times. Told her that you weren't asking her, you were just letting her know you were moving.

When she mentioned Dad, things escalated. She said how sad Dad would be to have one of his daughters play for a club he hated.

That was when you took your plate, still filled with food, and threw it on the floor, next to Alexia's feet. You aimed it so it wouldn't hurt her, of course. Your sister was getting on your nerves, but no need to draw blood.

You didn't remember what happened next. Alba took you to your room, Mom stayed in the kitchen, calming Alexia and cleaning everything up.

You felt bad for the plate. It was Mom's favourite.

..

Mom was crying as soon as you got to the gate, ready to fly. You had the plane ticket in one hand, your luggage in the other, and your backpack on your back.

Alba was holding Nala, the little family dog. If it wasn't for your mom, Nala would be the family member you would miss the most—sorry, Alba.

"I need to go," you said, smiling down at Nala and scratching her head. "I'll miss you, you behave for Mom, okay?"

Nala just looked at you, not understanding what goodbyes meant.

Alba held you tight when you went in for a hug. "Don't go all crazy in Madrid, please," she said. "I mean it, I've been twenty-one before, I know how exciting things can be."

You rolled your eyes. "I'm going there for work, not to party."

Alba giggled. "You sound just like Alexia."

She quickly realised what she had said and looked at you pitifully, whispering a small "sorry."

You waved it off before kissing Mom goodbye. "You take care of yourself," Mom said between tears. "Take a taxi and go straight to the apartment, don't talk to anyone at the airport and—"

"Mom!" you said, smiling a bit. "Calm down, it's okay, I know how to care for myself."

"You are too young," Mom murmured while fixing a string of hair that was out of place on your head. "Older kids are supposed to be the first ones moving, not the youngest... you're my baby."

"Mama, I'm not a baby."

"Don't talk to your mother like that," Mom huffed. "You always will be, you three."

Three.

Three Putellas Seguras were supposed to be here, not just two.

Then, your flight was called. You had to go now.

You gave them both another round of hugs. Parting was weird, it was like the goodbyes were never enough. In reality, they never were.

You turned around, waving at them before entering the gate and walking through the tunnel straight into the plane.

When you sat in your seat—window seat, yay—you checked your phone one last time before the flight took off.

There were some messages, some from friends and players at Barcelona, telling you to enjoy and make the best out of this moment.

Another one from Alba, a selfie with her, Mom and Nala saying "Mom's saying she misses you already."

But the one that got your attention was written under the name of Ale.

"Text me when you land. Don't trust those Madristas."

You smiled at the message because, of course, Alexia was paranoid. 

But she was also telling you to be safe. It was the closest Alexia could get to "I love you."

Still, you didn’t answer.

Alexia was still going to be Alexia, no matter what place in the world you would move to. She was cold, but warm when she wanted to be. She cared a lot, so much that she couldn't push herself to show it. Felt so much about everything, but still, decided to keep everything to herself.

That was who Alexia was. And it was hurting you.

You hurt her, too, you knew that. Maybe because you reminded her of Dad, maybe because the similarities between you two were too noticeable.

You weren't sure. Maybe you would never know.

Still, you wished your sister were here to say goodbye.

You sighed as you put on your earphones as the flight took off.

..

When you got to Madrid a few hours later, you felt like you had just opened a new chapter in your life. This was the place to make a difference for yourself, away from your sister's shadow.

Barcelona was her city. Madrid was yours now, even though you had just set foot in it. You would make it your place. You'd always felt like Barcelona wasn't quite right for you. 

The memory of your dad–and the version of your family you should’ve had–always haunted those streets

Madrid was still pure of any of your sins. You had never played football on these streets. Never sneaked out to a party here. Alba had never taken you to get a tattoo hidden from Mom. Alexia had never taken you drinking on your 18th birthday here.

You were the only Putellas in Madrid. Maybe you didn't quite know what that meant, but it mattered. Somehow it did.

You were good enough to text Mom that you had gotten off the flight safely, and that you were already sprawled on the floor of your new apartment. 

Mom called right away, demanding to video call so you could show her the apartment, which you did.

On the screen, the only faces were those of your Mom and Alba. It seemed like Alexia had decided not to show up at Mom’s at all that day.

You decided to ignore it. While also keeping in mind that you had yet to text her that you had landed... well, maybe mom already told her.

You showed Mom and Alba your apartment. It was small, just one room, one bathroom, a kitchen and a living room. It was in an apartment complex for players, so you had already met a few of your teammates.

They seemed nice, not any of those weird stories Alexia had told you about them being snakes. Maybe Alexia had taken to heart all of those stories Dad told when they were younger. Dad was the most culer of them all, after all.

The next day, you got your training kit and were asked to see if everything fitted so they could take a few pictures of you for media day.

As soon as you put on the Real Madrid jersey, you cried.

You thought about calling Mom, or Alba, even Alexia, but you didn't.

You chose to move away, which meant dealing with things on your own.

That badge felt wrong on you, the colour white looked horrible on your skin, and the whole situation felt off.

What were you doing? Wearing these colours? Defending another team? Maybe Alexia was right, maybe Dad was very upset right now, maybe this wasn't the life he had envisioned for you.

But what was the life he expected of you? Being a benchwarmer in Barcelona? Being compared to your sister all the time? La Reina of Barcelona?

You didn't know what was expected of you. You also didn't know what you wanted. You thought you wanted to come to Madrid, but now the decision felt exactly as Alexia said it was—stupid.

..

Okay, everything was fine, actually, you thought to yourself as you were being guided into Real Madrid's training grounds. It looked nice and modern. You were scared of how it was going to look. You knew Real Madrid didn’t exactly prioritise investing in the women’s team.

You did some pictures and a lot of videos for their Instagram. In a matter of days, everybody knew that you went on loan. You had read the comments, people saying it was shocking to see a Putellas in white, others congratulating you for taking this difficult step.

You did some training on the pitch with the other girls. Their training was more focused on the individual players rather than on the team, which you thought was weird, but hey, who were you to say anything?

When you lay down to sleep that night, you texted Mom to let her know how everything was. It felt good to listen to her voice.

"How are you, petita?"

"I'm okay, Mom," you said. You weren't telling her that you cried your eyes out a few days ago because you couldn't make pasta the same way she did. "And you? How's Alba... Alexia?"

"I'm good, just missing my petita," your mom said, sadly. "But your sisters are being good to me. Alba has been taking me to pilates, Alexia always comes home after training to watch TV with me."

"I'm glad, Mama," you answered. "You should focus a bit on yourself now, you spent almost thirty years taking care of us."

"I like taking care of my girls," she said, "but enough of that, how's training? Have you made any good friends?"

The way mom said it, it looked like she was asking if you had anyone to share your lunch with during recess.

"Yes, Mama, I've been getting close to Teresa," you said. "She's nice, she lives in the complex too, she's showing me around Madrid."

"Oh, that makes me so happy!" Mom said. "You keep focusing on yourself, bebita, focus on your football, on your friends, I want you to feel good."

"I'm working on that, Mama," you said. "I need to go now, but I'll call you tomorrow!"

"One thing before we say goodbye, petita," Mom said. "Have you been calling your sister? I know you call Alba, but what about Ale?"

Not that conversation again. Since you moved to Madrid a few weeks ago, Mom had been prying about you and Alexia's relationship, asking if you had been talking. You knew she was asking that of you and not Alexia because you were way more open than Alexia could ever be.

"We talk, Mom," you lied. "Don't stress over us, okay? We love each other."

At least you hoped Alexia loved you.

Mom sighed. "Just... call her more often. She told me she misses giving you rides to training."

And with that, Mom ended the call, and you were left wondering.

Alexia absolutely hated to give you rides. She said it messed up with her morning routine, that you ate breakfast too slowly, that you always slammed her car's door, even though you didn't.

Maybe it was because Alexia didn't really express her feelings, maybe it was because you couldn't fathom someone missing you.

Still, it sat there, aching in a corner of your chest.

..

a/n: "El Cant dels Ocells" (The Song of the Birds) is a famous Catalan song. It's very pretty, you guys should listen to it!! <3 -> I don't know where the idea of this fic came from. I'm reading some books where the author just writes whatever in their character's mind, so I tried to do this here. That's why the reader sounds so messy and confused, because she is haha. -> Also, I plan to write more about the reader's story. I know she'll end up in Arsenal at some point (I want to write something about Alexia and the reader against each other in the UEFA final hehe, but we'll see where we go.

[venusalexian]

could we possibly have something like reader is having a rough day, some of the girls are going to try pull a prank on her but when it happens she just bursts out crying (not because of the prank more because it’s just one of the many things today that’s gone wrong)incomes protective maternal ale, shooting all the girls glares and taking r home, laying on the sofa with her talking through the day and what’s got her so down?

got a bit carried away, so a bit longer than the others, hope you enjoy it!

too much

hurt/comfort – tw: lots of descriptive anxious thoughts, the comfort takes a while to appear

-> neurodivergent reader is having a horrible day, and a non-malicious prank is the last straw (based on my own anxious adhd experience :))

Everything felt wrong. You had tossed and turned half the night, barely getting a few hours of sleep before your alarm went off. Your performance in the game the day before had tormented you. The team still had won, but you could not get over the feeling of letting everyone down on such an important match as a semifinal was. Your thoughts over and over again ran through everything you had done wrong, and how disappointed your loved ones must be.

When you opened your eyes, the light through your window was too bright. The noise from the road was too loud. Your coffee was too bitter. Your usually comfy training clothes itched all over. Your sports bra felt constricting over your chest.

None of the songs on your car felt right, just adding to the noise around you. Your leg bounced, and your hand tapped on the wheel nonsensically. The day was barely starting, and you already wanted it to end. You didn’t want anyone to worry, though, to have to take care of you when they should be mad at you. To feel bad because you’re younger when you’re grown enough to work things out yourself. So you put a smile on your face before going into the training grounds.

You try to act normal. Try to pay attention to the conversations you’re pulled into, try to answer at the right times, and ignore the way you feel physically off.

But they still notice something is wrong because they know you. Because you don’t come in talking excitedly about your latest obsession, you don’t hum or whistle any songs stuck in your head, you don’t seek physical contact. It all screams that something is wrong to them. They think you’re just a bit sad, though. Just some cheering up will do. So the younger ones, the ones you’re slowly becoming friends with, even being less than a season in, think all you need is some fun.

You don’t see it coming. You’re too in your head to notice their barely concealed smirks, their incriminating looks at each other, their not-so-subtle scheming.

You enter the locker room after training, ready to go home and not interact with the world until the next day. You go through your usual motions, but when you open your locker to get your towel to have a quick shower, a picture with a note falls out. It’s you at the game, after the player you had been defending skipped past you and you slipped to the ground.

You know it’s not malicious, you’re usually the first one to share silly stickers of you and your teammates over text, and to send them funny fan-made jokes. But today your head is not being kind, so instead of seeing any fun in it, it sees confirmation of all your worst thoughts. Of not being enough, of your teammates being disappointed, of your friends not really liking you. So instead of laughing and joking back, as they expect you to, you go silent, curl yourself up into the bench with your legs pulled to your chest, your face tucked into your knees, your hands over your ears.

And then it gets worse, because the noise around you gets louder and the one in your head too. You’re making a scene, making it worse; they will not like having to pity you, take care of you. You should go, leave, but you can’t. Can’t get your head up and face them, can’t confirm the hurtful thoughts in your head. You don’t think your legs would hold you up either way.

“Everybody out. Now.”

Alexia’s voice cuts through the clutter. 

After a couple of seconds, the room is entirely silent. The lack of noise lightly relaxes the tension on your shoulders. Then, you feel her hands on your wrists, gently pulling them down. You let her.

“Hey, carinyo. It’s okay, you’re okay. It’s just you and me now. Can you look at me?”

It takes you a few minutes to move your head, but she doesn’t press you or ask again, letting you take your time. She’s not screaming, not berating you for making a scene, not laughing at your performance on the game, you rationalize. Ultimately, she’s Ale. She’s safe, you know, even in this state. She’s proven it to you, to your teammates, she’s reliable and kind and caring. That gives you enough confidence to do as she asks.

When you look into her eyes, they’re soft, warm.

“Hey, thank you, carinyo.” The affectionate nickname soothes you further.

“Wanna come with me? I’d feel better if I could make sure you’re okay.”

You think about it. You really don’t want to burden her. But you don’t think you could drive yourself home right now. And you’re not gonna lie to yourself, you want the comfort even if you don’t fully feel like you deserve it. You nod.

You let her help you stand up, gather your things, and guide you to her car with an arm over your shoulders—warm and protective. You stay silent in the car, but the music is pleasant and soothing, and her presence is, too. 

She drives you home. You barely have to verbalize anything. You nod to the bathroom, and she understands you’re going to shower. You come out much more relaxed, finally in soft, comfortable clothes. You sit with her on the sofa, where she had settled herself, waiting for you. Once again, you don’t need to speak. She opens her arms and you respond to the hug, tuck yourself close. Finally seeking that physical closeness you’ve needed all day. You try to speak, think she deserves for you to explain yourself, but all that comes out is a whisper of a “sorry”.

She shushes you.

“No, carinyo. No sorry. It’s okay for today. You know they didn’t mean to upset you right?”

You nod.

“And that it’s okay to need help if it’s a bad day, that we all have them.”

You hesitate this time. You do know, but it doesn’t fully feel like it right now. You try to rationalize again, though, that she’s right. That you know she is. But that even if you didn’t, you’d trust that she does. Because even in the short time she’s been your captain, you’ve learnt she usually does. You’ve seen her take care, in one way or another, of most of your teammates and friends. So you nod again. The silence stretches for a while. You finally feel strong enough to articulate something more.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, carinyo, of course. Now, we’ll speak tomorrow, yeah? Let’s give you tonight to feel better.”

“Yes, that sounds perfect.”

“Great. Now, what do you want to watch? Please, no trashy reality like Jana or criminal show like Vicky.”

That makes you smile.

Tomorrow, when you wake up much better, you will talk. You’ll tell her what happened, the thoughts that plagued your mind, even if you blush, stammer, and sigh through it. You’ll say to her that this happens sometimes, not often now, it was worse when you were younger. Now you have mechanisms that allow you to deal with it better. She listens attentively, wants to learn how this works for you, wants to be able to look for the signs. She’ll share about her own struggles after her injuries, about how tough it was for her to ask for help. Then she’ll ask about how you’d prefer to go about it if she notices, if she thinks it’s affecting you over what you should take.

The conversation is far from perfect. You are unable to articulate some stuff and still feel a bit wrong for burdening her. But it helps.

You will also answer your friends' apologetic, worried texts and also share some more with them about what happened. And next time something like this occurs, it never escalates because they can tell now, and they can help.

[strwberrybils]

BUT I'M A CHEERLEADER! with billie eilish.

୧ ‧₊˚ you have what most would consider a perfect life. beauty, brains, and a wild talent for cheerleading. all you were missing was the perfect partner-- and you should like this boy in your english class, the one with pretty brown eyes and soft skin, but you find yourself longing for something that's completely different-- the basketball player with long hair and a mean attitude. billie.

pairings and aus: ball player!billie eilish 𝑥 cheerleader!fem!black reader

warnings. clichés everywhere. based off of the movie 'but i'm a cheerleader', though it's pretty general plot. swearing. drugs and alcohol. suggestive content. the ending is a little dookie sorry…anyways!

gabi's quick thoughts. i'm so back with writing and i'm sooo pumped about it! i'm gonna be making a wip post so stay tuned for that hehe i'm trying to be a bit more organized

word count: 10k

masterlist ‧₊˚ taglist

“CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?” your teammate and best friend squealed in your ear beside you, the sound of ruffling pom-poms filling your ears, your head shaking as you let out a soft chuckle. the pair of you kept treading down the hallway as lilia spoke, “we’re playing against the tigers for the first time! the tigers, y/n. you know they only let the best teams in LA play them– isn’t that wild?”

“no, it definitely is,” you hum in agreement, your feet trailing over to your locker as your eyes thinned into slits, focusing on the combination that you’ve forgotten one too many times. lilia rests on the locker next to yours as you swing the door open, replacing your chemistry books for stat ones. when lilia sees the over, it coaxes a groan out of her. “fuck, i forgot we’ve got a test in there today. did you take notes?”

“just sit behind me.” you pretend to be annoyed, but you didn’t really mind all that much. between you and your best friend, you were more math oriented, and she, more history focused. you wouldn’t say you necessarily favored the idea of cheating, but if it was going to keep you excelling in mr. evans’ rigorous government class, you were going to do what had to be done.

you didn’t accept falling short in anything. in your appearance, you’d spend hours perfecting your curls in the mirror or spending more than you’d like to on braids, parts clean and long-lasting. you’d spend your saturday afternoons winding down from cheer competitions and grabbing matcha with lilia, bria, and tori, the four of you getting facials or your nails done as well. 

in your sports and hobbies, you definitely didn’t accept being anything but first. you were cheer captain on both competitive and sideline levels, leading the team in cheers at the friday night games and on saturdays the following morning. 

in academics, you pushed to have at least a ninety-five in every class, and you excelled. your parents were more than proud of you, alongside your teachers, who granted you pretty much any academic award that could be given. honor roll, top of the class, most likely to get accepted into an ivy league– you were literally handed it all.

and although you didn’t necessarily ask for it, it landed you quite a bit of attention in school. girls longed to be friends with you, especially because of your bubbly and likeable character. you weren’t rude to anyone unless you were pushed severely, but it was rare that it would ever take place, and it hadn't just yet. boys constantly tried to see which one of them would be able to at least take you out on a date, but you would always let them down slowly.

except for once.

just a few days prior, a sweet football player named isaiah had come up to you after the last class of the day, only mere seconds after the bell had rung. you were grabbing your cheer clothes and making your way to the aux gym when he had stopped you in the hallway.

“excuse me? y/n?” he had asked you, voice a bit scratchy, but in an endearing sort of a way. you stopped in your tracks and flashed a sweet smile, “hey isaiah! what’s up?”

there was a moment of comfortable silence between the two of you, and you assumed he was trying to find the right words to say to you, like he hadn’t really thought this all through in his head. or maybe he did– and was just a little more nervous now.

you took the opportunity to give him a good look. you knew of him, and had quick, short-lived conversations after football games or a rigorous test after english class, but that was pretty much the only time you’ve had face-to-face interactions with him. you did know that his father was the principal and his mother was on the school board, which would usually be used as an assumption to him being some sort of preppy asshole, but he was a lot like the opposite. sweet, smart…all the things that you had in common.

he wasn’t too bad looking, either. he had thick black curls, which fell perfectly, adorning his soft chocolate eyes. he had thick, plump lips that always half-smiled whenever he talked, and had beautiful dark skin, embroidered with patches of lighter skin that freckled over his face. 

you clocked out of your staring when he spoke, “i saw you at the game the other night, doing all those flips and things.” a chuckle passed through his lips as he scratched the back of his neck, and you shared his offer of laughter, nodding at his statement. “yup, that’s my speciality.” 

“it’s cool,” he says, and the silence between his statements are shorter now. “no pressure– but i just wanted to say that i thought– well, i still think– that you’re really beautiful, and if you were down for it, it’d love to take you out on a date?”

you were reluctant to answer. you hadn’t really ever seen isaiah in that way initially, but you didn’t really have an excuse as to why you couldn’t say yes. he was respectful, good-looking, and insanely well-rounded. so you flashed a sweet smile at him and accepted his offer, and he had walked you to cheer practice after that.

your date was scheduled for tomorrow, and you were feeling only half-excited about it. he planned to pick you up at 6 o’clock for dinner, and instructed you to wear something pretty formal. you still didn’t know what you were wearing, mainly because you honestly forgot you were even going on the date. but your girls had insisted on coming over for a sleepover tonight after the game to prep you and help you with your outfit, and it was also a good excuse to hangout with each other.

the one-minute warning bell rings, snapping you out of your thoughts, and lilia starts to walk the other way to her own classroom, blowing you two kisses before turning on her heel and disappearing down the hallway. you mimic her actions and start towards the english classroom, which is what you had before lunch, followed by the upcoming math test. 

you speedwalk on the way there, as you only have now less than sixty seconds to get to class, but as you’re walking, your feet cross, stepping on an untied shoelace of yours, and your books fly out of your embrace and onto the floor– and you follow them. your face hits the floor hard and you wince out, biting your lip to avoid screaming out of pain. your hands slide against the floor to raise yourself up off of the ground, and as you look up, your eyes are met with a pair of pristine and polished jordan’s.

as you stand up, you see a hand reach out, and you grab it, the person’s strength almost completely lifting you in the air. you dust off your true religion jeans and look up, and you lock eyes with a girl.

billie o’connell.

you haven’t ever really talked to her, but you did know that she was on the girls’ basketball team– a star player, in fact. she was the reason your school had the best girls’ varsity team in the whole county, quite literally undefeated. you also knew that she was always outside on the bleachers during lunch, either writing in her sketchbook or smoking, which the school board basically let her get away with, because she got suspended so many times that they no longer cared what she did, as long as no teacher for administrator outright saw it.

she lets out a small chuckle as she finishes helping you out of your dismay, “you okay, dude? you’re bleeding a little.” she points to her own chin to show you the spot.

you tapped the same spot on your own chin, pulling back and examining your finger– and sure enough, there was blood. only a little, but it was still there. but you didn’t really care all that much, what you cared about was her.

you studied her for a couple seconds longer than you’d really like to admit. she had her hair thrown into a simple yet sleek ponytail, clad in clothes that were so big, two of you’s could probably fit in them. she had on black jorts and a boxy white tee that peeked out underneath her playboy hoodie, paired with blue and white jordan’s that didn’t have a single mark on them. she had on a few silver necklaces and rings, and a tattoo that peaked out of her shirt. you literally couldn't take your eyes off of her.

“yo? you good?” billie questioned you, and the ringing bell followed right behind her statement. you scrambled for your books and darted right past her, yelling a ‘thank you’, though it’s sound disappeared as quickly as you did. 

you quickly approached your classroom and opened the door, and everyone’s eyes gravitated towards you. most people looked surprised, because in all of your years of high school, never have you been late to class. 

“miss l/n, do you have a slip or note to excuse your tardiness?” your english teacher asks, and embarrassment courses within you, your hands shaking as you fumbled to find the words. “um,” you started, feet shifting, “i’m so sorry, mrs. dalton– i fell in the hallway and dropped all of my books, a-and that’s how i got this–” you pointed to the spot on your chin that still appeared red, and of course, your teacher believed you. she nodded and instructed you to take a seat, and that she would excuse you.

you thanked her under your breath and sat in your usual seat, which was right next to isaiah. his eyes were pasted on you with every move that you made– putting your bag down, slipping into the seat, grabbing your utensils for class– his gaze never left you the entire time. you noticed it out of your peripheral, and for some reason, it made you slightly uncomfortable. the way he was looking at you wasn’t necessarily the issue, it was just the fact that he was looking at all. 

but you don’t focus on him. you sit up straight and rest your head in your palm, eyes boring into the chalkboard before you as you try to concentrate on whatever mrs. dalton is blabbing on about, but for the first time, you physically can’t. your mind is racing, and mrs. dalton’s voice is muffled behind the thick fog in your mind, the kind that doesn’t roll away no matter how hard you squint or straighten your posture or fiddle with the cap of your pen. your page is mostly blank, except for the faint blue indent of where you pressed the tip too hard, zoning out halfway through writing the date and your name in big, neat cursive lettering. your hand rests near the bottom corner of your notebook, still trembling a little from earlier– and not from the fall, but from her.

you hadn’t even spoken to her before, but billie o’connell felt loud in your head, banging with bold print and underlined twice.

you blink down at your page and try to remember what mrs. dalton’s talking about– something about motifs, maybe tone–? but your brain is stuck on the slight rasp in billie’s voice. the way she looked at you when she said you were bleeding. it wasn’t concern like most people gave you, the type laced with pity or panic– it was observational. matter-of-fact. you’re bleeding. like she was just stating it so you’d know. like she noticed things, and maybe she noticed you.

you shift in your seat, subtly, suddenly aware of your pulse thudding under your skin. you hadn’t expected her to be that gentle. you had never really spoken to her, but people always rumored that she was mean and non-confrontational, often full of one-liners and slick comments to teachers and students alike. 

however, everyone always did say that she was pretty, but that was it. no one ever made comments beyond baseline beauty, but what you saw in her was something that surpassed the vague word of mere conventional looks.

she was… captivating.

a little disheveled, but intentional about it. soft around the eyes, though the rest of her was something much rougher, though equally ethereal. she had tattoos that you probably weren’t supposed to notice because they peeked out just beneath the fabric, like they were secrets only the lucky ones got to see.

and her hands. sweet mother of pearl, her hands.

you’d felt her palm curl around yours when she helped you up, and it stayed with you– how stupidly strong she was, but not rough at all. your fingers felt swallowed by hers in a way that should’ve made you feel small, but instead made you feel held.

your gaze drops to your hand, now wrapped loosely around your pen.

you wonder if her skin was as warm as you remember, or if your brain just made it up to keep the moment longer. you were honestly so wrapped in her– in her gaze, her touch, her beauty– that it made it extremely difficult to remember what actually happened. had you imagined it all?

you okay, dude?

you replay it again, and again, and again, the syllables etching themselves into the softest part of your memory. it was only three words, but they oozed with something that surpassed surface level care. it was like she was actually somewhat worried about you, and based on what others have said, that didn’t exactly match her stoic persona.

“miss l/n?”

your eyes dart up instantly. mrs. dalton is looking directly at you, arms crossed, chin tilted, eyebrow arched in that way that means she knows you weren’t paying attention, and she’s clearly trying to catch you in a question that she thinks you won’t have the answer to.

but you’re smarter than that.

“can you tell me what the author is trying to imply in the second stanza?”

you blink once. twice. then lower your gaze to the open textbook on your desk. the paragraph is highlighted from last week– yellow and bright and sloppy because you’d been talking to lilia while you did it, but still, it’s readable. and even though you weren’t fully tuned in just now, the answer is already there in your brain, tucked neatly between test prep and cheer choreography.

“he’s using metaphor to describe guilt,” you say calmly, “he feels responsible, but he’s not ready to admit it out loud. so he masks it in language about weather. storms and thunder. stuff like that.”

a couple snaps come from mrs. dalton, and she gives you a bright smile, satisfied with your answer. “correct. nice job.”

you give a tight-lipped smile and look back down at your notes, scribbling the date again just to look busy, to at least pretend that you’re paying attention so that you can retreat back to your comfortable daydreaming. but as you write, that uncomfortable feeling returns– that gaze.

it’s isaiah’s.

“you didn’t even hear the question,” he whispers, leaning over slightly, but you already heard him. you wonder if he does that to mask the fact that he just wants to be close to you. “how’d you still get it right?”

you shrug, keeping your eyes forward. you’re not trying to be mean, but you were thinking of other things that had nothing to do with him, “i dunno, i honestly just remembered it from last week’s lecture.”

he chuckles under his breath, clearly amused, and you can feel the heat of his attention on the side of your face, and it’s not appealing to you at all. 

“you’re like, scary smart. for real. i need you to teach me that sometime.”

“mm,” you hum, giving a faint nod of acknowledgment, but that’s all you offer up. out of the corner of your eye, you can see that he’s finding something to say to keep the conversation going, but it’s quiet for a second, and honestly, you would prefer for it to be that way.

but of course, isaiah being isaiah, he doesn’t give up yet. there’s a beat of silence before he tries again, this time, his voice a little more inquisitive, like he’s just trying to get even another small conversation out of you. 

“you okay, though? you hit the floor pretty hard.”

you turn your head a fraction, just enough to give him a polite smile. it’s not necessarily a fake one, but you wished that he would just catch the hint that you weren’t really in the mood, “yeah i’m good! just really clumsy.”

he laughs a little at that, then nods like he doesn’t really know what else to say, and turns back toward the front.

you feel bad, sort of. he’s being sweet. and he was cute, if you were looking at it from an objective standpoint– but sweet and ‘attractive to most’ feels hollow right now. it’s not the kind that sticks, not the kind that really resonates with how you truly feel in the inside.

and it’s definitely not like billie.

you shouldn’t be thinking about her like this. not when you have a date tomorrow. not when isaiah is sitting literally right next to you, being soft and kind and trying to get you to talk, which you usually did, so he probably thought something was off.

but something in you is already detaching, floating a little higher in your mind, to that moment in the hallway where everything felt different. it’s nothing like you’ve had with isaiah, as those experiences were always so short-lived and bland. it wasn’t like you hated them, but the spark was only half-there. like if you thought about it hard enough, you’d feel it a little bit. but with billie, she had only said nearly ten words to you, and you were already falling. literally.

you couldn’t stop thinking about when her fingers wrapped around yours and you forgot where you were for a second. when she looked at you, really looked, and you didn’t have to smile or perform or remember how to be perfect. your face had already told on you.

you trace the rim of your water bottle with your finger. tonight was the big game, and varsity cheered for both the girls and guys’ team, meaning that you would be cheering for her tonight.

before today, that hadn’t even crossed your mind. you would habitually cheer when she made a point like she always did, but at the game later on, you’d be thinking about it much differently. you’d be excited when she scored, and not just for the team or for your school, but for her and her alone.

class stretches on, and you feel like you’ve been sitting in there for five hours with how many thoughts were crossing your mind. and when the bell finally rings, you’re practically the first one out the door, completely forgetting the fact that isaiah would always walk you to lunch afterwards. but you were dying to meet with your girls to tell them what happened, even if it was just a stupid and quick interaction.

you race to your table first, sitting down and taking out your lunchbox, placing it on the table and waiting patiently. you spot bria first, with her long dark hair and freckle cheeks, and she gives you a small wave as she smoothes out her skirt, sitting across from you.

“hey girl!” she squeals, taking out her own lunch, unzipping the box and pulling out her salad and juice box. she takes out the straw, “you’re here early. usually lilia’s the first one seated.”

“i’m itching to tell you guys something,” you remark, looking up, and you see tori and lilia walking together, approaching the table. they honestly look like twins with their matching braids and outfits, which they claimed was completely unintentional. they both wore similar jewelry that shone against their dark skin, but lilia favored gold, while tori favored silver.

they eventually reached the table, lilia sitting right next to you as always, and tori right next to bria. you perked up immediately, and before they could even dig into their meals, you blurted out in excitement, “i need to tell you guys what just happened in the hallway before fourth period.”

“well, spill it.” tori spoke, dryly, but that’s just how she was, and you could tell she was interested because of the way she leaned in, face painted with inquiry. you leaned in as well, eyes shining, “so, y’all know that girl, billie?”

“o’connell?” lilia questioned, then gasped, “no, i heard she’s mean. did you get into an altercation? i’ll jump her if you want.”

you rolled your eyes at your best friend’s willingness to always get into some trouble, but you shook your head, lifting your hands in defense.

“no, no, it wasn’t like that. she wasn’t mean at all. matter a’fact, she actually… helped me?”

that’s what gets their attention.

bria pauses mid-stab of her salad while tori’s eyebrow lifts slightly, and lilia turns her whole body toward you, already completely invested in whatever you’re about to tell the trio.

“so i’m walking down the hall, right?” you start off, your voice picking up speed, “and i trip– like fully trip– because my shoes were untied and i hadn’t even realized, which, was very embarrassing. but i fall flat on my face, and my lip’s bleeding, my knee’s all busted up– like, it’s giving very much final destination.”

bria winces, “ow, girl. are you alright?”

“i’m fine, i’m fine,” you wave her off quickly, brushing over that part because the fall wasn’t the important part of your recap, “but anyways, billie was literally right there. like two feet away. and instead of just walking past me like everybody else does, she stopped. she crouched down and gave me her hand, like, helped me up, and asked if i was good.”

tori looks unimpressed, her mouth open, lips curling downward like she was expecting some more than that, and the rest of the group shares that exact same assumption. “and that’s it?”

you blink, “what do you mean that’s it? did you not hear what i said?”

“girl,” she scoffs, popping a grape into her mouth with a laugh, “you made it sound like she kissed you or something.”

“she basically did,” you mutter, crossing your arms, and they all burst into laughter at that.

“you’re ridiculous,” bria giggles, her nose scrunching as she sips at her juice box, “you’re seriously blushing right now. i can’t see it, but i feel it.”

“i am not!”

“are too,” lilia smirks, nudging your shoulder, and then she stops, throwing her hand over her mouth, “oh my gosh, you like her.”

“i don’t,” you lie, instantly, a little too fast, and they all catch it– how your voice pitched, how your eyes did that guilty flick down to your lunchbox like it was gonna save you from this little interrogation. it was all such a dead giveaway.

“uh-huh,” tori says flatly, pointing her fork at you accusingly, “that’s exactly what straight girls say right before they end up writing poetry about their roommates. fess up, girlfriend, you like her.”

“shut up,” you groan, dragging your palms down your face. “i’m not even like… into girls. she is pretty, but everyone can recognize beauty. that’s not a crime.”

“you sure you’re not into her?”

“yes,” you huff, even though it doesn’t feel entirely true coming out of your mouth. it used to, but you aren’t exactly sure on whether it still is applicable or not.

but then there’s billie, who makes the word sure feel like a lie you’ve been keeping from yourself, and from everyone else, too.

“whatever,” you mumble out, starting to pick at your food, your appetite vanishing, but you knew you needed to eat something before the game tonight, so you grabbed your fruit to snack on. “it wasn’t even like that. she was just being nice.”

“billie o’connell is not just nice,” lilia says, picking up a grape and tossing it in the air before catching it in her mouth, and the two girls before you let out little cheers. “she doesn’t even talk to people. like, at all. she’s all mysterious and aloof and scary– but in a hot way. if she touched me, i’d never shut up about it either. so i can’t necessarily blame you.”

“okay, see, thank you,” you say, gesturing wildly, “it was weirdly… intimate? but not, like, on purpose. just… i don’t know. her voice is raspy. and she had rings on. and tattoos. and her hands were so–” you stop yourself before you say “warm.”

bria squints at you, “mm-hmm. but you’re straight, right?”

you roll your eyes, “don’t start.”

“too late,” tori says, biting into a carrot stick, and lilia leans in closer, resting her chin on her palm.

“you think she’s gay?” she asks casually, like she’s just throwing it out there, and the other girls agree before you can even share your two cents.

“i don’t know,” you say truthfully, “probably. i mean, yeah? she has to be. but it’s harmful to assume things.”

bria nods in agreement, “yeah, i agree, but she gives those vibes. there was also a rumor a while back that she had a talking stage with some girl on the soccer team, and it’s still up in the air. could be a possibility.”

“but she dresses kind of artsy?” you murmur, tilting your head to the side, thinking, “like, what’s the word– androgynous, but still femme? i don’t know. she had paint under her nails, too.”

“paint?” lilia repeats, lifting her brows.

“she’s in ap art,” tori jumps in, “i have her first period. she paints, like, music related stuff. and naked people. always girls, might i add.”

“wow. hot, huh?” bria comments with a wink, and you snort.

but then– right on cue, as always, lilia leans her head on your shoulder, dramatic as ever.

“okay, but what about isaiah?” she sing-songs, dragging the name out like it’s made of glittery taffy, “aren’t you supposed to be going on a date tomorrow night? don’t cancel, i was ready to work my magic on that beautiful skin of yours.”

tori snorts, “i think she wants someone else to be working some magic on that beautiful skin of hers.”

you groan out, trying your best not to laugh as the other girls cackle at tori’s joke. you roll your eyes, “anyways, please don’t remind me about the date.”

“what do you mean ‘don’t remind me’? you’ve been dodging his advances for, like, months.”

“and i should’ve kept dodging,” you say under your breath, grabbing another strawberry and popping it into your mouth. you pause for a second, “i don’t know, girlfriends. he’s sweet. but it’s just– i don’t know.”

“you always say that, yet you’re the smartest girl in this whole school,” tori says, “what is it that you don’t know?”

you pause.

you think of the way isaiah looks at you, like you’re already his, and it makes you feel more sick than comforted. you think of the way he walks you to lunch, remembers your coffee order, holds open doors, sends you heart emojis in every text that bubbles against your screen.

you think of how he kissed your cheek after study hall and you felt… nothing. not even butterflies. maybe a moth– but nothing electric and fiery like you thought. the gesture was warm and you did appreciate it, but it made you feel more sickly than anything else.

you shrug, “he’s just not… exciting?”

“you want excitement?” lilia snorts at you, throwing a playful nudge to your shoulder, “girl, you hate risk. you cried when we skipped last period that one time.”

“that was different,” you mutter, but they all laugh again, and you try to force a smile.

because they’re right. isaiah is safe, comfortable, liked by your mom. has a stable haircut and goes to youth group and never forgets birthdays.

but none of that made your hands sweat. none of that made your breath catch or your stomach twist. none of that felt like billie.

you glance at your phone screen, tapping it to check the time even though you already know lunch isn’t over yet.

“you’re overthinking it,” bria says, softening her tone, her voice dripping with thoughtfulness, “just go on the date and have fun. i mean, worst case scenario, you get free food and a goodnight kiss.”

“but what if i don’t want the kiss?” you say quietly, almost repulsed. the kiss on your cheek was plenty, and you didn’t know if you could take being kissed on the lips by that man. no amount of his charm or ‘cuteness’ could make you feel a longing for that.

“then you don’t have to take it,” tori says, simple and honest, like she always is, “but you won’t know until you go. still, think about the fact that you get a free steak. that’s enough for me to go on a date with anybody."

you nod slowly, looking down, and the girls go back to their food, the conversation shifting to something else– grades, the upcoming game, whether or not ms. baker is secretly dating coach ramirez.

but you drift again, unintentionally, like you’ve been doing ever since you saw billie. no matter how loud the cafeteria is, how warm the sun feels on your back, how funny your friends are, your mind can’t help but keep wandering back to a girl with a raspy voice and paint-stained fingers, and how just being nice felt like the most significant thing anyone’s done for you in weeks.

after school, the cheer locker room is buzzing with the usual before-game chaos– giggles bouncing off the walls, the slap of sneakers against linoleum, the zip and tug of uniforms being wrangled on in a hurry. the air smells faintly of vanilla body spray and warm cotton from the dryers in the back, smoothing out the wrinkles of frilly skirts and fitted shells. your duffel bag sits half-unzipped by the bench as you peel off your hoodie, chatting idly with lilia, who’s beside you pulling her braids into a ponytail.

“practice better not be full-out today,” she groans, fluffing out her bow and tilting it so it’s in the middle, “my thighs still hurt from monday.”

you laugh, reaching into your bag and unwrapping a piece of gum, popping it into your mouth, “we’re good. coach said light conditioning before the game, remember?”

“coach says a lot of things,” bria chimes in from across the room, shimmying into her crop-top uniform with a dramatic sigh, “she told me i’d be back base, and now i’m spotting. my trust issues are growing.”

everyone laughs, and you lean down to tie your shoes, nodding along to the conversation, but not really listening all that much. your thoughts drift again, slowly, lazily– to earlier that day. billie’s voice was echoing in your head nonstop, trailing back to her tone, teasing but calm. that little smirk that she had painted on her face, the one that felt carved just for you. 

you don’t even hear the lock room door swing open at first, but the sudden lull in conversation pulls your attention to the entrance. 

it’s billie.

she’s wearing her usual black basketball hoodie, the one that has a big logo of the school’s mascot etched on it, though the design is a bit peeled and worn, hence her having it for all four years of high school. her sleeves are shoved up to her elbows, and a pair of loose basketball shorts hang from her frame, showcasing a thigh tattoo that you’ve never seen before. it’s a mid-sized dragon with it’s tail circling around into a spiral, and there’s writing underneath that you can't read due to distance. her hair’s pulled back into a half-up half-down style, a few strands falling into her face as she scans the room with an unreadable expression. in her hand, she holds a beat-up pair of sneakers– clearly gym shoes, judging by the fraying laces and worn soles. 

“just grabbing something,” she mutters, more to the room than anyone in particular, though her eyes catch yours briefly– just a second, but it feels warm. direct.

you blink, straightening up a little too fast, “oh– hi.”

billie nods, “hey.” she takes a few slow steps toward the open cubbies, and you know it isn’t because she’s trying to grab her stuff– because the cubbies were only used by the cheerleaders. she’s closer to you now, and for some reason, she lingers, adjusting the shoes in her hands like she’s killing time.

lilia shoots you a look, eyebrows arched, and you can tell that she’s trying her best not to let out a laugh or a slick comment. bria bites down on her straw with a tiny smirk, sharing eyes with tori, and they both look away in hopes that they’re acting casual.

you try to act normal as she stands in front of you, and you never realized how tall she was until you were sitting down.

“you in the gym today?” you ask, reaching for your pom-poms even though you don’t need them yet, but you desperately needed something to toy with.

billie shrugs nonchalantly, “nah, just stopping by. forgot these earlier.” she taps the toe of one sneaker against the tile, “you guys got practice?”

“light one,” you say, suddenly hyper-aware of your uniform top and how short it feels now. it never felt as exposing until you were in front of billie. you tug it down a little bit, looking down at your hands, “nothing crazy.”

she nods again, looking at you a second longer than she probably should. she gives you a light smile, “well, cool. see you around.”

and just like that, she turns and walks out, door swinging shut behind her.

the moment she’s gone, lilia lets out the loudest gasp, “what was that?”

“that was a hello,” you say quickly, hoping to avoid any pestering from the three girls. now that they had seen how you acted in front of the blue eyed girl, it was only a matter of time before the teasing started up.

bria snorts, “no, that was billie o’connell giving you the eyes.”

“she so was,” lilia adds, nudging your shoulder, “why’d you sound all breathy when you said hey?”

“i didn’t sound breathy,” you mutter, cheeks heating.

“girl, you did,” bria teases, and you roll your eyes, “you said ‘oh– hey’ like she caught you in the act or something.”

“okay, first of all, shut up,” you laugh, trying to hide behind your water bottle as you take a sip,  “second of all, it wasn’t like that. we just– talked earlier. so…”

“talked,” tori echoes, walking over from the mirror where she’s adjusting her lashes, “or flirted? that’s the real question.”

“nothing happened,” you insist, “i don’t even like girls. and if i did, it wouldn’t matter, because we didn’t flirt. just light and slightly awkward conversation, but i’m assuming that’s just the type of person that she is.”

tori raises a brow, “mm. if you say so.”

bria leans on the bench, smirking, adjusting the laces on her cheer shoes, “but if you did like girls, she’d be your type, no?”

you roll your eyes, but the answer’s already in your chest, blooming quietly. billie’s voice, billie’s smirk, billie’s stupid pretty face. the girls share laughter around you, and it’s too late to try to deny anything, “i mean, i guess? she’s… she’s kinda cool. and pretty.”

“‘cool’ is the understatement of the year,” lilia giggles, “i’d literally let her ruin my life.”

you laugh, shaking your head as you start to grab your own bow out of your bag, scooping your hair into a ponytail, “okay, well, she’s not gonna ruin anything. she just came in for shoes. y’all are just overly observant.”

“yeah, came in for shoes but left with your soul,” bria mutters under her breath, which earns her a slap on the arm from lilia.

you all finish getting ready, bopping along to one of your teammates’ playlists that’s blasting on the group’s shared alexa. you pop a squat in the mirror next to tori and fix your mascara, throwing some blush and lip gloss on before packing up your things and making your way to the gym.

it was a light practice today, just some simple stunts and sideline cheers to prep for the game. but the entire time, you were far from focused, but still present enough to where you didn’t miss any moves or let anyone fall out of a basket. 

the thirty minutes you were in the gym felt like nothing, partially because you were so out of focus. you hardly noticed when the rest of your team starting rolling up the mats, already heading towards the main gym. the game started in thirty minutes, and for the first time in a while, you were more than excited.

friday night games always felt like a movie. but tonight was different.

the gym’s lit up in that hazy, golden kind of way– like you know something’s gonna become a great memory before it even starts. despite the game not even starting yet, the stands are packed, loud with screams and cheap stadium snacks, and the air is thick with perfume, sweat, and clean basketball shoes. you make your way down the bleachers, greeting everyone you know before joining with the rest of the squad, pom-poms glittering under the lights, your uniform fitting just right and your hair secured with three bobby pins you stole from lilia’s bag.

you stretch out your arms, bouncing on your toes to shake out the nerves. not that you’re nervous about the routine– you’ve done it a hundred times. but it’s more the eyes, the hope that she would be watching.

you haven’t seen her yet, but you know she’s here. of course, the star-player, always fashionably late, but there.

she always is.

suddenly, you’re more nervous than ever. your girls are right beside you, talking and exchanging jokes, but you feel like you’re on the verge of throwing up. you drop your poms and slip out the door that leads to the hallway, trotting towards the bathroom as you push the door open.

you assume that no one’s in there, so you stand in front of the mirror, letting out a few pants, trying to bring your breathing back to a steady level. you’re interrupted by a buzzing in your jacket pocket, and you fish your phone out to look at the notification.

it’s isaiah, and you feel your eyes involuntarily roll, scanning the message over.

[isaiah, 6:03 pm]: i came to the game tn to watch you cheer, you’re gonna kill it :D

[ isaiah, 6:04 pm]: i brought you a little something too <3 

you don’t respond, already finding an excuse to make up if he asks you why you didn’t text back, and as you put your phone in your pocket, you hear the bathroom door swing open, and you already know who it is before she even comes in.

“oh, hey y/n,” billie waves as you look up, and your eyes lock immediately. you give her a smile, “hi, billie. aren’t you supposed to be warming up?”

“i could ask you the same thing,” she chuckles lightly, running a hand through her ponytail, “but no, i am. i just had to use the bathroom, hence why i’m in the bathroom.”

that makes you laugh, though it isn’t really all that funny. there’s an interlude of awkward silence before you speak up, “i like your tattoo,” you point to her bare thigh, “it’s cool.”

“ah, thanks,” billie flashes another smile, but it’s different this time. like what you said actually made her happy, not just something routine. it makes your heart twist. “you got any?”

you shake your head, “no, but i want a few. i’m just scared of needles.”

billie nods understandingly, moving her feet towards a stall as she pushes the door open, “i get that…oh– i’m having a little party after the game, nothing huge, but…you should come.”

with that, she closes the door and locks it shut, and you can hear the shuffling of clothes behind the door, and you take that as your cue to leave. your heart is pounding as you walk back into the gym, finding your spot and removing your jacket, setting it against the wall.

you take a deep breath and scan the bleachers once. twice. third time, your eyes catch on a grey hoodie halfway up the stands, hood down, curls a little messy. isaiah’s sitting in the student section, one leg up on the bench, sitting next to a few other football players, sharing laughs. he’s got his usual giddy expression, sipping a sprite, barely paying attention to the game.

until he sees you.

and suddenly you feel like you’re not wearing anything at all.

you quickly turn away, cheeks hot, but not from embarrassment– from that weird, uncomfortable feeling that’s been following you around all week. you shake it off, twirl once to get back in focus, and pretend not to notice the way your heart jumps when you hear his laugh from across the gym.

“girl,” bria leans over, nudging your side with her elbow, “you see who’s in the stands?”

you play dumb, “who?”

“don’t be fake,” she grins at you, “your man is here. and he’s totally watching.”

“he isn’t my man,” you clarify, keeping your voice low, nothing above a whisper, “and i don’t really care if he’s watching. that’s what the audience does, they watch.”

“mmhm,” lilia hums from your other side, and you press your lips together and face the front again. they’re gonna make this whole game unbearable.

the whistle blows, and it’s time to start. you see billie and the rest of the girls’ team file out, and you cheer loudly for them as the game begins.

you go through the motions like you always do– smiling, shouting, high kicks and turns and jumps that all feel second nature now– but the whole time, you can feel isaiah’s eyes on you. or maybe you’re imagining it. either way, you wished silently that he wasn’t here, blocking him out of your vision and yelling out a cheer to start to distract yourself.

however, you focus on billie. she’s obviously playing, so it would be hard for her to look at you, but you hope that she find a way to, and you can almost feel her eyes when she scores in the basket right above you, the whole gym cheering as she runs back to the other side of the court. maybe you want her to look so bad your brain’s playing tricks on you, and she wasn’t actually looking at all. 

at halftime, you make your way back to the edge of the bleachers, breathing heavy from the last round of stunts, sweat clinging to the back of your neck. you tug at the collar of your uniform and take a water bottle from the cooler, unscrewing the cap slowly like your body needs to calm down in steps.

you hear him before you see him, and you fight to make sure your face does have irritation written all over it.

“you killed it out there.”

you turn, heart jumping, and there he is– closer than you expected. closer than he should be. leaning against the railing that separates the track from the stands, his hoodie sleeves are pushed up, sprite still in hand, smirk still in place.

you blink harshly, “oh. thanks.”

his eyes drag over you lazily, but not in the way that you necessarily appreciate. you feel yourself getting mad– not at him, but the fact that you want him to go away so bad, yet he’s still standing before you. “you always look like that when you cheer?”

you raise an eyebrow, “like what?”

isaiah smiles widely, sipping from his cup, “absolutely gorgeous.”

your throat goes dry, and now you’re just fully irritated. you didn’t mean to be rude, but you didn’t have the patience to deal with him right now. “well, thank you. that’s sweet.”

“you’re welcome.”

you don’t know what to say after that, so you look away, fingers tightening around your water bottle. the noise of the crowd dims behind the quiet between you two, and he eventually disappears back into the bleachers, which you thank the heavens for. you didn’t know how much longer you could pretend that you wanted him that close to you.

the buzzer warns that the game resumes in less than a minute, so you file back in line, and continue cheering and stunting, thinking back to the impromptu party that you were just invited to. you hadn’t really been to many parties, and especially not one of billie’s, but you were more than excited.

the game finally ends, and of course, your team ends up winning, even against the tigers. you and your girls share cheers and happy tears after the principal announces that you will be moving to the round of playoffs next week. the boys game ended up being canceled so everyone was released early, which you were more than excited about.

you and your girls are still in your triangle formation on the court when the announcement ends, crowd roaring behind you, bodies flooding toward the exit like waves breaking all at once. someone from the squad shrieks and jumps into your arms, and then lilia’s grabbing both your hands, twirling you in a little circle, all of you laughing breathlessly like your lives depend on it. for a second, nothing else matters but the glitter on your cheeks and the sweat in your collarbones and the way bria’s eyes shimmer when she screams, “we’re going to the playoffs, bitch!”

once things start to settle, you gather your things and start herding toward the locker room, your group trailing behind, reeling you in to take a couple selfies.

"y’all…" you say, voice light and a little coy, twisting the elastic on your wrist, “so, billie invited me to this lil afterparty she’s having.”

“no the hell she didn’t,” tori says first, eyes going wide, “shut. up. it’s tonight?”

“i’m not lying!” you laugh, glancing around like someone might overhear, “she invited me in the bathroom before the game. and yeah, it’s tonight. she said it would be after the game.”

“what kind of…” bria blinks with a laugh, “nevermind. but she wants you, girl.”

lilia clutches her chest dramatically, “this is giving strangers-to-lovers. i’m here for it, honestly.”

“okay, relax,” you say, still smiling though, “she just said it was something small, not a whole…full party.”

“babe,” bria leans in, whispering loud enough for everyone to hear, “that girl has never invited someone to her aftergame hangs. ever. and you’re telling me she did it in the bathroom? alone? she wants you.”

you swat at her, but your cheeks are already warm, “can we just get changed before we miss it?”

“hell yeah, we’re going,” tori says, like it was her idea, “i’ve been dying to see what her house looks like anyway.”

“i bet it smells like weed and expensive perfume,” lilia adds.

“i bet she has a really good playlist playing on vinyl,” bria offers, “gosh, i think we’re more excited than you are, y/n.”

“okay, okay,” you laugh again, pushing open the locker room door as they trail behind you, “we’ll see when we get there, stop your gushing and let’s go.”

the locker room is buzzing with post-win adrenaline and perfume sprays, everyone peeling off uniforms and tossing hair into messy buns, your own body buzzing underneath your cheer skirt, a little on edge due to all the adrenaline. you change into your backup fit you stuffed in your gym bag earlier– a simple baby tee and low-rise jeans, your favorite earrings and a swipe of gloss, enough to look like you weren’t just sweating your ass off out in the gym.

bria’s in a micro skirt and an oversized jersey, lilia’s already brushing mascara on in the mirror, and tori’s still deciding between her jordans and her platforms.

“you nervous?” lilia asks, catching your eye in the mirror.

you shrug, lips parted like you might say more, but you don���t, instead, you fix your hair with the same bobby pin from earlier, “a little.”

“don’t be,” she says, giving your reflection a wink, “you’re hot and she definitely knows it.”

you let out a soft laugh, then sling your bag over your shoulder.

"alright. let's go."

the four of you make your way to your cars, and an unknown number sends you the address, which you assume is billie. you forward the text to the groupchat and pull off, playing faint music in the background. her house was only ten minutes out, so you and the rest of your group arrived pretty quickly. 

lilia got there before you even though you left first, due to her always having a ‘need for speed’, as she would say. bria and tori filed out after the two of you, and you made your way to the front door and opened it.

the party was already in full swing when you stepped inside.

music thumped through the floorboards, some house remix of a song you only half recognized, and the scent of cheap weed and fruity drinks floated through the air like fog. someone brushed past you with a red solo cup in hand, yelling something to a friend over the beat, and you just blinked, taking it all in. the string lights wrapped around the living room ceiling cast a soft pink hue over everyone’s faces, and everything smelled like body spray and gum and heat.

lilia gave a low whistle, nudging your side. “okay, billie’s kinda goin’ all out for this to be ‘nothing huge.’”

“right?” bria chimed in, already pulling out her phone for a selfie, “we’re definitely not leaving before midnight.”

tori rolled her eyes, “we say that every time and still end up in bed by 11:30. the goody-two shoes leading the goody-two shoes.”

you laughed along with them, though you weren’t really paying attention– your eyes kept scanning the room, looking for her. you didn’t even know why. just... hoping. wondering if she’d find you first, and if you were being honest, you longed to see her again.

you were mid-scroll on your phone when someone tugged at your arm. you turned around, and your stomach dropped.

isaiah.

he wasn’t smiling. he wasn’t even trying to smile. instead, he looked angry.

“you didn’t come see me after the game,” he said, leaning down to talk near your ear, his voice was sharp, clipped, and full of fury, “you just dipped out on me. what the hell, y/n?”

you blinked, thrown off, and you had completely forgotten about the text that he had sent you while you were in the bathroom, “i didn’t mean to. i just... i got caught up. there was a lot going on and i–”

“seriously?” his eyebrows pulled together, cutting you off, “i waited on you. i brought you something and everything. you could’ve just told me if you didn’t want to see me, y/n, i get it. but i thought you were coming.”

you bit your lip, guilt crawling up your neck. you weren’t sure what exactly you should say right now, so you just told him, “i’m sorry.” but he scoffed, stepping in closer, and now you could smell the alcohol on his breath. he had been drinking.

his whole demeanor had changed, and if you didn’t like him before, you really didn’t like him now. your heart sped up when a few heads turned in your direction, nosily looking over to see what was going on between the two of you. the room didn’t exactly go completely silent, but it was enough to make your skin prickle.

“isaiah–” you started, but he didn’t let you finish. he leaned in fast, hand slipping around your waist, and kissed you. right then and there. right in the middle of the room, in front of everyone.

it happened so rapidly, and you didn’t even attempt to reciprocate. it felt disgusting, his mouth on yours, and you pulled away hastefully before things could escalate, from his side, at least.

it didn’t feel like a kiss at all. it wasn’t the kind that you hear about in the movies, the kind that makes your knees go soft or your chest bloom open. it felt wrong. forceful. disconnected. 

and you knew, then, with absolute clarity, that this wasn’t what you wanted. 

you gasped out, breath shaky, and stepped back away from him like you’d just touched something hot. isaiah’s eyes widened, and he started to apologize, but by the time he could get anything out, you were already weaving through the crowd, head ducked low, heart in your throat as you disappeared. 

you didn’t even realize you were crying until you reached the top of the stairs.

your face felt tight and hot, your vision blurring at the edges. someone in the hallway asked if you were okay as you passed, but the music downstairs swallowed the question before it could even reach you, so you didn’t answer– or stop walking. you just kept trailing down the hallway, one hand trailing along the wall, searching for an unlocked door– somewhere quiet where people weren’t swapping spit or rolling joints. 

you found a door on the right, and the doorknob turned easily under your palm, so you pushed it open without thinking.

it was billie’s room.

you recognized it instantly. the same messy tapestry hanging from the ceiling she'd once posted in a mirror selfie, the faint glow of a lava lamp in the corner, it was familiar to yo, though yo had never been in there before. the bed was unmade, blanket twisted in a half-circle like someone had just gotten up from it. it smelled like coconut lotion and incense and something that felt like comfort, so you eased up a little as you looked around, inspecting every little detail.

billie looked up from where she sat on the floor, cross-legged in front of a small record player, her hoodie sleeves rolled to the elbows and a vinyl halfway out of its sleeve. she blinked once, then frowned when she saw your teary eyes.

“hey…you good?”

you didn’t answer right away. you just shut the door behind you, backing into it like it was the only thing holding you up. you were breathing fast, and your cheeks were wet, and you could feel everything starting to fray inside you. you tried to prevent yourself from breaking down by offering billie a faux smile, but she wasn’t buying it.

“i– sorry,” you said quickly, swallowing, “i didn’t mean to just barge into your space like this, but i needed to get out of there.”

billie didn’t press you by asking questions or staring into you too long. she just scooted over, tapping the floor beside her.

“come here,” she said, voice calm, so you obliged. you walked over slowly, still a little in shock, and sat down beside her. your knees were nearly touching, but she didn’t lean in or move closer. she just waited on you to speak whenever you were ready.

you stared down at your hands and started, “he kissed me,” you said after a beat. your voice was quiet.

billie didn’t speak, she just let the words settle in, knowing that you had more to say whenever you felt up to it.

you exhaled, “isaiah. downstairs. he was mad i didn’t go see him after the game. like, really mad. like... making a scene about it.”

you felt your throat tighten again.

“i told him i was sorry, but he just looked at me like that wasn’t enough. like i owed him something for showing up tonight at all, even though we aren’t even dating.”

you blinked fast, a tear slipping down your cheek. you wiped it away with the back of your hand, embarrassed, but you kept going, “and then he just... kissed me. in front of everyone. and i didn’t stop him. not because i wanted to, but because…shit, i don’t know, i froze. it was like i wasn’t even in my own body. i just stood there. letting him do it. like an idiot.”

your voice cracked at the end, and you bit your lip hard, trying to hold it together.

“it felt gross. like... wrong. i literally felt like i was watching it happen in third person. and he pulled away like it was nothing, like that fixed everything, but all i could think was, ‘this isn’t me. this isn’t who i want.’”

you looked up at billie then, your eyes glossy, your voice barely a whisper.

“he kissed me and i didn’t feel anything. nothing. it was so…empty.”

billie still hadn’t spoken, careful not to interrupt, but you could see the shift in her expression– something warm rising to the surface.

“it’s like—” you breathed in slow, trying to explain the part that even you hadn’t admitted to yourself until now, but with billie, it felt easier. “i wanted to want it. to be normal. to be the girl who kisses the guy who likes her and feels something.”

you laughed bitterly, wiping at your cheeks, “but i didn’t. and it made me feel broken. or fake. or—”

“you’re not broken,” billie said quietly, finally, “and you’re not fake. you just didn’t want him. and that doesn’t make you wrong. you felt uncomfortable because he didn’t respect your no. even if you didn’t say it out loud, it doesn’t mean you didn’t say it. your body knew. your gut knew. and that matters. so fuck him– this isn’t your fault at all.”

you looked down, fingers twisting in the hem of your skirt.

“i think i like girls,” you said, finally, “like, i’ve known, i-i think. but tonight just... confirmed it. but i thought i couldn’t. i mean…girls are supposed to like boys, but to tell you the truth…i don’t. at all– but i thought i had to like them, to like isaiah because…well, because i’m a cheerleader. and that’s what we do.” 

billie smiled, soft and crooked, “funny how that works.”

you glanced at her softly, “have you ever felt that way? like you’re pretending? or forcing yourself to like something?”

she nodded, “oh, yeah. for a long time actually, i did. but not anymore. i grew out of that.”

“what changed?”

“i stopped trying,” billie said simply, “i got tired of lying to myself, and the people that i loved. so, the second i started showing up as me, i realized i wasn’t actually alone. just... quieted down. suppressed underneath a fake me. you only get one life, so why would you spend it trying to be someone you're not?”

you leaned into her, your shoulder brushing hers, your head naturally falling against your shoulder.

“thank you,” you murmured, eyes fluttering closed, your breaths finally beginning to steady out.

she nodded again, then looked at you– really looked, “can i… touch you?”

you blinked, heart stuttering. before you could even think, you spoke, “yeah.”

she reached up, brushing one of your braids from your cheek and tucking it gently behind your ear. her hand lingered at your jaw, thumb grazing the line of it, every outline and curve. and then, slowly, like she wanted to give you time to stop her, she leaned in.

and when her lips touched yours, it was soft. reverent. not performative or rushed or expected of you.

this wasn’t a boy trying to prove a point.

this was someone asking, and you were saying yes with your whole body.

when she pulled away, your foreheads rested together. you breathed in the same air and exhaled it when you shared a laugh. her hand came up to rub your hand, “you okay?” she whispered.

“yeah. now i am.”

billie sat back and opened her arms, “c’mere. get comfortable.”

you leaned into her, resting your head on her shoulder, letting her wrap you up in her hoodie and her warmth and whatever quiet truth existed between the two of you.

at some point, you both shifted onto the bed. not in any kind of romantic rush, but just a slow, natural gravitation toward comfort.

billie had her head propped up on a pillow, one arm around you while you laid on your side, facing her. her other hand rested on your waist, thumb tracing small, mindless circles over the fabric of your shirt.

the music downstairs had softened to a hum. muffled laughter and bass drifted through the floorboards, but it felt like a completely different realm than what was happening upstairs in billie’s tiny bedroom. in here, everything was hushed. calm.

you were both a little sleepy and quiet, but it wasn’t the kind of silence that’s awkward, just full of the things you already understand without needing to say them out loud.

you traced the seam of her hoodie with your finger, “this is your room.”

billie smiled lazily, “it is. my little habitat.”

“i didn’t think i’d end up in here tonight. or…ever, for the record. this wasn’t exactly on my bingo card.”

“me either,” she murmured with a giggle, “but i’m glad you did end up in here.”

you looked at her, and you swore everything else around you had slowed down. suddenly, you felt this urge– you wanted to tell her something. something real. something that had been sitting just beneath your tongue since she kissed you only hours ago.

“when you kissed me,” you started, voice barely audible, “it felt like...better than i could’ve imagined. it felt like what i’ve always wanted in my life.”

“good,” she whispered, smiling as she pressed a gentle kiss to your temple.

you closed your eyes, the words slipping out before you could second guess them, “i think i’ve been wanting to kiss you since the first time you said my name.”

billie doesn’t say anything, she just kisses you softly, letting your head rest on her shoulder as you pulled away and nustled in closer to her, fingers trickling over your skin lazily in big circles.

“well, why didn’t you?”

you let out a snort, looking up at billie as you smiled, 

“because i’m a cheerleader.”

₊⊹ taglist: @47lake | @hopingforgoodblogs | @zendayasredbottoms | @chrissv4mp | @mseilishmwah | @justtr | @lovelyy-moonlight | @bilsdillldough | @billiesrighthand | @karaaeilish | @billiesbabygirll | @hrts4billieeilish | @drunkinyourbenz | @amara-eilish | @profoundcoffeepeanut | @billsbabydoll | @bilssturns | @lovxlyvee | @stargirl-mayaa | @emilyshortcake | @enchantingesme | @alexawhatstheweathertoday | @dyinbymistake | @ash198458 | @astrcmoni | @diceroll65 | @thefeverburningalive | @bxllxebxtch | @slxtarchive | @zbeaa | @youmademefeel l | @billiesguitar | @kittluzbills | @bitchesbrokenpromises

[crowttore]

Genshin characters as ways animals court and mate

Welcome to another round of (hopefully) the weirdest biology lessons you'll ever receive. Essentially a shitpost, someone should take away my writing privileges. There could be better suited animals out there, I just chose from the ones I know.

Characters: Arlecchino, Cyno, Alhaitham, Arataki Itto, Ororon, Xianyun, Zhongli

Not seeing your fav character? Link to more

Tags: nsfw in the way a national geographic documentary is, there are no graphic details but proceed at your own discretion

Arlecchino - Corcorax melanorhamphos (White-winged chough)

From the moment you breach The Knave's defences, it becomes inevitable that you'll become part of her family. She's not the best at romance and love (how could she have grown up to be?) and is often oddly direct, if a little clumsy, in her displays of affection. One thing you can be absolutely sure of is that she'll never let any harm come to you. You'll be invited to participate in activities at the House, she'll be lingering around you, and she'll be hoping that you offer your help to her children. That's what family does. Actions are worth so much more than words will ever be. The white-winged chough is a bird that lives in larger family groups and regularly steal unrelated offspring from neighbouring groups to increase their own group size and better ensure survival. All members take turn and help raise offspring (alloparenting) and do other tasks. They build incredibly sturdy nests, and individuals are known to be extremely territorial towards foreign birds.

Cyno - Erinaceus spp. (hedgehogs)

We all know that the General Mahamatra can be a bit.. annoying at times. And if he's actively trying to win you over? You best believe he's giving it his absolute best shot when he isn't out on the job, inviting you along wherever he goes to relax. To the great amusement (and embarrassment) of his friends, a choice strategy is to make you laugh... It's pretty cute, if a little pathetic at times. He makes genius invocation tcg decks for you to use against him, 100% has matching cards made of you both - you get his and he keeps yours. You can roll your eyes at his shenanigans as you please, he's persistent in his pursuit as long as you haven't outright rejected him. Erinaceus males will approach the sow and begin walking in circles around it, the female might occasionally hiss or swat at the male, sometimes even curling in on herself, but most of the time is just for show. The circling can continue for longer than an hour during which the male is huffing and trying to asses and approach.

Alhaitham - Haliaeetus leucocephalus (bald eagle)

Alhaitham isn't a man who loves easily. He enjoys his routine and his peace, meaning you are truly special to him if he decides to invite you into his life. He's a man of commitment and will do whatever he can to show you that he's quite serious about this. You can be certain that Alhaitham will be making sure you have everything you could need at his place, eager (even if he thinks he's being discreet) to let you know that he wants you there. When it comes to getting intimate, he's inexperienced but attentive, mentally taking note of every little reaction and direction you provide. Sometimes tho.. Alhaitham might need you to be a little more direct in your approach. Sure, he catches a lot and infers even more, but somehow, the most basic things seem to sometimes slip right past him... Plus, it's always nice to know that you're as interested as he is. We all know the 'bald eagles lock talons and plummet together'. But their courtship also involves showing off nest-building, very intricate little performances, a plethora of vocal calls... They're monogamous birds who bond for life, continuing courtship behaviour throughout their life to 'renew the spark'. During mating, the male will start by asking the female who will either nudge him away or position herself to be mounted. Seven to twelve seconds is what you get fellas. That's how long poor excited lovesick Alhaitham exchange of sperm lasts. Sometimes, the female will mount the male to let him know that she is ready.

Arataki Itto - Hypsignathus monstrosus (hammer-headed bat)

Oh boy. There's a reason I'm not an Itto fucker and this is part of it. Would absolutely take any chance he could (and probably try to set up even more chances...) to show you how cool he is. Always front and center, the adorable oni might very well get the brilliant idea to write you a song and perform in front of everyone at the next Iridescence Tour. Enters every single competition he can in an attempt to win you the prices and impress you. Hammer-headed bats engage in a courting behaviour known as 'lek mating', in which groups of males form a lek and establish performance areas. The males then hang from a branch, flapping their wings, and producing loud calls while females fly around and peruse the males available.

Ororon - Homarus americanus (American lobster)

Sweet sweet (awkward) Ororon. He needs you to be a little more direct with him if you expect anything more than being his bro... No matter what, he will cherish you and make sure you're healthy and safe (proudly bringing you so so many vegetables that he's grown). A female lobster will approach the den of a male before using specialised openings (nephropores) under the antennae to spray urine towards the opening of the den. She then uses her gills to create a current to ensure all the pheromones reach the male. If he thinks it's a match, he'll let her into the den and provide food and safety.

Xianyun / Cloud retainer - Grus japonensis (Manchurian crane)

As we've seen, Xianyun has quite the knack for designing pretty clothes, and once she's set her sights on courting someone, it doesn't take long for her 'daughters' to encourage her to make something that shows her off. Reluctant at first, wanting to make something nice for you instead (she ends up doing both) she eventually invites you for a stroll through the harbor. She's dazzling of course, leading you around while practically chatting your ear off. Next time you're invited to Mt. Aozang, she shows off the equally stunning garment prepared for you and makes you try it on before pulling out one of her musical contraptions and inviting you for a dance "to test the range of motion". Cranes in general exhibit 'elegant' courtship dances that are not only performed before initiating a partnership, but done regularly to strengthen the bond between two individuals. The courtship dance also shows off their plumeage, the health of which is important for selecting a partner.

Zhongli - Varanus komodoensis (komodo dragon)

The lord of geo knows what he wants, and Zhongli, the 'human', isn't all that different in your opinion. He treasures you above all else, treating you with such care despite how his instincts occasionally scream at him to jump you. Zhongli loves to nuzzle against you, loves the feeling of your fingers running along his scales while his claws are itching to do the same to you. It's unconscious how he licks at you, an urge to taste you that he simply can't resist, spending hours at a time with his face buried against your skin. And when you finally leave the house together once more? It only takes a single glance from him to dissuade any who would try to proposition you - not that you would ever trade your sweet, overgrown lizard of a husband for anything. Komodo dragons are quite the unusual lizard as they may form monogamous pairs (if not in a bonded pair, males will stand on their hind legs and fight other males for access to females). Mating between dragons can be pretty fierce, leading the male to pin the female beneath him to avoid getting hurt. Typical mating behaviours include rubbing his chin on the female, extensive licking, and scratching each other.

I do also write regular fanfic, I promise.

[alessiamalfoyzabini]

Moondir - 02

Pairing | moondir!OT7 x human!Reader

Word Count | 4,6k

Warnings | +18, blood draw, talk about forced pregnancy, mention of multiple partners, noncon kiss, angst, fear and psychological pressure, a strange bond MC feels with Hoseok (predator/prey relationship), this is not for minors.

This fanfiction is dark and yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | The Moondir, born of the Moon Goddess' love for a wolf, were persecuted and enslaved by humans for merely existing. Moondirian women have been captured and killed in the most heinous ways, men have instead been forced to do dangerous work in place of the humans themselves, and after more than a century, this has virtually brought their race to the brink of extinction. A group of Moondirian rebels have succeeded in their quest to regain their freedom, and not without the use of the crudest violence. Their females are now gone, and it will be human women who will help them repopulate the world.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys! ❤️ Here is the second chapter of Moondir, I hope you enjoy it! 🥰 I put my whole self into writing this chapter, imagining and structuring the future relationships between MC and the seven, here you have a little taste of it with Hoseok! Let me know what you think, I love your comments! 🥰🥰🥰🥰 I love you 💜

Taglist is open: @katherine-kookie - @btsuga-d - @pantara - @angelicsmilesworld - @lennieharper - @takemeaway5402 - @jiminismine4ever - @m00njinnie - @ke1k029 - @velvet-stardust2002 - @darkuni63 - @douknowbts - @aiiselle90210 - @fewercascade - @mageprincess7 - @get-that-brain-working - @whipwhoops - @dragons-flare - @seokjins-luigi - @pjmsneverland - @jimincrystal - @ajkwww - @ungodlyjoon - @hecateslittlewitchling - @namjoonsbuspass - @xicanacorpse - @btssimplove - @antisocial-mochi267 - @reallygenerouskoala - @dabishou - @themwordsblog - @deluluisme - @justanarchiveforfics - @blackberrywonie - @the-holy-hobi - @justlikecrazy - @herareila - @furioustrashlover - @mar-lo-pap - @dachshunddame - @pantaral81 - @withmuchluv-tannie - @calmyourtitts7 - @plushjeno - @rafesbunniebby - @rms-expensive-girl - @polnaraffsrack - @rg2108 - @paramedicnerd004 - @jungshaking - @ane102 - @moonstarw

Main List - 01 - 02

You gaze in clear amazement at the procreation center, the city's most modern hospital has been used as a base, you have never had the privilege of stepping foot in it in the past, and to think that you will enter it now because you are forced to does upset you in no small measure.

Hoseok, at your side, holds you in a firm, icy grip, looks ahead, and the grin of a few hours earlier has disappeared from his face. The green gem of his eyes has been swallowed by a dark shadow, and no one dares to approach you or him. Everyone in there seems to keep away, all armed men and all very guarded, just peering at you as if you were a juicy steak. You and Hoseok walk past the marbled lobby to enter the medical area without first asking a secretary. Simply because - just like in Seokjin's hospital - there are no secretaries. And frankly, Hoseok also seems all too sure; this is certainly not the first time he has walked the corridors of this huge hospital.

“Is this something you do often? Bring women here, I mean?” you ask in a low voice, narrowly catching his attention.

“Mh. Let's just say that thanks to my rank I can afford to do that, if I had been an ordinary soldier, those guys out there probably would have jumped on you without much fuss,” he snorts, annoyed.

You don't dare ask any more; it's clear as day that if he could, this man would join the party along with the others.

The further you go into the hospital, the more the cold architectural lines make your hair stand on end, as do the men in suits you see darting from room to room with medical masks over their faces and long white lab coats fluttering here and there. Not a shadow of a woman so far, could it be that humans have really exterminated all Moondirians women? Is there not a single one left?

A door opens in front of you automatically and a pungent smell of disinfectant makes your nose wrinkle. You are tired of disinfectant and hospitals. Will you be forced to stay there? And for how long?

“Just come in quietly, little flower,” Hoseok points you to a smaller, powder-pink door, ‘I've had enough of women screaming and crying at the sight of a tiny needle; so, don't piss me off,’ he intimates dangerously, opening the door and pushing you in unceremoniously, as he is used to doing such things by now.

Inside, it is just like Kim Seokjin's studio, the only difference being the lack of a table with stirrups, replaced instead by a long, shiny, clean, white table with a sealed container of empty, shiny test tubes ready on top. The walls blind you with their whiteness; everything is tremendously aseptic and impersonal.

You are about to feel sick, and perhaps, just noticing your new, bad complexion, Hoseok pushes you abruptly toward the chair.

“You haven't even seen the needle yet,” he teases you, regaining some of the amusement he dared not show in front of other soldiers. In a way, Hoseok seems to have two completely different personalities, and you don't know which one scares you more.

The sadist who loves to have fun or the soldier who fears no one?

Either way, Hoseok seems to be in control of the whole situation.

“Oh, good. You brought a new one,” a well-placed man enters the room; he's as big as a closet, but his expression is softened by small round black glasses, his forest green eyes following you like a scanner.

“Seokjin gave me these,” Hoseok says, tossing papers on the doctor's desk about you and your exam, the big man nods before smiling at you a little.

“All right, dear, I'm Oliver Smith,” he introduces himself cordially, ”I'm the ugly wolf who's going to take samples of your blood.”

You look at him a little upset, why would a Moondirian approach you in such a kind way? Hoseok looks annoyed, too.

“Give it a rest, Olly,” he grumbles, but Oliver shakes his head.

“Don't mind Hoseok, he's the big bad wolf, but as long as I'm around he can only grumble.”

“I don't think I understand, what do you need my blood for?”

“Good question, girl,” nods Oliver, “Your blood will help us figure out which male you will be compatible with. We have a huge list of males suitable for mating, but you are human and clearly in order to sire a pup you will need the right male. A match, in short.”

You look at him wordlessly, you thought you were going to be thrown to all the soldiers in the breeding center, the image Yoongi gave you is this. Instead it all seems quite controlled.

“I guess I can't refuse,” you state grimly, Hoseok snorts through his nose in yet another irritating scowl. Oliver gives him a glare.

“No, you can't refuse, it's for the good of our species” Oliver checks the opening page of that pile of papers before turning back to look at you, “Y/N. But you must know that we have everything under control, no harm will come to you, unlike others-” and here you see him glowering at Hoseok again, “We understand that you girls didn't have much say about the events that happened a hundred years ago.”

You don't trust Oliver, even though he has been more helpful and kind than Hoseok, but you do nothing when he gently holds your arm to tighten a tourniquet around it, you shudder at the feel of alcohol-soaked gauze disinfecting your skin.

An invisible grip forces you to look for Hoseok; he is staring at you. His green eyes are lighter and mottled, like pure jade, but his expression betrays no emotion. He looks like a statue. You hardly notice the vials filling with your dark, vermilion blood as Dr. Oliver continues with the blood drawing.

You feel weaker and maybe even pale, your head is heavy and empty at the same time, shit, how you hate doctors and hospitals....

Oliver barely has time to remove your tourniquet to apply a band-aid before you slump into the chair, unconscious.

Oliver looks at you with pity, “She endured a lot in one day, she didn't even scream,” he notes with a certain amount of surprise, making Hoseok sneer.

“Don't be so impressed, she just did her duty, she knows her place,” he murmurs colorlessly, before approaching you. He lifts you from the chair without even an effort, and Oliver sighs.

“Set her up in one of the private rooms, we'll keep her monitored until the test results come back with the compatible male.”

You recover slightly, but you don't dare open your eyes again, fearing to anger Hoseok, who is holding you in his arms rather stiffly. The material of his uniform smells of cedar and sea, but it is rough enough that you are not tempted to rub against his chest to get some rest.

“I hope they get a move on in the lab, I can't wait to send her as far away from here as possible,” he blurts, you trying hard not to let them know you're awake, but you can't stop the trembling of your lips. So you won't stay at the procreation center, you'll be sent who knows where!

“What's the matter, Sergeant...is the girl making you nervous?” taunts Oliver with a smirk, Hoseok shushing him with a sour look.

“You said it right, I'm a Sergeant. Nothing and no one can make me nervous, got it?”

Your heart is beating so fast that even your chest is moving back and forth, trying to hold it in your rib cage, with that you are now certain that Hoseok has noticed you are awake, however, he does not say a word about it. He prefers to ignore you as he walks out through the blinding hallway. And you find it hard to admit that his grip on your body is so firm that you sense he will never let you fall. You can't even remember the last time someone carried you around like this, maybe your father when you were a child?

You bite your lip, chasing away that thought, your father is now dead, and for his and many others' actions you will pay with your womb for what they did to the wolves of Moondir.

Two days pass before anyone deigns to bring you news about your near future. Until then you have been monitored nonstop by two doctors with unfamiliar faces, in a room so sterile and empty it seems at times macabre, you feel like you are in a horror movie with the only difference being that you are really living in a nightmare.

You lower your gaze to the IV attached to your arm, you are not sick, but they said they want to make sure you are well hydrated and strong for what you will face out there, they are feeding your body with something necessary for your future sexual relations. You don't know what it is, and you admit that you cried like a little girl after Hoseok left you in this room, walking away without so much as a word, as if he was tired of looking after you. You never saw him or Seokjin again.

The only positive note is that you did not see Yoongi again either.

But you don't regret the times when you treated him like a human being when he still lived in your house. You never acted superior toward him, although that certainly didn't help you. You can't really believe that in the past you were like this-.

A soft knock on the door brings you back to reality, distracting you from your alarming thoughts - were you really thinking about that after all he did to you?

Oliver's blank expression makes you frown, usually he brings your daily results with a smile, now he looks strange.

“Hello, Y/N” he greets you, "How are you feeling today?" he asks every day.

“I'm fine, doctor,” you reply as usual, watching him nod with papers in his hands.

“We have the results of the first exam I submitted you to,” he clearly refers to the exam regarding the compatible male.

You knew this moment would come, but you can't help but clutch the white sheets between your fingers; you're not ready to leave that new as well as fragile daily routine. You still hate hospitals, but no one there has threatened you. What will happen when you leave? Will the male treat you well?

“Y/N” Oliver calls you back frowning, "I need you to listen to me very carefully, I hold your future in my hands," he makes it clear without preamble.

“I know, I'm listening” you find yourself saying with a dry mouth.

“When you leave, you'll get one visit from me a month, I'll make sure you're okay and that you don't miss anything,” he begins in a confident tone, "But I'm not going to lie to you, something out of the ordinary has happened and I need you to be prepared psychologically.”

You open your eyes wide, “I don't understand, I'm healthy, you said so” possible that in a few days something has happened to your body? Being used at the will of a man - a wolf to be precise - doesn't make you crazy, but you also don't want to die of who knows what illness.

“You're not sick, Y/N,” the doctor tries to calm you down, ”Okay? It's not that. You've received many matches,” he spits in the end, a little worried about your reaction.

“W-what?” you stammer, ”You mean... two males?”

“No, not two.” and then the bomb, “Seven.”

No. This can't be true, there's no way you can stand that. One Moondirian is dangerous, two are unmanageable, but seven... with a startled groan you imagine what kind of death you will get. A very, very slow and painful one.

Oliver takes off his glasses, rubbing the lenses with the fabric of his lab coat, “It's shocking. Even the guys in the lab were surprised. Only once have we had more than one match with a single female, but even then it was only two compatible males. Your body, on the other hand, tested compatible with as many as seven Moondirians. We repeated the test, but the result remained the same.”

You observe him without blinking. Oliver looks surprised, but not frightened; you can see his emotions clearly now. The doctor is thrilled, though he tries not to show it to you specifically.

You will be fed to seven wolves.

“Does this mean that I will have sexual relations with all of them? What will really happen to me? It's all just too much! I am not a rag doll to be divided into seven parts!” you blurt out in panic, trying to pull the IV out, which Oliver won't allow by holding you by the wrist.

“Calm down.” he murmurs sternly, making you nauseous. Of course, everyone here thinks you're the weird one.

“You can't escape this obligation, the only alternative would be to die, and I assure you the soldiers don't go lightly.”

You know, you read in their eyes the lust and anger in them, they would not pity you.

“One of them is a doctor, I will only be able to visit you once a month, but he will make sure every day that you are fine, okay? He will also explain to you in detail what they expect from you and what you absolutely must not do,” you nod slowly, unable to say anything else. Your vision blurs and you look away from Oliver, who has meanwhile gently slipped the needle out of your arm. He stopped you from removing the IV because you would have hurt yourself, and despite this kindness you are not grateful, now you know that this man is just making sure you get to them intact. You are disgusted, you would have preferred Hoseok's direct cruelty to Oliver's false kindness.

“Get some sleep, they will come for you tonight.”

“You won't tell me anything about them? Not even how I might recognize them?” you ask angrily, but Oliver denies with his head.

“I am not allowed to talk about them, you will meet them yourself when they come for you.”

With those last words of his, he leaves the room never to return.

“Are you ready?” asks one of the doctors who assisted you in those last days spent at the center.

You cross your arms, finding it comfortable and safe in the warmth of the new sweater you were provided a few hours earlier, along with some simple jeans and sneakers. The doctor nods in satisfaction, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. From what you understand, almost all the doctors at the procreation center have vision problems, this due to a dangerous exposure in one of the many chemical factories where they were being exploited by humans.

“The car has arrived, just missing you, girl.”

It's like walking toward the gallows; the terror, the anxiety, the rising heartbeat, it's all there.

Then, in the middle of the dark and desolate street surrounding the procreation center you see it; it's Hoseok's car. Two green, disinterested eyes watch you as you drive through the front doors, accompanied by one of the doctors. Your heart skips a beat.

“She's ready, she's responded well to the treatment, just as we expected,” you hear the doctor say, Hoseok merely nodding before focusing on you again, squaring you from head to toe with an air of condescension.

“So, little flower... I'll be your Charon, aren't you excited about that?”

A strange and unsettling feeling snakes down your spine.

Could it be that-

“Are you one of the seven?” you ask point-blank, praying for a negative answer.

You see him smile in response, “Who knows...”

“You will receive a visit from Dr. Smith at least once a month, I trust you will treat this genetic prodigy well,” the doctor goes back to say.

Genetic prodigy? Obviously.

A human woman compatible with seven Moondirians is really something prodigious and valuable.

You are just a broodmare; you will be thrown away when you can no longer bring children into the world.

You enter the car with a sense of déjà-vu, the only difference being that when Hoseok reaches you, he no longer seems so cheerful.

“I prayed to the Moon Goddess, asking her to keep you away from my person, but as far as I can see, our fates have once again become entwined,” he mumbles as he puts on his seatbelt.

“I'm not so happy to see you again either,” you spit between your teeth, no longer able to hold back your irritation. The wolf snorts slightly, but then suddenly you have your chin clenched in a terribly painful grip and two green eyes glaring at you.

“A word of advice, little flower,” he blows into your face - notes of cedar and sea leave you stunned for a moment - and then resumes, ”Try to keep that attitude of yours at bay, some of them are more touchy than others, and I wouldn't advise you to upset them by being a brat.”

Maybe you've gone completely crazy, but you can't refrain from answering them again with a taunt, “Are you like them, Hoseok?”

It is like watching flames suddenly burst into flames, unable to do anything to avoid them. One moment the wolf is still holding you tight, the next he grabs you by the hair and presumptuously presses your lips against his, with a growl that silences your pitiful moan.

He is violent, invasive, his tongue penetrates your mouth hard to your throat, forcing you to gasp for air, and his sharp teeth scratch the delicate skin of your lips. The taste of blood intrudes on your entanglement of tongues and fear blinds you.

You place your hand on his chest and push him away forcefully, succeeding after no small amount of effort only because he is the one allowing you to do so, putting an end to that barbaric attack.

“What the fuck-!” you sob, shocked, barely noticing that Hoseok is quietly wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his uniform.

“Now be quiet. You are in no position to provoke or dictate, try not to piss me off, I've already told you.”

You bring your hands to your lap, lowering your eyes. With a hollow in the center of your chest and tears stuck in your throat, you realize that your first kiss was used for a cowardly display of power.

But in such a world, what is the point of preserving the first kiss? For you and many other women, sweetness or love will no longer exist, nor will the possibility of finding a faithful and loving partner.

The roar of the car became a pleasant background noise, something you listened to carefully to distract yourself from the dangerous presence at your side.

All along the way your lips tingled and pulsed, still swollen from the bites of Hoseok, who had certainly not held back. He had to punish you, and he did it in the vilest of ways; therefore, you dared not even look at him by accident since you left.

Several times, looking first at the city and then at the countryside from the window, you had the eerie desire to open the door and jump out of the running car. But you reconsidered. Whether you were dead or alive, Hoseok is a Moondirian and would have caught up with you in a very few seconds, perhaps even taking sadistic pleasure in finding you smashed on the asphalt.

It is certainly disgusting, but... you don't want to die, not yet. Even though you've wished it many times, it's not really what you want.

“We have arrived,” your Charon informs you, pointing you to a country house that is very old, but also solid enough to still stand effortlessly.

The pale stone villa stands on an expanse of undulating fields, surrounded by cypress trees and quiet wilderness. The arched windows of the house watch you sleepily as Hoseok waves you out of the car.

You take a closer look at the exterior walls of the villa, slightly cracked from the many years that have passed and who knows how many stories to tell; beyond that there is also a wooden veranda running the entire south side of the house, with empty and abandoned terracotta pots. You take steps forward, intrigued by all you are allowed to see, and you also notice the presence of an orchard, also abandoned, that extends to the edge of the woods.

“Don't get any ideas, this is an isolated house that we use as a base,” mutters Hoseok, before muttering to himself, ' 'Cause of you we'll have to live there a lot longer.'

You stiffen.

Thanks to the natural beauty of that forgotten place, you are momentarily lost in your exploration, forgetting the presence of other Moondirians.

“Don't just stand there, you might get sick,” he blurts, grabbing you by the arm, realizing that a slightly too cold breeze is making you shiver, ”You're annoying as it is, don't make it worse with your physical weakness.”

He drags you to the large dark oak front door, pulling out a set of keys probably as old as the house. With a loud click, the door creaks open, showing the antiquated, but neat and tidy interior, as if someone had recently cleaned it up.

The smell of scented candles permeates the air, leaving you surprised given its appearance - you thought you smelled dust or mold, not baked apple and cinnamon. One glance at Hoseok's more relaxed expression and you realize that a Moondirian's sense of smell would not have liked that stench of an old and neglected house.

It's ridiculous to walk alongside him, carefully observing every dark corner of the house and lightly lit only by candles; it's like watching a lamb willingly flank a wolf. Creepy.

“Have a seat, the others will be here soon,” he points to the black velvet sofa, taking off his uniform jacket himself to place it on a coat rack. The cream-colored wallpaper with small stylized flowers whispers to you that the mansion probably belonged to an elderly but well-off human couple. Perhaps they lived humbly to remain in God's grace, but perhaps they died because of Moondir's wolves.

You sit cautiously on the sofa as Hoseok pours himself a glass of brandy without deigning to offer you any, not that you would accept that unlikely show of kindness.

“Why are you assigned to me?” you ask.

Hoseok strikes you as someone who prefers to give orders, not receive them.

“You mean because I carried you around here and there? I was the only one free, the others are busy with hunting, you know... finding males of your kind and torturing them a bit,” he explains easily, making your eyes widen.

“Uh... Dr. Smith also mentioned a doctor among you,” you have to make sure, Moondirian doctors seem much quieter and more sociable than soldiers, you have to be able to make friends with him if you want to live with some dignity.

Hoseok smiles slowly, a smile that does not reach his cold eyes, “Yes... he is in charge of treating the prisoners' wounds. They can't die while we're torturing them, they have to talk, and if they die before they do, they won't be of any use at all.”

He talks about such things with a monstrous calm, as if it were absolute and perfect normalcy.

“How can you sleep at night, thinking of all the people you've hurt?” you murmur without thinking of the consequences, trapped in a reality devoid of humanity.

Hoseok leans against the wall and crosses his legs, in a more comfortable and relaxed position. He dances the brandy in the glass slowly and cautiously, losing himself in its amber hues with an absorbed air.

“It's not hard, little flower... I think back on what I've been through and their lives automatically fade into the background,” he smiles foolishly, with a maddening shadow in his gaze, “You, on the other hand, should be grateful. You are still alive and not stuck in a tangle of bodies catching fire. Many would like to be in your place.”

Hoseok's eyes twinkle slightly, then he lifts them toward you, but not to look at you. He's looking at something behind you, and a shiver of creepiness coats your skin when something intangible brushes against your ear. It is not the wind. It is too warm and intimate, a sigh.

You get up from the sofa with a scream, Hoseok immediately grabs you preventing you from escaping, holding you tightly to his side with a real laugh this time.

The crash of the glass on the floor is just a miserable detail.

A man watches you, nonchalant. His amber eyes, deep and impenetrable, are framed by thick lashes that accentuate his dark gaze, as if traced by charcoal. They remind you with a shudder of Yoongi, but he is not. There is nothing that unites the two men, apart from the strange, bulky presence. The face, angelic in appearance, is distorted by a smug expression that clutches your stomach.

How many faces does the devil possess? Because he is probably the one in front of you.

“You weren't lying when you said she was as beautiful and fragile as a flower,” he smiles with the tip of a tooth sticking out, ”Who knows how many bastards she'll help us churn out before her petals fall off completely.”

“Hold back, Taehyung... I'm sure you know the rules, our guest has to learn a few things before she can satisfy us,” Hoseok snorts, feeling you trembling against him.

“I won't do anything too invasive, I promise,” insists the new diabolical being, Taehyung.

Your instincts lead you to do something very awkward. You hide behind Hoseok, as if by now your body has gotten used to using that wolf as a shield, deluding you with some kind of protection that doesn't really exist.  You clutch the rough fabric of his uniform as if your very life depended on it, and Hoseok lets you do it, perhaps taking sadistic pleasure in seeing a prey taking refuge in her predator's embrace. You make him feel somehow chosen, something he will never admit to anyone.

“What's up with our little flower?” Taehyung asks, raising an eyebrow with amusement as he scans you from head to toe. His eyes linger on your form with an interest he doesn't try to hide. Although you are human, spending pleasant time with you will not be a disgusting experience, as he had assumed when he learned of your match. He just didn't expect that he would have to share you with his teammates as well.

“Please don't call me that,” you murmur hesitantly, finding that nickname ridiculous and embarrassing. It makes you feel like you are something useless in their eyes, nice to get but unimportant.

A flower, in fact.

“Oh, look at that, you made her angry!” Hoseok snickers, shaking his head at the other wolf. “Now apologize,” he adds with a mocking tone, grabbing your wrist with disconcerting familiarity.

Before you can even process what’s happening, he hurls you toward Taehyung.

The latter catches you mid-air, effortlessly.

“Don’t worry, I’ll apologize properly,” Taehyung murmurs, a flicker of excitement in his velvety voice. A boulder of terror plunges into your chest and a scream of anguish explodes in your throat.

[lxdymoon0357]

Can i ask a yandere headcanon of phineas lapileon with a pregnant reader ?

(warnings: strictly fem!reader due to pregnancy, etc, mentions of complications)

© Writing belongs to me, Lxdymoon0357. Do not plagiarize, but reblogging, liking and commenting is deeply appreciated.

Yandere!Phineas Lapileon X pregnant!Reader HCs

ஐ Yandere Phineas likely gets you pregnant far quicker than normal Phineas. Obviously a way to keep you tied down, and really make it hard to do anything. Lapileon women who married into the family and gave birth always likely face complications due to such poisonous blood.

ஐ It was Phineas himself who'd tell you you're pregnant. You were throwing up, hated the smell of certain things, acne and all the beauty of pregnancy loomed when he checked you out and yep, you learnt you were with a child with scarlet eyes of the Lapileons.

ஐ He'd be gentler, far more affection, even in a better mood overall. Wake up before you to make sure everything is okay while you're asleep. When you'd wake up, he'll let Islette be beside you, make sure you take vitamins, brush your teeth and all before you're even showing or past two weeks.

ஐ When your bump grows bigger, he allows you to wear his shirts without panties or anything in the comfort of your room, especially during those labia zaps or the little cramping on the front lines of your belly as the bump grows.

ஐ Always brings you your cravings, even if it's out of season fruits or nuts, or weird combinations which makes him pukes. Always feeds you too, especially during the middle of the night when you wake up randomly. Sometimes even lets Islette tries to judge if it should even be allowed to his kid.

ஐ Speaking of, when you start showing a little bit, he explained it to Islette that she was going to have a sibling..Islette was excited, wondering if she could play with them like Celphius, you both obviously told her to wait. And you also tried to pay attention to her, despite the pregnancy and all.

ஐ Phineas constantly overchecks and now, he likely uses his own blood, tiny drops for people who even dare question you or your birth plan, make you feel invalid, anything AT ALL! Asid from it, he will do what's best for you over the child, sure the kid is half you..but you're you.

ஐ Massages your legs, your feet, your back, holds your tummy for you, ties your shoes, fixs your dress. Everything from T, but really..you go out even less than before, being pregnant. He barely lets you out his sight, lets you talk or even be with Islette. She misses you, but knows you shouldn't be bothered because Phineas explains it to her.

ஐ The baby-shower is basically just Lapilons, he doesn't trust most people outside of his family either. Maybe your best-friend, but also only for a little while. Islette and Celphius make tin drawings for the baby too!

ஐ Like I said, Lapilon wives who marry into the family and give birth often face complications due to the poisonous birth, it could mean rotting from inside to many other things. Phineas doesn't want that, extensive months of care, he almost doesn't let you do things while you're also getting medicines while he researches what causes such complications in the first place.

ஐ The baby is overall born to somewhat reclusive dad, but a very bright ister and you...Honestly, you'd have to be very careful around the child due to it's poisonous blood as well.

[softlymellow]

The Order Forgot Me First - Chapter 12

☆⁠ PAIRING : Anakin Skywalker x Reader

☆⁠ word count: 4.4k

☆⁠ story themes: lovers to enemies to eventually lovers

☆⁠ warnings: spoilers to swtcw, angstttt and a bit of fluff !!!!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

"I don't need you to fix anything."

It had been two days since you and Anakin spoke. 

You were bored out of your mind. The medics constantly insisted that you stayed to ensure you were ‘healthy’. They also suggested that you should make yourself useful and regularly move your body to speed up the process. 

And that was exactly what you were doing.

You got up from your bed and took a stroll around the room. Your body still felt a little sore but it was nothing you hadn’t experienced before. You were so ready to leave and get back out there. 

Lifting your arms over your head, you yawned, feeling your back stretch. You then sighed in relief as they fell down. 

And then the door hissed open. 

Two medics stepped inside, one of them holding a datapad, looking stern yet bored, the other looked quite eager to see you. Though neither of them looked surprised that you were awake. 

“Morning, Commander!” The eager one said, a smile on his face. “You look quite well.”

You plopped onto the bed, your hands panting down your hair, trying to get rid of all the flyaways whilst avoiding the bandages. “Yeah well, I kind of want to get out of here as fast as possible.” 

“Today might be that day,” the other spoke in a gruff voice. 

“Finally,” you huffed out playfully. 

“We do have to do some check ups before you leave.”

You nodded, ready for them to approach you. 

Both medics walked around you gently, scanning your vitals and cross checking your charts with their datapad.

One of them began to unwrap the bandage on your head, wincing as it was still sore. 

“Bruising has gone down.”

“Her reflexes have improved.” 

“Her upper torso is set to heal at a steady rate.”

One of the medics held your left arm, wiping it down with an alcohol swab. And without warning, they pulled out a syringe from the pack wrapped around their waist. With no hesitation or concern, they injected it inside you. 

“Ouch!” You flinched, wanting to pull away but just as fast as it was inserted, it had already left. 

“You could have warned me.” You grumbled. 

“You’ll live,” the kinder one said as he watched the other throw away the injection in a nearby trash can. 

You didn’t smile. 

“On a brighter note, Master Kenobi will be on his way to escort you out.” 

“Oh. So, I’m cleared then?” Your eyebrows lifted, happily. 

He nodded, tapping a few things into his datapad. “Yeah-” He sighed. “-I don’t see any reason why you would stay any longer.”

As if on cue, the doors hissed open to reveal Obi-wan in his Jedi robes, a pleased look on his face. 

“Y/n. You’re looking a lot better.” He had a smile growing on his face. One of his arms was propped up on his hips and the other was holding a brown leather bag.

“Everyone keeps saying that,” you tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “Did I look that bad before?” 

Obi-wan huffed out a laugh, “You should be more grateful, you know.” Obi-wan nodded his head to the medics who stood by you. “You are lucky to even be alive.” 

You awkwardly smiled.

“I trust she is well enough to leave?” Obi-wan directed his attention to the pair. 

“She’s all yours,” the rather mean looking one said. As if you were such a nuisance to him. 

“Just try not to do anything too physically straining for now. Your body still needs rest.” The other spoke in a much softer tone. 

You shot him a small smile, “thank you.” 

Both medics nodded and finished up their business quietly before leaving you and Kenobi together. 

You exhaled slowly, “So much for helping the ‘Republic’.” You scoffed at your own self. “I can’t even do a mission with just a blaster without almost dying.” 

Obi-wan raised an eyebrow at this, “You are much stronger than you think, Y/n.” 

“It’s nothing like with Dev.” You shook your head dismissively. “We weren’t in a war,” your palms flattened out your medical robes, trying to get rid of the creases. “We just did stupid bounties every day.”

“So two ex-Jedi did nothing Jedi related?” Obi-wan joked. 

Rolling your eyes, “I used to argue with him a lot about the fact that he had no idea what it was like fighting in the Clone wars.”

“I feel like him,” you snorted. “I can’t even remember how to fight.” 

“Whether you like it or not, you were the one to recognise his force signature during the battle.” Obi-wan countered, hating the way you spoke down on yourself. 

“That was just luck.”

“That was the Force guiding you.” Obi-wan said. “Something only a force sensitive individual can feel. Someone like a Jedi.”

You stayed quiet, nibbling on your lip anxiously. 

Furrowing your eyebrows, you realised you hadn’t even asked about Master Bulq. “Master Bulq? What happened to him?” You queried. 

Obi-wan ran his right hand running through his auburn hair. “He is detained for now.” Sighing, he continued. “Master Sora Bulq was a…complicated case.” 

“He has been seduced by the dark side.” He revealed. “Connections to Count Dooku and us. It only explains how he found us there.” 

You stayed silent, taking it all in. 

“Its scary isn’t it?” You said, deep in thought. 

Obi-wan raised an eyebrow, confused by what you meant. Noticing this, you continued. 

“People turning to the dark side. People we once trusted.” 

“It is indeed.” Obi-wan agreed, humming. 

“I just can’t help but wonder who’s next.” You mumbled, looking down at your hands. 

Obi-wan remained quiet. He didn’t like wondering about the what if’s, he was always present. Present in the moment. 

“Come on,” he said, walking towards you. “Can you walk on your own?” He offered you his free arm to get up. 

“I’m fine, Obi.” You waved your hands in front of you, a small smile creeping up your face. “You’ve helped me enough.”

Obi-wan cleared his throat, his shoulders stiffened and his lips pursed. His expression shifted. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked curiously, your eyes squinting. 

“Have you spoken to Anakin by any chance?” 

You were taken back by his question. 

Anakin? 

“Anakin?” You said out loud. 

“He has been…quite moody.” Obi-wan grumbled. “Not that it is too out of character.” 

Not really sure what to say, your mouth fell open for a second too long. “He…he did come visit me like two days ago…” 

“Visit?” Obi-wan’s eyebrow rose, as if it had been a shock. 

“Yeah, I woke up beside him.”

Obi-wan hummed, his hand stroking his beard as he thought quietly. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked, watching him curiously. 

“There are great many things weighing on him,” he said carefully, “things outside of this war. He’s stopped sleeping again.” 

Your throat tightened and you felt guilt settling in your stomach. 

“I didn’t mean to make things worse…”

Obi-wan tilted his head, studying you. “You may not have. But-” his voice softened, “-he cares about you. Perhaps more than a Jedi should. Attachment like that…” He trailed off.

“It can cloud everything. Judgement. Duty. Purpose.”

You blinked. “You sound like Master Windu.”

Obi-wan’s mouth quirked, “I hope not.” 

Then Obi-wan’s back straightened and he had more of a pleased look as he really looked at you. “Better yet, I have brought you a change of clothes.” He handed the long forgotten satchel towards you. 

You took it from his hands and felt your clothes weighing it down. “You went through my closet?” You snorted. 

“Something like that.” 

“I should report you for that,” you joked, placing it on the bed. 

Obi-wan held himself back from rolling his eyes, you and Anakin will always be the death of him. 

“We’ll talk more later.” You nodded in response. 

“And, Y/n.” He added quietly, like he was a friend and not a general. “Don’t wait too long to decide what you want. Before this war decides for you.”

He then gave you a tightlipped smile before leaving the room. The doors hissed shut and his words were left hanging in the air. 

For some reason, the knot in your stomach felt heavier than your wounds. 

--- --- --- --- --- --- ---

You collapsed onto your bed and let the silence stretch. 

The Coruscant skyline had begun to dim. Casting your room in orange and red hues. Traffic patterns blinked across the sky, all heading somewhere. 

Home, perhaps. 

You were exhausted. Not that you had done much today. Other than leaving the med bay, your day was spent in the meditation room. Trying so hard to shake off what Obi-wan had said to you. 

About Anakin’s attachment. 

About your role in this war. 

You were so utterly and completely lost. 

Out of habit, you reached for your datapad, half tucked underneath your pillow. 

Boot-up.

Ping.

Log in: Y/n L/n

-

-

-

Accepted. 

You flipped through daily entries. Reports you had missed. Missions that had gone and sent out while you were unconscious and stuck in that godforsaken room. 

As you tapped on the tab for your personally assigned missions, there were two waiting in the hotbar for you to accept. 

Senate Dinner Assignment – Commander L/n

Diplomatic presence required. Attire: Formal. Status: Pending Confirmation.

Assigned Sector Escort: Monian Vale.

A Senate dinner? An escort? 

Your eyebrows furrowed as you realised it would be for tomorrow. It made sense. They would not assign you heavy combat duties this early. 

You hummed and tapped ‘Accept’. It might be fun? Who knows.

And then your eyes drifted down. 

A single line item. Flagged for yourself. 

Deep-space scouting operation – Commander L/n

Outer Rim Survey Route. Arkanis Sector.  Pending confirmation. 

Priority Tag: Class Delta

Now this one was a heavy combat duty. This was more important than a silly Senate dinner. 

Your thumb hovered over it for a second. It wasn’t immediate. It will be by the end of this week. But it was yours. 

You hadn’t been briefed on it but you were assigned to it. 

You sat there for a moment, your eyes rereading it over and over again. Your name was stamped on it. And it felt good. 

This was something you were useful at. It was more than just a mission. It showed that they cared about you even after being injured. That they didn’t think you were dead weight. 

Without another moment, you tapped the ‘Accept’ command and locked in your name. 

--- --- --- --- --- --- ---

You lied there restlessly. Your body itching to move and all you wanted it to do was sleep. You couldn’t though. It was like it wanted to make up for all of the days lost from training and fighting. 

You groaned, sitting up. Your palms running down your face in annoyance. You couldn’t shake off your meeting with Anakin, his apology to you. It made you want to rip out your hair. 

Getting up from the bed, you slipped into your robes and rolled your neck, wanting to relieve the tension. You needed water and you needed air.

And that’s what you did. 

You made your way quietly through the halls and then outside towards the training grounds where there was a water dispensary. No one would be there at this hour. 

The dispensary was hidden behind some pillars, a little further than the actual grounds but close enough where padawans would gleefully jog to quench their thirst. 

You pressed on the silver button and water began to shoot out from the drinking taps. You brought your mouth close to the bubbler and felt water rush down your throat, the cool sensation almost making you sigh in relief. 

After a couple seconds, you let go of the button, just as fast, the water stopped. Stepping back a couple steps, you wiped away any remaining droplets around your mouth with the front of your sleeve. 

You let yourself relish in the fresh air, cool winds blowing your hair ever so lightly. It was soothing. Ever so quiet. You watched the plants swaying side to side in a gentle manner. 

Closing your eyes, you let yourself be in the moment. 

Panting. The whirr of a saber. 

It was the smallest sound. So small you would have completely missed it had you not closed your eyes and focused. 

Your eyebrows furrowed as the sounds continued. You made small steps towards it. It came from the training ground. Each step you took, it grew louder. The unmistakable sharp and heavy breathing. 

Rounding the corner, you leaned against the cool stone pillar, curiosity taking you in. Quietly, you peeked your head and watched.  

Anakin was there, utterly alone at the center of the floor. He was sparring with the Republic issued training sabers, the same ones padawans would use to train at a lower risk. His movements were precise, angry. 

His hair stuck to his forehead and sweat dripped down his chiselled jaw, his chest rising and lowering with heavy breaths. 

Your heartbeat quickened as you placed one hand against the stone to anchor yourself. You were frozen in place, watching the saber move effortlessly. 

“You just gonna stand there?” His voice cuts the silence, low and tired. Anakin doesn’t look your way, instead he draws his saber down by his side, spinning it. 

Your jaw clenched as you slowly stepped into view, your arms wrapped around you defensively. 

“I was just leaving.”

Anakin then moves to meet your gaze, something inside of you throbbed under his intense eyes searching your own for something you weren’t sure you could give him anymore. “You don’t have to.”

You hesitate. “It’s late,” you murmured. 

“Then why are you here?” Anakin challenged you gently, his voice quiet. You hated this feeling. This push and pull. It wasn’t intentional. It was like the Force wanted you to see him. Like it was drawing you to him. Like whatever happened now was necessary and had meaning. 

You glance away, pulling your arms closer to you and exhaling softly. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Anakin’s eyes softened as he watched your withdrawn behaviour. 

“How are you feeling?” He asked, his voice etched with concern. 

You nodded your head and shrugged, “alright.”

“You want to spar?” 

You held back a scoff. If this was his way of trying to fix things between you two, it was stupid. There was a look in his eyes, like careful hope. 

Your shoulders slumped, “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” your voice distant. 

“I won’t push,” he softly says, stepping closer to you. “Just thought it might help.”

“Help who?” You tried to restrain your bitterness. “Me or you?”

He hesitates, allowing your words to sting him. “Maybe both.” 

Anakin moved and retried behind him, pulling out another training saber from a rack. He began to walk towards you and then held it out, the hilt facing you like a peace offering. 

You stare at it, and then up at the hopeful look on Anakin’s face, and then back down. Your fingers hesitated before finally —reluctantly— you took it. 

Your grip on the saber was stiff. You hadn’t played with a saber in far too long. Yet it all felt familiar. You stepped into the middle of the training grounds, your heart hammering. Anakin circled around you carefully, watching you in caution. You fell into your stance automatically, your muscles easing into routine. 

Anakin then charged at you, his saber clashing yours with measured strikes. Your movements were guarded, uncertain even. But you grew increasingly irritated as you began to step back, Anakin’s strikes strong. Your breath mingles with him as each of you let out an exhale. 

“You’re not bad for not training your saber skills in a while.” He teased. 

You furrowed your eyebrows, offended that he would say something like that and joke like everything was okay. 

“Who says I haven’t?”

Switching positions, you began to offensively aim to hit him. There was something deeper than just fighting with Anakin. It felt like something more. Like an unspoken apology hidden that was hidden in the footwork. Like he allowed you to hit him simply because he regretted the pain he had caused you. Every block felt like a what-if. 

But then, your saber flickered. 

You freeze as it short-circuited, sparks crackling from the hilt mid-swing. You felt sudden jolts of pain course through your fingers, the burn sent you reeling in your hand back slightly. 

“Shit-” You cursed, the saber dropping through your hand on instinct. 

Anakin’s reaction was instinct, closing the distance between you two at an almost instant. His hands reached out for yours, his palm hovering under your hand and the other floating above your wrist, waiting. 

“Let me see,” he says, low. You don’t move away or give your hand to him. You just watched and winced in pain. 

He gently takes your forearm, his thumb brushing over the edge of your sleeve and his eyes scanning your hands, looking for danger. His touch against you felt like fire and it wasn’t something you were used to. 

You pried your hand back, “I’m fine,” you murmured. 

“It’s still damaged. Let me—”

“No.” You snapped sharply, your voice full of hurt. “I don’t need you to fix anything.” 

He stills. His eyes searching yours. Hurt flashes across his guarded expression. “Let me help you.”

“I shouldn’t have even sparred with you.” The words came out much harsher than intended.  You looked down at the saber, wanting to avoid his gaze.

Anakin followed your eyes and knelt down to pick up the lightsaber. As he was coming back up, his wrist comm buzzed sharply, breaking the silence. 

You both glance towards his wrist automatically. You felt your stomach do flips as you read the name clearly flash in the dim light. 

Incoming Call: Padme Amidala. Secure line. 

Your heart dropped and you noticed the way Anakin hesitated. A movement of guilt and uncertainty. He glances up at you, apology in his eyes before accepting the call.

“Padme?”

Her voice slips in through the comms, gentle and warm. “Anakin, sorry to call you so late. Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” he answered quietly, his eyes flickering to you for a second. “It’s fine.”

You audibly scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief as you rubbed your injured hand. You felt cold now. Stepping back slowly as Padme continued. 

“I have just gotten word about a Senate dinner tomorrow night,” she says, her voice formal yet tender. “The Chancellor has requested additional security. I thought you may have heard already but Y/n and yourself will be there. It says I would be appointed a Jedi guardian. I suppose it’s you?”

He nods slowly, watching the way your figure began to every so slowly and slightly retreat back. “I haven’t heard yet.”

Anakin was assigned as well? 

“Well, I suppose you’re stuck with me again.” Her laugh crackled through the comms. 

His voice is quieter this time, “Wouldn’t call it that.”

Anakin’s gaze met yours, heavily apologetic, absolutely hating and dreading the fact that he was having this call with you in the same space. You couldn’t hold it anymore, bitterness boiling in your chest. 

“You should finish that,” you said softly, your voice completely neutral. “I can manage.” 

Anakin shook his head, stepped forward, lowering his comms for a moment while Padme was still on the other line. “Wait—” he begins softly, the buzzed out saber still in his other hand. 

“Stay. Let’s just—”

“Goodnight, Anakin.” You swallowed the ache in your throat. You turned away without waiting for another word from him. Not getting the chance to see the hurt that clouded his eyes. You made a beeline straight to your room, your robes flowing as you speedily walked down the dark hall. 

Anakin sighed, his back of his palm wiping away the sweat on his forehead. The only thing left was the broken saber and Padme’s voice drifting from his comms. 

“...I’ll send over the itinerary. It shouldn’t be too long —just a few hours of political theatre. You’ll survive.”

Anakin doesn’t reply right away, he just stares at the spot where you stood.

“...Yeah,” he finally says. “I always do.”

--- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Your nervously adjusted your gloves, your fingers almost shaking from the coolness of the night. You stepped towards a window of an empty room. Looking at your reflection, you patted down your hair.

You brought your fingers up to your lips as you fixed up the makeup you had on. It wasn't much, but it definitely was more that you would put on daily.

You inhaled deeply as you stepped back from the window, your attention shifting to the entrance where Senators gracefully walked in.

There was no turning back now. You walked in the building.

The corridor of the reception hall was everything you had expected it to be. It had golden archways and detailing all over. It was flawless. 

You breathed in the subtle floral scent from Meiloorun blossom diffusers. There was a live Bith jazz trio that played soft notes in the corner. Droids were moving all around serving senators with hover trays containing appetizers. 

Twi’lek senators had beaded veils. Ambassadors floated around. Chancellor Palpatine was seated at the center, draped in a crimson robe and sipping on something from a smooth chalice. 

You needed to find Monian Vale. Feeling small in the hall, you walked alongside the outskirts, trying not to bump into the senators chatting —trying to get votes—  and the very few other Jedi guardians. 

A few of them glanced at you with a knowing look. You had passed two senators whispering. 

“Isn’t she the Jedi who went rogue?” One asked. 

“I thought she was dead.” The other replied back.

Trying your best to ignore them, your eyes kept scanning the room and your fingers kept fidgeting on their own, feeling self conscious. This was not an environment you were used to. 

You locked onto a woman in deep blue regal Naboo silk. It was Padme. Her hair was styled up with golden chains threaded through and her earrings bared her Royal Crest. She looked beautiful. 

You felt underdressed. Your hair was braided down and you wore a sleek black body suit but a corset-style armoured vest that had subtle gold veining. Your highwaisted pants were tucked into your boots and you had your blaster clipped at the side. 

Looking over besides Padme, was Anakin. He had black formal Jedi robes and gloves to match. It fit him perfectly. Everything about him was sleek and sharp and it fit his frame exceptionally well.

“Y/n.” 

You whipped your head around, the voice calm and familiar. 

It was Bail Organa. He was dressed in a navy cloak and tunic. His expression was warm.

“I’d heard you were back. Wasn’t sure I believed it.”

You offered him a polite smile and a nod. “I wasn’t sure either,” you joked.

“You’re still carrying yourself like a Jedi.” He smiled faintly. 

“Only when it helps.” 

His expression shifted to a more curious one, “And tonight? Does it help?” 

“We’ll see,” you gave him a hint of a smirk. 

Bail laughed and stepped closer. Clearing his throat before speaking in a lower voice, “they sent you alone?”

You scanned the room and your eyes once again settled on Anakin and Padme. “Apparently I’m not the only exception.” You nodded your head subtly towards their direction. 

Bail followed your gaze and hummed. “She must’ve requested him personally. It’s not uncommon. Especially not with her.” His voice was neutral. 

You let that settle in your stomach as your eyes lingered for half a breath longer. “Have you seen Monian Vale?” You turned back to look at Bail. 

Bail huffed once. “He’s been circling around Senators since he has arrived.” 

“I’m assigned to him for the evening.” 

“Then Force help you,” Bail said, smiling. 

As if on cue, a voice came from behind you. Loud enough to draw attention. 

“Ah, Commander L/n.” They said, measured. 

You turned to see Senator Monian Vale striding towards you, a drink in hand, a smile tucked perfectly behind political precision. He was dressed in brown with subtle crimson detailing. 

He looked every bit the Republic that he pretended not to be. 

“Senator Organa,” he greeted with a nod. “Stealing my shadow already?” 

Bail politely chuckled, “She’s here by order of the Senate and Council. Not to represent your ego.” 

“Is there a difference?” He grinned. 

Monian turned to look at you fully, his gaze moving down your outfit and body in ways that you almost felt violated. 

“I have to say,” he added, his voice low. “The Temple never did you justice. I have only seen you in your standard Jedi robes. This look…suits you.” 

You raised an eyebrow, unsure of whether to feel offended or flattered. 

“Is that your diplomatic opening line?”

“Only when it works.” He smiled again. 

You didn’t return the smile. 

Bail stepped in, sensing your discomfort. “Commander L/n is here to keep you and others safe. Not entertained.” 

Monian shrugged, taking a sip from his wine which looked like Toniray. A glowing teal drink from Alderaan. “Security comes in many forms. I find wit to be an effective shield.”

“And if anything happens, let’s hope your words can deflect blaster fire.” You said flatly.

Monian hummed, swirling the drink in his hand. “I see the war didn’t dull you.”

“The war has done more things than just that.” 

His brow rose in amused approval. “I do love when Jedi develop personality.” 

You wanted to correct him and say you weren’t a Jedi but you could not be bothered. It seems every Senator in this building indulged themselves in gossip and rumours. 

Bail gave you a subtle look, as if he was asking you if you were okay. Glancing at him, you reverted your attention fully to Senator Vale. 

“I assume we will be doing the usual parade around senators tonight?” You asked, disregarding what he had just said. 

“Of course,” he lifted his glass slightly. “Wouldn’t want anyone to forget which side they’re on.”

Your mouth fell open to reply but you were interrupted by two approaching figures. 

“Commander,” Padme’s voice came about as she approached you. “It is quite nice to see you on duty tonight.” 

Your eyes flickered towards Anakin, his attention already focused on you. Ignoring the pang in your heart, you quickly looked back at Padme. 

“Surprise assignment.” You nodded.

“Seems the Chancellor's office is full of surprises lately,” she said with a soft smile. “We had only been informed about this event a few days ago. Perhaps to reel in last minute voters.” 

You forced a polite smile, both your hands clasped behind your back. Monian sipped his drink, his eyes moving between you and Anakin like he felt something was coming. 

Like tonight would be a long night. 

A/n: SORRY FOR SUCHHHH A LATE CHAPTERRR!!!! i hope u guys like it i lowk need some of yall thoughts ok so when it comes rots and order 66 and stuff i know how i wanna play it out but until then i might follow the clone wars episodes leading up to it with drama ofc like how does that sound? cuz thats like the only way i could think of how to lead it to order 66 eventually

lowk had writers block and then i have exams in a week so was quite stuck </3 and one more thing do u guys like me doing longer chapters like this one but it might be a bit late or shorter more frequent chps?

LET ME KNOW WHAT YALL THINK ! <3

Omg random side note and rant I have had this itchhh to write a one shot of like padawan obiwan x reader and he’s like sad about his relationship with qui gon UGHHHH

Taglist: @endairachristensen26 @hayden-christensen-verse @ducks118 @seventeen-x @movingalongthekiwi @ssnapsaurus @caramelfondu @dayrin085 @devilslittlehelper @f1wh0recom @green-lxght @bettysgardenswift @heyitsbeeeb @user-3113s-blog @fandomhoe101 @veronaspencil @zudooms @hiphopdancer101universe @starfire21 @devotedlypaleluminary @miksxz @lacherrysouldy @lotushzl @biddycums @wandasblacknails @moonixlity @icanmeltanigloo @isntthatsweetiguessso @kiyotofish @balsalmic-vinegar

if u want to be added or removed lmk!

[sylluvschoso]

bad choso!

cw: afab reader, dubcon, choso is metaphorically described as a puppy but he's biologically human, somnophilia, maybe slightly toxic?, choso is the goodest boy, there's no sex education in tengen's barrier

word count: 738

author's note: me writing choso as doing fucked up shit just to defend him for said shit... anywho i couldn't get this out of my head at 2am so i NEEDED to write it down lolz

------------------------------------------

The worst part of dating a cursed womb is having to teach him right and wrong when it comes to things that only humans know about.

It's almost like adopting a puppy. His desires and instincts have to be curbed to fit the mold of how he should be, and it's your job to teach him how to be good.

Unfortunately, this means that Choso usually has to make these mistakes beforehand, so he can then learn that he was being bad. Similarly to all of the people that he killed in Shibuya, it wasn't until after it happened that he learned about morality and what it really means to be human.

Sexually, things can become pretty dubious. Choso is laying awake in bed as you're sleeping soundly beside him; soft, plush legs on full display, pretty face so calm with your mouth slightly open. You've left food on the table again and expect your new puppy to just know not to steal it! You've given him permission to have the treats before... how is he supposed to know that it's not okay right now?

He's not trying to be bad, he's really not. He kisses your shoulders and rubs your hips with his big hands. He does all of the things you taught him, making sure to get you nice and wet with his tongue and work you open with his fingers. He's being so careful to be good, taking such extra care not to hurt you.

His eyes roll back into his head as he slips into you, soft and warm and so inviting. He did everything he was supposed to, so when you sleepily stir, your voice thick with sleep as you utter out, "Cho?" of course your puppy's ears perked up, so happy that you're finally awake because there's nothing he loves more than your attention!

But when you fully come to and your voice rings out, disgusted and upset, "Choso, what the fuck are you doing?" you must as well have just kicked your puppy. His eyes widen as he flinches back. "I- I-" his deep voice starts but can't seem to find the words. He's unsure as to what he did wrong.

"Choso?! While I'm sleeping?? What are you doing?" You seem closed off, almost fearful of him as you cover yourself up with the sheets.

Choso chews on his lip so hard that it might bleed, eyebrows furrowed, tears brimming in his pretty eyelashes. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

You sigh deeply, exasperation wearing off as you see how sorry your pretty puppy really is. He really didn't know any better. Of course there weren't lessons in consent during his 150 years locked away from society. Despite how emotionally mature and intelligent he is, there's no way he could've known this. Your gaze softens as you reach a hand out towards his face. "I'm sorry Cho, I didn't mean to get mad at you. It's just not okay to do things like that while I'm sleeping."

He continues to chew on his lip, committing the new rule to memory. He nods and looks up at you. Your puppy, tail between his legs, slowly wagging while he tries to figure out if he's still in trouble. Silently asking if he's still a good boy.

You huff out a small laugh as you reach forward to kiss him slowly. His relief is palpable, his entire body relaxing into your touch. You glance down at his cute flushed dick and you become aware of just how gentle and sweet Choso was with you while you were asleep, you can tell by how wet you are and the lack of pain that he did his best to prep you just like he was taught.

Choso really tries so hard to be a good boy, and good boys deserve treats. You lay back and spread your legs for him again, "Well, I'm awake now," you tease with a grin.

[stormblessed358]

I'd reblog this just plain but begging for asks doesn't work on the internet and I know I'd never get responses anyway, so I'm just going to fill it out for one of my newest OCs by way of introduction and you are all going to have to deal with it.

This is Alexei, and I'm going to need to be very careful answering these because their story is rife with spoilers if ever I actually get around to making it.

what would their halloween costume be?

They'd match costumes with their two friends, Miriam and Ethan, because those two have undoubtedly been matching far longer than they've known Alexei.

what would their password be?

A very long, random string of numbers, letters, and symbols because they're really good at memorization and really paranoid about security. Think something like AlkjJ58&5a;gjk54Chth(ab*l;);kjh658&6%89)*7. Each one is unique.

if they met their first design, how would they react?

They'd probably be jealous because their first design had far fewer distinctive traits and, as mentioned, they're really paranoid and would prefer to blend into the background.

what would their birthday party be like? where? with who? what kind of food?

Miriam and Ethan would have to plan their party because they hate having attention on them. It would be the three of them plus Miriam's kid and Ethan's mentor. It would most likely be a pizza party where they watch Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure after learning Alexei has never seen it (the horror.)

what's their way of showing affection? whats their love language?

They are 110% a service kind of person. They're reserved and struggle with showing affection in an obvious way, so Miriam and Ethan have learned that when they find something randomly repaired or cleaned, that was Alexei saying "I love you."

if you and ur oc switched places (your oc went to the real world, and you went to the story) what would you both do first?

They'd be pretty devastated at losing the life they'd worked for, but this wouldn't be their first time with a major relocation. I'd be pretty jazzed about all the superheroes flying around but distinctly not too happy about the high levels of organized crime going on.

if your oc were to make a podcast, what would it be about? would you listen to it?

She doesn't talk much, so she'd more likely get roped into a podcast Miriam would start about the superheroes around the city because Miriam's a big fan. I'd listen if I had the time.

whats their most controversial opinion?

They hate ice cream because it's too sticky. Ethan and Miriam don't understand why Alexei would ever think this.

where would they sit in class?

If there's someone they know, they're sticking to that person like a barnacle. If not, the seat with the clearest shot to the exit.

what would they write about in the AITA reddit?

If they weren't concerned about the huge security risk social media presents, they'd write about very small events that they've overthought about - for instance, they accidentally gave one extra ketchup packet to a customer when working at the register at their job and their boss walked by and offhandedly remarked, "Pay attention, Alexei." Did they do something wrong? What should they have done instead? Have they permanently lost their boss's trust?

what do they smell like? what do they look like they smell like?

They smell like absolutely nothing. This is actually brought up in-story at some point. They look like they'd smell like the fast-food place they work at because most of their clothes are stained.

how would they describe themselves? how would their friend/love interest and how would you?

Alexei would describe themself as "efficient." Miriam would launch into a whole paragraph of praise that concluded with "I mean, there's a lot they're hiding, but they're still just the best person ever, okay?" My elevator pitch for Alexei, leaving out the spoilers, is that they're always on edge, scared out of their mind that the life they've built for themself is going to collapse out from under them, but they decide that doing good things for the people around them is worth the risk.

how would they do the “how many aura points did I lose when…” trend?

I have no idea what this is so I'm going to skip it.

how would you think they’d die if you didnt know already?

I have two, and they're both spoilers. Alexei's an enigma in the story for a very long time. However, they sarcastically proclaim that Ethan's rowdiness is going to be the death of them eventually.

whats the first thing you would notice about them if you saw them walking in a street?

I'd notice how weirdly they move - completely smooth, even steps, no unintentional movement. If the street is quiet enough, I'd note how they don't make any sound.

whats in their fridge?

Almost nothing. It gets more full when they're going to have people over, but otherwise they just have the essentials.

how well do they remember their childhood?

Perfectly. Their memory is really, really good (mentioned under the password question) and that extends to the events before they became who they are at the start of the story.

whats their best childhood memory?

[Redacted]. As mentioned, they're an enigma in the story and answering this question here will be far less interesting than when it gets answered in the actual story.

do they like answering questions?

Absolutely not.

are they left handed or right handed?

They're ambidextrous, but paranoid enough that they pretend to be right-handed in order to blend in. Miriam and Ethan know, and reassure them that ambidexterity is a perfectly normal thing that happens sometimes and that nobody would take notice, but they're needlessly worried.

whats in their google search bar right now?

"What is deodorant?" Long story.

whats on their wishlist?

Christmas presents for Miriam and Ethan. For themself, new pairs of sturdy jeans.

whats their most used emoji?

They don't use emoji because that's not the way they're used to typing. They have, however, started using :) after being exposed to Miriam.

would their fans assume they were written by a woman or a man?

Probably a woman? I don't make assumptions like this when I look at characters so I've got a bit of myopia when it comes to my own.

what would their reposts be about?

They are frankly scared of social media because of the massive security risk, but when they're looking over Miriam's shoulder they tend to have strong feelings about people being kind to each other.

what would their dating profile look like?

Again, dating apps are a security risk they would be unwilling to take, but in a world where circumstances were better, it would be so terse and clean that whoever looked at it wouldn't find anything interesting.

what is their "RIP (character) you would've loved (thing)"?

"RIP Alexei you would've loved The Murderbot Diaries by Martha Wells." (Did I do this right? I'm unfamiliar with this concept.)

do they give good advice?

Absolutely. They're observant enough that they can give specific solutions to specific problems whenever needed, but they're so blunt they run the risk of hurting feelings sometimes.

what do their hands look like? bracelets? rings? nails? veins? tattoos? scars? dirty/clean?

Their hands are usually at least a little bit dirty even though they wash them more than any other person Miriam knows. They're smooth and even, with no visible veins, marks, jewelry, or moles.

can they fight?

Yes. They're terrifying if pushed to that point.

would they kill a spider or let it outside?

They let it outside. They're always the one other people call to deal with spiders because they're utterly unfazed, no matter how big and/or venomous they are.

if they had to make wish that will surely come true, what would it be?

They'd wish that all the organized crime targeting people in their neighborhood would stop.

how would you spend a day with your oc?

I'd get them a library card and let them go for it. Alexei's in desperate need of some relaxation and the library would be much more comfortable for them than anything else.

how would your oc describe themselves in 3 words?

Efficient. They would not be able to come up with two more in a reasonable amount of time.

how do they define love?

When Alexei would sacrifice their own security for another person's, they consider it love.

if they had a mlp cutie mark what would it be?

A pair of roller blades.

how do they text/write?

Perfect capitalization, grammar, spelling, and punctuation, but very terse and to-the-point. They're really fast and never make typos.

what would be the worst crime theyd commit?

Depends on the context. At worst? Homicide.

what could they talk about for hours?

Something that Ethan or Miriam likes. They'd almost never start conversations about themself or be able to keep one going, but they share an interest in many things Ethan and Miriam do and know that the two of them like talking.

describe them as "he/she is a 10 but..”

They are a 10, but good luck getting them to open up to you.

do they believe in a higher power?

No. They're supportive of their religious friends, but can't share those beliefs.

what kind of first impression do they typically give? are they likeable from the get go?

It depends on the impression that the person approaching them gives. They're utterly neutral and cold if approached casually, such as by a customer at their workplace, but can come across as somewhat hostile if approached with questions.

what emotion is hardest for them to express?

Pain. Whether physical, mental, or emotional, they won't express it even to their friends. They value efficiency, and expressing pain detracts from that, in their mind.

are they a good liar? how often do they lie?

They are an extremely good liar, and if the rest of the answers didn't give a clue, they lie by omission almost constantly.

how quickly would they fall in love?

Alexei would like to think that they wouldn't fall in love easily whatsoever, but the opposite is actually true. They started to love the people in their community almost as soon as they arrived. In terms of romantic love, though, they'd take quite a while to even realize that's what they're feeling.

what kinds of dreams would they see?

They would dream about their past, from which they'd wake up with a cold sweat.

what was the darkest time of their life like?

It was right before they escaped and arrived in the community they are in at the start of the story. They didn't realize exactly how bad it was until they had the benefit of hindsight, and now a lot of the worry they hold is about never returning to that time.

𓏵QUESTIONS FOR DEVELOPING OCS

---------------------------------------------

what would their halloween costume be?

what would their password be?

if they met their first design, how would they react?

what would their birthday party be like? where? with who? what kind of food?

what's their way of showing affection? whats their love language?

if you and ur oc switched places (your oc went to the real world, and you went to the story) what would you both do first?

if your oc were to make a podcast, what would it be about? would you listen to it?

whats their most contriversial opinion?

where would they sit in class?

what would they write about in the AITA reddit?

what do they smell like? what do they look like they smell like?

how would they describe themselves? how would their friend/love interest and how would you?

how would they do the “how many aura points did I lose when…” trend?

how would you think they’d die if you didnt know already?

whats the first thing you would notice about them if you saw them walking in a street?

whats in their fridge?

how well do they remember their childhood?

whats their best childhood memory?

do they like answering questions?

are they left handed or right handed?

whats in their google search bar right now?

whats on their wishlist?

whats their most used emoji?

would their fans assume they were written by a woman or a man?

what would their reposts be about?

what would their dating profile look like?

what is their "RIP (character) you would've loved (thing)"?

do they give good advice?

what do their hands look like? bracelets? rings? nails? veins? tattoos? scars? dirty/clean?

can they fight?

would they kill a spider or let it outside?

if they had to make wish that will surely come true, what would it be?

how would you spend a day with your oc?

how would your oc describe themselves in 3 words?

how do they define love?

if they had a mlp cutie mark what would it be?

how do they text/write?

what would be the worst crime theyd commit?

what could they talk about for hours?

describe them as "he/she is a 10 but..”

do they believe in a higher power?

what kind of first impression do they typically give? are they likeable from the get go?

what emotion is hardest for them to express?

are they a good liar? how often do they lie?

how quickly would they fall in love?

what kinds of dreams would they see?

what was the darkest time of their life like?

[cinnasite]

the perils of a hot lab partner

꩜ pairing: chemistry lab partner!hange zoe x gender neutral reader

꩜ warnings: explicit content

꩜ word count: 759

꩜ synopsis: where a chaotic lab partnership turns into an electrifying romance. chemistry isn't just confined to test tubes, you know?

Lab partner!Hange who bursts through the door twenty minutes late and looks like they've been struck by lightning, goggles askew and lab coat half-buttoned, apologising clumsily while somehow already knowing exactly what compound you're supposed to be synthesising.

Lab partner!Hange who gets genuinely ecstatic by successful experiments. Their eyes light up with an intensity that makes your stomach flip as they lean over your shoulder, their breath hot against your ear while explaining molecular structures.

Lab partner!Hange who has ink-stained fingers from frantically scribbling notes, and you find yourself staring at their hands more often than you should, wondering what those fingers would feel like trailing across your skin.

Lab partner!Hange who pushes their glasses up their nose with the back of their hand, leaving smudges that you have an inexplicable urge to clean off with your thumb, your faces inches apart.

Lab partner!Hange who always smells like pine and something vaguely, uniquely them, a scent that becomes intoxicating when they crowd into your personal space to check your measurements. The way their body seems to naturally radiate warmth doesn’t help. At all.

Lab partner!Hange who gets so adorably excited about breakthroughs that they grab your hands without thinking, their touch electric as they bounce on their toes, eyes sparkling with manic joy.

Lab partner!Hange who stays late in the lab with you, the room growing dim as they lean against your workbench, watching you with an unreadable expression that makes heat pool in your stomach.

Lab partner!Hange who absent-mindedly chews on their pen while thinking, drawing your attention to their lips in a way that makes you lose focus while balancing equations.

Lab partner!Hange who has a habit of rolling up their sleeves when concentrating, revealing surprisingly toned forearms that distract you more than any difficult formula ever could.

Lab partner!Hange who notices when you're struggling and moves behind you to guide your hands, their chest pressed against your back as they murmur instructions, their voice dropping to a husky whisper.

Lab partner!Hange who starts bringing you coffee in the mornings, skin lingering against yours during the handoff, their gaze drinking you in with an eagerness that makes you forget how to breathe.

Lab partner!Hange who gets protective when other students boisterously interrupt your work, stepping closer until you can feel the possessiveness of their presence, both comforting and dangerous.

Lab partner!Hange who catches you staring at their mouth while they explain complex theories and pauses mid-sentence, their eyes darkening as tension crackles between you like static electricity.

Lab partner!Hange who starts finding excuses to touch you—steadying your hand while pipetting, brushing past you in the narrow lab aisles, their touch lingering just long enough to make your pulse skyrocket.

Lab partner!Hange who begins texting you late at night during the mid-semester break about "lab questions" that somehow turn into long conversations that leave you lying in bed, wondering if they miss you too.

Lab partner!Hange who wears their hair in a messy bun that makes you want to pull it loose, especially when they tilt their head and expose the elegant line of their neck while concentrating.

Lab partner!Hange who starts unconsciously mirroring your movements, both of you reaching for the same equipment and freezing when your bodies brush, the air thick with unspoken tension.

Lab partner!Hange who looks at you over their glasses with an expression that's equal parts scientific curiosity and something much more tantalising, making you feel like their most fascinating experiment.

Lab partner!Hange who gets flustered when you compliment their intelligence, cheeks flushing as they fidget with their lab coat, suddenly unable to look at you.

Lab partner!Hange who finally snaps during a late evening lab session, grabbing your wrist when you reach for a beaker and pulling you against them, their other hand tangling in your hair as they kiss you desperately against the bench, months of yearning finally exploding between you.

Lab partner!Hange who breaks the kiss just long enough to breathe, "I've been wanting to do that since our first titration," before claiming your mouth again, their hands roaming as you forget everything except the way they say your name like a prayer.

Lab partner!Hange who shows up the next day with a lopsided grin, acting like they didn't just have you screaming against their dorm room wall the previous night, casually asking, "So, want to grab dinner? Like, an actual date?" with mischievous eyes and the burning memory of exactly how you taste.

[rileygorski]

give me santos and langdon fighting over mel. they just both love her and want her attention.

like one day santos is trying to get her to go out with them and mel can’t “because frank—“ and she never finishes the sentence. santos has already left to go search for the motherfucker who keeps stealing her friend.

“seriously?” she walks up to langdon, seated at the nurse’s station. he doesn’t even look up from the screen.

“whatever i did, i’m not sorry for.” he says monotoned.

“you know ladies night is always on friday. right after work. it’s been two fridays in a row that mel hasn’t shown up to—because of you.”

now she has his undivided attention. “you know, santos, i don’t appreciate you belittling my girlfriend. she’s an adult who can make her own choices—if the choice is not wanting to go to some sleezy club with you, that’s on her.”

he has a point, but she’s not backing down. she needs mel to go. she likes spending time with mel and she’d do it more often at her apartment if that man wasn’t always around. plus this particular night she’d asked garcia to go and while it’s not quite a date yet because samira and whitaker are also tagging along, she wants to see if there’s something more than their flirty banter and longing glances outside of work. trinity hopes that safety in numbers will lower her chances of making an ass of herself. plus mel is so aware of everything she would no doubt pull her aside if she thought something she said was off or if the vibes weren’t good.

“could you just—i don’t know talk her into it? it’s karaoke night and she loves karaoke. please?” she’s not a fan of begging and doing it in front of langdon makes her sick but if it’s for mel, then she’ll do damn near anything.

“she also loves scrabble and a romantic dinner date with the love of her life.” he points out and trinity groans. “seriously, santos. i’ve been working nights for the past two fucking weeks since jack’s out of town. i can’t deal with the opposite schedules. it’s been fucking torture. the one day we finally have the same schedule and you want to take her from me.”

“take her from you?” trinity scoffs. “you’re so damn dramatic, langdon. you see her on your days off and i am forced to see it on her instagram stories—that shit’s disgusting by the way, i should report the both of you for harassment.”

he laughs but still answers with a simple, “can’t help you..”

and then she whines and it throws him off. she’s desperate, he knows, he’ll figure out why later but he may as well use it to his advantage now “unless..?”

she bites. “unless?”

“abbott’s back next week, take the rest of my shifts and i’ll try my best to convince mel to go.”

trinity doesn’t even have to think about it for very long, “deal.”

“but i’m getting her next friday.” he warns.

“whatever, walmart chris pine.” she replies with an eye roll.

mel comes bouncing over, right after. and langdon greets her with a “hey, sweetheart…” before pulling her over to an empty room as he keeps trinity’s promise.

[noiranamnesis]

“Bonjour,” Marinette greeted, her voice soft as lace, her smile warm. A few loose strands framed her face as she moved with ease through the kitchen, her focus shifting to the delicate folds of crêpe warming in the pan. At mention of wild dreams, however, she hesitated, the faintest flush touching the tips of her ears. Mon Dieu. Had their…enthusiasm carried through the walls? Her cheeks warmed, more amused than truly embarrassed, but still- how could she blame it on Tylio when she’d clearly been the one to start things? Pas que je regrette quoi que ce soit, she mused. Mais je ne veux pas traumatiser le pauvre Jeremy.

A breathy laugh escaped her when Tylio’s lips brushed the back of her neck. She tilted her head slightly, masking the shift in her thoughts with a teasing smile. “It's a good drink! Très légère…très rafraîchissante.” Then, with a sly glance over her shoulder, she added, “Et je ne dirais pas que tu étais si innocent que ça. Si je me souviens bien, c’est toi qui as ramené le limoncello dans ma chambre d’hôtel juste avant de me séduire.” A rewritten history, perhaps, but one told with a grin. She cast a knowing look toward Jeremy. “See? He enjoyed the Limoncello.” But when Tylio added, so casually, that he enjoyed last too, her hand faltered. Her smile held, barely, but her heart stuttered. Ne dis pas ça, mon cœur…pas devant lui. She only hoped the pink in her cheeks could be blamed on the heat from the stove.

Grate, drizzle, fold. She refocused, letting the movements calm her as she plated Tylio’s breakfast with practiced ease. When she set it down in front of him, her fingers brushed his forearm- light, familiar, wordless. Just for him. The atmosphere shifted slightly when Jeremy made a joke at Tylio’s expense. Marinette gave a faint shrug, intending to deflect, but Tylio was already responding with that signature calm she knew so well. He always sounded a bit like he was giving stage direction: firm, composed, and strangely comforting. Others found it exhausting, yet she found it endearing. Though she had to admit, Nadja once pointed out it was easy to find it charming when she could crawl into his lap and kiss him quiet. Not everyone had that luxury.

Jeremy’s resistance, though gentle, unsettled something in her. Not because it was aggressive it wasn’t- but because it was…misplaced? As if he didn’t understand the rhythm they moved in, not that he had a reason to know. Still, she appreciated his kindness, his effort. He seemed to mean well. With her own plate finished, she took her seat beside Tylio, not on his lap as she might have done if they were alone, figuring Jeremy would appreciate the gesture. Still, her knee brushed his beneath the table as she sipped from her water before taking a bite of her crêpe.

Then came the question about weekend plans.

Her eyes brightened. “Yes.” She nodded, a soft sense of pride creeping into her voice. “I want to get a pet, so we’re going to visit a few shelters today.”

Jeremy raised an eyebrow. “A cat?”

“I haven’t decided,” she replied, reaching to run her fingers gently through Tylio’s hair. “But I figured I already have a cat, so maybe I should get a dog.”

Jeremy laughed, though the sound rang a bit thin. “That sounds nice. What time are you heading out?”

“After breakfast,” she said simply, still distracted by the way Tylio’s hair curled beneath her touch. “I wanted to get an early start.”

Jeremy tilted his head. “Mind if I tag along?”

Her hand stilled. The question caught her off guard- not unpleasantly, just... “Oh,” she said, blinking. “That might be a bit confusing for the animal, non?” She turned instinctively toward Tylio, her gaze seeking his before returning her attention to Jeremy with an apologetic smile. “I mean,” she continued gently, “it’s important they spend time with their owners first...so there's a bond from the beginning.” She didn’t mean to exclude him. Not truly. “But once we make a decision, you can definitely come meet them. It will be good to have them used to other people."

Jeremy chuckled lightly, masking a flicker of disappointment. “Sure, of course,” he said, lifting his glass for a sip. “I just thought- y’know, extra eyes, extra opinions…I’m great with animals.” His tone was easy, but his gaze lingered on Marinette a beat too long before flicking to Tylio. He leaned back slightly in his chair, one arm draped casually along the backrest. “Could be fun. And if it helps you narrow things down…” He let the words trail off, the suggestion left hanging, deliberate and unfinished, an invitation disguised as a passing thought.

Morning arrived and the pleasantness of their night still lingered, even when Tylio opened his eyes and found himself in an empty bed. It wasn't unusual for him to sleep in during the weekends, although he never let that habit bleed into the weekdays. He got out of bed, massaging the stiffness out of his shoulder with one hand and putting on some pants with the other. A faintly amused smile tugged at his lips as he noticed Marinette's sweater still on the floor, as well as her skirt, briefly transporting his thoughts back to the previous night. Strangely, though, he didn't see her underwear anywhere. Did she put it back on? He smirked a little bit. Maybe she was wearing it again, just to see if he would notice this time. He put on a clean shirt and it wasn't until he headed into the hallway and heard distant voices in the kitchen that he finally remembered Jeremy had spent the night. It had completely slipped his mind. For a moment he wondered whether Jeremy had heard anything, but he quickly banished that thought. Jeremy had been so drunk, he must have been fast asleep the whole time. Hopefully he was feeling better now.

Tylio found both of them in the kitchen, greeting Jeremy with a polite smile and Mari with a kiss to her temple. "Bonjour", he told both of them, a subtle chuckle following his greeting. He was in a good mood. "Or afternoon, maybe...I thought you would wake up after me. Are you feeling any better?" The question was directed at Jeremy but he was not really looking at him—his gaze was on the back of Marinette's shoulders, searching for any hints of black lace peeking out from underneath her shirt. There were none, as far as he could tell. Curious.

"Yeah I'm good", Jeremy replied, taking a bite of the breakfast Marinette had so generously prepared for him. It was just as delicious as the dinner she served last night. He could tell that she'd made it with love. "I'm just glad I could crash here. I haven't been that wasted in a long time...had some pretty wild dreams." His eyes flicked over to Marinette as he said that last part, trying to make eye contact with her. She had to know what he was talking about. The moment they shared. Her hair was still sitting in his pocket, wrapped up in a paper handkerchief he found in the bathroom. He'd find a better place to keep it as soon as he got home.

"You really like to feed unsuspecting men limoncello", Tylio teased as he moved to stand behind Mari, leaning in to press another kiss to the back of her neck.

Beneath his calm veneer, Jeremy was seething but also confused. Because what was Tylio even talking about? Did Marinette like to feed people drunk? She wasn't like that. Clearly, she had offered it to him out of hospitality, to make him feel more at ease. He did get a little tipsy but it was not half as bad as he pretended it to be, and something about the way Tylio bullied her just for doing nice things rubbed him the wrong way. But it was no wonder. They were a bad match from the start. "I survived", Jeremy chuckled, and he was surprised how casual he managed to sound under the circumstances. "And I had a good time anyway. I enjoyed the night. Especially the food, it was incredible", he complimented Marinette once more while Tylio drifted over to the coffee machine. A strange decision, when Marinette was just about to serve him a wonderful breakfast, but again, he wasn't surprised. Tylio didn't appreciate things the way he did.

"I did too", Tylio spoke up again as he poured himself a large mug of black coffee, taking his first sip of the morning.

Jeremy was quietly irritated by this statement. He said it so casually, clearly thinking that Jeremy was not aware of what had taken place last night. He seemed to truly believe that he somehow deserved his place in Marinette's life.

"We were just talking about morning routines", Jeremy changed the subject. "I was just telling Marinette that I didn't think you had one, except for drinking coffee. I gotta say, you're kinda proving my point." Another chuckle from Jeremy, while Tylio walked back over to sit down at the kitchen table and took a glance at his phone. Jeremy's eyes narrowed as he tried to get a look at the screen. While he wasn't personally offended, he was highly interested because what did he have to do on his phone right now that was so important? It was the weekend. No one at work was going to respond to him. And if he happened to be in contact with some other woman, that would be very convenient. "But I guess we all got our rituals and schedules..."

"Huh?" Tylio looked up from his work email, putting his phone on the table. "Oh, speaking of schedules...I informed the rest of the crew about the reshoot on monday. It should be fine, there's only a small scheduling issue with one of the crew members but—"

"He don't know how to quit, does he?", Jeremy chuckled as he looked at Marinette and gestured towards Tylio. Deep down, he was still hoping that Tylio's overzealous work attitude was just aiding in covering up some kind of affair. That would truly be ideal. "Relax. We can make it work with just the four of us. It's only one scene."

"Yes, one scene that will turn into multiple shoots if we don't get it right this time", Tylio corrected him, but this time Jeremy welcomed it because he felt it helped him sound like the most reasonable one.

"What are you saying, you don't have faith that Marinette will act her ass off?"

It was said sort of jokingly, but for some reason Tylio could have sworn he sensed an undertone of criticism. Normally, he would have shrugged it off but knowing that Marinette sometimes had moments of insecurity about her performance, he didn't want to just leave it there.

"No. It's not her acting. If anything we're the incompetent ones. We could have checked the weather forecast, we wasted an entire day shooting outside when we could've known the light would be changing frequently", he clarified, and Jeremy shrugged, taking another bite of his breakfast.

"Why does anyone have to be incompetent though? I think we're all pretty good. We'll do fine. It's okay to take it easy on the weekend, is all I'm saying."

This time, Tylio had no retort. He just looked a bit surprised—over the past few weeks, Jeremy had been very adamant about working hard but maybe that attitude was limited to the weekdays only. He couldn't really fault him for this, but the fact that Jeremy suggested they work on the scene yesterday evening had sort of lead him to make the assumption that they shared a similar insatiability when it came to their job.

"Anyway, since it's the weekend...", Jeremy underlined once again, his attention now shifting back to Marinette. Well, it had been with her throughout most of the conversation, he was constantly checking to see what she was doing, where she was looking, what her face looked like. "You guys have any plans?"

[conjureher]

some clingy!tim drake for y'all! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ inspired by @sa1ntd1or's smau (definitely go check out her page, it's divine!) synopsis : rich kid and fat cat are fighting for your attention (it's brutal) 2.5k words | gen master.list

Timothy Jackson Drake has many enemies. It’s not unnatural for a guy in his position - that is, wandering around at night in red and black spandex - to have enemies, it’d actually be weirder if he didn’t. He’s fought countless villains, stopped a couple organizations from wrongdoing, and even had (and lost) a brutal fight with his younger brother. 

But nothing, and he means nothing, could be more evil than your beloved white tabby that you’ve affectionately named ‘Chunky.’

It’s not like he was trying to become mutual mortal enemies with your cat! As a matter of fact, he’d been trying to get along with the feline in hopes it’d make you fall even more in love with him. He’s always been relatively good with animals. So why is it that your cat has a special hatred for him? He’s not sure. 

THREE MONTHS AGO: FEBRUARY 14TH, A FRIDAY

“Okay, I swear you’re gonna love him!” you smile, taking your right hand from Tim’s so you can detach your keychain from your backpack, “He’s a total sweetheart! He loves everyone.”

Tim - whose previously free hands have now found the mini figurine attached to your bag zipper - is just as smiley as you are, "I hope so. I've never been so nervous to meet a cat of all things."

"Don't be nervous, it's just Chunky. He'll love you, and you'll love him," you reassure Tim with that voice he thinks is the most comforting. He loves it when you use that tone because for a moment he's actually convinced that everything will be alright. "It'd actually be kind of tragic if you didn't love each other. The two most important boys in my life hating each other, I'd be devastated.”

Finally unlocking your door, you take Tim’s hand in yours and push the door open ever so gently. “Chunky boy! Where are you silly?” you coo, your voice just a tad higher.

Tim waits expectantly, curiously peering over your shoulder hoping he can catch a glimpse of the esteemed kitty.

“Huh. He’s usually all over me as soon as the door opens,” you pull Tim in, dropping your keys into your little bowl full of trinkets, “Chunks?”

You shrug off your jacket and make Tim take off his shoes because he’s a heathen whose parents allowed him to run wild - not really.

Throwing your backpack onto your couch, you swivel your head in all sorts of directions hoping to catch a glimpse of Chunky. “I’m gonna look around for him. You can sit around the couch orrr help me."

"Nothing I love more than a good mystery," Tim says while checking under couch cushions - as if Chunky would be there. He's not trying to play - or so he says - he's just making sure he crosses off all possibilities.

You look in your room first. Chunky is always in your room, laying on your bed like he owns it or lounging on the carpet floor like he just got off of a 10-hour shift down at the factory. But, surprisingly, he's not there. He's not even in your closet or under your bed.

So, you get out your secret weapon: a cat feather toy you picked up for him when he was about 4 months old. It's his favorite toy that he can never resist, no matter how much of a grumpy mood he is in.

"Chunky!" You call, wiggling the cat toy just enough for it to make a little jingle noise - one that usually has him running to you for playtime. That's not the case this time. You don't even hear his little paws thumping on the ground, just silence and the sounds of Tim also looking for Chunky in the other room.

Speaking of Tim, you should see if he was lucky in his search for Chunky.

"Any sign of him?" You ask as you enter your living room, feathered toy still in hand.

"No. It should not be this hard to find a cat, man!" Tim sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe you should feed him, see if that gets him out."

You nod, making your way to the kitchen. "He doesn't just eat dry food, so that sound alone isn't gonna make him come out. He doesn't come running until he hears me drum my fingers against the counter," you explain as you open the lid of your dry food container and then open the can of wet food - both high-quality brands because Chunky is spoiled and when you tried cheaper alternatives he refused to eat.

Tim nods along with your explanation, looking genuinely interested in your feeding regimen. You know he'll commit your routine to memory, so you continue; making sure to add the reasons why you do certain things because you know Tim will spend the time he should be using to sleep to question why you did a particular thing.

It's not long before you finish making Chunky's dinner, setting the cat's orange food bowl down before finally drumming your fingers against the countertop. You and Tim listen for any movement with bated breath.

Your hard efforts are rewarded with the softest meow in the world - to you at least. To Tim, Chunky’s meow sounds scratchy, but what does he know? Perhaps we should consider the possibility that Tim’s ears haven’t been cleaned in a hot minute.

“Chunky baby!” you exclaim, crouching down to pet your very sleepy-looking cat. His fur is sticking up in all sorts of directions and his eyes are barely open but he walks ever so gracefully towards his feeding bowl.

Tim swears he’s never seen a cuter cat than Chunky, scratchy meow aside, Chunky in all his chubby glory is undeniably cute. “I can see why you named him Chunky,” Tim teases, crouching down just as you have to pet the glorious cat.

“Stop! You’re gonna give him body image issues. And then I’d have to get him a cat therapist - are those even real?” you question, not even stopping your petting motions, “Like the secret life of pets! Yes, he’ll get a cat therapist for his insecurities and it’ll be YOUR fault!”

Tim rolls his eyes. He’s well used to your ridiculous (and kind of charming) humor. It had confused him when you both first met, sometimes he wasn’t sure if your jokes were real worries or fake. But he’s come to enjoy them, even if they’re sometimes a bit too goofy.

Ignoring your jokes, Tim tries to pet Chunky just as you are; but something strange happens. Something you’ve never seen happen before.

Chunky hisses at Tim. His mouth is full of food so it’s not as intimidating, but it’s still a hiss.

The noise makes Tim immediately retract his hand. “Uhhh? Has he ever done that before?”

You’re just as surprised as Tim. Chunky has never hissed before. “No? He’s never done this before! Not with me or anyone else?!”

You motion for Tim to back away and he does as told, you’re quick to check if Chunky is injured anywhere or if anything is off about him (other than his hissing).

You deduce that he simply may not like Tim. Which is heartbreaking.

“I think he just doesn’t like you… Tragic,” you explain, calmly taking Tim’s hand into your own and tugging him towards your couch.

Tim is less calm about the situation than you are. Your previous statement about how devastated you would be if they didn’t like each other had been occupying his mind since Chunky had hissed at him.

Before you knew it, Tim had gone down a spiral and began thinking about all of the terrible outcomes that came with him and Chunky not getting along: the absolute worst being you breaking up with him.

“Wallace and Gromit is a classic but Howl’s Moving Castle is entic-“ “Are you gonna break up with me?” Tim interrupts, a special sort of fear in his voice and a frantic look in his eyes.

“No? What makes you think that,” you ask, wildly confused as to what made Tim think otherwise.

“You- You said earlier that you’d be devastated! Now we both know your cat doesn’t like me and I’m just- I’m freaking out,” Tim blurts out.

It takes you a moment to process his words but when you do you laugh, just a little bit, a lot actually. The action confuses Tim, he's not sure why the possibility of you both breaking up is so funny.

“Tim- you...! You didn’t actually believe me, did you?” you laugh, clutching your stomach in hopes to lessen the pain you're receiving from laughing too much.

"Yes? I mean! You have been making this a huge deal for the past few months, of course, I'd be led to believe that!" Tim defends himself.

It takes you a while to calm down from your laughing fit, but when you do, you're quick to quell Tim's worries. "I'd never break up with you over something so silly. Like, yeah, I care about the people I love liking each other, but I don't think I'd break up with you if Chunky didn't like you," you say as you hug Tim, hoping the gesture is calming - it is, but Tim won't admit that.

"You're stuck with me forever," you tease.

"Thank god," Tim groans, stuffing his face into the crook of your neck.

You know, Tim really wouldn't mind being in your presence for the rest of his life. He's lost so many people, it'd be nice to experience something more infinite, and permanent instead of abandonment. He's glad he can spend something so finite as life with you.

Tim is not a man prone to jealousy. Well, unless it’s you, then yeah he’s gonna get a little jealous.

Not important! What is important, however, is how you’ve not even glanced at him this entire evening!

Your attention is being hogged by your devil cat! And Tim swears Chunky knows what he’s doing.

Don’t think he didn’t catch that sly smile Chunky had on when he’d first successfully taken your attention off of Tim. And the countless other times Tim has caught Chunky wearing smiles that scream two words: “I win.” Tim has seen Chunky staring off into space with a facial expression that shouts "I am up to no good and it's Tim Drake's fault," more times than he can realistically count. That last offense is less likely to be used as proof because, well, what if Chunky just has an unintentionally mischievous looking face when he's paying attention to nothing in particular? He knows a few people like that... He can't say much.

Tim is not crazy - he has papers to prove it! So, Timothy Jackson Drake, a completely sane man, can confidently say that he and your cat are in a mutual metaphorical fight for your undivided attention.

And he’s kind of losing.

“You’re cuddling that cat more than me!” Tim whines from his spot on the couch, which, realistically, isn’t that far from you, but to Tim, it feels like he’s light years away, “This is betrayal at its finest!”

“Not even,” you giggle, not even glancing at him because you’re too busy squishing your cat.

“Look!” you push Chunks into Tim’s face, “he meows!”

As if on cue, Chunky lets out the sweetest meow that’d charm even the hardest of criminals, but not Tim. “Awww my little baby,” you smile, pulling the cat into a hug that Tim should be experiencing, not Chunky.

And Tim scoffs. He can’t believe this; his girlfriend is being STOLEN by a cat in real time! He cannot let this happen. He’s worked too hard for too long to woo you into a relationship!

He cannot be bested by a cat. So, he does the thing he’s best at: flirting — or, well, attempts at flirting that someone not in love would think are a bit deranged and desperate. Perfect for Tim because he is, in fact, deranged and desperate and you, perfect you, encourage his weirdness.

“I can meow too!.. if it gets your attention,” Tim says, smoothly removing Chunky from your lap to the floor and taking what once was the cat’s spot on your chest.

“Please don’t,” you cringe, running your hands through Tim’s hair. You swear you can hear Tim start purring as you scratch his scalp, fingers nimbly gliding over his head.

“Just say you hate me and want me to die.”

“You’re literally on top of me right now,. I don’t grant that privilege to just anyone.”

“Good,” Tim hums.

You know, Death Cat aside, Tim thinks you guys will be okay. Scratch that. More than “okay.” You’ll be the best couple ever.

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ bonus material ruh roh

"Chunky, please. Please, man, I'm begging you! Please Chunky bro."

"mrow."

"Chunky, I've had a long night and all I wanna do is sleep NEXT to MY girlfriend!" Tim whines, his voice barely above a whisper.

You're sound asleep with Chunky lying beside you - in Tim's spot, where Tim sleeps almost every night - and the damned cat is showing zero signs of moving within the next 10 minutes.

"Chunky, man please! I'm tired, you're tired, we're both freaking tired so just let me lay down," Tim says as he makes lazy attempts to scoot Chunks more towards your side; his attempts are met with less-than-lazy clawed swats.

"Fine! You win, you devil cat."

—

You awoke to the familiar screech of your cat begging for his morning meal and the lack of weight on your boyfriend's side of the bed. "Chunky baby... gimme a moment."

Chunky screaming means it's about 6:00 a.m., which means it must've been about 2 hours since Tim got back. You feel around your bedsheets and blankets for the aforementioned boy but you're unlucky in your pursuit.

So, you get up; eyes a little blurry and mind still jumbled from a post-sleep haze. "Tim?" you call, voice groggy and a tad deeper than it usually is.

"'m over here honey," Tim groans, "Chunky didn't let me on the bed"

The sentence wakes you up immediately. "What?" Shoving off your blankets and shuffling over to his side of the bed - or his side of the floor, really.

"Awww Tim! You didn't have to sleep on the floor," you giggle, "You could've just moved him!"

"He's too fat," Tim says with the most deadpan voice he can muster, the one he knows makes you giggle because he's ridiculously serious.

You gasp, holding your hand to your chest like Tim's statement was a serious offense (it kind of was). "He is NOT fat! He's just... a bit chubby!"

Tim snorts, "You keep telling yourself that. Can I sleep on my bed now?"

"Uh uh, mister! You've committed a serious offense! I ought to call Batman over here and arrest you himself, criminal!" You tease, wagging your finger in Tim's face.

"Ohhh I'm so scared," Tim laughs, pulling you into the sweetest kiss ever. Before you even know it, he's already on the bed and you're both practically glued to each other. Not even Chunky could get you two to separate - mostly because you were both sleepy.

It's moments like these that make you realize that you really really love your boyfriend.

"You know, Chunky still hasn't been fed."

"He can wait a bit, can't he?"

SAM SPEAKS : first fic... ruh roh. i got carried away. ts was supposed to be only 300 words MAX 😭🙏. most of this fic is just me describing how i feed my cats, and how i act with my cats. yes, i do drum my fingers against a surface before i feed them (usually the lid of the box we keep the dry food in). anyways i've been wildly distracted lately by pictures of borzoi's. freaky looking dogs, but i love them so so much. ﹗I do not consent to my work being translated or reposted on any other accounts or websites. thank you for understanding <3

[my-great-big-book-of-fan-fiction]

Do you think L is the type to get jealous? Of past lovers or male friends? Or male friends that he knows are attracted to reader? Particularly if reader is a very affectionate and tactile person and freely gives hugs or holds hands?

Thank you for asking!

Personally, I don't think he's the type to get jealous. L is, among many things, a man of logic and rationale. If you love him, he knows you won't be unfaithful, and therefore has nothing to be jealous of. I doubt he would be upset about any exes or male friends, because again, it's not like you'll go running into their arms the first chance you get.

In the same manner, male friends or co-workers who are clearly attracted to you are something of a victory for him. He's sort of childish, as we all know, and in that, he's not above winning sore.

"Do you like her?" "Um- wh- sorry?" "(Y/n). Do you like her?" "...she's a great friend." "Yes. I found that to be true as well." "You- you are dating, aren't you?" "Why?" "I was...well, I was curious." "Curious because you like her?" "I'd never make a move on her-" "Why not?" "B-because you're together!" "Come on, you must be dying to know if she feels the same. please, you have my full permission to make your most enticing offer to her, I'm sure she would be over the moon at your attention." "...there's no need to be so cruel." "There's no need to be so obvious."

On the other hand, a reader who's particularly handsy might make him worry a little, at first.

To him and all the research he's done, physical touch is a loving thing. It's a thing you share with your most intimate companions, and that tracks for him. He barely touches Watari, and he considers him something of a father.

His love for you is a rare thing he wants to take advantage of to the fullest extent, so of course the only person he's hugged, kissed, or held hands with is you. It could be considered something of a love language for him.

So, all of that to say, seeing you hug or hold hands with someone else brings him to the conclusion that all of his touching means little to you. In his mind, you've watered down the sacredness of physical touch by sharing it with others. Not quite jealous, but a discomfort from seeing you touch others so freely.

It might take a conversation to ease his worries.

"What are you pouting about?" "I'm not pouting." "Yes, you are. As if I don't know you." "...do you always hug him goodbye?" "Uh...yeah." "And kiss him?" "On the cheek, yes." "..." "Is that what this is about? Are you jealous?" "I'm not jealous." "I hug and kiss everyone goodbye." "I haven't noticed before. Is it necessary?" "It's nice, it's friendly." "Yes. Friendly." "You don't ever hug your friends?" "I don't have any friends." "Well...it's different, anyway. Hugging and kissing a friend versus hugging and kissing you." "It looks the same." "It's not. When I hug you, I hug you extra tight, and extra long, because I love you. And when I kiss you, I do it with tongue." "Very funny." "I know, I'm hilarious. Your girlfriend is hilarious, never forget that." "I'll make an effort to remember."

Of course, if he still feels down, there are ways to express your affection that will immediately rejuvenate his trust and content with you.

"Oh L...I have a surprise for you!" "In a minute. I still have to reorganize several video files." "Already did it." "Then, I only have to place the order for the next shipment of pastries-" "Done and done, Now get in here!" "I appreciate your dedication and support, however this time should be spent on starting tomorrow's work...is that whipped cream?" "Uh huh. But by all means, go and work some more. I'll just wash all this off and-" "That won't be necessary...I'd be more than happy to assist you in cleaning off."

[chaos--s]

Hello! If you ever find the time or inspiration, perhaps a sequel to the Yandere Superhero Siren and his sidekick/new child?

platonic yandere! superhero x sidekick!reader (part two)

here's pt one!

warnings; infantilism, he is patronizing asf, yandere behavior.

--

It's how gentle he is when talking to you. Every word is so soft and filled with admiration, it almost makes you want to believe that he was the same mentor that actually wanted to help you in the beginning.

Help you grow into a superhero, just like you've always wanted. But not help like this. Trapped in an unmarked house in the middle of nowhere, sensors all around the house that incapacitate you with a loud brain piercing ringing every time you approach a door without his permission.

"I've told you you couldn't escape me right? Oh sweetheart, no tears. You've brought this onto yourself, the pain should be a lesson to never disobey me again." He had chided gently, wiping your tear stained cheeks. Words so stern, laced with a softness that made you confused.

It's been a few days since your kidnapping. You've tried escaping only twice, a third time would probably lead to your ears bleeding. Being deaf couldn't be worse than being stuck playing house with a lunatic.

But you reserve risking your eardrums for another time. Hopefully by that time you've found another way of escaping without getting hurt.

"It's time for breakfast," He peeks his head from behind your door, smiling as if anything about this was normal. "Wanna come join me? Or are you going to pout at me again."

You kept silent, the plain wall was so much more interesting to pay attention to anyways. You hear him sigh.

"Pouting it is." A beat of silence, your only way of defying him, before he uses his 'last resort.' For a last resort, he abuses it way too much.

"Get up. Follow me." His voice feels like it pierces your brain and a fog enters your mind. Your body moves on it's own as you get up from your bed and walk up to him.

The most painful thing about this was that you are aware of every move you take, your body wasn't yours to control anymore. The shittiest side effect of his abilities. "It wouldn't have to be this hard if you'd just listen and be a good kid."

A hand grips your chin. forcing you to look at him. "All in good time I suppose." He mutters, more to himself than anything. He lets go and moves down to the dining room.

"All your favorites, eat up!" He smiles cheerfully when you sit down next to him without his command. They were your favorite foods, But you haven't been able stomach any food.

"I-" You pushed the plate away and looked at him. "I can't eat. Not hungry."

"Oh. I see what this is." You wince, waiting for him to use his abilities again when he takes your plate into his hands. "You want your old man to feed you! You could've just asked, open up!"

Delusional. He is deep in the delusion.

You want to shake your head frantically and tell him fuck no. But his abilities. His goddamn abilities that made you comply to his every whim.

You reluctantly open your mouth and watch as he gleefully fed you. This was what he was dreaming of the entire time, even before he had you in this home.

Having a child to take care of, a softness he craved. The domesticity of it all. Siren didn't like being a hero, he just became one because of the fame. The love he received for being such a good and generous hero. It was addicting. But nothing could beat the admiration you gave him when you were first assigned to him.

Oh how adorably naive you were. That's what got him hooked, how willing you were to follow his every order. It's what he always wanted to have, a kid that would love him unconditionally. You were the perfect candidate apparently.

He wipes the bit of food that's on your lip. "Yummy?"

You nod. Not really a lie, he was a decent cook. "Good, I'm glad."

He scrapes the last of the food into the fork and feeds you the last bite. He gets up from the table, but not without a stupid compliment about being such an obedient kid.

--

[kenziiie]

Hi pretty!!

I absolutely adore your writing! I love reading the Sheldon imagines and I just saw that you wrote for Jacob Black from twilight so that’s who I’m requesting for. I was wondering if you could write something about reader being on break from college and is visiting the rez and her boyfriend (Jacob). But when she gets there everyone wants her attention so she and Jake don’t have any alone time. Once they finally get alone, they’re both desperate for each other 🤭

Or you can do whatever you want, I really don’t mind! 😊😊

thank you sm!! i always see your reposts and they make me smile!! here you go!

you don’t even fully park the car before your phone lights up again — a fifth text from quil, another from claire’s mom asking if you could stop by, and one more from emily that just says “we’re starting the bonfire early if you’re up for it :)”

it’s the same the second you step out of the car. the rez is alive and humming, your name floating in the wind like gossip.

“girl! you better get over here!”

“i haven’t seen you since graduation!”

“college got you glowing, huh?”

you smile, you laugh, you hug people you’ve known your whole life. it’s sweet — it is — but the moment you feel him, it’s like the world tunes out.

jacob.

he’s leaning against the porch rail, arms crossed, his mouth twitching up into that crooked little smile he only does when he’s trying not to act too pressed. but you see it in the way his chest rises when he sees you. the way he steps down and meets you halfway.

“about damn time,” he mutters as he wraps his arms around you, low and tight.

he smells like the forest and engine grease and the exact brand of safety that makes your knees wobble a little. you tuck your nose into his neck and breathe him in, letting the rest of the world blur for just a second.

but the second’s all you get.

because then someone’s calling your name again, and someone else is asking if you brought the banana pudding your aunt told everyone you’d mastered in college, and another person is dragging you toward the bonfire like you’re not actively melting in jacob’s arms.

“i’m stealing her later,” jacob says, low in his throat, but everyone laughs like it’s a joke.

you feel his hand slip from your waist and glance back at him as you’re pulled away.

he’s smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

⸻

the day blurs. you see everyone.

everyone but him.

you try.

you try to cut conversations short, try to sneak off toward the woods, try to make eyes at him across the fire while quil and embry playfully block your line of sight. everyone is happy to see you. too happy.

and you love them — you do — but every second you’re away from jacob, your chest feels tighter. like the last thread of control is winding itself thinner and thinner.

you sneak away twice and both times, you get caught. once by kim, who wants a whole update on your piercings and tattoos, and once by jared, who literally picks you up and carries you back to the fire.

by the time the sky darkens and the music dies down, you’re vibrating with need. your thighs ache. your heart feels too big for your chest. and jacob?

jacob’s been patient.

too patient.

watching you from the shadows. jaw tight. arms crossed. saying barely anything unless someone speaks to him first. his gaze burns through your clothes like a wildfire, but he doesn’t act. doesn’t touch. doesn’t even speak when you say goodnight to the group.

you only make it ten steps toward the little house they gave you to stay in before you hear his voice behind you.

“where do you think you’re going?”

your heart skips.

you don’t turn around — just pause mid-step and let the breeze carry the weight of his words down your spine.

“inside,” you say, voice softer than it should be.

“without me?”

you finally turn.

he’s close now. his shoulders look bigger, somehow. darker in the moonlight, sharper. he’s looking at you like he’s been starving and you’re the only thing that could ever fill him.

“you said you were stealing me later,” you whisper.

he steps into you, crowding your space. “baby, it is later.”

⸻

your back hits the wall the second you step into the house. the door barely clicks shut before jacob’s hands are on your waist, then your thighs, then your ass, hauling you up so you wrap around him like second skin.

you don’t even make it to the couch.

his mouth’s on yours, tongue hot and desperate. it’s messy — not in a bad way, just in that hungry way. like he’s been waiting all damn year. his hands explore like he’s scared he’s gonna forget what you feel like. your hips grind against his abs, your fingers tangle in his hair, and when he lifts you again, it’s like nothing. you’re thick, soft, heavy with muscle and curves, and he handles you like it’s instinct.

he carries you to the table, drops you on top of it, steps between your thighs without missing a beat.

“been waitin’ all day,” he mutters into your neck. “all fuckin’ day, baby.”

“you think i wasn’t?” you gasp when his hands grip your thighs harder. “been so wet i thought i was gonna soak through my jeans at the damn fire.”

he groans, deep and low, and pulls back just enough to look at you. his eyes burn red around the edges, glowing faintly.

“don’t talk like that if you don’t want me to ruin you.”

“baby,” you whisper, tugging his shirt over his head, “i came home to be ruined.”

⸻

he strips you slow and fast at the same time — yanks your shirt off like it offended him, peels your bra down just far enough for his mouth to close around your nipple.

you moan loud — too loud — and he groans again when he sees the piercing. the way it sits pretty and perfect against your skin. his tongue flicks it, his teeth graze it, and he growls when your thighs tremble.

“fuck,” he mutters, trailing his mouth lower. “fuck, you’re perfect.”

his hands find the little dermals in your back when he spins you and bends you over the table, kissing the inked curve of your spine like it’s holy.

“missed you so much, girl. fuckin’ missed this body.”

you whimper, pushing your hips back against his zipper. he lets his forehead fall between your shoulder blades, chest heaving.

“thought about you every night,” you breathe. “woke up in my dorm wet half the semester.”

his laugh is more of a growl. “you tryin’ to get punished?”

“you tryin’ to wait?” you toss back.

that’s all it takes.

his pants hit the floor. yours are yanked down just enough. he sinks into you in one hard, deep stroke that steals the breath straight from your lungs.

“j-jacob—”

“shh,” he pants against your neck. “i know, baby. i know.”

⸻

he fucks you like he means it.

like the day’s frustration is pouring out through every stroke. he’s deep — too deep — hitting that spot that makes your legs shake and your hands scrabble at the table like you’re trying to crawl away.

“where you goin’, huh?” he grunts, pulling you back onto him harder. “thought you wanted this?”

“i do— fuck— i do, i just—”

“just what, baby?”

you whine when he slides out slow, then slams back in, making the table scrape against the floor.

“too good,” you cry. “too fuckin’ good.”

his breath is hot against your shoulder. “been dreamin’ about this pussy every fuckin’ night. ain’t nothin’ too good for me.”

your head drops forward, mouth open, drool pooling on your lip. he grabs your hair and pulls you upright, biting the back of your neck as he thrusts up into you.

“mine,” he growls. “say it.”

“yours,” you sob.

“again.”

“yours, jake— fuck, i’m yours.”

⸻

he lets you fall forward, your body slack, your thighs trembling. you’re so wet it’s obscene — the sound of him moving inside you is sticky, desperate, addictive. he licks up your spine like he can taste how close you are.

then he flips you.

sets you on the table again, legs open, folds you in half.

you see stars when he thrusts in again, and this time he kisses you while he fucks you — slow and deep, both hands holding your face like it’s the only part of you he can’t live without.

“love you,” he pants. “god, baby, i love you.”

you wrap your arms around him. “love you more.”

he shudders. “gonna fill you up. let everybody know who you belong to.”

you nod fast, tears spilling over your cheeks.

“say it again,” he begs. “please—”

“yours, jake. always.”

his mouth crashes into yours, his thrusts get sloppy, and when you come around him, crying and twitching and shaking, he breaks.

he follows you with a groan that sounds like a prayer and a curse rolled into one, thrusting deep and staying there, buried in you like he never wants to leave.

⸻

after, it’s quiet.

his forehead rests against yours. your hands are in his hair. he’s still inside you, but now he’s soft and slow, pressing lazy kisses to your jaw, your shoulder, your lips.

“you’re not allowed to leave again,” he mumbles. “not for that long.”

you laugh, breathless. “you gonna kidnap me?”

he lifts his head and grins.

“if it gets me five minutes alone with you?” he says. “absolutely.”

you laugh again, then kiss him slow, deep, sweet.

and maybe, just maybe — next time, you’ll let him.