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delusionisaplace · 25 days

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2083: 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙘𝙖𝙣'𝙩 𝙗𝙚 𝙠𝙚𝙥𝙩

wrote this a while back ago buttttt i didn't feel too strongly about it?? idk i just feel like sharing it now

words: 1.2k

The moon shone down on them, casting its luminous glow through the sheer curtains, enveloping the room in a soft, ethereal light. Its silver glow enveloped them, creating an ambiance that seemed to exist solely for this shared moment of intimacy—Genji lay beneath Akira, his arm cradling the back of Akira’s head as he relished in the sensation of Akira’s warm breath against his skin, his nose burrowing deep in the curve of Genji’s shoulder, inhaling deeply, breathing in the intoxicating scent that wafted from his skin.

A playful chuckle escaped Genji’s lips, a symphony of amusement and anticipation dancing in his voice, as Akira’s warm breath, like a gentle breeze, caressed the sensitive flesh of his neck. “Do I smell good?” He teased, his voice infused with a mischievous charm.

“Mhm,” Akira murmured in response, his voice barely above a whisper. He snuggled further into Genji’s embrace, his nose finding solace in the gentle curve of Genji’s shoulder. The tantalizing scent that enveloped Genji was like no other, an unique blend of warmth and sweetness that captivated Akira’s senses. It was a fragrance that defied categorization, one that was indescribable—it was a delicate medley of aromas that whispered secrets of love and desire. The scent carried hints of citrus, similar to sun-kissed oranges, yet it was overwhelmingly sweet, like honey dripping from a summer blossom. And beneath it all, there was a subtle hint of dew, a freshness that evoked memories of early morning rain, complimented by wet, budding plants.

“You smell sweet, like… like…” Akira’s voice trailed off, regret and longing mingling in the silence that followed, as if the words eluded his grasp, dancing just beyond his reach.

“Like flowers?” Genji suggested, a gentle grin playing on his lips as his fingers traced circles through Akira’s soft, tangled hair. His voice carried a hint of anticipation, secretly reveling in the idea of being connected to something so beautiful and delicate in Akira’s mind.

Akira fell silent, his expression tinged with disappointment and regret, his features adorned with a subtle frown. “I don’t know what flowers smell like,” he confessed softly, eyes betraying a mix of longing and curiosity.

Genji arched his brow, a look of shock etching itself onto his features. “Really?” He exclaimed, voice laced with disbelief, “you’ve never been to the Gardens before?” His words were colored with astonishment, as if he couldn’t fathom a life in which Akira hadn’t breathed in the scents of nature, hadn’t seen the blossoming flowers.

Akira nodded solemnly, a blush of embarrassment tinting his cheeks. “Tell me…what’s it like?” he said, a flicker of wistfulness in his voice.

“It’s a reserve in Hokkaido, the only place in this country where flowers still grow. It’s a wide field that stretches beyond the horizon, farther than the eye can see, with winding paths that are easy to get lost in. The flowers are bright and vibrant, a sea of colors that can’t be found anywhere else. As soon as you step in, you can feel a combination of delicate fragrances that overwhelm your senses, each and every scent faint but distinct as they blend together to form one. But, it’s not enough to simply describe it. I guess that’s another place,” Genji said with a light chuckle, “I’ll have to take you to see.”

“Do...do you really mean it?”

A tender smile graced Genji’s lips, his eyes sparkling with affection. “With all my heart. I’ll take you there one day,” he vowed, his words heavy with unwavering resolve, “I want to show you all the places I’ve talked about, to travel the world together once this is all over.”

Genji was sincere in everything he said, his devotion coming from the depths of his soul. He longed to give Akira everything his heart desired, even if it meant giving up all that he worked for. He yearned to provide Akira with a life worth living, a life filled with joy and free from the pains and pressures of the outside world—a life where Akira could truly find happiness.

Akira’s eyes lit up, a mix of adoration and hope shining bright within them, and his heart skipping a beat as he extended his pinky finger. “Promise me, Genji. Promise me we’ll see the world together. Promise me,” he implored, his voice brimming with vulnerability, “promise me that we’ll always be together.”

“I promise,” Genji responded without hesitation, his own pinky finger intertwining with Akira’s in a silent vow that echoed through his soul—no matter what, he intended to uphold his end of the promise until it was fulfilled.

Akira offered an innocent smile, the kind that made Genji’s heart flutter, and let out an airy laugh that danced through the air, a sweet song of pure joy.

In moments like these, when joy overflowed and worries dissolved, when Akira’s laughter filled the room and his eyes glittered with unadulterated happiness, Genji couldn’t help but marvel at Akira’s beauty. His laugh, his smile, his bright eyes—they were the embodiment of the serenity and joy that Genji longed to see in Akira’s life, a respite from the hardships and trials that had shaped their past. In these fleeting moments, Akira was truly radiant, a heavenly being capable of captivating Genji’s heart and soul.

Unable to resist the look in his eyes, Genji’s hand found its way to the nape of Akira’s neck, his fingers tangling in the soft strands of Akira’s hair, pulling him closer until their lips met in a tender, warm kiss. Genji’s mouth sloppily explored the contours of Akira’s mouth and chin, an exploration fueled by the need to feel his the warmth in his touch, to feel his smile deepen against Genji’s lips. In turn, Akira eagerly accepted his kiss, gently tugging at Genji’s lips to pull him deeper in, drowning in the sensation of Genji’s mouth, savoring the taste.

As their lips slowly parted, Genji chuckled softly, his breath brushing against Akira’s face as his fingers caressed the softness of Akira’s cheek. “You should smile more,” he murmured, cradling Akira’s head against the warmth of his chest, “you look so pretty when you do.”

Akira’s ears burned crimson, the rush of blood to his cheeks betraying the flustered feelings that Genji’s compliment stirred within him. He buried his head in the comforting embrace of Genji’s chest, trying to hide his bashfulness. “If you ever break your promise,” he playfully threatened, his voice lined with affection and a hint of embarrassment, “I’ll… I’ll kill you.”

Genji let out a laugh. “I know.” He said, his voice coated in a tone of amusement as he ran his hands through Akira’s hair. “I know.”

They lay quietly, the heat of their bare skin melding together in a comforting embrace. Genji’s arms wrapped securely around Akira’s waist, holding him close, their bare bodies pressed against each other as they sought solace in the presence of one other. The world outside seemed to fade away as they succumbed to the peaceful lull of the night, their breathing synchronized, their hearts beating in unison.

“I’ll never break my promise to you, even I lose everything in the process.” Genji whispered lightly in Akira’s ear, “even if kills me.”

Genji thought of that night now, as he teetered between the realms of living and the dead, tightly holding on his remaining shreds of life.

#𝙨𝙠𝙚𝙩𝙘𝙝 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠𝙨 #wip: 2083 #wip snipps #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing community #two posts in one day??#felt like shakespeare writing this

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bedcorpse · 9 months

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but yeah to piggyback off that post y'all have to understand that if you're not usamerican or got lucky in regards to english teachers, even writers like myself got so sick of being handed boring, surface-level interactions with media and being discouraged from anything else that ofc we hated having to explain why the curtains are blue. because it wasn't a discussion of "okay is this meant to set a tone? tell us something about the character, like is blue their favorite color? or is it meant to symbolize something deeper? what are the different ways we could interpret this?" it was "the curtains are blue because the main character is sad. we don't have time for anything else bc public schools are wildly underfunded and overcrowded depending on the district and i make like 40k a year so any differing opinions will be shrugged off at best and punished at worst."

#emma shut up #how about you apply some of your own nuance for literature to like. actual human beings.#like i LIKED english i write essays for fun in my adult life and put them on yewchewb. and i went thru a 'THE CURTAINS ARE JUST BLUE' phase #because it felt pretentious to me because we weren't engaging with the text on a level that mattered #also most assigned reading for classes suck sorry. like shakespeare and to kill a mockingbird are outliers #i had to read shit like the fountainhead which was so long and stupid we didn't even finish it #also i can't imagine being autistic or having a learning disability that made reading for comprehension difficult #and being forced to do that shit. like whata fuck i can barely remember what i read and now you want me to explain color palettes?

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polarisbibliotheque · 9 months

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Writing Advice - Answering an Ask part 1

Hey everyone!! I recently got a super cute, beautiful and heartwarming ask requesting writing advices/how to beat writers block.

I wrote the answer on a doc and it has 3 pages, so I'm gonna be posting it in different parts - do forgive and AMAZING ANON WHO ASKED ME I HOPE YOU SEE THIS, IT'S PART OF YOUR ANSWER xD

Seriously, I've been sitting on this answer for a week now thinking how I'm gonna make it shorter >.<

So, without further ado, for the first part of the answer, I wanna tell a little bit about my writing journey - how I got from "not writing at all" to where I am now.

Because people think that you have a gift and words just flow like ambrosia in the cups of the gods - but I've actually started writing some pretty cringe stuff when I was 10 years old to get to a more poetic sort-of writing during my 29s currently.

THEREFORE, a little bit on how I got from cringy to still cringy but sometimes good writing ;)

I started by telling made-up stories to my sister when she couldn’t sleep and to my cousins during sleepovers because, I don’t know, they seemed to like my stupid little stories when I was 7 years old – or even younger. Sometimes I wrote some things, sometimes I didn't. But I was telling stories!

When I was 13, I discovered the magic world of fanfiction, and I wrote and published a HORRID thing on a fanfic website in my country, based on the band McFly that me and my sister adored back then (the gods have graced me with the power of deleting it and I thank immensely to that).

It was the first time I wrote AND published something to an audience outside of my friends/family.

After that, I kept on writing, and I moved to creating my own stories. When I was 14, I wrote a fanfic with the same band, but really the main theme was that I was an archeologist living in Egypt who researched on Atlantis and ended up finding the lost city. Somehow, I was allowed to climb the pyramids as well - because, you know, I ADORE Tomb Raider, and if Lara Croft could do it, so could I.

Told ya there would be some pretty cringy stuff in here, huh? xD

When I turned 15, I was bullied non-stop at school and so creating stories became my way to escape reality and have some fun with the people I wanted to meet in my life. I started carrying a notebook everywhere with me – it was my writing notebook. I had so many stories, and I never finished any of them (and good heavens, they are THE MOST cringy stuff, I’m glad they will NEVER see the light of day).

But I use the writing notebook thing to this day - whenever I'm travelling and internet isn't granted, I have somewhere to write.

I finished my FIRST novel when I was 16!! I was SO HAPPY about it!! It took me a year and a half writing it: a young adult book, kinda like Twilight (it was THE thing back then), with a secret society based on Arthurian Legend because I was a sucker for everything King Arthur (still am).

I can’t BEAR to read the first page of it nowadays, because c’mon. It was 15-year-old depressive me being bitter about everything and post-Twilight frenzy. The universe and worldbuilding has one HELL of a potential, but oh LORDS, it IS painful to read. I was a teen after all… But I finished a novel! If I haven’t done it, I wouldn’t be writing the way I’m writing today!

When I got into Law School, things got a little slow. I couldn't focus too much on writing and my social life improved a lot. I started tweaking my Arthurian story, but nothing too defined - I kept on writing lots of WIPs, though.

Around my 20’s, while I was close to graduating Law School, I started writing again… Supernatural fanfiction. With the SOLE PURPOSE of self-indulging, because I couldn’t find A SINGLE fanfiction that I could self-insert and love Dean Winchester while kicking some demon ass (sorry, I couldn’t resist the Nico inside me).

That led me to writing a 4-part Supernatural fanfiction that, honestly, for the next 6 years, it was the thing that made my heart soar while I was slaving away at a job I hated.

While I was overworking my ass off, I started writing (brace yourselves...) BTS fanfiction. I got into the band and some people from the website I wrote my Supernatural fanfic embraced me and kinda put me in the group and into the BTS world.

I was on the path of a burnout, so that became my escape - the girls from the website were so nice and we had many MANY writing projects of short stories. Throughout the years, I think I wrote around 25 or 30 stories, 40 pages max, to publish on this website and just have fun.

It started nice, but as time went by and I started moving out of the rom-com clichés (which are nice, don't get me wrong, we all love 'em) and became more existential and philosophic with a lot of metaphorical things while writing - and people stopped reading my work. I started to think I was bad, no one wanted to read because I lacked quality in my writing, or just my stories weren't so appealing as I thought. So I lost my will to write and slowly went back to my personal original stories.

When I hit 25 years old, I got fired and had a full burnout. I got really sick and my life literally stopped for the last 5 years - it has been hard, but that gave me time to sit back on my computer and recover ALL the books and stories I never finished writing.

I am NOT joking, I just counted all of them, and I have 65 DIFFERENT unfinished stories sitting on my Word folder right now on my computer. I also have a txt file I keep some “ideas that might be interesting to work on” and those have around 12 different full ideas of stories I might never write as well.

Upon hitting 27, I went back to writing niche fanfiction I didn't think anyone would want to read, so I published it here. I thought no one would want to read Devil May Cry fanfiction written by a woman who clearly worries more about the internal turmoil of characters rather than if what I'm writing is cute/rom-com like.

I opted for a more adult approach - given Dante and Vergil are adult men with lots of traumas, and I thought "hey, I don't have to write teenage things anymore, I can actually write how two adults would have difficult conversations and relationships in this fucked up world of ours" and that made a HUGE difference to my writing.

and once again thank the gods I found my people who like to read this sort of stuff :)

For quite a while, I was worried if what I was writing was consumable - you know, if the romance was that kind of tacky romantic thing to sweep you of your feet with perfect characters who don't exist, if people only have good times and are always laughing and having fun, if people enjoy touching each other 24/7 and being romantic and all that sugar coated stuff, if what I'm writing is politically correct, if it hasn't any subjects that are triggering or "wrong" in any sort of capacity... And that stiffed me. I lost my will to write and I stopped enjoying it, because I couldn't get my ideas out anymore.

Being quite honest, I'm not a person who had an easy, beautiful life. I had many things happen to me that made me understand Vergil on a soul level (and I think that's why I'm so comfortable writing him, as much as I hate that man), because I'm wary of people and my trust issues make me keep everyone at bay. I can only put my feelings safely out on my writing and my music, and I wasn't being able to.

So I tossed everything out of the window and started writing unhinged stuff. And oh, that made me feel SO good! I always smile a lot when re-reading my Cyberpunk-style story and a character called Abby tattoos on the ass of a corporate man that he is hers bitch, and when a "fallen angel" from my vampiric story smiles creepily and tells everyone she's got the most unhinged vampire on a leash and tells him to just kill everyone in the room for sheer revenge.

Not the best, politically correct stuff. Very wrong, by the way. But I had so much fun writing them, and it has so much character building behind these actions, it makes me feel nice :)

Out of all the 65 WIPs on my computer, I have around 5 that I think are really worth it for a full novel and so. They are:

My Arthurian Legend based novels. I outlined a series, I made character sheets, I planned and planned and planned... Since I'm 15, I've been thinking about it. Someday, who knows, this story will see the light of day.

My Cyberpunk-style novel. Halfway through it and every time I go "oh this is too heavy, I can't write this" I just toss the thought out of the window and go for it. Quite unhinged, very existential and grim, everyone is depressed and traumatized, but I love it :)

The Angel-Vampire stuff. Or, as I call it sometimes, the trip of an angel-like being going through the 7 deadly sins until finally falling for good, all aided by the most unhinged vampire in town. It's more like a villain origin story than anything else.

The Tea Shop thing. Oh, this one has been on my mind since 2018 and only now I've found some plot I like for it. Creation (yes, humanized form of creation) runs a tea shop and everything is fine until a woman enters and she has no Universe inside her eyes - and that is something to be afraid of. Doesn't make sense? Oh, yes, indeed. I'm going crazy with the concepts on this one, thanks to Neil Gaiman and The Sandman.

The rockstar guardian angel one. That's it. It's literally what the premise says: a woman has a dead rockstar as a guardian angel - and they couldn't be more opposite of each other. It doesn't help she's investigating his death and can talk to ghosts.

And my original vampire story, which I just call Nathan and Kathleen. I started this one when I was 16 or 17, so the writing is VERY cringy. I had just seen The Witcher 2 gameplay and, by then, I had never seen anything like it. As it's expected, I'm re-writing the 150 pages of unfinished work I already have.

Will this stop me from writing the other WIPs whenever I want to? Nah. I’ll keep on writing. Even if they are bad or horribly cringy.

Why am I blabbering about ALL this???

Because the most important stuff you can do is write.

You see, I didn't start out writing the way I do today - and I have so many stories, with so many pages, that I like so much, but I read it nowadays and I see I need to re-work them. And that's how you evolve! That's how you get better! By refining your abilities!

This is something I learned with the rockstars I love so much. None of them started out by playing perfectly - most of them had to sit down, listen and learn their instruments on their own. They got a LOT of things wrong to start getting something very simple right. And the more they play, the more they train, the more they refine, the better they become.

The same goes to writing - so, keep on writing! Everything you can, as much as you can, don’t feel bad about starting something new and never finishing another one, and don’t feel like you need to put out a masterpiece every time you sit to write.

Sometimes you just need to… Write.

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arbitrarycategories · 3 months

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Just finished the winters tale and like. Why is shakespeare insane. Can’t we have a normal happy ending? Why do we need a magic statue? Just to be weird? Just to be creepy???? Why did they say the magic statue can’t talk and then she immediately gave a speech

#shakespeare #the winters tale #IM VERY CREEPED OUT #also tbh the whole back half of this play has kind of felt like lazy writing ESPECIALLY the magic queen statue #we shall see what my Brit lit class says about it. maybe I will change my mind

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she-wears-glasses · 11 months

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I can’t see it.

I can’t see that you like me more than just an acquaintance. Some say that you like me more than that. Honestly I’m sure most people around us can tell I definitely like you. In the past whenever a guy liked me others could see it; but I never could. I still can’t. Even after all this time I still can’t. You don’t appear nervous or shy to me. At all. In fact anytime I speak to you, talking to you isn’t awkward at all. Everything is easy when I’m with you. I could ask you anything and you’d give me an answer with no awkwardness. I never feel uncomfortable with you. Nervous yes, awkward never. I could tell you my whole life story if I wanted to and I believe you would never judge me or look at me differently and I NEVER feel that way with anyone. You make me feel at ease with life. I don’t feel like you give me giant bombs and expect me to help you, or take care of you compared to most people; who take advantage of it. Yet it only makes me want to help you and care for you more.

You have me under a

spell

just by being yourself and

I can’t help but

fall

under it.

Hoping you’ll catch me.

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hecatesbroom · 2 months

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pinned post v.2

about me + stuff I like ♠ fic masterlist ♠ ao3 ♠ tlt sideblog

my most used tags are in this post for easy access

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kashilascorner · 9 months

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Read in 2023: The Tempest (William Shakespeare)

“Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”

#i still don't know what to think about this one #it started so good and then it just went downhill #and like caliban looked like he would be such an interesting and nuanced character and suddenly he wasn't #idk i felt like mr shakespeare kind of got tired of his own play in the middle of writing it and it is not about it mixing comedy w tragedy

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spurgie-cousin · 1 year

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Apparently Jesse Armstrong the shows creator of Succession said that this weeks episode something shocking is going to happen and a lot of people predict it has to do with Tom because of that ominous shot of him that closed the scene.

NOOOO I hope it's not Tom lol!! I've been trying to stay off of Succession reddit bc there are so many soul crushing theories, but I'm sure even if those aren't true, the last 3 episodes are gonna fuck us all up 😭😭

#seriously it is such a good show. i know a lot of people are like I Just Don't Care About Billionaire losers and listen i was right there #with you. but it is easily in my top 3 dramas of all time now.#comparing it to Shakespeare feels so cliche but it's accurate. there's darkness and comedy and hope that is always smashed into a million #pieces. idk I'm a masochist with fictional dramas sometimes but trust me it's so good #succession #idk why i felt the need to write an ad for the most watched show on tv currently that's just HOW into it i am 😂

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bigtiddygothhusband · 1 year

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You know its pretty fucked up that ADHD will not only make it hard for you to complete the cool interesting stuff you wanna do but also then make you forget about all the cool interesting stuff you have done as soon as you finish it.

#I wrote the lyrics to a full concept album adaptation of Venom (2018)#I rewrote julius caesar by shakespeare to be about cheerleaders #I memorized the first paragraph or so of the skyrim theme which doesnt sound impressive at first #except it was the dragon language version and i memorized it phonetically by keeping a printed out copy of the lyrics on me at all #I memorized dan bulls creeper rap felt uncomfortable with one of the lyrics changed it and then memorized the new version #i do a ton of art i have a bunch of cool stuff ive made i write great poetry #idk like it is frustrating that a lot of things i do i want to do more with but cant figure out the next steps or how to show it to people #but I do a lot of real cool stuff yknow?#original content

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hua-fei-hua · 2 years

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well. i have finished reading the basic eight.

that was an experience.

#it definitely deserves a reread at some point similar to how fight club deserves a rewatch #but also like fight club i don't think i can stomach a reread right now #i feel like i can really understand how the events came to pass and why each character did what they did #interestingly enough they all felt both like people and narrative devices at the same time which was very delicious writing imo #they all felt so much like people; and happenstance just aligned time and time again such that everything fell apart #and looking back it looked like foreshadowing! but sometimes as people we search for patterns too hard #and make them up when we're not there and as things played out in the book it just felt like a perfect tragedy #all the elements were there. we just watched the dominoes fall upon the people who had unwittingly set them up #i was reading some reviews before i ended and i was shocked at how late a few people picked up on some of the reveals #it felt kind of like shakespeare in that the ending is spoiled over and over again and you're told well in advance how things will play out #and if you pay attn to the gaps in the stories you can see very clearly the truth that lies underneath #there was a moment in the book that essentially confirmed my suspicions abt one character that in a review i read #had apparently been the first tip-off to said reader for the reveal at the very end of the book (that i was right huhu)#anyway it was a good read! david handler/lemony snicket sure has a way with metaphors #花話

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jalluzas-ferney · 6 months

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Fun fact, Shakespeare invented over 1,700 words. Some of these include :

Addiction

Eventful

Generous

Bedroom

Fashionable

Hurry

Jaded

Kissing

Worthless

Varied

Assasination

Amazement

And oh so many more (clearly)

#just felt like talking ab it #shakespeare #writing #fun facts #facts #william shakespeare #historical #historical facts #English #English language #language arts #art #theatre

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camellia-thea · 6 months

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don't want to study. don't want to do exam. i must do both.

#the pains of being a student #exam is on shakespeare. i feel. prepared? kind of?#i need to get at least 50% which i *think* i can do #it's two essays in 3 hours and i'm okay at essay writing under pressure #so.#hopefully?#i think the set up for this paper is stupid though and i *will* bitch about it #both my papers this sem have been super weird with grades #for med lit it was a 20% test and then a 30% book making assignment (15% for the book and then 15% for an exegesis)#and a 50% exam with ten questions. 7 of which we knew ahead of time #this one the lecturer keeps going on about making us good scholars #but it's 5 ten question quizzes worth 30% and six tutorial assignments (500-700 word writeups) worth 30%#then an exam in which we have to be citing readings and stuff?#makes more sense to just. have us do a research essay honestly #<- someone who has opinions #i have more thoughts and they're all not good #at least med lit was fun to do #shakespeare has been a *slog* and i haven't felt like this about a paper since first year

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lighthouseas · 7 months

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how can yall write 50k of the most beautiful prose i have ever seen in 3 days and meanwhile i think i did a Good Job when i write 2k words of mehhh in um. checks notes . two weeks

#it's the undiagnosed and unmedicated mental illnesses i'm sure but STILL #20k words of fic that can rival like. shakespeare or whoever the fuck meanwhile it takes me 193938484483930033948484839393948 years to #-write a sentence .#adding onto this when i tell u i have written 9k words in 3 months n felt proud of myself....meanwhile people churn out 10k+ fics every week #how. How #and yall STILL complain about chapter updates taking forever like what!!!! WHAT!!!!#bee.txt

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burningthetree · 10 months

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new form or writer’s block just dropped: being out in the wilderness with no laptop & writing in a notepad only for the pen to NOT WORK

#is this what shakespeare felt like #julie is writing #or at least she would be if the pen fucking worked #writer #writerblr

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meidiary · 8 months

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( 📁 ) THEM ACTING OVERLY JEALOUS

synopsis: the monster trio and how they act when they're way too jealous for their own good...

characters: luffy, sanji & zoro!

warnings: a teeny tinyyy amount of swearing [:

a/n: first time writing for them so i'm pretty nervous!!! , hope you enjoy!! banner is made by me, inspired by the lovely @sixosix and the layout is inspired by the lovely @luckyscribbles <3

it was his fault! it really was.. he was the sole reason you were entertaining this way too confident guy- because he told you that he was out of your league! can you believe that?! and now ZORO is throwing daggers at the poor man just with his piercing gaze alone..

ignoring zoro's needy angry glares he's sending you two, you continue charming your ... acquauntance, growing his already far too stretched ego. "oh darling, how i could melt in those beautiful emerald colored eyes of yours~" and with that sanji cringe-worthy comment you got him babbling on about himself... again.

you're getting progressively more annoyed the longer you hear him try to flirt with you. nonetheless you don't move an inch, because you know he's watching your every move; waiting for you to come moping to him about the guy. he'd feel a sense pride because you came back to him. and that pride, the face he makes whenever he turns out to be right about something, albeit it's a very handsome one, is the last thing you want to witness right now.

so you keep yourself from throwing this guy's drink in his face and telling him his cologne is absolutely murdering your sense of smelling.

you look up as you suddenly stop hearing the random guy talk about some castle garden of his. he gulps hesistantly whilst zoro stands before you, hands in his pockets. "we're leaving." no you're not! "oh zoro~ i barely-" "now." you stand up and turn to leave, but quickly turn back around and give the stranger a kiss on his cheek before leaving with zoro, causing his cheeks to change to a red-shade.

"miss! will i ever see you again?!" he asks before backing up seeing zoro's death glare. "my love, if we are meant to be we will definitely meet again!" what's up with you and these shakespear lines?

zoro gives you a slight shove with his shoulder as he rolld his eyes for what seems like the millionth time this hour. "i think i found my soulmate zoro!" you sang while you interlocked you arm with his. you were met with yet another eye-roll.

"you were the one that said he's out of my league, remember?" zoro huffs annoyed. "shit- that was a joke damn it!" "if anything you're out of his fucking league, dumbass" you lean onto him as you two continue making your way back to the going merry.

"maybe i exaggerated a bit too.." you slowly admit before hearing his usual chuckle. "just don't go flirting with some stranger again, ever. shit could've gone wrong real fast y'know?" you smile sheepishly and nod. "good thing you were there huh?"

and you could've sworn you say his cheeks turn into a rose color before he swiftly turned his head to the side, greeting sanji and nami. was he blushing..?

SANJI was this close.. this close to absolutely losing it and slicing this daring man up with zoro's swords. who does he think he is? flirtingly, charmingly speaking with his lover?! well truth be told.. you two weren't official, far from it actually;

you two were so close to finally having the months-due talk about the classic, what are we-question. but of course sanji had to hit on the waitress that casually passed your table. that was your final straw. if he couldn't stop his antics for one night, you would resume yours for good.

and oh how it made him clench his fists so hard they became white, how it made him ignore all the beautiful ladies surrounding him, for what felt like the first time ever, how he saw you with your pretty dress on, that he bought for you because it reminded him of you, sat on some navy's lap, entertaining the bastard not worhty of a single enchanting smile of yours. yet there you were smiling, no laughing at something the navy said, all while you were supposed to be with sanji. laughing at something he said, playing with his hair, sat on his lap.

he was this close to exploding and increasing his bounty a good amount by punching this navy untill his fists fell off. "sanji, don't you fucking dare." nami warned him, glaring at him from the other side of the table, not in the mood to be on the run again after finally being able to relax for a day.

sanji heard nami, he did! but the minute he saw the disgusting navy's hand run up your thigh causing you to jump off of him, he finally lost it. "keep your fucking hands off her you sewer rat!" he jumped up sprinting at the navy, his snow-white fists ready to release all the pent up anger he held.

but before sanji got to the navy he was stopped by you. your soft, slightly cold hands holding back one of his clenched fists. causing him to slowly unclench it. you tried to push sanji back, knowing his uproar would bring about another navy chasing. "you alright, love?" it's as if all his previous anger vanished the moment he felt your soft touch, smelled you sweet perfume, the moment you felt like his again. "y-yeah i'm good.. but we should get goi-"

"WHAT DID YOU CALL ME?!" the navy man roared causing the others to swiftly join the yelling. "hey aren't those those strawhat pirates with a bounty?!" from the other side of the room it felt like you could hear nami's long sigh. "see what you've done?! grab zoro, usopp and i will take luffy!" everyone complied and assumed their role.

sanji lifted his leg up ready to kick zoro awake right before you pushed him slightly making him stand on two feet again. "not doing that sanji!" he playfully rolls his eyes at your statement.

waking up zoro and running to the ship in a hurry, with a good 3 dozen navy soldiers running behind you calling you names, was the usual. but what surprised you was sanji holding your hand tightly the whole way, not letting go for a second.

once on the ship, back to sailing on the waters, while everyone was catching their breath, sanji took you aside, he interlocked your hands with his while he locked your gazes, still breathless he looks at you earnestly. his eyes illuminating the moon's glow. "i'll stop the flirting my darling, i promise. the only woman i'll charm will be you.. so you better not grow tired of it." he chuckled still a little breathless. you smiled, leaning your body onto his. "you better sanji.."

"i'm all yours sweetheart. all yours"

LUFFY felt weird. he had never met this man before, yet he suddenly has the urge to gum gum bazooka him for the rest of the day. why is he feeling this way right now? is it because he hadn't eaten yet? no that can't be it.. he just had a very good meal with you; you two had split up from the rest of the crew to have your lunch at some fancy looking restaurant on the beach.

luffy furrows his eyebrows once again because of this feeling. he figures, after a while to be completely honest, that the reason he wants to kick this man off the island is that he's taking way too long speaking with you. he's been occupying you for a good 10 minutes now.

how could he? how did he dare to take you from him so carelessly? you two were enjoying your meals, yes you were chatting about the dumbest subjects known to the world, but you were enjoying it. and then some buff man comes and dares to ask you for directions?! it would've been fine if he had left after receiving them, but no, he had to keep talking to you!

luffy was starting to see red at this point. he gets it he does, you're a beautiful woman, you're smart yet very funny, energetic and enjoyable! but you're his. even though you don't know that, even though he never told you that, you are his. and no buff, tall, slick back haired guy was going to change that one bit.

luffy dropped his food and started to walk towards the two of you, angrily eyeing the bold man who was about to get bazooka-d to some far-away island. luffy started stretching his arms, getting ready to send him off.

you notice right away and block luffy's path to the man. trying to laugh it off, you said your goodbyes to the fella and dragged luffy back to the restaurant. "what were you thinking, luff! that could've ended up horribly!" you whisper-yelled, not wanting to attract any more unwanted gazes.

"he took you from me for 10 minutes! how was I supposed to endure any longer!" luffy childishly pouts as he resumes eating. "you could've just said so! no need to bazooka anyone anywhere luf'!" his furrowed eyebrows soften as he hears his nickname.

the first time you called him that he truly hated it. "it sounds like a dog's name!" he complained. but over time, that nickname became apart of him, it was apart of his daily routine; he'd wake up to it, adventure the world with it, buy groceries with it, hear scolds with it. he became one with that silly nickname you gave him, and he wouldn't give that three-letter name up for the world. he wouldn't be able to go a day anymore without hearing you talking about how "the seashells here are so pretty luf'!", or how "i just love it when it's only you and i, luf'," and let's not forget you waking him up with the usual "luf'! sanji finished breakfast, get up already!".

"you can't go off with weird men. i won't let you.. you shouldn't leave my side for some guy that doesn't even know where he's headed!" you chuckle at his remarks. "i wouldn't leave you for anyone luf'! just.. don't bazooka someone next time.. just talk to me."

"you're mine y'know.." luffy tells you while he's munching on some of his cold meat. your eyes widen at his sudden words. "w-what?" "i said you're mine!" he says louder, a little annoyed thinking you hadn't heard him the first time. "you never said that before.."

"never needed to," he takes another bite. "but you are, so don't forget that!" he furrows his eyebrows again while saying that earning a chuckle from you. "i won't.. don't you worry"

NOTE: and that's for my first one piece ficcccc!!!

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helen-with-an-a · 1 month

Text

Short but Mighty

Hi. So this is a request I got and I absolutely loved writing it. It's a little on the long side but I really hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Also, just imagine no one is injured in either team and it’s Arsenal not Chelsea against Barca in the UWCL this year. Another side note is that I am 5’6/5’7 so I don’t really have much of a frame of reference for being short/shorter but I hope I’ve done it justice 🩷

Lucy Bronze x Reader

Description: R is short and a little angry

Word Count: 4.8k

“She’s so angry because her attitude has been compressed into that small body”

“Have you ever noticed that in every friend group, the shortest one is usually the craziest?”

“Short girls are mean because they are closer to hell”

“If you think she’s short, you should see her patience”

“The smaller the creature, the bolder its spirit”

“Like a chihuahua”

“And though she be but little, she is fierce”

You had heard it all. Even Shakespeare had commented on it. Every comment about short and angry people ever made – you had heard it all. But the thing was, you weren’t short. You were 5 foot 3 inches. 160cm. The average height for women in the UK – you would know; you googled it to make sure. But for some reason, every person on your team was a bloody giant – towering over you, making you look even shorter. Except for Aitana – she was the only one who truly understood your pain.

At first, it bothered you. Growing up, you were constantly being leant on by your friends or patted on the head; your coaches affectionately called you ‘short stuff’. It really, really pissed you off. You saw players on the field consider you a joke of an opponent as you stepped onto the field. So, you started to build muscle, lifting heavier, adjusting your diet, and altering your lifestyle as much as possible while remaining healthy. When you made your senior debut at just 17, you could lift well over 1.5 of your body weight. You also channelled that muscle into your speed, earning a reputation for being the fastest on the pitch. On paper, a defending midfielder of your height was laughable, but when the challengers on the pitch saw your name in the Starting XI, they would quake with fear.

Despite all the comments, they were right about your supposed anger. You don’t know whether it was you being unafraid to utilise your body on the pitch or something else entirely, but you were frequently topping the table with the number of yellow cards at the end of the season. Personally, you believed the refs had a vendetta against you; your reputation preceded you, so they felt it was necessary to uphold it – often giving you cards for something that would have been just a caution for anything else. You did pride yourself on never receiving a straight red (only double-yellows) – something that Lucy frequently reminded you; it wasn’t that impressive as many people didn’t receive straight reds. You weren’t an aggressive player by any means. As soon as that whistle went, you were the first to offer a helping hand. You had never injured anyone – ever. That was something else you were proud of. Whilst you often got yellows for the tackle, you never left any lasting marks. Were you physical? Yes. Were you aggressive? No.

It was the only thing people had spoken about in weeks. Arsenal vs. Barcelona in the Champions League semi-final. Walsh vs. Williamson; Russo, Lacasse and Blackstenius vs. Leon, Bronze and Batlle; Little vs. Putellas; Codina vs her old club; Paralluelo, Pina and Caldentey vs Wubben-Moy, Catley and Fox; Y/S/N vs. McCabe. That was the big one – two of the most carded players in their leagues battling it out for a chance to snatch the other’s chance of a Champions League title. Alexia had been pestering you since the draw was made about your behaviour. She wouldn’t hesitate to bench you if you were acting out. Her tactics were based on negative reinforcement. It hadn’t worked – all her threats, lectures, and pressures were rendered null because you knew how physical these matches would be. You knew Jona would put on the most physical players, at least to start with.

Lucy, on the other hand, relied on positive reinforcement. As your girlfriend, she was always in your corner, especially on the pitch when a card was lifted above your head. But she didn’t like how often you were suspended or how often your abilities were outshone by the number of yellows next to your name. Your technical prowess was often overlooked by commentators and fans because of the cards.

“You know,” Lucy started, her fingertips brushing your neck as she pulled your hair out of her way. You were standing at the kitchen counter, looking at a recipe on your phone as you planned out your tea.

“What do I know, gorgeous?” you teased, tilting your head up to look at her. Your hands came to rest on top of hers on your waist.

“I think we should set up a sticker chart system or something. What do you think?” She mused, starting an assault on your neck.

“N-no marks, my love,” you stuttered out automatically but leaning back into her body anyway.

“I know.” You could feel the grin against your skin. “But you didn’t answer my question, lovely.” She nipped at your earlobe gently.

“Stickers … what for?” You turned around in her arms, coming to look at her. She didn’t stop her attack, her strong hands coming to angle your head so she had more access to your jaw. You let your eyes slip closed, getting lost in the feeling of her mouth on you.

“As a way to … combat?... your little card problem.” That sobered you right up. You pushed her way and raised an unamused eyebrow at her.

“My card problem?” You snarked.

“Alexia has been on my arse about getting you to … calm down … during matches,” she explained, choosing her words carefully. She moved to put her hands back on your hips, but you stopped her with a hand on her chest.

“So, you went with a sticker chart?” you asked incredulously. “I’m not a child, Lucy.” You never called her Lucy unless you were angry at her; she was always ‘gorgeous’ or ‘my love’, just like you were always ‘lovely’ or ‘pretty girl’ to her.

“I know you’re not, pretty girl.” She cupped your face with her hand. “I think I phrased myself badly. I’m sorry.” Her thumb moved methodically against your cheek, an action that has always calmed you. “How about a little reward system?” She grinned cheekily at you as you narrowed your eyes. “For every match without a card, I’ll treat you?” She proposed.

“I don’t need a-” you started, still annoyed that your girlfriend and your captain felt it necessary to set up a system to manage your behaviour.

“Alexia has been on my arse about this for weeks. She’s serious about benching you, lovely.” She interrupted. You sighed. You were well aware of what Alexia considered unacceptable in the Barca team – and the number of yellow cards you received was one of them. “So, what do you think? I think it’s a win-win situation if you ask me. Alexia will finally back off and not be a minute away from a heart attack, and you get …” she paused, thinking of the right way to phrase it. “Whatever your heart desires.” You could see her reasoning. Judging by the vein in Alexia’s forehead, she wasn’t coping too well with the idea that you would face McCabe in a few weeks. And you get weekly treats if you avoid yellow cards.

“Whatever I want?” You double-checked. Lucy could see you were already agreeing to her idea.

“Whatever. You. Want. Pretty girl.” She punctuated each word with a kiss.

“So, if I wanted a fancy date night at that place in town?” Lucy wasn’t the biggest fan of dates where you had to dress up all fancy – she thought it wasn’t an accurate and complete representation of your relationship. She loved taking you to smaller, more casual restaurants where you could relax, order something to-go, or just cook a nicer meal at home. But Mapi had shown you a place she was planning to take Ingrid for their anniversary, and you had fallen in love – begging Lucy to go on a date there with you. What you didn’t know she was saving it for when she proposed – the ring hidden with her Euro medal buried in the depths of the cupboard in your spare room.

“Whatever you want.” She smiled at your shocked expression.

“Or if I wanted a spa day at home on our day off?” you asked, checking how far she would be willing to go. She would much rather do something on your day off to keep her body moving a little, whereas you would rather lounge on the couch, catching up on your show.

“Whatever you want.” She repeated, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth.

“Or…” you tried to think of something she would say no to. “If I asked you to put on my old United jersey? And take a photo in it? And post it on social media?” Your request was ridiculous, but you knew it was something she would never, ever say no to. You had played for United while she was at City, moving to Lyon together, where your relationship had budded into what it is now, before returning to your respective clubs. You were friends before Lyon, having played with each other on the England squad for years, but moving to the new city together had led to something magical. The rival was a constant joke between you, often tuning in to the Derby’s when your schedule allowed for it – her and Keira on one couch, you and Ona on the other – all clad in your particular colours and fighting for the right to brag.

“Whatever you want.” She sighed but loved the fact that it brought that big, wide grin of yours to your face.

“What about if I asked for control?” You wiggled your eyebrow and scanned her body appreciatively, indicating precisely what you hinted at. You could see her eyes flicker slightly, making you think you had found the thing she wouldn’t do as your reward. Lucy loved being in control, and you didn’t mind letting her do it. But occasionally, very, very occasionally, she handed over the ropes (figuratively and literally) to you.

“What. Ever. You. Want,” she said lowly, silencing any more of your questions with a passionate kiss.

This was it. The big day. The first leg of the Champions League semi-final. Arsenal vs. Barcelona. McCabe vs. Y/S/N. You had been good to your word – the reward system was working well. So far, Lucy had treated you to a day at the beach, a nice meal, a new set of lingerie, and a day trip with you to Tarragona on a day off. Four treats for your four matches without a yellow. It would have been more, but you picked up a yellow card during your match with Real Madrid. But this … this was your big test.

“Todas mantienen la cabeza,” Alexia said just before you all left the changing rooms. She said it to everyone, but you know it was aimed at you.

“What do you want your reward to be, pretty girl?” Lucy asked you as you performed your final pre-match ritual (a quick roll of deodorant, a pump of breath spray, and a spritz of perfume—you’re welcome, everyone on the field).

“Not sure, I’ve got an idea, but I might wait for the final for that one,” you winked cheekily at her, giving her an indication of what you were insinuating. She sighed, shaking her head at you.

“Later,” she promised as she guided you into the tunnel.

This match was not going to plan for you. Ona and Pina had already picked up yellows for dissent, and you were only 30 minutes into the match. You were on your best behaviour – even going so far as not to tackle Katie when you would usually have. You could see how much less stress Lucy was under with every game you played where you didn’t have your name on the card list. You weren’t behaving for yourself – you couldn’t care less if you were benched (slight exaggeration, but the sentiment remained). You were doing it for Lucy; her frown lines were easing somewhat; her muscles were less tense; she was sleeping much better. You hadn’t realised your actions added much to her plate.

And then Katie left a studs-up tackle on Lucy and didn’t get carded or even a foul. You were near her when it happened. Lucy was running down the wing with the ball at her feet, you were dropping back a little, allowing her the space to make a cross to an awaiting Patri and Aitana. Katie’s yellow boots appeared from nowhere and clipped her ankles – not even making an attempt to get the ball. It was an obvious card, yet the ref motioned to carry on whilst Lucy was on her knees, clutching at her ankle, her eyes scrunched shut at the pain.

Eventually, the whistle was blown when it was apparent that Lucy wasn’t standing up. You crouched at her side, a hand coming to rub at her back.

“Do you need the medics, my love?” You asked, the tone gentle in comparison to the fury you were filled with.

“Just … gimme a minute,” she gasped. You nodded even though she couldn’t see you, your hand resting on her lower back in silent support.

“Estás bien? Está ella bien? Necesitamos a los fisios?” Alexia gushed as she came to your side, a concerned Patri and Marta joining her.

“Ella esta bien,” you said, your words supported by Lucy’s actions as she moved to stand up. You briefly scanned her, nodding to yourself as you confirmed she was fine.

The switch in you was instant. McCabe needed to pay for that. And if the ref wasn’t going to do it, you would.

“Don’t,” Lucy said at the same time as Alexia uttered “no”. You just waved them off, smiling innocently at them as you set up for the corner kick.

The incident that got you the card was well deserved. You had only 2 minutes left of the half – not including injury time – and Katie was starting a last-minute Arsenal press. You were winning comfortably at 3 – 0, but you knew Arsenal would come out hard in the next half; they weren’t called ‘second halfsenal’ for nothing. Could you have gone for a clean tackle? Probably. Could you have just tackled her in general? Yes. But it wouldn’t have been nearly as satisfying as watching her fly to the ground. She ran full speed down the wing, not looking where her defenders were. You timed your run well, bracing your body as she slammed into you. You had bothered to stick out your leg to make it look like you were aiming for the ball, but everyone, on and off the pitch, knew you were going for revenge. She clattered to the ground in a pile of red and white, and a torrent of Irish-accented swears erupted from her.

You were immediately faced with an angry Aussie. Caitlin shoved your shoulders as she demanded retribution for you. You lifted your hands innocently.

“I was going for the ball,” you said, shrugging a little. You could see the referee approaching, Alexia looking furious at you, and Lucy shaking her head. Still, you could see her smiling – finding the situation at least somewhat amusing. “I was going for the ball,” you repeated to the ref, ignoring the shouts from the Arsenal girls. “See, she’s fine.” You gestured to a now-standing McCabe. It didn’t help your case; the yellow square was lifted above your head as you rolled your eyes.

“Fucking short-arse bitch” you heard McCabe mutter as you all walked away, ready to finish this half.

“And yet, I still put you on the ground,” you smirked at her, letting Lucy drag you away.

Halftime was full of Alexia's lecture. You looked to Jona to see if he would intervene, but he just shrugged. When he saw Lucy go down from a dodgy tackle, he expected nothing less from you.

“Prometiste que te portarías lo mejor posible.”

“She’s still walking, isn’t she?” You weren’t about to apologise for this. This was your style of play; she knew that when you joined the team; Barca knew it when they signed you.

“Qué dije de los amarillos? Te pedí que no los consiguieras. Y que haces?” She continued as if you hadn’t spoken. “Necesitas empezar a actuar de forma más adulta al respecto. No necesitas ser cardada por todo. Recibir tarjetas todo el tiempo es muy inmaduro. No tienes respeto”

“Enough, Alexia.” You interrupted. Yes, she had somewhat of a right to be angry at you, but calling you immature? Saying you had no respect? ��I play my style of play. If the club didn’t like it, they wouldn’t have renewed my contract or signed me in the first place. If Jona has a problem with it, he would either speak to me or not play me. But they haven’t. I have renewed with Barca and Jona hasn’t even mentioned it in our one-to-ones. You are the only one who’s up my arse about this. And you’ve been pestering Lucy, too. Newsflash, she’s not my keeper, Alexia, and I am not a child; she’s my girlfriend.” You could see she was trying to interrupt you again, but you pushed through. “If you had maybe spoken to me in a way that suggested you valued me as a player and a person rather than lecturing me every chance you get, we could be in a different situation right now. But no, you have insulted me and the way I play my football, and now you have made me even more pissed off than I already was. So please, leave me alone at the moment.” You were seething. You hadn’t meant to explode at her like you did, but she had hurt your feelings one too many times about a bloody yellow card. You looked around the changing room, seeing the shocked expressions on people’s faces. No one spoke to their captain like that. You didn’t dare glance at Lucy, too afraid of what you might see. You would have seen the proud expression gracing her face if you had. She had been waiting for you to detonate at Alexia; she could see it in the way you grit your teeth during every lecture, the way you took longer showers after training to destress every time Alexia had called you away to talk about your behaviour, the way you were baking more and more as a method to try to quell your anger.

You pushed your way past, banging the door heavily as you stormed back out of the tunnel. You knew the Emirates well, so there were no chances of you getting lost. A few doors down, there was a seldom-used bathroom you could hide in, but you could still hear the chatter that told you the team was in the tunnel, ready to start the second half.

The changing room was silent. You could hear a mouse sneeze if you listened carefully enough.

“Bien entonces,” it was Mapi who spoke – breaking the tension-filled silence.

“Quién se cree que ella es? Todo lo que he estado tratando de hacer es ayudarla a limpiar su juego.” Alexia was incredulous. She believed you needed to clean up your act if you were going to go far at Barca. She didn’t consider the fact that you had numerous accolades to your name, coming second in the Ballon d’Or for the past 3 years and earning yourself a Sports Personality of the Year twice.

“No, Alexia. You are in the wrong.” Lucy snapped. She couldn’t allow this to go on any longer. Yes, she wanted you to stop getting yellow cards, but not at the expense of your style of play. She wanted the cards to stop being the only thing commentators spoke about when your name was mentioned. She wanted the world to see you as she did. “I know you meant well, but you basically asked her to stop playing in the way that makes her so unique. Imagine if someone did that to you, you’d be pretty pissed off too.” Alexia frowned. That wasn’t what she had meant – not at all. She wanted you to stop getting the yellow cards because she viewed something to be feared, not something that was just a part of playing football.

“Y ahora te has ido y la has hecho aún más enojada,” Patri laughed humourlessly. “No se sorprendan si hoy vemos un rojo, chicas,” she added as the team made their way back to the pitch.

You slipped silently out of the bathroom, joining the rest of the team as if you were just the last one to leave the changing room.

“Hey, pretty girl,” Lucy said, extending her hand to you as she lingered just out of sight of the cameras.

“Hey, gorgeous.” You squeezed her hand, letting her know you were ok.

“Please, try not to get a red,” she joked.

“If McCabe behaves, so will I,” you said seriously. She smirked at you – just the sort of thing she was expecting from you.

McCabe did not behave. It was remarkable how calm you had been, considering how riled you were during the half-time break. You had spent a lot of this second half on the floor, being a victim of harsh tackles from McCabe herself and a particular Aussie. You could see your English teammates wincing every time you went down. But you always gave as good as you got, leaving unforgiving shoves and exacting tackles just on the right side of nasty.

It was in the 55th minute when the second incident occurred. You were genuinely going for the ball. You both jumped up for a header – you might have jumped more sideways than up, but that was neither here nor there. The slight knock you gave her made her lose her balance, landing hard on her hands and knees rather than her feet. It didn’t help that you landed perfectly upright, either. You knew how much running into you could hurt – particularly if you braced yourself (which you had been); she had been jogging backwards, unaware of your presence behind her.

“Oh, my god. I am so sorry. Are you ok?” You were genuine this time; both your national and club teammates could see it. This time, Leah was the first one to you, pulling you away by your shoulder.

“What the fuck, Y/N?” She asked, shocked by your display of aggression.

“I’m sorry, Lee. That was a complete accident.” You looked down at McCabe rolling around on the floor, gripping at her ankle. She just sighed in response. Lucy was the first of your Barca friends to reach you.

“I’m sorry,” you said dejectedly.

“I know you are, lovely” Lucy squeezed your elbow gently. “But you know you’re going to get a card, right?”

“Yeh, I know.” You turned to face the ref, shocked to see Alexia pleading with her and arguing for you. You were unsurprised when her protests were waved away, and you were presented with the yellow and red squares before being shown that you had to leave the pitch. You took it graciously and headed off the pitch.

You were escorted to the changing room by an official but were left to your own devices. You showered quickly before changing into your clothes, grateful you had packed some ‘street clothes’ – just jeans and one of Lucy’s hoodies. As you heard the Emirates erupt with cheers, the idea was planted in your head. This was a Champions League semi-final, no way in hell were you missing that. So, you slipped your accreditation around your neck and left the changing room. The crowd were still celebrating the Arsenal goal as you emerged from the tunnel. You saw Jonas spot you, his eyes widening as he gestured to the Fourth Official. You nodded once and waved at Jona and the other Barca coaches before hopping over the barricade. You spotted a woman with a young girl sitting on her lap with a free seat next to her.

“Do you mind?” You asked as you gestured to the seat. The woman shook her head and laughed a little as you made yourself comfortable next to her. The little girl was staring at you wide-eyed. She was wearing a little Barca jersey with her hair in two plaits, looking the epitome of cute.

“Hi, I’m Y/N.” You said, extending your hand to her. “What’s your name?” After a second of cajoling from her mother, she piped up.

“Lucie. But with an -ie not a -y.”

“Well, Lucie with an -ie not a -y, that is a very good name.” You smiled and turned back to the pitch, watching the game resume. You could tell the cameras were on you; you could see Ingrid shaking her head from the bench every time your face was displayed on the big screen.

The rest of the match was uneventful. Barca scored another two goals, bringing the final score to 5 – 1.

“So, Lucie with an -ie. Whose number’s on the back?” You nodded to her shirt.

“Lucy Bronze,” she cheered. “She’s my favourite. And we have the same name, but we spell it differently.” Lucie said with all the seriousness of a 6-year-old with something essential to tell you.

“Can I let you into a secret?” You leant down to whisper to her conspiratorially. She nodded enthusiastically. “She’s my favourite too.” Lucie looked up wide-eyed at you. “Do you want me to try and get you her shirt?” You asked. Her eyes grew even wider; you thought her head might pop off with how aggressively she was nodding. “Ok, wait here, ok. I’ll be right back.” You smiled as you hopped the barrier again, making your way onto the pitch and headed straight to Lucy. She was standing with Keira and Leah, clearly having a bit of a catch-up.

“Hello, trouble.” Keira teased as you appeared.

“Yeh, yeh.” You lightly shoved her head. “Can I have your shirt, my love?” You asked Lucy. She cocked her head at your request. “I think I might have found your biggest fan.” You smiled as you started to take your jumper off, grateful that you had put a shirt on underneath for once. Lucy laughed as she whipped off her top, thanking you as she slipped the hoodie on to keep her covered. You hugged Leah quickly before dragging Lucy away to find your new friend.

“Alexia wants to talk to you, pretty girl,” Lucy said as you pulled her back to the stands.

“Later,” you sighed, not really in the mood for anything Alexia had to say. “I want you to meet my new friend first.” You looked at her with a wide smile as you came to a stop in front of Lucie.

“Lucie with an -ie meet Lucy with a -y. Luce, this is my new friend, Lucie.” You did the unnecessary introductions.

“Hi,” Lucy grinned at the young girl. You handed the jersey off to her mum as you left them alone for a little bit, moving to interact with some of the other fans.

A little while later, familiar strong arms wrapped around your waist, distracting you from your conversation with Alessia and Lotte.

“Nosotras tenemos que ir, lovely” Lucy whispered, kissing your shoulder lightly.

“We get it; you speak Spanish.” Alessia teased, waving goodbye to you as you sent them both a kiss.

“Vamos,” you joked as you leant back into Lucy. Although your position made it a little awkward to walk, you were too comfortable to move.

“What reward do you want this week?” Lucy whispered in your ear as you entered the tunnel.

“Reward? But I got a card, two, in fact. Or did you miss the part where McCabe ran into me twice, and you went down a player?” You looked at her, confused.

“I know, but you were so, so sexy.” She squeezed you not-too-gently. “I’ve got to treat my pretty girl when she looks that good,” she teased, but you knew by the glint in her eyes that she was deadly serious. You hummed.

“I think I might have some ideas,” you mused as you leant back on her subtly, letting your head drop back on her shoulder.

“Good,” she whispered back, littering a series of kisses to your cheek. “My short, sexy defender.” She laughed.

“Oi,” you slapped her arm. “Enough with the short jokes.”

“Never, you get so riled up by them.” She laughed at your angry expression. “And you know exactly what that does to me,” she said lowly in your ear – a lasting promise of later left unspoken in the air.

I hope you enjoyed it <3<3<3<3

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