WILDFLOWER.
❝ somehow you've managed to
become my favourite person ❞
in which rivalry fades into the understanding that love is found with her
the really loud house fan fiction
lynn loud x female oc
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⸝⸝ 006, sent from heaven ꩜ .ᐟ ❝ how could i forget? ❞
"...herself!"
Vienna's brows pinched together in slight confusion, her lips parting just enough to release a soft, questioning hum.
"Don't worry, Herrera," Coach Martinez's expression softened. "You won't have to share with any of the girls on the team. You'll have your own single-bed room."
Relief visibly spread across Vienna's face, her tense shoulders loosening as a grateful smile replaced her earlier uncertainty.
"Loud," Coach continued, her tone direct, "you'll be rooming with Shea."
Lynn nodded sharply, her movements deliberate yet restrained, as though she were trying to minimise her presence in the room. Her gaze darted towards Shea, offering a fleeting, awkward smile, barely more than a twitch of her lips, before looking away again, her attention anchored somewhere indefinite.
The air seemed to shift, a quiet buzz of unspoken thoughts passing between the players. Lynn's stiffness lingered, contrasting the relaxed camaraderie that enveloped the Royal Woods soccer team, while Vienna's smile faded, replaced by a faraway look as she traced invisible patterns along the edge of her sleeve.
Lynn had never given much thought to the name of Shea (pronounced "shay") Fontaine. Sure, she was a common topic of Margo Roberts' words since the two were close friends, a fleeting mention here or there, or noticed her in the periphery of crowded hallways.
But Shea was the kind of person who existed in the spaces between moments, slipping by unnoticed unless you were looking for her.
She was a wallflower, the kind of girl who melted into the background at parties and socials, pressed against the walls as if she belonged to them, she didn't carve out space for herself in the way others did. Instead, she lingered on the edges, watching on the sidelines, her presence so evanescing it almost felt deliberate.
She saw things most people overlooked, her gaze sharp yet unassuming. But what set her apart wasn't just that she noticed—it was that she kept those observations to herself, carrying the secrets of a room like whispers tucked into her pockets. There was an understanding in the way she moved.
Rooming with her wouldn't be so bad. Shea Fontaine might be quiet, but there was a calmness about her, a sense that she wouldn't intrude or press for conversation when it wasn't wanted. Lynn could already imagine the silence between them—not awkward, but peaceful, like the quiet that followed the end of a long game, when all you wanted was to breathe.
Lynn's friend and teammate, Margo, often spoke of Shea with a reverence that felt almost sacred. Her hair, a cascade of dirty blonde threads as if they had been woven with sand tangled with the gold of harvest fields. There was something ethereal about her beauty, not the kind that screamed to be noticed, but the kind that lingered, haunting and tender.
