#✧ “ forgotten whispers ” ⇁ musings ✧ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

plutotheplum · 2 months ago

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Winter's Kiss

sylus x fem!reader

summary: luke and kieran rope you into spending christmas at the n109 zone (and kissing their boss).

cw: fluff, soft!sylus, kissing under the mistletoe, luke and kieran being idiots, found family

wc: 2.7k

a/n: merry christmas eve/christmas my lovelies!! some fluff for the holiday season! here's to hoping sylus turns up under our christmas trees :)

also on ao3!

Somehow, you’d ended up in the N109 Zone for Christmas.

It wasn’t like the barrage of texts from Luke and Kieran had weighed upon your decision, the rapid influx of messages from the twins demanding your presence for Christmas. That coupled with the image of Sylus alone on Christmas night hadn’t made your stomach churn and heart ache at all.

The year had been a tumultuous one. Wanderers, disturbing visions and wanted criminals had you on edge these past few months, so perhaps unwinding with said, now somewhat mellow, wanted criminals was warranted in some way.

You heft the presents under your arms, moving your fingers to stabilize the wrapped goods when you feel one of them begin to slip. Shopping hadn’t been too difficult, although choosing a gift for Sylus had proved to be somewhat of a challenge. You weren’t sure whether to get him something heartfelt or to gift him a refurbished gun with new prototyped features that were advertised to the Hunter Association.

The glittering streams of tinsel drags you out of your thoughts, a smile pulling at your lips as you imagine Luke, Kieran and Sylus decorating. You hear panicked, hushed whispers when you turn the corner, a laugh spilling out of you when you see the sight before you.

Luke perched atop Kieran’s shoulders, Kieran grumbling irritatedly when Luke flails and misses the tip of the Christmas tree, the golden star falling off only for Kieran to shift and have Luke catch it.

“It’s not that hard, you idiot,” Kieran grunts, his knees bending in an attempt to readjust to Luke’s weight.

“Then you try!” Luke protests.

“I thought you two were meant to be in tune,” you muse, stepping closer, over the strewn wrapping paper and bending down to add your presents to the growing collection under the Christmas tree.

“We are,” they both say in unison, their eyes landing on you.

“You made it!” Luke says happily, squirming, “Boss will be glad.”

“ Really glad,” Keiran adds, his annoyance forgotten momentarily. “We’re glad too.”

You smile at them, crossing your arms over your chest. “It’s nice to see you guys too. Maybe you should try holding the star at the tip, Luke?”

“That’s what I told him!” Kieran says, letting out an aggrieved sigh.

Luke huffs indignantly, adjusting his position yet again as Keiran steps closer to the tree, giving Luke some more leverage. It’s another failed attempt and Kieran is rolling his eyes, dumping Luke onto his feet unceremoniously.

“You do me now.”

“What about her?” Luke asks, pointing at you.

“You could ask Mephisto,” you offer, pointing at the mechanical crow that was currently preening his feathers. “What do you say, buddy?”

Mephisto gives an indignant squawk, his little head turning away arrogantly, tending to his feathers with care.

“Nevermind,” you sigh, before looking towards the twins. “Kieran is taller than me, though.”

“Just get on,” Luke whines as he bends his knees, waiting for you to climb up onto his shoulders.

You open your mouth to protest, but there’s a warm hand curling over your hip, pulling you back gently, flush against a firm chest. “Let’s not badger our guest, hm?”

Deep and velvety, you have no doubts as to who this voice belongs to. Your head tilts back to find Sylus smirking down at you, his expression amused.

“Glad you could join us, sweetie. The N109 Zone isn’t usually so… festive.”

“Yeah, well, apparently you were missing me, so I figured I’d drop in,” you tease, a sly smile spreading across your face.

Luke and Kieran snicker until Sylus’ stern expression silences them, his hand squeezing at your hip in warning.

“I never said that.”

“Must’ve been the wind,” you murmur.

“Right,” Sylus deadpans.

You squeak when the red mist wraps around you, lifting you off of the ground, the golden star being thrust into your hand by the same swirling mist. The trio of men beneath you seem amused as the tendrils sweep you higher, closer to the top of the tree, giving you enough height to place the star right where it needs to be.

Sylus’ Evol dissipates as it sets you down onto your feet, the mist sweeping across playfully and making your dress flutter.

“That’s one way to do it,” Kieran remarks, slinging his arm over Luke’s shoulders before they shoot each other knowing glances and disappear from the living room.

“You came,” Sylus says once the twins have left, his arms crossing over his chest.

“I did,” you reply, peering up at him, your hands clasping behind your back, “too bad you never sent me a personal invitation.” Sylus smiles, and you can’t help but think he looks softer in this light, the ruthless leader of Onychinus replaced by a man who seems less intense and more accommodating than usual.

“I figured Luke and Kieran would’ve gotten through to you,” he muses, his head tilting as he lets his gaze dip over you.

You do the same, taking in his sweater and trousers, trying to quell the inconvenient yet undeniable pull of attraction you feel towards him.

“Well, they did,” you sigh, managing to drag your gaze back up to meet his, “although I can’t say I appreciated how many texts they sent.”

“The twins tend to get excited,” Sylus replies, reaching out towards you, his fingers tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

It’s hard to not notice how Sylus’ touch lingers for a moment, his expression looking a little absent-minded as though remembering something from the past. Your brows furrow, unable to decide between asking him or letting his touch linger further. His hand drops away after a few moments before he clears his throat.

“I made dinner,” he announces.

You laugh, eyes lighting up at the thought of Sylus in the kitchen. You don’t quite believe him though, not when Sylus had enough money to hire at least a dozen personal chefs.

“You’re not serious,” you say, head tilting in amusement.

“I am,” Sylus smirks, his hand landing on your lower back as he guides you forward, towards the hallway, “Luke and Kieran pitched in.”

“Now I feel special,” you muse.

“I suppose you are,” Sylus replies, his expression sobering, “to all of us.”

You’re taken aback by the sincerity in his words, heart giving way to a flutter that you attempt to squash down by pinching yourself, not that it helps. This sense of belonging isn’t what you’d planned on, warmth blooming in your chest as you stare up at Sylus and remember the twins. It’s nice, really, to be valued like this. You can’t help but think you could get used to it.

Laughter echoes through the hallway as you and Sylus move through it. You startle when Kieran shouts, his voice urgent.

“Don’t move!”

“Oh, look at that ,” Luke sighs dramatically, feigning innocence as he peers upwards, directing his gaze above you and Sylus.

Bewilderment flashes across your face until you hear Sylus let out a low laugh. You tip your head back, eyes narrowing when you spy the sprig of mistletoe hanging right above where you’re standing. Mephisto adds in something that sounds like a suspiciously happy squawk, and you stare at the crow, realising you’ve been betrayed.

“Funny,” you say drily, shaking your head.

Kieran sighs just like Luke, as though he can’t quite believe the situation. The cunning expression in their eyes gives them away.

Devious, little brats.

“Well, you can’t move now,” Luke says, sounding positively aggrieved.

“I suppose you’ll just have to kiss, isn’t that right?” Kieran says, looking towards Luke. Luke nods, a self-satisfied smile settling on his face. “Those are the rules.”

“What rules?” you shoot back, glaring at the pair of twins, “there are no rules. I could quite literally just walk away.”

“Christmas tradition !” Luke and Kieran both argue, their faces looking a little crestfallen when they hear the tone of your voice, “you have to kiss!”

You can feel your heart twinge at the earnest tone present in their voices, your eyes flickering up to meet Sylus’. Strangely enough, he doesn’t seem to have any protests, his gaze boring down into yours expectantly.

“You seriously have nothing to say?” you grouse, head tilting.

“It’s just a kiss, sweetie,” he replies, his arm wrapping around your waist to bring you closer to him. “What’s the matter, hm? Afraid you’ll fall for me?”

“The thought is laughable,” you retort, trying to ignore the soothing squeeze of his hand against your side; the unrelenting warmth that was currently seeping into you and melting your hardened resolve.

“I suppose we’ll find out,” Sylus murmurs, his fingers gripping your chin to tilt your head. “We have time.”

“Move a little to the right!” Kieran calls out, waving his hand.

“What for?” you ask exasperatedly, feeling Sylus step closer, moving you with him.

“For- for the aesthetic !” Luke huffs out.

The twins look a little impatient as you stare at them, your brows furrowing further when you see Kieran whisper something to Luke.

Sylus doesn’t let you dwell longer on the twins’ antics, his calloused hand cupping your cheek to turn you towards him.

“Merry Christmas, sweetie.”

Your eyes flutter shut as his lips slot over yours, your hand curling around his wrist. Sylus kisses you like he means it, lips soft yet insistent, his thumb smoothing over your cheek. You forget where you are momentarily, knees feeling weak as you fist his sweater pulling him closer, rising up on the tips of your toes to meet his kiss better.

Sylus tilts his head, deepening the kiss. Your stubborn resolve weakens pitifully and you can only think about how perfect this moment is, how good Sylus’ lips feel, how warm his embrace is-

There’s a blinding array of flashes, white sparking out from under your closed eyelids until your eyes snap open, head turning to the side to find both Luke and Kieran with cameras in hand.

“Oh, shit,” Luke begins.

“I thought the flash was off,” Kieran mutters, frowning.

You grit your teeth, taking one step towards them, your eyes narrowing. “Give that to me.”

Luke and Kieran hug their cameras to their chest protectively.

“Christmas memories,” Luke laughs nervously when he sees the determination in your eyes. “Wouldn’t- wouldn’t want to lose those.”

Kieran nods in agreement.

“Boss!” They cry out when the cameras get swept out of their hands by Sylus’ Evol, one of them landing in your hands.

You click through the images, heat blossoming in your stomach when you see how intimate the kiss looks, Sylus’ body pressed firmly against yours, his hand on your cheek. It’s romantic, your somewhat eager response, Sylus’ tight hold, all captured closely through the lens.

“‘s nice,” Sylus murmurs, his chest pressing up against your back as he peers down at the little camera screen.

“ No ,” you shake your head vehemently, “it’s not nice.”

“We look good,” he whispers, his voice dropping lower, lips brushing over the shell of your ear.

You try to ignore the way his hands feel on your hips, his body pressing a little closer into yours. It’s hard not to agree with him the longer you stare at the images though, you do look good, and Luke’s interjection about Christmas memories has you feeling a little forgiving.

“Fine, keep them,” you sigh, handing the camera back to Luke whilst Sylus does the same to Kieran, “but don’t share them, please.”

Luke and Kieran nod enthusiastically and you snag onto Kieran’s arm before he can leave, your voice dropping to a low whisper.

“Send them to me,” you whisper, “and not a word to anyone.”

Kieran smiles deviously and you roll your eyes, reaching up to ruffle his hair.

“You’re such a jerk, Kieran.”

“C’mon,” he whines, “you love us.”

You smile up at him, your arm hooking with his. “Maybe just a little.”

He snorts and you let out a laugh, following after Luke and Sylus who had left earlier, talking about something else. Dinner goes smoothly enough and you refuse to tell Luke and Kieran what their presents are, despite their whining.

You feed Mephisto little bites of your food, your finger petting his little feathery head gently every now and then. He preens at the attention, letting out an odd sounding chirp every now and then when you tap his little beak and offer him some more food.

Sylus is seated beside you and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to stop stealing glances at the side of his face. The longer you stare, the more you can feel yourself falling deeper, a pressing crisis unfolding in your mind.

Fuck . You think you might like him.

Deep rooted feelings of yearning never lead to any good, and yet, you were too impatient not to act on them.You wait patiently, fingers playing with themselves in your lap, for the perfect opportunity.

It presents itself when Luke and Kieran break out into an insignificant quarrel, their eyes moving elsewhere. Sylus is already looking towards you and you’re leaning forward, cupping the back of his head to bring him closer, lips meeting his in a slow, sweet kiss.

“What was that for?” Sylus murmurs when you break away, his eyes roving over the flush settling on your cheeks.

“No reason,” you reply nonchalantly, leaning back in your chair.

Sylus scoffs out a laugh, behaving seemingly unaffected. There’s a light flush dusted across his cheeks however, his tongue darting out to taste the remnants of you on his lips.

“This is for no reason too,” he says, grabbing your chin and pulling you closer.

You sigh contentedly when he kisses you, arms wrapping around his neck, your lips working against his a little feverishly as though you can’t get enough.

A cacophony of protests breaks out from the twins when they see you and Sylus kissing at the table.

“Gross! Get a room!”

You roll your eyes, breaking away from Sylus to peer over at them.

“You were the ones that made us kiss,” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Yeah, we didn’t mean all the time,” Luke corrects.

“Deal with it,” Sylus interrupts, brushing a kiss to your cheek.

You hum happily, Sylus’ hand warm as it encases yours under the table. Luke pouts and Kieran mirrors him, both of them slumping back in their chairs.

You and Sylus get a little more privacy when you step outside, snow dusting across both of you, covering the shrubbery and trees. Mephisto swoops through the air, his mechanical wings flapping as he lands on a tree branch above. The icy chill of the wintery air isn’t so bad, not when Sylus is stepping up behind you, his chin resting on your shoulder as he holds you close to him.

“It was bound to happen,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek again as you stare up at the night sky, glittering with stars.

“You seem awfully sure of yourself,” you reply, squeezing his forearms.

“Let’s just say… I had an inkling. I know you, sweetie.”

“I don’t understand what you mean sometimes,” you sigh, peering up at him, head resting on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to,” he whispers, dropping a kiss to your temple.

You sway gently in his arms, pressing yourself closer, eyes slipping shut. You’d kill for more moments of peace like this.

It never seems to last for long.

The beginnings of torn wrapping paper begin to fill your ears and you peek through the glass window to find the twins tearing at their presents.

“Oh, these are sick !” Luke announces, beginning to twirl around the pair of knives you had gotten him.

“They have to wait!” you protest, reaching for the door, “Sylus, they have to wait!”

“Let them,” Sylus murmurs, dragging you back into his arms, his chest rumbling with laughter.

You can’t help but let out an exasperated noise, smiling up at him. Sylus lowers his head and you nudge your nose against his gently, pressing a tender kiss to his lips.

“What?” he asks quietly when you trace the curve of his cheek, your fingers splaying across his skin.

You kiss him again, revelling in the softness of his eyes when you pull apart. There's a strange warmth in your chest, an unknown pull in the back of your mind as though something familiar were evading you.

You feel like you know him too.

“Merry Christmas, Sylus.”

#sylus fluff #sylus x reader #sylus #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace fluff #love and deepspace sylus #lnd sylus #lnd fluff #sylus qin #l&ds #l&ds fluff #l&ds sylys

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novascharms · 28 days ago

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thinking about soft rafe who just wants to please his jealous girl njfezefeoizionfnmlks

before you can say more, his arms snake around your waist from behind, and you try to wriggle free, but his grip is firm. “i’ll throw them all out if that’s what you want,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear, his lips brushing the shell of it with maddening softness.

you shake your head stubbornly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a real answer. “no,” you mutter, crossing your arms even as his hold on you tightens. “you should put them above your bed. make a shrine out of them.”

his lips find a familiar trail along your neck, pressing soft, deliberate kisses that make your resolve falter. “i think i kinda like when you’re jealous,” he murmurs, his voice low, sending a shiver down your spine.

you huff, keeping your eyes locked on the shelf in front of you, determined not to react. “who’s jealous?” you whisper, your voice small, defiant.

you feel him smile against your skin, the curve of it unmistakable, and you purse your lips, refusing to admit how easily he gets to you.

he presses you against him and suddenly, his gentle kisses turn into desperate nipping and soft sucking that flood your entire core with pleasure. you moan softly as his hands travel down, lower and lower until they're under your skirt and he's ripping your tights and panties down to your ankles.

"r-rafe.." you attempt to warn him, to stop him, to tell him this cannot happen in school but his name slips out like a breathless whisper and you can't get yourself to say no to this.

his hands are all over you and your body is pliant under his touch as he took one of your tits in hand, "you look so beautiful right now." you can barely focus on his words when his fingers are inching closer and closer to your pussy, tentatively trailling along the walls of your thighs before finally rubbing your pearly clit with his thumb, your eyes flutter shut and you instinctively try to push your thighs shut.

"should take a couple of pictures of you and hang those right above my bed," he muses and you whimper, head tilting back to rest on his shoulder as he forces your thighs open. "you'd like that, huh? your pretty cunt on my wall?" his thumb tirelessly rubbed your clit, flicking the little nub till your eyes were tearing up and you were gasping for more.

“more?” he’s taunting, almost mocking you as he his finger trails along your sensitive slit before finding your clit again. “mm,” you whimper as you buck your hips into his hands.

his lips nip at your skin but you can barely process it, you try to stay in the present, try to focus on anything that can ground you but fail miserably, “my fingers? does my pretty girl want my fingers inside her?”

"mhm, y-yes.." you whimper, back arching into his chest and you cry out when his fingers slowly push into your soaking cunt. your walls constrict around him and you're in disbelief at how filling his fingers feel. "rafe! oh, god!" you grip his forearm as he drills his digits in and out of you, fingers curling and pushing deeper and deeper.

you’re writhing against him, trying to stay up right as his fingers clamor in you and his thumb rubs your clit until it’s all sore and swollen. “it’s so g-good.. s’ good..” you mumble lazily, tears streaming down your face and rafe is mouthing at your neck, fingers move at a relentless pace. “c’mon, sweetheart, cum for me.”

you feel that familiar earth-shattering feeling, combination of that low pressure and deep coiling. your hips jerk against your will and then you’re moaning, eyes closed as you squirt and gush all over rafe’s fingers. “that’s it..that’s it, pretty girl..” rafe mutters quietly as you pant in his arms. you can’t believe that just happened in a storage room on school grounds.

“try to stand still, okay?” he mutters into your ear before he’s letting you go and reaching into your bag that sat forgotten on the floor for a tissue. he cleaned you up gently before pulling your panties and tights over your tights and up again.

you hold onto to the shelf for a moment to not lose your balance before turning to look at him, lazy smile on your face. “was that the first time?” he asks and you’re nodding slowly and leaning up to nuzzle your nose against his. he grins when you cup his cheeks, “i’ve only ever..done it myself and it has never felt quite like that.” you whisper and rafe pecks your lips, gently, lips brushing against yours. “anytime, baby.”

you wrap your arms around his neck slowly and he pulls you in, body against his as he kisses you again and again and again. “i want you,” you sigh against him when you feel his bulge poking you and he’s smiling against yours lips. “you just had me..” he murmurs. you shake your head, “no..” you whine softly, hands darting down to his bulge and gently running your fingers along it. “want you..” you repeat quietly.

you don’t know where this insatiable feeling is coming from, you don’t understand why you can’t get enough, can’t stop, don’t even want to stop.

you’re slowly sinking to your knees but rafe stops you with a pained expression, hands on your arms, “you’re not going to give me a blowjob in a storage closet. that would take the cake as the most assholey shit i’ve ever pulled.”

“i want to make you feel good.” you complain softly and he pecks the pout on your lips. “soon, yeah? i promise.”

snippet from ‘teach please me’ series

#rafe cameron #novawrites #outer banks #obx #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe fic #rafe smut #rafe obx #rafe cameron fanfiction

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losersiren · 10 months ago

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𝓨𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓛𝓸𝓻𝓭

"𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝑜𝒽, 𝒾𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓂𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝒶 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒.” CW: Fem reader (she/her), possessiveness, suggestive Note: This is my first time writing something like this and posting it...go easy on me o(>< )o

The chandlers decorated the ceiling above the spacious ballroom, giving a gentle glow to the people filling said ballroom. The social season has just started to blossom, giving men and women room to court each other if one is blessed with the opportunity for such an experience. Catching the eye of a reliable suitor is quite troublesome– most of the men here do not fit any of your requirements, and if they did, they would suddenly be caught in a scandal of sorts, causing them to be an outcast. Not a good look on you or your family name.

You idly toy with the fan in your hand, your gaze sweeping over the sea of faces in the room. The task at hand feels insurmountable, and finding a suitable suitor in this town is daunting. Perhaps, you muse, debuting late was a misstep, a decision that now seems to mock you. You could always become a spinster…and ruin your reputation and lineage because you choose such an idiotic choice… regrettably it may be the easier option.

“Pray tell why you’re glued to this corner as if you’re some wallflower,” A witty baritone voice whispers in your ear, the hairs of your neck standing upright while a cold shiver runs down your spine.

The sense of familiarity washes over you, and the resentment still lingers from years ago makes its way forward. The Earl’s son, your childhood close friend, who left you without a word after he said he’d be there for you.

What a bastard

“Have you ever heard of personal space? Or have you forgotten the amount of lectures your mother ingrained into your head on etiquette when you were just a brat?” You bite back with venom coating every word you spit out. You place your fan on your left ear.

”Ah, I see.” He steps back and gives you space. “You’ve become cold-hearted towards me since my departure overseas. I was only gone for a mere moment.” He switches his position from behind you to in front of you. He takes up your whole vision, his maturity, more evident now since the last time you saw him as a juvenile boy. It's been a few years, hasn't it? Yet he still has his teasing nature; no boarding school or amount of lectures can take that away from him. He bows a little lower than he should, his right hand to the opposite shoulder and his left arm behind his back. He looks up at you with those oh-so-regretful grey eyes. “I wholeheartedly apologize for departing overseas in such an impulsive matter without even notifying you in any way. I should’ve sent you letters and a hoard of messenger doves to accompany you”. “But I did not, and for that, my Lady, I've made a significant sin in your eyes– I do not deserve your forgiveness, but oh, if you could grant me such a pleasure.”

His voice is as quiet and soft as a starving mouse stealing food from a kitchen, careful for only your ears to pick up his pleas for forgiveness. Just as though you were a goddess punishing him, which he should be reprimanded tenfold in his eyes, who was he to abandon you without a trace? Though the situation before was entirely out of his hands, he didn’t want to go to that goddamned private school that was away from you; he fought tooth and nail not to go. Every house servant had to push and hold him down because he kept fighting; even his family members were victims of his wrath. His father, The Earl, still has fading scars from that night years ago.

He should’ve fought harder for you.

People around you start noticing; who wouldn’t? One of the most prestigious Earls of this country’s only son is bowing dishonourably low, borderline grovelling like a peasant caught stealing a measly loaf of bread. You feel eyes turning onto you, women whispering between their fans to one another, wondering in what predicament the next-in-line Earl would be for him to be embarrassingly bowing to a one-of-a-mill daughter of a viscount—a rank lower than him and a woman at that; your fan placement is not making it look better. Immediately change the position of your fan from your left ear to twirling it in your left hand, hoping he understands the situation he has put not only him but you in.

He only smiles in return. “Stand straight; You look like a fool.” You hiss, “Do I have your forgiveness, Darling?” a scoff escapes your mouth. “That is either here or there! Be proper. Others are watching.” That doesnt deter him, nor does he care about them. “So my apology wasn't sufficient? Since you are thinking about everyone else but me.” More eyes make their way onto the pair of you, and whispers grow with the exchange of gossip. “You’re acting like a child-” He cuts you off. “Shall I go on my knees for you? I mean, I wouldn’t mind, but preferably, I would love to be in a more…secluded environment.” A smirk graces his lips at the thought. “Or shall I kiss your feet-”

“You are a soon-to-be- Earl! Has that school taught you nothing? God, you’ve become more insufferable, I swear.” Your face feels warmer now, and embarrassment takes over you from his childish yet sincere teasing.

The young lord’s eyes fixated on you, on your lips, how your dress accentuates your already perfect self, your hands, oh, how he wishes to feel them against his. The years it's been since he saw you, he could listen to you scold him for hours on end; it doesn’t matter what you are saying. Just hearing your voice is enough. God knows it's been too long since he’s been deprived of you. He thanks his past self for sabotaging whatever male decided to even think of courting you. Though he was far away, his social standing never changed.

The lord decided by the second month he was away from you to pay his old servants to send him as much information as possible on the vermins that would try to nestle their way into your life. He would…No, he has ruined anyone who wanted to get in between you two. And he’ll keep it that way. You’ve stolen his heart since meeting him as a lad.

“So you wish for me to kneel? As you wish.” He starts to kneel; gasps can be heard. But you stop him, holding his shoulders upright; his eyes widen as you touch him.

You’re so close

“I forgive you…I forgive you…”

“I forgive you, Ambrose…”

Oh…

His name on your tongue….

His mind blanks. Has he gone to heaven? Oh, you sweet angel, you have him wrapped around your finger. And he wouldn’t want it any other way.

His smile is blinding as he stands and looks down at you.

“Then now that's settled…May I have the honour of a dance with yours truly?”

.." Or shall I beg more?"

End Notes: Fun fact (not really): I based most of this post on The Regency era, and that includes fan language! That is why I described the readers' actions with it. Placing the fan on your left ear means "I wish to get rid of you." Twirling the fan with your left hand means "We are watched." Thought that would be something fun to add (^.^)

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monzamash · 4 months ago

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★ last chance; long live the inbox graveyard! —i pick a long forgotten request in my inbox and write a short blurb or musings

hot tub time machine lando norris x you —no warnings, just fluff "could we get a number 14 (pool/hot tub sex) with lando pleaseeee? so excited that you’re writing again!!" —requested by anon on october 8th, 2024

“happy birthday, sweetheart...”

“i really needed this," he sighed, "knowing i would be home with you for this was the only thing getting me through the last few of weeks.”

lando could feel every single ache and pain wash away as he slid into the hot tub, stomach full of the gorgeous italian spread you’d ordered for dinner. his favourite. he swore you were an angel sent to earth, everything you did for him was heavenly, he could never find the words to tell you how much he loved you.

“you look so happy lan,” you smiled, dropping the kimono you’d worn during dinner as lando’s eyes cast across your body, luring you into the tub.

“i’m very happy - especially when i get to enjoy all of this… c’mere pretty girl.”

a soft giggle slipped from your lips as you grasped his hand, "let me get a bottle of red wine for us to share and i'll join you — do you wanna open the one daniel gave you?"

"ooo, are we entering that portion of the night?" lando asked suggestively as you stood up, shooting him quizzical look.

"what do you mean?" you asked earning a loud laugh from the tub, water splashing a little as lando pulled himself up to the edge, smiling over at you with a look you knew all too well.

"as soon as you start on the red wine, you get so frisky," he stated as if it was a well-known fact, one that you certainly weren't aware of.

"i do not!" you staunchly defended, earning another loud scoff.

"oh, wow," lando laughed, "yes, you do baby and i'm not complaining so crack her open..." he teased as you carefully stepped into the tub, with lando's help of course, eyes still narrowed in annoyance.

"okay so maybe wine makes me a little more amorous than usual but i think i'm just like that when i drink, no?" you pouted, earning yourself a pity kiss from the birthday boy.

"red wine makes you horny and that's okay," he teased again with a cheeky smirk on his face as you handed him the stemmed glass, "ta."

"we'll see then, won't we," you tutted, pouring two glasses of wine while lando chuckled to himself.

"i already know what's gonna happen but sure," he baited with a wink as he slowly dunked his head under the water and emerged with a shake of his wild curls, sending water flying across the room and all over you.

"you are so sure of yourself tonight."

lando's eyes skimmed across your body briefly while you claw-clipped your hair up, not wanting the hassle of having to dry it before going to bed. secretly you knew where the night was headed, red wine or not— it was his birthday after all, but you weren't about to admit that to the man hypnotised by your every move, jaw slack from the glorious view of your cleavage.

lando was a simple man.

"well, i am the birthday boy after all so i reserve the right to be cocky once a year, yeah?" he taunted from the other side of the tub.

"yeah, only once a year..." you rolled your eyes humorously.

the distance between the two of you seemed too far for lando, so he sculled the rest of his drink and carefully placed the glass on the floor before giving you a mischievous smile.

"steady on, party boy," you chuckled as he leaned forward and snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you into his warm hold.

"i just want to focus all of my attention on you," he whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear that had fallen out of your clip, his emerald irises darted over your face, finally resting on yours.

"i missed you a lot, you know."

you took that as an invitation to straddle his lap and rest your elbows over his shoulders, wine glass dangling from your fingers. lando smoothed his hands down your back and and pressed fiery kisses across your chest. his lips travelled back up your neck, along your jaw before finding your soft lips in a slow, passionate kiss. you moved in sync with him, bringing one of your hands up to trawl through his wet, tangled curls. the chlorine always got the best of them.

lando hummed quietly into the kiss before pulling back slightly, "this is the best birthday i've ever had... and i couldn't be more in love with you," he confessed as you took the chance to admire the sweet boy you'd chosen to share your life with.

you grasped his face gently between your hands and pressed another soft kiss to his lips, making sure he knew just how much you loved him, no matter what life threw your way.

"i love you too, darling... happy birthday."

a/n — the first of the end of (f1) season sale!! this hot tub request actually wasn't forgotten, just half-baked so thank you anon for sparking up the inspiration to finally finish it! hope you enjoyed it 😌

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fluff #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 imagine #f1 writing #monzamusings ✨#monzamashmasterlist #end of (f1) season sale!!

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logaenhowlett · 3 months ago

Text

MY BEATIN’ HEART BELONGS TO YOU - L.H.

Summary: Logan believed he was sentenced to a life of solitude until he found you - an unexpected dawn promising the sunrise of a love he always deemed impossible. But then again, destiny never was merciful to fools like him.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Warnings: Soulmate AU, All aboard the Fluff Train with scheduled stops at Angst Station, Established relationship, Hurt/Comfort, How I Met Your Mother reference (iykyk), Reader can manipulate electricity

A/N: 5.9k - strap in, gang. Would you believe me if I said all this was inspired by a debate I had with a friend about the implications of 'I want you' vs 'I need you'. The mind works in silly, little ways sometimes. Title creds to Green Day. Enjoy, you lovely people!

MASTERLIST

Gone were the days when nightmares would rouse him from the sanctuary of sleep. Logan couldn't remember the last time he'd awoken in a cold sweat, sheets shredded from fighting invisible monsters, alarm clock glaring an angry red amongst the darkness. No, all that disappeared once you'd made a home within his arms.

It had been about three months, verging on four if anyone was keeping count - and he, most definitely, was - since you'd swept him away in a tide of fondness and pure affection. The shadow of a man who once roamed the mansion now nurtured a newfound lightness in his heart. Logan wasn't perfect, far from it, chosen paths that only led to a labyrinth of despair, but he was right about one thing: you.

And that verdict especially rings true every morning. The tangle of limbs, the soft ebb and flow of sleepy murmurs, the stray kisses grazing warm skin, he wonders how he'd survived so long deprived of such tender pleasures. He's never going back, that much he knows.

His lips trace a lazy line along your neck, lingering a second longer beneath your jaw. There's a chuckle aching to break through at the thought of your sleep-induced irritation - it’s too early, you'd whine each time. And each time, his half-hearted apologies would be long-forgotten as you meet his gaze, a tempest of desire swirling within hazel.

It's amidst the following moments of peace when he's most thankful for the thick walls surrounding the room. The aftermath of your intimate exchanges always leaves him mesmerised, heart racing at the reminder of your touch. His mutation didn't allow for the full effects of alcohol to poison his inhibitions, yet as your smile gleams at him, Logan's sure he's never been more drunk.

"Where're you goin'?"

He's shaken from his musings as you roll away from his embrace, huffing in disbelief when you don't seem to stop. But, the string of complaints dies on his tongue as he watches you slip on the shirt he'd discarded the night before, turning around amused, "What? You wanna stay here all day?"

"Got nowhere to be."

"Correction - you have nowhere to be. I, on the other hand, need to grade those assignments or Jean'll actually explode my brain this time."

Logan hmphs. He'd been looking forward to lounging around this weekend, positively thrilled at the idea of letting the hours simply trickle away in the quiet comfort of your company. However, he's also one too familiar with Jean's intolerance for slacking off and lessons were definitely learned.

"Let her try," he counters meekly.

As you circle the bed to part ways with a chaste kiss, Logan seizes the opportunity to pull you down, pinning you beneath him in one effortless move. His lips capture yours with a deliberate, sensual slowness - the urgency from earlier now completely absent. The feeble protests vanish from your mind as he breaks away, a twinkle of mischief playing on his smile.

His fingers trace the curve of your wrist, hovering over the faint crescent moon inked in black. It was the mark of your soulmate. Of him, he hopes. You'd shown him quite early into the relationship, spending many a night whispering theories and speculations about its meaning. At first, he expressed only timid fascination, a question here and there spurred by gentle curiosity while you rambled on and on. But as his heart began to tether itself to yours, the mark took on a new significance. Every time his gaze fell upon it, his thoughts would spiral from longing and self-doubt, wondering if he was the one destined to share a lifetime with you.

Over the decades he'd been alive, Logan had searched every crevice of his body for his own. In his youth, it was a fleeting thought, brushed aside by the assumption that his healing factor wouldn't allow for these scars. Yet as time passed, he was terrified of waking up to a branded promise - a cruel trick that condemned his soulmate to a life with him. After he met you, those fears were soon eclipsed by a yearning, a desperate hope for a sign of his worthiness. Every day, he lingered by the mirror, gaze sweeping across his reflection, praying for an identical crescent moon to mark his skin.

"Logan." Your laugh draws his attention, "I'm never leaving the bed at this rate."

"Darlin', that's the general idea."

He relents anyway, falling onto his back with a soft grunt as you stand up. The dopey grin you're biting has him narrowing his eyes in suspicion, wondering what goddamn joke popped into your mind. Before he can question it, you straighten your posture and salute, "General Idea."

A look of confusion contorts his features, though he doesn't get anything besides a mumbled response as you leave the room, "Never mind, it's from a show."

A mountain of papers sits perched on your desk illuminated by the warm glow of the lamp, the scratching of your pen punctuating the silence of the classroom as you continue grading your students' assignments. It had been a couple of hours since you left Logan amongst the nest of blankets. And that image only seemed more enticing with each word you read.

"Missed ya."

Speak of the devil.

Except this devil was an angel - you could almost see a halo shimmering around his figure, backlit by the sunlight flooding the hallway. Every time you think you've captured the essence of his allure, he defies your expectations, often with just a simple gesture. And despite the countless compliments and declarations of adoration, Logan still seemed surprised by flattery, his lips always seeking yours to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks.

"I just saw you like - "

"In the shower," he interrupts, smirk widening as he approaches. He leans against the chair, nose brushing against your exposed shoulder.

Something in your brain short-circuits at his words and the casual display of affection. You stammer a little, "You… didn't tell me."

"Oh, that would've worked hm?" Logan spins the chair around, chuckling as he catches your flustered expression, "'M sorry, sweetheart... guess I gotta make it up to ya."

You never thought Logan was a romantic. Yet, time and time again you discover the depths of his boundless capacity for love and companionship. It wasn't just the whispered promises and passionate revelations, but the quiet moments, the stolen glances, the tender touches that speak volumes. Neither of you had uttered those three words yet, though they hang heavy in the air, unspoken but deeply felt.

His hand winds up beneath your shirt, bunching the fabric near your waist as he pulls you closer. Heat, courtesy of the shower, wafts off his skin, a tantalizing sensation that makes your breath hitch. His tongue toys with your lower lip, teasing just enough that you find yourself chasing after him, desperate for more. The laugh he produces, though smug, is also contagious, a sound that never fails to swallow your heart.

Again and again, he'd professed his desire to unravel you by his sheer touch, how your craving for him sets his insides ablaze. And judging by the way your eyes darken, mouth parting almost reflexively, he's got you dancing to his tune like a puppet on a string - and you wouldn't have it any other way.

But he backs off all of a sudden.

A crescendo of footsteps echoes down the hallway and the moment is shattered. Three of your students barge in, out of breath and frazzled as they clutch their assignments. A frown creases Logan's brow, annoyance he's certainly putting no effort to hide has them second-guessing their intrusion until you beckon them in with a warm smile. With a hasty apology, they fumble with their papers, eyes darting between the two of you before rushing out, the door swinging shut.

"We gotta find a place," he grumbles, dipping forward into your neck.

"We already live together."

A sharp click of his tongue, a playful nip to your shoulder, seals his disapproval, "Not enough. Lil' brats interrupt every damn time."

He wasn't wrong in the slightest. The kids did seem to have an uncanny ability to sense the most inopportune times to interfere. Sometimes you joked that it was one of their mutant powers and Logan, with an amused roll of his eyes, would just scoff and agree. You can't help but chuckle, "'Least it wasn't Scott... I think we traumatised him last week."

It was indeed last week when the two of you retreated to the Danger Room. Of course, with the sole and noble intention of honing your defensive tactics. However, the moment you strategically knocked him off his feet, the situation had taken a decidedly different turn. Pinned beneath you, Logan held a look of astonishment that soon morphed into something much more eager. He'd uttered all of two words before your lips slammed against his and whatever hopes you had for training immediately became the least of your worries. That was until somebody walked in.

He huffs a laugh, the memory filling him with satisfaction, "Should've used his fuckin' brain with those sounds you were makin'."

"Oh god, poor Scott," you mumble, embarrassed by the thought.

"Quit sayin' his name." The growl that curls his words leaves goosebumps in its wake. Logan grips your chin, tilting your head back slightly, a slow grin unfurling as his gaze bores into yours.

"I said it twice!" you protest, but it's all in vain. His thumb drags across your lip, silencing your words.

"That's two more than I care for."

It's dark outside by the time he's done with you.

Sugar melts on his tongue, the velvety texture of chocolate dancing across his palate. Logan takes a rather indulgent sip, the steaming liquid warming his throat. Nestled on opposite sides of the window seat, the two of you share a quiet moment accompanied by nothing but pale moonlight. A comforting weight settles on your feet, his hand kneading the stress away with care. Outside, a delicate snowfall paints the mansion's grounds, grass slowly fading away, droplets racing down the windowpane.

Dinner had wound down hours ago. The kids gathered around the living room after, wide-eyed with wonder as the first snow of the season began. Charles eventually ushered them off to bed, Logan had planned to follow suit until your gentle tug derailed his desire to sleep altogether. And as always, there's no world where he'd deny you anything.

He sees you stifle a giggle every now and then, your eyes twinkling with amusement each time he lifts his mug. It was nothing fancy - mostly white, adorned with a line of stockings and, cheekily, the words "Well hung".

It was a present from you a few Christmases ago. He remembers you watching him warily unwrap the box, laughing out of giddiness as he blushed when the implication dawned on him. It's just a silly gift, you'd reassured, not pressuring him to even keep it. Yet, since then, it remained a permanent fixture on his bedside table. During restless nights, he'd reach for the familiar mug, seeking solace in the kitchen to drink away the looming shadows of insomnia.

It wasn't until your first night together that you saw it again after all those years, carefully placed and by far, the cleanest thing on his table. Logan ducked his head sheepishly before confessing just how much he treasured the sentiment. In a lifetime of solitude, someone had spared a second to think about him, even for a simple gag gift. And that thought warmed his heart a little on especially hard days.

"You're a child," he chides as you smile, rolling his eyes.

You scoff under your breath, "Oh, just cause you're a hundred years old."

"Hundred and sixty," he corrects, grabbing your foot mid-air before you can nudge his thigh. There's a brief pause as he places the mug aside, a wicked grin splitting his lips. Laughter fills the air as you squirm and wriggle away, quickly understanding the look behind his eyes. But Logan moves faster. His hands trail their way to your sides, drawing squeals of protest as he tickles you.

Seconds later, he backs off, satisfied by your reaction. Shifting his weight, he settles on top of you with a gentle press. As he lays against your chest, humming softly in contentment, the soothing caress of your fingers through his hair lulls him into a state of relaxation. The world simply fades away, replaced by the warmth of your embrace and the quiet flush of domestic bliss. A profound swell of gratitude spreads within his heart. It's during intimate moments like these that he feels especially lucky. A far cry from the man brought into this mansion years ago, times you also reflect on amidst late-night conversations.

The memories remain as vivid as yesterday.

It was late in the afternoon, the setting sun casting long silhouettes across the classroom. You stood by the blackboard, explaining the laws of electromagnetism while scribbling equations in chalk. For months, you'd taken over Charles' role as the physics professor, and what began as a favour soon grew into a passion. However, some days were particularly slow. A palpable sense of boredom washed over your students as their eyes drifted towards the clock in anticipation. Just as you were about to begrudgingly dismiss them, the door flew open - a dishevelled figure clad in gray burst in, wildly panting in fear and confusion.

This must be Logan, you concluded, recalling the latest mission debrief from Scott and Storm. They'd rescued two mutants in Canada, one of whom was particularly banged up and recovering in the med bay. Well, until now. Since their arrival, Charles had emphasised the erratic nature of Logan's mind, even unconscious, a part of him stayed unyielding against the telepath's powers. But as you locked eyes with him, you saw none of that. Instead, he seemed lost and terrified, glancing around the room from one corner to the next as if someone was speaking. Before you could offer a word of reassurance, he was gone, disappearing into the hallway like a fleeting shadow.

Over the following months, he slowly began to emerge from his shell. At first, it was just plain nods of acknowledgement as you passed each other in the mansion. Then, a word here and there, clipped phrases of advice and caution during particularly dangerous missions. Gradually, his presence became more pronounced. Sometimes, after intense training sessions, he'd slip into the back of your classroom, intently listening to your lectures on concepts you presumed were entirely foreign to him.

Except they weren't. It was only later that you discovered his secret: the countless hours spent poring over textbooks he'd discreetly stolen from Charles' bookshelf. The realisation filled your heart with a warm sense of affection. His unspoken interest, the hidden depths, it was all so endearing. Thereafter, Logan consumed your thoughts. And it was during one of those sleepless nights that you found the courage to join him in the kitchen, wordlessly focusing on your own books at either end of the table. Since then, a shared understanding passed between you, a bond forged from mutual appreciation and a hint of something more.

The first time he cracked a smile left you breathless. Jean was furious at Scott, her anger clear as day as she stormed away. And Scott, ever so helpless, turned to anyone for guidance, retracing every misstep, every misplaced word. Logan, watching the scene unfold, sneered to himself, enjoying the man cluelessly suffering. You exchanged a knowing look, a silent agreement on the absurdity of the situation. As you excused yourself, a fit of giggles threatening to overtake you, Logan followed close behind, unable to suppress his own laughter.

From that moment on, things changed. You found yourselves seeking each other, conversations flowed effortlessly, at times even seasoned with playful banter. And as Logan became a steady figure in your life, a strange ache settled in your heart. You were falling for him. Yet, his emotions remained a mystery, a puzzle you were desperate to solve.

One year became another, and another and another. And as your feelings for him increased, hesitation crept in rather unwillingly. You pushed everything away, burying them six feet under, afraid of rejection or something worse. But Logan, with his uncanny perceptiveness, sensed the shift in your behaviour. And one day, in a moment of raw honesty, he confronted you. A heated argument ensued, emotions spilling over, words cutting deep. Then, just as suddenly, the tension dissipated. His lips were on yours, conveying every bit of the love he carried in ways words could never bring justice to.

That was a couple of months ago. Everything was perfect and you'd never felt more complete until you noticed the brief flashes of insecurity whenever he saw the mark on your wrist. You knew he didn't have one. In the beginning, it became a sensitive topic, you started wearing a watch or longer sleeves to stop reminding him. But eventually, his unease was too much to ignore.

And so, you bit the bullet.

The conversation was fraught with discomfort, but as you spoke, his expression softened, a slight weight lifting off his shoulders. He shamefully expressed his worries, the fear of not being enough - not being the one for you. It was a small step, but one that brought you closer than ever before.

Logan couldn't have been more grateful.

"Perhaps the two of you should, what do the kids call it, get a room?"

Charles' voice suddenly cuts across the silence. All eyes, including Logan's and yours, snap up from the blueprints scattered on the table. Scott blinks in confusion, meanwhile Jean, holding back a knowing smirk, can barely contain herself.

"I've had my fair share of lewd daydreams in my youth, but that was quite disturbing," he continues, tone laced with disapproval.

Colour drains from your face. Had your thoughts really been that obvious? Sure, you couldn't stop admiring how the tight leather suit molded to Logan's physique - incredibly distracting, to say the least. But you didn't realise you were projecting your attraction so loudly, especially in a room with two telepaths.

"Sorry, Professor." It seems useless to apologise at this point, but he responds with a curt nod directed at Logan. Turning your attention to the blueprints, you feel a familiar weight against your back. Logan, the sly bastard, leans over your shoulder with feigned nonchalance. And it takes every ounce of your willpower to focus on the serious discussion instead.

A recon mission.

Some old abandoned Hydra facility used for mutant experimentation in the 90s, the remnants of failed trials left to rot and forgotten. Charles had caught wind of it through Cerebro, suspecting that there may be valuable information hidden within its walls, secrets that should very well stay away from the wrong hands.

"What's in there?" Scott asks, tensing a little.

Charles pauses, a scowl twisting his expression, "That is a private matter."

"Private Matter," you mumble without thinking, instinctively reaching for a salute before Logan catches your wrist, halting the motion. He shoots a look, a silent reprimand that very clearly implies "Not now". Fortunately, no one else witnesses your mistimed quip, too engaged in drafting a safe plan for extraction.

The mission seems fairly straightforward, a simple infiltration like many you've done before. Nevertheless, Charles concludes with a stern warning to heed caution, "Now, good luck to all of you." As you filter out the room, he casts a pointed glare, "And Logan, please refrain from defiling my desk at any point in the future."

Shock etches across your face, mouth slightly agape. Once you're out of earshot, you shove Logan’s arm in embarrassment, "It wasn't me then." You breathe in relief only to be reminded of the thoughts he seemed to be entertaining earlier. What surprises you is the fact that you're more intrigued than deterred by the idea.

"My bad, sweetheart. Couldn't help myself," he laughs, dipping in close to whisper, "Suit's makin' it real hard to think straight." And with that, he's off, jogging ahead to Scott and Jean already waiting in the hangar.

Once you're airborne, the atmosphere shifts. Jean pilots the jet, her hands steady on the controls, eyes scanning the horizon. The Hydra facility looms in the distance, a dark and ominous presence in the middle of nowhere. As you approach your destination, a sense of apprehension lingers among the four of you. Scott recounts the plan, outlining the most efficient entry and exit points, his voice low and deliberate, "Logan and I will start from top-down and you two from the opposite."

As you leave the jet, a hand slips into your own, stilling you in place. Logan tugs you into his arms, there's a faint smile playing on his lips, his eyes, however, convey something along the lines of "Be careful, please". You squeeze his hand reassuringly, pressing a quick kiss before breaking away. With a reluctant sigh, he catches up with Scott, splitting off from you and Jean.

Inside, the air is thick with the scent of decay and neglect. Everything is left exactly as it was, except there are signs of a violent struggle - machines overturned, wires strewn across the floor, glass shards crunching under your boots. It's a scene of chaos and destruction. In the center lies an operating table, its restraints snapped in half, broken syringes and discarded medical equipment scattered around.

Electricity crackles beneath your fingertips. Though your powers aren't advanced, Charles has been a patient mentor, overseeing your progress since the day he found you. However, as you keep surveying the area, you notice an odd sensation, a subtle resistance to your abilities. A similar unease grips Jean too, her gaze meeting yours, a shared look of concern exchanged as you continue your search.

A distorted voice breaks through the comms, "Upper level's clear. No sign of anything." It's Scott, barely recognisable over the static.

"Copy. Still sweeping the lower level," you respond, but it's garbled by the interference.

"Stay on alert," Jean warns, straining her telekinetic energy against the strange force permeating the facility. "Defence systems could still be active."

You venture deeper into the hallway, greeted by an eerie silence broken only by the echo of your own footsteps. A series of cells line the corridor, thick metal barricades, scarred and rusted, stand as a testament to the suffering endured by those held captive years before. Peering through the tiny barred windows, you see sterile, empty rooms, not a single bed or mattress to be found - the cold, hard concrete floor offering no comfort.

"Fuckin' hell," you murmur, chills running down your spine. Jean hums quietly in agreement, looking around in horror. The electricity you can usually detect in the background dwindles to a weak buzz. You descend a narrow staircase, the air growing heavier by the second. At the end of the hallway is another metal hatch, this time with a faded Hydra symbol etched onto its surface. With a concentrated effort, Jean manipulates the lock, the door groaning open with a distinct beep.

It's beyond dimly lit - a dark, cavernous space. You focus your powers, fighting against the invisible pressure dampening your strength, current coursing through your veins. With a snap of your wrist, the room erupts in light, fluorescent bulbs flickering awake. A row of computers surrounded by a bundle of wires and archaic machinery stretch towards the ceiling.

"Must be the control room," Jean reaches out to flip a switch, but as her fingers brush the old metal, energy jolts through your body - a warning that something is amiss.

"No - wait!" you shout, but it's too late. The metal door slams shut with a deafening clang. An agonising vibration rattles through the room, a shockwave that reverberates through your body. The two of you sink to the floor, clutching your ears as a rush of debilitating pain burns every nerve ending in your body. And you're left paralysed for what feels like an eternity.

Logan clicks his tongue as static continues pouring through the comms, he catches the tail-end of your broken reply - something something lower level - a pit of dread forming in his stomach, "Place feels off."

"You're right, I can't get a read on anything," Scott mutters, the red hue of his glasses flashing in the darkness.

Logan's eyes dart around the space, landing on a series of grotesque instruments undoubtedly used for torture. A wave of nausea washes over him, flashbacks of his own past spring forward at the sight, reminders of the days when he too was a mere subject in someone else's twisted experiments. Suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. An imperceptible vibration ripples beneath his feet, "The fuck was that?"

Scott immediately tries the comms again, "Jean? Wha - ", but it goes completely dead.

Logan's already barrelling through the corridors, his instincts taking over without a conscious thought. He calls for you again and again, reckless abandon fueling his every move. Screw the mission, all he wants is for you to be safe. His heart leaps into his throat as static hisses through the comms, Jean's voice muffled through the noise, "We've got... a major problem."

One second passes.

Two.

Three.

"C'mon, darlin'." The silence drags on, panic begins to seize his mind, sweat beading on his forehead. He needs to find you, now. The faint vibrations gradually become intense as he races down the staircase, "Major problem? C'mon, say your stupid joke, sweetheart. Please. Anything." His pleas, wracked with desperation, fall on deaf ears. Fear gnaws at him. He’s itching to hear your voice, even for that little running gag he doesn’t fully understand. Just any goddamn sign that you're still alive.

His senses direct him towards the metal hatch. Lunging forward, his fist connects with the barrier, claws extending at any attempt to tear through the door. Yet it holds firm, its surface barely dented or scratched by his force. Frantic, Logan rams his claws into the small security panel on the side, trying to short-circuit the lock. But the moment it's breached, a chain reaction is triggered, explosives hidden within the walls detonate with a tremendous roar. A torrent of debris and radiation thrusts him backwards, knocking him hard against the concrete.

The world around him seemingly implodes into a bedlam of sound and light, white flashes obscuring his vision. Pain, a searing, all-consuming pain diffuses through every inch of his body. His consciousness wanes, slipping away from his grasp. In the fading moments of awareness, he hears a distant crackle of electricity.

Then, nothing.

The memory of the chaos, the blinding light, the aftermath of the explosion, replay over and over. And then, there was Logan, his body limp and unresponsive, a sight that haunts your every waking moment. You remember the desperate scramble to escape the facility, the weight of his unconscious form in all your arms, the tense journey back to the mansion, Charles and Jean ushering you out of the med bay - their focus solely on stabilising him.

The night stretches on, a relentless march of time that seems to punctuate your helplessness as you pace back and forth. The lack of response from anyone doesn't quell the whirlwind of anxieties in the slightest. Every minute sound, every faint whisper, sends your heart racing. But when they finally emerge hours later, faces etched with exhaustion and relief, you can finally breathe.

For days, you sit by Logan's bedside, hands intertwined with his. The monotonous rhythm signalling his vitals is the only thing grounding you to reality. Though he remains unconscious, Jean had offered words of comfort, pointing to subtle improvements in his healing with her scans. Eventually, warmth returns to his body. His breathing, once laboured, is now full and steady. Leaning forward, you press a gentle kiss to his forehead and hope ignites within you again, just enough to draw a small, weary smile.

But then, you see it.

Glaring at you, painfully so, is a little mark on the back of his shoulder. Except, it isn't the same crescent moon that adorns your wrist. No.

Your heart sinks, breath catching in your throat, paralysis sets in once again. A single, shattering revelation echoes in your mind: Logan is not your soulmate.

He stirs awake, eyelids fluttering open. Everything slowly returns to his senses as the haze of confusion begins to clear. The first thing he notices is the familiar scent of you lingering on his skin, in the air, on the chair pulled by his side. As his vision unblurs, the blue walls of the med bay coming into view, a flood of concern smacks him in the face. Where are you? What happened? He tries to sit up, his body protesting with every movement.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The mechanical hum of a wheelchair grows louder as it approaches. Charles, brimming with sympathy, rolls closer.

Logan groans, his muscles throbbing like never before, "What the hell happened? Is she - "

"She's alright, as are Scott and Jean," he interjects, though a shadow of pity clouds his expression. The unspoken weight behind his words triggers alarms in Logan's head, but before he can question him, a sharp burn shoots up his back. He winces, reaching for the source of the stinging. Beneath his fingertips, a strange, rough texture grates against his skin. He angles back to inspect it, blood running cold.

"It surfaced a week ago," Charles says grimly, "We suspect the radiation from the explosion temporarily impacted your healing, hence, the mark."

Logan can't think straight, a maelstrom of emotions engulfs every single fiber of his being - disbelief, agony and rage. How could this be real? He'd spent night after night, praying for some sort of sign, a reason for his existence. And when he found that in you, it felt like everything finally aligned. But now, destiny had struck him down with a ruthless blow, a cosmic twist of fate far worse than death.

Seven days.

That's how long it's been since you last saw him. The weight of the world bore down on you, every breath a struggle. Hours bled into one another as you stayed locked in your room, sobbing uncontrollably, your heart fracturing with each passing moment. Jean's persistent knocking eventually broke through your despair, her calm voice soothing your frayed mental state.

It took all of her gentle persuasion for you to finally eat something, to force you out of the anguish that consumed you. The news that Logan was awake and begging to see you almost crumbled the impenetrable walls you'd built up. But the thought of facing him, of confronting the fragile pieces of your harsh reality, filled you with dread.

And so, you avoided him. Retreating into yourself, a ghost of your own life, you clung to the illusion of distance. Maybe it'll somehow ease the pain, the heartbreak. You couldn't even bear to look at your own wrist, the mark - a cruel reminder of a love that was and a future that can never be. Every second of every day, mocking whispers floated around your mind, "You don't deserve him. You never did."

The moment Logan fully recovers, he immediately rushes through the mansion. Anticipation swells in his chest, there's nothing he wants more than your touch, your laughter - just you. He reaches your room, sensing the warmth from within. Hand hovering in the air, he takes a deep breath before knocking.

"Sweetheart?"

There's no response. He drops his head against the door, breathing ragged. Tears sting his eyes, threatening to spill over, the oxygen in his lungs thinning as he tries to speak, "Please. I know you're in there. Talk to me." The silence, the emptiness, it all becomes too much. He's losing you, and he can't do anything to stop it. "I know you're upset. But, please, just let me in."

Your voice comes muffled, charged with grief and sorrow, "That mark means there's someone out there for you - your real soulmate. Someone who isn't me." The words are piercing, he longs to pull you into his arms, to comfort you, to reassure you. "I am not meant for you, Logan," you choke out.

"Fuck that," he spits back. He can't accept this, that you're conceding to some inexplicable truth, "'M not givin' you up cause of some shit on my body. I choose you. And I will choose you. Every single time." It's all strangled, raw with emotion, cheeks stained with a wetness. He's wound up, a caged animal clawing at the bars. He'll fight for you, even if all the cards are against him, "Darlin', I don't care if there's someone else - they're not you. You're perfect to me. For me. The universe can go fuck itself cause I love you."

Logan goes still. He's never expressed that to you, not in this way, not with such soul-baring honesty. But, nothing has ever been more true, "I love you."

Heavy hangs the air. Then, a soft padding of footsteps, the door clicks open. Before he can react, your hands cup his face, drawing him down to your level, lips meeting in a passionate caress. Logan cradles the back of your head, deepening the kiss. The space between you, both physically and emotionally, fades away. This is all that matters, for now and forever.

His arms tighten as you pull back and tuck into the crook of his neck. The weight of your exhaustion is obvious with the shuddering sigh you let out, his heart aching for you. As you whisper apologies, he trails kisses down your face. "No, no, don't be sorry, darlin'," he says, all soft and gentle. Neither of you move, surrendering to each other, the moment suspended in time. Slowly, your trembling subsides and he smiles, the lines of misery now dimming. With delicate fingers, he brushes your tears away.

"I have a major headache," you murmur, eyes falling shut.

He huffs a laugh, saluting you with a playful grin, "Major Headache." The look of astonishment across your face brings him so much joy. "I asked Kitty, told me to watch the damn show." And Logan did watch the show - all for you - to understand the little references you kept making here and there.

"You know how to use the Internet?" you ask, incredulously.

"Don't push it, sweetheart." There's no malice behind his tone whatsoever. With a smirk, he leans forward, scooping you up in his arms and carries you to the bed. It's a familiar motion, a routine he's done hundreds of times before. But now, it's different, one that’s even more precious.

"Logan?"

"Hm?"

"I love you too."

He knows. He knows because it's written all over you. Every word, every breath, every touch - a testament to your love for him. A love so quiet and profound, a love that has weathered storms, a love that will last until the end of time. And he's eternally grateful for it. For you.

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servicpop · 6 months ago

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loosing a bet delinquent oc x president bttm male reader

It was a bet amongst your friends against some silly game. They all supported one team but you supported the other — whether you actually had a big interest in the game or not, it didn't matter, you still preferred one over the other to win. If your team won, they would have to embarass themselves by wearing a cheerleader outfit, if their team won, vice versa.

What could go wrong? Both teams were good and predicting the win would be difficult.

The flashes of your friend's cameras caused you to hold a hand up to your face, desperately trying to hide the bright pink blush spreading across your cheeks. How did he mess up that last shot? The game was so close and right at the breaking point, the player missed and costed the whole game and your dignity.

It was a skimpy outfit with thigh high tights, no sleeves, and a skirt that probably met your mid-thigh. You could not let Adrien see you in this. Like a group of laughing hyenas, you and your friends finally walked out of the changing rooms, your head glued to the floor as you walked through the hallways. Everyone's eyes were on you and you swore someone wolf-whistled in your direction as a half-assed joke.

"You gotta wear it the whole day, you lost the bet," you felt a harsh clasp on your shoulder and your friend was met with a cold glare. You honestly wish you just bet money at this point. You were about to round the corner when you heard a familiar voice — Adrien's sickly smooth tone. Your heel grounded into the floors and you dashed the other way, ignoring the confused shouts of your friends.

Adrien's head tilted when he watched someone dressed in a pink cheerleader outfit practically run for their life in the other direction. At first, he genuinely thought it was some cheerleader girl who probably missed her practice or something, but the more he stared at the running figure, the more he realised. "Shit, is that prez...?" Earning a nod from the group, a smile curled onto his face. He's totally forgotten how different your friend groups were seeing as they furrowed their eyebrows being so close to a delinquent.

"I'm gonna... get a drink from the vending machine, go on without me," Adrien flashed a toothy grin at the boys and walked in the direction you ran, picking up his speed but not breaking into a sprint. You two still weren't an official or public thing. You hadn't run very far, opting to retreat back to the student council room — people wouldn't come in here willingly anyways. But one person would.

A whistle caught your attention and as you whipped around, Adrien was already in the room, closing and flicking the lock on the door. "What a sight," He chuckled, slinking a hand around your waist to get a better look at you. "It's not what it looks like," you try to defend yourself, pushing at his shoulders as he leans closer. Your back is pressed against the table and he's gripping your hips like you're about to fall.

"How'd you even get this?" Adrien drags his tongue along his teeth flipping up your pink skirt, "Wearin' anything underneath?" He muses, and to his disappointment, you were, but he couldn't complain since it was a pair of lacy white panties. "It just came with the outfit," You mutter, pushing the fabric back down as you turn your head. "And...? You still put it on," Adrien laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. You couldn't deny the fact that you had the choice not to put it on, but you still did so you kept quiet.

"Are you mad at me?" His voice is nothing but a whisper now as his head leans dangerously close to your ear. The delinquent has one hand on your waist while the other descends your back, trailing down to your cute skirt, pulling it up enough so that he could push your underwear down. You don't have half the mind to swat his hand away when he's so close to you. He slips the white fabric down just enough, spitting on his fingers before he teases you lightly. Adrien's brownish hair brushes against your ear as his head is positioned right next to yours, peering over your shoulder to look at his hands and your ass.

"You're always mad at me baby, I'm sorry," He cooes a gentle tone but it's deceptive. You flinch when he slips a finger past your rim, your arms instinctively moves to grip his shoulders. "I can't help it when you're dressed so cute," You can't see his face fully, but you know damn well he's smirking.

He's doing that knee thing where its pushed forward enough that if you rutted against it just a little bit, it would send sparks flying through your veins. "Adrien..." was basically the only thing you could whine when he's slipping a second finger, and then a third past that tight ring. He's really overestimating himself. His palm is against your tail bone as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, your warm, wet walls squeezing his fingers just right.

"Fuck, why do you have to feel so good, I can't just fuck the prez here," Adrien groans and you catch a glimpse of his eyebrows furrowing, he was genuinely frustrated. "I just wanna dick you down and make you take it like a good boy, I wanna see how loud you can— sorry that's corny," he bites his lip, slightly shivering from his own words. He knew you weren't like that, especially being such a goody-two-shoes; it was like second hand embarrassment from himself. He felt a twinge of guilt, a guy up to no good corrupting an angel like you.

"It's fine," and suddenly Adrien's head clears. Your reassurance was like cupid shooting multiple arrows into his heart, was he having a heart attack or was it just you? Adrien's head moves mechanically, like it was programmed to kiss you right then and there but he stops, short-circuits even. Kissing was out of the question. His relationship with you wasn't like that but oh how bad he wanted to. Adrien let's his head plop onto your shoulder, his fingers finding motivation to speed up, causing your body to straighten up.

He even adds a cruel curl to his fingers, pressing harshly against your prostate. "You're so evil," he murmurs, "Says— you!" You couldn't help the embarrassing moan that rips from your throat, the jerk of your body made you grind against Adrien's clothed knee, the cool fabric of the skirt rubbing against your tip wasn't helping either.

So you're stuck here, humping Adrien's knee as he fingers you from behind. Adrien slips his index finger out, leaving his middle and ring nestled inside you. Somehow, this allowed him to slam his hand deeper, pressing against your prostate once again. You could feel his breath fan over your shoulder, his back rising with each breath as his knee shifts, pushing against the underside of your dick behind the skirt. Your hands claw at his clothing, moans and whimpers spilling out of your lips.

His fingers work to aimlessly stretch you out before he pushed them in deeper, stilling them and curling them at random intervals. He was just playing with you at this point. You could feel your orgasm building but you weren't at the edge yet. Adrien seemed to hear your whines and desperate grinding, he smiles, "Alright sorry, sorry, I'll let you cum." He pulls his fingers out, groping your flesh before slapping his fingers against your hole, eliciting a confused gasp out of you.

Before you could open your mouth to insult him, he plunged his fingers into your entrance once more, fingering you as roughly as he could. His other hand that was holding you in place moved to the tent in your skirt. He smiled at the dampness pooling at the fabric, cupping the head of your dick with the fabric wrapped tightly around. The cool sensation of the fabric on your sensitive tip make you squirm, your body was unfamiliar with the feeling. Adrien clenched his arms around you, holding you still as he thrusted his fingers faster, humming at the wet sloppy sound.

You felt your eyes rolling back and your hands balled into fists, leaning on his shoulder for support. "W—wait!" You groaned as your body convulsed from the pleasure, tears welling in your eyes as you came, the mess contained by your skirt. "That's it," Adrien whistled, letting you ride your high out as he rubbed the fabric over your tip for a bit before stopping.

"Keep this," he grinned, "I'd like to see this next time."

a / n ; my motivation is in the dumps right now TT

#servicpop — fics/drabbles #oc x male reader #mlm #sub male reader #bottom male reader #male reader #male x reader #mlm nsft #x bottom male reader #x male reader smut #x male y/n #uke male reader

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obsessive-valentine · 2 months ago

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Yandere Artist x GN!Maid-Reader

Julian (or Jules as you nickname him), an esteemed artist in Victorian society, becomes captivated by a forgotten maid who moves through life unnoticed by others. Obsessed with finding ways to capture the adoration he has for you on canvas.

You’d been a maid at the gallery Julian visited, and the reason he returned over and over. He, a man of great status, an esteemed artist too, became drawn to you beyond his own understanding.

On one of Julian’s many visits, he found the courage to speak to you. "You work so hard, yet make it look as graceful as a dance", he murmured, his voice soft but sincere. You were startled—maids weren't meant to be noticed by men of his status. But Julian wasn’t like the others.

It was only after weeks of shared glances, whispered conversation and quiet sketches that Julian dared to ask you for more.

Losing sleep over the way you made him feel, emotions so deep and unexplainable he began going mad over trying to express it. His current models and pieces of art just weren't good enough compared to you and the way you make him feel.

A type of suffocating love he never thought could exist.

“Forgive me for being so forward,” he said, his voice gentle and earnest. “I understand this may come as a shock, but if you’d allow me, I would be honoured if you would be my muse."

Though you were hesitant to overstep and cause a scandal, he promised you everything you could want if you were to only be his muse, he’d give you a place to stay and all you could ask for, you wouldn’t have to be a maid anymore. But then being his muse, turned into friendship, then lovers.

He fell in love with how you so effortlessly inspired his work -but fell harder for how you grounded him as a person. Smitten by the little things- your soft laughter, the gentle way you spoke. He loved the small gestures you made without thinking, the way you’d hum as you worked. He'd notice it all.

While initially hesitant from the intensity of not being spared a glance to having a man tripping over himself at the sight of you -you grew to enjoy his presence. The idea of being someone who inspires him, someone who is at the centre of his world. After living your whole life in the shadows.

...

Many hours a week are sat in his study as he paints you, his work taking on a new life, new meaning that only makes it so much more beautiful.

Julian loves to draw you absentmindedly—it’s almost like an instinct, something that he can't stop even when he's lost in thought. He has many books filled with fast sketches that are almost abstract that he scribbles without even looking at the page, to incredibly detailed sketches that almost look like photos.

Parts of your day are recorded in those books like his own form of videoing you. Some are so attentive they could be made into a seamless stop motion.

Sometimes he even finds himself sitting on the bathroom floor as you bathe, talking to you as he once again absent-mindedly draws. finding inspiration for his next piece.

He’s obsessed with the little details. He gets lost in those details, and every sketch is a desperate attempt to capture your essence. But not necessarily just when he’s drawing either.

When he’s not drawing, Julian traces his fingers over your skin studying every part of you.

His love language is physical touch, though it’s always gentle and respectful. Gently running his fingers through your hair or resting a hand possessively on your waist.

But that doesn't mean he lacks in the other 4 departments. Like how he loves to whisper to you just how much you mean to him.

His feelings for you are intense, to the point of worship, though he doesn’t fully realise how deep his obsession runs, he doesn't do anything to correct it either.

Sometimes that can be overwhelming for you, especially going from such an ignored life to one in a lovely house, a handsome gentleman of a husband and the title of being a muse.

But you can't bring yourself to make him stop, he’s Prince Charming in your eyes.

You don’t see the way he glares or scowls at men who dare talk to you when you accompany him to town or an event. Or how he makes borderline cruel verbal jabs to women who try to take his attention from you even for a moment.

#yandere #yandere oc #x reader #Yandere Artist

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ode2rin · 1 year ago

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there sure is never a dull day in your life ever since you somehow bumped your head somewhere and decided to marry gojo satoru.

he was, without a doubt, the most dramatic man you'd ever known.

“why aren’t you obsessed with me?”

and here he goes again making your marriage life comically interesting from his never-ending theatrics that you can’t help but adore.

he isn’t gojo satoru if he wasn’t dramatic, after all. it was all part of the deal, one you gladly accepted, promising to be by his side in sickness and in health.

“good morning to you, too, baby,” you responded, a smile tugging at your lips. “what’s got you worked up this early?”

leaning against the bathroom door frame, his eyes fixed on you as you diligently performed your morning skincare routine. sunlight streamed through the window, casting a soft, warm glow, making your features radiant as you applied your cleanser. and for a moment of sight, he got too lost in your beauty and almost forgot his plan of interrogation.

but still, he needs to get to the bottom of this. “listen, i’m not looking for an argument, just understanding.”

“okay, then,” you said, still attending to your skincare routine. “let’s hear this seeking of understanding.”

gojo’s gaze remained fixed on you as he considered his words carefully, “why aren't you obsessed with me like how i'm obsessed with you?”

“i’m in love with you.” you replied instantly, without a second in waste. because that’s how it has always been, loving gojo satoru and declaring it to the world was as easy as breathing.

you threw a side glance to your lover only to be met with glassy sky blue eyes looking at you and a pout telling you it wasn’t the right answer to the question.

“but you’re not obsessed with me,” he mumbles. “while i think about you every single minute of the day – in my sleep, in my lunch – i think about you, and i don’t think you think about me at all.”

“and where could this be coming from?”

“i was gone for 13 hours, and you only called me once. once, baby. do you even care about me?”

you attempt to explain, “you were on a mission—”

“i could have an injury,” he interjects, “i could have bumped my head somewhere, had amnesia, and forgotten about you.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at the possibilities he laid out just because you only called him once. finishing your skincare with a swift application of lip balm, you make your way to your lover, who is now resting his left temple against the doorjamb while earnestly watching you with the same look in his eyes from when you walked down the aisle.

“i think that’s fairly impossible, though,” you muse. your hands naturally find their way to his neck. “my husband is the strongest.”

strongest in the eyes of sorcerers and curses, perhaps, he is. but here? with you pressed close to him like this? he was nothing of any sort the strongest.

“what your husband right now is not the strongest but an unloved husband who couldn’t get his partner to call him to check on him,” he teases, putting great stress on ‘your’ because he was, in fact, yours.

“aw, must have been hard for him, huh?” you coo, going along with his teasing, “what can i possibly do to make up for it?”

“you can start with a kiss here,” he gestures to his lips, and you gladly oblige with a soft peck.

“too easy. what’s the next step?”

“and i want you to be obsessed with me. call me multiple times a day. text me. email me if you want.”

“okay, done. do you want me to write you a letter as well, like we’re in the '80s?” you sarcastically replied.

“sure, i’d love that,” he says with a chuckle before pulling you close enough to rest your head in the crook of his neck, his jaw resting on your temple as he caresses your back.

you closed your eyes, finding comfort in his warmth, and relishing every soft little kiss planted on your temple, until you felt his head drop onto your shoulder.

“i think about you every second of the day,” he whispers right in your ear.

jokes of being obsessed with you aside, it was truly a confession.

you could be beside gojo, peacefully slumbering, and there would always be that wave of need threading in his chest to be closer to you.

and behind his theatrics, none of his words held any bite of hoax. because after all these years, it still wouldn't sink in to him that there was someone who could take him for a husband.

but you're here – waking up next to him, doing your skincare next to his own set of toiletries, roaming around the house wearing his shirt, gracing the quiet corners of his soul with your laughter.

you're here, and it's everything and more that truly matters.

as you reach to cradle his face in your palms, you feel a squeeze in your chest from how he closes his eyes as if melting in your touch.

“even after all this time? you might get sick of me, my love.” you ask, a smile so evident behind.

“never,” he declares against your lips, a boyish curl of his lips slowly showing. “you, on the other hand, might get sick of me soon. seeing that you couldn't even call me twice after those long hours i wasn't home.”

you playfully roll your eyes at his accusation, of course he wouldn't let it off that easy. “i promise to call you twice and text you as much as i can. how's that sound now?” you hum.

“promise?”

“i promise,” you assure, sealing it with a kiss on the tip of his nose, “and what do you mean, get sick of you? that’s nonsense. i told you right? it’s you for me.”

you for me. oh, how he likes the thought. sheepishly, he whispers in question, “even after all this time?”

“until the end of time, toru.”

until the end of time. oh, heaven and earth, how he loves the thought.

note. i miss him... terribly, i'm afraid. btw, here's a payback for all the angst..

#☁️ my ode to you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru fluff

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copper-16 · 4 days ago

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Remind Me That There’s A Room To Grow Part 4

Life looked different for the two of you now, but that doesn’t mean you can’t grow together.

(a/n: Hi guys! So just a little personal update - I had a bit of a mental health episode recently and as a result I'm now spending a solid 10-12 hours of my week in therapy to try and get some help with that. I'll be fine, but I might be a little delayed in updating sometimes! Appreciate those who are willing to stick with me here.

Reminder that COVID doesn’t exist here, because I said so! This is a little bit of a longer part, and it details the rest of the 2020-21 season. Next chapter we’re going to be going over the 2021-22 season, so if there are any not to miss moments I should be writing about, do let me know! I hope you guys enjoy :)

Subconsciously, you had resigned yourself to the fact that Alexia would be gone in the morning when you had fallen asleep last night. Even without having spent much time with her now, you knew how the brunette was. She was forever busy with training, extra training, media responsibilities, and that had been when you were both eighteen! You assumed there was even more placed on her shoulders now that she was a prominent member of a big club.

However, when you felt yourself rising from sleep, you looked down and realized that there was still an arm wrapped around your torso. You blinked slowly, your mind whirling as you stared down at Alexia’s hand, her palm resting gently over your stomach.

“G’Morning,” you turned your neck as far as you could back, realizing that Alexia was awake as well as she greeted you. The footballer pressed a kiss to the base of your neck before you flipped over in bed so that you could properly face her.

You were pretty sure you’d never seen anything more gorgeous than Alexia in that moment, a tender smile on her face. Her hair was mused with sleep but not messy, her eyes still half lidded with sleep. They trailed down your face, as though she was attempting to commit every single ounce of you to her memory.

“Hi Flori,” she whispered softly, and you ducked your head in a vague pursuit to hide the flush that adorned your cheeks. The footballer didn’t seem to like that though, reaching her hand forward as she tucked her fingers under your chin and lifted your head back up.

Despite your initial shyness, you couldn’t help but bask in the openness of it all as you looked up. No longer was it a dream to wish for her to be here - she was here. Right next to you, looking at you as though no amount of time had passed. As though she still adored you just as much now as she had when you were both eighteen.

“I love you,” you murmured gently as you reached one of your own hands up to card through some of her hair. You allowed your fingers to come back to her face, to trail down her cheeks, her jaw, her neck. The warmth under your fingers proof that she remained here, that she was not a dream.

The Catalan accepted the touch easily, taking it a step further as she pulled you into her. You allowed yourself to be moved and manipulated easily, until you were laying practically on top of the brunette, her arms tight around you.

Her skin was warm against your own, and somehow she still smelled just as she did when she was eighteen. For every thing about her that seemed so vastly different, there was always something that had remained the same about her. It surprised you honestly, but you were grateful for it nonetheless. The strength and security with which she held you felt unyielding. After years of sleeping alone in your bed, you had forgotten what it was like to be held with such a reverent touch.

You released a sigh that you hadn’t realized was building, lolling your head into Alexia as she pressed a soft kiss to your temple. The content feeling of just laying there soon gave way to a certain curiosity after several minutes had passed. You unlooped your arms from the midfielder, sitting up and looking down at her with a raised brow.

“When did you get so…muscly?” You questioned suspiciously as you poked at her abdomen, your heart skipping a beat at the peal of laughter Alexia let out in response. She puffed her chest out a little, and you could feel her trying to flex in bed.

“I train at the gym a lot more than I did before,” she smirked, clearly looking rather proud of herself. You rolled your eyes, wholly unimpressed. Alexia had always been attractive to you, and her being in the best or worst shape of her life meant nothing to you compared to having her there.

“Alright, relax muchisimo,” you quipped, though trying to hold your laughter in was futile. Alexia leaned forward suddenly, snatching you at the waist and pulling you back onto the bed, squeezing you tightly. You allowed yourself to go willingly as you giggled, the sound ricocheting off the walls.

Had they ever heard such happiness before?

Surely they had not, because rarely had you been this happy without her.

“But it means I get to do this,” Alexia explained as she finally sat up, but this time with you wrapped in her arms. You squealed as she carried you toward the kitchen with your legs wrapped around her tightly, setting you down on the kitchen counter as though you were the finest piece of porcelain.

She stepped back just a touch after she let you down. She allowed her hands to reach up as she tucked a lock of hair back behind your ear, her face softening as she did so.

You watched as the footballer turned toward your fridge, finally giving you a moment to work up the courage to ask the question that has been on your mind ever since you had woken up.

“Do you not have gym today? Or training, or anything like that?” You asked hesitantly, almost as though you were bracing for her to say she was leaving.

It wasn’t as though you thought she could stay forever. But for whatever reason, the thought of her leaving at this very moment felt like it might tear you to shreds. The Catalan turned back toward you, instantly worried about the tone of your words. She shut the fridge, stepping closer to you as you slipped off the counter to stand in front of her.

“I called in earlier and told them I wasn’t coming. I’m here with you for today, and as long as you’ll have me,” Alexia promised, and by the tone of her words, you knew she was talking about more than just football practice.

You stepped forward at her words, wrapping your arms around her and hugging her tightly. She met you halfway easily, tucking her head into the side of your neck. The footballer allowed herself to breathe in deeply, grounded by the notes of violet and sandalwood in your perfume.

Even when you tried to step away and release her after a few seconds, the midfielder only gripped you tighter.

“Please, just a few more seconds. Just…stay. Just one more minute,” she nearly begged, and you stepped back into her body with a speed you were unaware you possessed. Your hands around her were firm and consistent, just as they always had been.

Just as she remembered. You angled yourself into her, pressing a kiss to her cheek before you tucked her into your body even further. Alexia was certain in that moment that if she could have crawled into your skin she would have, but still you were here.

“Thank you,” the brunette breathed out, and you only held her tighter.

“Always,” you promised, and it was a promise you intended to keep this time.

—

Alexia ended up staying for the entirety of the weekend, to your absolute delight. It didn’t even need to be anything special for the two of you to bask in the closeness that enveloped the two of you.

The brunette was incessantly clingy, following you from room to room like a lost puppy. Even now, she dragged you into bed under the guise of taking a nap, but you knew that secretly she just liked the closeness. Some things never changed.

You laid down flat on your back with Alexia climbing in after you. You turned your head toward the brunette, who was on her side with her elbow and hand propping her head up. She seemed to be holding something back, but what that was, you weren’t sure.

“What is it?” You inquired, your eyebrows furrowed together at the way she worried her lip between her teeth.

“I…I don’t know how to ask?” Alexia seemed to be questioning herself, as though she were lost in her own mind. You reached up to smooth the crinkle that had formed between her brows with the pad of your thumb, and felt as she relaxed slightly under your touch.

“Try me,” you replied, ready for any question that the midfielder might ask.

“How have…how have things been? Since…well, since, you know–” Alexia managed to cut herself off as she began to ramble, clamping her mouth shut as she shook her head with annoyance. She was getting frustrated, but for what you were not sure.

You were confused about the request considering it seemed like a perfectly normal question to ask. You had asked her that earlier in the weekend, checking on how her family was and how football had been. For whatever reason though, Alexia seemed nervous to do the same with you.

“What’s wrong, mi alma?” You asked after a beat, sensing there was more to the story than Alexia was letting on.

“I just…I feel horrible for saying this. I don’t like thinking about you living your life in the last nine years. I feel as though there is this big gaping hole in my knowledge of you…this big gaping hole where…”

“Where you were not there?” You finished for her gently after she trailed off. She nodded in defeat, the shame she felt rippling within her. You leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead, your hand coming to cradle her cheek as you sat up. “That is perfectly normal, Ale. It bothers me as well, of course it does. But when I think of it, I try to remember how much I know you missed me. For every good moment, I spent twice as many missing you, and I know that you were not far off,” she agreed instantly, and you smiled at her steadily.

“I also know that I am not going anywhere, so we might as well fill in the time we missed and move on,” you described, something that seemed to renew some of the faith in the Catalan.

She began asking you questions about everything she had missed. She asked about your diagnosis, how treatment had been. As much as she tried not to shy away from it, you could tell it pained her immensely to hear about the experience, so you sped through the details as much as you could.

You informed her the whereabouts of your brothers, how their lives were going. You told her all about your university degree, how she had gotten the job to come to Barcelona. When you explained that you picked the job offer that got you here, she squeezed you just a touch tighter.

But finally the heaviest question laid ahead, and you knew it was going to be a knife to Alexia’s stomach. There was simply no way around it, no matter how hard you tried to steer the conversation away.

“How is your Mama?” Alexia asked hopefully, excited for the update on Paula. She was never particularly close with your mother, much like you yourself were not, but your mother had been nothing if not fun to be around. She had always loved you, and loved that you and Alexia were together immensely.

Secretly, Paula loved the way that Alexia gave you the space to relax where she and your family could not. She knew it was something you needed, and though the two of you never spoke about it, Paula had felt that loss for you when the footballer had left.

Secretly, she had always hoped that the two of you would find some way back to each other.

“She…” you paused for a second, bracing yourself. Alexia tilted her head slightly, wondering why you had trailed off. “She passed away a little over a year and a half back, Ale.”

The midfielder froze just a second after you had finished the sentence. Her heart skipped a beat, and her breathing ceased for several moments. Though her body did not move, her eyes were on you in a second.

“What?” She asked, barely a whisper. All you did was nod, a sorrowful and apologetic look on your face. You watched as crack by crack appeared in the brunette’s expression, emotions spilling through until the whole thing collapsed. Not only had you lost your mother when she was not there, but you knew it would bring up all of the memories of her own father’s death.

You hated yourself for saying it, even if you knew that the brunette needed to know eventually.

You were right there to support the footballer as she began to cry. You knew her, and you knew that she would be taken aback by your statement.

It still pained you to be right.

You tucked the Catalan into your arms easily as silent tears slid down her cheeks. It was easy for you, to care for her and hold space for her. It was what you had always done, for as long as you had known.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you,” she whispered into your shoulder, and all you could do was turn your head to the side to kiss her cheek gently, moving one of your hands to wipe the tears that rained down from glossy eyes.

“You didn’t know, mi alma,” you beseeched as you allowed her to lean back into you. Your forgiveness was endless, and you would throw it recklessly if you needed to. You would hold her for as long as she needed to be held, that was for certain.

—

It was Friday afternoon, the day of Alexia’s first game back since you had come into her life once more. She had spent most of her time with you since the two of you had reunited, practically living out of your apartment in favor of her own.

The brunette clung to you like a koala, and though you did not mind, you found it rather amusing. You’d all but had to shove her out the door for the game today, or else she would have been late. It took three kisses, two hugs, and a promise that you would find her directly after the match for her to finally step toward her car.

The brunette had explained to you that she had gone over to her mother’s house after leaving your place last weekend to apologize to them. She had promised you that at the game you would sit with her family in the family and friends section of the stadium, which was where you had always belonged, according to the brunette.

When Alexia had inevitably left your house on Sunday evening, the first place she went was to her Mami’s house. She knew that both Eli and Alba would be there, and she knew it was time that she apologized properly.

The door was unlocked, leaving the brunette free to enter the house without needing an introduction. She toed off her shoes before she walked over to the living room, where she heard the voices of both her mother and sister.

Both of their voices petered off when Alexia turned into the living room, and both of them seemed rather surprised to see the footballer standing there.

“Um…hi?” Alexia tried, but she shook her head instantly.

“That was awkward, I am sorry. I came here to apologize to both of you,” she explained swiftly, and though Alba started to interject, the brunette stopped her sister.

“I came to both of you in a moment of anger, and I never should have done that. It was unfair of me to place blame on you guys when all you did was offer a perspective for me to consider. I’m really sorry for the way I treated you both, and I promise I will work to be better,” she pledged, with both Eli and Alba looking at her with compassion in their expressions.

“No Ale, we are sorry. We were both very judgmental and unwilling to consider a different perspective. I am sorry it caused things to go poorly with Flori,” Alba expressed, and Alexia could simply see in both her mother and her sisters' faces that they were steadfast in their regret.

The brunette walked over to both of them, sitting down on the couch between them and pulling them into a tight hug.

“I love you guys,” she said gruffly, trying to hold back tears. God, she really had done a lot of crying this week.

“We love you too honey. Have you had a chance to talk with Flori again?” Eli inquired as they all pulled away, genuine concern in her tone. Alexia nodded, a slight flush to her cheeks as she held back a smile.

“We…we have. We’re back in each other's lives now, even all these years later. I know it might sound stupid but…I still love her,” the footballer admitted, much to the delight of her mother and sister.

“She’s coming to the game on Friday, so the two of you need to be on your best behavior! I told her that she could sit with you guys,” Alexia looked at both Eli and Alba with a serious expression, and her sister held up her hands in surrender.

“We will be nice Ale, we promise!” She declared as she looked over at Eli with excitement.

You had felt secure in Alexia’s words and promises, until now. It was the day of the game, and suddenly your nerves were through the roof. You made it into the stadium just fine, allowing someone to escort you to the correct section before they left you to attend to other matters.

For a second you allowed yourself to take a deep breath, trying and failing to center yourself.

You made your way down to your seat slowly, watching Eli and Alba the whole time. They seemed lively, animated, whispering to each other and laughing afterward.

Your stomach twisted in anxiety, because despite Alexia’s apology to them, you had no clue if they still felt that you were a horrible person or not. Each step felt like it was torture, taking you closer to a reality you didn’t want to live in.

You had always loved both Alba and Eli, and they had loved you. If you never saw them again, in your head they would love you forever. Even if it wasn’t realistic, it was a nice thought.

Both Eli and Alba’s heads turned to look at you at the same time as you entered into the row of seats, and you paused in your movement. You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until they stood, making their way over toward you.

It was Eli who reached you first, and she immediately tugged you into a big hug. You stood stock still for a moment, not expecting that she would treat you so kindly. Your hand lay listless at your side, your body tense as you struggled to relax.

After several moments your mind seemed to come back to you, and you relaxed into the hug as you wrapped your arms around the older woman.

“Hola Flori,” Eli smiled as she pulled back, allowing Alba to rush past her to hug you tightly as she murmured a greeting in your ear. You were prepared this time, and returned the hug back with fervor. When the two women finally stepped back to truly take you in, you noticed how wet their eyes were.

You looked away from them for a moment, swallowing thickly. You fought the urge to look at your shoes as you spoke, instead facing your fear directly.

“You two aren’t…mad?” You questioned softly, trying to restrain the fear in your voice and failing spectacularly. Eli shook her head earnestly, and she reached forward to pat your cheek affectionately.

“I think we were sad, and we missed you. We did not understand then, but Alexia told us what had happened. Now all that we wish is to be here with you, as we should have been the whole time,” she replied easily, as though her forgiveness was something to be given out freely.

Perhaps it was, when it came to you.

It was you who reached forward for a hug this time while you struggled to keep the tears at bay.

“We love you Flori,” Alba added on, and you reached behind Eli to grasp her hand tightly, trying to convey all your gratitude in one glance.

“Come on now, we have a football match to watch!” Eli declared as you pulled back from the hug. She dragged you back to your seats, squishing you in between Alba and herself.

“It’s strange to see you here without a single piece of homework, I must admit,” the older woman teased, and you released the first real laugh in the afternoon, shaking your head as you knocked her shoulder with your own.

No matter how hard you tried to convince yourself that you didn’t, you had missed this. You had missed spending time with them, being loved by them. They were so affectionate and kind, and despite all this time, it felt as though they had hardly changed.

The three of you kept chatting as the players began to stream out onto the field. You were much closer than you typically were at these games. The three of you were sat basically right above the end of the tunnel, so much that you could see the highlights in some of their hair as they ran out onto the pitch.

While you were engaged in the conversation, it was obvious to both Eli and Alba that you always kept one eye on the field, waiting.

She was one of the last ones out onto the field, and instead of just running straight into her warm up, the brunette stopped and looked back at the stands. Given that the three of you were seated practically front and center, you were not hard to find.

You tried not to let it show, but there was a rush of relief within you when Alexia’s whole body seemed to light up at the sight of you. Her very essence seemed to relax, and suddenly she became so incredibly settled.

She was settled for the warm up, she was settled for the game.

So settled in fact, that when she scored the first of her two goals, she turned to the stands and blew you a kiss. When you realized what she was doing you could feel the flush rising on your cheeks, coupled with the unhelpful fact that both Eli and Alba turned to you in excitement. You ducked your head to hide your smile, though your heart soared.

It seemed to stay there after the game as well. Instead of going to sign and take pictures as the Catalan sometimes did, she opted to make a beeline for the stands - for you.

And there you were, more than prepared and willing to accept the hug as the footballer took the steps up two at a time, clattering in her boots as she came to give you a huge hug.

You didn’t say a thing when she pulled back and kissed you soundly on the lips either, despite the fact that there was a crowd.

—

You knew this was coming eventually.

It was a day off, and you and Alexia had spent the morning in bed together, snuggled under the covers and pressed into one another. It had been a few weeks of peace, and still, you hadn’t slept together.

The brunette seemed in no hurry to rush you, but at the same time you could tell she was waiting. Your anxiety transcended every logical thought that you had, steam rolling it until all you felt was worry.

Sure, at one point you had known one another's bodies, but a lot can change in nine years. Where Alexia had toned, gained muscle, become something solid and secure, you felt innumerably more delicate. Scars littered different areas of your chest, back, and ribs, and they were not something you typically shared.

You wore high cut tops to cover them, avoiding crop tops and swimsuits.

But there was something about the way Alexia pressed her lips to you that morning, a sweetness and curiosity that had you pressing further, deepening the kiss. Despite your worries, you still wanted her. There was a closeness in sex that you found familiar and comforting, and you wanted that with Alexia.

The Catalan met you stride for stride, easily leaning into the kiss while still allowing for you to take control at the same time. It was only when she started to move closer to you that you pulled away from her, suddenly feeling overwhelmed.

When you looked over at the midfielder, you expected judgment but received only concern in response.

“What is it?” She questioned gently. Nine years didn’t change the fact that she knew you like the back of her hand. The footballer could tell that something was off, and you weren’t feeling right. You flushed, looking away for just a moment before you shrugged slightly.

“My body has…changed from the last time you’ve seen it,” you admitted quietly, as though it was a secret rather than just a fact of growing throughout life. “You’ve gotten fitter, and I…well I just look different now.”

Alexia watched you for a moment, noting the discomfort that seemed to ripple through you with every movement. Admittedly, she cared little for what your body looked like, no matter the shape, size, marks, whatever it was.

“I love you not because of how your body looks, but for you,” she explained softly, placing her hand palm up on the blankets. It was an open invitation, and the footballer watched as you stared at it for several minutes, almost as though you were considering a business deal.

You fought with yourself internally. You knew Alexia would never lie to you. At the same time, insecurity felt as though it would overwhelm you.

But above all, you trusted her. You really wanted to continue doing so.

When you reached out to take her hand, it was tentative, gentle, and slightly fleeting. The brunette moved toward you carefully, leaning in to kiss you carefully. You allowed yourself to relax into the motion, into the familiarity of it all.

Alexia knew you.

Even now, she still did.

When her hand tucked under your shirt and splayed over your hip bone, you felt yourself arching into the warmth of it. Her hands trailed upward as her lips trailed down, sucking gently at the juncture between your jaw and neck as your shirt was pulled upward.

The midfielder pulled back for long enough to gauge your reaction, and she waited until you gave her express permission before she removed your shirt carefully.

You braced her for to be appalled at your body, your eyes screwed tightly shut. But when her hands returned to your body, it was with a gentle, fluttering touch that caused the entirety of your being to relax.

She traced your scars, the physical presence of everything you had been through since she had been in your life. There was reverence in her touch, an aching sincerity as tears shimmered in her eyes at the sight of you. Not repulsed by you, but rather upset that she hadn’t been there.

When you were just about to finally break the silence, the footballer dipped her head, pressing a featherlight kiss to your old port scar. She did the exact same to every single foreign mark on your body as you felt yourself melting back into the mattress at the feeling.

It was such a strange feeling, to be worshipped and loved with such an effortless touch.

Alexia’s hands were everywhere and yet nowhere at all, nothing but gentle and loving and reverent. She kissed down your body, deliberate in her faith in you, in her care. You found yourself growing relaxed, the insecurity you once felt giving way to something akin to need.

You arched into her, tugging at the sheets and fighting the urge to chant her name like a prayer. Perhaps it wasn’t a prayer but rather one answered, especially when her mouth met where you needed her the most.

She was gentle at first, as though trying to remember exactly what you preferred. But as much as you were changed, some things had stayed the same, and it took barely any time at all for her to be reminded of exactly what you needed.

The brunette was gentle with you. It was not hot and heavy, not by any means. But the two of you had time for that, and she knew that what you needed now was something entirely different.

You found yourself grinding down against her, your back curled off the bed as you struggled to keep the whimpers and wanton moans at bay.

When you felt her hand tap at your ribs, you instantly reached down to interlace it with hers, a place of tether as you felt the heat building within you. It was reminiscent of something younger, the tapping at the ribs that meant she wanted you to hold her hand.

The familiarity of it gave you peace, a tether to know she was there with you, that she still loved you. It was when she finally pressed two of her fingers into you that you felt yourself start to collapse.

You moaned her name as you came, and she followed your body off its precipice, never once leaving you. You crashed over the edge violently despite her softness, your entire body shuddering as you let out a cry, a rush of intensity followed by an instant soothing as your body relaxed.

When Alexia had cleaned up the mess she made, she moved herself to lay beside you, cleaning her fingers before she stroked your forehead, down your cheek, over your neck and chest before she tugged you closer to her. She wrapped her arm around you protectively, and you met her easily as you collapsed into her, heady off the smell of sex and Alexia.

“I’m yours,” you whimpered slightly as you pressed a chaste kiss to her neck, and you could feel her tremble under your touch. Whether it was with emotions or want, you weren’t entirely sure. The arm that kept you close to her tightened, and when you finally opened your eyes slowly, you found her staring down at you with adoration you never thought you’d get again.

It lit a fire within you, and suddenly you found yourself sitting up and slipping your hands under her shirt, trying to keep yourself from moaning when all you found were muscles that seemed to ripple under your hands, as though they belonged to you.

If you were to ask the brunette as you straddled her, they did belong to you in that moment.

Wholly and completely.

—

You were supposed to be at her apartment at half past nine. After a full day of training and a dinner that was necessary for a sponsorship she was doing, Alexia was so excited to see you and decompress.

The footballer honestly had forgotten the joy in how nice it was to have someone to come home to. She felt that it had made her more whole, more relaxed, and allowed for peace she was unaware was possible with her lifestyle.

That was, until it was ten in the evening and you still hadn’t arrived. Alexia had tried calling you several times, but received no answer. You weren’t the kind of person to do that. You never stood up plans without alerting someone, and you were not the type to arrive late without at least a warning.

Before she could spiral further, the brunette simply decided to drive over to your apartment. She gathered her wallet and keys, jogging down to her car and pulling out of the car park. It was possible she was overreacting, but something felt off.

You wouldn’t just leave her.

Would you?

She gripped the steering wheel with a vice while she drove, counting down the seconds until she arrived at your place.

The drive over was quick, helped in part by Alexia’s not-so-subtle speeding on the way over. She didn’t care though, throwing her car into park as she bound up the steps to your second floor apartment before she knocked on the door.

There was no answer.

She paused for a moment, knocking once, twice, three times. Each more aggressive than the next, and still there was no response from inside.

Alexia found herself growing uneasy, and she finally fished for her keys. She had no clue if she was overstepping boundaries wildly, or making a very intelligent choice. You had given her a key in case of emergency, and right now this felt like an emergency to her.

Regardless, she unlocked the door and stepped inside, announcing herself loudly as she entered.

“Flori? Flori, are you here?” She asked, looking around at the kitchen and sitting room, both of which were entirely empty.

“Ale?” You called out, the sound vaguely weak and coming from your bedroom, changing the path of the Catalan instantly. The brunette pushed the door open, enveloped into darkness as you sat up slightly in bed.

“Flori, my love,” she breathed out in relief before she walked over to sit on the edge of the bed. She twisted slightly to turn the bedside table lamp on, and she frowned only when she turned back to you and found that your cheeks were flushed. When the two of you spoke, it was at the same exact time.

“Are you feeling okay?”

“What are you doing here?”

Alexia raised an eyebrow as she glanced at the clock, and you followed her line of sight before your eyes bulged, realizing your error.

“Oh God, I am so sorry! I was feeling a little under the weather and I came in here to lay down and must have fallen asleep,” you admitted sheepishly. The midfielder could feel her own heart rate regulating at the sight of you in one piece.

“No, no, it’s okay, I was just worried about you,” Alexia promised simply, and you seemed to relax at her words, tucking your head down at the sweetness of them. However, the feeling left your body in a rush as you realized the implication of Alexia’s presence.

“Ale, I am sick. You have a game in two days, you need to go home before you catch what I have,” you insisted, which went over as well as you expected. The footballer acted as though she had not heard you, getting you water and medicine before she pulled on some of your pajamas and laid down in bed with you.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she insisted, feeling something within herself ease at the feeling of having you right up against her. If she was there, nothing bad could happen to you, and she would make sure of that.

—

When the brunette woke up in the morning to her alarm, it was immediately noticeable that you were warmer than the night before. In fact, it was the first thing she noticed as she blinked her eyes open, and concern flooded through her at the thought.

She sat up, shaking your shoulders impossibly softly to rouse you from sleep. The only response she received was a grumble about the time, and you rolling toward her looking for solace. When you found nothing, you cracked an eye open to look for the Catalan.

Alexia did not miss the way that you winced at the light coming in from the curtains, or the fact that you seemed out of breath just sitting up to greet her. But still, you smiled warmly, the picture of sincerity.

“Good morning mi alma,” you breathed gently, delighted at the smile you received in response. It was easy to tell that the footballer was nervous about you being sick, but you did your best to assuage her fears as you rested a hand on sternum comfortingly. Even as her eyes flitted nervously over you, your voice was soothing.

“I am fine Ale. You have practice soon, you have to go if you are going to be on time love,” you said matter of factly as you looked over at the clock. Alexia didn’t even spare a glance at it, too focused on observing every single moment you made.

Everything was screaming at her to stay. Her anxiety was bubbling in her throat, threatening to overwhelm her. What if you were sick again? What did it say about her if she left? What if something serious happened in her absence?

The pit in her stomach grew larger and larger, and her eyebrows twisted in worry. You reached a hand out to soothe them with your thumb, but all the Catalan could focus on was the slight tremble in your fingers as you did so.

“I am worried,” she stated plainly, as though the fact wasn’t written into the very lines of her face. You nodded, trying to stave yourself of any symptoms and reassure the brunette of your health.

“I am okay, Alexia. It is normal to get sick, it is probably just a cold. I will be okay, and when you come back from practice we can cuddle on the couch and watch a movie, alright?” You promised her, conviction in your tone. You knew she needed to go to practice today to prepare for the match the following day.

“Are you sure? It is a double today with recovery, I will not be home until later today?” She explained, but still you gently pushed her out of bed.

“This is your job Ale, you need to go. I will call if anything goes wrong, I promise,” you implored, and though she didn’t seem to agree with you, the midfielder finally walked toward your closet to retrieve clothes.

Even as she dressed, all Alexia did was watch you with thinly veiled anxiety. Every single movement you made, she was just one step behind you as though she were your shadow. When she trailed behind you to the kitchen like a lost puppy, you finally turned around and fixed her with a glare.

“Alexia,” you said with exasperation.

“What?” She asked, playing dumb as she looked at you with innocence. There was too much worry swirling around in her stomach to play it well though, and she stepped forward to press her hands to your forehead in a clear show of anxiety.

“You’re too warm,” she declared, worrying her lip between her teeth as she moved past you to grab medicine and dole out the pills to you. Though you took them willingly, you placed your hand on the brunette’s arm.

She was practically vibrating with concern, her eyebrows having seemingly collected a permanent crease in between them as she took you in.

“It is only a few hours. I promise to call if anything is wrong, okay? It is just a cold, I will be perfectly fine,” you insisted once more, and finally the footballer forced herself to relax, even if it was just a tiny bit.

She stepped forward, wrapping her arms around you tightly, her hand cradling the back of your head with care.

“Okay, okay,” she said after a moment, more to herself than anyone else though. You relaxed into her, relishing in the coolness of her body. In truth, you felt like shit and didn’t want her to go anywhere. But you knew she had a life, an important one, and you weren’t going to ask her to stop her entire day simply because your body felt like it was on fire.

“You call me if anything is bothering you, okay? I do not care about training, just call me, please,” she begged as she cradled your cheeks in her hands, watching with intensity as you nodded your head in understanding. She moved forward to press a kiss to your forehead, internally trying to fight the wave of anxiety she felt at how warm you were.

Even after she had left and was driving to training, her entire system felt as though it was pushed off its equilibrium. You were ill and it was her job to take care of you, and yet she wasn’t there.

How many times had she not been there?

She tried not to think about it as she arrived at training, forcing herself to place a mask of indifference and orderliness on her face as she made her way toward the changing room.

“Good morning Capi!” Jana sang out, a greeting echoed by the rest of the team as they watched their vice captain step into the locker room.

“Morning,” she replied curtly, making a beeline for her locker. She grabbed her phone, turning it off of silent mode and checking for any messages or calls from you, only to see there were none.

Everyone watched as she clutched her phone even as she changed and walked out to the pitch, clearly looking for someone. When she finally found who she was searching for, the Catalan split off from her teammates, moving toward Cata.

The goalkeeper was out with a meniscus injury, though she tried to observe practice as much as she could. The young woman straightened up when Alexia approached her, sitting up in her chair.

“Yes Alexia?” She inquired, looking down at the older woman’s phone in her hand.

“Here is my phone,” the brunette explained cautiously, the worry clear in her tone. “If anyone calls during practice, speak up and let me know, please? It’s really important,” the vice captain explained, her voice edging on desperate.

The goalkeeper had never heard Alexia with such concern in her tone, and she nodded wordlessly, clearly grasping the importance of the request. When Alexia felt she had appropriately showcased the gravity of the situation, she turned back toward practice.

“What was that about?” Leila asked her as the midfielder walked onto the pitch, falling into line with the defender.

“Nothing,” Alexia snapped, instantly softening as she realized her rudeness. “I’m sorry Leila, I didn’t mean that. It’s just something personal, that’s all,” she amended concisely. The tension between her shoulders betrayed her, and something about her face seemed more pinched with worry than it usually was.

Personally, Leila held no animosity but only rather curiosity. It was unlike Alexia to be so concerned about something not to do with the pitch.

The defender gently patted her on the back, silently accepting her apology with ease. But Alexia remained the same for the rest of practice. She was unfocused, often peering over at Cata as though the keeper was her lifeline.

She played fine, nothing for the team to complain about. But it was clear to everyone her head wasn’t in it, that there was unease in her heart.

As it turned out, it was Mariona and Vicky who managed to get out of her what was wrong.

“What is going on Alexia?” Vicky questioned as she approached the midfielder with Mariona during a water break. Alexia was torn from her doom spiral, physically jumping at the arrival of the two. They looked at her with clear surprise, instantly followed with apprehension at her behavior. An uncomfortable silence settled over them for a moment as all three of them looked at each other.

“Flori is sick,” Alexia blurted out after a second, ending the awkward silence abruptly. Both Vicky and Mariona nodded in understanding, despite the oddness of the vice captain's words. It was common for people to get sick. Nothing about this should have been alarming.

But Vicky and Mariona seemed to understand despite Alexia’s vagueness, glancing at one another for a beat before they turned to their friend, who was very clearly in distress.

“Alexia, are you sure you don’t want to go h–”

“Alexia!”

It was Cata who cut Vicky off, her voice filled with alarm. The midfielder didn’t even bother with formalities before she was sprinting toward the keeper, slamming to a stop in front of her.

“Someone named Flori called, but just as I answered the phone hung up,” Cata explained, handing the phone off to the brunette as though it were a hot potato. Alexia opened it quickly, hitting your contact as Vicky, Jenni, Mariona, and Marta came jogging over.

“Come on, come on, pick up for God's sake!” Alexia ground out desperately, trying to calm the rapid beating of her heart. The phone rang and rang, but you didn’t answer. She tried once more, with the same result.

When the midfielder turned around, her eyes were wild with stress, and she seemed almost lost. Like a prey animal that was caught between a rock and a hard place, with nowhere to go.

“I have to get home,” Alexia announced abruptly, barely waiting for a reply before she was taking off for the locker room, Jenni and Vicky hot on her heels.

The vice captain stopped abruptly as she turned toward the two women who had followed her, still on the pitch. Her mind had caught up to her, and formalities taunted her need for urgency.

“Can I go home, please?” She asked Vicky, the woman nodding instantly at the begging tone present in the brunette’s words.

Vicky wasn’t sure she had ever heard Alexia Putellas beg for something. She was the picture of sophistication and grace in moments like this, as a professional. There was nothing professional about her voice now, about the way she looked on the precipice of tears.

“Go, Alexia, go,” Jenni all but shoved the brunette toward the locker room, pressing her to head home. She certainly didn’t wait for another instruction, taking off toward the changing room with a speed she usually reserved for balls coming in from the wing.

Jenni and Vicky watched her as she went, something akin to sadness in their expressions as they turned back to practice, a sea of equally concerned faces staring back at them.

—

Alexia’s heart raced as she drove home, and it soared as she flew up the steps. She all but kicked the door down to get into the apartment, immediately calling out your name.

“Flori? Flori? Estás aquí? Flori!” She thundered as she moved from room to room as she attempted to find you. It was only when she entered the bedroom that she noticed the ensuite light was on, and she nearly sent herself crashing to the ground she moved so quickly.

There you were, passed out on the floor of the bathroom.

“Fuck, fuck, no,” Alexia all but sobbed as she fell to her knees in the bathroom besides you. Her hands were everywhere and nowhere all at the same time, ghosting over your body with panic. The brunette finally settled on your face and shoulders, shaking you gently and trying to get you to stir. You were breathing but not responsive to her, as though you had fallen into a deep sleep.

Your face, your entire body was unbearably hot. Alexia looked around in a panic with the realization that she had no clue what to do. You stirred slightly under her, wincing at the light and the overwhelming pain all over your body.

“Help,” you croaked out, unsure of who exactly you were talking to or what you were instructing, but also knowing this wasn’t bearable.

“Right, help, oh God,” Alexia repeated breathlessly, looking around the bathroom before she made an executive decision. She stood up, rushing back through the apartment to gather her keys and wallet once more. The footballer barreled back into the bathroom, lifting you up with the urgency of a 96th minute goal and the gentleness of a soft breeze.

Although you were relatively similar in stature to Alexia, she picked you up with ease and began to move back through the apartment. Suddenly, each and every session she spent weightlifting felt as though it was worth it.

You were awake now, tucked safely into Alexia’s chest as she hurried you down and into the car. She placed you in the passenger seat before reclining it back for you. The midfielder buckled you in, glancing around her car before she finally saw her sunglasses. She tugged them from their case, easing them over your eyes with cool fingers.

You brought your hand up, holding her hand there in place as you let out a relieved sigh and leaned into it. The Catalan allowed herself a moment to take a deep breath before she bowed her head to place a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“You’re going to be just fine, Flori, okay? I am right here. I’ve got you, I love you, I love you so much,” she commanded, more than thrilled when she got even just a small nod from you as you tried your hardest to smile.

The pain was both everywhere and nowhere at the same time, and you despised it. The ride to the hospital, every pothole and turn was agony as it jostled your body.

Alexia was barely keeping it together, knowing that she was the one bringing you pain as she drove. She sped slightly, despite her aversion to doing so on a regular basis. Her Cupra flew into the hospital parking lot, and the footballer gave no mind as she illegally parked in a reserved spot.

You were the only thing she cared about.

By the time she had come over to your door, you had slipped the sunglasses off, opened the car door, and were trying to stand up. It ended up being a good thing that Alexia got there when she did, because as soon as you placed weight on your feet, you faltered.

The brunette wasn’t interested in playing games, all she wanted was to get you inside so you could get help. She dipped down to pick you up once again as she ignored your slight protests, charging you into the hospital as her heart struggled to match the amount of anxiety that swirled in her veins.

“Help, she needs help!” Alexia barked as she marched into the emergency room, and immediately you were met with a swarm of doctors, a gurney she placed you on, and nurses who tried to pull her away.

“No, no! I need to stay with her,” Alexia pleaded as she pushed the nurses off to stay with you, trying not to be cruel in spite of the fact that she was stronger than they were.

“You need to let the doctors do their work first, Miss. As soon as she is stable, we will take you back to see her. Right now I need you to help me fill out some intake forms,” the nurse coached carefully, and finally the Catalan allowed herself to be pulled away from you. Her eyes stayed on you as they briskly wheeled you back though, until you had completely disappeared from sight.

She took the forms from the nurse, settling down in the empty waiting room and attempting to get started on them. If only they could have distracted her from the haywire feeling she had inside of her entire body.

—

“Hello? I’m here for my sister, she was admitted about an hour ago.”

Alexia recognized that voice.

The forms she hadn’t managed to complete were sitting in front of her, woefully filled out. Turns out, the best of her ability wasn’t very much when it came to information on you. She knew so little about your medical background, it was pathetic. She couldn’t sit here and claim you were the love of her life if she knew nothing about you.

But that voice, that voice took her back ten years. It took her back to sunny afternoons spent in the park running after each other, fighting over who was the fastest.

It reminded her of summers spent with an ice cream cone dripping down her hand, the hand of one of littler kids in her hand.

“Leo?” She called out, and his head snapped to greet her own. There was surprise in his features before he schooled it expertly, an air of calm settling over him. He turned to apologize to the nurse before he walked toward her, the footballer standing as Leo approached her.

“Alexia, it is good to see you,” Leo admitted as he hugged her. The midfielder took the hug graciously, trying to hide the fact that her hands shook with worry. Even with your brother in front of her, all she could think of was you.

Were you okay? Were you in pain?

Were you safe?

It was a harsh realization, understanding that no matter how hard she tried, she could not protect you from the world. She hated it, even if she knew it was something she had to accept.

“Good to see you as well,” Alexia answered, offering a brief smile before she sat back down heavily. Leo sat next to her, leaning forward only to grab the remaining forms and beginning to fill them out.

The Catalan looked over at your brother for a moment, her eyebrows furrowed together. He seemed so calm, so prepared for this. She didn’t understand where his concern was. Your brother seemed…more resigned than anything.

“You didn’t ask what happened,” she pointed out, and Leo paused in the middle of his writing. He glanced over at the brunette, looking at how tense she was, practically vibrating in her seat. He set the clipboard in his lap while turning more fully toward the footballer.

“She’s going to be just fine Alexia,” Leo stated clearly, but it was clear in her expression that Alexia didn’t really believe him. The younger man sighed before he placed the clipboard down on the table once more.

“After she was declared in remission, and eventually cancer-free, the doctors told us everything would go back to normal for her. But her immune system has never been quite the same after that. Sometimes she gets sick and she’s fine, other times she goes downhill fast and has to come into the hospital,” he explained, sympathy oozing out of his tone as he tried to assuage Alexia’s fears.

“How often does this happen?” The hazel-eyed woman inquired as she stole a glimpse toward the hospital wing. She hated this, hated that you had been forced to live like this for years. She swallowed thickly, trying to stave off the tears she knew were fighting to release.

“Once, maybe twice a year. It doesn’t happen every time she gets sick, but when it does, it comes on quickly. She called me and told me I would need to come this morning,” Leo described, and Alexia shifted nervously in her seat. You hadn’t told her a thing, and insecurity rose within her unbridled from logic.

“Alexia,” Leo’s hand on her arm interrupted her thought process in its tracks. “She wouldn’t have wanted you to know. She was hoping I would get here before it got bad so that way you wouldn’t have to miss training or any games.”

“Screw work! She’s in there, in pain, football is the last thing on my mind! All I want is to see her,” Alexia started loud, rising from her chair with a bite to her tone. The energy drained out of her by the end of her last sentence, and she collapsed back into the chair beside Leo with a wobbling lip.

Your brother reached forward to place a hand over hers, quiet about his support. With his other hand he returned to filling out the forms the doctors had asked for. After having a few minutes to collect herself, Alexia peered over at the paper, and eventually leaned in and began asking questions.

If she had to come here again, she would know every single small detail about you down to the tiniest freckle on your back. She was sure of that, if nothing else.

—

You were fast asleep by the time Leo and Alexia were allowed to see you, but they went in anyway. Alexia pulled her chair up right close to your bedside, gently taking your hand in her own and staring at it as though it were her lifeline.

The doctor came in not long after to explain everything. You had been dehydrated with an overly elevated fever on account of a virus that your body had struggled to fight. The hospital gave you fluids and some medication, and said you would be fine to leave tomorrow. You just were not supposed to do any strenuous activities as you healed in the next few days, and you would likely be low energy.

Alexia hung on his every word in a way that Leo did not. Your brother was understanding, warm, and followed the doctor's instructions perfectly. The footballer was practically a disciple, hanging off every word that left the man’s lips. Leo looked over at your girlfriend with a thin layer of amusement, but deep down he understood.

He remembered the first time this had happened and how he had been there, how beside himself he was. You were his big sister, and seeing you knocked down to your knees was more unsettling that he remembered it being when you were sick.

It didn’t sit right with him, it tore away at him until he felt raw. Over the years it just became…normal.

Somehow.

It was just a part of your life they had come to accept, he supposed.

Seeing Alexia suddenly reminded him of how nauseous he had been that first time, and even the second time. It brought back his intense fear that you were going to die, taken from this earth entirely too soon.

“I’m going to step out just for a moment,” he said suddenly, only a few minutes after the doctor had left. Alexia nodded absentmindedly, far too enraptured by you to notice the dread that had settled over your younger brother.

It had only been a few minutes of Leo being gone before you began to shift in bed, squeezing Alexia’s hand in your own. A few seconds later you were blinking your eyes open, and the rush of relief that released in Alexia’s body felt like a high.

“Hey you,” you rasped as you opened your eyes slowly, squeezing her hand once more. The footballer stood, leaning down into your face to tuck your hair back and press a kiss to your cheek.

“Hi hermosa,” she breathed out after a moment, her smile unwavering. You closed your eyes briefly before you opened them once more, taking in your surroundings.

“I��m sorry for scaring you,” you murmured after a moment, but Alexia shook her head vehemently.

“No apologies Flori. You are okay right now, and I am here with you and not going anywhere,” she promised, gripping your hand tightly in her own. You smiled up at her softly, before you paused for a moment.

“No, no, you have a game tomorrow Ale, you cannot mis–”

“I’m not going. You’re more important than some game Flori, and I say that with all the truth in the world,” Alexia proclaimed, and she didn’t miss the nearly imperceptible way that you relaxed at her words. She knew at that moment she had made the right decision, and it was not one she regretted.

“I love you very much,” you said in a hushed tone, bringing the midfielder's hand to your lips so you could kiss the back of it before you placed it down on the hospital bed without your own. When Alexia began to protest at the lack of contact, you shushed her gently as you began to move over in bed.

When you’d finally managed to shift over, you patted the space next to you with a silent invitation.

Alexia did not need to be told twice, sliding into the bed on her side and instantly pulling you into her. It didn’t matter that she was squashed, or that in twenty minutes she wouldn’t be able to feel one of her arms, she didn’t care.

She rested her forehead against the top of your head, breathing in deeply and finally allowing herself to relax into the feeling.

You were okay.

You were safe.

You were going to be fine.

She was right here with you.

When Leo returned from his momentary break, he found you and Alexia curled up in the bed together. Where one of you ended and the other began, he wasn’t entirely sure.

—

A week and a half later, you had made a full recovery. Leo stayed for a few days to help, especially when you forced Alexia to return to training. You regained strength day by day until you were fully functioning once more, given the full green light.

Alexia had planned a casual dinner for you to meet her teammates later in the week, but it seemed that the universe had other plans.

You were waiting in the parking lot, leaned back against your car when the first person stepped out of the building. Practice was just now ending, and Alexia had instructed you to wait in the parking lot for her before the two of you drove to your lunch reservation. She had given you a guest pass to park in their lot, and instructed you to wait there.

The one thing she had forgotten to do, however, was explain to her teammates that you would be there.

When the first woman stepped out of the building, you knew instantly who it was.

However, Vicky Losada had no idea who you were, and she was not the kind of person to be polite in her displeasure.

“What are you doing here?” She asked suspiciously as she approached you, looking around as though she was expecting someone else to pop out from behind your car.

“I am waiting for someon–” you couldn’t even finish your sentence before she was cutting you off with a huff.

“Fans are not allowed to wait in this parking lot, it is forbidden!” She exclaimed with frustration, and you could do nothing but blink back at her in surprise. You were a fan, technically, but you were here for a player.

“I’m just here for one of the players, I am with–” you tried to explain, but the older captain just shook her head.

“So is everyone else! That does not give you the right to our parking lot! Speaking of parking lots, how on earth did you even get in here? There aren’t supposed to be passes for random peo–”

“Vicky?” Alexia called out, a clear amount of confusion present in her tone. When Vicky stepped away to reveal you, the midfielder’s eyes widened in surprise at who her captain was speaking to.

You looked like a deer in the headlights, frozen and too scared to speak up for yourself, leaving your girlfriend to handle the situation.

“This random woman was here, just loitering in the parking lot and waiting for one of us to…what are you doing?” Vicky trailed off before she hissed the latter part of her sentence to Alexia, who began to walk forward with focus.

She bypassed the older woman completely, brushing off Vicky’s vague attempts to stop her as she enveloped you in a huge hug, turning her head to press a kiss to your temple.

“Hi you,” she murmured into your skin, and your body finally managed to unclench as you melted into her arms, burrowing your head into her shoulder for a delicious moment. When the brunette stepped back, she kept an arm around you protectively, raising an eyebrow at her captain.

“Vicky, this is my…my Flori,” she explained with emphasis, struggling over what exactly to introduce you as. Meanwhile, you were just fighting to keep your own laughter at bay, considering how panicked both of the women looked.

Now it was Vicky’s turn to look like a deer in the headlights. Most of the girls had stepped out of the building and were greeted with the sight of Vicky completely floundering as she realized the implications of her actions.

“I am so sorry,” Vicky stumbled over her words, turning bright red as she looked from you to Alexia and back again. She couldn’t even seem to gather the correct words, fighting to finish sentence after sentence and still seemingly coming up empty.

After staring at her sternly for a moment, Alexia finally released you solely so she could double over with laughter. She couldn’t control her breath with how hard she was laughing, and she shook her head with clear amusement as she kept her hands on her knees and caught her breath. You patted her on the back with a roll of your eyes, stepping forward to hold out your hand.

“Nice to meet you Vicky,” you offered with an apologetic smile, looking back at the brunette in amusement. The Barcelona captain stepped forward to take your hand gratefully, her entire face sheepish. You were nothing if not understanding, and you waved to the rest of the team with a kind but reserved expression on your face, as the eyes of twenty women stared back at you in surprise.

“Hi!” Mapi finally called out, breaking the silence with relative excitement. It was in a rush that the team stepped forward, thrilled to meet you after hearing so many good things from Alexia.

It was easy to understand how easily Alexia loved if these were the people she surrounded herself with every single day.

—

When the first goal went in, Alexia was relieved.

When the second goal went in, her goal, Alexia was floored, filled with euphoria as she turned toward the stands and let out a euphoric cry.

She screamed and celebrated for her family, for her Mami and Papi and Alba.

She screamed for the fans who had been with her every step of the way.

She screamed for the hundreds of thousands of girls who never had the chance to be here.

She screamed for you, for second chances and a love she had never imagined having once more.

When the third goal went in, her joy was unbridled.

When the fourth goal went in, all she felt was euphoria.

Sure they had to play another sixty minutes, but it didn’t matter, did it? They held control, they remained calm and sure footed. And when the final whistle inevitably went off, she fell to the ground in relief.

For everyone who had been a part of her journey, for herself, for the team.

The booze flowed freely, champagne poured down her throat and a medal placed around her neck. The feeling of the cool metal of the trophy underneath her fingertips, as she clutched it tightly.

The relief and exhilaration she felt when she finally found you hours later, clutching you to herself. It was an accomplishment for herself, but she had done it with you, and that somehow felt like so, so much more.

She found the trophy eventually, dragging it back to her table and pressing it into your hands. She snapped picture after picture, nearly heady off the idea that she had the two great loves of her life in one photo.

No sacrifice. Just a relative moment of peace, the understanding that two things can, in fact, exist all at once.

“I love you,” you whispered to her, a softness to your voice despite the loud music that pounded around you. She pressed her face into the side of yours, her nose pressed into your cheek as tears slipped down her cheeks.

“Go away with me?” She asked after a moment, and you pulled back to look at her directly. She stared back at you earnestly, and you reached up with one hand to brush the tears from her cheeks. The midfielder’s eyes fluttered shut at the warmth of your hand, and she leaned into your touch as though she was addicted to it.

“Always,” you murmured, passing the trophy back to her, an encouragement to go party. She didn’t care, however, much more content to spend the time here with you than partying.

“I love you,” she vowed softly, ignoring the trophy in front of her in favor of holding you, pressing your body as close to her as physically possible while the trophy was cast aside.

Sure, the trophy might be proof of one of her biggest achievements with her and the team, but it was just a moment.

You?

Well as far as she was concerned, you were the rest of her life.

—

“Nope, no swimming. You stay right here,” Alexia declared, her arms a cage as they wrapped around you tightly. You squirmed in her hold, managing to flip over so your chest was pressed into hers and you were face to face.

It was the summer, and Alexia made good on her promise of going away with you. There was nothing but the two of you and this private villa for kilometers, and you used it to the fullest.

Neither you were bothering with tops, roaming around in just your bikini bottoms. It was a view Alexia certainly was not complaining about, and neither were you for that matter.

That was, until the Catalan had decided that the only appropriate location for you was to be attached to her side at every moment. If you had thought Alexia was clingy before, it had nothing on now. You hardly took a step without the brunette trailing after you, trotting after you gleefully wherever you went.

“You are supposed to be right here Flori,” Alexia continued, and you acquiesced as you melted back into her body, your face tucked into her neck.

You peppered light kisses along the skin there, relishing in the way it made Alexia’s whole body shiver. The midfielder had hardly so much as looked at a football since the two of you had arrived, far too focused on having your full attention and presence.

The brunette leaned back slightly, and she looked down at you with glossy eyes.

“Thank God I found you again,” she whispered, her voice broken with emotion. You reached up to swipe a singular tear with your thumb, leaning forward to press a kiss where your fingertip had been. “You are my salvation.”

“As you are mine,” you echoed, allowing your arms to wrap tightly around Alexia and fall into her embrace with complete trust.

#alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #fc barcelona femeni #woso x reader #vicky losada #mariona caldentey #jenni hermoso #cata coll #jana fernandez #woso fanfics

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