#'eric do you remember anything about her?'

[godmadeaterribleerror]

It Was Smiling Down - A No Love Lost Bonus Chapter

Series Masterlist

Read on A03!

Author's Note: Ryan Butcher I'd die for you. If Eric Kripke EVER does you dirty he will have to answer to me personally. Title from San Francisco by the Mowgli's.

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary/Warnings: A Ryan pov Chapter! Takes place between Chapter 26 and Chapter 27. Usual warnings.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, tooth-rotting fluff, slightly angst, pre-established relationship

Ryan Butcher doesn’t really trust people. As a whole, they haven’t proven themselves to be that trustworthy. They mostly lie to him, or hurt him, or yell at him things that haunt him when he can’t sleep. Things about how he hurts people, when he doesn’t mean to. 

He never means to hurt anyone. It makes him feel heavy and sad and sick, and then the sizzle of flesh or crunch of bones has to be added to his nightmares, along with all the other faces that he did something bad to. Mom said hurting people was bad, and that we should treat others with kindness.

Dad said it didn’t matter. Dad said that people were like toys for them—the stronger, the better, the gods—to play with. That if Ryan broke one or two spines, or smashed four or five people into buildings, or punched a dozen people’s faces into their bodies, it didn’t really matter. The toy box was infinite, so they’d find a replacement. Dad said that humans couldn’t stop reproducing like cockroaches, so killing a few, or a lot, was if anything a favor to the universe.

Ryan had told Her that once. Not what his Dad had said—the mention of Dad always made Her face look sad, and Ben’s face look angry—but that cockroaches reproduced a lot. She’d been visiting him and Ben during training—all of them sitting on the floor, Ryan cross legged and Her leaning against Ben’s body—and Ryan had said it for a reason he couldn’t now remember.

She’d paused, frowning at her sandwich, then looked up at Ryan with a soft, curious gaze. “Do they? I mean, all bugs reproduce quickly for survival purposes, but I don’t think cockroaches are that remarkable at it.”

“I, I don’t know.” Ryan had mumbled, his eyes dropping to the mat. He didn’t want Her to be disappointed in him, even if she’d never been before. “I just heard it somewhere, I guess.”

“Huh.” She’d shrugged, reaching over Ben’s body to grab one of his fries that he always told Ryan tasted like fucking Styrofoam, but still brought every time she ate lunch with them. “Maybe I’m wrong-“

“No.” Ryan’s head had shaken nervously, because if Ben had taught him anything it was that She was almost never wrong. “I, I must have gotten it mixed up, I don’t know what animal reproduces the most-“ 

“Seahorses.”

Ryan had looked back up to Her, to see her grinning at him. All teeth and a warm affection that made the twisting feeling in Ryan’s gut fade. “Seahorses?” 

She’d nodded, humming an affirmation. “Up to 2,000 babies at a time.” Then She’d twisted around to look at Ben, her face growing just a little brighter than it had been before as Ryan saw their eyes meet. “And the men give birth to them, Benjamin.”

Ben had scowled. “How the fuck is that my problem-“

She’d pouted at him, and Ryan had seen them do this a million times before. She poked him, and he poked back, and neither of them ever really meant it, and it would go and go until one of them—probably Ben, Ryan had seen Her talk circles around their whole weird little family all at once with breaking or faltering—gave in and shut the other up.

“Would you give birth to my seahorse babies, my love?”

“I’m not giving birth to fucking shit-“

“But would you-“

“No.” Ben had grunted, rolling his eyes. “Because men don’t give fucking birth-“

“Seahorse men do. Seahorse men get pregnant, and then give birth. Which is usually how that process goes, but in seahorse societies it’s considered masculine. The men give birth because they love their partners and don’t want them to be in pain-“

Ryan didn’t think that last part was true, but there was usually a point in these arguments where She started to tug at Ben’s shirt with a soft, teasing smile, and said words that didn’t need to be true, because they were almost always her winning blow. This hadn’t been any different, because She’d cut herself off with a small yelp as Ben pulled her further into his lap, leaning down to kiss her.

Ryan had found somewhere else to look for a few minutes. He’d gotten good at that, at reading when he had to pretend that his two trusted adults weren’t maybe seconds from having sex on the floor. They never did, and it didn’t really bother Ryan—they both smiled twice as much when they were done, and Ryan had seen a lot worse than the way they always seemed to be eating each other’s faces—but he still had to wait it out.

When it was preceded by one of their fake arguments, it usually lasted a little longer. The kissing would stop, and they’d just look at each for a minute or two until She turned back to Ryan and Ben’s arms locked around her stomach.

That was Ryan’s favorite part of this. How She’d keep talking to him with a wide, happy expression that Butcher had called Her ditzy fuckin Soldier Boy smile, and Ben would just look at Her.

Ryan really liked how Ben looked at Her. It was an expression of something soft and powerful that he’d only ever seen on Ben’s face, only ever directed at her. It was relaxed and adoring, but still solemn and firm in the only way Ben seemed to know how to be. Like She might be the only thing that Ben knew was real, and he wasn’t bothered by that at all.

It wasn’t like Dad had looked at Stormfront. That had been meaner. Like they were always in a fight—not one of Her and Ben’s play fights, which were more like a cat and a dog swatting at each other before the dog flopped over, and the cat climbed on top of it, but instead a violent, bloody war—and were trying to see who’d snap first. Dad had looked at Stormfront like he was waiting for her to stab him, but wasn’t sure she would.

Ben looked at Her like he’d handed her the knife to carve into his body, and She’d made a face and thrown it away. 

Ryan hadn’t really ever seen Butcher look at Mom, but he hoped it had been a little like that. It was what Mom had deserved, even if Butcher could be a cock fuck bitch with his head tonguing his own ass, in Ben’s words.

But Butcher was getting better. He’d apologized for saying Ryan had hurt Mom—he hadn’t meant to, he never meant to, and he still had nightmares where Mom’s guts were spilling out of her body, and she looked right through Ryan like he was a ghost—and mostly didn’t talk to Ryan about Dad anymore.

Nobody really liked to talk to Ryan about Dad. Ryan knew She would, if he asked, but he didn’t want to ask. He’d never forget what Butcher had shown him—about Mom and Dad and Her—or how, for the first two months Ryan had lived with everyone, She’d been gone because of Dad. Because of Ryan. 

Not your fucking fault, kid. She’d kill me if I let you blame yourself for your pussy fuck dad’s actions.

That was why Ryan talked to Ben about it. He didn’t coddle or lie or sweeten the truth, he just grunted words that—when Ben said them—always seemed to be the inherent truth. Dad wasn’t Ryan’s fault, and Ryan was getting stronger, and it was okay that Ryan got afraid because it he wasn’t a pathetic fucking dickless pussy about it.

Ryan asked Ben if it was okay to hurt people, and Ben told him if they fucking deserve it, but only if they deserve it, and Ryan decided that sounded right. And She said most people didn’t deserve to be hurt, and very few things were truly unforgivable, so Ryan could try to figure out what things were really wrong, and then hurt the people that really deserved it.

Dad deserved it. When Ryan wasn’t afraid of Dad, he was angry at him. 

“Do you get angry?” He’d mumbled over a breakfast in Her and Ben’s apartment, and She’d hummed, tilting her head.

“I do. We all do. Anger is our brains telling us that something is unfair, and a lot of this isn’t really fair. So yeah, I get angry.”

Ryan had nodded slowly, turning to Ben as he approached the table from the kitchen. “Ben, do you-“ 

“Course I fucking get angry.” Ben had dumped three large pancakes onto Ryan’s plate, then two larger ones onto Her’s, then a smaller one onto his own, and ignored Her glare as he dropped into his seat. “This whole goddamn thing-“

She’d cleared her throat, eyes narrowed at Ben. “Benjamin.”

“What-“

She’d given a pointed look to his plate, then back to him. “You need to eat as well.”

“I’ll be fine, Sunshine, you and the kid need more than I do-“

She’d cut one of Her pancakes in half, moving the bigger piece to Ben’s plate, and he’d scowled. They’d both been silent, glaring at each other for almost a minute, and then Ben had grunted. She’d leaned back into her chair with a smug grin, and everything had moved on.

Neither of them had been mad, though. Ryan had thought that glaring and frowning was only about hatred, but when She and Ben glowered at each other it seemed to be more of a standoff. An act or show or contest of affection that neither of them ever seemed to be upset about losing.

They were never really mad at each other at all. Ryan had seen them yell at and taunt and mock each other, but there always seemed to be something under it that sounded like I love you. I’m allowed to call you a dumb dumb or pain in the ass, because I love you and we both know I don’t mean it, because I’m “fighting” with you, but I’m also holding onto you like you’re a buoy in the storm.

Ryan wanted to love someone like that. He wanted someone to love him like that. Because Ben never seemed to really think she was mad at him, even when she called him a cunt or idiot or asshole. Ryan himself didn’t think she was ever really mad at Ben, because he’d watch Her hit Ben’s arm with a fake pout or glare, but she’d never flinch or cower away from him. She was always touching Ben, and she was never afraid of him. Ben had hurt people, Ben was just as dangerous as Ryan was, but She only touched and looked at him like he’d fallen from heaven for her to have. She always kept her hand in Ben’s, or her body in his arms, or their legs pressed together. And she always looked for him. And She always seemed to be happier when she was talking to and looking at Ben, with just his presence never failing to make her smile.

And Ben loved Her. It seemed like love in movies Ryan had watched with Mom, or that he’d read about in books he’d found tucked in corners of Butcher’s apartment. But real. Ryan didn’t think Ben was capable of being really, truly mad at Her, and she seemed to know it. Ben would roll his eyes at Her, and grumble that she was brat, or glare at her in a way that would be dangerous if it wasn’t at Her. Whenever Ben glared at Her it was so painfully fake Ryan wondered if Butcher had been lying when he’d told Ryan not to mention love around those two twats, they ain’t aware that they’re fuckin obsessed with each other yet after She’d returned, because Ben didn’t seem capable looking at Her with anything but love painted over his features.

They certainly knew now. Everyone knew, because every third sentence out of Ben’s mouth was another declaration of love for Her. Every single thing Ben did seemed to be something for Her. Ryan would eat dinner with them, and he’d see Ben pass Her a fistful of stolen chocolate under the table. He’d watch a movie with them, and She’d would be holding Ben’s arms against Her, and Ben would kiss her in the dark and snort at her jokes and get Her and Ryan snacks whenever either of them so much as mentioned the word hungry. He’d train with Ben, and ask a question about punching, and Ben would grumble about how She said you could punch people and be a pacifist, like Muhammad Ali, and she was always fucking right about that shit. And She was a genius. And a better person than every other fucking pussy on the planet, so they should both fucking listen to her. 

Ben carried Her in his arms wherever she let him, and She never stopped smiling at him, and Ryan had decided that if he ever loved someone—far in the future, when Dad was just a faint, reoccurring nightmare—he’d love them like Ben loved Her.

Ryan would never be like Homelander, because he’d never lock up or hurt people he loved. Ryan would be like Ben. And that felt easier, because Ben never demanded that Ryan follow in his steps. He was just there, and trustworthy, and Ryan wanted to be strong like him. He wanted to protect people and do things for them. He wanted to never speak or think of his Dad again, because really their family was Ben and Her, a stained hole that didn’t really matter and Ben wouldn’t let hurt them, and Ryan. It was Butcher forgiving Ryan, because he was trying, and She said the most important thing anyone could do was try to be better. 

He was really trying to be better. Ryan didn’t really trust people, but he trusted Her and Ben when they said that this wasn’t his fault. He believed them when they told him what he knew, that Ryan really didn’t mean to hurt people.

And Ryan hoped that, after Homelander was dead, he’d get to have a life where they kept smiling at each other—and him—and Ryan never was made to hurt someone again.

End Note: Catch Ben in his Dad era, coming to a No Love Lost chapter near you (in all seriousness I hope you guys liked the extra pov! An outside perspective on how down bad they both are was very fun to write)

If you like this story, reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[yutarot]

SHES THE MAN [l.hc smau]

23 - i guess we both had our secrets. wc: 1k

TBU campus — 11:07am

the past few weeks had gone slowly. it had taken you a while to get back into the routine of your old life, no esports, no ncu and no haechan.

just you, your friends and this horrible sinking feeling in your stomach.

you miss him more than you’ll ever admit to ten or yourself. but there is nothing you can do but watch, as days pass, in fear that you’ll forget all the memories you made with him. whether they were classed as real memories or not, you struggle to decipher, but considering the ache that you feel in remembering them, you decide that you can cherish them as if they were.

this morning was just another morning, leaving your dorm with ningning and making your way to classes. the campus always seemed so fresh, so new, and you hated the way that, with every corner you turn, you risk the chances of bumping into the one person you do not want to see.

eric sohn.

somehow, you’ve avoided him ever since ami revealed your secret. but you know that the moment you see him, he’s not going to let you go peacefully.

it had taken a while for people on campus to come to terms with what had happened. luckily, most people found it hilarious, patting you on the back when they saw you, congratulating you for doing what you wanted and nearly getting away with it.

you hang on to that ‘nearly’, clutching onto the possibility of what it might’ve been if you were never exposed.

your thoughts are interrupted.

“meet me back here at 1?” ningning asks, referring to you both having to split to go to seperate buildings at this point. you nod at her before making your way to the biology block.

if only you knew that you would never make it.

because, standing in your direct line of sight is not only the man you least want to see, but there he is, staring directly at you.

and he’s grinning.

you want to turn away, you really do, you’ve been dreading this interaction for weeks. but you keep walking forward until your face to face with him, your legs moving you out of curiosity and perhaps madness.

“hi yn.” he says. your glad he’s not got any of his friends with him, you couldn’t think of anything worse than having sunwoo laugh in your face.

“hi eric.”

“so, NCU huh?”

oh god.

“ye-“

“you know, i had my suspicions about you after seeing you help haechan out of that party, wasn’t very stranger-like of you.”

you stay silent. you know what question he’s going to ask next, and there’s nothing you can do to prepare yourself for the sting it’s going to hit you with.

“did he know you were lying directly to his face about who you were the entire fucking time?”

there it is.

you’re annoyed, “why do you care?” you say, but he only scoffs.

he’s smug, and you hate it. “all of that, for me? wow yn, you must have really hurt their feelings when you left. i’m curious, were you planning to tell them, ever? or were you just expecting to disappear out of nowhere? thinking no one would notice?”

there’s a sinister tone to his voice that confuses you. why is he asking so many irrelevant questions? why is he not asking you what happened?

but then, it hits you.

“you were behind it, all of it.”

his creeping smile answers your question before he can even open his mouth.

“hmmm and what do you mean by it?”

you hate how happy he is, you hate how much he’s smiling.

“you told ami that chenle had been away. you’d found out somehow, and you’d told her.”

he shrugged, “all it took was $20 in hyunjaes hand and he was happy to hack into chenles phone to send a text to ami. you should have known that younghoon was in the same basketball team as chenle, not my fault.”

“you’re sick.”

“i guess we both had our secrets.”

you’re appalled at how right he is, you had been stupid, you’d overlooked all the small details and you’d missed out on everything that was looking you directly in the face. eric beating up haechan unprovoked? him attacking haechan in the fortnite tournament? this entire time, he wasn’t trying to mess with haechan, he was trying to mess with you, and you just let it all happen because you turned a blind eye to the fact that he might have known. he had no reason for attacking chenle and the ncu team, unless he knew that it was never really chenle at all.

“you knew the whole time?”

he raises his eyebrows, smugness in his eyes that doesn’t cease to make you feel nauseous. “well, you helping haechan at the party was the main giveaway, why else do you think i started punching him in the first place?”

“you were trying to confirm it for yourself… to see if i would go over to help him…”

“oh you really are smart yn!”

you hate eric, in this moment and forever. he had planned this all perfectly from the beginning, disguising his hatred for you as hatred for haechan. and haechan didn’t deserve a single ounce of that hate.

you did.

you hate that it all could have worked out, you could have stayed in the team and you could have beat tbu. but it’s because of your own stupidity that you let eric find out everything.

and haechan. oh how you wish you could find him and apologise for everything, you wish you could go back to the very beginning, never get yangyangs twitter, never dm him and never accept that first game request from haechan.

this was all a horrible, horrible mistake.

and it’s all your fault.

so all you can do is walk away. that’s all you seem to ever do.

you walk, and you walk and you walk.

[m.list] [next]

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[fluentmoviequoter]

Skepticism

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!(NFL)football player!reader

Summary: Tim is skeptical about the first female NFL player. When he shares his opinion with you, he doesn't realize that you are the woman he's talking about.

Warnings: fluff, Tim gets embarrassed and apologizes a bunch, flirting

Word Count: 2.1k+ words

A/N: Bodyguard Tim👀 If this reads like Eric Winter talking about sports in He Said, Ella Dijo just remember that he's Tim Bradford. They're pretty much the same.

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

The history of the NFL has changed forever! The first female player has been drafted into the NFL, in the Los Angeles Rams’ 13th pick.

Since the moment your name was called at the NFL draft, your life has been turned upside down. Being the first female player in the league has resulted in unending news coverage, mixed praise and backlash, and unescapable attention. People know your name now, and as you prepare to change your life forever by putting on a Rams jersey, you can only hope that the skeptics are wrong about you and what you’ll do on the field.

“Dinner tomorrow!” Lucy yells at Tim. “Be there!”

“I will,” he replies. “Unfortunately.”

“Be nice,” Angela chides.

“You can always back out and stay home to watch the game,” Nolan points out.

“If they’ll start showing the games again,” a nearby officer interjects. “Everything on ESPN has been about the chick that got drafted. Even during the games, she’s all the commentators can talk about.”

“There’s a girl in the NFL?” Lucy asks. “Finally!”

“Wait, who?” Tim inquires. “I stopped watching the draft before it was over, but how’d I miss that?”

“You must’ve been very busy,” the officer replies. “She’s everywhere, man. Football got ruined. They can’t leave anything sacred.”

Tim doesn’t add to the misogynistic view of his colleague but knows that he has some research to do. Football history has certainly changed, but Tim won’t decide on how he feels about a woman playing professionally until he learns more for himself.

“The Rams, man,” the officer laments.

The moment Tim arrives home after his shift, he turns on ESPN. SportsCenter is on, and he’s unsurprised to see a woman’s name projected behind the men at the desk.

“No, John, what we’re failing to consider is her history,” Rocky Boiman points out. “Her college playing record is better than the twelve male drafts ahead of her.”

“The point remains that a historically male-dominant sport is supposed to be male-dominant,” John Anderson argues.

“If we take the gender out, the size difference, everything except how well these people play, she blends right in,” Tedy Bruschi states. “Regardless of whether or not she should play, she can play, and she does it very well.”

“I’ve been watching her in action since her senior year of high school,” Rocky adds. “If anybody has what it takes to be here, we’re looking at her.”

“Until she gets hit,” John comments. “There may not be regulations against female players, but statistically, she is more likely to be injured.”

“Then she would’ve been injured in college,” Tedy interrupts. “At the end of the day, this comes down to one of two things. Either you don’t think women should be in the NFL, for whatever reason, or you’re ignoring the facts and judging her prematurely. I will end with this, if you think this woman should quit before she starts, you’re going to be proved wrong.”

The SportsCenter logo appears on the screen before Sarah Barshop of the Rams and Matt Bowen, an analyst, begin reviewing your stats and playing history. You played in college, but your stature and your above average statistics alone don’t convince Tim. Not because you’re a woman, but because he’s seen better odds. He’ll never say that you don’t deserve a spot on the team, but he won’t believe that you can make a difference to the team until he sees it. If you can prove it at all.

“They’re talking about you again,” your friend says.

You look up from your playbook diagram and smile. The men on SportsCenter have been talking about you every chance they get. It’s not just them, though, everyone with a pulse and an ounce of interest in football has an opinion of you.

“Still arguing about if I’ll get my collarbone snapped in the first game?” you guess. “Or have they moved on to female hormones?”

“Most of them are defending you. Your stats are all they seem to care about,” your friend explains. “Maybe you will have a fan base bigger than me and my cats.”

“But you’re all I need.”

“That and a Rams paycheck.”

You laugh and return your attention to the book before you. You’re entering a new world with a lot to prove, so you’re going to be ready for anything.

“Hey, we should go to dinner tomorrow night. We haven’t had time to celebrate with all of the interviews and everything.”

“That sounds great. Just don’t pick a sports bar.”

Tim looks away from the football game to check his watch. He’s got half an hour until Angela, Wesley, Lucy, Nolan, Nyla, James, Wade, and Luna are supposed to be here for dinner. Although Tim doesn’t remember whose decision it was to meet for an “end of the hardest week this year” dinner, he agreed to come. When he arrived nearly an hour early because he had nothing better to do, he found a seat at the bar and got invested in a game.

The restaurant isn’t busy, but the bar is nearly at capacity. It seems that everyone who wasn’t arrested this past week is now here, watching football and listening to updates on you. Every chance the announcers and reporters get, they bring you up. Tim refuses to change his opinion until he sees you in action. Your highlight reel has become an hourly regular on ESPN, but you’ll have to get through training and into next season before any of it will truly matter.

“What do you think about it?” the bartender asks as he wipes the spot beside Tim.

“I think we won’t know until we see her play,” Tim answers. “If we see her play.”

“My boss is convinced she’ll lead them to the Super Bowl, but I don’t think it’ll be that straightforward.”

“It never is,” Tim agrees.

“I also think it’s a little strange they don’t show her face. She was at the draft, but everything since then has been her in her uniform or at least her helmet.”

Someone yells for the bartender, and he nods at Tim before he walks away. It is strange, but Tim assumes that they’re trying to maintain the public image of you as a football player, and not just a woman.

As you enter the restaurant, you receive a text from your friend. Running late, so don’t have fun until I get there. You shake your head at the short message and ask the hostess for a seat at the bar while you wait. She points you toward the entrance, and you focus on finding a seat and avoiding any unnecessary spills as you navigate the crowded area.

“Excuse me?” you ask a man seated at the bar. “Can I sit here for just a few minutes?”

He turns toward you and nods, and your responding smile isn’t only gratitude. The man is incredibly attractive, you realize. As you sit on the stool beside him, you notice his attention is on the television screens over the bar. Several of them are broadcasting college football games, yet you see your name appear in the closed captions.

“Which game looks the best?” you ask him.

“Penn State and Missouri game isn’t bad,” he answers.

“Missouri’s better, I assume.”

“Aren’t they always?” he asks lightly.

Penn State’s coach calls a time out and you ask the bartender for a glass of water as the screen changes to the commentators. One of them mentions a play you made in college, and you roll your eyes. You don’t mind the attention, but they’re taking what should be about the players playing now and making it about you. The man beside you scoffs, and your smile grows.

“It never ends,” he mumbles under his breath, and he spins his bottle in one hand.

“Tired of hearing about her?” you ask.

“I mean, I don’t want to sound like every other man in this city, but, yeah, a little.”

“I get that. Skepticism isn’t a bad thing; you can have an opinion.”

“I’m just not sure I can have an opinion until she starts playing. Yeah, her college history was good, but she’s not in college anymore.”

“Right,” you agree.

“There’s a reason there hasn’t been a woman in a sport that intense. Injuries would be detrimental to her and the team,” he points out. “Not to mention the fact that we’ve only seen the good, every time someone tries to mention something she can’t do well, they get cut off with don’t judge her because she’s a woman.”

“Not that I don’t agree with the injury thing, but, I mean, women have been playing rugby for years and it’s just as intense.”

“Yeah, but that’s with other women. Seems like there’s just too much at stake for one girl to make history in the NFL. She hasn’t even proved anything yet other than the fact that women can be drafted.”

“And you don’t think she can prove more?” you ask. “Skeptical that she makes it through the next part?”

He lifts his glass and shrugs, which you take as a firm yes.

“I played football in high school,” he adds. “And I feel like I can see talent when it’s there. She has talent, I’m not arguing that, but I don’t see NFL-worthy talent yet.”

Someone says your name, and you turn. It’s a college-aged girl, and she smiles shyly as she asks for a picture. You immediately agree and slide out of your seat to hug her and take the picture.

As you pose with her, you notice that the man beside you is staring at his bottle with his lips pressed together. Maybe you should have introduced yourself the moment your name came up, but you wanted to hear the truth. And the fact that he didn’t just say no, she can’t do it gave you a boost of hope that you can. Skepticism is better than complete doubt.

“Sorry,” you tell him as you return to the stool beside him.

“No, I’m sorry,” he replies quickly. “I probably should have recognized you, but what I said- I mean, you’ve got talent, and I shouldn’t have said that you didn’t. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you interrupt with a laugh. “I needed someone to be honest to my face for once.”

“You’re getting plenty of direct negative opinions,” he points out. “And I’m sorry.”

“Now you’re apologizing for every other football fan. Seriously, it’s no problem, no hard feelings.”

“But I-“

“You’re a cop, right?” you interrupt, gesturing to the badge on his hip. He nods, and you answer, “Truth and justice is your thing. You made some good points, too. I’ll use ‘em in my training to prove all the other skeptics wrong.”

“Which I believe you can! Seriously, though, can I buy you a drink or something? Anything to make it up to you?”

“Make what up?” you question, smiling as you lay your hand over his forearm. “I forgive you if that’s what you need to hear, but you didn’t do anything worth apologizing for.”

You move your hand to offer a handshake and properly introduce yourself. He inhales deeply before he shakes your hand.

“I’m Tim Bradford,” he says.

“And you’re a cop, I play football,” you finish. “Now that we know each other, can I ask what you’re doing here alone?”

“Guy like me in a place like this?” he jokes. “I’m waiting to meet some friends from work.”

You nod and say, “I’m meeting a friend, too. A little celebration of sorts.”

“Can I ask a personal question?”

“Sure,” you agree.

“What made you get into football? Why it over any other sport?”

“Bear Bryant,” you answer seriously.

“Really?” Tim questions with his eyes narrowed.

“You’ll have to watch my ESPN special to find out. That or we could do this again another time, without the accidental meeting.”

“People are going to think you’re in this sport just to meet men,” Tim replies.

“Who says I’m not?” you tease. “But, seriously, you’re great, and I bet you could tell me how to win a Super Bowl.”

“You’re the football pro,” he points out. “I’m just a cop.”

You nod and look away, disappointed by his implied rejection. Suddenly, though, you remember what your agent told you.

“Well, if you don’t want to go on a date… I do need a bodyguard on my security team.”

Tim’s eyebrows raise as he turns in his seat to face you. “Are you serious?”

“I am.”

You look away when your friend calls your name, and you wave at her before you stand. Stalling at Tim’s side, you add, “Think about it. I’d love to flirt with a bodyguard.”

“I will,” Tim promises softly.

“Come find me if you decide tonight.”

You smile at Tim and grip his arm kindly in place of a farewell. Tim Bradford believes in you and is considering your offered position of bodyguard, so you know you can get a Super Bowl ring this year. No matter how skeptical everyone else is.

[devils-minion-cult]

The other day I talked with my younger sibling (she is 23) about amc's "Interview with the Vampire" and the future of the show’s characters. Although we both enjoy the relationship/ the interaction between Armand and Daniel, we disagree on their season 3 development.

I think/ hope we will see a devil’s minion type of relationship (or any kind of romantic relationship) between Daniel and Armand in the present. However my sister hopes, we will only see a romantic/ sexual interpretation of their relationship in form of flashbacks. She argues, that mainstream viewers don’t want to see sexual/ romantic acts, when one partner is well past 70. My answer was that I don’t think IwtV tries to cater to a “mainstream audience” in the first place and I hope they won’t support ageism by erasing a multilayered story line.

At the same time it is fair to feel uncomfortable watching romantic/ sexual acts between people, when there is a huge age gap involved. I know that is the reasoning behind my sisters argumentation. And although I don’t want my sister to feel uncomfortable while watching content we both enjoyed so far, in this specific case I can’t help but think, it would be a huge disservice to the fans and the story, if they choose to show Armand with young Daniel only.

What is your opinion about this.? Do you think the show shying away from portraying a romantic plot between Armand and older Daniel is a possibility we should prepare for?

I hope we get Eric Bogosian’s full frontal dick in close-up specifically to make your sister viscerally uncomfortable. I hope his pubes are so gray that she can’t look at anything gray for a year without Eric’s penis burning itself back into her memory. I hope she throws up every time she sees someone with gray hair and wrinkles. Most importantly, I hope your sister remembers that someday SHE will get old and only shape people will be grossed out by her experiencing love. 💕

[heliads]

Hi! Hi! I have been reading your Eric Coulter fics and I don't know if you're still into Divergent but i can i request a eric coulter x fem!reader where they go from rivals to lovers and literally everyone in Dauntless has bets on them to be together?

'rumors of rivals' - eric coulter

masterlist

Four’s got another pet project, but for once, it isn’t you.

It’s a habit of his, one he’d do best to kick. Although Four may like to keep his indifferent silence and pretend as if he were a shallow-hearted Dauntless through and through, he’s got a soft spot for the people he likes. He’s got a knack for finding similar souls and winning them over, even as he acts as if he couldn’t care less about any of you. He did this while you were an initiate, and now he’s repeating the process with one of his new trainees, a girl named Tris.

Since you don’t work the initiates, you haven’t yet had the pleasure of meeting Tris Prior, although you’ve heard Four talk about her often enough that you have a good gauge of her likes, dislikes, and every single conversation she’s had with your friend. For someone who claims that he couldn’t care less about anyone but himself, Four’s awfully attentive to Tris.

It makes you laugh, both when he’s around and not. Despite Four’s claims otherwise, it seems that even the toughest of Dauntless fall victim to their hearts every now and then. Despite Four’s claims otherwise, that’s one test you won’t be failing. Four may have fallen in love, but not you. Not a chance. The only decent one around here is Four, and he’s clearly besotted with Tris. No other men even come to mind.

Four and Tris catch up to you, and he begins the introductions. “Y/N, this is Tris, the initiate I’ve been talking about. Tris, this is Y/N. She’s a good friend of mine.”

Tris smiles at you. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. Four has said a lot of good things about you.”

You laugh. “It can’t be more than what he’s said about you, trust me. I think all of our conversations are now about you.”

Tris laughs too, evidently surprised at your camaraderie. “I’m sure he’ll argue with that, but I’m glad to hear it. I have to say, I knew what to expect from a Dauntless Leader, but you’re way nicer than I expected.”

You grin. “Oh, trust Four to talk up my reputation. We’re not all totally dramatic around here.”

Four rolls his eyes. “Yeah, right. As if you’re not locked in one of the worst rivalries Dauntless has ever seen.”

Tris widens her eyes, curious. “What are you talking about?”

You fold your arms across your chest. “Four doesn’t mean anything because he doesn’t know what he’s saying. There’s nothing there.”

Four scoffs. “Of course there’s something there. Tris, Y/N’s just denying it because she’s too embarrassed to admit that she’s totally obsessed with beating Eric at everything.”

Tris claps a hand to her mouth. “Wait, I know what you’re talking about. Everyone in the faction has been gossiping about Eric and one of the other Leaders. You don’t mean that–”

“Yes,” you admit reluctantly. “The rumors are about me. They’re just jokes, though. Nothing to take seriously.”

Four arches a brow doubtfully. “Of course they’re not.”

You swat him in the shoulder. “Anything more on the subject and I’ll push you off a roof, Four. Watch your tone.”

Instead of taking your threat seriously, Four just cracks a rare grin and keeps his triumphant silence. In all honesty, he’s not wrong about the gossip, and neither is Tris. You have been rivals with a certain Eric Coulter for most of the time you’ve been at Dauntless, if not all of it, and beating Eric at anything from a fight in the ring to glowing recommendations from the other Dauntless Leaders does indeed make your day like nothing else.

At this point, there’s nothing you can do to stop it. There’s no way you could ever like Eric, he makes it impossible to so much as smile around him. He’s insufferable, that’s all, and he always has been.

You remember that from the very first day you arrived. Eric had been through initiation a year before you, so of course he swaggered about the faction like he knew everything and you knew nothing at all. It didn’t matter that you mastered every challenge that initiation set before you, it didn’t matter that, at the end of your training, you came out with the highest rank. No matter what, Eric would always boast that he’d done it better when he was an initiate. And, since the two of you weren’t in the same year, there was no way of proving him right or wrong.

Once you graduated initiation, your ill-fated relationship only took a turn for the worse. Both of you were gunning for positions as Dauntless Leaders, and did everything in your power to claw to the top. It was a common assumption that only one Leadership position would be vacated, meaning that one of you would succeed and one of you would do the worst thing possible for a Dauntless:  you would fail.

Instead, both of you were appointed as new Leaders, and now you’re forced to spend even more time with him than before. Eric is more hands on, especially with his new position as an initiation leader, whereas you’re more devoted to strategy and all the ways to keep Dauntless as a faction running as smoothly as possible. The two of you clash whenever you so much as step into a room together.

Over time, this rivalry has drawn the attention of the entire faction. There’s hardly a soul in Dauntless that hasn’t witnessed the two of you going for each other’s throats at some point. Last you heard, some faction members were even going so far as to place bets as to when the two of you would get together, but that’s absurd. You and Eric hate each other. There’s simply no way you’d actually manage to get over your mutual loathing to fall in love.

“He’s an unpredictable asshole, I don’t know what else you want me to say,” you growl to Four.

Instead of being answered by your friend, however, a new voice joins you, one that makes you want to put your fist through a wall. “Are you talking about me again, L/N? I’m touched.”

Four and Tris exchange some interesting glances, which you definitely don’t appreciate. You turn to glower at none other than Eric, who’s somehow emerged out of the throngs of Dauntless milling about to appear right by your side. It’s as if he was summoned from your mere thoughts alone.

“So you heard me talking about an unpredictable asshole and immediately assumed it was you? That’s lovely, I didn’t know you had such great self-esteem.” You hiss.

Eric just grins. “You’re always so kind to me. Truly, it makes my day.”

You glance to your opposite side, hoping to deflect onto Four, but you notice that he and Tris have somehow disappeared into the crowds again, leaving you alone with Eric. You’ll have to chide him about abandoning you later, once you manage to shake Eric again.

Eric notices the changing subject of your attention and chuckles. “They left already? Can’t say I blame them.”

“Neither can I,” you fire back. “Having to spend time with you isn’t something I’d wish on my worst enemy.”

“See, that’s the difference between the two of us,” Eric intones, holding up a finger appreciatively as he speaks, “There’s no punishment I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. It’s because I’m capable of doing anything to eliminate those who would rise against me. It’s what makes me a better Dauntless. I’m not surprised that you lack the courage.”

You groan in annoyance. “It’s a saying, Coulter. Goodness, I see why you’re not an Erudite. Critical thinking is not your strong suit.”

Unfortunately, Eric doesn’t seem particularly affected by this insult. “I’ll leave the critical thinking to you, L/N. The glory of battle is mine as always.”

You arch a brow. “Remind me who kicked your ass the last time we met in the ring? I’m sure the glory of battle was totally on your side then, too.”

Eric’s voice turns razor-sharp. “How about a rematch, then? Tonight. That is, if you can’t manage to talk yourself out of facing me again.”

You stop walking, meeting Eric’s eyes dead on. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Scared?”

“Not a chance,” he fires back. “I’ll see you then.”

With that, he stalks off, leaving you fuming yet again. You could name a hundred encounters that have taken place exactly like this one. It’s strange, you’ve always prided yourself on your control of your temper, but something about Eric Coulter just drags out every bit of irritation and passion from your heart.

Glancing around, you see that more than a few people have turned to look at you and Eric as you passed by, and are now whispering to each other. “Shut up,” you mutter at no one in particular, but it doesn’t seem to do anything to stop the flurry of gossip.

Great, now you’ll have another rumor to add to the mix. As if you needed any more. Grimacing to yourself, you set off again. You’ll be looking to tonight’s fight with Eric, if not for a release of anger than anything else. It would feel good to beat him up again, you decide, and it’s about time his ego got knocked down a peg or two.

Eric is waiting for you in the empty gym when you let yourself in later that night. The two of you arrive at the same time whenever one of you challenges the other to a fight. It’s become a sort of tradition. You know exactly when and where to find each other because you’ve done it so often. It comes to you like breathing, like living. Instinctive, intuitive. You and Eric may not see eye to eye on most subjects, but in the ring, it’s like he’s your double.

You and Eric face each other warily on the ring. There’s no one else here, not after hours, so the entire gym is empty. Even the smallest of sounds are amplified by the solitude, each shuffle of your feet from side to side sending ripples of echoes up to the high ceiling before bouncing back down again, creating ghosts of your every movement. The lights are dim. The shadows lengthen Eric’s already numerous tattoos, making him look as if the darkness could swallow him up entirely if you were to turn away for even one moment.

You lunge first, mostly as a feint to get his attention. At your level of fighting experience, both of you know better than to truly attack first. Eric aims a blow at your midsection, but you duck just in time, dropping low to kick his legs out from under him. Briefly, Eric loses his balance, but manages to regain it in time to send a returning strike your way.

On and on, the fight progresses, the tide rolling from you to him back to you again in an endless circle. Eric manages to pin you first and huffs out a triumphant breath, but you get him the next round. You’ve spent enough nights like this that every move seems familiar. Although the precise victor of the fights may switch off from night to night, the actions themselves have been done so many times that it feels like muscle memory.

You’re sure it’ll be a night just like any other, but then something strange happens when Eric wins again. Both of you have ended up on the surface of the mat, and after briefly striving for the upper hand, Eric manages to make it there first, and he swings his weight over you, pinning you to the ground. His hands lock your wrist onto the mat like cuffs. You try to throw him off again, but it doesn’t work, and the two of you rest there, panting from the exertion, but worst of all, looking at each other.

You wait for Eric to move off of you and begin the cycle again, but strangely enough, he doesn’t. Instead, Eric looks, he looks at you like he’s never seen you before in his entire life. You feel as if you couldn’t move a muscle, and lie there perfectly still. One twitch of a limb, one wrong breath, and he might react, or worst of all, leave. You don’t know why, but you know for certain that shattering this moment would destroy you both.

Slowly, carefully, Eric releases his hold on your arms, but you don’t swing at him. The erratic rise and fall of his chest has slowed as easy breath returns to him, but when he had held you down moments ago, you could still feel his pulse thundering in his veins, tumultuous and irreverent like the clash of a thunderstorm.

“Y/N,” Eric whispers, low in his throat and urgent. You don’t know what to say. You’re not sure that there is anything to say, not without giving something away, a secret so terrible and all-consuming that to utter it aloud would use up all of you, leaving nothing behind but the ghost of a person who had once been you.

He’s waiting. For what, you don’t know. Or, you don’t want to know. Both of you are on a precipice, the edge tall and mighty, but unlike the roof back at the entrance to Dauntless initiation, you do not know that the fall won’t kill you. You could survive this jump, sure. But you could also break your bones in the leaping, and come out of this a ruined version of someone who had thought they knew everything about Eric Coulter, and then learned otherwise.

The indecision is too great, and so you do something utterly befitting someone of your station, and you run. Eric doesn’t move when you suddenly slip out from under him, nor does he stop you when you leave the gym. It isn’t a Dauntless move to flee from a fight, but then again, you transferred here from your home faction in the Choosing Ceremony, so the habits of the brave haven’t been instilled in you completely. You still, it seems, have a lot to learn.

The walk back to your apartment seems treacherous. There aren’t that many people out at this time of night, but you swear that of those who remain, every eye is on you. Haven’t you heard the rumors? Isn’t it true that these people have guessed what you are when it comes to Eric Coulter? If they see you, they will know.

You crawl into your bed and hope for sleep, but nothing comes. You stare at your ceiling in the dark, wondering what you’ve done. You’ve claimed to hate Eric for a very long time, but the way you felt in that ring, with him looking down at you– None of that was hate. You haven’t felt an absence of anger like that in such a long time that you’ve almost forgotten how to name that emotion entirely.

You get up the next morning, exhausted and confused, and complete your daily duties in somewhat of a haze. Every one of your moves feels mechanical. Eric is busy with the initiates, so your paths shouldn’t cross. When he finds you later that day, then it must mean that he sought you out intentionally. You’re not sure if that’s for better or worse.

You do your best to shake him, but he tracks you down eventually, pulling you into an empty room and shutting the door behind him. “Y/N,” he says urgently. “We should talk about last night.”

You don’t want to, not when the way he says your name reminds you of the way he’d whispered it last night, soft and careful, none of the things you have ever associated with Eric. It wasn’t as torturous as you expected, being alone with him without a fight to separate you. In fact, if you weren’t on guard, you would even admit that you liked it.

When you remain silent, Eric sighs, frustration beginning to tinge back into his breath again. “I know something happened. We can’t just pretend otherwise.”

You glance back up at him. “Can’t we?” You ask. “We can go back to fighting all the time. I’m sure it would come easily to both of us.”

You’ve become an expert at provoking him over the years, but now, in the face of all your attempts, Eric’s gaze remains neutral. “Is that what you want?”

Yes, you start to say, but for some reason the words dry up in your throat and the only thing that comes out is a terrible, awful exhale, “No.”

Eric hasn’t let go of your hand since he pulled you into this room. He seems to remember it now, his thumb rubbing light circles back and forth against your wrist. “Neither do I. Turns out, the only thing I like better than fighting you is when we aren’t fighting at all.”

You’ve never understood it when people say their heart skipped a beat, but you feel it now, the stuttering of desperate hope locked between your ribs. “So– you want–”

“You, Y/N,” Eric interrupts. “I want you. I always have.”

When he kisses you, it tastes like victory. Hot, brave, triumphant. A thousand nights undefeated in the ring couldn’t light you up with a fire half this bright. Sometimes, the rumors are true, and sometimes, the very man you thought was your greatest rival was instead your best love. Eric is all of these things, but most importantly, he is yours.

requested by @simoneashwinis, i hope you enjoy!

divergent tag list: @dindjarinneedsahug, @poisonmenegan, @ozzynka, @rogueanschel, @with-inked-solace, @gods-fools-heroes, @23victoria, @manyfandomsfanvergent, @imwaysthelastchoice, @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed, @crazyhearttragedy, @alexs-1967s-blog, @aoi-targaryen

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[lowkeyrobin]

yesss love, just saw that ur accepting requests heheheh 🥰🥰

Could I request a Minho x fem reader one, where the gladers are all chilling and having fun together by a lake in the deadheads (similar vibes to bonfire night) and some gladers decide to give her a “proper greenie welcome” by picking her up and throwing her in the lake. However, she can’t swim and tries to resist them but they don’t believe her so still throw her in. She almost drowns, crying for help and Minho jumps in and rescues her. Minho carries her out, and gets mad at them, almost picking a fight.

From here she sees Minho in a different light, could end in spice, if you’re willing, if not then it’s algds hehe 🙈

nah this is so cute lol ; also I do only write they/them / gn readers so I apologize 😭😭 but I'll try and not really specify gender at all to keep it really ambiguous ; i also dont write smut but i tried to make it a little like?? makeout? idk ; thank you for requesting, hope you enjoy! ; also I've seen at least one of ur other reqs to other creators and they're so 🙏🙏 trust me when I say writers love u

MINHO ; sweet memory

summary ; you find yourself looking at minho in a new light after almost drowning

warnings ; language, almost drowning, slightly heated kissing (?)

track ; wildflower and barley, hozier & allison russell

word count ; 1.7k

masterlist

You were the newest Greenie welcomed to the Glade. But, lucky for you, you remembered your name on your first night here. The amnesia was still getting you good here and there, but by the time the sun set on your second night, you were adapting well enough. A large group of you Gladers sit out on some logs in the Deadheads, the sun softly setting over the horizon of the maze walls as you sit around a little bonfire.

A small kind of lake structure sits beside the group, the soft sound of the streaming water filling your ears instead of all the other boys around you talking and chattering over drinks. You sit beside Minho, the Keeper of the Runners, sharing a drink with him. You took small sips here and there, just trying to fit in with the others under the blanket of trees and brush around you. Minho sits the glass jar back on the ground between his left leg and your right leg, talking to Fry a few feet away.

You're more focused on the water than anything else now as the boys talk loudly.

"What's the Greenie looking at?" Gally asks, an eyebrow raised as he talks in almost a mumble, looking between a few other Gladers.

Newt, sitting beside Fry, shrugs. Ben looks over at you, studying the dazed look in your eyes.

"Shank seems focused on the water," Ben speaks, giving a little shrug.

Gally's eyes light up as some invisible light bulb flicks on in his head. "Why don't we give them a proper Greenie welcome?"

"What're you suggesting, shuckface?" Jack sighs, sitting beside Gally.

A smirk tugs at the wannabe tough-guy's lips as he looks at you. You don't notice, as you're still zoned out, staring at the water.

"Let's throw them into the water for a minute"

Gally's plan had been set into motion behind mostly everyone's backs. Ben didn't say a word, considering he didn't actually think they'd be mean enough to throw the newest Greenie into that deep water. Newt and Fry hadn't heard as they'd been bickering about food, and the others, Winston, Minho, Eric, Adam, and Scott hadn't heard either.

Gally stands up, setting his special drink down. Jack, and Doug follow his actions, standing up and setting their definitely alcoholic beverages down. They sneak their way over to you, and stand over you, their shadows cast over you as well due to the fire.

You look up at them, shaking yourself out of your trance-like state.

"Can I help you?" You ask kindly, not wanting to start any drama.

Gally grabs you by the shoes, then Jack and Doug lift you up at your shoulders. They pull you toward the water, where you try and squirm out of their grip and fight back, but are unable to. The attention of the others is caught as they watch and laugh, thinking that your desperation to get away is to just not get wet and cold, unknowing that you couldn't swim.

Minho is the only one concerned, not knowing he was the only one to know that you couldn't swim. You'd brought it up when you first met him, explaining how you weren't much of a special soul, and that you couldn't swim or climb trees, or run that fast like some others could. It was a little dimwitted comment that clouded his vision in the moment.

"No, no, no, please! Please put me down!" For some reason, you didn't want to admit that you couldn't swim.

Doug hands over your other shoulder to Jack so he and Gally could rock and throw you into the water, standing off to the side. You continue to shout in protest as they begin rocking you side to side like they were reading a jump-in jump rope.

You look down at the water, fairly still, but clearly deep. You wouldn't be landing on rocks and busting your ass, you'd be drowning in five seconds if they didn't put you down.

Minho stands up, deciding to intervene as he sets his drink down. "Hey!"

"I can't swim! Put me down!-"

They toss you into the water, listening to your shriek of terror as the water splashes beneath your crashing weight. You reach your arms up as you'd fallen in on your rear, and kick your feet rapidly under you, unable to feel the bottom on your feet.

Being soaking wet was the least of your worries as you felt the water rush into your mouth, struggling to keep your head above the surface. You choke up the dirty, muddy water, trying to use any strength you had left in you to call for help and keep yourself floating.

Minho, now wide-eyed, quickly jumps in after you, realizing you truly couldn't swim. The water splashes under his weight like it did yours, and by the time he resurfaces, you'd fallen under the surface, water quickly filling up your lungs.

Newt quickly rushes forward, Frypan and Ben following him. Newt shoves Gally.

"What're you thinkin' klunkhead?! They said they couldn't swim, yet you throw them in that deep water!" He shouts, looking for an answer or at least some remorse.

Minho pulls you out of the water, the help of Fry and Ben leading you back up to land. You cough up a fair amount of water, completely dripping wet. Your clothes cling to your cold skin, weighing ten times their normal weight.

"What is wrong with you? Are you that shuckin' stupid?!"

Fry pulls Newt away from Gally before he potentially ends up in the slammer. Doug and Jack share unsympathetic looks, same as Gally. He uses the excuse that he didn't know until you shouted it at the last second, and it was just an innocent prank.

The second in command steps away from the three boys, rushing to your aid. Your legs hang over the little ledge, feet still emerged in the water. Minho is slapping your back, trying to help you cough all the water in your lungs and throat out.

Minho rubs your back softly as you finish coughing, your face pale, your eyes clearly showing the adrenaline rush and panic.

"You need the Med-Jacks, Greenie?" The blonde asks, one knee in the dirt while the other leg supports him.

You shake your head no, leaning forward as you pound at your chest and cough on command, wanting to make sure your airway was clear of any water or debris. Minho quickly stands up, stomping toward Gally to repeat the same things as Newt, the two essentially swapping roles.

"Are you stupid? Can't you leave anyone alone?!"

"It was a joke!"

"A joke that could've killed someone, Gally!"

You share a look with Newt.

"Thanks for like, helping me, by the way" You softly speak to Minho.

The group is now departing the Deadheads, seeing as the moon indicates that it's about one in the morning by now. The fire is slowly dying out, crackling as dead leaves crush under your feet while you walk away. You and the runner lag behind a bit, wanting to stay far away from Gally and his friends. Newt leads their way, making sure you're all accounted for. Gally, Doug, and Jack would only have to hope that the blonde wouldn't tell on them to Alby in the morning.

Minho nods in response to your thanks. "Yeah, of course. I mean, I know you can't swim, and it just." He holds his hands up to his head, mimicking an explosion as he opens them. "Sorry about them, really. I think they were just trying to innocently mess with you cause they didn't know, but they should've at least asked. They know that water is deep"

You nod, your hands stuffed in your pockets. You're still damp, but not as cold and not as wet, thanks to the fire. Luckily for all of you, Zart and Jeff didn't have to wake up at that hour to tend to you. They would've killed you all for that.

"Thanks for being nice to me and stuff, I appreciate it," you comment, feeling like you aren't remorseful or thankful enough as he'd probably saved your life.

"It's cool, Y/n." He lightly smiles, making sure you're able to see it.

The fact he called you by your actual name and not Greenie made butterflies rise in your stomach. You didn't even know why, just the thought of fitting in, with him, was infatuating. Your name on his tongue sounded like the most beautiful song you'd ever heard, like your brain was going to melt if you heard it again.

You both stop in your tracks, putting space between you two and the rest of the group, now at the edge of the Deadheads. You share soft smiles, exploring each other's eyes for some sort of look, which you mutually shared.

You lean against the tree behind you, trying to read his expression as he does the same. He's inches away, like he's taunting you.

"I think you owe me, actually," He smiles. Christ, he's really gonna dangle that over your head.

"How do you want me to repay you?" You ask with a soft chuckle. "Not much I can do"

He shrugs, leaning in a little closer. When he speaks, it's just above a whisper, sending a shiver up your spine. "I know that you know how use those lips of yours"

You quickly place your hands on his cheeks, closing the distance between your lips. His hands dig into your waist, pinning you against the tree. Your left hand transfers from his cheek and into his hair, tangling your fingers in it. You feel him melt into your lips, unable to not pull you any closer.

You can feel the bruises he's creating against your lips, the way he's draining your lungs of air for the second time tonight.

He pulls away, needing to control himself. "Thanks, Y/n." He smiles before jogging away, wanting to catch up before Newt discovered their lack of presence.

You watch as he jogs away, then walk behind him as he's a few yards away, a goofy smile on your face.

"Thanks, Minho," you whisper under your breath.

[inbloomwriting]

Everything to me - Chapter 2

Chapter two - Blueberry & Kidney Bean

Chapter 1

Plot: Jamie Tartt is a lot of things: professional footballer, the island's top scorer .... sexually, extremly handsome. But one thing he never saw himself as was a dad. Too bad he has to deal with the consequences of his own actions. This fic follows reader and Jamie as they navigate life and turn from practially strangers to parents. Pairing: Jaime Tartt x female reader Warnings: Pregnancy, swearing, mentions of food and alcohol, slight mention of sexual intimacy (nothing graphic), strained/toxic parental relationship Notes: 5.6k words. I do not have a set uploading schedule. Please bear with me as I work on this story. I know hardly anything about pregnancy, all my information comes from google. I tagged everyone who asked me to do it when I posted part 1. Please let me know if you want to be taken off or added to the taglist. Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please

The store smells like dust and cardboard and old carpet. It's not necessarily a bad smell, it just doesn't live up to her memories.

She remembers the perpetual scent of menthol cigarettes and some kind of cheap men's perfume wafting through the air. The store used to smell like her dad and now it doesn't. And that just makes it all even more real.

Boxes upon boxes litter the room, filled with records. Some older, some newer. Guitars adorn one wall while the others are covered in posters from tours that happened long ago, some even before she was born.

There is something comforting about being here. It’s like stepping back into the past. Long nights watching Dad and his friends play their guitars after store-closing. Discovering new bands whenever a new shipment of records came in. And yes - she is the first to admit that in her younger years, she mostly chose the records by how cool the cover looked. 

It’s also memories of Dad getting caught up in the after-hours jam sessions and forgetting about her dance recital and that one time he threw a guitar at the window out of anger that a shipment of records got lost. It took him months to get the window replaced. She could probably still trace exactly where the crack used to be. 

Being here is very reminiscent in all the good and bad ways. But it’s a warped version of the past. One that’s laced with all the knowledge she has now. Like a movie that you’ve seen a million times.

“I don’t think pregnant women are supposed to be doing that!” 

Jamie’s voice cuts through the nostalgia-induced fog like a sunbeam through the clouds. And it also gives her a little heart attack as the only sound filling the room up until now had been her moving around and the soft tunes of an Eric Clapton record playing in the background.

“Jesus fuck! You scared me. I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to startle pregnant women either and give them heart attacks.” 

He looks at her with those big expressive eyes of his and a comically overdone pout on his lips. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. But seriously give me that.” 

He’s so quick to take the box of records from her hands (Y/N) hardly has time to process what’s going on. 

Quite honestly, his worry is a bit misplaced here but she appreciates the sentiment even if he might be a little overly cautious at that moment. It feels nice to be cared for. 

“You know I’m pregnant, not sick, right? I can carry stuff.” 

“Yeah but why would you if you got me carrying it for you?” 

He has a point, she has to give him that. 

“Fair enough. Those go over there in the corner please.” 

Jamie follows her order without hesitation and, after setting the box down in its designated place, his eyes dart across the room and light up with childlike wonder and curiosity.

“This used to be your dad’s place, yeah? It looks really neat with all them posters and shit. Like stepping into an old person’s mind but like a cool old person that buys you alcohol when you’re 15 and lets you watch horror movies when your mum said no.” 

Of all the adjectives in the world, (Y/N) wouldn’t ever think of using the word “cool” to describe her dad. He was creative and fun and eccentric and stubborn — but cool? 

Then again he was her dad and no one ever likes to think of their own parents as cool. Oh god, will their kid think she’s uncool?! 

“Uh yeah, the shop and the apartment right above us. He owned it, now I do. I’m trying to get it all fixed up and ready to be sold.”

“What? Why?” 

There is something to be said about Jamie’s face and his absolute inability to mask his emotions. Everything he thinks and feels is mirrored twice as vividly on his face. He’s all furrowed brows and pouty lips. 

“I mean — it’s a record store. People don’t really buy records anymore. Be honest, when was the last time you bought one instead of just streaming the music?” 

“Like two weeks ago.” 

“Fuck off, no you didn’t!” 

“Uh — yeah, I did. Olivia Rodrigo if you must know.” 

A soft giggle falls from (Y/N)’s lips. How fitting for Jamie to buy an album full of teenage angst. 

“Well, you’re one of very few people though. In a perfect world, I wouldn’t have to sell. I’d keep it open. Instead of selling instruments, it’d turn that part of the shop into a little stage with a coffee counter or a bar. Host open mic nights and shine a spotlight on undiscovered artists. But the world isn’t perfect and there is no way I can afford to turn that vision into reality so really there’s no use in letting myself get too caught up in it.” 

There is pity in his eyes and she hates it. She doesn’t want pity, not his or anyone else’s. Has seen enough of it, especially lately. If she had received just one more “Sorry for your loss” card in the mail from relatives she hadn’t seen in decades, she probably would’ve stabbed a fork in her own eye. Pity does no good to no one. 

“Anyway, Jamie. Not that I don’t enjoy hanging out with you, it’s kind of necessary if we want to get this whole beings-friends-thing right, but uh — what are you doing here?” 

“Jesus, can’t a guy just come around to say hi to his baby? “ 

She thinks the way he says the word “Baby” in his thick accent is surprisingly and undeniably adorable. As if it ends in an “eh” instead of a “y”.

“By the way, they’re as big as a blueberry now.” 

And the way he’s keeping track of the baby's growth gets her right in the heart. For some reason, this seems to come so naturally to him when it all still feels weird and foreign and surreal to her. As if it were happening to someone else and she’s just a mere spectator. The idea that something as small as a blueberry will one day turn into a proper baby, a child, a teenager … a whole ass adult - is so wild to her. Almost incomprehensible. A person with their own feelings and dreams and personality. (Y/N) wonders if at any point in this pregnancy, she'll wake up and it'll all just make sense or if that only comes once she's holding the baby in her arms.

“That's cute. Doesn't answer my question though. What brings you here?”

A shadow of something flickers across Jamie’s face. Something unreadable and unfamiliar. Something that makes (Y/N) feel a sense of dread bubbling up in her stomach.

“I uh — I can’t do this.”

And there it is. That unfamiliar shadow is now a metaphorical atom bomb, a mushroom cloud of all that could have been and won’t be.

“Oh okay. I mean no, not okay. This sucks actually. You said you wanted to be part of the baby’s life and now you’re bailing? That’s a shit move, Jamie. You’re a right prick for pulling that crap.” 

“What? Oh no!” his eyes widen as the realization sets in. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Well then what did you mean? Cause you’re truly giving me a heart attack right now. Second one for today. You really need to start working on your conversation starters.” 

She had given him the chance to opt out of being a dad, to not be a part of the baby’s life. It seemed like the right thing to do and, foolishly, (Y/N) had believed that she’d be okay with him doing just that. In this very moment though, she feels everything but okay. The idea of Jamie changing his mind is terrifying. 

Sometimes you don’t realize just how much you need something — or someone until you’re faced with the possibility of losing them.

“I mean, I can’t do this alone. I need to tell someone. All I keep thinking about is the baby and I feel like I am going to explode any second now. I know we can’t tell everyone yet ‘cause of — well you know, things going wrong and stuff. But I need to tell someone. You got to tell Rebecca and your mum, I think it’s only fair I get to tell two people as well, yeah?”

A sense of relief floods her. Starts in her toes and fills her all the way to the top of her head. He wants this — wants the baby. It’s not just her in this. It’s nice to know you have someone in your corner. It’s also scary. Because he deserves to know just whose team he’s on. And being vulnerable fucking sucks. 

“Jamie, that’s fine. Absolutely you can tell your mum.” 

“And Simon? You got two people so — “

“I didn’t though.” 

“Uh yes, you did. I know you told Rebecca.” 

“That’s right.”

“And your mum too”.

The silence that follows his words is deafening. Being vulnerable means also admitting guilt. It means owning up to all of your mistakes. Though we are not the sum of our mistakes, they are what help shape the person we become. And (Y/N) really doesn’t think they make her a very good one.

“And your mum too?” 

More silence.

“You didn’t tell your mum? Why not? “

To his credit, Jamie looks truly surprised and confused. There is no judgment there, just absolute bewilderment and that signature softness that rounds out his features and settles in his eyes whenever Jamie talks to her about something serious. Granted they’ve not had that many conversations but she hopes that softness stays. She hopes that maybe their baby can have those soft, gentle eyes too.

“I’m not sure. I think I’m scared. My mum and I have a — complicated relationship. I disappoint her, she judges me. You know, the usual.” 

“You think she’ll be disappointed because we're having a baby? Is it because of me?”

(Y/N) shrugs, breaking eye contact and fixing her gaze on the old grey carpet with the ugly 90s pattern. What if those soft eyes can look straight through her, see all the ugly parts and the insecurities? That’s too scary for now. Too much too soon.

“No, it has nothing to do with you. Think she’ll just be disappointed I didn’t get pregnant according to the timeline she dreamed up for my life when I was like 2 years old. Had it all planned out for me and I never stuck to it.” 

Jamie is quiet for a moment but (Y/N) doesn’t dare to look back up at him. She can’t deal with any more pity.

“Well if you want to practice telling a mum, we can start with mine.”

“Huh?” 

“You can come to Manchester with me if you want. To tell my mum. We’ll have one mum down then, makes it easier to do it a second time. It’s science.” 

Jamie has the fascinating quality of making you believe in his words just by being so undeniably charming and because he believes in them himself. He makes it look easy when it is everything but.

“And if things don’t go well with your mum at least you’ll know you have at least one mum you can rely on, even if it’s not your own. She raised me pretty much by herself so she knows a thing or two about babies and parenting and stuff.” 

The mocking raise of (Y/N)’s right eyebrow doesn’t go unnoticed by Jamie who opens his lips to a silent gasp and clutches his chest with an overly dramatic gesture. 

“What? You saying I didn’t turn out perfectly?”

“No,” she laughs, a lightness festering in her chest. Like the first rays of sunshine after a cold winter that never seemed to end. Like a glass of wine after a long day at work. Like your favorite song on the radio at the exact moment you need it most. “I think you turned out exactly the way you were supposed to.” 

“Thanks,” Jamie says with that cheeky smile playing on his lips that makes him look a little younger than he actually is. Then he dares to wink at her and it’s a little annoying but also insanely charming. “Not sure you meant it as a compliment but I am taking it. Now when are you free for a trip up to Manchester?” 

(Y/N)’s been on a lot of road trips around the country when she was younger. She’s even spent a whole summer traveling Europe, partially by train but most of the time was spent stuffed in a Fiat Punto with 3 of her friends and all their luggage. It was stuffy, it was chaotic and it was immensely fun. None of those road trips ever involved a shiny black Aston Martin Rapide though. 

Or a famous footballer dressed in the ugliest lime green sweater (Y/N) has ever seen. 

“That’s all the luggage you got?” Jamie questions as he moves the black shades off of his eyes and sets them on the top of his head, holding back some of his hair. It shouldn’t work so well but it does. 

“I mean, we’re only staying for a night right? Why? Should I have brought more? How much did you pack?” 

He glances at her, then towards the car, and back at her. A sheepish look crosses his face before being replaced by his childlike cheekiness. “That’s confidential. Don’t worry about it, yeah?” 

“I got my ginger lollies, that’s all that matters really.” 

“You feeling alright?” 

“Mh, I’m good. Just pregnant.” 

His eyes drop down to her stomach for just a second before he nods his head in what (Y/N) can only describe as a mix of pride and satisfaction. “Yeah, you are.” 

That’s new. Well not new-new but it hasn’t happened since the day of the funeral. That tingly feeling in her stomach that has fuck all to do with the baby and everything with how the baby got there. Yes, Jamie is hot and (Y/N) is the first to admit as much but there has been so much stress and chaos and she hardly had time to think about anything but surviving and making sure not to completely lose herself in bad visions of what-ifs that her brain has had no time to process any feelings of arousal or lust. That look he just gave her though, that one made her remember it for just a second.

“You sure you’re alright?” 

Jamie’s voice shakes her from her daydream and brings her back to the real world, her eyes focusing back on the obscene car parked in front of her tiny apartment building looking so insanely out of place.

“Uh yes, I’m fine. I just — sometimes I forget that you’re famous.” 

Jamie regards her for a moment before shrugging his shoulder and grabbing the bag from her hands. “I don’t. It’s fun. Now come on, let’s goooooo.” 

His voice is dipped in excitement and there’s a bounce in his step. If this is how the prospect of seeing his mother makes him feel and behave, she must be one lovely woman. Whenever (Y/N) thinks of her own mother her chest fills with tiny metaphorical icicles. Sharp and rough and painful. It’s all regret and judgment and disapproval. It’s “You gained weight”, “you look tired”, and “You should really look into getting a new job”. Daggers disguised as roses. Stabs right to the heart in the name of being honest. “I just care about you, because I love you, because I am your mother!” 

If there is one thing (Y/N) knows for sure, it’s that she will never ever find the need to resort to criticism and thinly veiled malice in order to show her child that she cares. They will know. Every single day. Because she’ll make sure to show them. Every single day in all the big and tiny ways a person can show their love. 

“Kidney Bean?”

“Kidney Bean. And apparently, the baby is sprouting webbed fingers and toes right now. Oh, and it’s starting to move!” 

“Can you feel that?” 

“No, not yet.” 

“It’s mental. Last week she was the size of a blueberry and now she’s a kidney bean. Kid’s growing up too fast.” 

It’s true. There is so much happening all at once and it’s almost impossible to really process it all. Suddenly there is a tiny spark of a human inside her. Not really a baby yet but a baby to her. And it's moving and developing and changing every second of every day. Fucking insane.

“Wait … you said she. You think it’s a girl?”

Maybe it’s the sunlight casting a glow through the windshield but (Y/N) is almost certain she can just about make out a blush dusting Jamie’s cheeks. 

“Dunno.”

“Jamie Tartt, do you want to be a girl dad?” 

He glances at (Y/N) through the corner of his eyes for just a moment but it’s enough for her to see the sincerity in him. This is something he’s thought about before. Learning new things about Jamie is fascinating.

“Ah,  it’s stupid, really. It’s — It’s dumb or whatever.” 

“No, come on, don't go shy on me now. Tell me.” 

He takes a deep breath. A moment passes then another. There is no rush. Sometimes silly thoughts are the result of harsh truths. 

“Told you my dad was a prick. Like the biggest piece of shit walking this earth, yeah? And I knew that all my life. Thing is I still tried to impress him. I just — I wanted him to like me so badly. Just felt wrong that me own dad didn’t care about me and that made me angry. And I kept that anger inside me for so long. Sometimes when I think about the baby and the future I am scared that if I have a son that anger will jump over to him. Like maybe all Tartt men are cursed or some shit like that. But if I had a little girl maybe that would make it easier for me to be a good dad. I don’t mind either way, obviously, but the idea of having a son scares me.” 

It’s the most vulnerable he’s been with her so far and by the way he clenches his jaw and grabs onto the steering wheel just a little tighter, (Y/N) can tell this isn’t easy on him. It means a lot that he shares this part of him with her anyway. It feels like they are actually becoming friends. So opening up to him in return is only half as horrifying. 

“When I was a kid, maybe 11 or 12, I wrote a short story for school and I won an award. They did this big ceremony thing where the 3 finalists got to read their stories out loud for an audience and then receive their prizes. My mum didn’t show up, not sure if it was because she stayed longer at the office and didn’t care enough to leave on time or if she just didn’t feel like getting out of the house. Point is, she wasn’t there. When I came home that night I was sad, obviously, and I was also pissed. Because why the fuck couldn’t she take one night off to come see me succeed at something even if it wasn’t something she deemed worthy of praise. 

So I yelled at her and I’m sure I said some hurtful things. But I was so devastated and angry and I needed an outlet for once. She called me ungrateful but I was used to that, she always called me ungrateful. Then she looked at me with that look of absolute resignation and malice and she said that she hopes I have a daughter like me one day and that she makes me realize how hard it is to love me. 

When I think of the baby, sometimes I see a little girl too. One that I will love so much she never has to doubt it for a single second. And I will also prove my mother wrong. Because it will be so easy to love my little girl and it would’ve been so easy to love me, her little girl.” 

It’s the first time she’s ever said those words out loud. Truly, (Y/N) had not expected for them to come out in an Aston Martin, on the way to meet her baby’s father’s mother but life doesn’t seem to care for plans very much these days.

Softly, as if to not startle her, Jamie places his hand on hers, squeezing gently.

“I think your mum is a right bitch.” 

“Thanks. I think your dad is a huge asshole.” 

“We’re gonna be better than them, right?” 

It’s not really a question. It’s more of a promise.

“We will. I know it.”

His hand doesn’t leave hers for a good long while. 

The nerves don’t hit her until they pull up to the quaint little house with the white front. There’s a rose bush to the side and some kids playing football just across the way. The nerves don’t hit her until Jamie puts the car in park but when they do, they hit her like a freight train.

“Woah, you alright?” 

“Huh?” 

“You look all pale and like you’ve seen a ghost or something. Do you have to puke?”

A chuckle falls from her lips at the absurdity of it all. In all honesty, she’s not met a lot of parents yet but the few she did meet were parents of actual partners. People she had been dating for a while. It was a natural progression of steps. This is all wrong and sideways and topsy-turvy. You’re supposed to meet the mum first and then get pregnant. 

Again with the life and the plans. 

“I’m fucking nervous.” 

“Hah,” Jamie laughs. The audacity of this guy. “You’re nervous to meet my mum? Why? She’s an angel.”

“Do you not know how intimidating that is? Like, if she was shit I wouldn’t care but she sounds wonderful and I want her to like me. No, I need her to like me. Desperately. And I can only imagine what she thinks of me already. Some floozy who gets knocked up and really just wants your money.” 

Before she even fully realizes what’s happening, (Y/N) feels Jamie’s hands on her cheeks, framing her face in warmth.

“Calm down, please. I promise it’ll be alright. My mum will love you, I know it. Probably more than she loves me. Actually no that’s a lie, but she will love you and she will love our baby. Promise.”

“She’s not gonna judge me for — you know. Getting pregnant even though we’re not dating or anything.” 

“My mum was married to my dad, worst person on planet Earth. Don’t think she’s in any position to judge you. It’ll be alright, trust me.” 

She hardly knows this man and yet she can’t help but do just that. Trust him.

The first thing (Y/N) notices about Georgie is her smile. A smile that is so familiar because it looks exactly like Jamie’s smile. Warm and radiant and true. A part of (Y/N) hopes that their baby inherits that same smile. Partially because it’s a really good smile and partially because maybe that could help Jamie realize that he is more than the sum of his father’s problems and mistakes. He is all his mother’s boy.

“Oh, I missed you, my baby.” 

Georgie wraps her arms around Jamie’s middle, getting swallowed by his frame for a moment. There’s no denying that part of (Y/N)’s heart breaks a little seeing how loving of a relationship these two have and wondering where she and her own mother went wrong.

And as it so happens with so many kids that have never been loved quite the way they deserved, (Y/N) can’t help but search for the problem in herself. 

“Yeah sorry for not visiting earlier. You know how it is with training and stuff.” 

“Don’t worry about it. I know my boy is busy being a star.” 

The words hold a slight mocking, never mean but in the way that only people who are close can tease each other. You know every word comes laced with deep affection, with pride, with love.

“And it’s so nice to meet you too. I’m Georgie.” 

It takes a second for (Y/N) to realize that Jamie’s mum is now talking to her directly.

“I uh — oh thank you. Nice to meet you too, I’m (Y/N).” 

Georgie smells like mint chewing gum and floral perfume as she pulls (Y/N) into a hug. She’s soft and gentle and it’s been the first hug from a mother (Y/N) has received in quite some time.

“Sorry, didn’t even ask if you’re a hugger.”

“Oh that’s alright, don’t worry about it.” 

She’s not a hugger, never really was, but there is something about Georgie granting her some affection that isn’t all that bad. Maybe their kid can have at least one grandmother who cares and who isn’t completely disgusted by the idea of showing any kind of positive emotions.

“Jamie never brings girlfriends around so I’m a bit out of my element here if I’m being honest.” 

“Mum we’re not — she’s not.” Jamie takes a big breath before starting again “(Y/N) and I are friends, yeah? Told you about it on the phone.” 

“Right, right. Well, you don’t bring around a lot of friends either so same difference, really. Now come inside will you, I’m sure we got a lot to catch up on.”

Oh if only she knew how true that sentiment really is.

There are pictures of Jamie staring back at (Y/N) from every corner of the house and Georgie leads them through the hallway and towards the kitchen. Every wall and every shelf holds a memory of him at one point in his life. Gap toothed with a football in hand smiling, surrounded by a field of tulips arm wrapped around his mother’s shoulder, his teenage self smoldering at the camera with an even more questionable haircut than the one he is sporting right now. Oh to be loved in a way that every past version of you is being remembered.

As they reach the kitchen a sweet scent fills the room when a man clad in an apron turns around and faces them with a huge smile playing on his face. He has a dorky kind of charm to him that immediately puts you at ease. Maybe it’s just the frilly apron, maybe it’s the big oven gloves, maybe it’s the smile. Either way, (Y/N) thinks that if they take the news well, her kid might have truly lucked out on one side of the grandparents department. 

“Jamie, welcome home.” 

“Hi Simon, thanks, mate. Glad to be back. This is (Y/N).” 

“The friend, right.” Simon says and shoots Georgie a look that neither of them misses. Subtlety doesn’t seem to be one of his best qualities. “It’s nice to meet you, (Y/N).”

“Nice to meet you too. It smells amazing in here.” 

“I found this new recipe for honey blondies. Not sure if they'll be any good but I guess we'll find out. If you guys want to go have a seat, I'll come bring them over.”

“Actually,” Jamie speaks up while nervously fiddling with his hands. “I was hoping we could have a talk before we do anything else. There’s something I need to tell you both.” 

Imagining the hypothetical scenario of telling your mum you’re having a baby and actually doing it really are two completely different things it seems. Gone is all of Jamie’s confidence and replaced with a whole lot of anxiety. 

“You're worrying me, Jamie. What has you acting so serious? Did you get someone pregnant or something?”

Georgie's words are followed by a thick awkward silence. It's heavy and suffocating and it makes (Y/N) feel uneasy in both her heart and her head.

It doesn't take long for Jamie’s parents to realize what his silence means. Everything communicated by not saying a single word.

“Oh, fuck.”

And there's nothing to add to Georgie's reaction. It's the exact same one (Y/N) had when she first saw those faint blue lines.

Of all the possible outcomes and ways this day could’ve gone, (Y/N) had not expected to find herself staring at not only a curly-haired Roy Kent but also come face to face with two very persuasive arguments belonging to no other than Keeley fucking Jones. 

“This is surreal.” 

The posters stare back at her all crinkled paper and bleached ink, as if to mock her silently. 

“Ah, well I told them to redecorate when I moved out, think they just haven’t gotten around to it yet.” 

A light dusting of pink settles on the apples of Jamie’s cheeks as well as the tips of his ears. This man can’t hide his emotions for the life of him. It’s quite adorable really. 

“Do they know?” 

“Does who know?” 

“Roy and Keeley. Do they know you have their pictures up in your room?”

“Well no and It’s not my room anymore, is it? ‘S not like I have ‘em hanging at home. Put these up ages ago.” 

A giggle slips through (Y/N)’s lips at his desperate attempt to talk himself out of this situation. 

“It’s okay, Jamie. I won’t tell.” 

“There’s nothing to tell, alright?” he responds in mock offense before sitting down on his childhood bed next to (Y/N). “Just liked boobs and football and those two were the best those fields had to offer, yeah? Can’t really blame me.” 

“Not much has changed has it?”

He shrugs his shoulders in response “Nah. Still like boobs and football but no way I’d put up a poster of granddad’s ugly mug nowadays.”

From the few times they talked about his job, including his teammates and coaches, (Y/N) was able to gather that Jamie’s relationship with Roy is something special. Odd, but special. Maybe that’s what happens when you end up working with your childhood idol. Either way, no matter how much shit he likes to talk about him, it’s clear that Jamie respects and admires Roy a great deal still.

“And uh — and Keeley?” 

“What about her?” 

“Is she — are you — how are things?” 

She still remembers that crestfallen look on his face on the day of the funeral. That infinite sadness in his eyes. She hadn’t put two and two together at that moment but later that night it all clicked. Keeley was the woman he was in love with, the woman who did not love him back. And while (Y/N) knows that she and Jamie are only bound together by happenstance and fate — if one chooses to believe in that, and that there is nothing romantic about their situation, it does sting a little to know that the man you’re having a baby with is in love with someone else.

“We’re good. We’re friends, think that’s all we’ll ever be. Her and Roy, they’re happy and I don’t want to ruin it for either of them. Keeley and I just were not right together.” 

“And you’re okay with that?” 

He nods his head, a small smile playing on his lips “Yeah, I’m alright with it. If I hadn’t made a fool of myself at the funeral then you and I wouldn’t have — you know, and then we wouldn’t be having a baby. Little Kidney Bean.” 

“That’s true. Your mum seemed excited.” 

“Hah, sorry about her. She can be intense.” 

Intense might be the understatement of the century. It took her approximately 2.3 seconds to get over the initial shock of the announcement and really process it before Georgie let out a scream of pure excitement and joy and wrapped both Jamie and (Y/N) up in her arms. She didn’t fully let go for a good 20 minutes. It was intense. It was also phenomenal.

“Don’t apologize. I am so glad she took it so well, Simon too. At least now I’ll have the certainty that my baby will have one set of loving grandparents at least.” 

“Hey,” Jamie says and nudges her shoulder with his “We’ll sort out telling your mum next, okay. I’m sure it’ll go better than you think. And if not we can always call up my mum for some more hugs and a pep talk. Whatever happens, you won’t have to do it alone. I promise.” 

For what is probably the first time in her life (Y/N) lets herself believe that there truly is someone else having her back, undisputedly and all the way. It’s unfamiliar. It’s a little scary. It’s also wonderful.

“Thanks, Jamie. I appreciate it, I really do. Think so far we’re doing alright, huh?” 

“I’d say so. Two sexy parents and a little Kidney Bean.” 

Their laughter echoes through Jamie’s childhood bedroom for quite a while longer until at some point it stills and gives room to soft breathing and quiet snores. The bed isn’t meant for two grown adults and really Jamie truly meant to sleep on the couch but somewhere between talks of baby clothes and childhood memories, eyes grew heavy and tired, and soon enough both of them are fast asleep.

Just them and their little Kidney Bean 

— and a curly-haired Roy Kent 

— and Keeley’s boobs.

taglist (@ me if you want to be taken off or added): @captainfrisbee - @scaramou - @mischiefmanaged71 - @rexorangecouny - @respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog - @tweasley20 - @dreamtrydoforkinggood - @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo - @heletsmelovehim - @snubug - @katdahlali - @oldglitterstory - @lalla-04p - @aiyaiy

[spidybaby]

Wenasss✨ Not me sneaking into your inbox🤭😅 to kindly ask for Bad Kind of Butterflies part II, please and thanks!🤣🫶🏼

Bad Kind of Butterlies | Part Two

Summary: Pedri regrets his actions and tries to get back to you.

Warnings: fighting, cursing. Physical fight. Part one

"Pedri, the ball. Keep your eyes on the fucking ball." Xavi yells. "God, what's going on with you today?"

Pedri can't even look at Xavi in the eyes, he has sis eyes glued to the floor. He can feel the looks of his teammates burning him.

"Miss that ball again, and you're benched." Xavi says, stern tone.

"I'm sorry, Mister."

He tries his best to focus on the ball, trying not to miss it or not miss the goal to the net, but he can't keep his mind on the field.

Gavi, playing with the other half of the team, stole the ball from him, making Oscar sound the little whistle.

He just observes the way Xavi is yelling. Tired and really not that interesting, he can't seem to understand a word that's coming out of his trainers mouth.

The training goes on for another half hour, and then they're all reunited in the salon to plan the next game.

The "Real Madrid vs Barcelona" typical classic.

He focuses all his attention on speech Xavi is giving the team. Turning his head to see Ferran typing something on his phone.

He makes the lining, Xavi kept his promise and bench him for the next game. Leaving the possibility of getting back if he improves in this next two trainings.

"Estas bien?" Ferran asks, taking him to the side for them to be alone.

"I'm not sure." He sincerely says. He can't keep secrets ti Ferran. "I just need to keep my head around what's important."

"And she's not?"

"The thought of her is making me be benched. I think I had enough of her for the rest of the week."

He turns to the dressing room, ready to collect his belongings and leave. No shower, no nothing.

But to his bad luck, Ferran is quicker and stops him by the arm. "You can't keep doing this. This is not healthy, Pedro."

"What am I supposed to do?" He angrily says, removing his arm from the hold of his friend. "She won't listen to me, she changed her number, she changed her apartment building. It's like she disappeared."

Ferran was holding the bitter "I told you" He had been keeping since after the party.

When a very angry Gavi told him about the words Eric said to his date and then to Pedro, he was pissed, he wanted to fight him. But, like a rational person, he calmed Gavi down and helped fixing the situation.

What he could help was the disaster Pedri did, yelling at you and fighting with gavi over the words of Eric. Words he warned him about.

"Just please call me if you need anything." He pats Pedri on the back and walks to the showers.

He nods, grabbing his stuff and walking back to his car. He wants to run away from everything and everyone.

Once he makes it to his car, his head feels like it's going to blow up. He'd dizzy and tired.

The way his heart is pounding like crazy and he feels like passing out scares him. This isn't news to him. He was having a panic attack.

He tries to breathe, counting things like you thought him. Five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste.

Once he's calmed enough to at least drive himself home, he calls Fer, asking him to be home "I need you, Fer." He says crying.

His brother was worried, his whole family was. He wasn't the sweet, happy and very enthusiastic boy they known. He was now this confused and sad looking boy.

Pedri can't even seem to move upstairs to his room, he can't help the tear falling down, he can't help the blame he feels.

His relationship with Pablo was broken, his relationship with Eric is almost non existent. All thanks to him.

He can't blame Eric for it, he was the one who did all the bad stuffs, hitting your friend, hurting you by not trusting you.

He remembered your words like if you were just telling them to him.

"You're not dumb. You're such a smart man. So I need you to use that intelligence to understand that if you keep doing this shit, you're losing me."

But did he lost you?

He wanted to heard you voice, wanted to hear about that interview you told him about the day of the wedding. He wanted to hear about your new workout routine.

But he can't, because everytime he calls you he hit voice-mail. Everytime he goes looking for you he remembers that a new person lives in that apartment. Everytime he tried to look up for your social media profiles you weren't there.

"And that fucking sucks." He tells Fer, not knowing how else express his feelings.

Fer understand the struggle you both are going through, from his brother side is the blame of making you leave and not being the man you deserved. And he also understand that you want Pedri to change and to fight for you.

Ferran and Fer tried his best to talk to you and convinced you to give Pedri a chance. Thing you denied, you made a promise to yourself, he needed to prove to you that he changed.

You wanted the relationship you had before, the trust, the unconditional love. You wanted to feel joy again, to feel like you could be with him again.

You can't say you had it worse, but you were struggling as well. Sira had to force out of bed and to a local park. You cried like a child in her lap, telling her how much you needed him.

"You don't need someone who can't make an effort of changing. You need to understand that."

She was right, you needed someone who will be there for you in bad and good. During hard and easy.

"Good morning sunshine." Sira yells opening the curtains. The sun hit directly to your face, making you groan and turn around.

"oh, no ma'am." she pulls the duvet in a quick motion. "I made breakfast, get up."

She gave you five minutes to wash your face and brush your teeth. You can't help to feel a little annoyed at the wake-up call Sira pulled.

"Eat, please." She serves the breakfast to you, giving you a fork and a kiss on the cheek.

The day was bright, the sun was shining so much, the view from your apartment was breathtaking, making you feel happy instantly.

"I can't believe we're going to graduate tomorrow." Sira yells while doing a little dance. "I'm so happy for us."

"I am too, thank you for sticking up to me after all this time."

You walk over to her, giving her a big hug. She separates a little, reaching for the grad hat you have in the corner, putting it up on you.

When you broke up with Pedri you had a very bad time, you were in denial, somehow blaming yourself for the things that happened.

Then was the rage, it was not your fault, it was Eric's and Pedro's fault. He was the one believing the disturbing mind of Eric.

Then came the sadness, you were crying like crazy, in the shower, at the movies when Sira and Kyle took you out, at the parking lot of the building.

And now you're just blue.

"We have to go get the dresses, eat and let's go."

When the lease for your apartment concluded. You wanted to move to a smaller place, wanting something more "home like"

Sira was not okay with the decision, she convinced her parents on sharing a Apartment with you while you both figure your life out.

The moving was heartbreaking for you, specially because you couldn't run away from the memories.

"When you graduate, we're moving together. We can remodel the house, giving it your touch, make this place our home."

You used to laugh, thinking it was crazy for him to think about settling down at barely twenty one. "You'll change your mind, Pepi. "

But he cut you off, telling you that there was no other thing in his mind. He can't picture a future without you in it.

"I invite Pablo to the ceremony, and Fernando." You confess.

"Are you sure about that?" She asked worried. "I mean, Pablo I guess but Fer?"

"My family isn't coming, so I have the tickets and the closest thing to a family here is you, your family that is already attending and the González."

"Okay, if you think that's the right think to do, I'm not saying anything."

🪷🪷🪷

"Squish, all of you, let me take a picture." Luis Enrique says. "Okay, in three, two, one, cheese!."

You smile, arm around Sira and Karla.

After what felt like a whole photoshoot, Sira was ready to greet some family members that joined the ceremony.

"Y/n!" you heard at the distance.

You turn around, looking for the voice. It was your favorite angry bird. The big white bouquet of flowers doesn't go unnoticed.

"Felicidades, preciosa." He hugs you with one hand, the flowers getting in the middle of that. "Oops, sorry. This is for you."

"Thank you, Pablito." You hug him carefully this time. "Thank you for coming."

"I was happy when you sent me the invite, Sam says hi and congratulations."

"Are you coming to my party?"

Pablo was about to answer but someone calling you name again interrupting him.

"Fer!" You say, happily about seeing him again. "Thank you for coming." You say, getting squish between his arms.

"Felicidades, hermanita." He kiss your cheek. "Mom and dad are so proud of you, they send their congratulations to you."

You smile at him, the warmth your heart is feeling is making you blush. "Thank you." You whisper. "Pablito and you need to tell me if you're coming tonight."

"I will, what about you, Fer?"

"I can't wait."

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🪷🪷🪷

"Okay, it's game day time. Let's finish preparing ourselves, and let's go warm up." Oscar says, excited about the match against RMA.

"Pedri, can I have a minute outside, please." Xavi calls.

He was trying his best to concentrate, head in the game. Even if that sounds like a high school musical thing to say.

"Mira, I know I said that I was benching you." Xavi began, making Pedri nod. "I'm going to make an exception, I'm making Marc play for twenty minutes then you're in."

"I promise that I won't lose the ball." He smiles like the cat in Alice in wonderland. "Gracias, Mister."

Xavi pats his back, smiling back at him. He knows that Pedri has the range, he just needs to take it out in the right place. The field.

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"Finally, a game that was worth to watch." Kyle says, eating the remaining pop corn from the bowl.

This game was very important for the Barcelona, they needed this game to keep themselves at the top of La Liga.

And they did it. They won.

Pedri scored a game thanks to Pablo's passing the ball to him.

"He played really good." Karla comments.

"Yeah, he did." You whisper.

You were proud of him, he was your golden boy after all.

You remembered the first game you went to. He gifted you a shirt with his number. He sent a car to come get you.

That was the first gol he ever dedicated to you. You remember the way you felt, the smile on his face, the aura of the stadium. It was simply magical.

And now you're supporting him from the comfort of your home. Because no matter what, he was all that to you.

But where you still all that to him?

You always kept those thoughts for yourself, your friends were done with you talking about him. Always ending up crying.

"So are we going out tonight?" Karla asks, turning the TV off.

"I don't know if I want to go out guys." You say, washing the dishes from the dinner. "I'm not feeling well."

"A Tylenol and were out and about, my lady." Sira says laughing at your face.

"Fine, but I don't want to he out till five in the morning, please."

"Deal."

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The party was good, you ended up not inviting Kyle because you were feeling like having a girl's night out.

Karla got invited to a vip club that was on the way of your apartment, you were on your way there.

"We're going to the vip section." She says to the bodyguard at the entrance, showing him a picture. "Thank you."

The club was way fuller than the last one, the aura was way better too.

"Y/n, let's get a drink." Sira yells.

"Let's just take Karla to her friends table and we can go, okay?" You yell back, she nods.

Karla was seeing this dude that was a manager of some new footballers, they were young like in La Masia.

The other dudes at the table invited you to different drinks, since they got special treatment because of their vip status.

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You were thankful with your friends, they were making you have so much fun.

"Girls, I'm going to the bathroom." You say to your friends, getting up from your seat and walking to the little outside bathroom they have for the vip rooms.

You got knocked up a little by someone, hitting you shoulder with the door frame. "Fucking idiot." You say to yourself, smoothing the hurt area.

You were washing your hands when someone moved the doorknob, knocking desperately at the door.

"Wait, I'm almost done." You say drying your hands with a paper towel. The person on the other side keeps knocking like crazy. "It's been five seconds like wait." You say.

You open the door and to your surprise the face on the other side of the door is a familiar one. "Y/n?"

"Ferran, hi!"

He walks inside the bathroom, making your way out impossible since he closed the door. "Joer', it's so good to see you." He hugs you for a few seconds.

You can smell the alcohol in his breath, making you scrunch your nose. "Are you alone?" You ask him.

"No, I'm with some friends from Valencia."

"Okay, take care Fer, I need to go back to my friends." You wanted to leave so he can use the bathroom.

"Wait, I want to talk to you." He stops you from opening the door. "Please give me your number."

You think for a few seconds, not sure about the proposal. "What if I wait for you outside?" You smile at him.

"You won't run away?" He asks, you shake your head no. "Pinky promise?" He elevate his pinky finger over to you.

"Pinky promise." You smirk while intertwining fingers with him. "Hurry up." You say, walking outside for him.

A few minutes later you see Ferran dance walk over to you, you smile at this goofiness. You missed that.

"Tell me, Mister paella." You joke, mentioning his nickname you and Pedri gave him.

"I wanted to tell you, more like ask you for a favor." He says breathlessly. "I know you might say no, but I want to try."

You knew where this was going, but you let him continue with his speech. Nodding your head to let him know you heard him and to continue.

"I know that you probably are in a better place and you are moving on, but please heard me out. Pedri is not alright, and you don't own him nothing after the stupid shit he pulled, but please you need to talk to him."

You sigh, you know that he was not having the best development during training or at the matches. Fer told you that already, but he didn't asked for you to reach to him.

"I know I'm asking for too much." He continued. "I'm just out of ideas of what to do with him. Xavi is about to beat his ass, Oscar too, Gavi and him don't even look at each other. We almost beat Eric to the ground with Gavi."

"He deserves that." You scuff. "But I'm not sure what you expect me to do?"

"Can you maybe call him? Or text him?" He asks. "Or I don't know, send him a dm if you don't want to share your number with him."

You think about it for a good minute, you knew that he was struggling, you were too, but you wanted to maybe help him even when he didn't deserved that.

"I'll reach out to him." You finally say. Making Ferran jumps from excitement. "I'll try to find a good time, okay?"

He nods excited, hugging you and giving you a quick kiss in the side of the head. "Thank you, if you need a ride home you can tell me."

"Thank you, I'm good, my friend is driving us." You wave him goodbye. Both of you go back to each vip rooms.

🪷🪷🪷

"Look at this cd" Pablo says, passing the 1989 cd. "What are you doing this December?"

"Well, I was thinking about spending my December here in Barcelona." You say, helping him organizing some pictures. "Aw, young Pablito." You say, showing him the picture.

"Stop that." He laughs. "So you're not going back home?"

"I mean my family is not going to be there, so I might as well be alone here."

"You're welcome to spend time with Sam and with me. Also with my family and me."

"Thank you, crunchy guy." You joke with him.

Now that he's in recovery you can visit him more often. You love watching new movies and shows with him because you have the same taste.

"I want to ask you something." You say, not sure how to approach the topic of Pedri. "But you can tell me if it makes you uncomfortable."

"Okay?" He says, eyes scrunched.

"Ferran and I were at the same club and we find ourselves in the bathroom." You began. "Long story short, he asked me to call Pedri."

"Y/n, I'm not the best to give you advice on this."

"I just need guidance, Pablo." You confess. "I'm not one to ask you anything but just be honest with me."

"Joder" He sighs, hands on his face. "What do you want me to say?"

"How is he?" You ask worried. "Is he doing okay?"

"He came to see me at my recovery the other day." He says, hand scratching his head. "He asked me to forgive him."

You let him take him time to tell you everything.

"We talked and it's not like we are on speaking terms like we used to but we are better."

"That's good, I think you both needed that." You say honestly.

"Now, to answer you. I think he's doing better little by little. He's not the best at hiding his feeling and you know that, he tents to get quiet and death looking." He laughs at the last part. "But, if you want my opinion, I think he needs to fight for you. A call or a text will not harm anyone."

You nod, taking everything he says into consideration. He was right, Pedro had to make some sacrifices for you.

"But, you can do what you think is best." He says, hands in the air.

"Thank you, angry bird." You hug his body, careful with his leg. "Love you."

"Can you show me love in a form of a sandwich?" He asks, batting his eyelashes like a little kid. "Pretty please."

"Just because you're my little baby." You tap his nose with care. Making him laugh. "I'll be back."

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"I was thinking about doing a baking course." You tell Sira, you're at the pool at her parents house. "I want to learn how to do Christmas cookies."

"My mom knows how to, you can ask her to teach you."

"That's better, you're right."

You keep looking at your phone, it's been three weeks since the talk with Ferran and two since the talk with Gavi.

Today they announced that Pedri was feeling some pain in his muscles, so he wasn't training. You know how much that affects Pedro mentally.

"Hey, what if we go change? I kinda want to go shopping." You say, getting out of the pool and walking over to the towel. "You coming?"

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🪷🪷🪷

"I'm going to take a shower and we can eat, okay?" You say, hands full of bags. "Chao bella, take a shower please."

You leave everything on a chair next to your bed, the phone in your pocket feels heavy, you know you want to make that call.

You dial his phone number, sitting with your legs crossed on your bed. Your heart is beating like crazy.

"Hola"

Your breath is gone, you suddenly lost the ability to talk.

"Hola?" He repeats.

His raspy voice, his heavy breaths when he's trying to catch air. Simply him.

"Hola." You whisper.

Now is his turn to lost the speech ability. He's frozen. It's been months.

"Y/n?" He asks, not believing you're the one on the line.

"Hola." You repeat. "Te llamé en mal momento?" (Did I call you at a bad time?) You ask, bitting your nails.

"No, de hecho no estaba haciendo nada." You can hear a door closing. "How are you?" (No, I was actually not doing anything)

"I'm good, dealing with life. What about you? I heard about your muscle pain."

Your voice is low, you feel scared of saying something wrong. Even though you're barely at the beginning of the call.

"I've been better, I'm missing the Dallas game." He sighs. "I just feel like every time I'm feeling confident about coming back, my body gets fucked up."

You humm in response, letting him vent his frustration.

"I'm tired honestly, Xavi and Oscar are at the edge with me and I think that with the team. Frenkie barely came back, the team sucks, Gavi is hurt."

"I'm sorry this is going like that." You say, being honest.

"I don't even log into social media anymore. On Twitter and on Instagram the haters keep comparing me with Jude, with Vini, with Rodry. I'm so done, Y/n."

"Ay Pepi, I wish I can say something to make you feel better. But you know I suck at that." You laugh, making him laugh too. "You know you're amazing, and that if Xavi and Oscar get frustrated they don't feel your pain, that's why you have to be open with how your body feels."

"I do, believe me that I do, but I can't help but think that every time I say my muscles hurt, they gave me this disappointed look."

The way his voice break makes your heart hurt. You know from past experiences that his mental health goes down day by day if he overthink about the topic.

"And my parents and Fer try to tell me off of this ideas and I don't think it's working. I just wish I can turn my brain off for the night so I can sleep well tonight."

His breathing is getting heavier by the second, you can pick what's going on. He's overthinking and about to have a panic attack.

"Oye, tell me about that game you wanted to buy." You ask out-of the blue, making his mind think of another think.

"Game? What game?" He asks, voice breaking.

"Yeah, the one you wanted to buy. That one with the cars on it." You explain. "And what about that drink you wanted to try, did you tried it?"

"The green one?"

"Si, that one. Did you tried it? Was it good?"

"It tasted weird, and the game I never bought it. Lost interest on it."

"Okay, what about your mother croquettes?"

"They're so good, I broke diet the other day at Adrian's birthday party."

You can hear the breathing being hard but not as heavy as before. You relax, laying fully on your bed.

"Te amo." He says. "I'm sorry about everything, I'm so dumb. You told me that I was losing you and I never changed. It's my fault you're not next to me, that you're not at my games."

"Pedri, let's not do this." You interrupted him.

"Let me say it, Y/n." He begged. "I need to get this out of me, it's eating me alive."

"Okay, keep going."

"I know Fer went to your graduation. I cried myself to sleep that night, and every night after I lost you. I can't think of anything else." He sobs, making your heart hurt. "And my parents are so fucking mad at me, because how could I lost the girl of my dreams?"

"Pedro." You tried to make him stop.

"And my father told me how disappointed he was of me. He was so mad when I told him the truth. I can't keep doing this without you. You were supposed to be laying next to me, calling this place your home. I'm sorry."

"This is not why I called."

"Tell me what I have to do for you to forgive me." He begged again. "Tell me how can I fix this. Please."

"Pedro, stop."

"Please."

You wanted to hang up, not wanting to give up on all the progress you've made. In the promises you made to yourself.

"I think we both need to take a breath." You laugh nervously. "Please, breathe."

All you can hear was the heavy breathing from your and his side of the call. Your mind running a mile per second.

"Can we met, please?" He asks. Your heart was saying yes, but your mind was more coherent.

You were about to answer when Sira stormed into the room asking you to try something. Pedro heard the voice of her and wondered if you were at his parents house.

"I have to go." You say, hanging up the phone quickly. "What?" You ask Sira, she's looking at you with narrowed eyes.

"You okay?"

"Yes, I was about to take a shower but my mom called."

"Was it bad?" She asked worried. "Do you want to talk?"

"I'm fine, I'm just getting in the shower and then we can have some of that green thing you have in there." You tap her nose and walk quickly to the bathroom.

Pedro was laying on the couch he has in his room, his head pounding like crazy, the tears falling from his eyes, wetting his face.

He walks to his bathroom, he needs to wash his face. He needs to relax and breathe like you told him to.

The way he feels lighter after telling you how he feels was refreshing, his shoulders don't have the weight they used to five minutes ago.

His reflection is like a stranger to him. His dark circles under his eyes now darker, his weight every day less. He can't keep doing this to himself.

You feel the same way as you look at your reflection. The tears pooling that you don't want to let wet your face.

You take deep breaths, the sound of shower and the steam makes you be back from your thoughts. You got into the shower, sliding down the bathroom wall while hiding your face into your hands.

Pedro can't seem to find a way to stop his tears, knees on the floor while the sounds of his painful cry interrupt the peaceful silence of his home.

🪷🪷🪷

"You sure you're okay with me going to this party?"

Ferran invited you to his sister's birthday party, you and her were good friends thanks to Sira. Sadly due to the breakup, Sira didn't wanted to come but sent her a gift.

"Yes, go and have fun. I'm fine here with my book and with my coffee."

You kissed her on the cheek and went on your way, you asked Fer if he was coming but he told you that he was about to leave to Tenerife.

"But if you wonder or not." He says with a funny tone. "Pedri will be home."

You knew that Ferran sister didn't invite him, she told you herself. So you were fine with at least not having to tip toe around.

The party was at this club that Ferran rented for her party, you loved the pink and white theme she chose.

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You were enjoying yourself, finding some in common friends you haven't talk to in a while, the vibes were good and the night was refreshing for you.

You were retouching your makeup at the bathroom. You heard knocking on the door, thinking that maybe they found that the downstairs bathroom was full.

You take the last look at yourself in the mirror. Adjusting you jacket and opening the door, you find the person you wanted to dissappear from this earth.

The way he roll his eyes makes you angry, he was annoyed at your presence? You should be the one that's rolling the eyes at him.

"Move, please." You say, stern tone.

"You're leaving so soon?" He smirks.

You don't think twice and push him to the side, you can hear him fall over to the little sofa that was outside the bathroom.

You walk downstairs, finding the birthday girl and saying your goodbyes to her and to Ferran, who was next to her.

You were walking to your car when you feel someone grabbing you by the arm and throwing you agains a car door.

You groan at the pain that's growing on your side. You put your hand against your ribs, you find hard to breathe.

"You really think you can treat me like shit?"

"Are you out of your right mind?" You whisper, not fully recovered from the impact. "What the fuck."

"You're such a fucking bitch, making my friends be against me, making my team be against me."

"What the fuck are you talking about? You did this to yourself, Eric"

You tried to walk away from him by pushing him but he grabbed you back and stamped you back again. Making the car alarm sound.

"Eric, what the fuck?" You hear someone yell.

You notice how Ferran was running to where you are. Pushing Eric away from you. He shield you with his body.

"Why is everybody defending her?" Eric yells, getting closer again.

"Don't fucking dare."

"I just don't get why everyone believes she's the innocent girl she pretends to be."

You scuff, he's the one mad at you as if he didn't ruined your relationship. "You were the one telling Pedri shit and making him doubt me. You ruined my relationship"

"Oh no, I ruined your little gold digging act? Are you not able to afford rent now?"

"Fuck you." You spat, feeling rage grow inside of you. "Maybe if you use that mind inside the field you would be a good player and not the trash you are."

"Enough!" Ferran yells. "You, go away." He points at Eric. "Now!"

He grabs your arm, making you walk away from the scene. You keep your hand on your side, trying to smooth the area where is hurting.

"Can you drive?" He asks, you nod slowly. "What the fuck, what the actual fuck?" He whispers.

"I'm fine, you can go back to the party, Ferran." You whisper. "Thank you."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm in shock but I'm fine, don't worry about me. Please don't let this ruin the party." You hug him, his hands on your back trying to calm you down.

Even when you don't cry or show any emotion, he knows you're not okay.

"Tell me when you're home"

"Yes, I'll dm you, thank you."

He's back inside once you're on your way at the driveway. You're on autopilot, feeling hazy from all the emotions you're feeling.

You don't even notice the turns you make until you're outside his door. You turn off the car, taking your phone to text him.

You waited for barely two minutes, the door of his house opening. You take your seat belt off and stretch to the passenger door, opening it for him.

"Hola, preciosa." He says, worried expression on his face. "Are you okay?"

"Want to go for a ride?" You ask, ignoring his question. He nods, asking you to wait for him.

Once he collects his keys and a sweater, he hup up your car and you began the drive. You have a destination in mind.

Hes quiet, not sure if he's supposed to ask you again if you're okay. He's just enjoying seeing you after so long.

"It's too cold for just that jacket." He says, eyes up and down your body.

"It's fine, it keeps me warm." You say, the stern tone of voice worries him. "Seatbealt on." You say when the annoying alarm goes off.

"Yours is off too." He points at your chest, you just groaned, putting the seatbelt on.

Your drive to the highest part of the park. The beautiful view of Barcelona at night welcome you. You turn the car off, getting out as soon as you can.

You wanted to scream.

All you wanted was peace. You wanted to feel like you used to feel before all of this. You wanted to be able to go home and find your boyfriend there or go to his place and share things about your day, share moments with him.

The hands of Pedri on your shoulders feel heavy, you take a step, making the contact break.

"Do you trust me?" You ask on the verge of tears.

"With my life." He answer, not wasting a minute.

"Then why did you do that to me?" You let the tears fall down your face. "Was I not a good girlfriend?"

"Y/n, don't say that." He shake his head no. "You were the best thing I ever had."

"Then tell me, what it was?"

"It wasn't you, it was me. All me." He elevated his voice. Not at you but at the heat of the situation. "It was all me, I was the one who got those stupid ideas in my head, I trusted you, I knew Kyle was nothing but your friend, I knew you were just friends with Pablo, I know you would never do nothing to hurt me."

"What about the day I left?" You ask, the aftertaste is bitter on your mouth.

The thought of that day bring nightmares to his mind. The things he told you, the shit he provoked. They way he pushed you over the edge to the point of making you leave.

"I don't have a problem with the way you dress, I love your style. I don't have a problem with how much you love your friends, I love your way of acting, the way you love everyone, I don't have a problem with you being friends with Pablo, I love you and I love how my friends are your friends."

He take a deep breath, feeling like the air in his lungs is not enough. Feeling like the cold air is making breathing hard.

"And I'm sorry about the way I treated you, the way I was acting, I never meant to make you feel bad about my insecurities. I was the problem. I was the one who let someone else get into my head, I was the one who made the mistakes, and i was the one who made you feel like I didn't love you."

He gets closer to you, hands on your cheeks, drying the tears. Your hold his hands with yours. "But I love you, don't ever think that I don't." He whispers, kissing the top of your nose.

You nod, grabbing his face with your hands, caressing his cheeks. You pull him towards you, pressing your foreheads together.

"I love you too." You say after a while, pulling away from him. "But I have to love myself first. And I need to see that you changed."

Even when your words burn his heart, he understand. He wanted to prove himself to be what you needed, the person you can trust. He wanted to be all that to you again. Because you're all that to you.

"I'll do anything to prove to you that I changed. I'll wait as long as you need to, I want you to trust me again."

"I miss you." You hug him, arms locking behind his neck. His hands don't miss a minute to intertwine behind your back.

"I miss you more." He kisses you neck. "I promise I will prove you that I can be the person you deserve."

You enjoyed the warmth of his body against yours. You can't help but think of how he was right and your jacket was definitely not enough. You giggle a little.

"What's that?" He asks, smiling.

"You're right, it's too cold." You sniff, feeling the cold reach every part of you.

He separates and undo the zipper of his sweater, hands on each side opening the sweater for you to hug him and get more warm.

"Now that's better." You say, kissing his collarbone, making him smile against your hair.

🪷🪷🪷

"Last christmas I have you my ass, but the very next day you fuck my best friend, this year I'm fucking you dad and I'm also fucking your cousin."

You laugh at Fer singing Cardi's remix of the Christmas song. He was helping you with baking christmas cookies over FaceTime.

Pedro and you have made amazing progress, he was proving himself day by day.

"To think that a year ago today you guys were at the top of a cliff at the park solving your issues." He jokes, making Pedro give him the finger while laughing.

"Good thing your bother knows how to redeem himself." You second Fernando's joke.

"Joer, hablan de mi como si yo no existiera y estoy aquí parado, no me imagino cuando no los pueda escuchar." He laughs, making you smile and shake tou head at him. (You guys talk about me as if I'm not standing right here, I can't imagine what you say when I'm not present)

"only good things, mi amor." You kiss his cheek.

"Bueno, yo los dejo, I have to help mom with some things at la Tasca." (Well, I'm out) he waves you goodbye and cut the FaceTime.

Pedri has added to their story

Yourusername has added to their story

You two spend the rest of the day decorating and eating the cookies. Making Pedri break his diet, but he was okay with that.

"Oye, ven pa'qui." (Hey, come here) he calls you.

you walk over to him, he's sitting on the couch. A elf hat on his head. You can't help but smile at his cuteness.

"Yes sir?" You ask.

He possess his hands on your waist, pulling you towards him and making you fall on his lap. "Do you like how the house is looking."

"Very much, I love our home." You say, hugging him. "And I love you."

He smiles at you, looking around. He can't help but feel proud of himself. He proved you that he was worth a second chance. That he was your person and that he loved you more than anything.

He was happy you were happy with him. And that was something he knew he couldn't lose. Not you, not your love and not your future together.

"I love you more."

✨️✨️✨️

🏷: @gulphulp @jack1n @girlidekanymore @gadriezmannsgirl since you asked for part 2 🤭✨️

[juyoluvs]

light a candle | l.juyeon

—————

☆pairing: single fatherljuyeon x teacher fem!reader

☆tags: fluff!, slow but not so slow burn, really slight smut, mentions of alcohol, swearing, mentions of death, mentions of other members, eric is kinda toxic here :)

☆summary: after your last relationship you swore to yourself that you wouldn't fall in love again but you change your thoughts when you see a little girl and her...very hot dad

disclaimer! all the people on this fic are pure imagination and are fake, they don't relate to the real people at all.

STATUS: on going! (19.10. 24)

1 2 。。。

Chapter two

It had now been several months since your last relationship.

You couldn't say that it was still an open wound but neither that it didn't tempt you from time to time.

"Wait a second, what do you mean by that?" you asked trying to process the words of the boy in front of you.

He sighed, passing his hand over his face before returning his gaze to you.

"I mean that...it’s so boring being with you y/n..." he then added.

Not hearing a response from you he continued his speech.

"You're always talking about those children, what they do, what they tell you...do you ever think about me?"

"Eric of course I think about you, why the fuck would you say-"

"Well it doesn't seem like it, you're starting to treat me like a child too!" he added, raising his voice slightly.

"Of course I'm treating you like a child when you think exactly like one!"

"y/n..."

"it's over."

“Stupid child.”

That was all you could think remembering how Eric had thrown away your 3 years old relationship because he was jealous of your students.

It was an inevitably comical situation but inside you the fear of starting something new with someone remained constant.

Kevin and Vivienne had tried several times to introduce you to new people and even made you join (without your knowledge) a dating app but the results were always terrible.

Of course what your best friend did not expect was to see you completely crushing on the father of one of your students.

It had not escaped her at all how for the past week you had been much more radiant and perfectly dressed up in the mornings and staying late every day waiting for the last parent (who happened to always be Juyeon) to arrive.

And of course you had not missed her glances whenever you greeted Juyeon on the way out.

"What's wrong?" you asked her one afternoon while the children were playing in the garden.

"Nothing" she gave a sly smile as she shrugged slightly.

"Why are you looking at me like that then?"

"Because you just can't hide anything, you're embarrassing."

"What?" you looked at her shocked "What do you mean by that?" you said snorting a laugh.

"When were you planning to tell me about your crush on Lee Juyeon also known as Isabelle's father?" she said resting her hands on her hips like a mother scolding her daughter.

You turned to look at her, feigning an embarrassed laugh.

"What crush?! He’s a married man Viv! I have no crush on anyone."

Vivienne came dangerously close to your face, startling you.

“I probably shouldn't tell you this but..just so you know, he's a single father."

Oh.

"Unless he's married to that Paul guy, their numbers are the only ones saved in the parent registry."

“Oh.” your brain couldn’t process anything else.

“Still, why would he look at his daughter teacher?” you said.

“Because you’re hot?”

“Viv.”

She raised her eyes, sighing.

"Anyways, I'm totally rooting for you, don't let me down" she finished with a wink.

And before you could say something, here she was already rushing off to entertain the children with some group dances, leaving you alone to sigh.

︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶

That same afternoon, while helping Isabelle color another one of her thousand drawings here it was the angelic figure of Juyeon appearing from the doorframe.

Always like the first time.

The little girl, as always, ran into her father's arms as you followed her while still keeping a distance between you and them.

"How did it go today?" he asked the little girl.

"Good! We learned the colors in English! Red, yellow,blue, black-" the little girl said in response as she began to list all the colors she had learned that morning.

"That's so good! Listen to how well you pronounce them, I'm so proud of you." he said and just then he turned to look at you, causing you to miss a few beats.

"Did she behave well?"

You nodded, smiling.

"Of course she did, she is so sweet and very smart, I was amazed to hear how she still remembered all the colors, usually they tend to forget them after a few hours" You replied, looking at the little girl and giving her a light caress in her hair that made her laugh a little.

The man next to you smiled, nodding slightly.

"I'm glad to hear that, i guess she’s not like her daddy, thankfully"he said, leaving her a light kiss on her cheek.

"Well, I think it’s time to go and free Miss Y/n, Grandma is waiting for us at home" he then added, leaving the little girl on the floor.

After the usual goodbyes you watched them walking toward the exit before a flash hit your memory.

"Ah, Mr. Lee!" You said, drawing the attention of the man who turned to look at you.

"I don't know if you've been notified yet but this Friday is Children-Parents Day, we're doing some activities and then doing a little meeting to inform parents of the plans for the school year...I know it might be a problem for your work so don't worry if you can't make it I tak-"

"I'll definitely be there." he interrupted you with a smile.

"Oh, very well then, see you tomorrow!"

They left you with one last goodbye before disappearing behind the school doors.

"We were saying?" a voice said behind you, that you recognized as Vivienne's, scaring you.

"Shut up."

︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶

Friday arrived sooner than expected and especially sooner than it should have because now, an hour before the start of activities, you were already running from one side of the school to the other to keep everything under control.

Colours, games, sheets of paper, music.

Everything seemed to be according to plan.

Except for your hair which, despite this morning's efforts, had already become a unique mess.

You took advantage of a moment of rest to quickly gather it into a braid and then head for the entrance where the children had started to arrive.

The atmosphere at school that day was livelier than usual, with the laughter of parents and children filling the rooms.

It was, if nothing else, one of your favourite days of the school year.

Caught up chatting with parents about this and that, a pair of hands that wrapped themselves around your leg took you by surprise.

"Miss. Y/n!" Isabelle's little voice exclaimed, calling for your attention.

Your face opened into a happy, surprised expression and apologetically you turned around, taking the little girl in your arms and giving her your undivided attention.

She was, as usual, fully perfectly dressed with a long braid similar to yours and a large bow at the end of it.

"Isa! How beautiful you look today! Did you come with Paul?" you asked as the little girl shook her head.

"I promised I'd be there, didn't I?" a voice behind you answered for her.

You turned to see the usual Lee Juyeon with his usual sculpted face and a suit, totally out of place in a kindergarten.

With a smile that could make anyone collapse, he approached your figure as you had to beg all the strength in the universe to keep your legs solid and stable on the ground.

"It's good to see you Mr. Lee, I guess Isa is glad to have her daddy at school today" you said looking at the little one who was now nodding brightly.

"Daddy look! Miss. Y/n has a braid like me!" said the little one noticing your close-cropped hair.

"Oh" replied the man looking tenderly at how the little girl had started playing with your hair "It looks very good on her, I can't deny it." he continued and your cheeks suddenly turned a bright shade of red.

You tried to huff out a nervous laugh, bringing your attention back to Isa so as not to cross her gaze.

"Isa looks beautiful in this braid, this bow is gorgeous!" you tried to shift your attention back to the little girl but she was blatantly playing devil's advocate.

"Daddy made it for me! Give Miss Y/n a bow too daddy!”

"Oh no, no need Isa really-" but before you could finish the sentence Juyeon had already pulled a bow out of his pocket and was handing it to you.

"I'll take a couple with me, just in case she needs them-" he said almost embarrassed after pulling a pink bow out of his dark suit.

You could do nothing but say thank you and take the bow which, promptly, Isa threaded through your hair.

"Now we are the same!" the delighted child exclaimed and in front of that smile you completely melted.

︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶

After a short time, everyone was invited to go into their classrooms and next to Vivienne you started to illustrate the first activity.

It was a simple art project where parents and children collaborated in drawing but the results were always wonderful and the families always came out happy.

Passing between the tables you would try to lend a hand in case help was needed or just to get the children to tell you about their work.

At one point Vivienne touched your shoulder lightly, drawing your attention.

"I think you need to give your favourite one a hand” she said only pointing with her head in the direction of Juyeon and Isabelle where the man, now covered in glitter, was trying to glue them onto the drawing, failing miserably.

A light laugh came out of your mouth before you reached their small table, clearly too small for the man.

"How's the masterpiece coming along over here?" you said once you reached their coffee table.

Juyeon looked up laughing, slightly embarrassed.

"Well, I'm not sure if we're going for abstract or accidental...but we're getting somewhere." he said as Isabelle had started wandering around the table, looking for the colours she needed.

"Abstract art is always a good choice. It leaves room for interpretation." you said, laughing slightly.

Juyeon raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"So, what's your professional interpretation of...this?" he said, pointing to the glitter-filled sheets that occupied the table.

You lowered yourself onto your knees to observe them more closely, with the father and daughter by your side.

"Hmm... I'd say it's a bold exploration of colour and chaos. Very avant-garde." you replied playfully, seeing Isabelle's confused face trying to understand what this avant-garde was.

Juyeon snorted a laugh while giving you a slight smirk.

"What can I say? I'm committed to the art."

"Clearly. Perhaps only a little help is needed to represent Isa's wonderful artistic vision."

"Oh? You think we need professional help?" he asked, sounding almost defiant.

"Absolutely Mr.Lee-"

"Please, call me Juyeon." he said with a gentle smile.

Fucckk, he's so hot.

"OK..Juyeon, lucky for you, I just happen to be an art enthusiast and a kindergarten teacher. Two birds, one stone." you replied, feigning some big ego that Vivienne would certainly be proud of.

"I don't know, we might be a lost cause. But I could never refuse the help of an expert.”he replied, making room between the two of them.

You then moved between them, now bringing your attention to Isa.

"So what's the plan?"

And as you listened attentively to Isabelle's request for a big pink glittery unicorn (after all, what could you expect from a five-year-old?) you felt Juyeon's watchful gaze on your every move.

Between a pink pencil and a tube of glitter you looked up, meeting his eyes.

Trying to ignore the beat that your heart just lost, you gave him a slightly smile.

"What? Surprised I can paint too?" you said teasingly but with a softer tone.

Juyeon smirked slightly.

"A little. I didn't know kindergarten teachers had so many hidden talents." he said taking a marker, continuing to colour under his daughter's orders.

"Let's just say I have a few tricks up my sleeve" you replied, keeping a smile on your face.

"I guess I can't wait to find out the others."

And after that sentence your brain went into shutdown.

There was a slight silence, a comfortable pause as the children's laughter and parents' chatter filled that void.

What?

The whole thought was interrupted by Isabelle who, having completed her drawing, lifted it into the air for her father to see.

"Daddy, look! The unicorn!" she exclaimed enthusiastically.

Juyeon, breaking the moment with a chuckle, looked at his daughter's work.

"That looks awesome, sweetie. We might just have to hang even this one up at home."

You stared at them, smiling warmly.

"See? A little guidance can go a long way." you said.

Juyeon turned his head to look at you, but you're too busy talking with his daughter again.

"Yeah, I guess it can." he just said by himself.

︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶

After the morning activity all children, with parents attached, are invited to the afternoon refreshment in the schoolyard.

Hearing the children's laughter as they play with each other fills your heart with joy enormously, especially when accompanied by the stories of the parents who madly love to talk about their children.

And you just have to listen to them happily.

That was before, out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the other figure of Juyeon standing alone and watching from afar as Isa played with his friends, while from a saucer he ate the cake one of the teachers had prepared for the day.

The scene warmed your heart and apologising to the parents, you headed towards the drinks table to get a second glass of lemonade and then walked towards the man who was now choking on the previously mentioned cake.

"Here, you look like you could use this” you said handing him the glass, laughing slightly at the scene.

He thanked you with a look, taking the glass and drinking immediately to calm his coughing fits.

Once he was stable again, he turned to look at you.

"Thanks, great cake anyway" he only said, making you laugh heartly.

"Don't worry, you seemed to be enjoying it a bit too much" you replied amused.

"How's it going?" you added, sipping from your glass.

"Good I guess..I'm not really good at these kinds of things." he replied, scratching his head.

"What, you don't enjoy awkward small talk with strangers?"

"It's not my strong suit." he replied, laughing nervously.

"You know…you're allowed to relax. Isabelle's having lots of fun." you said, watching the children play from afar.

"Yeah, she really is, isn't she? Sometimes I forget she's growing up so much every day".

"That's because you love her so much. But it's okay to let yourself enjoy these moments too. She'll be just fine," you said gently, trying to relax those big shoulders that remained tense, looking at his little girl from afar.

Juyeon then turned his gaze slowly to you, slightly hesitant.

"You seem to know how to balance everything so well. How do you do it?"

You turned to look at him and your gazes met again, making your heart flutter a little.

"Years of practice with little ones. And, well, sometimes you just have to remind yourself to breathe. You're allowed to enjoy the moment too, Juyeon," you replied, smiling.

He smiled back, turning and looking at the children.

"I think I could learn a thing or two from you," he said alone.

"I think you're doing pretty well already," you replied.

And so the refreshments ended, taking everyone back to their respective classrooms.

︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶

The day passed quickly, amidst dances and songs that enlivened all the parents and entertained the children, soon it was time for talks between parents and teachers.

You and Vivienne split up the families to take less time and get everyone out as soon as possible.

While the children continued playing, one by one the parents went in and out of your classroom door to hear what they needed to know about their children.

Fortunately, your class was a good one and so there were no special cases to analyse or help.

Just when you thought you'd seen the last of the parents, Juyeon appeared through the doorway, with that usual damn smile.

Obviously, Vivienne had played her cards right to get you two alone.

Damn her.

"May I?" he said, entering the classroom and pointing to the chair in front of your desk.

You gestured for him to take a seat.

"You know, for a teacher, you didn't warn me that I'd be wearing half the art supplies by the end of the day," he said, noticing some paint and glitter stains on his suit.

"Hey, I did warn you. You were too busy showing off to Isabelle to listen." you laughed, shaking your head slightly.

"Showing off? I was just responding to her orders. Big difference." he said, playing offended.

"I noticed, you put in a lot of effort, I'm glad."

Juyeon chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, clearly enjoying the little back-and-forth.

"What can I say?" he started.

"My kid brings it out in me. She thinks I'm some sort of superhero, so I have to live up to the hype, right?"

You nodded.

"Isabelle adores you, you know. She talks about you all the time. You're not just her superhero-you're her whole world." you replied with a sweet smile, remembering all the times the little girl mentioned her daddy when she had a chance.

"Yeah, she's my world too. Everything I do is for her."

You watch him for a moment, seeing the tenderness in his eyes.

"Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing enough, you know? It's just the two of us, and I worry... about missing things, or not being there the way I should."

Hearing him open up so much to you made your heart warm with joy, and all you could think about was how much love there was between the father and the daughter.

"You're there in all the ways that matter. You can see it in how happy she is. How confident she's becoming. That's all because of you." you said with a sweet look, trying to comfort him.

There's a beat of silence, the atmosphere growing a little more serious, Juyeon's gaze softens as he looks at your eyes.

“I have to thank you too. You're so good with her, y/n. She really looks up to you. It's like... she feels safe around you."

You couldn't hide a smile at his words.

"Isabelle's a special kid. She's so sweet, and once she opens up, she's got so much love to give. Honestly, she makes my job easier" you replied.

"Yes, I can see where she gets it from" he began, "And I can see why she likes you so much. You've got that effect on people." he continued, leaving you completely speechless.

Your cheeks turned red again and your smile became more playful, trying to joke about it so you wouldn't lose your mind.

"Is that your way of complimenting me again, Juyeon? Because I'm keeping track, you know." you asked, teasing him a little bit.

He gave a slight smirk before continuing to speak.

"You deserve all the compliments. I just happen to be the one lucky enough to give them."

Oh fuck, he's good, he's really good.

It took you a few seconds to process it all and when you regained consciousness, a soft laugh came out of your mouth.

"You're impossible, you know that?" you ask, trying to escape his gaze.

"Maybe. But you're still here."

There was this energy in the air that you cannot quite define.

Lost in his gaze a thousand questions come back to you.

Is he really flirting with me? Or is he just trying to be friends?

There is clearly something that seems to attract you to each other and anyone, even outside that room, could see that.

Trying to find words along your vocal chords,you shook your head, smiling slightly.

"I guess I am," you only said , before being interrupted by Isabelle's small voice.

"Dad! Miss. Y/n! Look at my new drawing!" she said, making you laugh slightly before returning your full attention to the little one, but the spoken words and tension were still hovering vividly in the room.

︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶

After this meeting the situation between you seemed to be going great.

There were no particular developments but those light chats at the end of classes warmed your hearts before going home.

Vivienne often monitored the situation from afar, nodding proudly at her best friend.

By now Juyeon and Isabelle had become part of your everyday life and you couldn't be happier.

Yet your heart did not stop beating fiercely every time your glances crossed a little too long or when your hands brushed lightly against each other.

But it was still all too abstract, still a simple crush that all your friends were already sick of.

Until, on a cloudy Friday afternoon, while you and Isabelle waited as usual for Juyeon colori g together, he arrived with two coffees and a small brown bag in his hands.

"Hey there! I brought you both a little something to brighten the day." he said, slightly raising what he had in his hand.

The little girl as usual ran to hug him and then let her curiosity get the better of her as she tried to peek inside the bag.

Smiling you got up from your chair as your eyes shone with happiness at the sight of the coffee in the man’s hands.

He looked at you, returning the happy gaze.

With the weather announcing no improvement and the fact that you hadn't been able to have a proper lunch, that coffee to you really seemed like a goldmine.

Juyeon smiled before listening to little Isabelle's insistence, gripped by curiosity to know the contents of the bag.

“What's in there Dad? Is it snacks? Is it Dad?" she asked.

"Maybe darling, but first, coffee for Miss Y/n. She's been working hard all day." he said and then handed you the hot cup.

You took the cup, smelling the sweet scent coming from it, feeling in heaven.

"This is perfect, i swear. How did you know I was running on fumes?" you asked, taking a light sip from the cup.

"I can read some signs you know? Especially when the teacher starts looking more like a painting than a person." said Juyeon and with a smile he pointed with his head at the thousand colours that now occupied your apron.

You looked at yourself slightly and then burst out laughing.

"I guess you're probably right" you nodded, continuing to drink from your cup as the man in front of you reached down towards his daughter and pulled out the biscuits he had diligently chosen and bought.

Watching them interact a sweet smile formed on your face, everything seemed so perfect.

Once the little girl had her own biscuit, according to her father's instructions, she went to collect her things, leaving you and Juyeon alone again.

"Anyway, the coffee is also to thank you. I appreciate everything you do for her. She really loves coming to your class. And also to apologise for the very frequent delays" he began, scratching his head slightly embarrassed.

You turned to look at him, a sweet and sincere smile on your lips.

"Don't worry Juyeon and plus,I love being with her. She brightens my day every time."

As always, your gazes met, sending sparks flying across the room.

Juyeon took a long breath before resuming speaking.

"You know... I was wondering. I mean, since you've already admitted to liking my coffee... maybe I could treat you to a cup sometime. Outside of the classroom." he said alone, lowering his voice slightly.

You raised an interested eyebrow.

"Are you asking me on a coffee date, Mr. Coffee Barista?" you asked, teasing him like always.

"Yeah, I am. That is, if you're willing to see if my coffee is as good outside the classroom." he said then.

You pretended to think about it, lightly touching your chin with your finger with an exaggerated thoughtfulness before breaking into a grin.

"Well, I suppose I could be convinced. But I'm tough on dates, you know." you replied at last.

He shrugged slightly.

"I'll take my chances. What's life without a little risk?"

He then pulled out his phone, handing it to you.

"So... do you think I can have your number for this very important coffee date?"

Smiling, you took his phone, no need to think twice.

You typed your number, leaving him to choose the name for the contact.

"There you go. But remember, I take my coffee very seriously." you said, handing the phone back to him.

He took the phone back with a slight smirk on his face.

"Oh, don't worry. I'll make sure it's the best cup you've ever had." he said and interrupting the moment was Isabelle who, having finished tidying up and with her backpack on her shoulder, had run over.

"Can I have a coffee date too, Dad?" she asked genuinely making you laugh in unison, filling the room with your laughter and the little one's confused look.

Once you waved them goodbye on their way out, Vivienne's presence beside you came like lightning.

"So...coffee date mh?"

You turned to look at her slightly.

"I don't know how many 'shut ups' I have in me anymore, you know?"

︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ֢ ⏝ ֢ ︶

writer notes: hope you’re liking this! （＾ν＾） kisses

[flowery-mess]

Midnights of October🍁🧡🎃

October 27th

Family trip to Disneyland [dad!Noah]

warnings: parenthood, Noah pictured as a girl dad

author's note: watch the video at the end🥹 Thea, or Dorothea, is name that I gave this fictional daughter😊

taglist: @concreteangel92 @sorrowsofsilence @lma1986 @stardustsirenmelody @dream-machine-love @mrsnoahsebastian (let me know if you want to be tagged or deleted!😊)

Midnights of October masterlist

*

I bet this would be one of the cutest family days ever

Baby girl Thea has Noah wrapped around her finger all the time, but in Disneyland? All it takes is her to look at something and he's taking his card out

Minnie ears? Got it

Princess dress? Gets her like theee of them because she can't pick just one

Fairytale books? Give him 10, because books are good right

Snacks? Every single one, even if she can't finish them, because that gives snacks also to you, and Noah knows snacks are the way to his girls hearts

The day would start with big hotel breakfast, talking about all of the things you're going to see and do there

Your's and Noah's goal was to meet Ariel at some point, because Thea will burn the whole place down if she doesn't meet her favorite princess

You'd think she'd want to wear Ariel costume, but she doesn't want to be her, she wants to be her best friend, so...

You bought her the fishie costume, Flounder, months ago when you were planning for this trip and she insisted with wearing it for breakfast too

She would be really careful to not spill anything on it, and you'd watch her with terrified eyes everytime something looked like it's gonna drop, because if that happened you'd have to pay the hotel staff to get it washed and dried and it would just delay the whole plan

While Noah would be watching her with heart eyes the whole time

Noah would be the kind of dad that takes pictures and videos of EVERYTHING Thea does

And if you think you two would get away with not dressing up you'd be crazy

So as I was saying Ariel is the favorite princess here...

Noah would be dressed up as prince Eric, obviously

And you, get ready, Sebastian the crab

Noah would have a blast with seeing you in all red with gloves in the shape of pincers (??) and head band with eye balls

"Just laugh at me, find your Ariel and leave me alone to die alone." you'd say

Or the typical question "Would you love me even if I was a crab?"

"Yeah, I could take you anywhere in my pocket." he'd say like it's the most normal thing ever

Back to the Disneyland we go

You and Noah would spend the whole day pointing at Thea in her costume saying "Look how her tail wiggles."

Peak of the day - meeting Ariel of course

Thea saw her and took off

Thank god Ariel has red hair, when you spotted her you hoped Thea was with her

And she was, hugging her already when you and Noah caught up with them

In that moment you and Noah did not exist for her

Thea spun around to show the princess her costume and then remembered her parents

"Oh and look at my mummy she's Sebastiand and daddy is the prince!" she said excitedly while pointing at you both

You and Noah didn't know how to act, being both introverts and uncomfortable, sending panicked looks to each other

But Thea didn't even give you space to say something as she started babbling something to Ariel again

You took pictures of her with Ariel, also all three of you with Ariel and then said your goodbyes

Honestly anything else after meeting Ariel didn't matter, because every few minutes Thea said "Can I see the pictures moooom?"

And "Can you send them to uncles? I want uncle Folio to see my fishie costume dad!"

You'd get something for dinner and then gathered with everyone else to see the fireworks

But meeting Ariel was probably so tiring that Thea fell asleep on Noah's shoulder halfway through

She continued with her peacefull sleep the whole way to your hotel room

You and Noah stood at the end of the bed as you watched Thea sleeping with her plush fishie and small smile on her face

In that moment you knew you and Noah did good with this whole family and parenthood thing you were scared of

[moonlitdesertdreams]

By the Sea (part 1/?)

A/N: Why am I on a True Blood kick in February of 2024? I have no idea, but please enjoy if you also are. Tags: Eric Northman, vampires, Eric Northman True Blood, True Blood Imagines, Eric Northman x OC, Eric Northman x mythical creature!reader, Eric Northman x Reader WARNINGS: Canon-typical swearing, overwhelming amounts of sweet, confused Eric Summary: Eric's been cursed to forget all his memories, but you stick out... and have to deal with the aftermath.

Word count: 1.6k+

You had no interest in meeting with the new King of Louisiana.

Bill Compton’s new position as King had given you nothing but pause, and part of you recognized his calling upon Eric as a power play.

So you lounged in the back office at Fangtasia, drifting in and out of consciousness. You could hear the faint arguing between Sookie and Pam in the other office, no doubt about relinquishing ownership of Sookie’s house. The same issue, you assumed, that Bill had requested Eric to discuss. You chuckled at the remembrance that it was your idea to buy the decrepit old farmhouse when Sookie went missing, both to keep an eye on the new King and have a safe haven for Eric away from Fangtasia. 

Despite never being fully human, sleeping was one of your favorite indulgences. And tonight you were content to let Eric handle Mr. Compton’s silly requests while Pam argued with Sookie in the other room and you remained at ease. The couch in Eric’s office was worn and comfortable, and you settled yourself underneath one of his jackets, propped against the armrest. When Sookie’s annoying voice drifted away, you were left with the dull roar of protestors outside Fangtasia. 

Dreams of blue seas and daylight walks with Eric plagued your mind. The warmth of the sun on your skin, and the golden dance of his hair in a Mediterranean breeze flitted by, and you relished in the fuzzy feeling it brought. 

But the invigorating daylight suddenly vanished, replaced with a drab gray office and the annoying scream of a cell phone. You quickly realize it was not in fact your cell phone, but the Fangtasia office phone ringing obnoxiously on Eric’s desk. The sound of Pam and her… company through the wall gave you the idea she wasn’t getting to the phone anytime soon, so you yawned and climbed to your feet, having half a mind to let it ring till it quieted. 

However, the newest anti-Vampire movement was raging, and everything at Fangtasia now was about saving face and playing nice. You picked up the receiver and tucked it in the crook of your shoulder, putting on your best vampire purr. 

“Thank you so very much for calling Fangtasia. How may I be of service?”

“Y/N?” 

You grimace, recognizing Sookie’s sing-song twang. “What do you want?”

“Listen, this is no time for your normal attitude-”

A snarl breaks through your lips. “Watch your mouth, brat. I’ll be on that doorstep before you draw in your next breath.”

“Y/N!” Sookie breathes heavily. “It’s Eric. I found him walking down the road on my way back.”

You stiffen. Sookie’s house was less than a mile from Compton’s, and the thought of what happened to Sophie-Ann at his mansion invaded your mind. 

“What’d Compton do to him?”

“This wasn’t Bill.” Sookie’s tone was defensive in spite of everything he’d put her through. “I’m not sure who did this. Y/N… he doesn’t remember me. Or, much of anything. He keeps saying your name.”

Your slow-beating heart ticked up a notch. “You’re home?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you soon.”

You call on every power you have, letting your eyes fall closed. Teleportation was more of just extremely fast flying, mostly manageable but just exhausting. Sookie’s front porch materializes in your mind, and shortly after you feel a warm Louisiana breeze on your face. The sound of screaming cicadas followed, ringing your ears to the point of a migraine. 

Before you can get a hand on the doorknob, the wooden panel flew open. Six feet and five inches of blonde viking greeted you, big hands palming at your shoulders and arms as he drew you close in an instinctual embrace. Sookie’s scent caught your attention as well, but your face was buried in Eric’s bare chest, too busy reveling in his closeness to care. He hummed against your hair nonsensically, nose nuzzled into the roots. 

“Älskling” Darling. 

He murmured the Swedish word into your hair, pushing a soft rumble through his chest. You finally found it in you to return the embrace, rubbing what you imagined to be reassuring circles on his torso. His behavior was startling, as public affection was not his favorite. He wasn’t afraid of it, per say, but he was more brutish. Eric was possessive and pushy, grabbing onto you and nuzzling against your body to mark you with his scent before visiting vampires or their nests. Coddling and dotting outside of that was usually reserved for the bedroom and private rooms away from prying eyes. 

“Eric?” You take a step back, and your heartstrings tug painfully on one another. 

His blue eyes are wide, full of confusion and apprehension The air of calm and power he usually carries is missing, replaced with the naivety of a scared child. You reach a hand up to cup his cheek. 

“What happened, my love?” You whisper, ushering him to sit on the porch swing.

As you walk away from the entryway, Sookie’s eyes meet yours. She nods briefly, and steps away before closing the door with a soft ‘click’. Eric reaches for you once he’s settled on the cushions. You allow him to have a hold of your hand, but maintain a bit of space and sit cross-legged facing him. 

“I’ve missed you.” He murmurs, even though you saw him less than five hours ago. 

The gush and fluttering of human emotions was something you haven’t felt in years. “I know. What’s the last thing you remember?”

“The sea.” Eric takes your hand with both of his. “Where we met. You were so beautiful.”

His words were full of emotion and love, and you hated that your face blanched. When you met, when he could smell and taste the shore of the North Sea as it danced under sunlight, was the last few days of his humanity.

“Do you remember what happened to you tonight?” You implore him to continue, trying not to choke at the sight of his ruffled hair. 

Eric’s face fell, far away from the contented glaze he had when speaking about the sea. “I know I am a vampire. You are mine. But I… I don’t-”

“Shhh, Shhh.” You hush him gently. “That’s okay.”

Eric shakes his head, gripping your wrist as if you could take his memories via osmosis. He mutters in Swedish, and you prompt him to speak up. The words he utters tell you of flashes he’d seen, but couldn’t provide any context. 

“Det var hon, men det var inte hon.” It was her, then it wasn’t her. 

The description is of a face morphing from older to younger, but nothing more. 

What the hell had Bill Compton done to him?

Sure, Eric recalled a woman’s face, but there was nothing to say Bill didn’t set him up. You were suddenly pissed at yourself for not accompanying him to the new King’s hold. You hadn’t so much as asked why he was going. Pam was her normal stoic self upon hearing about him being beckoned, but you bet she had asked why. 

“Eric?” His eyes are fixed on you, unwavering and diligent. 

“Yes, my queen?” 

You almost blush at the pet name. “Can you go sit inside with Sookie? I just have to call someone.”

A lopsided grin stretches his face. “Anything for you.” 

Eric leans in and meshes his lips with yours, and it’s the sweetest kiss he’s ever laid on you. There’s no possessive undertone, no domineering fangs brushing against your lips. It’s an innocent show of affection, driven by absolute base instinct and a loss of personality. 

“I love you.” He murmurs, breath fanning over your lips. 

“I know.”

That amnesiatic smile twists his lips again, and he shuffles back into the farmhouse. You dwell for a moment on the odd behavior before withdrawing your cell phone and immediately dialing Fangtasia.

“Good evening, Fangtasia, Northern Louisiana’s most fang-tastic club. What do you want?”

On any other day, you would have laughed at Pam’s greeting. And you tried so hard to be nice. 

“Pam it’s me.”

“Are you really callin’ me from the other office? I thought we talked about-” 

“Something happened to Eric.” You stop her,  “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

The line goes silent, and you half expect her to come rushing onto the porch as you had. 

“Elaborate.”

“Sookie called me… She found him wandering down the road on the way home from Fangtasia. He doesn’t remember anything.” You force yourself to keep your voice steady.

“What do you mean, anything?”

You sigh. Nervous Pam is not good for anyone. “The last thing he recalls is the last days he was human…. When we met. He knows what he is but not who.”

Pam’s voice quakes, and you can’t tell if it’s anger or fear. “Bill set him up.”

You raise a brow. “I had an inkling. What did he go there for?”

“Some new coven of fuckin’ witches in Shreveport. Rumored to have been practicin’ necromancy.”

Your blood runs cold. “And Bill sent him in alone?”

“Probably knew it was a trap, too. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s tried to get rid of Eric.” Her hatred of Bill is palpable, even through the shoddy phone connection. “If the AVL finds out, they might sign off on assassinating Eric.”

“Alright.” You scrub a hand down your face. “Thanks Pam. I’m gonna take care of him”

“Y/N… be careful. I don’t trust Sookie.” 

Said southern belle is trying to covertly look at you through the window and you turn away. 

“You know I will.” A pause. “And Pam?”

“You get all mushy with me and it’s just gonna piss me off.”

You laugh for the first time that night. “Just do me a favor and don’t worry.”

The line disconnects, and you know she’s worrying. From inside the house, Eric smiles at you, dopey face swaying ever so slightly in the window frame. You look at the sky, wishing you didn’t know there was no such thing as God. 

“Fuck my life.”

-------

True Blood Masterlist | Send me an ask!

[scuttling]

I Can Handle Me A Dangerous Man - Ch 6

Fandom: True Blood (TV) Pairings: Eric Northman/Female Reader or Eric Northman/OFC Word Count: 6,247 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dream sex, Masturbation, D/s situations, Knife play, Blood sharing Summary: Eric and Cam return to Melanie's, and on the way back, something changes between them.

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

She knows she’s dreaming, because Eric is beneath her, and since she’s known him he’s always been towering over her, covering her, leaning into her space.

Her knees are spread around his waist and sinking into the fluffy comforter they’re on top of, his hands high on her thighs as he helps her bounce and grind on his cock. She feels the ghost of him inside her, knows pleasure in this dream, but it’s nothing like the real thing, doesn’t compare to even the real life press of his palm against her lower back. 

“I need more. So close, so close,” she chants, whimpering while his broad hands slide up to her breasts to squeeze them roughly, to close around her throat and make her face heat with the pressure. 

“I’m right here,” dream-Eric comforts, brushing his thumbs over her bottom lip. “Daddy’s right here, just give in. Please just give in, baby.” 

Her hairline prickles with sweat in this dream, the room warm and almost stifling around them as she works to bring herself off using his strong, gorgeous body. She drops a hand to her clit, rubs furiously until she’s coming and squeezing hard around his cock, crying out with the blissful feeling of release, of his hands, now on her hips so tight they must bruise.

She collapses on top of him, catching her breath against his chest, his hands moving soothingly up and down her back, over the sore spots on her skin. He praises her, perfect, Camila, good girl, makes her drift so far into another world she can’t remember anything but the sound of his voice in her ear.

She wakes up with no marks on her body, but one sticky hand between her thighs. 

Cam receives a text the next night - I’m hiring a new bartender. Will you come by and help me vet him? Pam will pick you up.

Eric is looking unfairly handsome when she arrives, especially after that goddamn dream of hers. He’s got a low cut tank on, baring his chest and throat, with a leather jacket thrown over the top—she almost feels underdressed in her turtleneck and jeans, but it’s still early evening and the club is closed, so she doesn’t think it makes a difference to anyone but her. 

“Camila, welcome,” Eric says, standing and walking toward her. He takes her handbag and shows her to the table where the prospective employee, Darren, is seated. The man stands when she approaches, and he’s good-looking too, with dark hair and blue eyes, a killer smile he unleashes the moment she takes his hand. 

“Hi, I’m Darren,” he greets, and Eric hands Cam’s bag to Pam and pulls out a chair for her. She smiles back and introduces herself, then sits down and waits for Eric to push her chair back in. Darren sits too, drums his fingers on the table between them. “I’m, uh, 29, used to bartend at The Regal before the manager ‘went in a different direction’—girls in low cut tops,” he explains. “I’ve been doing it for about five years, and I think I’d fit in well here. I’m definitely pro-vamp, you know, and I’ve hung out here with my friends a few times. Love the vibes,” he says, looking to Eric, who appears bored by the conversation.

Cam listens in to the things he’s not saying, like that he actually got fired for hooking up with the manager’s girlfriend, one of the aforementioned girls in low cut tops. She doesn’t think that’s a deal breaker for Eric, gives him a gentle smile. 

“Well that’s great to hear. Fangtasia gets all kinds, so having someone charismatic and open minded at the front of the house is important to us. It makes all of our guests feel at ease.” She lets a bit of flirtatiousness seep into her tone, a test, and he grins. 

“Well I’m all about making everyone feel at ease. They come here to have a good time, you know?” She nods, probes his mind again—just some low grade horny stuff, typical human thoughts, and he’s thirsty. She stands from the table and crosses over to the bar, grabbing a pitcher of water and a glass, then fills it and takes it back to him. When she sets it down, he thanks her, lets his fingers brush hers as he lifts the glass. “Do you come here to have a good time? Or are you strictly business?” 

“That’s not exactly relevant,” Eric speaks for the first time, leaning forward in his seat. Cam instinctively moves her chair a little closer and sits down beside him, clears her throat. 

“How are you with cash?” she asks Darren, whose smile has dimmed a little at Eric’s comment. He takes a sip of water and nods. 

“All good, I have a business degree and I’m great at math, so I always balance. And I tend to make pretty good tips.” 

She doesn’t doubt that, with his toned arms and charming smile; they talk a bit longer, and his thoughts corroborate what he says, no red flags or reason for concern she can pick up on. 

After the makeshift interview, they all rise and Cam shakes his hand, tells him they’ll be in touch. Though Pam already has his contact information and resume, he jots down his phone number on a napkin and hands it to her personally, “in case you have any more questions for me.” 

Eric doesn’t shake his hand, but he does pull the napkin from her grasp and crumple it up into a ball when he’s gone. 

“Hey,” she says lightly, following his long strides as he walks toward the trash can behind the bar and sinks a basket. “What if I had more questions for him?” 

“That wasn’t an offer for another interview, and you know it,” he replies, pouring a glass of water and handing it to her with an expressionless look on his face. “He wants to sleep with you.” 

“He wants to sleep with pretty much every girl he sees,” she counters, taking a grateful sip. “Including his previous manager’s girlfriend, which is the real reason he’s seeking work at your fine establishment.”

“I don’t know if he’s right for us.” Cam arches a brow, but Eric makes no effort to explain himself, so she’s left trying to figure it out on her own. 

“Because he cheated? I feel like that’s the least of your worries. He didn’t skim, he has no criminal background, he’s never gotten into an altercation with a customer. He’s not part of any anti-vampire groups,” she ticks off with her fingers. Pam’s initial research was very thorough, and Cam was actually kind of impressed. “He makes drinks and looks hot, which is really all you need.” 

She’s surprised when he moves closer, because even though that’s part of his usual MO, this time is different. His steps are slower, more purposeful; she’d think he was trying to intimidate her, if she didn’t know better. Or maybe turn her on? She can’t help that things like that cross the wires in her brain, how sometimes he’s even more attractive when he’s angry with someone or roughing them up.

“Is it all you need?” he asks when he’s in front of her, his voice sultry and low. “Or do you need more?” She exhales softly at his words, strangely similar to the words she’d uttered in her dream, and he brings a hand up to rest at the base of her throat, pressing his fingertips into her flesh. 

She does need more, wants more, from him—as good-looking as Darren was, she can’t imagine getting what she needs from anyone but Eric now. He is the man of her fantasies, the one who knows more than she does about her own desires, but she knows she can’t have all the things she wants, even if he’s willing to play along when they’re alone. 

And suddenly they aren’t alone, as Pam walks back into the room and clears her throat. 

Eric steps back, takes his hand off of her, and after a long moment of continued eye contact, she grabs her bag from behind the bar and heads for the door. 

“Just hire him,” Cam calls over her shoulder as she leaves.

She doesn’t hear from Eric for three days, until he shows up at her door just after the sun has set. He’s wearing a suit, all black, the first couple buttons of his shirt undone, and he both looks and smells absolutely mouthwatering. Whatever expensive cologne he’s got on is really working for him. 

“There’s another party at Melanie’s, and she was so impressed with you last time that she’s asked for your services again. Are you willing?” She nods, takes a step back to invite him into the apartment. 

“What does she want to know?” she asks, closing the door behind him.

“She and her pet have found another couple they’d like to play with,” he says, following her to her bedroom, where she tugs open the closet doors to inspect her options. “The dominant partner is human and Melanie would like you to get a read on him.” 

She nods, flipping past hanger after hanger because nothing feels quite right for a party like Melanie’s; she stops when Eric moves closer with a soft hum of interest and pulls out a clingy little black dress with short ruffled sleeves and hem. It’s not what she would have selected, a little too cute, and she turns to him and says so. 

“Won’t they expect me to look… I don’t know, sexy?” He holds the dress up to her, adjusts the neckline.

“They’ll expect you to look exactly the way your dominant wants you to look,” he says without making direct eye contact. “You’re free to choose, of course, but I think this one is perfect.”

When he does look at her face, he seems… Thoughtful, serious, almost smoldering as the silence between them evolves from a few seconds to a long, charged moment. They’re both breathing, but that’s all, eyes locked, bodies still, until she takes a step back and pulls her sweater over her head, tosses it onto the bed behind him. She’s not wearing a bra—though he can only see her from the back, now—but the dress doesn’t allow for one anyway, so that’s just one less step as far as she’s concerned.

Cam takes the hanger from his hands, slips the dress on, then unbuttons her pants and kicks them off, leaving them on the floor where they land. She tugs her hair out of the ponytail it’s been in all day, combs her fingers through it and then pulls it over one shoulder, exposing her back to him. 

“Will you zip me up?” she asks, and he runs a hand over her hair, wraps his fingers around her arm, and pulls up the zipper slowly, purposefully, until it’s secure. Fixing her hair, she thanks him with a soft smile, then grabs a pair of shoes and sits down on the bed to buckle them up.

The drive to Melanie’s is strangely tense, and she can’t stop herself from looking over at him, at his silhouette in the dark. She can’t see his eyes, but her gaze lingers over his jaw, his chin, his Adam's apple, his lips… She’s not sure if it’s because of their stolen moment at the bar the other day, or the dreams she’s been having about him, but just looking at him turns her on and she only manages to look away when he turns his head and catches her. 

His stoic expression cracks into a smile, but she doesn’t think too much into it, knows that her want just makes him enjoy their little game all the more.

This party of Melanie’s is a bit more private than the first, with seven couples in attendance, including Eric and Cam. A few of them she knows from the last get-together, a few she’s never met—including the reason she’s there, the couple Melanie wants her to check out before she commits to a date with them.

“That’s the one,” Eric says into her ear when they first walk into the room, and Cam spots the man he’s referring to right away. He looks to be in his fifties, wealthy, handsome, with dark hair and eyes, and a beautiful blonde vampire who appears to absolutely adore him. She is wearing a single strand of pearls and a wine-colored dress, hanging on his arm and his every word. 

“I can see why Melanie’s interested,” she whispers back, and Eric puts his arm around her waist, maneuvers her in front of him as if guiding her from behind. It feels nice to be taken care of by him, and it’s what their fellow partygoers expect, so she goes with the flow, let’s him lead her where he wants, to Melanie and her pet at the bar. 

“Eric, Camila. You two look positively gorgeous,” she says with a toothy smile, looking both of them up and down languidly. Her dark hair is in bountiful ringlets, and she wears a navy blue suit, which pairs nicely with her pet’s silky pink mini dress and silver heels. She wears her collar, of course, which tonight is connected to a matching silver leash that Melanie holds carefully between her fingers. 

“And the both of you are beautiful, as always,” Eric says, removing one of his hands from her body to take Melanie’s and kiss it. “Thank you for inviting us.”

“You’re always welcome here,” she says, and her eyes rake over Cam again, to her surprise. Why she’s looking at Cam when she has Eric’s attention is beyond her. “It’s a shame you aren’t the type to share, but I do love seeing you nonetheless.” 

Cam knows better than to indicate her confusion, to look like she’s questioning him here, so she holds her tongue for the rest of their brief conversation. 

After they grab drinks, Eric walks her to an armchair on one side of the room and sits down, his legs spread just enough that she understands it’s an invitation perch on his lap. That’s new, and it makes her shiver, but she figures it’s just practical—they can’t talk here without whispering, and it won’t look as suspicious if she’s sitting in his lap and murmuring in his ear.

“What was that about?” she asks as she settles on his lap, his thigh firm and cool beneath her. She wraps her arms around him, one behind his shoulders and the other slung over his waist, and he keeps her close, rests his hand on the bare skin of her leg.

“With Melanie? Nothing.” 

“You promised you wouldn’t lie to me, Eric,” she reminds him with an edge to her voice, because she’ll call an Uber and leave this party if he insists on keeping information from her, she has no hesitations about that. 

He sighs, then moves her hair away from her neck and brushes his lips along her throat. 

“I told you they were looking for another couple to play with,” he whispers in her ear. “She asked me first—if you and I would be interested. Obviously, I declined.”

She hums her understanding—certainly not because of the way his mouth trails along her neck, his hand resting between her thighs. She wants to be mad at him, because he’s obviously trying to soften her up, distract her, and cover up their conversation all at once… and because it’s working. Then she thinks, screw it, because he’s never going to stop teasing her this way, playing his game, and in that case, she might as well enjoy it.

“That explains why she’s looking over here like she’s starved for a meal.” Eric nods against her skin, runs his hand up and down her leg, and Melanie’s attention is even more targeted, her stare unyielding. Cam’s not looking directly, but she can feel her eyes on them and wants to make sure there is no doubt about their commitment this time. “You should kiss me,” she says quietly, and when he pulls back to look at her she meets his gaze. 

Whatever he sees there, that’s all it takes for him to comply; his mouth is on hers in an instant, his hand moving from her legs to her face and cradling it as they kiss. She can feel her body warming up, and his, as he grows hard against her ass, and she brings a hand up to his shirt, rubs at the bare skin exposed by the undone buttons.

“Mmm, daddy.” Her voice is breathy when she says it, but he groans and breaks the kiss, looks at her with eyes so dark it’s hard to tell they’re blue. She licks her bottom lip, and he leans back in to kiss her again, rougher this time, his hand deliciously tight on her jaw. 

When they part, she assumes it’s because of something Eric hears, because he seems reluctant to stop kissing but does it anyway. He runs his thumb over her lips, then slides his hand between her thighs again, but doesn't bother straightening his rumpled collar—which she finds out of character, and which she enjoys all the more for it. 

A few minutes later, Melanie brings over her prospective partners and introduces them as Joel and Amanda before slipping away to tend to other guests. They curl up on the sofa beside Eric and Cam, talk a little about themselves, what they do for work, for pleasure, listen intently when Eric talks about the bar and what it’s like to be a sheriff, and Cam. He talks a lot about Cam, how they met, how smart and capable and beautiful she is, and she knows it’s for show but lets herself be warmed by his praise anyway. 

Melanie and her pet—who Cam now knows is called Catherine—join the conversation soon after, snuggling up to Amanda and flirting with Joel, making the both of them laugh happily. Eric sips his drink, offers Cam hers, and because she feels strange just sitting silently in his lap she cards a hand through his hair, toys with the open buttons of his shirt between her fingers. He relaxes into her touch almost immediately, tilts his head just slightly like he’s enjoying it and wants more, and she leans in to whisper in his ear. 

“All good so far. He’s genuine. And horny,” she adds, though it feels obvious. “He’s enjoying the thought of dominating two vampires, if that’s something Melanie’s up for, but overall he’s pretty mild. He isn’t even thinking about the blood.”

Eric doesn’t respond, and she doesn’t expect him to, just continues to rub his hand up and down her thigh. She figures she deserves that for teasing him too, and slips back into conversation easily, continues filtering Joel’s thoughts for anything untoward.

It’s early morning when they leave, and Cam needs Eric’s guidance—more because she feels a pleasant humming in her mind, her thoughts hazy from all of the kissing, the touching, all of Eric’s attention, than because they’d been drinking. The friendlier Melanie and Catherine became with Joel and Amanda, the more physically comfortable, and when they would pause the conversation to kiss or pet a little, Eric would keep them busy by making out with her slowly, drawing patterns against her skin with his fingertips. By the time they make it to the car, she’s aching with want, and she knows Eric can feel it, smell it, see it. 

She spends the first half of the ride squeezing her legs together, trying not to think of his breath on her neck, his teeth at her ear, and then he reaches his hand toward her across the console, palm up like he wants her to take it. 

She takes it, and he squeezes softly, eyes never leaving the road. 

“You may touch yourself,” he says, low, and though she immediately flushes with embarrassment, the reaction is short lived. “Come in your panties like a good girl. You were so good for me tonight,” he praises, his voice like honey. “You always are.”

“Thank you,” she says almost automatically, and she runs her hand over her own thigh, a ghost of his previous touch. Her skin feels like it’s on fire, and she moans softly, earning Eric’s gaze. 

“Camila,” he murmurs, and she closes her eyes, eager but nervous, so horny it hurts her. He’s watching, but if she’s not watching him watch her, she’ll be less self-conscious, and more… uninhibited. She’ll let herself feel good because he’s given her permission to, clearly wants her to, and god, does she want to please him. 

She pushes her skirt up, knows he can see the purple lace panties she’s wearing, the ones she guides to the side so she can run her fingers over bare flesh. She’s wet, that’s no surprise, and she knows this is going to be quick, quicker because Eric is rumbling desire beside her and she wishes it were his fingers slipping through her slick. 

“Mmm. Ooh,” she sighs as she slides her hand over her pussy, her lips easily spread and warm beneath her touch. She arches her back a little and rubs harder, a little faster, to feel that electric shock through her body. “Oh, god.” 

“That’s it,” Eric encourages, squeezing her unoccupied hand, and her legs open wider almost instinctively, her hips tilting off the seat so she can press open her heat and ease one finger inside. “You’re fucking perfect,” he all but growls, and it vibrates through her, makes her buck her hips like she had in her dream, taking him in deeply, completely. “Another finger.”

She complies, sinks another finger inside; her hand is barely moving, it’s her rocking body that’s doing all the work, and part of her feels shameless and dirty, but the other part knows Eric wants this, is proud of her, maybe even worked her up on purpose so he could get her to do this in front of him. Either way, it’s a task she’s happy to perform, and when she comes on her own fingers she can hear the hitch of his breath, the wet snick of his fangs dropping.

The sound is almost enough to get her going again, but she’s exhausted and blissful, so she just hums her contentment before withdrawing her fingers and resting her hand on her thigh. 

They’re parked on the side of the road, she realizes when she opens her eyes, in a remote area that looks kind of familiar. She blinks through her lashes, then turns her head to look at Eric, who… god, how could he even get hotter? But he is, his eyes blue like sizzling fire, his lips parted; neither of them speak, but he takes her other hand and wipes her fingers clean using the inside of her dress before they have a chance to make her uncomfortable. With a gentle touch, he fixes her crumpled panties, then leans in to brush his lips over hers again and again and again.

Eric gets her home, gets her cleaned up and into bed, and she reaches for him, wants him near. He understands why, and he knows he shouldn’t have pushed her that far in the car, that it was a selfish idea, even if it was spur of the moment; still, it happened, and he is as responsible for taking care of her now as he is for her previous arousal. He stays as long as he can before the sun threatens, laying in her bed and holding her until her breathing evens out in sleep.

That morning when Eric dreams of Cam, she is covered in blood: it’s a mixture of his blood and hers, leaking sluggishly from wounds he’s created with his fangs, with a sharp knife, its handle made of bone. Her wrists are above her head, tied together with a cord of leather and fastened to the post of her bed, and she writhes and whimpers as he thrusts his fingers into her soaked pussy, as he sucks at the juicy artery of her inner thigh.

“Please, please,” she repeats like a prayer, her eyes squeezed shut and then open and nearly rolling back in her head. “God, Eric, please.” 

“You’ll take what I give you,” he says, leaning up, letting blood dribble from his mouth onto the soft flesh of her stomach as he kisses it, and she gasps, nods her head. 

“Yes, daddy,” she corrects, though she shifts her hips up for more contact like a greedy girl indeed. “Whatever you give me, I’ll–I’ll take it.” 

“Yes you will. Good girl,” he praises, licking at the spilled blood, and then swiftly flips her over, imagining the gorgeous smears of crimson she’ll leave on the fresh white sheets. 

He pushes into her from behind, presses forward on his palms until he’s fully sheathed inside her tight, fluttering heat, then clamps a hand down on the back of her neck, rough and possessive. 

“Take it, sweetheart, that’s right,” he mumbles as he fucks her, enveloped in the pleasure of her body, of the sweet sounds she makes for him, ones he’s actually heard firsthand; he’s craved domination since she first kissed him, maybe sooner, and he knows if she gives herself to him like this in reality, during the night, he will be lost. “Camila,” he pants, then leans in so he can press his cheek to hers. “Camila.” 

“Eric,” she moans as he pounds against her, as his fingers twist into her hair and pull, undoubtedly making her roots ache. “Eric.”

“Camila. Camila. Camila.”

It’s barely night when Cam all but bursts through the front door of Fangtasia, wearing a pair of black pants and a white tank top, her hair loose in flowing waves. She looks serious, concerned, beautiful. “Hey. Pam called, came to pick me up—what’s going on?” 

He knows he must look taken aback, because he didn’t have time to prepare his expression for that kind of questioning. He barely had time to register her presence.

“Nothing, I—Pam called you?” he verifies, and then Pam walks in the door, hovers behind Cam, though she doesn’t try to explain herself to him. Cam just nods and moves closer.

“Yeah. She said you needed me, that it was urgent,” she says, her eyes flicking over his face, his body, the line between her brows worried. This is so different from their last interaction, and he has difficulty wrapping his head around it.

“And you came.” He says it flatly, is able to conceal his… what is it, wonder, that she could care about him so much? As if she can tell anyway—and she probably can—she reaches for him, rests her hand on his forearm.

“Of course. Are you alright? Do you need me?” 

“I think you should drink my blood,” he says before he has half a second to even think about the implications of it. Cam clearly feels the whiplash of his statement, blinks slowly a couple of times as if processing it.

“Sorry, what? I must have missed some of the conversation,” she tells him, and Pam perks up over Cam’s shoulder, nodding rapidly. 

She’ll have to wait, because Cam is looking at him like he’s growing a second head.

“I think you should drink my blood. It would further strengthen our bond—you’d feel me if I were in distress, as I feel you. And I would be able to find you, if something went wrong. It’s more reliable than other forms of communication.” 

He thinks briefly about the ways they already feel each other and wonders absentmindedly if this will be the thing that actually pushes him over the edge of sanity. Cam considers him seriously and eventually nods.

“Okay. I should—I mean, we should do that, right?” she asks, looking up at him for confirmation. It makes him feel… special, to know his opinion matters this much to her. “Are there any side effects I should know about? I know your blood can heal, and I just consider that a perk.” 

Eric nods, and sighs, hopes what he tells her won’t put her off the whole idea.

“You may feel some physical changes for a while after you drink, like stronger senses, a bit more speed and agility. Mentally, you might find that I cross your mind more often. It’s part of the enhanced emotional tether we’d share. We’ll be even more attuned to each other’s state of being than we are now.”

She sets her bag down on the bar, but doesn’t appear phased by his admission.

“That’s good. It will help with the… stuff. The work, and the protection, mostly. So how do I—I mean, do you cut yourself, or bite yourself, or do I have to bite you?” she asks, gesturing to his neck. “I’m not sure I can bite that hard.” 

“I would cut or bite myself to bleed for you,” he assures, his throat nearly closing up as he says the words. Five minutes ago this wasn’t an option, and now they’re discussing the specifics like it’s about to become reality. He’s surprised to find himself overwhelmed. “It is a very strong bond, Camila,” he says as a final disclaimer, giving her time to think this over if that’s what she needs. “Very strong, but breakable, in time.”

“I’m not worried about that,” she says more quickly than she probably should. Part of him wishes she would worry—that he’s bad for her, that he’s pushed her this far already, that he wants her like he’s never wanted in his existence—but her tone is determined and sure. “Can we do it tonight?” 

“Yes,” Pam answers for him, walking up beside her. Cam drops her hand where she’d been touching Eric and takes a half-step away from him. “You can go do it now, in the office. It’s nothing ceremonial, just a quick nip and you’re on your way,” she says with a saccharine smile. Cam looks at her, tilts her head, and eventually looks back at Eric. 

“She’s being way too nice. Does she gain anything from this? Commission, or something?” Cam asks, half-joking, and it does lighten the mood and bring a huff of a laugh to Eric’s lips. He shakes his head.

“No, she’s just nice sometimes; I know it can be unsettling.” He puts his hand on her shoulder, walking toward the back of the bar and bringing her along beside him.

“Very,” Cam says as she glances over her shoulder at Pam before walking through the office door. 

Eric closes it and pauses, taking a deep, unnecessary but very needed breath.

“I know this is sudden, and what I’m asking of you is no small thing. If you need time to think it over…” Eric begins, his gaze soft on Cam’s face. Cam shakes her head.

“I know, and the same goes for you. I’m sure you’ve been thinking about this, weighing your options, and I want you to know I understand that it’s important to you, sharing your blood like this. I don’t take it for granted.” 

It takes him a moment to let that sink in, she thinks, can almost see the gears turning behind his eyes.

“I appreciate you saying that. It’s not something I do every day, but I am sure, if you are.” 

He steps closer to her, gently touches her face, and she flashes back to that night at Melanie’s, the ride home after. Her throat constricts and her heart pounds in her chest. 

That’s not what this is, she reminds herself. This isn’t dedication to each other, or something done out of lust or love. It will benefit them both, and Eric has decided the reward outweighs the risk. That’s all it is. 

Still.

“I’m sure.”

With that, he nods and steps backward toward the desk, then leans against it and tugs up the sleeve of his v neck sweater, displaying thick, pale forearm and smooth, unmarked wrist. His eyes, darker than usual—probably due to the dimness of the office—linger over her lips, then meet her own gaze, and he lets his fangs fall without the usual fanfare. 

She steps toward him and takes his hand, an acknowledgment of the seriousness of this, of the preciousness of this thing he’s offering; when he lifts his wrist to his mouth, their fingers are wrapped together. 

He punctures his own skin like he would a human’s, two small wounds welling up with blood—and the way he looks at her as he does it, like they’re already tethered, like he’s seeing into every corner of her… it makes her heart race, her face flush. She does what feels natural—and maybe that’s taking it a step too far, but she can’t help herself—and sinks to her knees, bringing their hands to about thigh level before catching the slowly falling drops with her tongue. 

At first, she sucks in a way that feels graceless and a little humiliating, so unfamiliar with this action in this context, but when Eric moans at the pressure of her mouth it becomes pure hunger. She takes his offering for the gift that it is, bunching the fingers of her other hand into the fabric of his sweater just over his stomach, and she drinks, and drinks, and drinks. 

It has to be more than enough, she thinks around a moan of her own—it’s less about the taste for her and more about the feel of it, slick on her lips and warmer than she would have expected—but when his free palm falls to the top of her head, pushing her hair back from the curve of her face, all she knows for certain is that she never wants it to end. 

It does, though, like all good things, and then Eric guides her to her feet and leans in for a deep, long, kiss that she feels with her entire body. He easily shifts their positions, so she’s the one propped against the desk, and then he pushes her onto it, curls his fingers around the back of her neck and keeps kissing. 

They trade groans as their mouths move, frenzied, her hands grabbing at his shoulders, his careful but possessive on her face and throat. Her legs are parted, and she wants to wrap them around his body, pull him in closer and closer until they’re as tightly pressed as she needs them to be, but he slows his kiss and ultimately, unfortunately, backs away. 

Icy blue eyes peer into hers as he moves fingers to her chin, tipping her face up so she’s locked in his gaze. Her chest heaves, and her body trembles like there’s something inside that wants to burst out of her skin and present itself to him, though she’s not sure what that may be.

“You will feel me, now,” he says, back to business as if he hadn’t just kissed her until she was lightheaded and thrumming with desire, as if he’s not hard in his pants, from the blood sucking or the kiss, she’s not sure. “I will find you, wherever you are.” 

“And I’ll find you,” she confirms, wetting her lips; she’s almost surprised to taste his blood there, metallic but sweet, even more surprised when he swipes his thumb through it and brings it to his own mouth. 

“All you need to do is call for me, and I promise I will come.”

“Why did you call her?” Eric asks Pam later, after Cam is long gone and the bar is closing up. Pam rolls her eyes and counts a stack of cash.

“Because I’ve had enough. You were moaning her name in your sleep,” she says, with an unsubtle hint that she finds the thought nauseating. She pauses her counting and flicks her eyes up to his. “I don’t normally like mixing business with pleasure, but I still think things would be better if the two of you just fucked already. And now that you’ve shared blood—” she begins, but he stops her with a look.

“She drank mine. I still haven’t tasted hers.” 

For some reason, that lights her eyes up, puts a smirk on her merlot-painted lips.

“Really?” she asks in a lilting tone. “I would have figured you’d taken a sip during one of your, ‘investigations.’”

It’s Eric’s turn to roll his eyes, and he walks away, but unfortunately, Pam follows.

“Why would she want me to? Why would she want someone like me? With the desires I have for her?”

“She’s not exactly an angel herself,” Pam tells him, and he turns abruptly on his heel, knows she must see fury in his eyes. She raises her hands in apology. “Easy. All I mean is, I’ve seen the two of you together. She knows you, darkness and all, and she still wants you. She’s practically shown her belly trying to submit to you—either that or she deserves a good damn Academy Award.”

“That doesn’t mean I should take advantage—”

“Eric, come on, you love taking advantage,” she says sternly, hands moving to her hips. She looks like a teenager, and he finds that agitating.

“Not like this,” he says, pointing a finger at her, ending the conversation effectively with just that gesture and a few final words. “Not of her.”

He doesn’t dream of Cam that night, doesn’t need to: he can practically feel the slip of cotton over her skin as she changes into pajamas, the softness of the pillow when she lays down her head.

[muddyorbsblr]

a startling realization pt1

See my full list of works here!

Summary: Oakley returns to campus after a trip with his mates and steadily comes to realize he's developed feelings for you

Pairing: Oakley x Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warning/s: frat boy friends vibes; bit of angst; probably not a completely accurate referencing to the events of 'Unrelated' [let me know if I missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: prequel piece to 'just another memory' but can be read alone; Oakley is a SIMP in the making for Reader

There'd been a strange sinking feeling in Oakley's stomach since he and his mates hit the road back to Cambridge. It was the kind that he'd only ever felt when he knew he'd done something that could get his mother cross at him and she and his father would impose some form of punishment on him. Perhaps revoke his cell phone for a week so he couldn't join his friends on their regular scheduled shenanigans. Or chat up some stunner that he'd met the week prior.

But things were different now. He was no longer bound by their rules for the most part. He was free to do whatever he wished and this trip to Italy was the perfect showcase of that new dynamic. All he had to do was get his degree and get a job, and he would still have their support and financial aid so that he wouldn't have to stay at the dorms or even have to tough it out with a roommate that might not approve of the way he lived day in day out.

The only person keeping him in check now was himself, and as far as he was concerned, there was nothing he'd done in Italy that he wouldn't have done in Cambridge. He had a bloody good time there, even, getting to engage in not just one but two flings, and one of them with an older woman.

And yet, when he thought back on every touch, every kiss, that he'd shared with either of the women, that pit in his stomach would form again. As if the activities he'd engaged in during his vacation were somehow the "wrong thing" that could make someone responsible for him cross.

But why?

"You're awfully quiet back there, mate. Which one of your lucky ladies is taking up space in that randy little brain o' yours, I reckon?" Eric teased, lightly tapping the curly blond's head as he plopped down on the seat next to him, jostling him out of his dwelling over why there was a pit in his stomach to begin with.

"I've no idea what you're on about, mate, I'm not thinking of anyone," he tried to brush it off, brows furrowing together when he tried to remember that night in the pool and the knots in his stomach worsened. Like the memories he made in Italy were not something he could look back at with fondness.

If he dwelled on it for even a second longer than necessary, it almost felt as if he was looking back on those memories with a touch of shame.

"Ah come on, Oaks, you tellin' everyone 'ere that you're not thinking about that stunner of a blonde Elizabetta? Even I'm thinking 'bout her and it wasn't my tongue down 'er throat." Eric crowded his space, squishing him to the side of the van. "Or even that cougar Anna, my lord, man that one was fawning and doting after you!"

As if right on cue, his mobile rang and vibrated violently in his pocket. Another call. He didn't need to even glance at the tiny device to know who it was. She'd been calling since just a few minutes after they'd all said their goodbyes.

That was over 24 hours ago. And he was well on his way back to campus, the scenery already began to elicit that feeling of 'home'. Or at least of familiarity.

"Speak o' the devil! Why don't you pick it up, Oaks? Be a grand old time hearing her pining after you again." His friend flailed into his side, dramatically placing the back of his hand on his brow. "'Oh Oakley how I miss you terribly, why don't I come visit you on Cambridge and we can live out any professor fantasies you might have in that virile young college brain? I'll even get the glasses and the pencil skirt just for you."

"Sod off," he grunted, trying to chuckle away the mental image. Another thing that was bothering him: Those fantasies that he'd had before they left for Italy a little over a month ago…none of them appealed to him now. "If you want, you take her number and live out those filthy little daydreams of yours, mate."

All that he could manage to think of at the moment was the melancholic knowledge that when he got back to his apartment, there would be no one there. He wasn't coming home to anyone. That didn't used to bother him before, but for some reason sitting in this van with all his mates and having to hear them be completely taken up with his own conquests in this trip made him feel as if he should be guilty and shameful somehow of the way he acted. The way he treated both the women that he encountered and found himself entangled with.

This is ridiculous, you're not looking for a wife, you batty little git, he hissed at himself, trying to supress the urge to let out a deep exhale. That would set off everyone in the van. Besides, you don't even know anyone that's even remotely wife material.

"Hey hey hey look alive, lads," Marcus, the one at the wheel, started to call out. His tone was brimming with wanton intent. "We are steadily approaching the dorms, and you know what comes after."

"Sorority row!" the rest of the van cheered, proceeding to make botched barking sounds, effectively drowning out the relentless ringing of Oakley's phone.

But the mention of the dorms finally had him sitting up straighter, realization dawning on him that he was wrong. He actually already knew someone who was so much more than "wife material". Someone brilliant and diligent that had a part of him driven to make the steps to be someone better.

Someone that he called his best friend. Better than anyone in the van with him tonight.

You.

"Marcus, could you drop me off here?" he called out, his stomach flipping at the sight of your familiar silhouette jogging to the front door of your dormitory.

His friends' remarks faded into a dull buzzing in the background as he got off the van, making his way over to you and staying still by your side while you did your step-ups at the bottom step of the stairs. It only took a few moments before you shifted your gaze at him, removing your earphones and hooking the cord behind your head before giving him a beaming grin.

"Goldie Long Legs!" you squealed, the exhilaration from your workout giving you an adorably flushed look, the slightest tinge of pink on your cheeks. "I didn't know you were coming back tonight."

"I was gonna give you a call when I woke up tomorrow, but then I saw you." He did his best not to pay too much attention to the strange somersaults his stomach was making the longer he stared at you. "Coffee?" He tried to keep his tone casual, despite the way his voice cracked on the last syllable, as if he was a nervous lad asking a girl out for the first time.

You answered a giggle that had his heart doing the most bizarre acrobatics in his chest. Why was he reacting to you like this? Was it simply the lack of a woman's presence the last two days as they made their way back, making this reaction more primal than anything else? Was it your exercise outfit and the way the fabric clung to the curves that were rarely ever out for him to take notice of before?

Was it something else? Something that was simply…uniquely…you?

"Coffee? At this hour?" you laughed off his offer. "All the coffee shops are closed by now, and you know how you get with caffeine, Goldie. If you have a sip, you won't know a peaceful night's sleep tonight."

"Oi! Lookin' good there, Y/L/N!" Eric hollered from the van. Oakley's skin bristled seeing how his friend leered over your figure. "Shame you didn't join us, Italy woulda been an even prettier sight with you around."

"Rather not add to the trail of broken hearts you lot left behind," you shot back flawlessly, sticking your tongue out at the boys in the van. "I know you lads well enough to know you didn't behave yourselves."

"Oaks over there's the worst offender of us all!" Eric pouted, pointing at the curly haired blond. "Two flings. At the same time. Shoulda seen him, Y/L/N, he was at the top of his game."

The playful smile on your face faltered for a fraction of a second before you recomposed yourself. That infinitesimal moment was more than enough for the pit in his stomach to make its presence felt once again. Now Oakley knew what it was, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Shame. And the worry that knowing what he'd done back there would somehow taint your perception of him. When your gaze darted to him once again, he had to fight back the words that wanted to stumble clumsily out of his mouth. They meant nothing to me.

In the moment they were fascinating, and truthfully while he was in said moment, he thought about how things would go moving forward. If he would try to pursue anything with either of them, but ultimately the immediate answer was 'No'. Back then he didn't know quite yet the reason behind his mind's outright refusal, but now he did.

This dalliance was a mistake. I have someone so much better back at home and I've been a fool not to see it.

"Quite the juggling act, Goldie," you remarked, your tone more hushed than before. It felt as if you were putting distance between the two of you despite not having moved an inch. Like there was a wall he couldn't quite scale now just to get to you.

"One o' them even gave him a nice lil picture o' her. A breathtaking blonde called Elizabetta. Ohh man not even the finest girls in sorority row can compare."

Shut up, you little twat, he internally seethed, wanting nothing more than to throw whatever he could get his hands on at Eric's head so that he could just. Stop. Talking.

And then his mobile started ringing again. And your smile disappeared, your face looking as if it was struggling to decide how to reconfigure itself, your neck twitching with every shrill note of his ringtone. "That's probably that breathtaking blonde now," you said in an eerily chipper tone. "I won't keep you any longer, I'm sure you're tired from the trip. And you'd like to spend the night speaking with your new lady friend."

"Oh that's not even the blonde! That's the other one!" Dammit Eric, stop talking. "Older lady. Head over heels for him, she couldn't keep her hands off him every time they were in the room together. Told you, Y/L/N. Top of his game."

"Ohh so a lady lady friend. All worldly and whatnot…" Even your body language was throwing him off now, way too casual to fit how he himself felt in this moment. The feeling of wanting more than anything to explain. "Well then, I really don't want to keep you. I know better than to keep my elders waiting, you should, too."

The boys in the van started cheering and clapping over your remark, jokingly chanting "One of us! One of us!" as you gave them a curtsy, making a motion as if you were wearing a skirt rather than your black and hot pink leggings.

It was only when you were halfway up the steps to your dorm building that he managed to find his voice again. "Breakfast tomorrow? My treat?"

You only answered with another giggle. "Did you hit your head or something back in Italy? You don't do breakfast, Oakley. At most you do half a protein bar at first period. From my purse. I'll see you at lunch. I mean…if you're not too busy with your new lady friends or whatever."

He couldn't come up with an intelligible enough response, instead watching you walk into your building and shutting the door, wiping away at your face with your towel. All that he could do was walk back into the van, telling Marcus in a daze, "Drop me off at my place. I'm not in the mood for stop overs at sorority row."

Oakley wasn't in the mood for any more games. Any more women. Not tonight.

The next morning the first thing he did was call up his service provider to see about getting a number blocked, and then he grabbed his wallet, rummaging around in his desk drawer for a handful of photos to place in front of Elizabetta's. A group photo with his mates from their first class project in freshman year, a photo with his family. A photo of a stolen moment with you where you two were wielding chopsticks at each other in a playful "stand off" for a potsticker, and your graduation photo.

On a whim, he placed the potsticker one in the front, a fond smile stretching across his face as he traced his finger over your face in the picture. And then his alarm clock began to ring and the sound quickly filled his apartment, springing him into action to find the nearest clean outfit he had lying around.

He nearly broke a sweat with how fast he ran to your dorm building, hoping he'd catch you before you started walking toward wherever you'd decided to grab breakfast for this morning. Right as he was across the street from the front doors, you walked out, one earphone plugged in and the other dangling from the cord, undoubtedly mouthing along to whichever song was topping the chart this week.

"Y/N!" He internally winced at the hoarseness in his voice. He wasn't even running for that long; how was it that he was already heaving for air?

Your head snapped up to his direction at the sound of your name, shock registering on your face when your eyes met his. Followed by confusion, your brows adorably knitting together as you watched him jogging towards you as he crossed the street.

"What brings you to my neck of the woods at this hour, Goldie?" you greeted him with a smile, hooking the cord of your earphones behind your neck. "Have a breakfast date with one of the girls from my building? You must have it bad for this one if you're willing to wake up so early for--"

"Y/N, I'm…I'm not here for someone from your building," he cut you off, wiping his hands on his shorts before standing up straight, trying to get his heart to stop beating so bloody fast. "I asked you to breakfast last night, remember? My treat?"

His response had you visibly taken aback. "Oh…" The word came out more like a squeak, making you clear your throat. "I uhh…I thought you just offered that as a nicety. For catching up. We could've done lunch…or you know, coffee now that it's a reasonable hour."

"We could do that, too," he said in a rush, fighting against the strange instinctual urge to reach for your hand as the worry that you might wave him off and start walking away crossed his mind. "After breakfast?"

You shuffled your feet in place, slightly swaying back and forth. It was a motion he knew all too well from you, the one that told him you were trying to think something through, trying to find the reason and the rationality in something before deciding what to say or do next. Had it been any other day, any other circumstance, and had he not been grappling with finding his own sense of rationality in why there was suddenly this shift on how he was acting and reacting around you, he would have swayed with you.

After a few moments your mouth stretched into a half-smile, shrugging before tilting your head in the direction of a nearby cafe and bakery. "Alright then. Let's go."

Oakley couldn't help how his face broke out into a grin, a touch too eagerly falling into step with you, still fighting the urge to reach for your hand. To lace his fingers with yours.

"So tell me all about Italy," you started, looking up at him and squinting your eyes as the morning sun hit your features. "Start with the food because I want to know if handmade pasta--"

"We can talk about Italy later," he breathed out, finally losing the struggle to not reach for you and settling on lightly resting his hand just above the small of your back. "Tell me about what you've been up to the last six weeks."

He'd try and process what it meant later. That all he wanted to do was know how you'd spent your time apart. That he wanted to hear your stories rather than speak about his own. That much as it was an extraordinary experience to roam Italy with his mates, the only thing he could think of now was how it could have been even more beautiful if he perhaps…experienced it with you.

"Oh…" Your voice got smaller again, as if you were struggling yourself to find words. "Well truthfully they were quite boring. My sister visited campus to drag me to the shopping plaza to overhaul my wardrobe. She's quite literally holding my jumpers hostage and replaced them all with…well, things like these." You awkwardly motioned at the dress you were wearing, a frilly sage number with a bow. "I look ridiculous."

"You look beautiful," he blurted out, immediately biting the inside of his cheek when you snapped your head up to give him a questioning look. A new feeling flooded him. Something almost akin to…fear? His heart was still pounding and thrashing in his chest, his breathing thready like the air was too thin.

Like he was afraid that you'd look at him and see right through him. Right into his soul. His deepest, most secret thoughts. Thoughts he hadn't even dared to properly articulate with himself.

And if you saw them, if you saw him, you would walk away without a second thought. Those words that he was so used to wielding without completely meaning it when he was around other girls, he'd uttered to you with the weight of every unspoken thought he'd had of you since last night.

With every ounce of sincerity and honesty that felt so foreign for him to possess.

"Oh please, Goldie, you don't have to butter me up," you laughed off his compliment, waving it away with your hand like it was a little housefly flitting away by your face. "You don't have to lay it on--"

"I'm not." The words were flying out of him faster than his brain could filter them. "You're beautiful, Y/N. And it's not because your sister overhauled your wardrobe or you changed your hair. It's you." His heart caught in his throat seeing your eyes widen, the questions and the confusion in them mirroring his own. What was wrong with him today? "All of you."

You pursed your lips, already looking back in the opposite direction like you were second guessing agreeing to sharing a meal with him. Or maybe even sharing any form of time with him. He already wanted to hit himself for not keeping his mouth shut, he probably just flushed your entire friendship down the toilet all because he started acting the same way he did when he was in the first grade talking to the prettiest girl in class.

"Hmmm," you sounded through pursed lips, taking a deep breath before your features morphed into that all too composed smile that you gave him and his mates last night. "And here I thought all I had going for me was my winning personailty."

"That's just a part of it," he shot back, failing to fight the urge to touch his hand to your arm as you reached the cafe, helping you keep steady as you walked up the elevated platform leading to the door. Right as you walked past him when he opened the door for you, he caught a wisp of your perfume. The same one you'd worn every day since the day he met you, the scent of apples and mandarin blanketing him with a warmth that took him aback.

Memories of his weeks in Italy now bombarded him. How he would relish the apples that he had, breathing in the scent before taking a bite. How he brought an apple when he and the rest of the group visited a citrus grove, and how the combined smells reminded him of home.

Only his family home didn't smell like that at all. It smelled of tea plants and bergamot.

"Oakley?" Your voice broke through his memories. "You alright over there?"

He took in the sight of you, a single eyebrow raised looking like you were amused by his stupefied state, the corner of your mouth upturned in a little smirk. "Right as rain," he choked out, finding it hard to breathe properly with his heart beating so fast it might as well be The Flash on a treadmill. "Just not used to being up this early, is all."

You only wagged your finger at him, tsk'ing in response when he stepped up next to you at the counter. "Shouldn't have shocked your system with changing your routine like that, Goldie. You have to ease yourself into it, take baby steps. Otherwise you'll crash midday and end up taking a twenty-minute nap that quickly turns into four hours, miss a lecture, and then you'll have to rely on my notes. Again."

"Ah, you should know me better by now, Y/N. I'll need to rely on your notes even if I'm wide awake, I can never pay attention to those old windbags."

His words had you rolling your eyes to the ceiling, a devious smile playing at your lips. He couldn't take his eyes off you, every waking brain cell screaming at him to take your face in his hands and kiss you.

"And here I thought your time with your new worldly lady friend would have you respecting our elders a bit more," you quipped, laughing at him when all he could do in response was audibly choke on the air. "Maybe we can hack that debauched brain of yours. Pretend those old windbags are your older lady friend instead, or pretend one of the pretty girls in our lecture room is your breathtaking blonde Italian beauty. Maybe then you'll pay a bit more attention in class."

I won't, his mind protested. Why would I look anywhere else when you're right next to me?

"I really don't think so," he said softly, letting out a chuckle when all you did was shake your head at him, proceeding to order a bacon cheese waffle sandwich and the first of a handful of coffees you'd be drinking throughout the day. All the while Oakley watched you, a fond smile stretching across his face as he lost himself in the memory of the citrus grove again. The scent he was chasing the entire way to Italy and back.

Your scent.

Home

A/N: Sometime last year I made a lil note in my idea notebook to make a prequel piece to 'just another memory' and now here we are…and it's gonna be a 2-parter with a potential alternate ending because the lil gremlin horn dogs in my writer brain want a scenario where she chooses…well, y'know what, you'll know who it is soon enough 😈😈

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist

[skiiyoomin]

Hi can you do a Platonic Four X Female reader were he saw her as a little sister in when he still lived Abnegation and has to fight the urge to run over to hug Y/nafter spotting her among the new dauntless initiates.

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Content: fluff, platonic four x reader, fem!! reader

a/n Hi!! So sorry I took ages to answer!! At last I found the inspo and time, anyways here it is!! I feel like its a little short for my liking but nevertheless, i hope you enjoy :))

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

It´s been..how many years? He couldn´t remember, too long.

Even then, when his eyes l landed on your figure as you walked in, he didn´t have a single doubt in his bones that it was you. Fury ran through his veins. Why are you here? You should be somewhere safe, and Dauntless is anything but.

And yet....when his eyes roamed over you, he immediately percieved the way you changed and somehow remained the same all together. You had gotten taller, the flimsy figure he remembered was long replaced by strong toned muscles, and your face...all the baby fat he used to teasingly pinch was long gone. You really had matured.

His heart swelled with overwhelming emotions. And when your eyes locked and recognition swirled in your irises, he wanted nothing more than to pull you into a bone crushing hug. But...for the sake of his reputation and image...not to mention it would be considered inappropriate, he refrained from doing so. Instead he bit down hard on the inside of his cheeks to keep any sort of vulnerable emotion from unwantedly spilling out.

Time couldn´t go by any slower as Eric and Foru went through the usual procedure. Introduce themselves, the rules, the compound, etc. etc. Nothing Four could possibly care about more than having a moment alone with you. And he was truly close to giving up for the day when at last, he spotted you lagging behind from your new group during lunch break. Your back was turned to him, but your head was looking side to side, as if you were looking for something...someone.

His body reacted before his mind did, his steps quickening their pace until he was close enough to reach you. His rough, calloused hand was gentle and warm as it circled around your bicep. Your body instinctively whirled around, your wide eyes looking up into his. In a flash, your tense body relaxed, and like muscle memory, your hands closed around his torso. Four didn´t take a second longer to reciprocate the affectionate hug, his own strong arms wrapping around your back. His lips pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his skin tickled by your soft hair.

"I missed you y/n"

His low soft voice broke the comfortable silence that had been hanging in the air. With a soft sigh, you pulled back just enough so you could take a good look at his face. That same old cheeky grin he fondly remembered appeared on your lips.

"I missed you too Tobias"

His gaze softened at the sound of his name. It´s been so long since he heard his name, his real name. And the sound of it coming from your lips, like an old childhood memory, made his mind and soul relax.

Then, his gaze became stern and serious, like when he´d scold you for making a stupid mistake. He placed firm hands on your shoulders and lowered down just enough that he was face to face with you.

"Listen to me, you have to make it past the training and become a full member of Dauntless. Now that you´re here I can´t risk loosing you again"

His voice held the tone of a promise, and you simply nodded firmly, determination flowing through your veins.

He nodded as well, his firm grip slowly releasing from your shoulders.

"Good, I promise to train you as best as possible"

With one final nod, you both headed your own seperate ways, the anticipation of the promise hanging in the air and filling you both with new found adrenaline and willpower.

[certified-bi]

Okay so I saw someone say that Sam taught Eric to be brave and Eric taught Sam to be kind and while I don't disagree completely, I do think it's a bit of an over simplification. Sam is shown being kind multiple times before she meets Eric(mainly to kids) with her whole thing being pushing people away. With the fountain kids this is easier than Eric because they have each other and they're not as afraid of being alone* in the way Eric is. She's not afraid of being kind she's afraid of letting someone in because she's going to either leave them or have them leave her.

Which is why! I love the jacket so much! I think Sam knew she was going to sacrifice herself at the bookstore. She realized this guy had wormed his way into her heart and that once she had her peace she was going to get him out. Once she accepts this they talk about her father quite a few times and it becomes clear that he was a very loving man and Eric helps her reconnect with that memory of him and remember who she is(the line "Thank you for bringing me home" is so... so good I can't even describe it). And so what does she do when they're heading back to the boats? She wraps him in the bright yellow cardigan. At that point I had assumed it was because it stood out from the city much better than anything else they had. I actually was confused why she didn't change in her apartment(Etic not taking off his damn tie don't even get me started-) but it becomes clear at the end that the cardigan is the last piece of her dad she still had. And so she takes that reminder of the most important person in her life, wraps a man she's known less than a week in a physical emboidmemt of her love and care and her story and sends him off with cat to live. When I saw the picture with her father it clicked what she had done and the significance of it and that's damn good story telling.

*side note she definitely accidentally got them killed because that scene with everyone together was totally the death angels waiting to get the most people together to strike but anyways-

[atinyslittleworld]

Unseen

san x f!reader

Summary: In a tale of unspoken love, best friends San and Y/N face heartbreak when Y/N falls for another, leaving San shattered.

Genre: angst, friends to lovers but not really

Warnings: mention of crying and a dickhead ex boyfriend

San had been best friends with Y/N for as long as he could remember. They shared everything: secrets, dreams, and fears. But over time, San’s feelings for Y/N grew deeper, evolving from friendship into love. He longed to tell her how he felt, but the fear of losing their friendship kept him silent.

Y/N, oblivious to San’s feelings, had recently started dating a guy named Eric. Eric seemed perfect on the surface—charming, attentive, and always saying the right things. San, however, saw through Eric’s facade. He noticed the insincere compliments, the way Eric’s eyes wandered when Y/N wasn’t looking, and the subtle manipulations.

San tried to be supportive, hoping Y/N would see Eric’s true nature on her own. But as weeks turned into months, Y/N fell deeper for Eric, and San’s heart ached every time he saw them together. He watched as Eric took advantage of Y/N’s kindness and trust, and it tore him apart.

One evening, after yet another fight with Eric, Y/N called San, her voice trembling with tears. “San, can you come over? I need to talk.”

San’s heart sank, but he rushed to her apartment without hesitation. He found her on the couch, clutching a pillow, her eyes red and swollen. “What happened?” he asked softly, sitting beside her.

“It’s Eric,” she sobbed. “He broke up with me. Said he never really cared, that it was all just a game.”

San’s anger flared, but he focused on comforting Y/N. He pulled her into his arms, letting her cry on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Why didn’t I see it, San?” she choked out. “Why was I so blind?”

“Sometimes, we see what we want to see,” San said, his voice filled with sorrow. “But you’re stronger than this, Y/N. You’ll get through it.”

Y/N nodded weakly, her tears soaking his shirt. “Thank you for always being here. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

San’s heart broke at her words. He wanted to tell her how he felt, to confess his love, but he couldn’t. Not now. Not when she was so vulnerable.

Days turned into weeks, and San stayed by Y/N’s side, helping her heal. He took her out for ice cream, watched her favorite movies, and went on late-night drives to clear her mind. Slowly, Y/N began to smile again, but San could see the lingering pain in her eyes.

One night, as they sat on a hill overlooking the city, Y/N turned to San, her expression pained. “San, I’ve been thinking a lot lately. About how much you mean to me.”

San’s heart pounded in his chest. “What do you mean?”

Y/N took a deep breath, her voice trembling. “You’ve always been there for me. Through everything. And I realized... I think I’ve been blind to something important.”

San’s pulse quickened. “What is it?”

She looked down, tears welling in her eyes. “I think I’ve been using you, San. I’ve been leaning on you for support while I was falling apart over Eric. It’s not fair to you.”

San’s heart shattered. “Y/N, you haven’t been using me. I want to be here for you. I care about you more than you know.”

Y/N shook her head, her tears spilling over. “No, San, you don’t understand. I’ve been so selfish. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own pain that I didn’t see what was right in front of me.”

San took her hands, his voice breaking. “Y/N, I love you. I’ve loved you for so long. I was just afraid of losing you, so I never said anything.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in shock, her tears falling faster. “San... I...”

San felt his heart sink as he saw the confusion and pain in her eyes. “It’s okay, Y/N. You don’t have to say anything. I just want you to be happy.”

Y/N pulled him into a tight embrace, her tears soaking his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, San. I’m so sorry.”

San held her close, his own tears falling silently. He had finally confessed his love, but it felt hollow. The timing was all wrong, and Y/N was still healing from Eric’s betrayal. As they sat there, holding each other, San realized that loving Y/N meant putting her needs first, even if it meant hiding his own pain.

In that moment, San vowed to always be there for Y/N, even if it meant burying his feelings deep inside. Because her happiness was worth more to him than anything else, even his own heart.