#and it's only when you stop to pay attention

[cressidagrey]

Daylight

Pairing: Lando Norris x Emilie Abadie (Original Character)

Welcome to a short side story, featuring Emilie and Lando, set in the White Horse Universe. There are specific scenes copy and pasted from White Horse, so it’s easier to follow along timeline wise.

Summary:

Emilie Abadie hadn’t planned on caring about Formula 1. Until she saw a boy with curly hair win the Miami GP in 2024. 

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, toxic families

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Emilie Abadie hadn’t planned on caring about Formula 1.

In fact, she actively avoided caring about it— Mostly because of her best friend. 

Belle, with her soft green eyes and gentle heart, who had already survived too many years of being invisible in a family that only seemed to remember she existed when it was convenient. 

Belle, who was one of the best people Emilie had ever met, who had been born into a family that cared about podiums and trophies, about DRS and pit stops… and not about their daughter, their sister. 

Even Max Verstappen hadn’t changed Emilie’s dislike for everything Formula 1. 

Granted, of course, Emilie had googled him when Belle had first mentioned him to her. 

There had been some amusement somewhere in the back of her head that Belle had found a guy to date who had 2 World Championship titles and 4 dozen wins to his name, while Belle’s brother was still on his 5th career win after Austria 2022. 

Emilie didn’t care about Max’s wins. Or his podiums. Or whatever he did for a living. She’d seen enough of Belle’s face when she talked about him to know he was good—really, properly good—and that was enough.

But then came that Sunday in May, and Twitter exploded.

Emilie wasn’t even trying to pay attention. She was lounging on her balcony with an espresso, mindlessly scrolling between Vogue articles and TikToks of people organising their fridges. 

And then—suddenly—orange hats, all-caps screaming, and multiple photos of a grinning man half-drenched in champagne.

“HE FINALLY DID IT.”

“LANDO. FREAKING. NORRIS.”

Someone had posted a clip of him standing on the top step of the podium, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy, trying to keep it together while the crowd roared. And God help her, Emilie had clicked it.

He wasn’t even her type.

Too boyish. 

Too chaotic. 

Probably smelled like Monster Energy and nerves.

But he’d smiled like it meant something. Like it had taken years. Like he couldn’t quite believe the universe had finally let him have this moment.

And something in Emilie’s chest—usually locked up tight behind snark and cashmere—shifted.

She frowned.

Closed the app.

Opened it again.

Googled him.

Lando Norris. 25. British. McLaren driver. Five seasons. No wins—until now.

She even found a quote: “It’s about damn time.”

And still, Emilie was deeply annoyed to find herself staring at photos of this Lando person and wondering what his laugh sounded like in real life.

And that was exactly when she opened her texts and messaged Belle.

***

Text Messages: Emilie Abadie & Isabelle Leclerc

Emilie: Okay so… Question

Isabelle: That’s always a dangerous start.

Emilie: Who is this Lando person And why is everyone crying because he won something

Isabelle: Oh my God. You really don’t know anything about F1, do you?

Emilie: Absolutely not. I know Max drives fast, and you’re too pretty to be emotionally stable, that’s it.

Isabelle: Valid.

Emilie: But seriously. My entire timeline is full of sweaty orange hats and people screaming “HE FINALLY DID IT.” What did he do? Did he climb a mountain? Invent a vaccine?

Isabelle: He won his first Formula 1 Grand Prix. He’s been in F1 for five years. Always came close. Never quite made it.Everyone’s been waiting for this.He’s a good guy. Deserved it.

Emilie: Huh. He’s the guy with the curly hair, right?

Isabelle: Yes.

Emilie: And the jawbones?

Isabelle: Yes.

Emilie: And the voice that’s suspiciously hot for someone named Lando?

Isabelle: …Why do you care?

Emilie: I don’t!!

Isabelle: You do. You’ve never asked me about a single driver. Not once. And now you’re googling him like a concerned historian.

Emilie: I’m just… doing research. You know. investigating the cultural phenomenon

Isabelle: Uh-huh. Is this cultural phenomenon wearing a papaya-colored race suit and has curly hair?

Emilie: Fine. He’s cute. He looked happy. The bar is so low.

Isabelle: He is cute. And he should be happy. He’s a good guy.

Emilie: You sound like you’re trying to sell me a family dog.

Isabelle: He’s very sweet! Loyal! Thoughtful! Max calls him chaotic sunshine. I call him emotionally transparent. You’d like him.

Emilie: So a golden retriever.

Isabelle: With slightly better hair.

Emilie: Does he bite?

Isabelle: Only when provoked. Or when Max makes a joke about his height.

Emilie: Hmm.

Isabelle: Oh no.

Emilie: What?

Isabelle: You’re thinking about him.

Emilie: Absolutely not.

Emilie: This is slander.

Isabelle: This is me knowing you better than you know yourself. And I’m telling you: he’s a good one. A little chaotic. But real.

Emilie: He smiled like…like he waited years for this. I noticed that. I hate that I noticed that.

Belle: Yeah. That’s why people cried. It wasn’t just about the win—it was about him. He needed it. And he earned it.

Emilie: …Okay maybe I get the hats now.

Isabelle: Give it three days. You’ll be watching fan edits on TikTok and pretending it’s research. I have been there. 

***

Emilie tossed her phone down onto her table, flopping back into her chair with a groan.

God, what was wrong with her?

She never did this. Never caught herself noticing smiles. Never cared about people’s stories. 

She’d always been good at getting the guy.

Usually, she saw a man she liked, decided she liked him, and that was it. 

If she wanted him, she got him. 

Easy.

The harder part—the impossible part—was getting them to stay.

Not that she ever admitted that out loud.

They got infatuated with the packaging—pretty blonde, sharp tongue, quick wit—but none of them wanted to know what was underneath. Or if they did, they ran.

So she never gave them the chance.

Emilie knew what she was. What she had been taught to be: polished, pretty, disposable.

Raised by grandparents who valued appearances more than affection, she’d learned early that emotions were a liability. Her family was a cold, glittering mess of old money and colder expectations. 

Emotionally unavailable parents who vacationed in the Alps more than they parented. Her grandparents had raised her—fierce, stylish people who taught her how to dress, how to argue, how to build walls no man could climb. 

Emilie knew how to play the part—how to be charming, captivating, just unattainable enough to keep her pride intact when everything inevitably crumbled.

Old money. Cold manners. 

And Belle—sweet, gentle Belle—hadn’t been raised in a world much kinder.

Emilie still hated Belle’s family for that. For making her believe she had to earn love, that she had to be perfect to deserve being seen. Even now, even after Belle had found Max—the only man who seemed to see her fully and without condition—Emilie’s chest still burned with protective rage whenever she thought about it.

She’d watched Belle spend her whole life being overlooked. Forgotten. Ignored by people who were supposed to love her. And now she had Max, who looked at her like she was the whole damn world.

She was happy for Belle. Truly. Because Belle deserved good things—finally. Especially after growing up in a family that prioritized podiums over people. 

And Emilie, for all her sass and designer boots, had never liked the Leclercs. Not really.

Belle was happy now. Radiantly, irrevocably happy. And Max—grumpy, blunt Max—loved her like it was the only thing that had ever made sense.

Maybe that’s why Emilie couldn’t look away from a stranger’s victory lap on Twitter.

 Maybe, deep down, she still believed there were people worth betting on.

Even if she didn’t believe it for herself.

God help me, she thought grimly, dragging a hand over her face.

She was absolutely going to end up watching fan edits.

In three days. Tops.

Maybe two.

Lando Norris had looked like someone who didn’t think the world would ever give him a win.

And for some reason… she couldn’t stop thinking about that.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Max and I are getting married tomorrow. City hall. Just something small. Just for us. Will you come?

Emilie: EXCUSE ME???? TOMORROW??? CITY HALL??? SMALL???

Isabelle: Yes. No fuss. Just us. That’s all I want.

Emilie: Oh my GOD. You are not getting married like you’re renewing a driver’s license. You need flowers. A cake. A moment, Belle.

Isabelle: I don’t need any of that. I just want him. That’s it.

Emilie: Yes, yes, eternal love, devotion, blah blah blah. BUT. You are still getting married. You will wear a dress. You will hold a bouquet. You will eat something that tastes like joy and sugar and victory.

Isabelle: I’m not even sure what I’m wearing yet 😅 We haven’t thought that far ahead.

Emilie: THAT IS WHY YOU HAVE ME. Do you still have the white dress we got a few weeks ago? The one that made you look like a romantic novel with legs?

Isabelle: ...Yes.

Emilie: Good. Wear that. It’s perfect. Simple. Elegant. You. I’ll take care of the rest.

Isabelle: Em—no pressure, really. Please. I don’t want a production.

Emilie: This won’t be a production. It’ll be a love letter. With flowers. And maybe a three-layer cake.

Isabelle: Emilie 😭 You really don’t have to—

Emilie: Belle. You’ve planned everyone else’s birthdays, surprises, parties, and holidays since you were like what, twelve?! Let someone do it for you this once. Let me.

Isabelle: ...Okay. But just a little. No spark machines. No confetti cannons.

Emilie: Deal. But I am bringing champagne. And I will cry.

Isabelle: I wouldn’t want it any other way. 💛

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Lando Norris

Max: You have a camera, right?

Lando: …yes?? What kind of question is that?

Max: Like, a real one. Not your phone.

Lando: Yes, Max, I own a camera. Why??

Max: I need you to document something.

Lando: What kind of something?

Max: Just be at Monaco City Hall tomorrow. 10:30. Bring your camera. Wear a suit. Preferably not orange.

Lando: MAX.

Max: Yes?

Lando: ARE YOU GETTING MARRIED TOMORROW???

Max: Yes.

Lando: YOU’RE JUST DROPPING THAT ON ME AT MIDNIGHT???

Max: It’s 11:43.

Lando: Oh, my mistake. PLENTY OF TIME TO PROCESS THE FACT YOU’RE SECRETLY GETTING MARRIED.

Max: Not secretly. Just quietly.

Lando: Max.

Max: What.

Lando: I’M HONORED BUT ALSO PANICKING. Do you want, like, pictures or VIBES?? Do I need a tripod?? Am I the witness?? Do I bring champagne?? WHAT’S MY ROLE HERE.

Max: Your role is “friend with a camera who knows how to shut up.”

Lando: I can be that.

 Wait—can I still cry a little?

Max: Only if it’s behind the camera.

Lando: Deal. Lando:I don’t even know what shoes to wear for a Verstappen emergency elopement

Max: Don’t overthink it. You’re just the photographer.

Lando: You’re getting married in Monaco city hall and I’m the photographer?? What the hell kind of fairy tale speedrun is this?

Max: The efficient kind.

Lando: Who else is gonna come?

Max: Just us. People we trust. 

***

Emilie Abadie had been awake since three in the morning. .

Not because she was nervous. She wasn’t the one getting married. 

It was Belle’s wedding. And that meant it had to be perfect.

Because Belle would never ask for perfect. Belle would shrug and say “just something quiet, just us” with that soft look in her eyes like she didn’t dare hope for more. But Emilie had spent the last seven years learning the difference between what Belle asked for and what she deserved.

And today, she deserved everything.

And perfection, as it turned out, required bribing a florist with a bottle of Dom Pérignon, whispering at a baker’s front door like a criminal, and coordinating a last-minute restaurant buyout with a maître d’ who still remembered Belle and Max’s first date like it had happened yesterday.

It was still early. The sun hadn’t quite cleared the rooftops of Monaco. But Emilie was already in motion—dressed, phone in hand, espresso in the other, a determined woman on a mission.

The florist had said it couldn’t be done. Snowdrops weren’t in season. They’d laughed—laughed—when Emilie asked.

Laughed. Emilie still remembered when Belle had told her about her favourite flowers. Fragile, quiet, perfect. Blooming in the cold, when nothing else did. Just like Belle. 

Emilie Abadie didn’t take no for an answer.

She made five calls. 

Then ten. 

Then offered double the price. 

Then triple. 

Someone from a specialty hothouse near Nice came through. A courier had arrived an hour ago, carrying a chilled box like it held diplomatic secrets.

Now, the bouquet sat in a vase on Emilie’s kitchen counter. Fragile white snowdrops, soft eucalyptus, and one or two sprigs of pale forget-me-nots.

Because Emilie was dramatic, and because Belle deserved to be remembered in every way that mattered.

The cake was next.

Not a tiered monstrosity. Just something beautiful. Elegant. White chocolate and raspberry with buttercream. The baker—an angel Emilie had gone to culinary school with for exactly three weeks—had rolled her eyes at the timeline and then agreed with a huff. “Only because it’s for Belle.”

Of course it was.

Emilie knew how much Belle had given. To her family. To her brothers. To Ferrari. To everyone except herself.

She’d watched Belle quietly shrink herself for years—make room for Lorenzo, for Charles, for Arthur, for Charles’ career, for the Leclerc family myth. 

Belle never asked for much. Never expected anything back.

So today, Emilie would give her everything.

The final piece fell into place just after sunrise: lunch at the restaurant where Max had taken Belle on their first date. The cozy one tucked behind the port with the ivy-covered terrace and the little hand-painted plates. Emilie had called the manager at 6:15 a.m.

“I need the whole place,” she’d said. “15 people. Three bottles of Perrier-Jouët Belle Époque. No fuss. No press. Max and Belle Verstappen.”

The Manager had paused and looked at Emilie:. “Ah,” he’d said, eyes twinkling. “For the couple who ordered the wine, then forgot to drink it because they were too busy falling in love?”

By 6:00, the venue was booked. The menu was set. The staff had already started laying out fresh linen.

Emilie checked the list one more time—flowers, cake, lunch, Max’s boutonnière, Belle’s shoes.

Everything was ready.

Emilie slipped her phone into her bag, gave the bouquet one last fond glance, and smiled to herself.

Because today—finally—was about Belle. Not Charles. Not their mother. Not a team or a trophy or anyone else’s spotlight.

Today was hers.

And Emilie Abadie would make sure not a single petal was out of place.

***

Emilie Abadie arrived with the force of a hurricane compressed into five feet and a few inches of blonde ambition and French fire.

She stood in the doorway like she’d conquered nations before breakfast, her icy blue eyes narrowing the moment they landed on him.

Lando’s stomach immediately did that stupid swoopy thing it did when he just knew he was fucked. 

She was Belle’s best friend. He had known that in an offhand way, had seen her make appearances on Belle’s Instagram and in stories Belle told…but Lando had never met her. 

“Why,” she said, voice crisp and imperious, ��are half of you not wearing ties?”

Lando glanced around as if he might be able to blend into the cabinetry.

Too late.

“You,” Emilie snapped, pointing at him with all the grace and threat of a commander selecting someone for sacrifice.

“Me?” Lando squeaked.

She stalked toward him like a missile in heels. “You call that a tie? What is that knot? A shoelace? A cry for help?”

Lando glanced down at the pale blue mess under his collar. It did, in fact, look like it had lost a bar fight. “Technically… yes?”

Emilie sighed. Dramatically. Award-winningly. “Come here.”

He obeyed, despite every instinct screaming to flee. Blushing furiously, Lando stepped toward her like a man accepting his fate.

“You’re kind of scary,” he muttered.

“I’m not scary,” she replied, already undoing his tie with practiced hands, “I’m just French and disappointed.”

He stood still, heart hammering far too fast, hyper-aware of how close she was, of the way she reached up to fix the tie like she’d done it a hundred times. She smelled like roses and battle plans. Her fingers brushed his throat, adjusting the collar with delicate but precise movements, and Lando very seriously considered the possibility that this was what dying felt like.

“Can I breathe yet?” he whispered.

“When I say you can,” she said sweetly, tilting his chin. “Fashion is pain. Suffer with dignity.”

“I’m… terrified of her,” Lando muttered under his breath once she turned her attention elsewhere.

Max, still leaning casually against the counter, didn’t even blink. “You should be.”

And Lando was, but also… he was hopelessly in love with her. 

Or at least something very inconvenient and fluttery that made it hard to breathe when she was near. 

She was absolutely stunning in her sharply tailored outfit and meticulous energy, her blonde hair swept up, and her eyes laser-focused on whipping the room into shape. She’d turned wedding planning into a military campaign—and somehow made it look elegant.

But even as she herded grown men into order with eyebrow raises and verbal artillery, Lando couldn’t stop watching Max.

Because Max—who had never seemed interested in fanfare or spectacle—was getting married today. And he looked… happy. Genuinely, deeply happy in a way that made Lando’s chest go warm.

And Belle—sweet, gentle, quietly brave Belle—was the reason.

He couldn’t be happier for them.

Even if Charles was definitely going to kill him.

Lando had been trying not to think about that bit—the Charles-is-going-to-strangle-him-when-he-finds-out bit. Because once the truth came out, once Charles realized his little sister had married Max, and Lando had known, there was going to be hell to pay.

But he couldn’t bring himself to feel too guilty about it. Not when Max looked like that. Not when Belle had finally been seen the way she deserved.

The chaos in the room only paused when Emilie cornered Tom, who was valiantly attempting to pass off a cravat as formalwear.

“This is Monaco, not Pemberley,” Emilie said, already pulling a tie from her tote like Mary Poppins preparing for war.

Even Jos wasn’t immune. When Emilie raised her brows at him with military precision, he actually reached for the tie GP handed him—without protest.

“I like her,” Jos muttered, half to himself.

Yeah, Lando thought, hopeless and dazed. Me too.

Daniel’s cartoon tie didn’t stand a chance. Neither did his excuses.

“I have a lighter in my purse,” Emilie said, entirely too calmly.

And just like that, Daniel disappeared to change.

Only Oscar and GP escaped with their dignity intact. Emilie gave them a nod that could’ve launched ships.

Then Max—cool, unbothered Max—lifted his chin with the smugness of a man who had already tied his tie correctly.

“It’s crooked,” Emilie said, pulling him forward to fix it anyway.

Max didn’t even argue. Just let her do it, then shot her a crooked grin.

“You’ll do,” Emilie declared.

“You’re marrying my best friend,” she added. “You’re lucky I didn’t make you wear the floral pocket square.”

Lando snorted. Max only grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

And then the world stopped moving.

Because the bedroom door opened.

Belle stepped out.

And everything else just… dropped away.

Lando forgot about his camera. Forgot about his tie. Forgot about the fact he was probably about to die by Leclerc rage.

Because Belle was breathtaking.

She looked like she belonged in one of those old black-and-white movies—ethereal and quiet, in a dress that shimmered like water, snowdrops tucked gently into her dark curls. Her eyes swept the room until they found Max.

And Max—his friend, the fiercest driver he’d ever known—just stood there like the ground had been ripped out from under him.

“Hi,” Belle said softly.

Max walked toward her like he couldn’t quite believe she was real. And when he told her she looked like a dream he’d never let himself have, Lando had to turn away, just for a second.

His chest hurt in a good way.

Maybe love didn’t have to be loud or dramatic or perfect. Maybe it could just be this. A quiet kitchen. A white dress. A soft “Hi.” The kind of thing that made a man forget how to breathe.

Daniel sniffled. Oscar told him to shut up.

And Lando—caught somewhere between awe and a slight panic over Charles Leclerc’s eventual reaction—just smiled.

Because one of his best friend had everything he’d ever wanted.

And Lando? Lando might be crushing on the tiny French hurricane currently terrorizing everyone with her sense of style.

But he had hope.

***

The wedding luncheon was held at a small, sun-washed restaurant tucked into one of Monaco’s corners. 

It was perfect, of course. Belle perfect.

The place where Belle and Max had had their first date. Where they had fallen in love and forgotten to drink the bottle of wine they had ordered it. 

Emilie sat at one of the long wooden tables, a glass of champagne in hand, watching Belle laugh over something Max whispered in her ear, her cheeks pink and glowing.

And for the first time in a long time, Emilie felt something unspool in her chest—something fragile and aching.

Belle was happy.

Finally.

After years of being treated like an afterthought by people who should have fought for her, she was loved by someone who saw her. It made Emilie both stupidly emotional and faintly murderous when she thought about the people who hadn't.

Her fingers curled loosely around the stem of her glass.

She didn't cry at weddings. That was not her brand.

But if she were going to cry, it would’ve been for this.

Someone bumped her elbow, breaking the spell.

She looked up—and into the bright, apologetic face of Lando Norris.

"Sorry! Sorry," he said immediately, holding up his hands like a man under arrest. "Didn’t mean to—uh, interrupt. Or spill anything. Or—"

He was wearing a navy blue suit, rumpled already, tie askew again even after her earlier threats. His curls were fighting a losing battle against whatever product he’d tried to tame them with. There was a crookedness to him—a kind of chaotic, restless energy buzzing just under his skin.

He looked like a golden retriever trying desperately not to knock over a priceless vase.

Emilie raised an eyebrow. Cool. Appraising.

She knew boys like him. Bright smiles. Quick laughs. Attention spans like sparklers: burning hot, burning out.

He should’ve been easy to dismiss.

So why wasn’t she?

"You’re safe," she said dryly, tipping her glass toward him. "For now."

Lando's grin widened, lopsided and a little breathless. "Good. I was warned you might have a taser."

Emilie allowed herself a small, sharp smile. "Only for men who deserve it."

His eyes—bright greenish blue, annoyingly nice eyes—crinkled at the corners. He shifted from foot to foot like he didn’t know whether to stay or retreat. She could practically see the gears turning in his brain, second-guessing everything.

Cute, she thought reluctantly. In that maddening, boyish way.

And real.

There was something startlingly unguarded about him. No polished script, no careful charm. Just... all messy heart.

"Can I—uh, sit?" he asked, nodding toward the empty chair beside her.

Emilie could have said no. Should have, maybe.

Instead, she tilted her head and said, "If you must."

He practically collapsed into the chair with relief, bumping the table and nearly knocking over a bread basket in the process. Emilie caught it one-handed, setting it upright with a sigh that was more amused than exasperated.

"Smooth," she said.

"I try," Lando said, flashing another grin. "But usually it goes like this."

They fell into an awkward, oddly endearing silence. The lunch buzzed around them: clinking glasses, bursts of laughter, Belle’s voice lifting and carrying across the room like music.

Lando fiddled with the edge of the napkin, sneaking glances at her when he thought she wasn’t looking.

Emilie noticed.

She noticed everything.

And it made her want to fold herself back into the armor she wore with men. The one that said: you can look, but you will never touch anything real.

But he wasn’t looking at her like she was an acquisition to win or a prize to brag about.

He was looking at her like she was a puzzle he was trying—hopelessly—to figure out.

She sipped her champagne. Let him squirm a little longer. Then, finally:

"So," Emilie said, tilting her head just enough to make him sweat, "are you going to make conversation, or are you just planning to stare at me and hope it counts?"

Lando blinked, then laughed—a quick, surprised sound that made something warm spark low in her chest.

"I was thinking... both?" he said, scratching the back of his neck. "You’re kind of intimidating."

"Good," Emilie said, leaning back in her chair with a smirk. "I work hard at it."

He shook his head, still smiling, eyes glinting with something that might have been mischief-or admiration.

Probably both.

And Emilie—who got whatever guy she wanted but never trusted any of them to stay—felt the faintest, most treacherous flicker of curiosity.

Maybe Belle wasn’t the only one who deserved good things.

Maybe.

But not yet.

For now, she just raised an eyebrow, tore a piece of bread in half, and said, "You’ve got five minutes to impress me, Norris. Don’t waste it."

Lando leaned forward like a man accepting a dare.

"Oh," he said, grinning wide and unrepentant. "I’m definitely going to waste it."

And to her absolute horror—

Emilie found herself smiling.

Real and warm and helpless against it.

Maybe chaotic sunshine wasn’t the worst thing to let into her life after all.

Emilie watched him over the rim of her glass, amused in the way one might watch a golden retriever attempt calculus. She was prepared for the usual: some half-flirty line, some brag, something easy to roll her eyes at and dismiss.

Instead, Lando immediately, and spectacularly, fumbled it.

“So, uh,” he began, sitting up straighter like he was about to give a business presentation, “I have a driver's license.”

Emilie blinked. “I should hope so,” she said dryly, “given your profession.”

“Yeah, but like,” Lando forged on, waving a hand vaguely, “I passed my first test. No minors. No majors. Totally clean sheet. Instructor said I was ‘shockingly competent.’” He smiled at her like this was an accomplishment that should win him a Nobel Prize.

Emilie couldn’t help it: she laughed.

A small one, sharp and unexpected, escaping before she could stop it.

Lando lit up like a Christmas tree. Actually lit up.

Encouraged, he kept going, words tumbling out like he couldn’t stop them if he tried.

“And—and I can cook a bit. Like, real cooking. Not just the ‘put something in the microwave and pray’ thing.”

“What’s your specialty?” Emilie asked, playing along, one eyebrow lifted.

He considered this with deep, theatrical seriousness.

“Pasta,” he said finally. “But, like, real pasta. I once made fresh tagliatelle for a girl I liked.”

Emilie smirked. “And did she survive?”

“She did,” Lando said solemnly. “She even asked for seconds. Probably because I didn’t tell her I dropped half the dough on the floor and had to start over.”

Emilie shook her head, sipping her champagne to hide the curve of her mouth.

God, he was awful at this. And somehow—somehow—it was working.

Not because he was slick.

But because he wasn’t.

He was throwing everything out there, a whole messy human open on the table, with no polish, no angles, no agenda except: please like me.

And it was dangerously, horribly endearing.

Emilie, who had been courted by men with yachts and family names older than democracy, who had been wooed with Cartier and poetry and private jets, found herself genuinely, terrifyingly charmed by a boy who thought shockingly competent driving was an acceptable conversation starter.

“You’ve got two minutes left,” she said lightly.

Lando gasped in mock horror. “Pressure’s on.”

He drummed his fingers on the table, thinking.

Then he leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was telling her a state secret."Okay. Here's the real selling point: I'm friends with Max, and you know what that means?"

She gave him a look that said choose your next words very carefully.

"It means," Lando said solemnly, "I have survived approximately fourteen near-death experiences involving go-karts, jet skis, and very questionable Red Bull stunts. So I'm basically immortal."

Emilie snorted into her glass.

"And," Lando added, beaming now, "I'm very good at getting bloodstains out of clothes. Just in case."

"You expect me to believe you're domestically capable," she said, eyeing him skeptically.

"I can use a washing machine," he said proudly. "Mostly."

"Terrifying."

Lando grinned wider, basking in the fact she hadn't told him to go away yet. His foot accidentally bumped hers under the table, and he yelped, jerking back like he'd been electrocuted.

"Sorry! Sorry—" he spluttered, flailing slightly. "Didn’t mean—"

"Relax," Emilie said, amused despite herself. "I don't bite."

She paused.

"Unless provoked," she added sweetly, echoing Belle’s earlier words.

Lando looked half in love already.

The realization hit Emilie like a cold glass of water poured down her back.

No.

No, no, no.

This wasn’t how it went. She flirted. She played. She walked away before anyone got the chance to look at her like that.

But Lando didn’t seem to be strategizing, didn’t seem to be measuring her up like some glossy prize. He just looked... happy. A little awestruck. A little proud of himself for surviving her.

It was stupid. And messy. And probably a terrible idea.

But when Belle caught her eye across the room and gave her a tiny, knowing smile—the same smile Belle had worn when Max had first reached for her hand like it was instinct—

Emilie thought, maybe, just maybe, she could let herself enjoy this. For today. For a minute.

For herself.

She set her champagne down and looked at Lando, who was still watching her like she might vanish if he blinked.

"Alright, Norris," Emilie said, sitting back with a mock-sigh. "You've survived the first round."

Lando brightened so much it was almost dangerous.

"And what’s round two?" he asked eagerly.

Emilie smirked.

"You’ll find out," she said, standing up, brushing invisible crumbs off her sleek dress. She leaned down, just enough to whisper near his ear:

"If you're lucky."

And when she sauntered off to steal a slice of cake before the toddlers got to it, she didn’t even have to look back to know Lando was grinning like he’d just won the Miami Grand Prix again.

***

It started innocently enough.

At least, that's what Lando told himself.

It was late, he was jetlagged, and he was lying in bed with one arm slung over his face, phone glowing much too brightly against the dark hotel room ceiling. He should’ve been asleep.

Instead, he was... scrolling.

Specifically, scrolling through Emilie Abadie’s Instagram.

In his defense, she’d posted a new story earlier that day—something about a bookstore in Paris—and he’d swiped up without thinking, curious. From there, well... it was a slippery slope.

He clicked on her profile. Scrolled a little. Then a little more. And a little more. Until suddenly he wasn’t just seeing today's cute coffee shop photo; he was deep in 2019 territory, where the grid looked different—less polished, more chaotic.

And there it was.

The Bikini Picture.

Emilie, standing on a beach somewhere impossibly blue, wearing sunglasses, a tiny black bikini, and a smirk that could have started wars. Hair loose, skin sun-kissed, hand holding some drink with a tiny paper umbrella in it.

She looked effortless. Untouchable. Dangerous.

Lando, because he had the survival instincts of a drunk moth around a flame, stared at it for too long.

And then, as if his thumb had a mind of its own—

He liked it.

The screen flashed red.

Hearted.

The panic hit instantly.

"NO—NO, NO, NO—" he yelped, scrambling like he'd just touched a live wire. He frantically unliked it—smashed the heart again until it turned back to grey—but it was too late.

He knew how Instagram worked.

She got the notification.

He sat there, paralyzed, mortified, vibrating with shame.

He had liked a bikini photo from five years ago.

He was that guy.

The type of guy who accidentally cyberstalked someone so hard he time-traveled.

Lando buried his face in his pillow and groaned loud enough to scare himself.

At some point, he gave up and texted Oscar.

***

Text Messages: Lando Norris & Oscar Piastri

Lando: Mate. I just liked a 2019 bikini pic on Emilie’s Instagram. Kill me.

Oscar: 😂😂😂

Lando: I’m actually dying. This is fatal. I’ve died.

Oscar: How did you even GET to 2019??

Lando: I was just looking!! And then scrolling!! And then it happened!! I didn’t MEAN TO.

Oscar: Famous last words.

Lando: I hate you.

Lando: I'm gonna throw myself into the sea.

Oscar: Before you do, serious question. You like her, don’t you?

***

Later, when Lando had the courage to crawl out from under his metaphorical rock, he found himself sitting in Oscar’s hotel room, tossing a mini water bottle up and down, trying not to look like he wanted to crawl into the mini fridge and hide.

Oscar just sat on the bed, arms folded, regarding him with the amused patience of someone who had absolutely seen this coming.

“So,” Oscar said, grinning slightly. “Emilie, huh?”

Lando groaned. “It’s not like that.”

Oscar raised a brow.

Lando dropped the water bottle onto the floor with a thunk. “Okay. Fine. Maybe it’s a little like that.”

Oscar didn’t say anything, just nodded sagely, like he was some ancient wisdom god instead of a 23-year-old who still ate cereal for dinner sometimes.

“She’s just…” Lando floundered for words, pushing a hand through his hair. “She’s scary. And beautiful. And scary.”

“You said scary twice.”

“It felt necessary.”

Oscar snorted. “Sounds like you’ve got it bad, mate.”

Lando slumped. “I don’t even know if she likes me. She could crush me like a bug if she wanted.”

“Would you be mad about it?” Oscar asked.

Lando considered it. “…No.”

Oscar laughed, then sobered slightly, watching him.

“You ever just know?” Lando asked suddenly, voice quieter. “That someone’s different? Like—you’re still kind of terrified, but you don’t want to run away?”

Oscar leaned back against the headboard, thinking for a second.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “With Lily, I knew.”

Lando glanced at him, genuinely curious.

“I mean, it wasn’t like lightning bolts or fireworks or anything,” Oscar said, shrugging. “It was quieter. Like... I realized I was happier when she was around. And when she wasn’t, it felt like something was missing. She made life easier. Not harder. You know?”

Lando nodded slowly.

“People talk about love like it’s supposed to be this huge, dramatic thing,” Oscar continued. “But honestly? The real thing’s just... peace. Trust. Someone you want to tell stupid jokes to at 2 a.m.”

Lando swallowed.

He thought about Emilie.

The way she made fun of him mercilessly, but smiled when she thought he wasn’t looking.

The way she laughed—not a polite, reserved laugh, but a real, from-the-gut laugh—when he told the world’s dumbest jokes.

The way he felt when she was near. Like maybe he could stop trying to be impressive and just... be.

Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be easy.

Maybe it was just supposed to be real.

“You think I’ve got a chance?” Lando asked, half-joking, half-serious.

Oscar smiled.

“You’ve already got one,” he said. “You’re just too scared to believe it.”

Lando sat back, heart thudding a little too fast, a little too hopeful.

Maybe he’d make an idiot of himself.

Maybe Emilie would laugh him off.

Maybe she’d crush him like a bug.

But maybe—maybe—he’d survive it.

And maybe, just maybe, it would be worth it.

***

Instagram Direct Messages: Lando Norris & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: So.

Emilie: I noticed you liked a little throwback.

Emilie: From 2019, no less. Deep cuts.  Impressive research skills.

Emilie: You know, you could’ve just asked me to dinner.  Would’ve been less creepy than liking my bikini photos at 2 a.m.

Emilie:  (But I guess this way was more entertaining.)

Emilie: You still can ask, by the way. If you’re brave enough.

Lando: Would you maybe want to have dinner with me? Without bikinis. I mean you can wear one if you want but not like a requirement— This is going badly.

Emilie: I’m free Thursday. Pick somewhere good.

Emilie: And try not to like any more photos from my past while you’re planning it.

Emilie: Or do. It’s cute. In a tragic way.

Lando: Bold of you to assume I won’t.

Emilie: Bold of you to assume I’ll say yes if you like the duck-face selfie from 2017.

Lando: Challenge accepted.

Emilie: Challenge lost.

***

Text Messages: Max Fewtrell & Lando Norris

Max Fewtrell: BRO. You saw it, right??  Charles fully crashed his soul mid-interview??

Lando: Unfortunately, yes. It was like watching someone remember they left the oven on... and also their sister.

Max Fewtrell: Iconic. Karun was like “her birthday, right?”  And Charles just downloaded a full panic attack.

Max Fewtrell: I screamed. Like—out loud. In public.

Lando Norris: It was kind of beautiful tbh. Like watching karma arrive with a mic and a production crew.

Max Fewtrell: Is his sister okay though? Do we know? Does she have a burner Twitter? I feel like she would.

Lando Norris:  She’s fine. Emilie’s with her.

Max Fewtrell: Who’s Emilie?

Lando Norris: ... She's Belle’s best friend.  Sharp. Dangerous. Possibly psychic. Says terrifyingly accurate things about my emotional state and then walks away in heels

Lando: She’s terrifying. Also brilliant.  And she’s like…scarily beautiful. 

Max Fewtrell: You have a crush on her, don’t you.

Lando: …I didn’t say that.

Max Fewtrell: YOU ABSOLUTELY DO OH MY GOD YOU DO This is the best gossip of the day and Charles had a meltdown on live TV

Lando: Shut up Also can we go back to Charles??

Max Fewtrell: No Because now I want to know why you know where Belle is And how you know Emilie’s with her And why you’re being so weirdly calm

Lando: …because I went to the wedding?

Max Fewtrell: THE WHAT

Lando: ...

Max Fewtrell: LAN THE WEDDING

Lando: Yeah. Belle and Max Verstappen. They got married. I was invited. Very small. City Hall. No media. Emilie picked the flowers

Max Fewtrell: MAX. VERSTAPPEN?!

Lando: Yes

Max Fewtrell:  YOU MEAN TO TELL ME CHARLES IS HAVING A BREAKDOWN ABOUT FORGETTING HIS SISTER’S BIRTHDAY AND DOESN’T EVEN KNOW SHE’S MARRIED TO HIS RIVAL???

Lando: Correct

Max Fewtrell: I need to lie down. And then I need popcorn And possibly therapy But also more of this

Lando: Same. Group chat is chaos Do not ask to be added It’s war in there

Max Fewtrell: This is better than Drive to Survive You’ve been sitting on this gossip for HOW LONG?

Lando: Long enough to know I value my life And Max Verstappen would kill me if I leaked it before they were ready

Max Fewtrell: Fair

Lando: You think Charles is spiraling now… Wait until he finds out Max is family now

Max Fewtrell: My god. This is better than Netflix.

***

Text Messages: Emilie Abadie & Lando Norris

Lando Norris

hey is belle okay?

Emilie: She will be. She’s hurting, but she’s strong. And she has Max. That helps. (And me, obviously. I threaten people on her behalf.)

Lando: yeah i’d be more scared of you tbh Lando:  but good Lando: she doesn’t deserve to feel that way Lando:  no one does

Emilie: this is very rude. I was not prepared for sincerity. Please warn me next time

Lando: sorry next time i’ll open with a meme but i meant it

Emilie: I know. That’s why I’m weirdly touched. Ugh. Gross. I hate this. Emotions are banned after 10pm.

Lando: it’s 9:58

Emilie: you’re on thin ice, Norris.

Lando: wouldn’t be the first time but thanks for telling me and tell her i said… i don’t know that i’m rooting for her and that she deserves  better brothers and maybe a pony idk what people say in these situations

Emilie: you’re doing fine she’ll appreciate it and so do I

Emilie: you’re a good guy, Lando.

Lando: 😳 wow ok i’m printing this and framing it

Emilie: Don’t push it. ***

The restaurant buzzed softly around them—quiet conversations, clinking silverware, candlelight glinting off glasses. It was the kind of cozy, tucked-away Monaco spot that felt private even when it was packed, the kind of place that made Lando loosen his shoulders for the first time in days.

Or, at least, it should have.

But honestly, Lando was too busy trying not to screw this up to relax.

Sitting across from Emilie Abadie—in a dim corner booth, with a bottle of wine between them and a shared plate of something fried—was more nerve-wracking than qualifying on a wet track.

She was devastating.

Not just in the obvious way, with her wild blonde hair and sharp mouth and the way she sipped wine like she was judging the entire country of France—but in the way she looked at him. Like she was trying to decide if he was worth the effort of knowing.

And God help him, he wanted to be worth it.

He was halfway through trying to come up with something clever when he saw her expression shift. Just a flicker—something hard and tight slipping across her face.

Lando followed her gaze.

Across the restaurant, standing up too fast, was Charles Leclerc.

And he was coming right for them.

"Uh," Lando said, sitting up a little straighter. "Is that...?"

"Unfortunately," Emilie said under her breath, setting her wineglass down with a soft clink.

Charles didn’t even hesitate. Just stormed across the room, panic practically pouring off him. He stopped at their table, ignoring Lando completely, and zeroed in on Emilie.

"Emilie," Charles said, voice tight, "we need to talk. About Belle."

Emilie didn’t even blink.

"I’m having dinner," she said coolly. "Sit down or leave."

Charles didn’t sit. He stood there, vibrating with panic and guilt and about four too many emotions for the room they were in.

“She posted a horse,” Charles burst out, voice climbing. “A horse! She never said anything! She’s still not answering me. You’ve seen her. You know. Why won’t you just—just tell me what’s going on?!”

Lando, still frozen in his seat, watched Emilie set her napkin down. Slowly. Precisely. Like she was a surgeon preparing for a very delicate operation.

Her smile disappeared.

And then—God help him—she destroyed Charles.

"You think you're owed answers now?" she asked, voice so sharp Lando actually felt it across the table. "After months of ignoring every warning sign? After standing in the same garage with her and looking through her like she wasn’t even real?"

Charles flinched.

Emilie leaned in slightly, not loud, but lethal.

"You want to know why she’s not answering you? Because you only want her when it’s convenient. When it fits your schedule. When it doesn’t mess up the perfect story you tell yourself about your family."

Lando sat back, eyes wide, utterly mesmerized.

He had seen Emilie be sharp before—sarcastic, teasing, merciless with Daniel’s cartoon ties—but this was something else.

This was fierce.

This was loyalty turned into a weapon.

And it was, without a doubt, the moment he realized he was completely screwed.

Because he wasn’t falling for her because she was pretty (although, let’s be honest, that wasn’t exactly hurting). He was falling because of this.

Because of the way she fought.

Because of the way she protected the people she loved like it was breathing.

Because he could see, in every word she threw like knives, how much Belle meant to her.

He had never wanted anything more in his life than to be someone Emilie Abadie fought for like that.

Charles opened his mouth, desperate, and Emilie cut him down again.

"You forgot her birthday," she said, each word a bullet. "And you think a few panicked phone calls are enough to fix that?"

Lando couldn’t even feel sorry for Charles at that point. Not really.

He was too busy being completely, absolutely undone.

"You don't love Belle the way you should," Emilie said, voice low and devastating. "You love the idea of her. The safe, quiet little sister who never asks for anything. Who never demands too much. Who lets you shine without ever threatening your light."

And there it was—the fatal blow.

Charles stood there like he had been hollowed out.

Good, Lando thought savagely.

He didn’t deserve her.

He didn’t deserve Belle’s softness—or Emilie’s fury on her behalf.

Emilie, calm as anything now, lifted her glass again like she hadn’t just torn him to pieces.

"Now," she said, "go back to your table. Apologize to Alexandra. And maybe—if you’re lucky—figure out how to be someone your sister actually wants to let back in."

Charles didn’t even argue.

He just turned and walked away, a shell of himself.

The moment he was gone, the restaurant buzzed back to life like nothing had happened.

And Lando just sat there, staring at Emilie like she’d hung the moon.

Because this was what undid him, completely and without mercy:

Not the beauty. Not the sharp tongue. Not even the way she teased him into laughing at himself.

It was this.

It was the way she loved.

Fierce. Loyal. Uncompromising.

It was the way she stood her ground, sword drawn, in defense of someone who needed it.

It was the way she made it absolutely clear that you didn’t get to hurt people she loved without consequences.

God, he was in trouble.

Emilie caught him staring and arched an eyebrow, setting her wineglass down with practiced grace. "What?"

Lando blinked, scrambled for something to say, something that didn’t sound like I might be in love with you.

"That was," he said, voice a little hoarse, "the most badass thing I’ve ever seen."

A faint, real smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "He needed to hear it."

"He did," Lando agreed. Then, quieter, "And Belle’s lucky to have you."

Something flickered across Emilie’s face at that—something small and vulnerable and quickly hidden.

She picked up her glass again, studying him over the rim. "Careful, Norris. Say too many nice things and I might start thinking you mean them."

"I do," he said simply.

And this time, she didn’t roll her eyes. Didn’t mock him.

She just held his gaze, steady and assessing, like she was weighing whether he was telling the truth.

Whatever she saw must have satisfied her, because after a long beat, she said lightly, "Good."

She took a sip of her wine. Then, smiling like she hadn't just broken and remade his entire world in under five minutes, she leaned in closer.

"Now," Emilie said, "where were we before the drama?"

Lando couldn’t even remember.

All he could think about was how wildly, desperately he wanted to kiss her.

***

Emilie sat back in her chair, wine glass light between her fingers, and tried to act like her heart wasn’t pounding against her ribs.

Like Lando’s words hadn’t just cracked something wide open inside her.

Belle’s lucky to have you. I mean it.

She didn’t know what she had expected—maybe some teasing, maybe a joke to defuse the moment—but not that.

Not sincerity.

Not him.

She should’ve brushed it off. Should’ve quipped something scathing and easy, should’ve knocked the moment off balance before it could land. But she hadn’t.

Because something about the way Lando looked at her—steady, certain, real—had made her hesitate.

Careful, Abadie, she warned herself. You know better.

Boys said things they didn’t mean. Boys fell in love with ideas, not people. Boys liked her because she was shiny and sharp, not because they saw her.

And yet... Lando hadn’t looked at her like she was shiny.

He’d looked at her like she was something solid.

Like he saw the messy, brutal, fiercely protective parts of her—and didn’t want to flinch away.

It was terrifying.

It was worse than terrifying.

It was hope.

"Now," Emilie said, forcing her voice back into familiar, teasing steadiness as she leaned across the table, "where were we before the drama?"

Lando blinked at her, like he needed a second to remember where he was. It made something traitorous and warm flicker in her chest.

"Uh," he said, a little breathless, "I think I was telling you about the time I accidentally set a microwave on fire?"

Emilie let out a real, surprised laugh. "You did what?"

He grinned—wide and messy and self-deprecating—and just like that, the intensity between them loosened into something lighter. Still charged. Still humming just under the surface. But lighter.

"I was fifteen, okay," Lando said, leaning in, elbows on the table. "And I thought you could microwave foil. Spoiler alert: you cannot."

"Oh my God," Emilie said, actually laughing now. "You’re lucky you didn’t set the whole house on fire."

"Almost did," Lando said proudly. "My mum nearly murdered me."

He told the story with his whole body—hands flying, eyes bright—and Emilie listened, smiling in spite of herself, feeling the last shards of her ice defenses start to melt.

He’s dangerous, she thought distantly. And not for the reasons you’re used to.

He was dangerous because he wasn’t pretending.

Because he didn’t want her to be less. Or smaller. Or easier to love.

He wanted this version of her—the messy, complicated, fierce version—and it felt so new and so scary she almost didn’t know how to hold it.

Halfway through his story about the microwave (and the resulting three-day grounding), Emilie caught herself staring.

Caught herself wondering what it would be like to lean across the table and kiss him.

Idiot, she thought, draining the last of her wine to kill the impulse.

But even as she set the glass down, her hand brushed against his—just lightly, just by accident—and Lando froze.

The air between them tightened again. Not heavy. Not sharp. But electric.

His hand stayed where it was.

Waiting.

Not grabbing. Not pushing. Just waiting.

An invitation.

An if you want to.

Emilie’s chest squeezed so tight she could barely breathe.

She wasn’t used to boys who waited.

She wasn’t used to being wanted without being hunted.

Slowly—so slowly she barely let herself think about it—she turned her palm up and let her fingers brush his.

His hand closed gently over hers, warm and callused and careful.

And Emilie, against every rule she had ever made for herself, didn’t pull away.

***

The night air was cooler than the restaurant had been, crisp against Emilie’s skin as they stepped out into the narrow Monaco street.

 The world felt smaller out here—quieter, sleepier. The kind of night you could almost believe was magic.

Their hands brushed once, then again. And then—without speaking—Lando laced his fingers through hers.

Just like that.

No fuss. No dramatics. No careful maneuvering.

Like he’d been waiting for permission, and now that he had it, he wasn’t letting go.

Emilie let herself be pulled along, hand in his, heart hammering an unfamiliar rhythm against her ribs.

It was terrifying.

It was wonderful.

Neither of them said much as they walked. The occasional motorbike buzzed by; laughter floated out of the bars they passed. But between them—just a quiet hum of something new.

When they reached a corner where the street narrowed and the light hit just right, Lando slowed.

Emilie slowed too, their joined hands swinging slightly between them.

Lando glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

She caught the look—shy and reckless all at once—and her heart gave a traitorous thud.

"You’re quiet," he said, voice soft, like he was afraid to scare her off.

"Maybe I’m enjoying the peace," Emilie said lightly.

He smiled at that. Real and crooked. The kind of smile that made her want to hand over every sharp piece of herself without a second thought.

"You were incredible tonight," he said, after a moment.

Emilie huffed a laugh, looking away. "I was brutal."

"You were brilliant," Lando corrected. "You were exactly what Belle needed."

The words were so unexpected, so easy and true, that Emilie almost stumbled.

God, stop, she told herself. Stop falling faster.

But it was already too late.

When she looked back at him, Lando was still watching her with that same maddening, open expression. Like he liked her exactly as she was. All fire. All teeth. All soft, bruised, careful heart underneath.

They stopped under a streetlamp without meaning to.

It pooled gold light around them, softening the edges of everything. Making the world feel like it had shrunk to just this. Just them.

Lando’s hand tightened slightly around hers.

"Emilie," he said, and the way he said it—half a question, half a prayer—made something inside her crack open.

She should have said something sharp. She should have laughed it off.

Instead, she just lifted her chin and looked at him.

"Are you going to kiss me, Norris," she asked, voice deceptively cool, "or are you going to keep holding my hand like we’re on a third-grade field trip?"

Lando made a small, strangled noise that might have been a laugh—or a whimper—and then he was stepping closer, so close she could feel the heat of him.

"I’m working up to it," he muttered.

"You’re slow," Emilie said.

"You’re terrifying," Lando shot back, grinning.

And then—finally, finally—he kissed her.

It wasn’t perfect.

It wasn’t smooth or practiced.

It was messy and a little desperate and so real it nearly brought Emilie to her knees.

Lando kissed like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to. Like he wanted to be sure she knew she could push him away at any second—and like he was praying she wouldn’t.

And Emilie—fierce, guarded Emilie—kissed him back with all the reckless, terrifying hope she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying for years.

It was a soft, stumbling collision of mouths and laughter and fingers tightening on jackets—and it was, without a doubt, the most dangerous, precious thing Emilie had ever let herself have.

When they finally pulled apart, Lando rested his forehead lightly against hers, still holding her hand.

"You scare the shit out of me," he whispered, grinning.

"Good," Emilie whispered back.

But when he kissed her again—this time slower, sweeter—she let herself believe, for just one dangerous, dazzling second, that maybe she didn't have to be scary forever.

That maybe someone had finally seen her.

And wanted her anyway.

***

Text Messages: Max Fewtrell & Lando Norris

Lando: Bro. BRO. I’m going to throw up.

Max: ok congrats on what?? nervous breakdown? race win? what are we celebrating

Lando: i kissed her

Max: who

Lando: her

Max: MATE WHO

Lando: EMILIE

Max: WAIT wait wait wait BACK UP u kissed her??? WHAT DO YOU MEAN "I KISSED HER"???

Lando: we had dinner and i didn’t die and then she LET ME HOLD HER HAND and THEN SHE LET ME KISS HER

Max: mate i need a minute

 since WHEN were you even going on dates with her??? this is like finding out ur mate moved to another country and got married without telling u what do u mean you just had dinner casually WHEN WAS THIS PLANNED

Lando: it just happened kind of after i liked her 2019 bikini pic at 2am

Max: what the fuck

Max: YOU DID WHAT

Max: YOU DUMB IDIOT LEGEND

Lando: she slid into my dms after told me i could just ask her out next time instead of stalking her like a creep

Max: i’m crying i’m so proud u’re still an idiot but like a victorious idiot

Lando: i’m literally shaking bro like i kissed her and she kissed me BACK

Max: wtf and she didn’t mace you or slap you??? mate she might actually like you

Lando: i think she might

Lando: i’m gonna marry her

Max: ok buddy let’s aim for a second date first

Lando: i’m so fucked

Max: in the best way

[kingdomvel]

Steddie | modern au | famous actor Steve Harrington | 3.4k | ao3

from this post

Eddie can’t stop the laugh that comes out of him because of the video on his screen, Gareth snickering next to him.

“This is great, I have to show this to the others later,” Eddie says. His fingers move automatically, pressing on the send icon and then on the profile at the very top, a move he has done hundreds of times.

“Dude, did you just send that to Steve Harrington?” Gareth asks with a dumbfounded tone.

“Yeah?”

“Why are you acting like that’s normal?”

“Because it is? I just send him the posts I find funny to find them later.”

“You know there is a way to save posts so that they are organized, right?”

“I don’t like it and this is like way easier.”

“It’s literally not,” Gareth says, but Eddie doesn’t pay attention to him or stop.

“Look,” he goes to the front page, slides to the dms and opens the conversation with Steve Harrington, always at the top. “It’s just right there.” He starts scrolling up to show him the long string of unanswered memes and videos, but Gareth interrupts him.

“Wait, wait. Scroll back down, what the fuck is that? Does he read your messages?” He is pointing to the little icon with Harrington’s profile picture just above the last video he’s sent. Eddie shrugs.

“It’s probably a bored media guy enjoying some memes on the clock or making sure I’m not a weirdo, it’s not like Steve Harrington actually uses this account.”

“You are a weirdo, I’m surprised you are not blocked yet.”

-

Eddie is on his phone, passing the time as he keeps an eye on the lonely customer currently looking through the new vinyls. It’s a routine, a mindless action as he saves another post to show the guys later, preferring to see their reactions in person. Nothing ever happens, that’s why he gets surprised to the point of sitting up when a notification appears on his screen.

Steve.hrrgtn: Dude, you just made me laugh in the middle of a table reading

Eddie freezes as the notification disappears. Did he see that right? He couldn’t have seen that right.

He goes to his dms and surely, there at the top, is a message from THE Steve Harrington, or at least from his account. A table reading. It has to be him, right? Not an intern or a media guy. The one and only.

Eddie sends a look to the customer, still engrossed in the new releases. He is tempted to call her so she can check if the message is real or an hallucination provoked by his boredom. When he looks down, the message is still there. It is also still there when he opens the conversation. His fingers hover over screen.

He can picture him, sitting around a long table with his castmates, hiding his phone like a student in class but unable to keep his laugh in.

The vision is a bit surreal. He made Steve Harrington laugh.

Batking: why are you looking at your phone in the middle of a table reading

Steve.hrrgtn: new season boring af

It’s Eddie the one that can’t keep his laugh in this time. The girl sends him a look, but he doesn’t care.

Batking: should you be telling me that?

 Steve.hrrgtn: I don’t even care at this point tbh

Batking: you are the one that signed the contract my guy

Steve.hrrgtn: I didn’t

Steve.hrrgtn: Never let your parents sign you into a multi season show when you are fifteen

Batking: I’ll keep that in mind for my next life

Batking: Sorry your parents made you a millionaire and famous

Steve.hrrgtn: 💀💀💀

Steve.hrrgtn: but really, at the time I thought hey it’s only a contract for five seasons for a teen drama, how bad could it be?

Steve.hrrgtn: now here I am, almost ten years later, listening to the worst script you have heard in your life

Batking: that does sound awful

Batking: you are making me happy that my folks are not in the picture

Is Eddie about to vent about his life to Steve fucking Harrington? It seems like it.

In the end, he doesn’t, because Harrington doesn’t answer to his message, probably swept away into actually working, or maybe he realised how weird it was that he was talking so casually to a guy he didn’t know.

Eddie doesn’t have time to wallow on it too much, because the girl comes to the counter with a vinyl and a question. The interaction with the famous actor moving to a part of Eddie’s brain normally reserved to daydreams.

-

Eddie thought that his interaction with Steve Harrington would be a one time thing, the guy looking at his phone because he was too bored and answering his message because, by some kind of cosmic coincidence, Eddie had happened to send it at the perfect moment. Just an impulsive action that he had regretted later. That’s why he is surprised when he gets a new notification after sending him the worst kind of shitpost ever, the ones that the algorithm feeds him at 2am – the current time – and send him in a fit of giggles with their complete absurdity.

Steve.hrrgtn: where do you even find these things

Batking: you are just jealous my algorithm is better than yours

Steve.hrrgtn: yeah everyday I dream about my instagram showing me a pig made with a sausage and sticks surfing some rotating meat skewers

Batking: It made you laugh though

Steve.hrrgtn: …..

Steve.hrrgtn: It did

Eddie lets out a short, disbelieving snort. It’s a bit crazy, knowing that somewhere out there a famous heartthrob is looking at his messages at 2am and laughing.

Unless this is the media guy.

Eddie prefers to believe that he is so funny he made a guy with millions of followers want to talk to him. Twice.

Batking: why are you awake at this hour anyway

Batking: shouldnt you be getting your beauty sleep

Steve.hrrgtn: we start filming the new season tomorrow

Steve.hrrgtn: today?

Steve.hrrgtn: and I can’t sleep

Batking: nightmares about the boring script

Batking: I see

Steve.hrrgtn: you could say that

Batking: well, check this out, your nightmares will go away

He sends another stupid meme (of the best kind, the ones from accounts that write in Cyrillic) and receives a set of skull emojis in answer.

-

Steve.hrrgtn: why have you stopped sending me memes

The message takes Eddie by surprise. It’s been a week since he texted with Steve Harrington for the second time – which still feels a bit surreal-, and he had decided to stop bothering the poor guy now that he knew he saw his messages. Going to his saved posts was still a nightmare, but Eddie knew how to behave.

Batking: didnt want to bother you now that you are working and I know you see them

Steve.hrrgtn: they have been my main entertainment for months you can’t just stop now when I need them most

Eddie blinks at the message. Months? The confirmation stuns him. The one that had been seeing his messages had always been him and not some media guy? Eddie remembers catching his name a few times on his Instagram stories. This is a bit trippy, if he is honest.

Batking: okay

Batking: as my liege commands

Batking: from now on I am your knight in shining armour your sole provider of memes

-

Batking: *reel attached*

Batking: did you kill the villain today?

Steve.hrrgtn: This is a teen drama???

-

Batking: *reel attached*

Batking: so, is the bad guy dead yet?

Steve.hrrgtn: Again???

Steve.hrrgtn: I told you like a thousand times that there is no bad guy to kill

Steve.hrrgtn: have you even watched my show?

Batking: I mean the scriptwriter

Steve.hrrgtn: lmao

Steve.hrrgtn: no, he is sadly not dead yet

Steve.hrrgtn: I think killing him would be a breach of my contract somehow

Batking: a pity

Batking: the way he insists on making your character straight? He deserves death.

Batking: don’t worry joe from normal life, I saw the way you looked at dacre, I know what you are

Steve.hrrgtn: I think that might have just been the way I was looking at Billy, the guy’s fucking hot

Steve.hrrgtn: an asshole though, glad he is not on the show anymore

Eddie pauses, his eyes reading the last two messages time and time again. Did Steve Harrington, heartthrob and ladies man, just admit to being attracted to a male coworker? Eddie’s thumbs hover over the keyboard. He looks up at Gareth from his place in their couch. He is not paying attention to him, too focused on his laptop.

Eddie is having a bit of a crisis here and his roommate is ignoring him. Maybe it’s best that he is, Eddie doesn’t really want to share this with anyone. Should he bring attention to it? Should he just ignore it and brush it off? The decision is not that difficult in the end. He needs to know. He knows that there is no way he has any possibility of actually bagging Steve Harrington. Exchanging messages and memes is one thing, a pseudo friendship is one thing, but something more? Not fucking likely.

He still needs to know.

Batking: did I just get exclusive confirmation that Steve Harrington likes men? Should I call tmz?

Steve.hrrgtn: you wouldn’t get any money

Steve.hrrgtn: I’ve been out as bisexual for years, the media just chooses to ignore it

Steve.hrrgtn: wow look at these pictures of Steve Harrington with his new male best friend that he goes to dinner and all premieres with! Totally platonic! Oh now they have stopped hanging out completely? What could have happened to their friendship?

Steve.hrrgtn: he cheated on me, that’s what happened

Eddie blinks at his screen. So, he had tried to avoid learning anything about Steve that the man didn’t tell him himself. Just a chivalrous, treat the guy like a normal person gesture, but now he is wondering if he should have paid a bit more attention.

Batking: ah yes, the joys of compulsory heterosexuality and conformity

Batking: that sucks, dude

Steve.hrrgtn: did you really not know anything about it?

Batking: sorry to burst your celebrity bubble where everyone knows everything about your life

Steve.hrrgtn: no no, it’s… nice

Steve.hrrgtn: I have a question though

Steve.hrrgtn: why did you start sending me memes if you were not really interested in me?

Batking: well

Batking: I needed someone very famous that wasnt likely to really see my messages and seemed chill enough to not block me immediately

Batking: and dude, you are like waaay more famous than the show you are in, it’s ridiculous, thought you must be a douche for a long time

Batking: but an interview with you and your friend Robin showed up on my fyp and I saw that you were pretty chill

Batking: so it was between you and Timothee Chalamet

Batking: and it ended up being you because you are hotter

Steve.hrrgtn: of course I am

Steve.hrrgtn: thank you for choosing me tho

Batking: anyone would have

Steve.hrrgtn: the casting director of a complete unknown didn’t think the same

Batking: well thats THEIR loss

Batking: you do a great job with the shitty script of normal life

Batking: you would have acted the fuck out of bob dylan

Steve.hrrgtn: I do a better job in my other stuff

Batking: you have other stuff??

Batking: I’m going to be honest with you here, I only watched normal life so I had context to bitch about the boring new season with you

Eddie looks at the three little dots that indicate that Steve is writing appear a disappear a few times. Did he fuck up? Maybe he sounded too eager, maybe Steve thought it was a bit weird that Eddie assumed they would continue talking. But they have been talking for weeks now. Was it bad to assume?

Eddie closes the app, deciding to give the guy some privacy to write down what he wants to write down and heads to the kitchen to prepare his dinner. If Gareth senses the way his mood has soured, he doesn’t say anything about it.

It takes a couple of hours for an answer to appear. It’s simple.

Steve.hrrgtn: that’s nice of you

-

It’s Steve the one that starts the conversation a couple of days after that. Eddie only sees his messages an hour after he sends them, too busy with customers. The group of notifications on his screen when he is finally able to look at his phone very welcome.

Steve.hrrgtn: so I just realised

Steve.hrrgtn: well, my best friend made me realise

Steve.hrrgtn: she basically said that it’s weird that I’ve been talking with you for weeks and don’t know anything about your actual life and that you could actually be a stalker with a lot of patience or something like that

Steve.hrrgtn: so tell me about yourself? You are not living like down the street from me and waiting for the right moment to kidnap me like Robin says are you?

Eddie tries not to feel giddy at the thought of Steve talking about him to his friends. He has not done it himself, mostly because he tried once and they made fun of his ‘delusions’ as they called it. Whatever. He doesn’t really expect Steve to still be online, probably already swept out to his own job, so he just sends his answer.

Batking: a very reasonable fear, some facts to follow

Batking: I live as far from you as you live from Chicago

Batking: I am a humble employee at a record store where I have to deal with pretentious assholes daily that don’t really care about music and just about bragging about their record collection

Batking: I also have a band with my friends

Batking: we have a whooping 1756 listeners on spotify

Batking: I know, I know, you didn’t know you were talking with a rockstar try not to be very starstruck

The answer, to his surprise, comes almost immediately.

Steve.hrrgtn: 1757

Batking: what?

Steve.hrrgtn: what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t listen to your band now that I know it exists?

Eddie would be lying if he said that that didn’t make his heart skip a beat. Is this healthy? Probably not. Is he developing a weird parasocial relationship with the guy? Probably yes, but is it even a parasocial relationship if he is actually talking with the guy and he called him his friend? This should be considered a normal crush, a normal, hopeless crush.

Batking: a very shitty one tbh here’s the link

Steve.hrrgtn: can I ask something else?

Batking: course

Steve.hrrgtn: you only have one pic in your profile and it’s with your friends

Steve.hrrgtn: which one are you?

Eddie taps the back of his phone a few times. It’s only natural that Steve would wonder that. He could just tell him, or… Eddie opens the camera and takes a picture, too close to see his face properly but enough that Steve will know who he is in the group picture now.

Batking: *picture attached*

Batking: this one

Steve.hrrgtn: fuck

-

Steve.hrrgtn: okay so the thought of you only seeing me in normal life is eating me alive

The notification comes when Eddie is with his friends, preparing for a night of DnD. Eddie was looking up some music to get the atmosphere going, but the music app immediately gets abandoned in lieu of the message.

Batking: can’t get me out of your head?

He knows he has been unable to keep the stupid smile out of his face when Jeff tries to glance at his screen. Eddie immediately slams the phone against his chest.

“Jeez, I thought you were looking at stupid memes again, who are you texting that got you smiling like that?” Jeff asks. He moves back to sit straight, so Eddie can look at his phone again.

“No one,” he says as he reads the new message.

Steve.hrrgtn: so I have a couple of indie films that are very good

So Steve has decided to ignore his message. Okay.

“He’s been like this for WEEKS now,” Gareth intervenes as he sits down at his spot. “He said it was Steve Harrington when I asked him when he started and has refused to say anything else.”

“The white boy of the month?” Jeff asks.

“White boy of the century,” Eddie feels the need to correct.

Batking: that’s great and all but I can’t watch your limited release indie films anywhere

Steve.hrrgtn: that’s why I’m sharing a link to the latest one with you

Steve.hrrgtn: don’t share it with anyone though

Batking: aw breaking the rules for little ol me?

Steve.hrrgtn: yeah yeah don’t get too cocky now

Steve.hrrgtn: can’t wait for your reaction 😉

Eddie stares at the winking emoji in confusion. What is that supposed to mean?

“Can you stop texting your white boy of the century now so we can start?” Gareth asks.

“Just a second.” Eddie sends a quick message back before he moves to the music app again, chooses the first song he sees and puts the phone down.

Batking: send it to me, soldier, I will watch it tonight and give you my honest opinion

-

Eddie stares at the screen of his laptop, currently on his thighs as he was lounging on his bed, seeing the film Steve had sent to him. The film is currently paused, Steve’s face staring at him with eyes and mouth half open.

Okay, so Eddie just watched his famous guy turned friend have an orgasm – fake! Fake an orgasm, Eddie feels it’s very important that he makes that clear to himself – on screen after probably the most erotic sex scene he has seen in a non porno in the last 10 years. Fuck. How did he not know about the existence of this? How did this not make the news? Probably because it was with another man. Double fuck.

Maybe this is normal for Steve, for actors in general, to send their friends a link to a film where you have a soul shattering orgasm with a message about wanting to know their reaction with a winking emoji. It is not normal for Eddie. It is also not normal for his dick, who has not gotten the memo about this not being something it should be getting so excited about.

Eddie bites his lip. His finger moves on its own, backing the film a few minutes so the scene plays again. Eddie tries to convince himself that this is not weird if Steve was the one that wanted him to see this in the first place.

Eddie curses and takes a deep breath. He eyes his phone. It’s late, nearly midnight, but he knows that Steve is normally away at this hour.

Maybe this is not normal for Steve either, maybe he did want to get some kind of reaction out of Eddie.

Eddie snaps a picture of his laptop screen, careful to get the tent in his pants just in the edge of the picture. It’s very obvious on it what scene he is watching.

Batking: *picture attached*

Batking: you sure know how to get a guy hot and bothered

Maybe he can play it off as a joke if Steve didn’t mean it like Eddie wants him to mean it.

Steve.hrrgtn: glad to see my acting is that good

Fuck, Eddie fucked it up, right?

Steve.hrrgtn: it did come out very natural

Steve.hrrgtn: but the real thing looks better

Eddie feels on the edge of a precipice, as if there should be a warning on his field of vision about how his choice here will change the trajectory of his story.

Batking: can’t say

Batking: I haven’t seen the real thing, so I can’t really compare them, can I?

Steve.hrrgtn: would you want to?

Eddie can’t get his hopes up, he can’t assume, Steve is so out of his league, this can’t be happening to him.

Batking: have you acted in a porno I don’t know about?

Steve.hrrgtn: are you always this dense?

Eddie’s heart is dying in his chest, that’s the only explanation to how it’s feeling.

He doesn’t have time to type an answer, Eddie’s screen is suddenly filled with something else.

Steve Harrington is video calling him.

Eddie has never accepted a call so fast in his life before.

part 2...???

tag list: @steddiefication @tailsfromthecrypt @orionchildofhades @coralineinwonderland @theohohmoment (you didn't ask me to tag you but I guessed you'd want to see it?)

[engenlvr]

i miss you, i’m sorry | alexia putellas

pairing: alexia putellas x mila crnogorčević (oc)

summary: years ago she messed up the best thing that ever happened to her and now it's back in front of her she won't make that mistake again

tags: angst, fluff, acl's, firstlove!alexia, past relationship, exes that haven’t seen each other in years, orange coloured text means that it is spanish and blue is swiss german. i hate writing games so it will probably be written horribly.

word count: 10k+

it was match day.

an el clásico to be exact. barcelona vs real madrid. champions league quarter final. you’ve been to many of these when you moved to spain from switzerland when you were fourteen.

football was your favourite sport growing up your dad was huge on it he even tried to get you in the sport but it was horrible and you quit immediately. you traded playing the sport to taking pictures of it.

you cousin ana-marie was the whole reason why you were here today, sat next to your friend bella. you were beyond proud of the girl and everything she’s achieved in her career.

today she was going to play in front of a world record crowd for women’s football. thousands of people in one stadium to see the team’s kick a ball around.

when you were offered an invite to see her play you couldn’t decline it wasn’t just a big moment in her career but also yours if you could capture the right moment. there were times where you’d see her play and the stadium barely had any people but today was the stadium was basically full.

the two girls were sat in their barcelona shirts with the name crnogorčević on the back of it. the game was just about to start with just the whistle needing to be blown.

and when it did the twenty two players began to run up and down the pitch. the score was already 3-1 on aggregate but it didn’t stay like that for long with a lovely cross from barcelona’s number four in the seventh minute.

there was something about el clásico no matter what, they were entertaining the rivalry between the two clubs causing that. then came the penalty due to a hand ball which only added to the game. it ended up going in real madrid’s favour with it barely slipping passing pass the goalkeeper fingers.

but it wasn’t till the second half when you got really invested, it wasn’t your cousin getting subbed on the pitch that the game really started to interest you. and a goal from the opposing team, a goal that was a beaut even thought it was hard to say with your barça heart.

but with that goal you knew it was only going to motivate them more and it did. that goal drove the home team to get a few more in their name. but it wasn’t the second or third goal that caught your attention it was the fourth that did.

the way they played was so familiar but you couldn’t place who it was or if your even knew them. the confidence in their movement and passes, their confidence full stop was too similar. the was she bowed to the fans as they all cheered for her. you didn’t have the clearest of views from where you were sat but with that being said whenever you were taking pictures you don’t really pay attention to their face everything was blurred out.

the rest of the game was a blur all your thoughts on the teams number 11 who seemed to be everyone’s favourite and it wasn’t until the final whistle that you snapped out of that trance.

“that game was amazing, i mean all the goals was beautiful” hanna blabbed in excitement over the game as the two of you made your way down to the pitch now that everyone was gone “i mean you have to show me all your photos”

looking at the girl “you always see my photos before anyone else” if there was one thing that the spanish girl loved about you was that you knew someone on the team meaning that you could get her tickets.

the two of you met about three years ago and have been best friends since and it wasn’t until a year in your friendship that she realised that you knew ana-marie but that you were actually family.

“ana! i’m so proud of you” pulling the girl into a hug and not letting her go till she started to pull away to hug hanna.

“you were amazing” the spanish girl complimented completely in awe at the swiss girl’s performance today.

the three girl continued to chat about the match that happened, from the goals to saves that happened. you listed nodding every now and then to the teams number 10 caught your eyes.

“jenni?” eyes full of confusion as you walked to the dark haired girl “what are you doing here? you know when we met and you were all secretive about your job i didn’t know it was because you were a footballer” she pulled you into a hug completely shocked that the girl she thought about a lot after they last saw each other months ago.

“what am i doing here? i could ask you the same thing. i can’t believe your here” her eyes looked at you “you know ana she’s my cousin and she asked me to come see her play. i’m also a sports photographer and it was worth coming i mean it was beautiful to think so many people came to watch you play. but i don’t blame them”

“are you flirting with me?” she joked remembering how you where when the two of you met on holiday “your family is looking at us well more me but still”

you looked back at your cousin and friend who glanced at the two of you “i think she just shocked that i know another footballer i mean she was shocked when i told her that ana was my cousin like she screamed cause she she loves this team”

“and you? do you love this team”

“i guess i do i’ve lived here since i was fifteen and been to may of these games and my shirt” spinning around to show her the your name ( ana-maria’s name ) on the back “love everything about this club, in fact i know everything about it”

“well since you love this club so much out of the kindness of my heart i’ll give you my shirt” pulling the fabric off her body and handing it to you “and the team we’re going out tonight to celebrate the win you should come”

“i don’t want to intrude” shaking your head no “you won’t i promise i want you there and the team will love you”

jenni heard her name being called “look i got to go but please come”

“hanna how do u feel about going to a party tonight”

so that’s how the two of your found yourselves in the club full of professional footballers “not to sound like i’m using you or anything but i love the fact that you know footballers especially barça ones. but how do you know jenni” the dark haired spaniard asked while dragging you to the bar to get shots number, well she didn’t know.

“err, we met on holiday”

her head shot around “you slept with her” the words jumbled up in your throat trying to come up with lie but nothing worked and you knew that she could see right through you so you stopped “no, okay so maybe i did, but it was months ago and a total coincidence that i met her today. i didn’t even know she played for barça”

“well i’m happy that you know them cause girl this place has been booked out for months”

the swiss girl humed in agreement before picking up the shot and downing it clearly needing it after her best friend integration.

the footballers were scatters all around across the club. you have yet to see everyone on the team, only really talked to ana-maria, ingrid, mapi and of course jenni.

“i don’t blame you, she’s really hot”

“thank you, hanna. i’m gonna steal her for a dance” pulling you alonge with her before you could say by to the girl.

“you’re a hard girl to find” she whispered in your ear from behind, the way she spoke with such confidence in everything that she does.

“well i’ve been on the dance floor or at the bar”

your body up against hers, the way her hand run up your bare back due to your backless crop top you wore. the touch that caused goosebumps to appear. maybe it was the alcohol that enhanced all that you felt but you didn’t care, both of you didn’t.

“you look beautiful, your top with that small skirt of yours i love it” her fingers grazing the price of clothing as she named them “it reminds me of that night in kos. you at that club in that tight red dress that compliments you so well” pushing you hair to the side “i still think about that night, how good you were for me all night” her lips meeting your neck peppering kisses on it.

you finally looked away from the girl and looked at the table in front of you. your movements halted as you saw her, you saw alexia after all these years. after ten years you saw her and she was looking directly back at you. those eyes you used to wake up next to, those hazel eyes you loved looking at.

after ten years and she still had the same effect on you as if the two of you still knew one another. god you hated that she did, you hated that she looked more beautiful since the last time you saw her.

looking at her and you suddenly were a teenage girl and in love with girl and the two of you were in her room kissing each other every chance you had.

“i’m sorry, i’ve got to go” running out the club ignoring the calls not only from jenni but from hanna and your cousin as well.

you didn’t remember how you got there but there you were at beach the two of you used to always go to. looking at the rock which had the initials of the two of you and drawings that the two of you have put.

you felt a figure sit beside you, not even having to look as that scent was so familiar. the midfielder sat down beside you and the seconds she did you got up to walk away.

her hand grabbing your wrist to stop you from fleeing.

“no ale—alexia no. you don’t get to come here and touch me like nothing happened. you were horrible to me i stuck with you through everything the highs and the lows but then you took out all your anger on me and i tried to stay but it wasn’t just that. you never showed up. i was there at every important event of yours but you never came to mine even if i told you weeks in advance there was always something to stop you from coming but that night was it. i just couldn’t do it no more”

seeing her just brought everything up again, everything that you thought you had healed all those years ago but it didn’t, it still hurt.

“i don’t blame you” her voice sweeter than ever it still sounded like pure heaven to you but how couldn’t it. it was the voice that told you that she loved you and that she was gonna marry you and so much more. you couldn’t stand that fact that it still did “i would of done the same thing, walking out on me. i was a horrible girlfriend not just after he died but before as well. my need to just be the best ruined what we had and after years of having you by my side i was so used to having you there and i took it for granted and i thought you’d stay, no matter what but i pushed you too far but losing you made me see everything that i done and how wrong i done you. the trophies mean nothing if your not by my side”

her eyes were on you but yours were focusing on the waves and the sound it made it helped you slow the tears falling down your face “seeing you with jenni, my best friend. how close she was to you, her body up against your whispering in your ear and kissing you. i don’t ever want to see that. i used to be the one to do that to you and i want to make things right. there hasn’t been a day no a second where i haven’t thought about you and i’m going to make it right cause losing you made me realise how much i love you and need you in my life”

her words caused you to look at her for the first time since the club. you had a chance to really look at her alexia had changed her hair now blonde it complimented her but you miss her brown hair.

you often thought about what would of happened if you told the girl straight up how you felt whether you’d be at the match for her instead of ana-marie. whether you’d be there after every win and lost. whether you’d still go her family’s house chatting with her mum or going out with alba to gossip or if you’d still be with her.

“alexia i— i don’t think that can happen” her eyes looking a bit sad at your words “no mila i will make us us again i’m not gonna give up on this on us”

standing up from where the two of your were sat, slowly moving away till you were by the right of her to say your last words to her “i’m glad you got everything you ever wanted” walking away but not before glancing back at her one more time.

those words hurt her more knowing you thought that she couldn’t fix this or that you didn’t want her to try at all but she had changed losing you changed her for the better “not everything” she whispered sadly looking directly at you. she let you slip away once but she wouldn’t let it happen again.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

october 2009

it was your first day at school in spain obviously you were beyond nervous, how could you not be in a place where the language wasn’t you first and only understood basic phrases.

if it wasn’t bad enough that you were the new kid you had to be the new kid who joined midway through the the term. everyone already had their established friendship groups and you would be there all alone.

your dad who was a football coach moved us here as being the coach of barça was something he couldn’t turn down, so that’s how you found yourself in barcelona. ever since finding out that you were moving you tried to learn spainsh and catalan but it was harder than you thought.

the halls were crowded with friends walking around making their way for lunch, while you walked in the complete opposite direction. lessons weren’t necessarily bad but you felt like the odd one out everyone speaking rapid spanish while you could only latch on to maybe a few words if lucky. having the teacher speak to the class and then you, which wasn’t to hurt you or make you feel separate but it did.

you had found a secluded space, the football stands. despite not being that good at the sport you felt comfort there. your dad often took you with him when he practiced. though you had never been here, every stand felt familiar and brought you comfort.

everywhere you went you had a camera always ready to capture a moment whether it was a person or scenery, taking pictures was what you were meant to do. your love for sports photography began with all the training sessions your day would take you to. when you were younger you would always complain about how boring it was but then your mum had the idea to give you a camera. and to their surprise the pictures you took were great, great enough to even be used for promo.

a brunette walked on to the pitch with a ball in her hands before going to do some football drills. the girl obviously didn’t notice you seeing as she continued to move effortlessly with the ball.

you could tell she was popular as every time someone walked pass they wave to her or have a conversation with her.

it was beautiful.

a scene worth capturing. she looked beautiful and confident in each stride. so you picked up your film camera and took multiple pictures of the girl who moved gracefully on the pitch.

she was perfected each stride except for the last which went straight for you and totally would of hit you if you hadn’t of ducked “i’m sorry, i didn’t see you there” she apologised profusely while running over to you. the language of that spoke from her lips confused you for a moment completely forgetting that you weren’t in switzerland anymore but spain “it’s okay” you face full of confusion as you didn’t know if you had said the words right.

and she continued apologising well that’s what you thought she was saying as you were completely lost and your face displayed it.

“your the new student aren’t you” finally switching to english which calmed your nerves completely “yeah, i’m sorry i’m trying to learn catalan but i’m not that good yet”

reaching for the ball behind you, grabbing it and handing it to her. you could finally look at the girl, hazel eyes which complimented her brown hair so well. “so why are you here and not eating lunch”

“i don’t really know anyone here. actually you’re the first person to really put in an effort to talk to me” shrugging your shoulders

“well you know me now”

the words spoken with a smile “alexia” putting her hand out for you to shake.

“mila”

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

present day

fate.

that’s what alexia liked to call it whenever the two of you seemed to bump into each other. at the coffee shop, in the middle of the streets, your weekly food shop and more.

obviously she was happy about seeing you but after you hadn’t seen her for ten years it was weird seeing her this often.

you slammed the door shut as you entered your flat which hanna was currently in “mila what happened for you to slamming that poor door?”

glaring at the girl with her comment “ugh i hate her why can’t she just leave me alone”

“who”

“i mean everyday i bump into her and she’ll be all happy acting as if nothing happened. asking me how my day was”

“again i don’t know who your talking about”

“it’s just why do i have to see her practically everyday—“

the spaniard grabbed your shoulders shaking them to stop you from talking “mila who? who are you talking about?”

“alexia” the words coming out slow “okay alexia who alexia jones, alexia smith. mila who’s alexia? i don’t know everything”

“alexia from the bar”

a look of realisation appeared on her face “alexia putellas!” you nodded “you know alexia what did you sleep with her or something how do you know her? why is it you who knows all the barça player and i don’t” whispering the last bit to herself.

“i kinda know her”

“yeah i’ve got that but how?”

“well i kinda used to date her” hanna’s face filled with shock cause if she was in your position she’d be telling everyone she knew “i know i should of told you but the break up was so messy we were so messy in the last few month’s. when we first met it was perfect like i was so in love and it only grew as our careers did. i’d go to her games and she’d go to my events everything was perfect. then her dad died and everything went down hill she’d start arguments over anything i did that showed that i cared. she missed my events and then i just left, couldn’t even tell her to her face or else i wouldn’t go through with it so i left her a silly letter, i left her when she needed me most”

“you used to date alexia putellas, the the caption of fc barcelona” completely ignoring everything but the first sentence

“yes hanna” slight annoyed at her for being up her name again “okay just making sure we’re talking about the same person here”

dropping yourself on the sofa and grabbing a pillow of yours to squeeze. at first hanna was going to make a joke about the two of you but she saw the way you looked over you bumbing into the captain and how much it really effected you in more ways than you wished.

“you want my opinion” looking at you and waiting for a sigh but you stayed still staring at the view form your window “okay well i’m gonna give you it anyway. well it’s clear that she still means something to you wether you want it to or not but you still love her and miss her and what the two of you had. well i don’t know alexia personally but i think if she really didn’t care about you and didn’t feel sorry she wouldn’t talk to you each time she bumps into you. i think you leaving really showed her how wrong her actions were and i think the reason she didn’t reach out is to respect your boundaries even if it hurt her.”

“all i’m saying is that it won’t hurt to at least talk things out so that the both of you can move on” pulling your head to her chests “just think about it okay”

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

february 2010

you learnt very quickly that alexia practically bleed blaugrana. you figured that out practically the first day you met.

at your old school when people found out who your dad was they would always ask for favours. like to meet the players and get stuff signed for them. so they never really wanted to be your friend.

so when you heard that you were gonna move to barcelona you made the choice to go by your mums last name instead of your dads.

though you didn’t want your mind to go there it did. you thought somehow she found a picture of you online and that’s why she started talking to you. but as the days went on she never asked for anything infact when she saw your face when she talked about the club she’d stop.

slowly you realised that maybe she was friends with you solely cause of you and not for your dad. that she actually liked you for you. most of your friends were ones from your childhood other than that you didn’t make any.

normally you wouldn’t use your dads connections for your own personal use. but it was alexia you were talking about, your alexia and seeing the smile that would come on her face would be so worth it.

alexia was gutted that she couldn’t get tickets to that game barcelona vs real madrid seeing as the game was a day after her birthday.

“alexia i have one more gift for you” pulling out the bag for behind you “mila i told you that you didn’t need to get me anything, you being here is enough” seeing as you already got her too much stuff in her eyes from new football boots which she instited that you took back and the only present she truly accepted was the necklace you bought for her.

your face could barely keep your emotions in as you were smiling so much “i know but you’ll love it i swear”

“open it please” pushing the bag more towards her. you watched as she hesitantly opened the bag and her face filled with excitement as she read what was on the paper.

“no you didn’t” she repeated before throwing herself your arms causing you to fall backwards on the floor “mila, i love you. best birthday present ever” she said while placing kisses on your cheeks which caused them to heat up.

her parents watched as the two of you hugged on the floor while her sister picked the piece of paper and showed her parent which only made their smile widen.

you were exactly what alexia needed. sure she had others friends that they thought were good enough for alexia but seeing you with her only made them realise that what they saw before was nothing like what the two of you had.

“but these were sold out how could you possibly get them and the first row” pulling away to look at you through her tear filled eyes before hugging you again “i have my ways and we even get to go on the pitch afterwards and talk to the players” you were meant to keep that last bit in but you couldn’t help it. seeing alexia happy makes you happy

“what did i do to deserve you”

what you didn’t know was the you buying the tickets was the best thing to ever happen to the two of you. after the game which barcelona won of course alexia’s words. you didn’t just get tickets for the two of you you also got tickets for her mum, dad and sister.

the lot of you made your way down the pitch. the clothes you wore which were simply a t-shirt and a pair of jeans and alexia said you should of worn the barcelona top she got you seeing as everyone but you wore one.

dragging her hand as you went on to the pitch and to your dad which she was yet to know was your dad “dad” shouting as you ran and hugged him “hi, i see you we’re finally brave enough to tell her who your dad is” whispering in your ear.

“ale, come here pls” telling the girl who stood confused next to her parents. she was really confused about her her mila knew the head coach of barcelona. “ale i’d like you to meet my dad”

“it’s nice to finally meet you alexia” bring the girl into a hug where she stood still in shock

“your dad. he’s your dad. the head coach of barcelona is your dad” pointing between the two of you “i’m sorry i should of told you but at my last school people only wanted to be friend with me cause of it and i just didn’t want that. i wanted to be sure that you were friend with me cause of me not cause of my day”

she stood still for a second her face emotionless, no tell of what she was feeling “no i get it, i’m glad that you trust me” pulling you into a hug. before you dragged her to meet the players.

safe to say that she need a minute after meeting the players. she pulled you into the bathroom, you immediately sat on the sink as you watched the girl just pace back and fourth thinking about the event that happened in the previous hour.

“mila” finally breaking the silence “i can’t believe that just happened. i always thought about how i would act if i met the players but i didn’t really think it would happen”

she stoped pacing and moved between the the gap of your legs. alexia knew that what she felt for you was stronger than her other friendships. She knew she loved you even at the start of your friendship. whether she meant it in the way she loved her friends or more she just knew that she did.

everyone your age had boyfriends, alexia claimed she doesn’t have one as she didn’t see the appeal. you on the other hand, had boys ask you out which you always declined. that was something that annoyed alexia but she’d never tell you why not that she knew why she hated it. you hadn’t been in a relationship since your boyfriend back in switzerland.

she loved you. your hair, your eyes the way you’d smiled or how you generally were intrigue in the silly stories she tell you. maybe it was the little to no distance between the two of you or the high from meeting her football idols that made her do it. but she did

alexia’s hand went to your cheek which you leaned into. her eyes flickering between your eyes and lips.

her lips were suddenly placed on yours moving but it was your turn to stand still in shock. when you didn’t reciprocate she moved away “mila, i’m sorry that was a mistake. i hope i haven’t ruined this—” placing your lips on hers showing her that you felt the same. your hand wrapped around her neck pulling you closer, wanting to feel more of her on you. the two of you seemed to forget that this was a bathroom as the two of you were lost in each other.

kissing your ex never felt like this, like you were on cloud nine.

“best birthday present ever” alexia spoke between kisses and went to deepen the last when a knock stopped it from happening. causing the two of you to laugh.

“we should go” you murmured kissing her and dragging her out of the bathroom.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

present day

unblock alexiaputellas

unblocked

unblocking was first thing you done since your talk with hanna. you told yourself that you were doing it to finally move on but part of you done it to i guess see her but at the some time not. watch her life from afar.

the second you pressed that button you saw ten years worth of memories that you could of been part of. her first cap for her country, days out with her family, winning the league and the one that hurt most her signing for barcelona. the one you promised to be there for.

milacc

hey

the notification on alexia’s screen caused her to drop her home phone in the changing room once she saw it. gaining looks form all her teammates especially once they saw her face.

alexiaputellas

hi

milacc

we need to talk

i know you have a team meet up tomorrow can I meet you there???

if not we can find a better date

alexiaputellas

no that fine

i’m sure all my teammates will be fine with you coming

milacc

perfect see you tomorrow

alexiaputellas

wait

how do you know about tomorrow?

milacc

ana-maria told me

alexiaputellas

how do you know ana

milacc

she’s my cousin

alexiaputellas

she’s the ana you said you always missed

makes sense now she’s exactly how you said she was

milacc

yeah

anyway i’ve got to go work is calling

bye

alexiaputellas

bye

see you tomorrow

when you texted her yesterday the meet up it was meant to be at a cafe, but once that heard how many people were coming they said the party was too big.

so you got a text from ana-maria saying that it was being held a alexia place. arriving at her place didn’t really setting in till you went inside.

hesitantly you knocked on the door, rocking back and forth on your feet. when the door finally opened it revealed alexia.

“hi” putting her into a small hug a hug in which she missed more than words could describe. she would of held on a little longer if you hadn’t pulled away when something fluffy ran towards you.

“nala, my baby. oh how i’ve missed you”

picking up her dog which couldn’t contain her excitement in your arms and kissing you’re face. now you’ve known nala since alexia first got her. she claimed that she got it for her but she also knew how much you loved dogs.

when nala was little she spent most of her time with you so she got very close to you and you would also joke saying that you were nala’s favorite ( you were ) even though alexia would never admit it.

obviously it wouldn’t be that bad seeing as you’d have ana-maria here with you so if you needed a break you’d could just go to her.

once fully being inside her place you muttered a quick hi to the other girls and giving jenni a small hug before sitting down and the only seat that was left was next to alexia.

once all the greeting and introductions were done you took a sip of the coffee that alexia got for you and it was exactly how you liked.

she remembered after all these years.

“so mila how do you know ana-maria?”

the two swiss girls looked at each other “she’s my cousin” they all looked between them and only then saw the similarities between the two.

you liked the girls they genuinely seemed like nice girls and you got on with everyone. alexia smiled while she watched you talk to her friends and imagined that this was the everyday norm. she imagined that you were her girlfriend and this was normal.

made her want this back even more.

while talking to the girls you had a proper look at her place. you noticed things that the others wouldn’t like the candle holder, the swiss book that’s you loved, flower pot and many more.

after years she still had your things littered around her place as if it was ours. alexia knew that it was wrong but she didn’t have you in her life and this was the best she would get.

jana came back through the bathroom door with a video camera in her hands and a sneaky smile “you’ll never guess what i found?”

alexia looked over at jana and what she was holding and launched herself at jana to grab it but failed “this has old video of alexia”

“jana no” giving the girl a serious look but that did nothing seeing as the girl started to play the video on the tv.

it was video that you instead on taking documenting you and Jaume’s journey to her games. it was a tradition every game you’d vlog your journey.

the clip was half played and you were stood in the stands cheering as alexia’s father recorded the two of you. alexia scored and instead of celebrating with her teammates she ran over to you and kissed you, a type of kiss that makes you lose train of thought.

your eyes stared at the video, frozen in place. you hadn’t seen this video since the two of you broke up.

the next clip cut to after the match where he was recording the two of you whispering sweet nothings to eachother sneaking in a kiss every now and then. so stuck in your own world you didn’t notice the camera turning from you to him saying ‘if alexia doesn’t marry this girl, i won’t believe in love. they’re made for each other”

then the screen went black.

you were stuck in your seat, you have never seen this clip before. did he really think that? that the two of you were made for each other. cause if he did he’d be shocked at how the two of you were now.

“what?” you questioned as jana looked at the you and the the scene repeatedly “the two of you look a like”

the realisation finally settling in for her and just as she was about to ask more questions the door opening stopped her. but what came next answered her question anyway.

“alexia you forgot your phone at my place” a voice called taking the phone from her bag, finally looking up to see you.

“mila”

then her sister shouted in joy before running over to you and wrapping her arms around you, completely forgetting about why she originally came here.

obviously you thought about the possibility of bumping in to her family but somehow it never did.

you loved alba with all your heart and missed her at lot more than you’d like to admit. the two of you got on so well it annoyed alexia seeing as her sister would always steal you from her. but it wasn’t just her you missed it was her family in general especially her mum. her food, her hugs, talks and so much more.

“i missed you so much. why didn’t you call or text i missed you so much but that put aside does this mean that you guys have sorted this out seeing as well in the same room together. oh i can’t wait to talk to mum, she’s misses you so much”

you tried to intervene to stop her from basically telling everyone what you didn’t want them to know but it was to late.

“alba, we’re not back together”

the joy slipped from her face sadness now replacing it. thought the two of you were speaking catalan most of girl’s definitely understood everything.

jenni looked at you, the scene from the club making sense. you walking out once you saw alexia “wait you and alexia were a thing?”

“she’s the alexia that broke your heart” ana on the other hand heard everything when the two of you broke up and let’s just say she didn’t want to be face to face with the girl.

“yeah erm we used to date when we were younger back at school and ana don’t start anything please” seeing the glare that was sent to alexia.

things started to click them for mapi “wait she’s the girl” whispering quietly to her best friends which she only nodded a yes to.

now mapi knew everything from the way the two of you met to how you guys broke up. she was the only one who knew why alexia would reject every girl that came her way, why she was extra quite and sad on your birthday.

grabbing the younger putellas sister and pulling her into the spare bedroom “i’m so sorry, i spoke without thinking. i was just so happy that i saw you two together i just assumed. i’m sorry”

“i’m not mad at you okay. i know you didn’t mean to say all that” smiling at the girl weekly.

sitting down to the bed that seemed to be alexia’s. you thought that your stuff outside her room was a lot but in here there was so much more, even some pictures of the two of you.

“she still loves you, you know” stinging next to you “she knows she messed up, trust me”

you finally looked at alba “you know i was the who found this place. we were looking for places for when barça finally signed her and i fell in love with this place the second i saw it” a small tear falling from your eye’s

“i thought that i could do this, be around her. but i can’t, i don’t know how to anymore”

alba pulled you back into the hug holding just like you held her when she first got her heart broken all those years ago.

and the two of you stayed there for a while, as you didn’t want to let go. her hugs always made you feel comfortable and you needed that right now.

finally re-entering the room with your makeup touched up. the room was a little tense with all that has been uncovered.

“so i slept with the both of you” were the words that finally broke silence. both yours and alexia eye’s widened.

you looked at jenni “oh please tell me your joking” she slowly shook her head no. everyone was quiet expect for alba who found the whole funny minus the part where they were talking about her sisters sex life.

“well at least tell me i was better” telling a joke trying to lighten the situation but jenni couldn’t tell that it was a joke and answered truthfully tilting her head towards you.

“jenni i was joking you didn’t have to answer that i was just trying to lighten the mood”

alexia didn’t think it was as funny mumbling some words in catalan “what” the words slightly harsh.

“it’s just that i taught you like everything” looking at you as if her words were factual “you taught me everything. no alexia who was the who was a virgin when we met not me, you. also i wasn’t the sex crazed one you were”

“no i remember it otherwise but what do i know plus i have proof” her words to the rest of the girls sounded like nonsense and to you as well till it all clicked “omg don’t tell me you still have that, ale. tell me that you deleted it”

the two of you seemed to forget that it want just the both of you and the rest of the team was there as well and well most of them understood everything.

“i forgot, okay”

alba who was currently sat in your lap finally spoke up making a joke as usual “well don’t tell me it was a sex tape?” laughing seeming as it was something that you as well as her sister would never do something like that.

but with the both of you stilling and looking around away awkwardly not meeting her eyes “your joking right”

“it was accidental” was the only excuse you could come up with. but it wasn’t a lie you only put the camera there so you could film her reaction but then one thing led to another.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

june 2010

from that day forward the two of you where inseparable always at each others house. you were always at ale’s games with her dad no matter what. you were there when she made her debut, there when she scored her first goal, there when she won games and there when she lost.

you and alexia were in the best place you’ve ever been. always staying at her place and kissing when ever the two of you were left alone. you didn’t know when you guys changed from best friends to girlfriend??? but the day after that game things changed since then.

you didn’t know what the two of you were but you loved it. the lovesick girls layed on alexia’s bed, with her head in your lap and you stroking her hair.

it was moments like these that you lived for the simplicity of them as all the two girl could think about was each other.

now since then your spainsh and catalan had improved immensely due to alexia who helped you every day with it. the truth was that alexia loved hearing you speak her language it made her love you even more.

“you know no matter what you the most important thing in my life” the brunette girl confessed.

“more important than football” jokingly already knowing that she’d choose football as it was such an important part of her life.

twisting her body to look at you directly at you “yeah, you come first no matter what” you’re face softening at her words that made you love her more if possible.

“really”

“yeah really”

moving up to kiss you, which slowly started to get more heated as she started to pull your shirt over your head and you doing the same to her.

the kiss getting more eager before alba walked in screaming in schock at what the two of you were doing, before covering her eyes. the two of you jumping away from each other and rushing to get your tops on so you were decent.

“the two of you” her finger pointing between both of you “you and alexia. mila and you” still in shock at the scene in front of her which was you hiding your blushed face in her pink pillow and ale glaring at her sister.

yes there was a you and alexia but at the same time there wasn’t as the two of you weren’t exclusive.

“yes alba me and mila. now please leave!”

“oh i’m so telling mum and dad”

“alba!!!”

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

present day

the girls finally left alexia’s home, leaving you alone with her. something that you dreaded being alone with her, something that use to be so normal and comforting for the both of you. but now it was the opposite unfamiliar and uncomfortable.

none of you have said a word for about twenty minutes, just looking at the wall looking at all the things that used to be yours.

“mila” your hands moving up to tell her to stop which she did.

“i don’t even know why i asked to talk to you.” laughing slightly at the situation “i can’t even be in the same room as you anymore without feeling uncomfortable”

alexia eyes filled with hurt as that was never something that she wanted to make you feel.

“hanna said i should listen to your side of this so i can move on. cause she says it’s killing me now.”

killing you

those words rang through her head.

she looked up at you “okay” her words very weak and sad

“i was a shit girlfriend, i remind myself of it everyday. alba reminds me as well and if she doesn’t someone else in my family says how badly i messed it up with you. you were— no you are my everything and i hate the fact i lost site of that. that being the best clouded what mattered most to me. you.”

tears started to fill your eyes even though you really didn’t what them to.

“before he died, and i’m not saying this is an excuse but i was under so much pressure and i just wanted to make him proud before he died. but in doing so i treated you so bad and im so ashamed of it and i deserve every bad thing that comes my way and more”

“he would of been proud of you no matter what alexia. he was so proud to call you his daughter”

tears finally fell from her eyes hearing you say that, cause if you said it it must of been true. on top of that you always knew what her dad thought, the two of you always got alone so well and that was one of the reasons alexia loved you.

twiddling your hand in your lap “why didn’t you ever try to reach out”

“i wanted to respect your boundaries even if it hurt me not to and i really wanted to but if you wanted to talk to me you would of and you clearly didn’t”

“i love you enough to leave you alone if that’s what you want”

and it was. at least that’s what you thought you wanted. and any time you thought otherwise you remembered exactly why you left all those years ago. but that wasn’t really her and you knew that but what’s gonna stop her from acting like that towards you again. so you said that even if you didn’t truly mean it.

“yeah that’s what i want”

the words not sounding convincing to any of you but neither of you said a thing. you got up and went home free of any thoughts of alexia and she only ended up having more thoughts of you even though every bone of her body tried not to.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

july 2012

everything slowly went downhill with the more goals she scored and games she played, the more she changed. while alexia career was growing so was your as you stated to post your photos online as it got recognition.

at the start she was happy at every achievement you had seeing just how happy it made you. whenever you had an exhibition and if she was free she was there and if she couldn’t her family we always be there no matter what.

slowly she would start missing them even if she had a day off and it was fine at the seeing as she had a packed schedule and was probably tired but after the fifth time it just became annoying her family would ask you where she was a you would have to come up with some stupid excuse seeing as you didn’t even know why.

then her dad died which expectedly changed her seeing how close she was to him. his death hurt you as over the years the two of you created a bond going to alexia games together. you kept it together until she was out, but instead of crying as everyone else did she took it out on you.

“ale, it okay to cry. it’s a natural thing to do you don’t need to hide that from me”

“god mila! why can’t you just leave me alone twenty four seven your on my case. i can never have a moment to myself. your always there even when i’m out your texting me every second trying to see how i am”

the words coming out of her mouth with no look of regret in her eyes or an attempt to apologise to you. “sorry, i’ll just go for a walk” your words said small and barley to be heard if it wasn’t for her being right next to you.

you tried to play this off as a one time thing but it wasn’t. it happened every day and a you put up with it until it was all to much.

you had to leave.

so while she was with her family one night you packed all your things leaving behind all the photos that you put up of the two of you, the decorations that you found and put up to fill the rooms and make it feel like home.

only leaving behind a letter.

alexia came home late that night going straight to the bed and stopping agh the door seeing as you weren’t laying in it, her eyes roaming the room to look for a sign of you only to see the wardrobe empty of your clothes. she rushed through their place searching every room for a sign of you but each one she saw less with each piece of your stuff being gone but a letter addressed to her.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

present day

it was late when you got the call. the ringing jolting you awake from your sleep. at first you were annoyed, who would call you at this hour but then you saw the contact name.

my albs 💞

she hadn’t called you since you broke up with alexia, so it must be important right? her words sounded all jumbled up due to your tiredness and the only words you got was.

“alexia, she’s hurt. please come”

and how couldn’t you, not when alba sounded like that, so you got on the next flight to england. your bags had clothes that didn’t even match due to how you just chucked your clothes in there.

when you got to the hospital, you saw both alba and eli standing outside of a room. the second alba saw you she ran into your arms holding you tight making sure you wouldn’t leave. the second you pulled away you immediately pulled eli into a hug from the first time in over ten years. that hug only made you realise just how much you missed her.

“what happened?”

“she’s done her acl” you paused when you heard that, obviously you knew how bad an acl was, ana knew a few people who did theirs and she would talk to you about how severe it could be. how it was something no footballer wanted to do in their career.

alba looked at you with guilt all over her face “i know that you said you wanted her to leave you alone, but she doesn’t want the surgery and we can’t convince her. she’s saying she deserves it and i don’t know why she would think that. but i know she’ll listen to you and do it if she asks you”

glancing through the glass at alexia who was sleeping and well she looked peaceful. she looks the same as she did when she was younger and you two would sleep at each other.

looking defeated “fine, i’ll do it. but only cause you asked”

opening the door and you were just about to enter when a hand grabbed your wrist “thank you mila” eli spoke softly really appreciating what you were doing even though she knew it wasn’t easy for you.

sitting on the edge of her hospital bed, gently grabbing her hand and whispering her name sounding hesitant which you were. you said you never wanted to see her again and here you are sat beside her going to convince her to get the surgery just to leave again.

after saying her name a few times her eyes started to open, blinking a few times to make sure she was really seeing her and it wasn’t the drugs she was on.

her voice was weak, barely to be heard “mila”

“yeah i’m here alexia, im here”

hearing these words she finally broke down, tears rolling down her cheeks as she collapsed in your lap.

“do the surgery ale, please” she immediately shook her head no “alexia please just do the surgery. you need to get it done okay”

“i can’t mila, i can’t. i deserve it okay i deserve this acl for every bad thing that i’ve done in my life” finally looking up at you “for everything i’ve done to you, this is my karma and im okay with that”

“alexia just do the surgery please. i’ll never be able to live with myself if you didn’t do it cause of me ale. so don’t do it for yourself do it for me please?”

she nodded weakly she could never say no to you even when you were teenagers. she held on to you tighter than even scared you were gonna disappear if she ever let go. but after a while the drugs did get the best of her making her fall into a sleep.

outside the room alexia’s family were met with some of her teammates who came to see how she was doing.

mapi was the first to speak up about what everyone was thinking “so she’s the girl alexia still in love with. also how’d you get her here cause last i heard she wanted nothing to do with ale”

“she doesn’t. i begged her to come because i knew she was the only one who could convince her”

their gaze fell on to the two of you. your hand stroking alexia’s hair as she rested in your lap. to alba and eli they just saw the teenage version on you guys, as they’d always catch you two like that. and to her teammates it looked like two girls who are still very much in love.

gently you picked up alexa’s arm trying your hardest not to wake her up. once free you glanced at her seeing her stir around for a bit then finally settling again.

alba and eli looked at you with a little hope in their eyes “so, did you get her to do it?”

nodding yes “she thinks she deserves it because of what happened between the us.”

“thank you, mila. i know this isn’t ideal so thank you for convincing her to do it” eli hugged you tightly to show her thanks.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

july 2012

dear alexia my love,

i’m sorry.

i tried to stay strong and stick with you but i couldn’t. each day i leave the house and i dread coming back knowing that the second i walk through that door your going to complain about something that i’ve done or that i annoy you to much and care about you to much. i’m sorry that i make you feel that way all i wanted to do was try and give you some sort of comfort in this hard time.

i don’t think in knew that i was gay when we first met but i knew that you were going to be an important part of my life. i think that i’ve loved you since that day.

i miss when we’d actually go out for dinner or even go to your parents so i could see your family who i’ve grown to love over the years. i miss when i’d got to your games and it would be care free seeing you balance me and football.

losing your dad was the hardest thing you’ll ever go through and i miss him to i haven’t show you as i try to stay strong for you but i miss him and i feel guilty saying that seeing as he’s your dad and he was only ever i guess my girlfriends dad. but i miss our weekly drives to your games where we’d laugh about anything and he’d teach me some more phrases in catalan as i’m still not completely fluent and in return i’d teach him some swiss german and even though his pronunciation wasn’t the best his heart was in a good place and he put in an effort.

in a time where you need me the most and need the ones you love most around you, well i think i’m one of them at least and i know deciding to leave you now of all times is cruel but i can’t go on like this.

i wish i could stay strong and make it through this rough patch but we weren’t good even before he died you’d miss my exhibitions you said you were going to and wouldn’t even tell me why and i’d have to lie to your family as to why you weren’t there but i can’t do this anymore i’m so sad in our relationship. i really did try to push through but every day i do something wrong in your eyes and i just let you shout at me.

that not healthy.

so goodbye ale i wish you the best in your life and i’ll love you forever. i really wish we could be better but maybe we’re just not meant for each other and that okay. in another lifetime we got married and had kids, you’ll get every award for club and country ( i still think you can do it in this one ) and i’ll be right by you’re side. but it’s just a dream, a what if.

i’ll never regret meeting you.

love from

your mila or just mila now i guess

and for the first time in weeks alexia cried.

she cried for you at first but slowly it was for her dad and then for her actions towards you. she saw it now and in the time where she needed you most to hold her and tell her it was alright you weren’t there and it was all her fault and she knew it was.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

present day

not that any of you guys saw it but alexia tearing her acl had one good thing come out of it and that was you talking to her again.

at first it was checking up on her, seeing how she was even making some food for her on her worst day.

you were the only person she let see that side of her.

being in her life again made it all worth it in her eyes. you actually smiled at her again instead of groaning in annoyance whenever you saw her.

the world finally saw alexia in love in her documentary. they saw the genuine smile that you brought to her face. they saw a side of alexia they’d never seen before, her being in love.

it showed you two just doing little things nothing that would indicate that you were together, but enough to know that she cared about you deeply.

the fans fought it made sense alexia ‘dating’ the coaches daughter of the men’s teams. it made sense to them why he’d always had a closer relationship with alexia, how he sent her a birthday wish or even how she’d be seen at the men’s game more than the others.

you’re dad never talked about her not after the first time where you burst out crying.

one episode stood out to her fans specifically it was an evening at eli’s place the two of you sat next to each other your head resting on hey shoulder. alexia whispering some joke about her sister in your ear which made you hit her saying that it was rude. then there was a clip of you dancing with one of her nieces while she looked at you like a lovesick fool.

it was late at night when she said she wanted to take you somewhere.

“is the blindfold really necessary” you laughed while alexia hand guided you making sure you didn’t trip or fall. which was no help as you still managed to do so.

“yes now shush”

you finally came to a stop “okay perfect”

she gently pulled the blindfold off and place was too familiar. it was where you first met her.

looking at the pitch and seeing just how much has changed since you’ve last been here “how’d you ever get us in here”

“i said i’d come one day and talk to the team” you both knew how much she hated public speaking but if this worked it be worth it.

“so any reason you took us here of all places. we both know how much you hated school” and she did the only positive about going was that she got to see you.

and then she said it.

“i did it on purpose” you looked at her completely confused about what she was talking about “i kicked the ball at you on purpose”

“i saw you sat up there and you looked so cute and i just wanted to talk to you and the first thing that came to my mind was to do that cause then i’d have to come up and apologise”

you busted out in laughter at the confession and her rosey cheeks “i know” causing her face to be full of embarrassment.

“what”

“i’m not dumb okay. i saw how controlled you were on the pitch you wouldn’t make a silly mistake like that if it wasn’t on purpose. i just never said anything cause i knew you would be embarrassed”

her gaze was now anywhere but you. all these years you knew and you never said a word till ten years later. if alba found this out she’d be dying of laughter at how awkward her sister can be at times.

scratching the side of her neck “i thought i was was slick about it but i guess not”

“i found it cute” making her checks go ever darker “but i’m still confused as to why we’re here”

“yes i nearly forgot” talking a deep breath in to calm her nerves “give me another chance”

your eyes widened. sure you thought about alexia like that again since the two of you started talking but what if that happened again.

“i know that our story hasn’t been the easiest but your the love of my life okay. being without you all those years was torture and seeing you with my family only makes me want to be with you more. but i don’t want to rush you, i wanted to show you that i’ve changed and that i’ll never treat you like how i did before”

“so mila crnogorčević please be my girl again”

option one ) you could say yes and do what you honestly wanted to do since talking to her again. you were still very much if not more in love with her than ever. it would end with the two of you would get married and have kids or breaking up again but then at least you’d know it wasn’t meant to be.

option two ) say no and keep your heart safe from what you felt all those years ago.

you were torn you wanted to say yes but at the same time you didn’t.

but the truth was that you missed her. you missed when she’d grab your hand when she could tell you were nervous. you missed waking up from her kissing your back. you missed when she’d run straight for you after a match. you ever missed her annoying you over the littlest thing.

you just missed her.

“mila—” she didn’t even get to finish the sentence before your lips placed themselves on her’s exactly like her’s did in the bathroom in camp nou all those years ago.

“so i’m gonna take that as a yes” speaking between kisses not wanting to stop at all “yes alexia now shut up and kiss me”

and she did without a second thought.

[zzbubblegumbitchzz]

here’s some quinny for you ◡̈

AN: i saw a video on tiktok and thus this was born. photos found on pinterest, credit to the owners. red text below is a flashback.

WC: <500

CW: possessive Quinn, breeding kink, Quinn has a filthy mouth, hair pulling

Quinn watched you walk through the crowded bar and towards the bathroom, he never didn’t have his eyes on you in these kind of situations. Never wanting to miss a thing. When some guy walked up to him.

“Hey, she your girlfriend?” the man’s head tilted towards the bathroom. Quinn’s eyebrow cocked, head tilted to the left. “Fiancée, actually. And you are?”

Quinn never worried. Not ever. You were his, in every way you could be. You were so in love with Quinn no one even came close to him. The same he was with you. No one sparkled like you did. No one made him feel like he was the only guy in the world the way you did. He was yours. You were his. Simple as that.

“Oh.” the man’s tone sounded wounded. “Congratulations. We used to talk. I was excited when I saw her here.”

Quinn stopped listening as soon as “we used to talk.” left his mouth. Eyes locked on the hallway you went down, his mind wandering to earlier in the day.

“God, listen to you. Can’t keep your mouth shut can you? Just feels too good.” His hands were firmly gripped on your hip, pulling you back against his length. “You were begging earlier, what was it you were saying?” He was mocking her now, he knew exactly what she said to him. He’d never forget it. Silence. Oh that wasn’t what he asked for.

He stilled all movements and ran his hand up her back, before reaching into her hair and yanking her head back. Forcing her eyes on him.

“Asked you a question, baby. What was it you said?”

Her breath was ragged, and uneven. Eyes so blown out, he wasn’t even sure she could see properly. Too fucked out to even think.

“Think you said something about wanting my baby. Isn’t that right? “Oh Quinny, please. Please let me have it. I want to feel you leaking out of me just to push it back in.” Now you can’t even ask nicely. Too busy thinking with your cunt huh?”

Whatever that man was rambling on about to Quinn. Who wasn’t paying attention. Too busy remembering the way you twitched and cried when he pushed himself back into your already aching hole, was interrupted by her sweet voice. “Hi Quinny, who’s this?” Quinn couldn’t help but smirk at her, reaching towards her hand that was home to the rock on her ring finger, placing it on his arm. “He was just telling me about how you guys used to chat.” Just like you knew what he needed to hear. “Oh! I’m sorry, I don’t remember you. What was your name?” Not even looking at the man, too busy staring at you Quinn.

[nemisuki]

𐔌✧.* ʀᴜᴍᴏʀꜱ .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

ೀ⋆ || When hiding your secret relationship leads to sneaky note passing and cutting classes ❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

. ♬ ݁˖ || inspo song : spotify version & yt version ᯓ★

ᝰ.ᐟ || katsuki bakugo x f!reader, she/her pronouns, pure fluff, physical touch, 1.4k word count •°. *࿐

Physical affection was certainly not what she expected from her grumpy classmate of all people.

Going out with the short-fused blonde undeniably led her to uncover the secrets behind the irritable third year — her secret boyfriend — and all the desires he truly craved from the depths of his soul.

Despite the boy being quick tempered, he had a side to him that she never would've imagined, a strong yearning to stay close to her.

She honestly found it a bit cute; how his unwavering gaze would always be on her from across the classroom, as if drowning out the murmurs of everyone else and solely focusing her.

Only to play it off when she asks him about it later, mumbling stuff like "Tch, you're just seeing things" or "I wasn't starin' idiot, something was in my eye."

But what he can't find an excuse for is when he'd subtly — at least what he considers 'subtle' — toss a crumpled ball of paper in her direction, the crushed parchment hitting her foot with a plop!

Y/N jolts out of her little daydream, looking around to see the culprit but is met with classmates either dozing off or paying attention to the lecture ahead.

All but one that is.

His crimson gaze bores into hers, flickering back and forth between her and the ball of paper, a silent message in his eyes as he returns his stare to the front of the classroom.

She slowly picks it up, carefully undoing the sheet to read the little note — his neat handwriting on full display — the blonde's words, no doubt blunt and straight to the point.

𓉘rooftop. lunch. be there.𓉝

It took all her strength to not burst out in laughter right that second, I mean, could he be any more cliche?

Her racing heart rate wasn't any more help with the situation, feeling elated at the romantic thought; that he'd want to spend even more of their free time together.

This continued for some time, Katsuki randomly handing her notes throughout the morning before lunch, giving her daily updates for where he'd like to see her next.

Sometimes it would be the field, an empty classroom or even the relatively empty library.

But her favorite was definitely the rooftop — and it seemed to be his as well — often meeting to have their mid-day meal under the warm sun and blue sky, away from all the prying eyes of friends and other students.

This time however, when they should be in class, she finds herself sneakily walking up the steps to meet him, after all, he was never really fond of study hall.

He frowns as she enters his line of sight, narrowed crimson eyes and all, looking at her as if she greedily took her time.

"You're late."

She sheepishly smiles, quietly closing the door behind her with caution.

"I'm sorry Katsuki! Deku was rambling on about potential improvements for my hero outfit, so I couldn't just leave midway—"

He scoffs.

"Course ya' can, it's the damn nerd! Told you to stop asking Izuku for help in the first place."

Y/N can almost see the waves of jealousy radiating off him at the mention of their green haired friend, no doubt about it as he takes a seat, his shoulders looking more tense than usual.

She shines a teasing smile.

"Are you jealous~?"

He writhes under her stare, avoiding her gaze and grumbling with heightened defensiveness.

"Jealous of the nerd? Psh, as if! Now c'mere."

She giggles and moves to take a seat beside him.

"Alright, alright."

With newfound joy, she happily discusses random topics as they sit together, the blonde responding with an occasional comment or two as the minutes go by.

He was always relatively silent for the most part.

At any rate, she did happen to notice him inching closer, it was always a habit of his, wanting the distance between them to practically be non-existent.

"Graduation is nearly here, and I would be lying if I said I wasn't nervous... what about you 'suki?"

He looks up to the sky with an unconcerned expression.

"I think it's finally about damn time for me to kick some villain's ass."

She smiles at his declaration, having no doubt he'll become an amazing hero after high school, however, she can't help but to feel a bit angsty at the thought of them being apart.

Once they graduate, they'll certainly have busy schedules, it won't be the same as now, always at each other's side.

The feeling makes her feel a bit sad; and he seems to catch onto her silence.

"Oi, what's wrong?"

His brows furrow, using his hand to lift her chin up, their gazes meeting and re-igniting the warmth in her body at the intimate gesture.

Katsuki Bakugo is a rough man, but at the same time, so incredibly gentle.

She leans into his palm.

"I'm just gonna miss this, you know? Being together all the time..."

"Tch, you idiot."

With an almost terrifying amount of raw strength, he easily scoops her up — with y/n yelping in shock — placing her right on his lap with pure devotion in his gaze.

Gently forcing her eyes to stay on him.

"Stop thinkin' 'bout that sappy shit, fuckin' course we're always gonna be together."

It was like the breath got sucked right out of her, pupils dilating with a mix of shock and affection, her face heating up at his serious look.

How could he say something so romantic with a straight face?

She shyly smiles, her arms wrapping around his neck, beginning to play with his — surprisingly soft — locks of hair.

"Does this mean I can work at your future agency?"

His eyes glint with something close to pride and approval, a subtle smirk ghosting over his lips as he leans closer, his gaze roaming all over her features.

"Only if ya' got what it takes. Do you?"

She chuckles, deciding to tease him and lightly rub her thumb across his mouth, feeling the plush skin underneath.

His grip on her briefly tightening in response.

"Maybeeee, is there no other way for me to be accepted~?

He bites back a smug smile, trying to act aloof as he raises a brow, only giving her butterflies in her stomach despite being the one trying to fluster him.

"You tryin' to flirt with the future boss to get yourself a position hah?"

Her breath hitches as he leans even closer, the distance between them long forgotten, her pulse reaching her ears.

The blonde scoffs.

"You outta' be punished."

She couldn't help the smile forming on her face as he closes the gap, eyes shutting closed as their lips move in unison, it was a bit funny; he speaks so rough yet his kisses are consistently tame.

His thumb gently caresses her cheek as they continue the gentle exchange of affection, her own fingers treading through his hair.

Y/N's earlier worries are now erased from her mind, because like his notes in class, his kisses have hidden messages, moving with purpose against her own.

A form of intimacy that leaves her breathless, their touches holding a thousand of unspoken words.

The moment comes to an end a few seconds later as the bell rings, signaling next period.

He reluctantly pulls away, slightly flustered, standing up and pulling her with him.

"...c'mon, we gotta go back before someone notices."

She hums, intertwining her hand with his as they descend down the stairwell, his hand tightly holding onto hers, as if making sure she won't slip away.

"I love you."

He stiffens.

Glancing back at her for a moment as they walk down the hallway of passing students — giving him the perfect coverage to protectively hold her close — looking forward with a hidden expression; one of adoration.

"...i love you too."

It was a faint mumble in the sea of chattering students, but she heard it, a bright smile appearing on her face at his words.

They returned to class just in time, letting go of each other's hand before they walked in, acting as if nothing ever happened.

Katsuki could only roll his eyes as some of their friends asked where he wandered off too, everyone suspiciously looking at y/n as well — given they entered seconds after each other — attempting to connect the pieces.

The blonde chooses to ignore such accusations, taking his seat with an annoyed frown, while y/n politely denies such claims with a 'innocent' smile.

Nevertheless, their gazes lock together even across the classroom.

Although the future may be unclear, it won't be as scary if they stay like this, soaking in their undying sentiment.

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

ᴀ/ɴ ||| hi my beautiful flowers! this is a bkg fic request from anon, hope u enjoy! i didn't mean to write it this long but oh well hehe.. now time for me to go, plus ultra! ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ ᴛᴀɢꜱ ||| @leleyro @zaiban2989 @qyuin @sunnyalmighty (❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)

[jays-bonnie-on-the-side]

WHAT’S DONE IN THE DARK, COMES TO LIGHT

PAIRING : sam winchester x fem!reader | dean winchester x fem!reader

SUMMARY : sam and reader have been together a few months. after a night out with her friends, she comes back to the motel, determined to have sex with her boyfriend. too drunk to notice, she climbes into the wrong bed.

WARNINGS : estalished relationship. strong language. fluff. angst. smut. oral (m. receiving). unprotected p in v. daddy kink. misunderstandings. violence. cheating. pining. mutual jealousy. mentions of alcohol.

A/N : had this idea in the archives for a while and thought it was time to share it. hope you like it as much as i did. also, if you need a clue: y/f/n-your friend’s name, y/o/f/n-your other friends’s name. y/n/n- your nickname

You and the boys had a case close to the city your best friends lived in. So, after the gruesome hunt, you catch up with them at their favorite bar. The brothers decide to join, eager to celebrate your victory while meeting your childhood friends. You walk into the bar, hand in hand with your handsome and tall boyfriend, his brother following behind as you search for the girls. Their eyes land on you, and their faces drop.

“Hey!” You shout as you see them making their way through the small crowd.

Letting go of his hand, you wrap your arms around your two best friends. They squeeze you tight, having not seen you in almost a year. It felt so good to be in their presence. You loved the company of the Winchesters, but it was due time to see your girls. And with luck on your side, they dropped all their plans to get together.

“Ugh, I’ve missed you guys!”

They let you breathe, pulling away from the embrace. “We missed you!”

“We’re glad you made it in one piece!”

They knew you were a hunter. You couldn’t lie to them. When you dropped out of college after learning about the supernatural firsthand, you couldn’t find an excuse good enough to tell them why and where you were going; You didn’t want to either. They begged you not to join the life, but they knew that whatever they said, wouldn't stop you.

“Thanks to these two,” You turn and intertwine your fingers with his before facing them again. “Guys, this is my boyfriend, Sam.”

Their eyebrows raise, and their lips curl. “Boyfriend?”

Sam extends his free hand for them to shake. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

“You too,” they say as they each accept his strong hand.

Dean stands beside you, eyeing up the girls. You glance toward him, swallowing your annoyance as you introduce, “And this is his older brother, Dean.”

Like every straight woman, they stare at the gorgeous specimen with hungry eyes. You knew your friends well enough to know what they were thinking. You couldn’t blame them; He’s magnificent to look at. When you began working with the boys, you had the same thoughts, but they vanished once you started dating Sam.

Like his brother, he reaches and shakes their hands. You felt a strange tinge in your body when Dean’s touch lingers. Unsurprisingly, the girls liked it, and pretty soon, they were paying more attention to him than you. After ordering drinks, everyone moves over to the pool table, to play a game of Cutthroat. The match wasn’t much of anything; Dean took turns with them, his arms wrapped around theirs, taking his sweet time to show them how to align and hit the ball just right.

You roll your eyes, feeling jealous, and you aren’t sure why. After prying your eyes away from the scene before you, you lean into Sam. He wraps his strong arm around your waist, kissing the crown of your head. Given he’s much taller, you tilt your chin to the ceiling and meet his gaze. He gives you a small smile, already knowing your request.

He clears his throat and calls over to his brother, “Hey, man, it’s getting kinda late. I’m gonna head out. You ready?”

Dean looks up from your friend and over at Sam. “Late? It’s only 10:30.” Your boyfriend gives him a look, and he takes the hint. “Oh, right.”

“Well, I’ll catch up with you boys later,” Sam pulls you into an embrace, and you whisper in his ear, “Don’t wait up.”

He plants a sweet kiss on your lips before turning his attention to your friends. They smile and give him a quick discussion on the consequences of what’ll happen if he doesn't treat you right. Sam chuckles at their attempt to be threatening but understands where they’re coming from. He would never hurt you, and you knew that. They exchanged their goodbyes with your boyfriend before turning towards Dean.

“Well, ladies, it was nice meeting you. I hope to see you again soon.”

“Maybe we can catch up tomorrow,” “You know, somewhere more private.” They purr in his ear.

It had been a while since his last threesome, and though the attractive women were tempting, he had his eyes on another girl, one that already belonged to someone else. He knew he could never make a move, and he had no choice but to be okay with it. After all, he only has himself to blame for constantly putting his brother’s happiness before his own. He plasters a fake smile and shakes his head at the proposal.

“I would, sweethearts, but the world ain't gonna save itself.”

"You're so brave," one of them fawns.

You roll your eyes for what feels like the tenth time. Hell, you’re surprised they haven’t rolled out of your head already. However, you’re the tiniest bit relieved when he declines their offer. You wouldn’t know who to be more angry with: him or them. Your friends weren’t the kind to have one-night stands but Dean never would’ve guessed. Knowing so, they would’ve gotten attached if they weren’t already. He says a final goodbye before walking towards you and Sam.

“Let’s go before I regret it.”

Sam gives you one last kiss, one that leaves you wanting more, earning a side glance from Dean that no one catches. “Have fun.”

With that, the three of you watch as the handsome brothers leave.

“They’re so hot.”

“How you get any work done is beyond me.”

With a chuckle, you shake your head. “It ain’t easy.”

“I could take them both and not in a fight,” Y/F/N says.

Your eyes nearly pop out of your head at your friend’s quip. Y/O/F/N laughs in agreement. Your mouth had fallen open, taken aback by her blunt honesty. Could you blame her? Not one bit.

“Well? Aren't we all thinking it?”

“Of course not!” You squeak.

“So you’re telling me that you wouldn’t have a threesome with them if the opportunity arose?” she asks, eyebrow raised.

“I mean…” You shrug your shoulders, not wanting to lie but not wanting to tell the truth either.

“Ha! You totally would!”

Shaking some sense back into your head, you speak over the loud, drunken individuals. “I love Sam. I don’t think I’d be with him if Dean and I ever…”

“Fucked?” Y/F/N finishes.

“Yes.”

“I could!” Your second friend shouts.

“I’ll drink to that!” says your first one, holding up her shot glass and waiting for you two to do the same.

You clink glasses and down the hard liquor. The alcohol burns in your throat, almost making you regret drinking it in the first place. You missed your girls. You adored Sam and Dean, but you couldn't get as rowdy and loose in front of them as you needed to sometimes. A few hours had gone by, and you each had switched to water after one too many shots of tequila.

“You’re telling me…tha you‘n Sam…haven’t donnit yet?” Your friend slurs.

You nod but stop when your head begins to spin. “Not once. I think ‘e wants to take it ssslowww.”

“Nuh-uh! You have ‘ta have’a drink from that talllll glass’iv wat-ter.” Your other friend says before raising her empty glass to her lips. She frowns and waves the bartender over. “Can I have’a tall glass of waterr?”

You three burst into laughter at the “coincidence.” The fading alcohol makes you all tear up a bit, making the not-so-funny joke hilarious. The bartender comes over, and sets your friend’s hydration on the counter in front of her, paying half a mind to your boisterous trio. A few minutes had passed and the joke began to die.

“Seriously, Y/N/N. You need to’ride that man, like yesterday!”

“Yeah! You go back to that motel ‘n get dicked down!…Dick him down!”

Despite her words, you knew exactly what she was saying. With confidence, you stand from the bar stool. “Youknow what? I willl! ‘M gonna go and do my boyfriend!”

“Yeah!” The cheer.

After downing the rest of your water, you throw your share onto the bar. “All right, bitches. Ima go get laid,” You wrap your arms around their necks and pull them in for a hug. “I’ll see ya guys, tomorrow.”

“We want alllll the details.”

“You b-better not hold out on us.”

“I promise!”

Fortunately for you, the walk wasn’t long. The motel was down the street from the bar they chose. The cool air helped sober you up, not much but enough to see straight. Once the Impala’s in sight, you smile to yourself. You pull the key out and silently struggle to get it in the keyhole. Finally, you hear the lock click.

“Aha!” You exclaim before shushing yourself.

You push the door open to the dark room. Sam had gone to sleep over an hour before you showed but Dean was wide awake. He couldn’t sleep. He hadn't been able to since he realized he had feelings for you, his brother unknowingly beating him to the punch. The moonlight shined across the floor, eliminating the foot of the beds. You quietly shut the door, and stumble to your duffle bag near the table.

Assuming the Winchesters were asleep, you don’t bother going to the bathroom to undress. You kick off your shoes, holding on to the table to keep your balance. Dean squints in the dark and sees your shadow, watching in secret. You pull your shirt over your head and his eyes widen. He looks away, knowing he shouldn’t watch, but he can’t help himself.

You wiggle out of your jeans, and Dean practically drools. Though the darkness engulfs you, the moonlight peeks through the thin curtains, casting a perfect glow over your curves from where you stand. You were in nothing but your undergarments, causing his pants to tighten. He knew he was wrong for watching you, for wanting you, for being so turned on but it wasn’t his fault. He can’t be blamed for how he felt, especially when you were almost naked in front of him.

Unsure if it was the confidence from the alcohol or the anticipation, you eagerly stroll between the beds. Dean closes his eyes, fearing that you’d catch him staring. You lift the bed sheet and the mattress dips softly beneath your weight. He stirs, forcing you to stop. Once he stills, you move again, this time between his legs. You kneel in front of him, grabbing the front of his jeans. His large hands stop yours, squeezing gently.

“What’re doing?” He whispers.

You push them away, whispering back, “I want you.”

With haste, you unbutton his jeans and yank down his zipper, allowing his boner room to grow. You lower his boxers, enough to expose his untrimmed hair, and though he wants to stop you, his mind clouds with lust as you pepper his pelvis with kisses. He wanted nothing more than you to take him into your pretty little mouth. To feel your lips around him, your cheeks hollowing as you suck harder and harder—no! You couldn’t.

“We can’t, sweetheart.”

“Why not?”

“You’re drunk.”

He heard the drunken drawl and figured you only wanted him while under the influence. Though a pang struck his heart, he would never take advantage of you. Even if that wasn’t the case, even if you did want him, his brother was in the bed beside yours. No, he thought. We can't. He sighs, hating his decision but knowing it was the right one.

“But I’m sober enough to know I want this.” You straddle his hips, setting your heat on his erect and clothed member.

“We shouldn't…” He weakly fights but a gasp escapes once you move.

“Please,” You grind, enticing him with every word. “I want you so bad, baby. I’ve wanted you for sooo long. I’ve dreamt of your perfect cock inside me, filling my pussy with your cum. Please don’t make me wait any more. I need you.”

He bites his lip; He could spill his load right now if he chose to let go. Fuck! You had him so whipped. He couldn’t say no to you, not like this. But his brother invades his thoughts.

“But what about—?“

“What about him? I want you.” You feel his hesitation so you curl your fingers around his shirt, pressing your palms to his abdomen and sliding them up to his chest. You lean down and kiss his tattoo. “Don’t you want me?”

Without missing a beat, he answers, “Fuck, princess, I want you so bad.”

“So fuck me,” You sit up and grab his hand, bringing it to your damp panties. “I’m so wet for you, baby.”

He huffs in shock; You weren’t exaggerating. You were drenched, just for him. His thumb rubs against your folds, smearing the wetness against the soaked underwear. He runs his digit upward, applying light pressure to your aching clit, eliciting a quiet moan from your impatient body. He couldn’t fight it anymore. He needed you just as much as you needed him. He nods, and you see the shadow before you agree.

You nearly squeal with excitement but the quietness reminds you why it has to stay that way. After all, you didn’t want his brother waking up to the intimate and long-awaited scene. You return to your previous position and eagerly pull both his boxers and jeans down. With your face so close, his erection pops out, lightly smacking your cheek. The harmless slap goes directly to your core making it tingle with anticipation.

All you want to do is pounce and bounce on him, but you desperately want to swallow what he’s packing. You drag his pants to his ankles and he quickly kicks them off. Your hand wraps around his member and you’re thrilled by the size. He was thick but not too thick, long but not too long; Like you suspected: He was perfect.

He forces himself to keep still, letting you take charge. His breath quickens as he feels your own fan against his sensitive sack. You take his tightened nut into your hot mouth, sucking gently. His body flinches, not out of discomfort but out of immense pleasure. You stroke his twitching cock as you show love to his other testicle.

His breathing comes out in huffs; He isn’t sure how much longer he’s going to last and you haven’t even taken him in your mouth yet. As if you read his mind, your mouth travels upwards, your tongue licking the underside of his dick until it reaches the tip. Your mouth swiftly closes around it, tasting his delicious pre-cum. His fingers weave through your hair, desperately wanting you to go further but not wanting to rush you.

You get his unsubtle hint and take him down your throat, inch by inch. He throws his head back, loving the way your mouth feels. Needing air, you retract and breathe through your nose. You go down again, your cheeks beginning to hallow. Soon, you determine a steady pace, sucking harder with each bob.

The longer you pleasure him, the wetter you get. Your saliva escapes your mouth, traveling down his shaft and over his balls. He was so close, closer than he wanted to be. He was half tempted to cum down your throat but held off, wanting to fill you elsewhere. You’re so lost in giving him the best head he’s ever received, that you’re confused when he pushes you back.

“W-what? What’s wrong?” You whisper, dazed.

“Get on, sweetheart.”

Your pussy flutters at his words. Finally, you thought. Fingers hooked on the hem of your black lace thong, you drag it down your legs and toss it on the floor. You move so your knees are beside his hips and you hover above his erection. His tip brushes against your drenched folds, causing you to whimper.

His hands fly to your hips, helping you maintain your balance while trying to hide his eagerness. You’re so close to fulfilling his, and your, dreams of being deep inside you. Sure, he was always respectful of you, never objectifying you, but he’s a man after all. Yet, it was more than wanting sex. He wanted that connection; He craved it.

You reach between your legs and take hold of his awaiting phallus. Without prolonging it any longer, you align him with your entrance and slowly ease down. Your head falls back as you each moan softly, finally getting the touch you desire. His wet member and your soaked pussy allow a smooth acceptance and you’re damn thankful for the preparation. Your core meets his base, and you smile at being able to take him fully. After all, he’s bigger than what you’re used to.

He sheds his shirt and rubs your thighs as you adjust to one another. You place your palms against his torso, readying yourself to move. He positions his hands on your hips again, prepared to assist. You lift yourself, and he glides out of your tight hole. His breathing quickens as he watches himself disappear.

The pain of him stretching you out is drowned by the alcohol in your system. If it wasn’t for the liquor, you could’ve sworn you were just drunk on him. It doesn’t take long before you create an unholy rhythm. He was captivated by you. The way your hips roll and your body bounces��It was intoxicating. The line between the best ride he’s ever gotten and it being you was blurred. No, it’s definitely her talent.

What he wouldn’t give to see you and not your shadow. His hand cups your covered breast, squeezing lightly. When it doesn’t suffice, he reaches around and unhooks your bra. After tossing it with your underwear, his fingers twiddle your hardened nipple. Groans and quiet moans fall from both your lips but once his other hand moves to your front, you forget why you were trying to remain silent. His thumb instantly finds your clit, eliciting a loud whimper.

“Shh, sweetheart. ‘Don’t want to wake him up, do you?”

“No, Daddy,” you whine. “‘M sorry.”

The nickname sent chills down his spine and he wanted more. It wasn’t the first time a woman had addressed him that way in bed but you were the only one he wanted to hear it from. It egged him on, so much so that he found himself thrusting up into you, taking control. I’ll show her who her daddy is, he thought.

You moan again, just above a whisper. The hand he used to fondle your breast goes back to your hip, guiding your body up and down, up and down. His hips meet yours and his thumb adds more pressure. You begin to squirm above him, the pleasure raking over your body as it also builds in the pit of your belly. Heavy pants mix with the sweet sound of skin slapping—a symphony to your ears.

With his rhythm so vigorous, and your aching thighs, you were ready to topple over. His thumb rubbed harsh circles on your sensitive clit, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. You were so close and so was he, but he refused to cum before you did. His hips snap up, hitting your G-spot with every thrust. Your nails dig into his skin, as you teeter on the edge of your most powerful orgasm yet. Fuck, keep going, Daddy, you thought what your mouth just couldn’t say. Just like that. He knew you were close by the way your walls clenched around his shaft. Just a few more—

“Dean, seriously? You—” The lamp between the two beds is switched on, blinding you and your partner.

Your high’s disrupted. You squint in the light, and when you see your boyfriend sitting up and across from you, your eyes widen. W-what the—? Your head whips to see the man still buried deep inside your guts. D-Dean?!

Suddenly, you become very sober. With a gasp, you push yourself off your deceiver. His mouth was agape, a mix of shock and guilt. We weren’t that loud, were we? But that wasn’t the point. No, he just had sex with his brother’s girlfriend.

Sam’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head. The combination of moans, the collision of skin, and the mattress bouncing had awoken him. He groaned to himself, annoyed his brother would have sex in the same room he lay asleep in. Unable to ignore it, he decides to stop the fornication. What he didn’t expect was to find you on top.

“What the fuck?!” He shouts, throwing off his covers.

“Baby, i-it’s not what you think.”

You’re terrified. It wasn’t your fault, you thought Dean was Sam. In a way, it wasn’t Dean’s, either. He assumed you wanted him. You begged him. It didn’t matter. It was both of your faults. You should’ve known it wasn’t your boyfriend and he should’ve told you no and stuck to it.

“Sammy,” Dean holds his hands in defense. “Hold on a second—“

Sam leaps toward the bed, striking Dean across the face.

“No!” You cry, trying to pull your boyfriend away.

He lands another punch across his brother’s face. And again. You continue your pleas but he doesn’t listen. All he can see is red. You and Dean try to stop his violence but his strength overpowers you both.

“Baby, stop!” You tug his arm once more but he shoves you away.

He doesn’t mean to do it so hard. The force pushes you off the mattress. The room spins, not because you hit your head, but because of the alcohol and complexity of the situation. The possibility of you being hurt, of him hurting you, breaks through his fit of rage. He stops his punishment against Dean’s countenance and checks on you.

You sit up and see Sam with a worried look. Seeing you’re fine, he steps into his shoes before grabbing his duffle bag, and the keys to the Impala. With as much haste as you could gather, you begin to stand. He stomps to the door, throwing it open then storming out. You quickly wrap a sheet around your body before running out of the motel after him.

“Sam, wait!” You jog towards him, trying to catch his attention. “I swear it’s not what it looked like.”

He stops abruptly, and you run into his back. You stumble as he turns on his heel, “Really? ‘Cause it looked like you were fucking my brother!”

You shake your head frantically. “I thought it was you!”

“What? How the fuck do you get him and I confused?!”

“I—It was dark, I was drunk—I am drunk. I forgot which bed was ours,” he stared at you wildly. “Baby, I would never cheat on you. I’m yours, only yours.”

He chuckles darkly, sending shivers down your spine. “Yeah, well, not after this.”

Sam spins around and in a few strides, he’s beside the Impala. The door creaks open and he throws his bag into the passenger seat. He hops in and shuts the classic door behind him. You run towards the car, and put your hand against the glass. Tears begin to well in your eyes, afraid he’s serious. How could he not be? His girlfriend and his brother…the perfect recipe for disaster.

“Please, don’t go. We can work this out,” You plead, your eyes reflecting the desperation.

He ignores you and starts the engine. It roars to life and you’re petrified of the sound. You know if he drives away, it’ll haunt you forever. And that’s what he does. You begin to pound on the window, following the car as it backs out. The tears spill over and your breathing is erratic.

“Don’t go! Please! Sammy, don’t leave! Please, baby, I love you! No, no, no!”

Your boyfriend peels out of the parking lot, leaving you a crying mess. You didn’t know what to feel most ashamed of: The fact you cheated on your loving partner or how good it felt before the light turned on. Back in the motel room, Dean gets dressed. He touches his sore cheek, flinching from the pain. He had heard your confession and he couldn’t have been any more devastated. You thought he was his brother.

What was he thinking? He should’ve known better. It wasn’t the first time he’d taken the girl Sam liked away but this was the first girlfriend. He couldn’t help himself; He’s in love with you. You should’ve been his for the start.

He isn’t sure which is worse: That he might’ve lost Sammy for good, or that he doesn’t regret what happened.

DEAN WINCHESTER MASTERLIST | SAM WINCHESTER MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | JOIN THE TAG LIST

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[erindrinkstea]

Again and Again

Main! Mark "Invincible" Grayson x F! Reader x Variants! Mark "Invincible" Grayson

TW: Violence, Blood, Death, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Angst.

Description, Part 1

Main Masterlist | Invincible Masterlist

Note: Mark and Amber broke up in good terms here. Amber also isn't aware of Invincible's identity.

"I thought…"

"You thought…?"

You faced a smug-faced Mark, unashamed and filled with pride for his actions. He floated above you, looking down with no regret for what he’d done. This was the 87th time Mark Grayson abandoned you. The 87th time Invincible crushed your hopes.

"I just thought you’d be different. You hadn’t lost anything. You have what may be the definition of a perfect life. I…"

I thought I saved you.

The words stayed unsaid.

You stared blankly as Mark laughed at your little statement. You used to adore his laughter—back when you were kids, cheeks flushing at the way you could bring a smile to his face. Now, you knelt before him, horrified by the same laughter that sounded the same, yet felt so different.

87 variations of Mark Grayson. 87 failures.

"Funny, sweetheart," he mocked, calming down from his fit. "You always know how to make me laugh, don’t you?" He floated closer, stopping right in front of you. "Maybe I’ll keep you."

"No thanks."

In another variation, you let him. You let him treat you like a pet. Let him ruin you. Then, like a bored child, he abandoned you. You were surprised how long you lasted without food or water. A year.

The only thing keeping you alive was the abnormal energy—the one that let you jump dimensions upon death. But even that had limits. Eventually, you succumbed to starvation and dehydration.

So this time, without waiting for another word from Invincible, you wrapped your hands around your neck and pulled—

SNAP.

Invincible’s feet dropped to the ground, your body falling into his arms, neck twisted unnaturally.

"Sweetheart?"

──────⊹⊱☕︎︎⊰⊹──────

"Hey, genius. Mind if you let me borrow your notes?"

You were done with Mark Grayson. You wanted nothing to do with Invincible. That’s what you told yourself when you landed in the 88th dimension. Growing up, you kept your distance from the raven-haired boy—ignoring the clumsy kid that clung to your side.

You held no expectations. You didn’t want to be disappointed again. Betrayed again.

But as the years passed, as that same idiot never left your side, your walls began to crumble—slowly but surely.

Because that’s always the case with him, isn’t it? You can never hate him. You can never abandon him. You never had, and you never will.

So here you were, in class, while he bugged you for calculus notes.

"It’s not my fault you weren’t paying attention, Grayson." You huffed, but handed over your notes anyway.

He smiled brightly and leaned over, pressing a swift kiss to your cheek.

"Gross." You swatted at him. He ran off, waving the notes and yelling his thanks.

You told yourself not to hope this time—but you couldn’t help it.

This Mark Grayson felt different.

He got his powers much later than the others. Debbie’s influence was stronger than Nolan’s.

"You cave in so easily. It’s sad," Amber commented from behind, unamused by the whole interaction.

"Shut up. Don’t act like you weren’t the same when you two were dating," you shot back.

"I only said yes to a couple of things. You say yes to everything he asks."

"I don’t."

"You totally do."

──────⊹⊱☕︎︎⊰⊹──────

[sulkenswan]

SUCKER — PROLOGUE, something new

gorgeous fanart by @nramv , edited by me

vampire!dealer!ellie x reader

↫ masterlist next ↬

info: rain appears to be the centre of your new life, as well as your newest enemy. you try to adapt to the cold town of jackson while simultaneously remeeting what seems to be every person in town, bracing yourself for the first day of school. MOODBOARD + PLAYLIST

cw: reader smokes and she's 17 (soon to be 18) so underage, set in the 2000's!

wc: 3.8k

note: oh goody im excited, as you can tell its based on twilight. thank you to my friend E for proofreading!

as soon as you get into your dad’s car, the first thing it starts to do is rain. pour rain. the sunny weather suddenly vanishing before your eyes, and all hope you had of this place being slightly like your old home disappears in an instant. jacksonville. a small town in the state of wyoming, always cloudy, always raining. population: 3,120 people. you haven’t visited since you were 13. no matter how much the gloominess would obviously appeal to you, your mother kept you close, leaving your father to his own as the police chief. trees fly beside you as you stare outside, arm propped up on the side of his work car, paying close attention to the droplets falling on the glass window, your new life.

you both don't speak. you had already done the pleasantries, nice to see you, you’ve grown up so much, blah blah blah. it’s clear he has more to say, but you really don’t. you’re only here to make your mom happy, without you. over the years having made the accidental habit of raising your mother instead of your mother raising you, so in a way you’re thankful for the change of scenery, a good thing about your dad is that he doesn’t hover over you. you remember the days with your dad when you were younger, how gentle he was with you and how much he cared, and although he’s trying his hardest not to show it, you can see how he holds just as much love for you as he did then, regardless of the 12 years that have passed. the rain pats gently all around you, and you close your eyes to soak it in. something new is what you’ve been needing. what you’ve been craving. you can't fully blame your mother for wanting to soak in the feeling of her new marriage and have complete freedom. she’s not the only reason you moved, anyways. things weren’t working out for you back there. you had no purpose.

the car jolts to a stop, pulling you out of your train of thought and forcing you to face your new home. it’s not raining anymore, and the house is the same as you remember it. two stories, painted white with a dusty brown roof, detailing wherever it can go. your dad is already out of the car, opening the boot and hauling out your luggage. sighing, you brace yourself and roll your sleeves as far up your palms as they can go, then opening the old car door. cool air hitting you instantly, the slippery pavement almost making you collapse on yourself.

“you good, bear?”

bear. oh god how you’ve missed your dad. you can't believe you almost forgot that nickname.

letting out a shaky exhale, you answer “yeah, sorry just slipped a little.”

he’s beside you in an instant, your luggage taking up both of his hands, and shoulders. you didn't bring much, but you had more on the way.

“oh here let me help you-”

“no, no, i'm fine. i’m not that old yet,” he jokes, turning towards you for a minute and offering a soft smile in which you return “well, welcome to your new home.” he makes the first move to go inside, and you quickly reach for your purse still sitting in the passenger seat of his car; grabbing it quickly before closing the door and following after him. trying your absolute hardest to not fall and die on the driveway.

you both walk in silence, the house smelling as it always has. woody, rainy, and fresh. the tiles look as if they have been freshly polished, and the downstairs feels much less roomy than you remember. he guides you upstairs into the same room you remember spending countless nights in as a child, not giving you much time to process the downstairs. you make a mental note to explore more later. enetering, he drops your luggage to the side while you continue analysing it. it's pretty open, direct space in front of you and a small hallway-like area off to the side, your closest on the wall opposite there. the bed resting in front of you against the wall is new, he changed the bedsheets, the pink florals have been replaced with a dusty purple floral design. there are matching pillowcases as well as a swan pillow perfectly placed in front of it, a darker shade of purple belonging to the sheets peeking out from underneath the duvet.

the rest of the room has also seemingly been revamped. there are fairy lights all around the ceiling, adding some nice warmth to the room. the shelves that rest on your wall in front of your bed next to the window have been emptied, and the window seat right beside, almost like an extension of your bed, has the same purple theme going, a fluffy throw blanket messily thrown in place, alongside some simple decorative pillows; lace curtains adding some simplicity. you already know you’ll be spending most of your time there.

next is the desk, right in front of your bed, just before the room extends. a lace tablecloth matching the curtains and acting as a shield to the wood. there’s what seems to be a fairly recent laptop model and some books adorning it, a mirror hanging right above it, alongside some storage underneath it. the chair seems comfy, just a simple wooden one, matching the desk. you assume he left the room mostly empty to incorporate as much of your old life as possible, but part of you wishes you didn't have to carry anything here. that you could leave no trail of your past here, but you appreciate the thought he’s given you nonetheless, and how he’s seemingly overly aware you’re no longer a child. but that you've grown, and are mature enough to take care of yourself and how you wish to present it.

the last thing you investigate is the extension, there's a full length mirror at the end, but for the most part the extra room is mostly empty. there’s a bulletin board beside the mirror, and an extra wooden dresser to the side. just for safety, even though your clothes will probably take up less than half of the closet.

“wow… you really went all out.” you compliment, although it seems to raise slight alarm in him.

“sorry if it’s too much, i just wanted to let you take control. but also not have your old childish things…” he drones on for a little, but you’re too busy admiring your room. you feel better about the move already, aware that your dad will give you the space you need, while also actively caring for you and ensuring you’re safe. pros of living with the chief of police: you’re pretty much guaranteed safety. cons: you can’t be as open to him about bad habits as you would like.

you interrupt him before he spirals more, “it’s perfect, dad. purple’s cool. thank you.” you give a tender smile, throwing your purse onto your bed while starting to visually plan what you could add. the bedside table in front of you looks like it could use some decoration, and you’re already planning on going out into town to collect some small bits and pieces you might be able to use.

you flop down on your bed, just avoiding your purse, front facing the ceiling. the weight of the day slowly being lifted off of you while the exhaustion takes over.

“well, uh, i guess i’ll leave you to it. i’m glad you like it.” your dad stands in the center of the room, hands on his hips as his bulky uniform makes his shadow appear unusually large. “the anderson’s will be here soon. any minute now, knowing them.”

“the andersons?” the name sounds so familiar, yet you’re finding it difficult to put a name to the face. sitting up to look at your dad on your elbows, legs hanging off the surprisingly comfortable bed.

“er yeah. abby and owen. they’re bringing you a present. well, a gift from me,” he clicks his tongue, contemplating what to say next, scared that he’ll spoil the surprise “you know what, you’ll see.” and he leaves it at that, going to exit your room as you lay back down on your bed, trying your hardest to remember who the fuck abby and owen are. but just like clockwork, the doorbell rings, and hearty chuckles can be heard from just below your window.

you sigh, and your dad chuckles to himself. his back facing you as he makes his way out of your room, footsteps booming down the stairs. you sit there for a moment, still racking your brain for who exactly the anderson’s are. as far as you’re concerned, they haven’t been mentioned until now. deciding the better way to solve this mystery is to actually see and talk to them, you groan before begrudgingly getting out of bed. jeans rustling against the sheets as your black chucks follow after your dad down to the front door, just below your bedroom, and right in front of your window. by the time you make it down, he’s only just opening the door to greet them. the warmth leaves your body as the cold air blows in, and although you’re wearing layers, it does little to help.

rushing to the door and practically stumbling over your feet while doing so, you come face to face with two people who’s memories instantly rush to mind. those anderson’s.

“nice to see you finally join us,” owen jokes, making eye contact with you, abandoning whatever conversation he had been having with your dad moments before. abigail stands to his side, and she looks nothing like you remember. she looks hot. you check her out, shamelessly at that. you know she can see you, and you notice her lips curve up into a slight smirk.

you laugh at owen, mustering up the last of your energy to figure out what to say next, “you know me. it's nice to see you guys, it's been too long.” you leave the doorstep, moving outside to the pavement, once again overly aware of how you’re moving, really trying to not slip and embarrass yourself. reaching to hug owen who reciprocates instantly, he smells like citrus somehow. you let go of the hug first, giving a smile and turning your attention to abby, a stupid smirk still plastered on her face. she's wearing a tight fitting white long sleeve and cargo pants. how she is warm is something you don't think you’ll be able to solve. she opens her arms for a hug and you reach for her, being engulfed instantly. she smells like oil, and amber. an oddly comforting mix.

“nice to see you,” she whispers.

you stay lost in the moment for only a second longer before responding, “you too.”

it's not a whisper, but faintly spoken, barely heard. and you force yourself to be free from her grasp. you haven’t seen her in years, and you’re not sure why you expected her to still look like how she did when you were practically babies.

“so, how have things been?”

owen and your dad are lost in their own conversation, joking around with each other and playing around the driveway. so you take it upon yourself to continue talking to abby.

“eh, same as always. i started fixing up cars and stuff, working out as you seemingly have already noticed.”

your cheeks flush red, no need for her to call you out. “don’t flatter yourself, abigail. it’s been awhile, i’m just surprised to see you is all.” you defend, crossing your arms over your chest. she laughs, throwing her hands up in defence. “how about you?”

you don't even hesitate to answer, “it's just weird being back here. i haven't visited for the summer since the last time i saw you when we were what? 12?”

she thinks for a moment, most likely doing the maths in her head. “13, actually. how weird is that?”

“so weird,” you laugh, and she joins in alongside you. as it dies down, she desperately makes an attempt to keep talking to you “what school you going to?”

���jackson, unfortunately. oh god, please tell me you are as well. it would be so good to already have a friend there!” you plead.

she sighs and shakes her head, putting a hand on her hip. “sorry princess, i'm down on the firefly side. and before you get angry, i drove an hour out here, so tread lightly.” you frown at her, eyebrows furrowing. how the hell were you gonna make it through your first day now? you decide not to dwell on it too long, you would cope with that tomorrow when the issue presented itself.

analyzing your surroundings, you notice a truck sitting right behind abby. it was pretty old, but you honestly found it pretty. a navy blue, rusty chevy truck. abby follows your eyes, smiling.

“hey uh, i think the princess has spotted something important.”

she gains the attention of both owen and your dad.

“oh my goodness of course how could i forget,” your dad scolds himself as owen snickers off to the side, “uh, i know it’s not exactly much, bear, but this is my house warming gift to you. i've already paid for it from this fool,” he goes to play punch owen who dodges is attack and takes a surf like pose, putting your hand over your mouth to stifle a laugh while your dad grumbles and eyes him off to the side, “and i wanted you to have your own way to get to school and wherever else you wanna go, really. so…”

your smile widens significantly, tucking your hands into your back pockets. “are you kidding? thank you so much dad. i love it. it’s perfect”

“and credit to me for fixing it all up, thank you very much,” abby chimes in, and you giggle at her bluntness.

“i cannot thank you guys enough,” you beam, looking around at the people before you. going up to the driver's seat and opening the door, abby going around the other side to hop in the passenger side.

“so i installed a whole new engine, and i had to adjust the clutch so when you pull it up you have to push it down slightly first. if there are any issues, let me know and i’ll try to fix ‘er up.” she explains, pointing to all the different features and explaining them as best she can. you cant stop smiling, eyes on the wheel in front of you, feeling around.

“this is amazing. you’re so talented, thank you.”

“it’s just something to get you started, but you must be tired,” the blonde in front concludes, leaving the car causing you to follow out after her, reading you as perfectly as she did six years ago.

owen seems to have overheard as his face lights up in recognition, “oh of course! you've had a full day of travelling and you have to get up pretty early tomorrow. we’ll leave you to it, it was nice to see you. make sure to get lots of rest tonight.” he wraps up, freeing you from social interaction.

abby tosses the keys, you catching them effortlessly.

“of course, and i’ll come visit you guys as soon as possible. get home safe!” you add on.

your dad says his own goodbyes as the two pile into owens car, abby in the drivers seat, most likely practicing her driving. they wave you goodbye as they leave, and you really do plan on seeing them as soon as you can.

you hadn’t even noticed the night settling over you as you and your dad make your way back into the house.

“you want some dinner, bear? i made some pasta before.”

as terrible as you feel turning down his offer, the only thing you really feel like doing is freshening up and going to bed., “sorry dad, i’m pretty dead. i’ll snag some to have for breakfast tho!” you promise, making your way up the stairs while he lingers down in the living room, going to turn on the tv.

having a quick shower and changing into your pajamas (that only consisted of a tank top and underwear), you called down a quick goodnight to your dad and shut your door, sighing. you had barely done anything today, yet felt more tired than you had in months.

but you had a routine, and that routine got you to where you were now. jumper thrown on while you crawled over your bed to your windowsill seat, lighter and cigarette in hand. although your room is warm thanks to a heater, you’re taking safety measures in advance and preparing yourself for the cold air that will breeze through. you open the curtains, then the blinds, and finally the window. you sit back comfortably, back laid against the wall beside the window while your legs are stretched across, you lean into the open window and flick your lighter alive, it being the only light source other than the small glow of street lights and the warm fairy lights around you. holding the cigarette to your lips, you light it gently, the flame catching instantly.

you inhale the smoke, sighing in relief at the alleviation it was already starting to grant. placing the lighter back into your bag, you remove the cigarette from your lips for a moment, exhaling the smoke and admiring the woods that lay directly opposite to you, before your truck catches your eye again. no matter how old it is, you’re just glad you have something to get you from place to place. you didn't have that back in seattle. taking another puff, you sit there and soak in the first night. grabbing your phone to reply to your moms messages that had been coming in non stop since before your plane even took off. answering all of them in a haste. yes i landed safely. yes, dad is nice. i got a car. my school is sorted, i already told you a month ago i start the day after i arrive. i'm good. how are things with him? goodnight.

you sit there for the next 20 minutes or so, playing snake on your razr phone. you occasionally dust the ash off out the window and make a mental note to buy an ashtray, something you had somehow forgotten to bring along with you, before calling it a night. the clock reading 10 pm, your outfit for your first day already resting on your desk chair. shoulder bag right beside it, you were prepared enough. cigarette stashed in the side pocket, just in case. but you had to be careful with your use, you only had a pack left and you weren’t sure where you would be able to buy more, if you would be able to at all.

falling into a deep slumber, you’re awake and preparing for school before you know it. you haven't had the opportunity to unpack yet, so you’re frantically running around your room trying to find the pair to your earring, and trying to figure out how your concealer has suddenly gone missing, and you really thought you had prepared enough the night before.

grunting in frustration you decide to just leave as is, transferring your shitty spare concealer you held in your purse to your bag as well as your small jewelry box, you would deal with it when you got there. your outfit and hair were simple, opting for a v neck long sleeve layered with a blouse and skinny jeans, and an extra jacket looped around your arm with spare fuzzy gloves in your bag.

you can't stop for breakfast, calling out to your dad a thank you! in which he just looks up from his newspaper in shock, before shaking his head and looking back down, unbothered at your antics. you make a beeline for your truck, phone and keys in hand, then you slip.

too focused on getting to the car, you forget that jackson's pavement actually ices over. causing you to land flat on your ass. you whine instinctively, sitting up and rubbing your butt, feeling as it's now wet and you have no time to change. exactly what you needed. you don't let it stop you any longer as you rancorously unlock and enter your vehicle, tossing your backpack in the passenger seat beside you. do you have any idea where you’re going? no. does it stop you from pulling out of the driveway and hoping for the best anyways? no. you’re just hoping you’ll spot another teen driving to jackson highschool soon enough and be able to follow them.

to your luck, you actually do make it to school relatively on time, thanks to that random kid that was probably fearing for their life due to your following. you take the spare minute you have to sit in your truck and mentally prepare yourself. you got a decent parking spot and rush to finish your makeup, taking the concealer out of your bag, methodically applying it with the trucks rear view mirror, not bothering to return it to your bag when it's done, placing it on the passenger seat instead and grabbing your jewelry box, selecting a few rings and bracelets and finally finding your other earring, applying all of them on, putting the box back next to your concealer. untucking the necklace you always wore out from your undershirt. and after deciding you look presentable, you do the hardest part, leaving your truck, thankfully not slipping this time.

everyone’s eyes are on you immediately, people whispering to each other. your arrival somehow already being anticipated. you keep your head down, trying your best to not focus on all the eyes following your every move, navigating through the crowd and up the stairs to the entry, before somebody enthusiastically rushes up beside you.

“hi! i’m cat, you must be the new girl! i’ve been assigned to show you around. whatever you need, i'm here! a guide, a date, a pen, anything.”

“hey, it’s nice to meet you.”

you cautiously introduce yourself as enthusiastically as you can, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. you have no idea where you’re going, and cat can most likely tell from your facial expression.

“here,” she titters, “i’ll bring you to the office. my friends, well, your friends too now if you wanna sit with us, are just down the hall. we’ll meet up with them after!”

cats' confidence and welcoming comforts you beyond words, and the day doesn't feel so bleak anymore. hopefully, it’ll stay like that, even as people continue to watch you.

next.

[m0nnypie]

I'VE GOT MY EYES ON YOU

Finnick Odair x fem!reader

Summary: Just the pov of Finnick loving you over the years, and remembering everything about you

Warnings: cute but with a bit of angst on Finn's part. Other than that, all happiness and love.

a/n: Well, excuse any spelling mistakes, English isn't my first language. And I tried my best to make it as much like Finnick as I could, but this is my first fic of his lol. Anyway, I hope you like it and enjoy <3

Words: 1.8k

Finnick remembers the first time he saw you. He was eight and you were only six. Your father had gone to see his for some reason Finnick can't remember — not least because he hadn't been paying attention to them. What he does remember is you glaring at him. It made him laugh, which only deepened your frown.

He imagines it was because you didn't like him very much at the time. He didn’t blame you. With your older brother constantly saying that no boy was any good, it was hard to be friends with anyone he was always badmouthing. Finnick didn’t blame your brother either — in a world like theirs, any protection, even unnecessary, was better than none. Still, nothing changed how cute and funny he had found you at the time. After that day, you never met in person again.

The time he considers the second was when his name was called at the reaping. He remembers your eyes glued to him; you were twelve, and he was fourteen. He could feel your pity seeping through his skin. He didn’t blame you — after all, like it or not, it was still the Hunger Games. But knowing that you were looking at him made it almost funny to him, and it was with that thought in mind that he entered the arena.

The third time was when he returned home victorious. Of course, there were lots of people congratulating him — his relieved family and everyone else — but the only thing he saw was you, walking toward him. He didn't think it was of his own volition, considering you was with your father and brother, but as soon as you approached, you wore the best, most beautiful smile he had ever seen you give. And for the first time in years, you spoke to him.

"Congratulations on winning, Finnick. I'm glad you're back... well, we're glad."

He could see the smile on your father’s face, though he couldn’t say the same for your brother. Not that he minded. So he just smiled back at you — not the smile he reserved for the Capitol, but a real smile.

"Thank you. I'm glad to see you too."

He saw you get embarrassed, and he wanted to laugh at that. But he wouldn’t — not in front of your father. Not yet.

For the rest of the day, he listened to his father talk about how much your father complained about you, because you wouldn't stop talking about Finnick. His father laughed as he ruffled his hair affectionately. And it’s not like Finnick was going to complain.

Everyone said it was normal for girls to have a little crush on boys who won at something — at least, that’s what the people he knew told him. Maybe that’s why, two months later, it was as if Finnick no longer existed to you. You were back in your own world, with your friends, without him. Not that it bothered him — not really.

The next time he really saw you, you were sixteen, and he was eighteen. He was a mentor now, and when your name was called at the reaping, he could see on your face how much you hated it. Most people didn't care or thought that a dead kid from District 4 wouldn't make much difference, since you wasn’t a Career or someone important. Finnick hated it — but he would never say so.

He also remembers how, for whatever reason, you didn't put any effort into your training. He thought it was because of what everyone thought of you as a tribute, or maybe you just didn't give a damn about dying in the arena. He didn't admit it at the time, but he had been terrified that you wouldn't make it out of the arena alive. He also remembers how surprised everyone was by your training score — including him. It was a ten. He remembers it clearly, and you didn't seem to mind.

On the day of the Games, all you did was say goodbye to your stylists. You didn't look in anyone else's direction, but he didn't blame you. If you were going to become one of the last survivors, there would come a point when you would have to kill someone. It wasn't something everyone wanted to face.

He remembers seeing you in the arena — you did well. For the first few days, you kept to yourself, hiding and trying to survive. But at some point — he can't say exactly when — things changed. Perhaps it was when the male tribute from your district was killed, or when you saw a pair of boys, just twelve years old, die.

It wasn't a change that anyone on Capitol had noticed. But Finnick knew you well enough to say that the deaths of people you barely knew had affected you. He still remembers when one of the tributes from District 4 was a twelve-year-old boy - you didn't know him, but you still went to say goodbye. You were only fourteen.

And at that very moment, you had just thrown an axe into the head of the boy from District 3 who had killed the twelve-year-olds. You hadn't thought — you had just acted. Obviously, this had a positive consequence for you in the Capitol's eyes, because a while later, you were sent food that would last for about four days.

He remembers the exact moment you won. He wanted to say he was relieved, but that wouldn't be fair to you. Until you left for District 4, you didn't say a single word to him. Perhaps because no one was looking at you with such high expectations anymore, you felt confident enough to speak.

"Do you regret killing those people to survive?"

"No."

He had to be honest; he couldn't lie. But after that, he didn't hear your voice again for the rest of the journey — you didn't even look at him. Still, when you arrived in District 4, you acted as if you were fine, as if you didn’t care.

He also remembers when you became friends. It was a good thing — a big step, considering that before, you wouldn’t even look him in the face. Now he understood why. Even though it hadn't seemed like it before, you had lots of friends. You were funny, entertaining, and you cooked extremely well. Finnick admitted that he envied your food — and he couldn’t lie about that.

He obviously remembers the following year, when the two of you were mentors. You were only seventeen, but you didn't seem bothered about directing two people toward a possible death. He saw how hard you worked not to get attached to either of the tributes, because if they didn't come back, you wouldn't feel guilty. But when Annie returned, alive and safe, he also saw you break down. You hugged her as if she were going to disappear. And he didn’t blame you for that either. Over the next year, no one ever brought up the subject of Annie becoming a mentor.

When you were nineteen, things went to another level. Once ignored, now he was kissed when no one was watching — well, that was a breakthrough. He remembers every kiss, every smile. He also remembers when you woke him up at dawn to help Annie. He didn't mind; he was spending time with you and helping a friend.

While he was making tea, if he looked over his shoulder, he could see you hugging her, whispering what sounded like a lullaby — the kind you sing to babies when they can't stop crying. He could see how much you loved and cared for Annie, and that always made him fall in love with you a little more, even if he didn’t know it at the time.

He certainly remembers the time he told you he loved you. You had just turned twenty-one. You said it back. And you held each other for the rest of the night.

He also remembers the 74th Hunger Games. He saw your relief when those two young people, madly in love — though he didn't believe in that farce — survived together. You didn’t know them, but you were obviously happy for them.

He also — sadly — remembers the Quarter Quell. When his name was called, he had imagined it would happen. But that day, once again, he saw you. Annie had been called, and before Mags could volunteer, you did. He saw you hugging Annie, comforting her as he heard her whisper "sorry," but you just smiled at her. And as you hugged, he heard you say:

"I'm sorry, but I couldn't let that happen to her again."

"I know..."

He didn’t know. No — actually, he did. He just didn’t want to admit it, because admitting it meant facing the reality that this year, he’d be going into the arena with you. And he didn’t even want to think about that.

In the arena, he did everything he could to protect you, Katniss, and Peeta. He really wanted the plan to work. He believed that you would be fine if they separated. But when he woke up, you weren’t there with him. You were in the Capitol with the others. For the first time in years, he wished he had died in that arena when he was fourteen.

He felt it the moment he got you back — you weren’t really there. He spoke to you, but you didn’t listen. And if he tried to touch you, he saw you despair, screaming as if he had hurt you. And he felt that way — he felt guilty for letting the Capitol lay even a single finger on you. They told him to take it easy. He wanted to tell everyone to fuck off, but when he looked at you, he knew they were right.

At that very moment, he was keeping you company, obviously giving you space — he didn’t want you to get hurt. But when he heard you calling him, he admitted he was desperate; you hadn’t even looked him in the face for days. So probably, if you had asked him to get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness, he would have — even if he didn’t need to. But he held back.

"Finnick?"

"Yes, dear? Do you need anything?"

"I'm sorry..." It came out as a whisper.

"Hey, hey, what are you apologizing for? You have nothing to apologize for."

"I..." You didn’t manage to finish before tears welled up in your eyes.

"Hey, hey, please don’t cry..." He tried his best to comfort you without having to touch you. But before he could decide what to do, you hugged him — a little hesitantly, but you hugged him. And at that moment, he collapsed. He shouldn’t have cried — not when you were in such a fragile moment — but he couldn’t help it.

For a moment in his life, he had thought he had lost you, that he would never see you again. And at that moment, he decided he would never let go of you — not with the possibility of losing you again. He would never let that happen. He would always see you now.

[bunnyclawzz]

Can you do more hyperfem reader x Mohawk mark??

Yesyesyes!! I lovee mohawk Mark so much, I might make this a little series😋

Opposites!

Mohawk Mark x Hyperfem!reader

Going shopping with you would be a full-time job to anyone who wasn't him. He never got bothered when you would ask to go. Yeah, he had those snarky little comments, but her never actually meant any of them

"Maarrkk? Can you come to the mall wi-" he didn't even let you finish asking for his company before he cut you off in a rude yet affectionate way. "Stop asking me like I'm ever gonna let you go alone. The hell do you even need from there anyways?" he questioned without even looking up from his phone. His response had a warm grin blossoms onto your face, the kind of smile that he could tell was there without needing to turn to check. A soft hum leaves your glossed lips before you reply. "Wanna get new clothes for spring. Maybe early summer shoppin' too. Maybe we can get some for you too!' you'd offer all enthusiastically as if you were the one paying for any items. He turns his head to face you, raising an eyebrow at you with a slanted head "..Sure. Whatever you pick, princess" he spoke, purposely using the nickname that always made you feel all warm inside and out.

Just like clockwork, each and every time you were shopping with him he would follow you around like a stray dog. He'd carry whichever drink you had chosen for the warm afternoon-weather it's a iced soda, a boba tea, or an overly sugared iced coffee, it's in his hand while you wander around whichever shop caught your attention first. "Hmm.." you buzz softly, eyes scanning around for just a moment. Your soft hand takes his rough and hard-skinned one to lead him into a store that makes him look like an action figure stuck into a dollhouse.

"Mark," you began as you lifted a lacy pink baby doll top up into his view "do you like this?" you questioned as your free hand ran along the pastel fabric. He had no time to respond before you continued on with the questions. "Or do you like the yellow one better? Oh-they have blue! You like blue, right?" He couldn't hold back the big smile that plastered across his face as you trailed on and on about the colors of the tops that had your attention. "I do like blue, yeah, but you shouldn't just get something 'cause it's a color I like" You're silent for a few seconds, clearly up in your head thinking about something. After just another second you click your tongue and shake your head, you voice coming out like the curb of a morning bird. "Nope!" You said, popping the 'p' in the word as you set the pink top down and reached for the French blue colored one instead, "Already got an outfit for it planned in my head." He chuckles at your words. His hand reaches out to take the top, holding it up to your body in attempt to get a visual. "Yeah? Can't wait to see it on" He said in a low murmur as he eyed you up.

Just around an hour into the trip you had your own drink in hand, sipping contently as your boyfriend followed you around whilst carrying all your shopping bags, all full of items purchased by him. Store after store, changing room after changing room and giving endless input and compliments and watching you swatch an endless amount of lippies only to buy you one new lipstick and a new mascara tube-how could he not spoil you? You're the one thing in his life that is absolutely perfect in and out, he has to treat you as what you are. "Princess," he began with a soft sigh, "Come on, we're sitting at the food court for a minute. Just the sound of those shoes tells me they're uncomfortable" he said as he gestured to the open-toed kitten heels on your feet. He barely let your brain process the words, just quick to take you by the wrist and tug you to the first open seats he could find.

"Alright," he spoke again, "I"m getting you a burger and fries. Do you want a new drink?" You didn't respond for a few seconds. Your eyes got glued to him, admiring him and all he does for you for just a few seconds before you answered. "...get me a lemonade?" "Got it" he said as he leaned down to kiss the top of your head. "I'll be right back, just sit and rest your feet for a few minutes."

Upon meeting Mark, the weirdo-punk with the spiky mohawk and short temper, you never thought you'd like him, let alone date him. You would've never dreamt that being paired with said weirdo would lead to you being treated like royalty and being absolutely spoiled rotten whenever he could. Can’t help but adore his very unlikely girlfriend

[yvaineseleneposts]

Eyes on you

A/N: Filth.. that's what this is. It started with a plot but after a while... it became smut

Requested: no

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Reader

Words: 8k

Warning(s): smut

Hockey wasn’t really my thing. I barely knew the rules. But when my two best friends begged me to come to a New Jersey Devils game — "because omg, Jack Hughes is so hot" — I didn’t have much of a choice.

I wore a plain black hoodie and jeans, feeling totally underdressed compared to my friends, who were decked out in jerseys and glittery face paint. They buzzed with excitement, pointing out players during warmups, while I leaned back in my seat, scrolling through my phone.

Until something — someone — caught my eye.

Down on the ice, a player in a red jersey with the number 13 skated lazily by the boards. His helmet was off, revealing messy brown hair and a boyish, insanely handsome face. He was talking to a teammate, laughing — but then he glanced up at the stands. Right at me.

I quickly looked away, heat rushing to my cheeks.

He’s probably just looking around, I told myself. Not at you.

But when I risked another glance, there he was again. Smirking. And then — a wink. Quick and casual, like it was nothing.

"Are you even paying attention?" one of my friends asked, nudging me.

"No," I said honestly, still staring.

Warmups ended, and the game started. I tried to focus on the puck, on the noise, the crowd, the action. But every time number 13 — Nico Hischier, I realized from the jumbotron — skated by our side of the rink, he glanced up at me. More than once. Sometimes he’d send a crooked smile. Other times, a quick wink. I even caught him adjusting his helmet with exaggerated slowness, like he was showing off.

My friends noticed eventually.

"Is Nico Hischier flirting with you?" one of them hissed, wide-eyed.

"I—I don’t know," I stammered, feeling like I was about to spontaneously combust.

The Devils ended up winning, and when the final buzzer sounded, the players flooded the ice to celebrate. Most waved at the crowd, tossing pucks and sticks to the fans. Nico skated right to the boards, directly beneath where I was sitting. He looked up, helmet tucked under his arm, and shot me a grin that could’ve melted ice.

Then, without hesitating, he pointed right at me — you — and tossed a puck up into the stands. It landed perfectly in my lap.

A note was taped to it.

"Meet me by the players' entrance? :) –Nico"

I blinked. My heart nearly jumped out of my chest. My friends were screaming. I could barely breathe.

All I could think was, I don't even know how hockey works... but I think I just scored.

The entire walk to the players' entrance felt unreal. My heart was hammering against my ribs, my palms were sweating, and I couldn’t stop glancing down at the puck in my hands like it might disappear.

"This is insane," one of my friends said for probably the tenth time. "Go!" the other one nudged me forward, practically shoving me toward the small group of people waiting by the ropes.

Security guards stood nearby, only letting a few people through. Some had backstage passes, others looked like family. I hovered awkwardly at the side, unsure if I should even be here.

But then the door opened — and there he was.

Nico. Still in his gear, though his helmet and gloves were gone. His dark hair was damp, curling slightly at the edges, and there was a soft flush on his cheeks from the game. He scanned the small crowd once, and then his eyes landed on me. Instantly, a slow, devastating smile spread across his face.

Before I could even react, he jogged over.

"Hey," he said, his accent making the simple word sound ten times more attractive.

"Hi," I managed, my voice way too small.

He laughed softly, like he could see right through my nerves. "You got my puck?"

I held it up wordlessly, feeling like a complete idiot. He chuckled again, then reached out, his fingers brushing over mine as he took the puck for a second — just to turn it in his hand and show me the note still taped underneath.

"Good," he said, eyes sparkling. "I wasn’t sure you’d come."

"You... were actually looking at me?" I blurted before I could stop myself.

He leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice just for me. "Yeah. I was hoping you’d notice."

Every inch of my skin felt like it was on fire.

For a moment, we just stood there, grinning at each other like idiots. Then he shifted the puck back into my hands, his fingers lingering a little longer this time.

"So..." he said, almost shyly, "Would you wanna maybe grab a coffee? Or... something less sweaty than this?" He gestured at his gear with a sheepish smile.

I laughed — real and breathless. "I'd like that."

His grin widened. "Good. Give me ten minutes? I’ll be right back."

And just like that, he was gone — jogging back inside, throwing a playful wink over his shoulder. I stood there clutching the puck to my chest, completely dazed, as my friends squealed behind me.

I had no idea what I'd just gotten myself into. But for once... I was really excited to find out.

I sat in the corner of a small café a few blocks from the arena, still clutching the puck Nico had given me like it was a good luck charm. My friends had peeled off — after way too much giggling and dramatic winking — leaving me alone to process the insane fact that Nico Hischier, actual NHL captain, had asked me out.

The bell above the door chimed, and my heart immediately kicked into overdrive.

He walked in, freshly showered and changed into a black hoodie and jeans, looking unfairly good. His hair was still damp, curling slightly at the ends, and even without the gear, he had that same confident, effortless energy that had me hooked from the second I saw him on the ice.

He spotted me instantly and grinned, walking over with that easy, athletic stride.

"Hey," he said, sliding into the seat across from me. His knee brushed mine under the table, and I forgot how to breathe for a second.

"Hi," I managed, smiling way too big.

Up close, he was even more ridiculous. His skin still had that post-shower glow, and I couldn't stop thinking about how he looked earlier — messy hair, sweaty, flushed from the game, laughing and winking at me like he knew exactly what he was doing.

I shifted in my seat, feeling my face heat up.

"You warm?" he asked, a teasing glint in his eye.

"Maybe a little," I mumbled, hoping he couldn’t read my mind.

He laughed — low and smooth — and leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs so they nudged mine again, deliberately this time.

"So," he said, tapping his fingers against the table, "You a big hockey fan, or...?"

"Not really," I admitted, smiling sheepishly. "My friends dragged me. They're obsessed with your teammates."

He smirked. "And you? Did you find someone to obsess over?"

I knew he was flirting. I knew it. And still, my stomach flipped like I was free-falling.

I looked him dead in the eye and said, "Maybe."

That earned me another one of those lazy, devastating smiles. He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice in that way that made it impossible to focus on anything else.

"Good," he said. "Because I was hoping it would be me."

The tension between us tightened, the air practically buzzing. I couldn't stop thinking about it — the way he looked dripping in sweat, the way he moved on the ice, powerful and controlled, like he could do anything he wanted. Including completely wreck my entire sense of sanity with just a look.

He watched me, his gaze heavy, and I knew he could tell. He knew.

"So," I said, trying to be brave, my voice a little breathier than I meant, "Is this where you tell me you're as good off the ice as you are on it?"

The look he gave me in that moment — slow, heated, dangerous in the best possible way — sent a shiver straight down my spine.

"Why don't you find out?" he said, so casually it made my stomach twist.

I bit my lip, leaning back just enough to make him chase a little.

"Maybe I will," I teased.

He laughed under his breath, eyes glinting. "Careful," he said. "I play to win."

I stirred my coffee just to have something to do with my hands, because if I kept staring at him — at the muscles under that hoodie, at the way he looked like he could ruin me with just one kiss — I was going to do something very, very reckless.

The coffee cups sat forgotten between us, long empty. Neither of us made a move to leave — it was like we were both waiting for the other to say it first.

Finally, Nico leaned in, his voice low and smooth. "Come on. Let me walk you back." Not a question. A promise.

I nodded, heart hammering. Outside, the air was crisp, the night alive with city lights and the fading buzz of the game. He tucked his hands into his hoodie pockets as we walked, close enough that our arms brushed with every step, a casual kind of intimacy that made my skin hum.

We didn’t say much. We didn’t have to. Every glance, every small smile was electric.

My mind kept betraying me — flashing back to the rink, to the way he looked drenched in sweat, messy and flushed and a little cocky. I wondered how he’d look even more wrecked. What his hands would feel like on my hips. What it would feel like to tug that hoodie over his head and—

"You keep looking at me like that," Nico murmured, his voice curling around my nerves, "and I'm gonna do something about it."

I sucked in a breath, the world around us narrowing to just him. His accent, that lazy, confident swagger, the heat in his eyes like he was already imagining it too.

I stopped walking. He did too, turning to face me, barely a foot away. I could feel the warmth radiating off his body, smell the faint trace of soap and something darker, something him underneath it.

"You should," I whispered before I could lose my nerve.

For a second, he just looked at me — like he was memorizing the moment, every inch of it. And then he closed the distance in two slow, deliberate steps.

His hand brushed my jaw, tilting my face up to him, his touch firm but careful, like he was giving me one last chance to pull away.

I didn’t. God, I didn’t even think about it.

Nico kissed me like he played hockey — intense, powerful, absolutely all-consuming. His mouth was hot against mine, demanding in a way that made my knees buckle slightly. I clutched at the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer, and he growled low in his throat, deep and rough and perfect.

His other hand slid to my waist, fingers digging in just enough to make me gasp against his lips. He took advantage immediately, deepening the kiss, slow and dirty and breathtaking.

It was the kind of kiss that didn’t just set your skin on fire — it burned straight through your bones.

When we finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against mine, both of us breathing hard. His thumb traced lazy circles over my hipbone, possessive and tender all at once.

"I’ve wanted to do that since I first saw you," he muttered, voice rough with want.

I laughed, breathless. "You winked at me like five minutes after seeing me."

He grinned — that crooked, devastating smile — and pressed another quick, teasing kiss to the corner of my mouth. "Exactly."

I leaned into him, feeling dizzy, drunk on the way he felt, the way he wanted me so blatantly. I didn't know where this was going — didn't know if this was crazy, reckless, or the start of something real.

He kept his hand at my waist as we walked the last few blocks, his thumb brushing lazy, teasing circles against my side like he couldn’t not touch me. Every few steps, he’d glance down at me with this look — dark, smirking, like he was just barely holding back.

I was not doing much better.

Every time our bodies brushed, every time his hand tightened, every time I remembered the way his mouth felt on mine, a fresh wave of heat rolled through me. I couldn’t stop thinking about how solid he was under that hoodie, how he moved with this quiet, confident strength — and how easy it would be to lean into him again, to let him wreck me in the best way.

We stopped outside my building.

I turned to him, heart hammering so loud it drowned out everything else. The streetlights painted golden highlights over his hair, his skin, and when he looked at me — eyes heavy-lidded, mouth slightly parted like he was thinking about kissing me again — I nearly forgot how to stand.

"I should..." I said, trailing off, but not moving toward the door.

"You should," he agreed, stepping closer.

Neither of us moved.

The space between us crackled, stretched so thin it could snap.

His hand slid from my waist up to the small of my back, pulling me flush against him with one smooth, unhurried motion. My hands landed against his chest instinctively — and holy hell, he felt even better than I imagined. Solid. Warm. His heartbeat thudding under my palms.

"You coming up?" I heard myself ask, voice way too breathy, way too hopeful.

He gave me a look that made my stomach twist — dark, hungry, a silent I was hoping you'd ask.

"Only if you want me to," he said, his mouth ghosting along the shell of my ear.

I shivered.

"I want to," I whispered.

That was all it took.

Nico’s hand slid down to my hip, fingers curling tight, and he kissed me again — harder this time, less careful, like he was done pretending we were just flirting.

I barely remembered fumbling with my keys, dragging him through the door, up the stairs. All I knew was the way his hands roamed like he was already memorizing me — the way he pushed me gently against the wall of the hallway, kissing me slow and deep until I was gasping into his mouth, clinging to the front of his hoodie like it was the only thing keeping me standing.

When we finally stumbled into my apartment, he barely gave me a second to kick the door shut before he was on me again.

His hoodie bunched under my fingers as I pulled him closer, desperate to feel him, to get under his skin the way he was already under mine. He nipped at my bottom lip, soothed the sting with a kiss that left me dizzy, drugged on him.

"God," he muttered against my mouth, "you're gonna drive me crazy."

"You started it," I shot back, dragging my nails lightly along the nape of his neck.

He growled low in his throat — actually growled — and in one swift motion, he lifted me by the hips, setting me down on the kitchen counter like I weighed nothing. I let out a breathless laugh, threading my fingers through his hair as he bracketed my body with his own.

"I’m not planning on stopping," he said, voice rough, dangerous, thrilling. Neither was I.

The second Nico set me down on the counter, he was on me again — kissing me like he couldn't stand the space between us.

It wasn’t neat or careful anymore. It was messy. Hungry. Real.

His hands roamed without hesitation, sliding up under my shirt, calloused fingertips dragging along my bare skin and leaving a trail of fire everywhere he touched. I gasped into his mouth, arching into him instinctively, needing more, more, like breathing wasn’t enough anymore unless it was through him.

"You're dangerous," I whispered against his lips, my fingers curling into the soft fabric of his hoodie.

He grinned — wild and breathless — and tugged the hoodie over his head, tossing it to the floor without breaking the kiss. And god — seeing him like that, in just a fitted black t-shirt stretched across his chest and arms — it knocked the air clean out of my lungs.

I ran my hands over his torso, feeling the solid muscle under my palms. The way his stomach tensed when I touched him made something primal spark deep in my gut.

He dipped his head to my neck, dragging his mouth along my skin — slow, almost lazy — before sucking just under my jaw hard enough to make me whimper. It was possessive, a little rough, and it lit every nerve ending on fire.

"You smell so good," he muttered against my throat, voice dark and low and wrecked.

I tilted my head back, giving him more access without even thinking, threading my fingers into his hair and tugging just enough to make him groan — low and filthy and completely, utterly undone.

His hands slid under my thighs, dragging me closer to the edge of the counter. Our hips collided, and when I felt how hard he was already — when he let out a ragged breath against my skin — my whole body flushed, hot and desperate.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he said roughly, hands tightening on me like he could anchor himself that way.

"Show me," I whispered.

It was all he needed.

He kissed me again, fiercer this time, stealing the air from my lungs. His hands slid up under my shirt again — this time dragging it slowly, deliberately over my head and tossing it aside — leaving me bare to him in nothing but my jeans and bra.

He pulled back just enough to look at me — really look at me — and the way his eyes darkened made my pulse thunder in my ears.

"Beautiful," he said simply, like it wasn’t even a question.

He kissed down my neck, across my collarbone, taking his time, making sure I felt every brush of his mouth, every scrape of his teeth. One hand splayed across my back, holding me steady, while the other skimmed along the waistband of my jeans — teasing, playing — making my breath hitch with every second he dragged it out.

I tugged at the hem of his shirt in retaliation, earning a low chuckle against my skin.

"Impatient?" he teased, voice low and gravelly.

"You're one to talk," I shot back, tugging harder.

He pulled back just enough to strip his shirt off in one smooth motion, revealing a body that looked like it had been carved by the gods — broad shoulders, cut abs, every line of him screaming strength and control and something just a little dangerous. And all of it was mine. Tonight, at least.

Nico leaned in, his forehead resting against mine, his thumb tracing lazy, reverent circles along the exposed skin of my waist.

"We can slow down," he murmured, his voice a little rough, a little strained. "If you want."

I looked at him — really looked at him — and something in my chest twisted painfully sweet. Because underneath all the heat, all the hunger, he was still giving me a way out. Still asking for permission. Still choosing to be soft when he could so easily be reckless.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him back down to me.

"I don't want slow," I whispered against his mouth. "I want you."

He groaned like I'd broken something inside him — and when he kissed me again, it was with the full weight of that desperation, that hunger he'd been holding back. Neither of us had any intention of stopping.

The second the words left my mouth — "I want you" — something shifted between us.

It was like a dam breaking. All the heat, all the tension that had been simmering exploded into something raw and unstoppable.

Nico kissed me hard, hands roaming everywhere at once, desperate and greedy like he couldn’t get enough. His fingers dug into my thighs, pulling me closer until I could feel every hard line of him pressing against me, making my whole body throb with need.

My hands slid over his bare chest, his muscles flexing under my palms. God, he was solid everywhere, built from years of pushing himself to the limit — and now he was here, unravelling at my touch.

"You're killing me," he muttered against my skin as he kissed his way down my neck, his voice rough and broken.

"Good," I gasped, tugging at the waistband of his jeans.

He growled low in his throat — and fuck, the sound went straight to the pit of my stomach — before grabbing my hand and guiding it lower, letting me feel exactly what I was doing to him.

I bit my lip hard enough to hurt.

Nico pulled back just enough to yank my jeans down my legs, tossing them aside with a dark, determined look that made my heart nearly stop. He was breathing hard, his chest heaving, his hair a mess from my fingers — and he looked at me like he wanted to ruin me.

"Look at you," he rasped, letting his gaze drag over every inch of exposed skin. "So fucking perfect."

I reached for him again, and he caught my wrists, pinning them lightly to the counter behind me. Not rough. Not harsh. Just enough to make me squirm, to make me ache with how badly I needed him.

"You gonna let me take my time?" he murmured, leaning in, his mouth hovering over mine.

I nodded breathlessly — or maybe whimpered — not even sure anymore.

"Good girl," he whispered, and Jesus, the way the words rolled off his tongue made my whole body tense with anticipation.

He trailed kisses down my throat, over the tops of my breasts, leaving a slow, hot path until I was gasping, arching into him. His hands finally released my wrists, sliding down my sides, thumbs tracing maddening circles against my hips.

And when he finally peeled away the last scraps of clothing between us, Nico didn't rush. He took his time, hands and mouth worshipping every inch of me, making sure I felt just how badly he wanted me.

By the time he finally pushed inside me, I was already trembling — mindless with need, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping me anchored to the world.

He moved slow at first, deep and deliberate, making sure I felt every stretch, every pulse of him against me.

"Fuck, you feel good," he groaned into my neck, his breath hot and ragged.

I could barely breathe, barely think. All I could do was feel — the drag of his hands over my skin, the overwhelming heat of his body against mine, the way he filled me perfectly, like he was made for this, made for me.

Nico kissed me fiercely, like he needed to claim every inch of me, like he needed me to know that tonight, I was his — and he was absolutely mine.

We lost ourselves in each other, the rhythm building higher and higher, rougher, needier, until I was right on the edge, clinging to him helplessly.

"Come for me," he rasped against my lips, voice pure sin. And when I did — when the pleasure crashed over me so hard it made me cry out his name — he followed with a low, broken groan, holding me so tight against him like he never wanted to let me go.

We stayed like that for a long moment, tangled together, hearts pounding out of control. And when he finally pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, he smiled — soft, real, and completely wrecked in the most beautiful way.

"You're trouble," he said, brushing his nose against mine.

I laughed, dizzy and drunk on him. "You started it."

He kissed me again — slow, sweet, addictive — and for the first time all night, I wasn’t thinking about anything else.

After, we just stayed there for a while — tangled up, breathing hard, clinging to each other like the world outside didn’t exist.

Nico shifted first, brushing my hair back from my face with the lightest touch, like he was scared he might break me now. His fingers traced slow, lazy patterns along my skin, calming the frantic beat of my heart.

"You okay?" he murmured, voice rough with exhaustion but still full of that low, tender heat.

I nodded, too blissed out to form actual words. Instead, I leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, feeling the stubble scrape against my lips, feeling him hum low in his chest in response.

He scooped me up effortlessly — like it was nothing, like he needed to keep me close — and carried me to the bed without even asking. Dropped me onto the mattress with a little bounce and a grin that made my whole body warm again.

I laughed, pulling him down with me.

He settled over me, heavy and real, his body a comforting weight. He tucked his face into the crook of my neck, breathing me in like he never wanted to forget this.

"Don’t wanna leave," he mumbled against my skin, voice thick and slurred with sleep.

"You don't have to," I whispered, threading my fingers through his messy hair.

He sighed — this deep, content sound — and tightened his arm around my waist, dragging me closer until there wasn’t a single inch of space between us.

For a while, we just laid there in the dark. His heartbeat steady against my side. His hand tracing slow, idle shapes over my hip. His breath fanning warm over my collarbone.

It should've felt overwhelming — all this sudden closeness, all this heat that hadn’t burned out yet — but it didn’t. It felt right.

Nico shifted again, lifting his head just enough to look down at me. His hair was tousled, falling over his forehead, and his eyes were soft, almost sleepy — but still burning with something fierce underneath it all.

"Can I see you again?" he asked, his thumb brushing my cheekbone.

I smiled, feeling my heart flip over in my chest. "You better."

He laughed — this low, rumbling sound that made me want to kiss him all over again — and leaned in, pressing the sweetest kiss to the corner of my mouth.

"You’re dangerous," he whispered against my skin. "More dangerous than you know."

I smiled against his lips. "Good," I murmured. "You deserve a little danger."

He kissed me again — slow and deep, like he was memorizing the way I tasted, the way I breathed, the way I felt against him.

And somewhere in the haze of kisses and soft laughter and whispered promises, we drifted off — tangled up in each other, hearts beating the same rhythm.

The last thing I felt before sleep claimed me was the slow, careful way Nico pulled the blanket up around us — like he could shield me from everything bad in the world — and the warm, lazy press of his mouth against my shoulder as he breathed against my skin:

"I’m not letting you go."

____

The first thing I felt when I woke up was warmth.

Solid heat pressed against my back, a heavy arm draped over my waist, fingers curled lazily against my stomach like he hadn’t moved all night. I blinked against the soft morning light spilling through the curtains, feeling a smile tug at my lips before I even opened my eyes.

Nico.

Still here. Still tangled up with me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I shifted slightly, and he stirred — nuzzling his face deeper into the curve of my neck, muttering something low and half-asleep in Swiss German that I didn’t understand but made my chest ache anyway.

God, he was lethal like this. Barely awake, hair a complete mess, voice rough and deep and wrecked.

I turned just enough to see him — sheets kicked low on his hips, bare chest rising and falling with every slow breath — and nearly forgot how to breathe altogether.

Before I could even think about moving, his hand tightened around me.

"Where you goin'?" he rasped, voice thick with sleep, a little accusatory.

"I wasn’t," I said softly, tracing a light line down his arm. "Just... looking."

At him.

At this.

At the stupid, unfair fact that he looked even hotter like this — relaxed and rumpled and somehow even more dangerous than he was on the ice.

He cracked one eye open and gave me a slow, lazy smirk that made my whole body flush all over again.

"You like what you see?" he teased, voice still heavy with sleep.

"Maybe," I said, pretending to shrug. "You’re okay, I guess."

He laughed — that low, rumbling sound that went straight to my thighs — and in one smooth motion, rolled me onto my back, hovering over me.

"You’re a terrible liar," he murmured, leaning down to kiss me — slow and deep — like he was already thinking about round two. And honestly? So was I.

His hand slid up my thigh under the sheets, lazy but deliberate, making my breath catch in my throat.

"Thought we were getting breakfast," I said, though my voice was already shaky.

"We are," he said, dragging his mouth along my jaw, down my neck. "Eventually."

"Nico—"

"You," he said, pressing a kiss just above the swell of my breast, "are my breakfast."

I let out a breathless laugh — and then gasped when he bit down lightly, just enough to make me arch into him.

Any thought of pancakes or coffee or literally anything else disappeared instantly.

He kissed his way lower, slower, taking his time like he had all the hours in the world — and honestly, if he kept touching me like that, I wasn’t about to argue.

I tangled my fingers in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against my skin.

"You’re trouble," he muttered, voice dark and full of heat.

"You love it," I whispered, pulling him up to kiss me again.

And he did. I could feel it in the way his hands worshipped my body, in the way he kissed me like he was starving for me, in the way he held me like he never wanted to let me go.

And as the morning sun poured over us, painting everything gold and soft and new — I realized something.

I was absolutely, completely in trouble.

And for once in my life... I didn’t mind at all.

____

It was supposed to be simple. Just dinner — casual, normal, easy.

But nothing about being with Nico was ever easy.

He picked me up looking like he just stepped out of a goddamn magazine. Black jacket, fitted white tee, jeans that clung to him in all the right places — and that smile. That smile that made my knees go a little weak the second he laid eyes on me.

"You’re lucky I showed up," I teased, slipping into the passenger seat.

He reached over immediately, hand landing on my thigh like it belonged there. And when he squeezed — casual but very intentional — I barely swallowed a sound.

"You weren't getting away that easy," he said, voice low.

The drive to the restaurant was a blur — mostly because his hand never left my thigh. Sometimes sliding a little higher, sometimes just resting there, always warm, always possessive. Every casual brush sent a jolt straight through me, until by the time we parked, I was already dangerously close to crawling into his lap.

And he knew it.

He grinned as he killed the engine, leaning in so close I could feel his breath against my ear.

"Patience," he whispered, voice like gravel and honey.

"You're evil," I whispered back, heart hammering in my chest.

"You're the one who wore that dress," he said, eyes flicking down my body like he wanted to eat me alive right there in the damn parking lot.

Dinner was a joke.

Neither of us could concentrate.

Nico sat across from me at the tiny corner table, but he might as well have been on top of me. His foot brushed against mine constantly under the table — not by accident. His knee pressed against mine. His fingers found any excuse to graze my hand, my wrist, my thigh.

Every time I looked up, I caught him watching me — dark-eyed and starving, like he was counting down the minutes until he could get me alone.

"You're not even trying to hide it," I said at one point, laughing into my wine glass.

"Why would I?" he said shamelessly, leaning closer, his voice dropping. "Everyone here should know you're mine."

My face heated instantly, but the way he said it — low and rough and so sure — sent a full-body shiver down my spine.

Somehow, somehow, we made it through dinner.

But the second we were outside, Nico had me pinned against the car, mouth crashing onto mine like he hadn't tasted me in weeks.

The kiss was brutal — hot and claiming and so, so good. His hands slid down to my hips, yanking me closer, grinding his body into mine like he didn’t even care we were in a public parking lot.

"You’re killing me," he muttered against my lips, breathing hard.

"Good," I whispered, smiling against his mouth.

He kissed me again — deeper, slower this time — like he was trying to brand himself into me.

And when he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against mine, his chest heaving, he whispered it so quietly I almost missed it:

"I’m already yours."

The second Nico got the door open, he was on me.

He slammed it shut with one hand, the other already dragging me back against him, his mouth crashing onto mine in a kiss that was all teeth and hunger. No hesitation. No patience. Just raw, messy, desperate need.

I barely had time to gasp before he backed me into the wall, pinning me there with his whole body, grinding into me like he wanted to fuse us together.

"Fucking finally," he growled against my mouth, hands everywhere at once — sliding up my thighs, under my dress, tugging the straps down with reckless urgency.

"You’re so fucking hot," he muttered, kissing down my throat, biting gently at my collarbone. "Been thinking about you all night. All fucking day."

I moaned, head tipping back to give him more access as he yanked the dress down to my waist, baring me to him completely. He groaned when he saw I hadn’t worn a bra — deep, guttural, almost pained — and before I could blink, his mouth was everywhere.

Sucking, licking, biting — like he couldn't decide what he wanted more. His hands squeezed my ass, lifting me easily, and I wrapped my legs around his waist instinctively, gasping when I felt how hard he was through his jeans.

He carried me like that, lips never leaving my skin, all the way to the bedroom — threw me down onto the bed and stood there for a second, just looking at me.

His chest was heaving. His eyes were dark.

"Strip," he said, voice hoarse and rough in a way that made my stomach drop.

I peeled the dress off the rest of the way, baring everything to him, feeling the heat of his gaze like a physical touch.

Nico swore under his breath, yanked his shirt over his head, and stripped out of his jeans so fast it was almost comical — almost — except for the fact that fuck, he was stupidly, unfairly gorgeous.

Toned. Golden. Every muscle tense and ready and so fucking hungry for me.

He knelt on the bed between my legs, running his hands up my thighs so slowly it made me whimper.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he whispered, before dipping his head — and then his mouth was there, hot and devastating and relentless.

I cried out, hands flying to his hair, tugging helplessly as he licked and sucked and drove me absolutely insane. He worked me with maddening precision, not letting up until my legs were trembling and I was gasping his name over and over again like a prayer.

When I finally shattered, Nico didn’t give me a second to recover.

He crawled up my body, mouth crashing onto mine again, and I tasted myself on his lips. It was filthy. It was perfect.

"You’re mine," he said again, rough and breathless, as he lined himself up against me.

And when he finally pushed inside — slow, deliberate, deep — I couldn’t hold back the loud, broken moan that ripped from my throat.

He moved slow at first — hips grinding deep, making sure I felt every inch, every deliberate drag of him stretching me open.

"You feel so good," he growled into my ear. "So fucking tight. So perfect."

I was already spiraling again, clinging to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, trying to pull him even closer.

"Faster," I gasped. "Nico—please—" That broke him.

He snapped his hips harder, rougher, fucking into me with a brutal rhythm that had the headboard slamming against the wall and filthy, desperate sounds filling the room.

My body was on fire — every nerve ending lit up, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of him — his hands, his mouth, his filthy praise spilling into my ear like gasoline on the flames.

"Taking me so good," he rasped. "So fucking perfect for me. Mine—mine—"

It wasn’t long before I was falling again, harder than before, my whole body convulsing around him.

Nico groaned deep in his chest — the most broken, beautiful sound — and with a few more desperate thrusts, he followed, spilling into me with a rough, gasping curse.

He collapsed on top of me, chest heaving, forehead pressed into the curve of my neck.

For a long moment, the only sound was our ragged breathing, our racing hearts.

Then, finally, he lifted his head — messy hair, flushed cheeks, swollen lips — and looked down at me like I was something sacred.

"You’re not leaving," he said, voice still wrecked.

It wasn’t a question. It was a promise.

I smiled, threading my fingers into his sweaty hair, tugging him down into a slow, lazy kiss.

"Wasn’t planning on it," I whispered against his mouth.

And from the way he kissed me after that — slow, deep, endless — I knew we were just getting started.

I barely had the strength to move — but apparently, Nico had other plans.

Still breathless, still pressed against me like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space, he kissed a slow, lazy path along my jaw and murmured against my skin:

"Come shower with me."

I hummed, pretending to think about it. "I don't know," I teased, voice wrecked. "I might need a stretcher."

He laughed — low and rough and stupidly hot — and before I could protest, he scooped me up bridal-style like I weighed nothing.

"You can rest after," he said, voice dark with promise. "Not done with you yet."

Oh, fuck.

I clung to him, heart pounding again, feeling the heat in his body like a second skin.

The bathroom filled with steam almost immediately — the water hot, the air thick — but Nico didn't even set me down right away.

He pressed me back against the cold tile, his body a furnace against mine, kissing me slow and filthy like we had all the time in the world.

His hands slid over my slick skin — everywhere — fingers tracing every curve, relearning me like he couldn't believe I was real.

"You’re so fucking pretty," he murmured against my mouth, hands squeezing my ass, grinding his hips into me shamelessly.

"Thought you said you wanted to shower," I teased breathlessly, raking my nails down his back just to hear him growl.

"Changing plans," he muttered, and then he dropped to his knees — in the shower, water pouring over him — and buried his face between my thighs like a man starved.

I cried out, grabbing onto his messy hair, anchoring myself as his tongue worked me over — relentless, filthy, worshipping.

The water ran down my body, mixing with the slick slide of his mouth, his fingers digging into my hips to hold me still.

I was already oversensitive, already wrecked from before, but he didn’t seem to care. He wanted more. He wanted everything.

When I came — hard, shaking, sobbing his name into the echoing steam — he didn’t let up. Not even a little.

He licked me through it, slow and devastating, until I was slumping against the wall, barely able to stand. Finally, he rose to his feet, mouth glistening, eyes dark and blown wide with hunger.

"You’re gonna kill me," I whispered, laughing weakly.

He just grinned, that dangerous, heart-melting smile, and lifted me again — caging me against the wall, his cock sliding against my thigh, hot and so fucking ready.

"Not until I’ve had my fill," he growled, voice rough, wrecked.

And then he was inside me again — fast, deep, brutal — slamming into me with wet, filthy sounds that echoed off the tile walls, his fingers digging bruises into my hips.

The water washed over us, but it didn’t cool the heat even a little. It only made it messier… hotter… more out of control.

He fucked me like he couldn’t get deep enough, couldn’t get close enough, panting my name like a prayer, like a curse.

"Mine," he gritted against my mouth, pounding into me so hard the shelves shook. "You’re fucking mine."

"Yours," I gasped, clinging to him, giving him everything.

And when we came — together, wild and shattering and almost too much — it was everything.

When the world finally stopped spinning, Nico kissed my forehead — soft, reverent — still buried deep inside me. Still holding me like he would never let go. Still whispering my name like it was the only thing he ever wanted to say. And honestly? He didn’t even have to. Because my body already knew, I was his.

Completely. Hopelessly. Forever.

[bullet-prooflove]

Ethical Thieving: Andrew 'Pope' Cody x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @fadeinsol @akotafi @yousigned-upforthis @cowardlycandy

Companion piece to:

The Professional - Pope meets the love of his life when Smurf hires her to crack a safe.

Crazy (NSFW) - Pope's always been crazy but now he's also a man in love.

Tomorrow - Pope's family always fuck up the good in his life.

Do Over Day (NSFW) - Pope tries to make up for the day before.

Pope learns about ‘ethical thieving’ during one of your safe cracking lessons. He’s halfway through the tumblers on an Aspen 305 when you ask the question. “Have you ever stolen anything from a gallery?”

“No.” He tells you as he listens to the fourth one drop. “We’ve never had a fence that can move that type of shit.”

Art theft comes with its own unique set of problems. You usually need to have a buyer in place because the items are too hot to put out on the open market. Those types of people don’t exist in his world, they’re always too high maintenance or pretentious.

“No fence required in this one, no pay day either.”

He glances at you over his shoulder.

“No payday?” He exclaims, shaking his head. “Then why do it?”

“Sometimes it’s not about the money, it’s about righting a wrong.” You explain as he turns his attention back to the safe. He hears the locking mechanism click as he slides home, spinning the handle at the same time. The heavy door opens to reveal his prize, a Snickers bar resting on the middle shelf.

You’ve discovered he works best with an incentive so you’ve been sneaking candy into the safes to give him that drive. You never tell him what it is, which only adds to the intrigue.

“And what wrong would we be righting?” He asks, removing the Snickers and tearing it open with his teeth. He breaks it in half before handing you a piece which you take happily.

“We’d be liberating a portrait that was looted by a war criminal from his private collection.” You tell him with that mischievous look in your eye and that fire in him ignites because you, you might just be his salvation.

He’s never thought about utilizing his skillset for something like this before. All the jobs Smurf has given him have been for profit or to suit her needs, not anyone else’s. This is a chance to do some good, to put something positive back into the world.

“I’m game.” He tells you, focusing on unwrapping more of the candy bar. “It’ll be our first solo job together, maybe kinda like a date.”

“I’m not sure how all our other dates will live up to this one.” You tell him as you hop off the wooden work bench and duck underneath it to remove the schematics for the gallery. “Stealing Nazi artwork is kinda hard to top.”

“I’m sure we’ll find away.” He murmurs as he steps up alongside you, tilting his head to review the plans. “I didn’t miss the implication there would be more than one date by the way.”

“Good.” You tell him, your hip bumping against his. “I was hoping you didn’t.”

**

You really do plan the best first dates.

That private gallery job, it’s everything he could have hoped for.

Challenging, fun and the best part is he gets to burn down the whole fucking place to the ground.

A cleansing, you call it after you discover ‘Girl in A Yellow Sundress’ sitting amidst a plethora of Nazi memorabilia. It’s not the normal type of stuff you see in museums, it’s deranged fucked up shit like teeth from Auschwitz and baby shoes. The essence of human misery emanates from that room like a fucking beacon before it disappears in a puff of smoke, all of those trapped spirits returning to the ether.

The biggest high of the night is when you stop off outside the little house on Oakview. He watches from the driver’s seat as you climb the steps with the black telescopic tube slung over your shoulder. You’re greeted at the door by an old woman, one that grasps you so tightly he’s terrified she’s going to break something with the forcefulness of the notion. It’s that gratitude that lights up something deep within his soul, that knowledge that he helped with that, that he did something right for once in his life.

“Who was she?” He asks you when you’re back at your place, sipping beers on the back porch in the darkness. There’s a couple of candles burning on the wicker table in front of the outdoor couch, illuminating the two of you as you listen to the waves crashing against the shore.

“She was my foster mother once upon a time.” You tell him, pulling the hair clip from your hair. It falls across your features in waves and he wants nothing more than to run his hands through it. “After I killed my father, she took me in, raised me, taught me how to crack a safe. She gave me a trade that didn’t involve selling my body.”

“Is that why we took the painting?” He asks you, his arm coming to rest along the back of the sofa. His fingertips trailing over your bare shoulder, tracing the pattern of that Medusa tattoo on your bicep.

“She barely survived Auschwitz as a girl.” You say softly. “Her parents didn’t. The portrait is of her mother, one she barely remembers because of the Alzheimer’s. I hoped her having it would help with the good parts of her memory, that it would bring her some comfort.”

“You have a good soul.” He tells you, his palm coming to cradle your face, his thumb ghosting over the apple of your cheek. “If you wanna do more of these jobs, help more people, then I’m up for it. Hell, I could probably do with the good karma.”

Your lips brush over the base of his wrist, your eyes on his and he inhales sharply at the intimacy of the sensation.

“Too much?” You ask and he shakes his head, his breathing ragged.

“Not enough.” He murmurs. “I want…”

The words die on his lips because Pope, he’s never really considered his own needs before, he’s been too busy taking care of everyone else’s.

You shift positions, climbing into his lap. The two of you fit together like the missing pieces of a jigsaw, it’s both wonderful and overwhelming all at the same time. His hands come to rest on your waist squeezing lightly as he tilts his head up to meet your gaze.

“Can I kiss you?” You ask him and he nods unsteadily.

“You can do whatever the fuck you want to me.”

Your hands thread through his curls, tugging just a little and he moans outloud as your mouth meets his. You have the softest damn lips, he can’t help but wonder what they’d feel like chasing over his neck, his chest, his dick. A burst of citrus blossoms on his tongue, the taste of your lip balm and his hips arch causing you to make that sound, the sweet one he hears only in his dreams.

His hands rove over your clothes, stroking, caressing, kneading until your grinding against him so hard, he thinks he’s about to lose it.

“Gonna come.” He warns you, his voice a rasp.

“So am I.” You whisper back, your teeth grazing his lower lip. “You want me to stop?”

“Fuck no.” He whispers as that ecstasy surges up inside him. “I wanna keep going for as long as it takes us.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[lay-z]

One night, your friends end up dragging you to some honkytonk bar with a makeshift stage for unknown or smaller artists to have their gigs, and—oh! It's karaoke night, sweetheart! What a coincidence!

You hiss at your friends when they try to pressure you to sing for them, but hell no, the bar is crowded, and why are there so many handsome Marines lingering at the bar anyway?

Curious and intrigued by their presence, you stop paying attention to the shots given to you as you keep downing them happily until you do somehow end up on the stage.

The lights are too bright from up there. Its hot, even in your flowy milkmaid dress and cowboy boots. You can barely see the lyrics on the screen as you squint, but luckily, your tongue is nicely loosened, the alcohol giving your voice a little rasp as you start singing to the music of Hopelessly Devoted To You.

And unbeknownst to you, a certain Commander named Graves is in the crowd, leaning against the bar counter with a cocky smirk tugging on the corner of his lips, nursing on a whiskey as he watches you walk up on stage. Pretty doll, you are.

All is forgotten, though, and the smile wiped off his face as soon as your angelic voice drifts over to him over the noise of the crowd.

The song might as well be for him only, the way you're singing your little heart out up there. The lyrics seemingly cutting right through your heart and his simultaneously.

Oh, but he wants you to be hopelessly devoted to him, so he ought to invite the future Mrs. Graves to a drink, he thinks as he pushes his way through the crowd with due haste to reach the stage.

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

wrote this on mobile, i fear it’s the only way i can write bc when i go to write on my laptop, i almost throw up. fuck my intro to law class i guess bc i did this instead of paying attention— anyways! brat tamer!matt murdock with a reader who cannot regulate her emotions. yall wanna give matt murdock a controversially young partner? im down, but my version of it is going to be emotionally immature and a little mentally ill. so. enjoy!

18+

brat tamer!matt murdock

-

you raise your hand to smack him in the face—

you just cannot help it.

your emotions swing like a pendulum— somedays you feel nothing, and pray to god that it won’t last forever (it never does, but it always feels like it will). and other days, you feel so intensely you can’t breath.

lately, you and matt have been trying to work on this. he asks you to verbalize the things you’re feeling, to work through them until you reach a more moderate level of emotion.

but you can only do so much— the universe has to work with you here, give you some sort of break.

it just so happens that this asshole is testing your patience.

he’s just some new douchebag who came to work for the firm, and you suspect he won’t last long. but all you asked him to do was email you a file he wrote!

but his response made you want to kill him.

“in a minute. just cause you’re sleeping with the boss doesn’t mean you can order me around.”

you almost yell at him, but then you breath, reminding yourself you can handle this.

but he keeps pushing you. keeps tormenting you.

and when you lose it and almost hit him, suddenly a warm hand wraps around your wrist, his grip like a vice.

“let’s go for a walk.” matt’s voice is soft, but firm. no room for negotiations.

so you turn to leave with him, your anger still bubbling in your stomach.

the asshole you work with smirks.

“daddy’s calling.”

you turn around to try and say—

“you know what, asshole—“

but matt just turns you back, his hand on your arm like you’re guiding him but he is most definitely guiding you, and the way his grip feels, it’s not up to interpretation.

“let’s go for a walk.” he repeats. if you weren’t so pissed, that might’ve been hot.

you and matt walk quietly. the air is thick with tension until he finds his office door. the blinds are already closed, so he just stands in front of the door as you pace, still buried deep in your emotions.

you’re angry. you’re so pissed off—

not only did that asshole torment you, you hate matt for stopping you from hitting him, for cutting into the situation— you had it handled and matt embarrassed you.

you want to yell at him, to scream at him— there’s a childish urge to tell him that he’s not your dad, like some angsty teenager.

guilt and shame washes over you like a storm, as thunder rumbles in the distance.

“whatever you’d like to say, i suggest you say it.”

his nonchalance only angers you more.

“you’re such a—“ you cut yourself off with a frustrated ‘mmm’, clenching your teeth. matt’s noticed this habit of yours, getting so close to telling people how you feel, even if it’s irrotational.. but you never do.

but matt is your better half. he wants you to say what you feel.

“go ahead.”

his encouragement is gentle, and you’re even angrier for it.

“i could’ve handled that!” and when it starts, you can’t stop. “i could’ve fucking handled that, yeah, maybe hitting him wasn’t my brightest idea, but jesus christ! you proved his point! i hate that everyone here thinks i get special treatment because i know how to properly suck you off! i hate that everyone here thinks i didn’t work for everything i have just because you asked me on a date a long time ago!”

you’re not angry that you’re in a relationship with him— he’s the greatest thing that’s ever happened to you, but you can’t deny how it complicates your work. and your work is maybe the most important thing in your life— you have worked ridiculously hard for this, you have given blood, sweat, and tears for this. through periods of isolating numbness and deep, dark depression, you have pulled yourself together to get your job done.

so it angers you deeply that some people think you only have what you do because you have a drawer in matt’s dresser.

after a moment of your heavy breathing, you begin to feel the cool numbness poke at your skin.

“anything else?” he wonders.

you bite your tongue.

“everyone thinks you’re gonna fuck me right now. fuck the attitude out of me.”

matt doesn’t respond.

you laugh. it’s angry, it’s bitter.

“that was your plan? to continue to prove them right?”

“no.” matt begins, leaning his cane against one of the windows and beginning to approach you, slowly, like he’s worried about scaring you off. “no, my plan was to not have you hit one of my employees. no matter how much he deserved it.”

because really, if he wasn’t so worried about you hitting him, he would have gotten concerningly close to doing it himself.

“but fucking me, it would’ve been a nice bonus?” you spit, and you realize what you want is to push him, to push him to be as angry as you are.. and you’re not even sure why.

he says your name gently.

“don’t be a brat,” he starts, “i’m trying to help you.”

you roll your eyes, and matt’s eyebrows raise like a warning. you ignore it.

“no, you’re right,” you begin, “here, i’ll play the game—“ and matt inhales deeply, knowing that today will be a long long day. you step closer to him and twist his tie in your fingers. “mr. murdock,” your voice drops to a sarcastically sultry tone, “thanks so much for helping me not punch the fucking idiot who thinks he’s better than everyone else. i so appreciate it, let me make it up to you?”

you watch as his jaw tenses.

“sweetheart—“

“what? am i doing something wrong? to make you upset, mr murdock? angry?”

“i’m not kidding.”

“neither am i,” you say, and matt can practically taste your anger, it seeps out of your pores like sweat, your heart racing. “all i want to do is thank you for making me look like a fucking sugar baby,” rage drips from your words like venom and matt can feel the anger slowly seeping from you and into him.

he tries one more time.

“don’t.” is his simple command. full of authority.

“don’t what?” you ask, leaning in so your lips graze his ear, just barely, “everyone already thinks it. let me thank my big strong old man for coming to my rescue and making me look like a fucking—“

matt’s hand grips your jaw tightly and before you can even realize what he’s done. he squeezes, and he relishes in the sound of your breath hitching.

looks like someone forgot to be scared.

“stop it.” his voice is stern. “i know you’re upset, but—“

you can’t help it. you’ve never known when to shut up when matt’s around.

“upset? i’m fucking pissed—“

matt digs his nails into your skin, and listens to you whimper.

“shh,” he starts, “it’s listening time, sweetheart.” his voice is soft, considering the nasty things he wants to do you right now.

your jaw tenses with anger, but when you don’t say anything back, he continues—

“i know you’re upset.” he repeats, “and i get it. you know i do.” of course you do. he’s the devil for a reason— he’s the fucking king of unregulated emotions. but this isn’t about him. “but you can’t hit people at work. i know you know that. close your eyes.”

“murdock, i swear—“

he squeezes your jaw tighter.

“what did i just say?”

you don’t respond.

“no, go ahead. what did i just say?”

this is embarrassing.. but it’s kind of hot.

“to listen.”

his thumb rubs your jawline affectionately.

“see? i knew you could pay attention. now close your eyes.”

you obey.

“now, breath. in through your nose and out through your mouth.” he commands, beginning to breath deeply with you.

in.

the anger swirls inside of you, getting wrapped up like a cobweb in a broom.

out.

after a few cycles of breathing in and then slowly exhaling, your anger has subsided.. but now you feel bad. and you still feel embarrassed, bratty..

and turned on.

oops.

when he’s satisfied with your steady breathing and even steadier heartbeat, he starts again.

“doesn’t that feel better?”

you want to be childish. you want to tell him to fuck off, to lie and say that no, it doesn’t feel better. hitting that asshole would’ve made you feel better.

matt’s hand squeezes tighter, demanding an answer.

“yeah.” is all you say, because you know how close you dance to fire.

he smirks, relishing in the way you squirm under his touch.

“yeah?” he starts, and leans in, beginning to kiss your neck, his stubble scratching your skin. “i’m sure it does, baby,” and you begin to feel a new sort of warmth— not the fiery anger you’re so accustomed to, and not the cold numbness you despise.

a gentle warmth, like the embers of a dying fire on a cold night. just enough to lure you in, desperate for more.

and matt can tell. he can tell based on the way your fingers curl around his arms, based on the skipping beat of your heart. it brings a smirk to his face.

“yeah, i know,” he says, his lips beginning to travel up your skin to your ear— “you just need someone to take care of you, huh?” his free hand moves to your thigh, squeezing gently before his fingers dip beneath the edge of your skirt, “you just need someone to take care of you, don’t you?” he coos like you’re stupid, and it makes you shudder as his fingers begin to massage your clit over your panties.

you let out a soft whine as he continues to kiss the skin of your neck.

"i'm going to fuck you with my fingers," when you whine, he bites down on your neck, "shh, listen to me, pretty thing," he starts, "i'm going to fuck you with my fingers and make sure you remember who you're dealing with. understand?"

you let out a soft sort of whine, but his fingernails dig into your skin again.

"give me a proper answer or i'll stop."

"yes," you say breathlessly, "i understand," and he leans in to kiss your forehead, uncharacteristically sweet of him in this moment.

"good." he pulls his hand out from under your skirt and slips two fingers between your lips so you can get them wet, but as he does, you hear him mutter-- "fucking brat, always forgetting who you're dealing with."

yeah, you two are a match made in heaven.

or, hell, if that's how you'd prefer to think about it.

[writinginatree]

Attention

Relationship(s): Xaden Riorson/Garrick Tavis/Reader

Summary: You're on your period and desperately want cuddles, but both of your boyfriends are too busy with paperwork to notice, so threats have to be made.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of the torture that is menstruation, established polyamorous relationship (idk if that's a warning but I feel like I should put it somewhere lol), reader has a period but no pronouns mentioned. Set during Fourth Wing.

Today sucks, you decide.

As if getting your period wasn't bad enough, the marked first-years you're responsible for training had acted especially clumsy and overall insufferable during today's practice session, and now, to top it all off, your boyfriends are too busy to pay attention to you. They barely glanced up from their work to greet you when you came to Xaden's room earlier — a quick kiss from each of them was all you got before they returned to their papers.

At first, that had been fine. You had enough homework to occupy yourself with, even if your period cramps made it hard to focus.

But now, almost an hour after you finished everything you had to do, Xaden and Garrick are still huddled over the former's desk and paying zero attention to you, and it's really starting to bother you. Not their fault, you know. It's your period that makes you so irritable, but that doesn't stop you from cursing the fact that it's today of all days that they have to be so busy.

Despite the multiple attempts to get their attention you've made already, they remain so focused on their work they haven't even noticed how miserable your mood has gotten over the span of the last two hours.

No, this really isn't your day — usually, they're much more observant than this.

Even though you know interrupting them won't make their work get done any faster, you can't stop yourself from once again asking, "Are you almost done?"

"Soon," Xaden says without looking up, but that's what he'd said half an hour ago, too.

"How soon?" you insist.

"Soon," he repeats, pushing the paper in front of him to Garrick to point something out. A heated discussion ensues, and you're forgotten again.

You sigh into Xaden's pillow. What's the point of having two boyfriends if neither of them has time to cuddle with you?

While them being wingleader and section leader has a lot of perks — bigger rooms, more control over their — and your — schedule, and the authority to punish anyone giving you shit for the rebellion relic on your arm, to only name a few — this is the downside. Loads and loads of extra work. They've been sitting at Xaden's desk brooding over gods know what for hours now, the only sounds in the room the rustling of paper and the occasional muttered question.

Usually, you don't mind keeping them company while each of you does their own thing — it's a peaceful kind of quiet, something so rare in this godsforsaken place. You like to silently sit with them while you study, despite how tempting it is to let yourself get distracted by them. Since they always tend to have more work than you thanks to their leadership duties, you're always done before them, anyway. And it's nice to just curl up on the bed and watch them while you wait for them to finish their work too — just not today. Staying patient is hard when it feels like your lower body is being stabbed with burning knives, and all you want is to be held. With every passing minute, it gets harder to sit and wait.

You could break their concentration. You know if you asked outright, they'd put everything aside and come cuddle you in a heartbeat. But as tempting as that is, you also know how important it is that they get their work done. Being marked, they had to work harder for their leadership positions than anyone else, and need to be better than everyone else to be treated with even a fraction of the respect they deserve. If they mess up, the consequences will be worse than they'd be for anyone else. They can't afford to get sloppy with their duties.

You know how Xaden would argue against that reasoning: That you are more important than any of that, that they can still get the work done later tonight, when you are asleep. But Xaden already doesn't get enough sleep as it is; you refuse to be the reason for making it worse.

And yet, it only takes a few more minutes for your resolve to crumble. Unable to take this any longer, you tell yourself you won't keep them from working for long. A few minutes of their attention, that's all you want. Surely, a small break like that can't hurt.

"If neither of you comes cuddle me in the next five minutes I'm going to fucking riot," you declare into the quiet. "And by riot I mean I'll go get cuddles from Imogen."

Now that gets their attention more effectively than anything else could have. Finally looking up from their paperwork, your boyfriends share a confused look and turn to frown at you.

"What?" Xaden asks, and Garrick adds, "Why the fuck would you do that?"

"Because I've been trying to get your attention for like an hour and you just keep on ignoring me," you whine. "I. Want. Cuddles. And I'll get them, one way or another."

You don't actually mean to make true on your threat, even in the unlikely case that they insist on finishing their work first. There's no way you're getting up now that you finally found a position that makes your cramps at least kind of bearable. Your best friend isn't much for physical affection, anyway. And while she might make an exception for you, it just wouldn't be the same as getting held by your boyfriends.

Luckily, the threat does the trick, even though the both of them are certainly aware of how empty it is.

"You didn't say that you want to cuddle," Xaden scolds, gathering up a few papers before rising from his chair to join you on the bed. "I thought you were just bored. Are you okay?"

The question comes as no surprise — it's very unlike you to interrupt them like this, even more so in such an agitated manner.

"Yeah," you mumble, a little ashamed of being so needy. "Sorry. 's just that I got my period, and it feels like you guys are taking forever today."

"Nothing to apologize for," Xaden assures you, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Garrick explains, "It's taking so long because of that leadership meeting we have tomorrow morning to sort some stuff out before Threshing. Lots of shit to plan, but we can just as well do that in bed with you."

"Right, you mentioned that... Forgot it's tomorrow. Does that mean I have to sleep in my own room?"

More often than not, Fourth Wing's leadership meetings take place in Xaden's room.

Xaden shakes his head. "You can sleep wherever you want. If you want to sleep here, we'll just have to be quiet. I'm not letting anyone disturb your sleep."

He's completely serious, you know. You can imagine it all too well, Xaden waiting for the squad- and section-leaders at the door and instructing them to keep their voices down as they enter the room, his shadows engulfing you like a cocoon so no undeserving eye will catch sight of your sleeping form. Xaden just is dramatic like that.

"Makes it kinda hard to hold a meeting when no one is allowed to speak," you chuckle.

"Oh, I don't know," Garrick jokes as he settles at the head of the bed, letting you and Xaden rest your heads on his lap. "It actually would be kind of nice if the other idiots had to keep their mouths shut and just listen for a change."

Xaden hums in agreement. He has made himself comfortable behind you, one arm slid beneath you, the other thrown over your waist, holding his papers in front of you both so he can finish his work while he holds you. His legs tangle with yours, head resting in the crook of your neck. The hand not holding the papers slips under your shirt, resting warm and comforting on your aching lower abdomen.

With a content sigh, you close your eyes, finally relaxing as Xaden's body heat seeps into you. You swear just being near him is enough to release the tension from your muscles.

"Did you take something against the pain yet?" Xaden asks after a minute.

When you shake your head, Garrick immediately moves to get up, ready to disappear and get the medicine for you in a blink. Before he can, you explain, "I was too nauseous to eat, so I can't take anything."

You'd made the mistake of taking painkillers on an empty stomach once, and spent hours throwing up bile as a result. After that, it had taken you months to work up the courage to try taking them again at all, even though logically you knew you'd be fine as long as you ate something first. You would much rather endure the pain than make that same mistake again.

"Damn, that sucks. I'm sorry, baby."

You shrug, opening your eyes and angling your head back to smile up at Garrick. "I'll survive. I'm just glad we're not scheduled for flight lessons until the end of the week."

Garrick nods, but observes, "This is worse than usual. Maybe you should see a healer, don't you think?"

"No. They have enough patients with real problems."

"Being in so much pain from your period that you can't eat or sleep through the night is a real problem," he insists.

"Ehh, I'm used to it. There's nothing they can do, anyway. And besides, this isn't even that bad. One time my period was so bad I actually fainted after getting up a bit too fast."

Xaden tenses, pushing up on his elbow to lean over you so he can look at your face. "Why don't I know about that?"

"I guess it just never came up? I dunno." You shrug. "It's not that big of a deal, Xaden. That was before I came to Basgiath."

"You should have warned us in case it happens again. It's fucking dangerous. What if you faint during a challenge or while flying?"

"If I felt like fainting I'd let you know, I promise. It's not like it's a frequent occurrence, and I'm pretty sure that one time it did happen was mostly due to low blood pressure."

You lift your hand to cup Xaden's cheek as you speak, rubbing your thumb back and forth along his cheek bone to soothe him. He's adorable when he gets all worried and protective, but you know better than to tell him that right now.

"Still," he grumbles. "Maybe you should stay in bed until your period is over. You shouldn't have to go to class and fight while dealing with this torture. We can cover for you. No one would doubt it if we say you're sick, and you can easily catch up on the stuff you miss."

"Tempting," you admit, "but I think we both know that's not actually an option."

With a sigh, Xaden lies back down and buries his face in your shoulder. "I know."

"Is there anything we can do to make you feel better?" Garrick asks, setting his stack of papers aside in favor of lying down on your other side.

"Just cuddles," you mumble, the words barely intelligible as you bury your face in the soft fabric of his shirt. "Think I'll try to nap for a bit."

"Alright, love." Xaden kisses your head, then you feel him half sit up again. "Here, drink some water first, hm? You've got to stay hydrated, or you'll feel even worse."

Since you know he's right, you force yourself to sit up and accept the water he hands you, draining half the glass before settling down once more.

Xaden and Garrick wrap you in their arms, making you feel safe and warm despite the pain, and soon you fall asleep to the sound of rustling paper. Before you drift off, you remind yourself you'll have to return to your or Garrick's room later, before actually going to bed for the day. If you don't, Xaden really will prioritize your rest over his meeting, and you can't have that.

[lnracer]

Not a God, But a Boy Who Loved.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────

Pairing: Son of Apollo! Lando x Daughter of Aphrodite! Reader.

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 1.501k.

a/n: Set in the PJO universe, hope you like it! 📜𖹭

Lando’s gaze flickered to her across the campfire, the golden light catching the angles of her face, the way her lips curved as she spoke to someone else. He couldn’t help it — his heart skipped, his mind scrambled. But as always, that sharp, familiar bite of self-doubt followed.

She must think she’s untouchable, he thought, watching her laugh, effortlessly perfect in a way that made everyone else fade into the background. She was like one of those people who are just used to being loved. Who expect it, even. Who think being loved by someone is some kind of privilege. Like it’s a favor.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. That’s it, right? She never even notice people like him. Just someone to look at and move on from. Like it’s nothing.

Lando forced himself to look away. To not let his mind run circles, to not let himself get lost in the illusion that someone like her would ever look at someone like him.

But gods, the way she smiled when she did.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────

The sun cast golden light through the Camp Half-Blood training arena, glinting off Lando’s curls as he leaned against the railing, carelessly twirling a celestial bronze dagger between his fingers. He wasn’t paying attention to the sparring session in front of him — how could he, when she were there?

She stood in the shade, casually tossing her hair over her shoulder, her laughter like honey. Daughter of Aphrodite — of course she was ethereal, captivating, the kind of beauty that made people forget their own names. But it wasn’t just that. Lando saw something else in her — sharp wit behind her glossy lips, kindness in her eyes, and this grace that moved through her like a secret.

She was poetry, and he was a song too scared to start.

He was hooked. Completely, pathetically entranced. And she had no idea.

Or so he thought.

Truth was, she knew. Gods, she knew.

Every time he walked by, golden and smiling like he belonged on a chariot, she felt the blush rise in her chest. Her fingers twitched at her side. She bit her lip, too proud to let anything show — because being a daughter of Aphrodite meant people always assumed she was already in control. Like she couldn’t possibly be flustered.

But she was.

When he laughed at something she said, she had to stop herself from staring at his lips for too long. When his fingers brushed hers — by accident, during campfire cleanup — she spent the whole night rolling over in bed, replaying the moment over and over again.

She tried to act normal. Polished. Refined. Goddess-forbid he ever knew what really went on in her head when he smiled at her like that — when his voice dipped low and sincere, when he looked at her like she was the only person in the world.

Just like the way mortals once looked at dawn — like she was something holy, something kissed by light itself. There was a stillness in him whenever she walked into the room, as if the world slowed just to let him memorize the way she moved. And though he was born of the sun, heir to Apollo’s fire, it was her glow that warmed him most. To Lando, she wasn’t just beautiful — she was his sunlight. A softness he never thought he deserved, yet couldn’t help but reach for.

Lando didn’t think he had a shot. How could he? She was untouchable. People looked at her like a dream. He looked at her like she hung constellations with her hands. And he figured she didn’t even know he existed, not really — not in the way he wanted.

Too caught up in self-doubt.

He didn’t see the way her gaze lingered when he walked away. The way her breath caught when his arm brushed against hers in the corridor. The way she burned with wanting, silenced by fear that wanting too loudly would scare him off.

That night, at the campfire, their legs brushed beneath the log they shared, and her eyes flicked to his. His breath hitched.

The silence was electric.

He whispered, “You always look like you’re thinking something you’re not saying.”

She looked at the flames, heart thudding like a war drum. And with a slow smile, she answered:

“Maybe I am.”

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She couldn’t sleep.

Maybe it was the way Lando’s eyes had lingered too long on hers at the fire, or maybe it was just the thick summer air at Camp Half-Blood, buzzing with tension she couldn’t shake off. Whatever the reason, she found herself wandering, the moon painting silver over the grass.

That’s when she heard it.

A voice, low and half-laughing, somewhere near the Apollo cabin gardens — quiet enough that he must’ve thought no one could hear. She crept closer, careful, heart pounding for reasons she didn’t dare name yet.

And there he was: Lando. Sitting on the steps, knees drawn up, a crumpled piece of parchment in one hand, muttering something to the night air.

At first, she thought it was a song. But as she drew closer, she realized — no. It was a poem.

For her.

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"O daughter of the foam and rose,

Whose footsteps sow the earth in bloom,

What temple could I build to house

The ruin of my heart for you?

A throne of gold? A silver tomb?

Or only this: a nameless ache,

A prayer not meant for gods to take—"

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He broke off there, chuckling bitterly under his breath, rubbing a hand over his face.

“So pathetic, mate,” he muttered to himself. “Like she’d even look at you.”

She stood frozen, air thick in her lungs, the words sinking into her skin like molten gold.

He meant it. All of it. And he thought he didn’t have a chance.

Her heart cracked wide open.

Without thinking, she stepped into the light. “You should finish it,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

Lando’s head snapped up, horror flashing across his face when he saw her. The parchment nearly slipped from his fingers. “I—I didn’t know anyone—”

She crossed the space between her with measured steps, heart hammering in her chest. Don’t be scared, she told herself. Don’t hide.

When she stood in front of him, close enough to see the flush rising along his cheeks, she smiled — soft, real, no Aphrodite glamour needed.

“I think,” she said carefully, “you should finish it. Because if you don’t…” She paused, gathering her courage the way a goddess might gather her silken robes. “...you’ll never find out that you’re not the only one who lies awake thinking about all the things they’d do.”

For a heartbeat, Lando just stared at her, uncomprehending.

And then her hand brushed his, tentative, anchoring.

His breath stuttered out of him.

“Are you—” His voice broke, rough. “You’re serious?”

She smiled wider. “I won’t deny it,” she whispered. “Not anymore.”

The parchment fluttered to the ground between them as Lando surged up, the space snapping shut like it had never been there at all.

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Lando’s hands hovered at her waist, like he still didn’t quite believe she was real, like if he touched too hard she might dissolve into mist.

“You’re sure?” he whispered, voice cracking slightly at the edges.

She tipped her chin up, so close now she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin. “I’m sure.”

That was all it took.

Lando closed the distance in a breathless, reverent kind of way — as if kissing her was a sacred act, something he might be punished for daring. His lips brushed hers lightly at first, tentative, like the first brush of sun over the horizon.

But when she threaded her fingers into his curls, pulling him closer, something broke loose in him. He kissed her deeper then, a sunburst kind of kiss, golden and warm and desperate with all the words he hadn’t said.

She sighed against his mouth, melting into him like it was the most natural thing in the world, the whole camp — the whole world — fading into nothing but the two of them.

And in that moment, she realized something so deep it felt written into the marrow of her bones:

Maybe it had always been leading here.

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The daughter of Aphrodite, born of foam and longing, who carried beauty like a weapon and a shield, had found her match not in a warrior, nor in a prince, but in a son of Apollo — he who bore the sun in his veins, who crafted songs out of longing, and poems out of hope.

It was not conquest that tied them, nor flattery, nor even fate. It was something simpler, older: beauty drawn to light, longing drawn to warmth. The heart, ancient and new, recognizing its echo in another.

The goddess's daughter and the god's son became one — not in temples or battles, but in a kiss under the silver eye of the moon, where beauty at last found a place to rest in the arms of the sun.