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jolapeno · 4 months

Text

meet me in the city where we won't sleep

javier peña x f!reader | main masterlist

summary: home: a place where we feel most comfortable, loved, and protected — where we most feel at home. except javi, who has returned from colombia and feels his home is living miles away.

childhood besties!javi x f!reader

wordcount: 9k (i'm so sorry)

warnings: childhood best friend!javi. flirting. 18+ - although just a little smutty with fingers. brief mention of drunkenness years ago. emotions (ugh) and feelings (yuk) and idiots who just don't wanna confess things but really should. javi calls you flor and you call him a pineapple. alternating times.

an: originally started for april showers, it's taken me an age to get this done because i wanted it to be perfect. i really hope it is. the biggest thank you to @thetriumphantpanda who read all of this and gave me a gold star. it would have stayed in my drafts if not for you. thank you to @rhoorl for checking my spanish.

It would have been cliche to say he fell for you in a field of bluebonnets—your dress white, face glum, hands ripping up blooms from the soil that you clutched in your hand.

Lost, aimless, both in the blue of the petals and in your thoughts as you continued to yank stems up and bring bunches to your nose, unaware of him watching from the tree. His legs swung, and a smile slid into one cheek as the leaves rustled above in the warm breeze.

It took a while before you noticed him, practically half a field’s worth in your hands, hands wound around them as your dress swished at your ankles.

“What do you want, Piña?”

He supposed, for kids, that was an insult.

“What you doing in my field, Flor?”

Javi didn’t know your name then. Now he struggled to go a minute without thinking it.

Sitting still hadn’t seemed a possibility in the days since he’d been back.

And then, that’s all he’d done for the last eight hours before he was greeted by rain.

It’s relentless, an onslaught that blurs the world into a watery haze. The kind that soaks through every layer of clothing like a challenge; the type that drips from everything, making pools in the streets and turning them into dark mirrors, reflecting the grey and full clouds from above.

Not that Javi cares.

If anything, he likes it. Finds it cleansing, like the world is being washed clean, even if he knows how untrue that actually is as his eyes follow a bead rushes across the glass of the cab.

The driver has been mumbling about the weather for the entire journey—a thing he’s barely listened to since he’d recommended waiting for a break in the weather. It was likely they just didn’t wish to drop him where he’d described, rather hoping Javi would opt for someplace warmer, most likely smokier, so that he could call it a day too.

Javi doesn't do that now—smoking, that is.

Hasn’t done since he left that apartment that never felt like his, in a city that he’d spent years in that never felt like home. Threw them in the trashcan before his Pop had picked him up, craved and wanted all the way through dinner. He’d done it once, he’d do it again.

When the cab screeches to a halt, he pays, steps out (bag in hand) and spots the phone booth all in one fluid motion. It’s barely lit, front weathered by time and neglect. Smirk curling into his cheek as he remembers you telling him about it—that on cloudless days you can see it, likes to make stories about it as you enjoy a meal-for-one or crunches down cereal.

It hadn’t been a thing he’d thought much about.

Then, it was all he had thought about.

Standing there, making a story that could become real. A gesture, kind and deserving of someone who had put up with his shit since they were children. You’d always liked those big moments in the movies—his eyes glancing over at you, finding yours big, wide and shimmering with tears that wish to glide down your cheek.

Although, that had been well over a decade ago—the two of you had remained in touch, close, or as much as he could allow. Your visit to Colombia had still felt like the sunniest day, a bright spot in a sea of dark; a day that coloured his world in shades he hadn’t known existed, that dulled the moment he’d had to bid farewell at the airport.

It hadn’t been safe for you to do another, pleading in fact to not risk it. A thing, he suspects, is not a thing he’s been easily forgiven for.

He supposes it’s why he hasn’t told you he was coming. The flight had been booked, bag packed—fingers tapping, soul hoping you wouldn’t turn him away once he’d gotten here. To the phone box over the bridge from your place—the one obscured from view by the downpour that seemed never-ending.

Because, as soon as two weeks had racked up at him being home, he found himself itching to move, to be somewhere other than surrounded by fields and the watchful stare of his Pop. Parental worry a hard thing to hide from in a home washed in memories.

Sliding open the door, cramming himself into the booth, Javi had no concern about remembering your number. It was burned into him, etched into him with a blunt tool—almost studied, committed to memory while he ticked over godfathers and the weight of right and wrong.

He remembers when you’d changed it, when your voice informed him of the move, the chance—all excited tone, a pitch closer to a squeak than your voice: no more roommates, just me, myself and I.

He also remembers the ember inside of him pleased that Tom joined the underserving list, slid under Mia and Rich as you informed him you were single again.

Sliding quarters in, finger punching the numbers—he hopes you’re home. A niggling feeling threatens to unwind inside of him as the tone drills into his skull—attempts to drown out the rain rapping against the glass booth he’s standing in.

“Hello?”

“Flor?”

It kisses his ear, your snort. Light. Sweet. “Javier Piña, what do you want?”

You sound like you did in Colombia. Having half-expected the crackle meeting his ear to be down to the distance, rather than your shoddy home phone.

Pressing the receiver to his head, a smile there—desperate to flow out across his lips and exhausted face, he moves it back. “Tal vez te extrañé.”

“Mierda. I don’t believe you.”

Even amidst the noise of passing cars and the relentless drumming of raindrops, he catches the melody of your laughter—a symphony of joy that unravels a part of his soul. It releases it, unlocks it, beckons it to be free—metaphorically makes him release his shoulders, and take a breath. The part of him hidden away, floods back through him—no longer fearful of being taken, clawed or wormed from him as he handed other parts of himself to the job, the task, the goal.

Not you, though. Javi would never surrender you.

A pocket of sunshine he’d kept close to him like your chicken-scratch letters and your tipsy phone calls when he’d caught you coming in after a night with friends.

“Where are you, Piña?”

Wiping his mouth with his thumb, he pauses. Traces his index along the hair growing above his lip, glancing out through the rain-smeared glass, the one cracked in places. Not sure if any of the lights on the other side are hers, but lingering on each just in case.

“In a phone booth on a bridge…”

He hears you swallow, loud, almost difficult.

“…right across from your place.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Smirking, teeth nibbling at his bottom lip. “Are you lying to me?”

Smirking, he stares out again. “No.”

Because he couldn’t, not if he tried. Not just because you see through it, but because it wounds him to do so. Picks at him, and makes him bleed in ways that don’t ruin him in scarlet.

“Give me five minutes.”

The call ends before he can get in a bye.

The receiver placed back, bag straps cutting into his palms again as he exits, the heavens lashing against him as he slowly walks. Taking his time. Nervousness bubbling like a broth inside of him with each step, coming up to the top curve of the bridge, trying to look up, spot you—

Then he does.

Running, coat billowing behind—flapping in the wind as it breaks out over your face: that smile. The one that lit fires inside of him, the one first doing so at the time his bedroom at home had its last lick of paint, it now peeling, cracked.

Dropping his bag, Javi isn’t sure whether to brace or not—taking three more steps forward before you collide with him. Arms around him, chest to chest, your wet cheek sliding past his as your soaked clothes marry to his.

It would be odd to say it felt like home hugging you, but it does. It feels right, safe—a piece completing him as he digs his chin into your head.

“You smell the same,” you muffle into his chest.

Javi smiles, knowing the bottle on his dresser is the one from his younger years. Sun-ruined and likely faded, yet managing to linger on his skin enough to cause recollection.

Pushing past lilies, excusing himself through swarms of bodies adorned in black fabric, Javi found you sitting cross-legged between two tall stands of flowers.

Your eyes were puffy—red, swollen—and your dress was as black as his suit; your fingers were balled around a single lily and a scrunched-up tissue, the skirt of your dress skated over your bent knees.

“What d-do you want, Piña?”

But it didn’t land with the tone he had come to know.

Instead, he extended a hand you thankfully took, pulling you up from the ground before he opened his arms—letting you move in, slot yourself between them as they enveloped you close.

Letting his best friend fall apart at the back of the church, your sobs vibrated against his bones and his chin rested on your head as he whispered he had you, over and over again.

A thing you repaid when his mother passed a few years later.

Talking had always been a skill—unless he had to discuss feelings.

It wasn’t that it was easy to lie, or that he found the idea of feeling difficult—if anything, it was as though he felt too much. Guilt. Affection. Righteousness. Protection. Each one a little harder to carry, to wear.

More so around you. The walls had to be tighter, or they’d crumble into ruin, the dust spilling all his secrets before he’d confess whatever wasn’t already written over his face. But, you don’t needle him—instead, you make him a plate from leftovers, tell him about some gossip your mom had informed you of, until you offer him your shower, your sofa and bid him goodnight.

“You’ll be here in the morning?”

“Not going anywhere.”

Lingering in the doorway to your bedroom, fingers playing the piano on the wood. “You’ve said that before.”

He knows he has.

It rises up in him like a storm, whipping around his organs, making his chest tighten as he lies down in comfort but stares up at the unfamiliar. He can hear the rain, how it pitters and patters—how it likely streams down the windows behind your curtains.

He should find it odd that he'd rather fall asleep here, than in his bed back where he grew up. A strange solace in the unknown here, a quiet surrender to the whispers he usually has to hear when the night comes.

But, they're not here.

At some stage, he must sleep, before he wakes to the scent of coffee and soft sunshine. His ears catch the sound of you calling in sick—a cough, a put-on voice, one all removed when you throw a throw cushion at him and ask him what he wants for breakfast.

That’s how he finds his knee kissing yours under the small table as your spoon scoops cereal before letting it drop back into the bowl. Just like when you were kids. Just like when you were all excitable, too in a rush to sit for a moment, stomach likely fluttering with agitation.

“You keep staring.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Flor.”

The thing is, you’re not wrong.

Each time he has a second, he lingers—gazes. Metaphorically pinching himself as he forgoes digging a nail into his skin under the cuff of his shirt, just to make sure he isn’t dreaming. A thing he finds he’s doing now, after a night of laughing until you couldn’t keep your eyes open and a full day of exploring, you walk a little ahead before spinning on your heel to smile at him.

“I have to show you my favourite place—before you go.”

He hates that there’s an end date on this. Bought himself a few days of normal, before returning to something that feels anything but.

Scratching his jaw, brows raised and eyes wide. “You’ve replaced our spot?”

Rolling your eyes, you take his hand—fingers slotting, palm pressing against his. For a moment, a reflex, he thinks of pulling away. Thinking of what else sat as perfectly in his palm as you—a thing that took, but never gave. A thing that he held more than he had ever held a woman.

“My favourite place here.”

He expects a lot of things, maybe flowers, maybe a bar, but he finds himself inside a bookshop. One with floor-to-ceiling shelves, dark wood, the large window letting in light that barely reaches the back. He supposes it’s good they have a chandelier, one that sparkles, shines—like it’s as well maintained as the shelves.

“Books?”

“Books.”

Your finger prodding into him, facing him, body fully twisted. That smile there, the one which slides into one of your cheeks and makes his eyes flick from it to your eyes and then back.

It’s there when you turn on your heel down an aisle, it remaining when he follows—when he hovers close, so easily able to pin you, cage you in between his palms.

“Which do you recommend?”

Shooting him a look, you trail your finger over spines, over the shelf they sit on. “Didn't know you could read?”

“Funny.”

Grinning, you pull on one, handing it to him. His eyes take it in, the cover, the name, the author.

“I think you’ll like the characters,” you explain, eyes lighting up as you lean. “They're flawed but resilient.”

Chewing his cheek, he swallows. Listening, hearing you read the blurb after you lift the book in his hands so you can read it, word for word as he focuses on you. Noticing the way your eyes shine when talking about something you love, the way one of your hands begins to move as you describe the plot, and the characters. Realising, that he could listen to you talk about anything all day.

“You should read it,” you suggest, as he flips through the pages. Having never been much of a reader, time being a factor, his job has been the reason.

“Alright,” he nods, tucking the book under his arm. “I'll read it.”

Your smile brightens even more if that's possible.

“Chucho is gonna be so shocked when I tell him you bought a book.”

Frowning, he follows you, leading him down another aisle. “You talk to my pop?”

Shrugging, like it’s nothing. Like the words that are about to tumble out of your mouth don’t matter like they won’t stitch themselves to him and make him feel like pulling you to his chest.

“I check in—make sure he’s okay. Done it weekly since you left the first time.”

His face falls, descends slowly. He feels it—watches you take it in as yours slowly mirrors him. And, even if he’s been thinking it, it bubbling at the back of his throat, he finds himself unable to stuff it back down—to shove it between other regrets and unsaid words.

“I’ve really missed you.”

Each word lands, your eyes widening as your nose does a little twitch as they do, before you whisper, resting against the edge of a bookcase, “I’ve missed you too.”

Sat on the rock, the sound of a car door slamming disturbed the peace. Not needing to look, knowing that gait, that little kick of the ground as you stopped in front of him.

Hand shielding your eyes from the sun, flower tucked behind your ear.

“Hello, Flor.”

“Piña. Heard you were cursing Laredo.”

Smirking, you sat next to him, nudging him over. The two perched on a rock overlooking part of the city—as his head turned but his eyes stared at you from the corner of them.

“I give it a month and someone else will do something bad enough that people cross the street.”

Swallowing, he exhaled. “Thanks.”

“Did you love her?”

Turning his head, staring at you—eyes flicking from yours to a place on your face he shouldn’t look. “Not enough to marry her.”

“Then you did the right thing.”

A thing he only believed when your hand slid over his, hooking your little finger over his.

“It’s because you’re in love with me, isn’t it?”

Snorting, head shaking, your words washed back over him and he broke into a laugh. “Shut up, Flor.”

Nudging him, taking the flower from your hair and handing it to him. “It’s okay if you do, I know I’m a catch.”

He's embarrassed that it isn't until the second day that Javi finds the chance to really admire your place.

How it’s exactly what he imagined. So very you, all cosy, muted, with spots of colour. Plants and throw cushions, blankets and wicker baskets stuffed with things he suspects you have no recollection of.

What catches his eyes are the photographs, the memories frozen in time around your walls and on shelves. His eyes sweep over them, in a trance still from the scent of your perfume mixing with vanilla from a lit candle.

Each time he sweeps his sight over, he spots new things, remembering brief conversations, smirking to himself until his eyes land on a frame that makes his mouth part and his heart clench.

Him and you; you and him. Sunglasses far too big for your face, staring up at him as he beams at the camera. The backdrop of his ranch, his home, the one he so often left behind like it hadn’t mattered.

Done it weekly since you left the first time.

The words roll around his head now. All metal and round, bouncing against other thoughts, trying to dig his heels into the present and not wonder about what kind of calls you make—whether they’d be about him, whether you’d confess things you’d never admit to him.

Your clanging around is what pulls him to the present. The bangs of cupboards and pans clattering as he stares at it—as he notices how different his build is, how many years have passed. The occasional cursing from you is a rather nice anchor that keeps him in the present.

“Flor?” He waits until he hears you hum. “Order in again, I’ll pay.”

It’s here within the hour.

A favourite, you had told him. A quick apology that you’ll be messier than last night, that you’re dying of hunger. He reminds you he doesn’t care. Not as you slide the triangle slice out, the tip kissing your chin before it’s absorbed by your mouth, sauce lingering on your lips—dust from the crust resting on your nose.

He’s not sure what’s better, the taste of the pizza or the sight of watching you. Having the chance to watch you.

“So I have to ask.”

Grumbling, he pulls at the topping on his slice. “Here we fucking go.”

“Did you like the tie I sent you?”

Half-scowling, swallowing the mouthful of pizza—recalling the box on his desk, atop files and paperwork with a note attached: One down, three to go. Written in that same handwriting he could spot in a lineup—the one he had wished there and then would be etched into him, a mark left, a thing he could brush his thumb over when his heart ached and he felt lost.

“I was disappointed not to see you photographed in it.”

“You knew damn well I wasn’t going to wear a fucking pineapple tie to a press conference.”

Pouting, you smirk. Picking at another slice, staring up at him from the floor, all cross-legged. “Thought you might have for me.”

It’s there, ebbing—words that feel far more intimate than they should—crystallising, burning upon his tongue.

I’d do anything for you.

It’s there, unwritten, pulsating and breathing in the space between you and him, existing, never diminished. Memories where it’s been all but similar rising like lava, singeing him, threatening to burn away the walls he throws up for the sake of friendship.

Because he knows what people think. Saw it hung in his pop’s eyes at his Tia’s wedding when you came as a guest, an uninvited plus one that was welcomed like you were already part of the family. Heard it, in the wind between the grass before he’d left the first time, a farewell outdoor thing, your parents crestfallen, as though they’d assumed—like he imagined a lot of them—the two of you would have figured it out by now.

Watching you stand, hand outstretched for his plate, you take it with a smile. A shout of two options for drinks, an unsurprising one chosen by him—it bubbling in the glass when you hand it to him, settling in beside him.

“Not sure I told you, but you have a nice couch.”

“Most expensive thing in this place—probably better than my own bed,” you smirk, sipping your drink. Head rolling towards him, brows raised, eyes that bit wider. “So, are you okay?”

You’re the only one who could ask and get a reply, he supposes. Those same words were said to him a handful of times, down the phone from Murphy, over the table from Pop, even on aisles of the supermarket when he’d been staring between brands he hadn’t heard of.

“I gave you a day to tell me, and since you won’t, I’m gonna ask. Are you okay, Javier Peña?” you continue, body shifting, thigh pressing against his—heat radiating from between yours to his. “Because you’re methodical. You’re not… get on a plane and fly to a different city just because.”

“You not happy I’m here?”

Grinning, all teeth—it reaching and hanging in your eyes. “Los más felices. But, are you?”

Yes. It’s all he thinks.

Chewing his tongue, his eyes drop to his soda because he’s unsure how to say that. Not as he watches the bubbles float up and burst—the song that had been playing coming to a stop, allowing the rain to play an interval against your windows.

It doesn’t make sense, in some ways: how he’s kept you—been able to keep you close. Somehow not ruined you, twisted this thing between the two of you, made it rot, sullied it with disappointment and selfishness.

“I am now,” he replies.

Good, you breathe. Letting it sit, simmer. Paper over any cracks as your eyes sparkle and remain fixed on him, tracing him as though not completely sure he’s real.

That is, until you grab the remote, excitedly telling him about the night of television they have ahead of them. A blanket, at some stage, finds itself over him, you nestling into his side—like when they were teens before the world became a problem and narcos were all he hunted.

For a while, you catch him up, explain plots and characters. Then, you fall silent, brows crinkled in concentration. His eyes slide to the side to watch, to spot the little things you do as she settles in closer, brings your legs up, and rests almost all of yourself against him.

Between one show and another, he feels the rhythm of your breathing change, your body relaxing further against him. He glances down and finds your eyes closed, features soft and serene in sleep. Realisation dawns on him—you’ve fallen asleep. His heart does a slow tumble in his chest, a wave of warmth spreading through him. All of a sudden aware of the gentle weight of you against his side, the way your hand is loosely holding onto him. He watches, just for a moment, taking in the sight of you, so peaceful and trusting in your sleep. This moment is so intimate, so precious, he wants to freeze it in time.

What else is a guy like you gonna do…

This, he thinks. Looking at you, asleep, peaceful—curled into his side, fingers around his forearm.

Smiling, he takes the remote from your fingers, turning the volume down as he gets more comfortable—pressing a soft kiss to your hairline.

He carried a single red rose down the side of your house—nudging open the window the rest of the way, climbing in like he had done years ago.

He didn’t need eyes, didn’t fancy having to explain to his parents how he could do that to that nice girl and her family. Javi had faced enough judgement, enough stares.

The only eyes he wanted were staring at him, remaining so as he stepped close and handed you the flower with the thorns picked free. “Come with me.”

Sighing, eyes averting, you swallowed loudly in the thick quietness. “You don’t want that. Your best friend following you.”

Eyes flicking up to meet his, you took another deep breath. Fingers flexed at your side, weight shifting from one foot to the other before you exhaled—louder than before.

“I don’t want to follow you, best friend.”

Then don’t be just that, he thought, thumb swiping over the tips of his fingers as he hovered, waited. Then he took a step closer, and another. The gap closed, becoming shorter and shorter—

“What are you doing, Piña?”

“Kissing you.”

Lips pursing, trying not to smirk, you took the rose and put it on your dresser. “Don’t feel your lips on mine, Javier.”

And then he kissed you, his fingers clutching at your jaw—body pressed against yours, tasting your whine, your moan.

He felt your fingers clutch at his shirt as he told you to be quiet.

Laid you on your bed of flowers, knees digging into stitched roses and sunflowers, as you arched off the bed when his fingers slid between your thighs—like he wished he’d done a handful of times before now.

He’s not sure of the time when he wakes, but it’s dark.

A contentedness in his bones that doesn’t fade as he begins to blink, as he takes in his surroundings and remembers where he is. Feeling you, warm, pressed as close against him as humanly possible. Able to see the outline of you, before his eyes manage to paint the rest, how his knee has slotted between your legs—bodies a mess of limbs that takes him back to years ago.

Javi notices how the television is switched off as you try to move, to wiggle and escape. His shirt discarded, the cool air misting over him, pebbling his skin as he slides his arm around you, pinning you tighter to him.

Brain all addled with dreams and sleep, as his awakening state tries to remind him what he’s doing.

What door he’s trying to open all over again.

“Javi…”

Not Piña, Peña or Javier. Javi, all soft and whispery, like honey dripping into his ear as he turns his head to find your stare in the dark. Somehow finding it shimmering, fixed, more than awake.

Then you whisper his name again, and it’s heavenly, a piece of it anyway. A sound he realises he’s missed more than he cares to find words to describe as he hears you push out a breath—fingers finding his arm, stroking, sliding their warmth up and down the muscle of his arm as he swallows.

It’s slow, hand cupping your cheek as he shifts his body, and finds yours moves with him. The beginning of a partner dance, one it feels you’ve both practised in small spaces but never actually have as he slides his lips over yours. Moulds them to yours. Tasting faint mint on your tongue when you deepen it—when you pay attention, listen, taking each cue you give him from the movement of your mouth to the way your hands grasp at him to come closer.

A whimper tries to break through, to escape through messy kisses and tangled bodies, but it vibrates through him. Makes him shudder with how much he wants you, moving your knee, hooking it over his hip as he slots his waist between your thighs and you gasp at the feel of him flush against you.

Practically whine.

Nose brushing your cheek, palm flat, fingers spreading out over your hip as he feels you roll your body into him, he smiles—breathy, teeth nipping at his bottom lip. “Forgot how soft you are.”

You hum, head-turning, mouth latching itself back to his.

“Forgot how good of a kisser you are.”

Snorting, he lightly bites your lower lip. “Best remind you then.”

“Best do,” you whisper, pulling him by his hair back to your mouth.

You write a poem against his lips, signing it with your tongue against his as his fingers snake under the band of your sleep shorts, tasting your moan, your hiss and whimper when he touches you like he’s wanted to since he landed back in the States.

When two fingers slide slowly inside of you, curling, the sound of his name is like a fucking sin he wants to be draped in, wrapped in, even dressed in. Him seeking, searching, finding that spot that has your legs opening for him, nails scraping against his scalp.

“More, Javi. Please—”

“You’re so tight, Flor,” he croons, burying the words in your neck, the tip of his tongue swiping over your collarbone as you grab a handful of his hair. “Feel so good around my fingers.”

Your hips writhe, roll them against his hand, gasping. Making a mess, dripping, practically gushing over his hand, as he fights pulling his hand free and getting a taste.

“Be better—dios mio—around your cock—”

Smirking, teeth nipping at your neck, “I remember.”

Head lifting, thankful the night sky is clear, that the moon is draping you in a slither of milky light so he’s able to see your eyes flutter shut. Able to witness what his fingers do to you, the effects of their teasing and the languid movements as he finds that angle, the one which makes you grind against his palm, and has your chest heaving.

He moans your name against your tongue, drinking down a blend of pleases falling from your swollen lips as he plunges deeper, walls squeezing him.

There he thinks, lips pressing kisses to your shoulder, as you dig your nails further into his scalp, tensing, bearing down on him to the point he hopes you’ll leave a mark, leave a cut, a signature of this moment he can run his fingers over.

“Kiss me,” you gasp, all wrapped in desperation as you pull at his shoulder.

His mouth only just pressing to yours when your cry buries against his tongue, when you flutter and arch as he continues to work you through it. His name breaks through messy kisses, it escaping effortlessly like it doesn’t wish to be buried anymore.

You don’t let him pull away, hooking one leg around him. Watching, not able to take your eyes from him as he retracts his hand—as he licks your pleasure from his fingers and you stare with a twinkle in your eye.

“You best fuck me now.”

Smirking, a low laugh escaping. “Yeah? Want me that bad, Flor?”

Lifting onto your elbows, he waits for a taunt, a tease—something that’ll bring him down a peg or two. What he finds, instead, is your fingers slowly crawling up his bare chest, around his neck, your chin tilted up.

“I need you, Javi. Need you to fuck me.”

“Yeah?”

“And then I wanna get on top,” you whisper, dragging each syllable out, “and fuck you until the sun comes up.”

“Murphy is a nice guy.”

Eyes narrowing, he shot you a glare—watching as you shimmied your jacket from your shoulders. Bare arms, bare legs—except for the thin tank and shorts adorning your body—that had him thinking un-best friend things.

“You jealous, Piña?”

“Of a married guy? Fuck no.”

Grinning, you moved closer—boxing him in. Staring into his eyes, in a way that made him feel like he was being seen, read, and admired all at once. “Is that because you left a bite mark on my hip?”

Tracing his fingers along your neck, he felt himself smile. That flutter in his chest again, the one which had appeared one day when the two of you were teens and hadn’t gone away since.

“Ask me to stay,” you whispered, hands on either side of him—all boxed in. “Ask me, Javi.”

Running his tongue over the front of his teeth, he raised a hand, knuckles brushing over your cheek. Wanting nothing more. A week gone too quickly. Already feeling the pressure slip back over his muscles, seeping into his bones. But he knew. He pictured it, the things he had nightmares over—even when you were far away, never mind when you were asleep in the room next to his.

“Too dangerous.”

“That it? I can learn—”

“No.”

“No?”

He stared. Thought of the things he had done. The people he had already let down. The things he had let happen to people who deserved far better. It layering, and layering, and layering and—

Nodding, disappointment spread, before it was washed over in acceptance. “What’re we eating?”

When he wakes, he expects to find you dressed in corporate and apologising in a voice that’s accompanied by a pout at the foot of your bed. The place the two of you found yourself on at 4 am.

Instead, you fake another performance. Earn an Oscar over the phone before switching to the excitable one you present to him when you sit at the foot of the bed.

There’s something there. It hangs in your eyes. A secret, a thing shifted and dislodged now your mask has slipped from the few hours of sleep and the ruining of your sheets.

But he doesn’t ask, because if he does, he fears he’d tell you things in return. Alter the way you see him. Change it, taint it. Practically ruin the man you think he went to be and the one he's returned as.

It'll hurt him if you look at him with disgust. You’ve burnt him after all, left him winded, air knocked from his lungs each time he’s laughed. All but imprinted into his mind, a thing never filed but rather pinned up and forever there, like artwork on a fridge.

“Wanna get a coffee?”

Hands pulling on a pair of jeans, buttoning them as he sees the peaks of your nipples through your white tee. And he knows your face is bare and you're dressed in clothes you just pulled out without thought—yet, you are, as always, the prettiest damn thing he’s ever seen.

A thing he thinks when he showers.

When he smiles as he scrubs the shampoo into his hair, feels the soreness at parts from where your nails had dug in. He doesn't stop beaming when he smears his palm across the glass, takes in his appearance as you open the door, a towel hung low on his hips, eyes dropping down.

“Now who's staring, hermosa.”

“Don’t be a work of art to be admired then.”

He dresses in record time, your hand swinging beside his, so within reach, so easy to grab. But he doesn’t.

None of last night mentioned, even if he knows he’s left bruises on your inner thighs from keeping them apart; even if you've left scratch marks on his shoulders from when you sunk down on him, head thrown back, jaw elongated as he rolled your nipples between his fingers.

Javi doesn't even mention it when he hears you gasp at the taste of your coffee, a noise similar to when he'd licked a stripe up your pussy, when he tasted both you and him.

It was just like in Colombia.

A thing buried, hidden underneath other topics the two of you don’t discuss. Dead parents and a town you both ran from. A thing he almost wants to change, correct, but then you stop outside a flower shop.

The sign battered, peeling. Hidden between two nicer shops, yet the scent made his nose twitch.

“You should buy me flowers.”

“Should I?”

Smirking, teeth biting your lip. “Por lo de anoche.”

Head shaking, he finds himself following anyway. Unable to stop his eyes from falling to the back pocket you shove your phone in, hand reaching, palm pressing to the globe of your ass as he hears the muffled sound of a giggle—

“Piña.”

“Flor,” he whispers, practically breathes it against your neck.

The bubble expands, knowing at some point it’ll pop. Too happy, he thinks. Too settled for a man who has a solo flight back. It’s why he drops his hand, lets you move further in, watching as you scan over already-made bouquets for one he knows you won’t find.

Because they don’t know you. Not like him. There’s not years between you and this shop—this place.

His fingers lightly roll over a stem, staring at the flower, before he has pulled it free from the bucket, and then another, and then another. Not at all a florist—or someone artistic enough to make a bunch—but a person who at least knows you. Knows that in each of the pre-made bundles there’s a flower you dislike, one that’ll remind you of something, someone.

“Here.”

You blink, eyes widening as they move from the bunch in his hand to his face. “Javi…”

“There your—”

“Favourites,” you finish, eye narrowing, lips still parted. “You remembered all my favourites?”

Shrugging, aware of how close he is to real—to something that could shatter, break. A thing he’ll do, just give it time. Feeling it wrap its tendrils around his chest, around his heart, squeezing and squeezing until your hand slips in his. Palm to palm, fingers finding their way between his slowly, cautiously, your eyes not leaving his face as you do.

“Didn’t know my pussy was good enough for flowers, Piña,” you comment, voice low, a smirk there.

“You deserve more than flowers.”

“I’m that good?”

Shaking his head, hand still in yours, he presses a kiss to your forehead, swallowing. “Siempre has sido.”

“Hello?”

He heard the hiccup, the slur of his name as he smirked against the phone—finger and thumb massaging his forehead as he heard you hiccup again. “Flor?”

“Piña, did you know that I miss you?”

Adjusting the tie around his neck, staring down at the pineapples—the box open, atop a bunch of files, in the office he should have been thankful for. “You sound like you’ve had a good night.”

You howled, the laugh all high-pitched. “Maybe I have—maybe I haven’t. What I do know is that I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“No. I love you.”

Smirking, thumb tracing an outline of one of the pineapples. “You’re drunk.”

“Still love you.”

Swallowing, he let out a heavy exhale.

“You doing okay, mi Piña?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer, how to respond. Head tilting back in his office chair, the ice melted in his whiskey and the hour so late he wondered why you were still up as you extended his nickname out into as many syllables as you could.

“I am now—okay, I mean.”

It needs to be left alone.

He knows it. Reminds himself of it when it rears its head at every second he doesn't. Because, it doesn't need to be needled, or picked at until it bled.

But, Javi picks at it all the same when you avoid his question again.

His hand slides over his face, index finger tracing a line down his nose as he waits until your laugh fades. Your fork twists the spaghetti round and round, and when it falls, it simply lands on the table between the two of you—the air tinged with the scent of dinner and the flowers from the shop.

“When were you going to tell me you hate your job?”

Your smile shrinks, like the sunlight being muted by the night. Spine straightening, chin lifting. The walls coming down both literally and figuratively, seeing you prepare for war when he’s army-less and unafraid.

“Si significo algo para ti, no lo hagas.”

He snorts, resting on his arm, letting the sheets fall to his waist. Because of course, he cares, and of course, he wants to do this. Balling up the hand beside his hip, seeing the murkiness in your eyes, the joy snuffed out and hidden, as though the hatchets were coming down to protect against his storm.

Javi says your name, softly, honeyed—delicately drip-feeding the air each letter until it’s out there existing.

One by one, it happens. Your eyes avert, chin dipping down; your tongue drags across the front of your teeth and then your arms fold. “I hate my job. Happy? I wanted it so bad—and now I have it, I hate it. I hate going in, I hate doing it. I can’t tell anyone that because it’s all I wanted.”

“It’s okay.”

Snorting, fake smile sketching across your face as your eyes harden to the point they’re brittle. “It isn’t. I left. I turned my back and got as far out of there as I could, and now I’m stuck.”

It breaks him a little.

Seeing it then, the many shards inside of you that you’re trying to keep whole. The pieces that are so worn and tired from doing their best to fit, but struggling to do so.

It’s why he protests that you’re not. He tries to rationalise and says the same words he knows you’d say to him if he called—if he had told you the truth about everything when he was over there. He tries to add kindness to his words as you continue to stare at him like you wish your bed would swallow him whole.

“—You’re saying this like I didn’t say the same thing to you, and you went and did another five years.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?” you spit, standing now, finger pointing and nose flared. “Because your job means more?—”

“No, because I’m a fucking idiot, Flor. You’re not.”

You mutter under your breath, curse him—a blend of poisonous Spanglish that has the heel of his palm pressing against his forehead.

Because it’s like last time.

The words surge up inside of him—except you’re both older now, both carrying more pain and hurt from a world that continues to pile on when bones are already struggling. Walls threw up, keeping him out in all the same ways—except now his mess is also between your thighs, and you aren’t half as good at hiding how his words hurt you.

“Come home with me.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

Folding your arms, your head shaking. “I can stick it out—work my way up, it’ll get better—”

“You know it won’t. Know how well that went for me.”

Then you scoff. It blended with razors and sharpened to injure. “No, I don’t. Because you don’t talk about what happened.”

“You read about it.”

“But that’s not your story, Javi. That’s theirs.”

For a moment, he sees it. How hollow you look, how weak, sad and broken. So he repeats it, the request, the offer. Come home with me. But the door shuts, locks, a bolt thrown over.

And everything, all of it, splinters; it doing so before your mouth even opens and he sees what his request has done.

“I’m not coming home just because you’ve decided you want to play happy fucking families, Peña. The world doesn’t stop turning just because you’ve decided to run away, and it doesn’t begin turning again because you’ve come home and decided what you want.”

“That isn’t—”

“You left. You left me.”

“—Flor—”

“—and I asked you to let me stay—when I knew you were hurting. I asked and you said no—”

He whispers your name, broken—like it shatters the moment it greets the air.

“—I wasn’t good enough then. So why am I now?”

Shaking his head, legs flung from under your sheets, he stands—aware he’s half-naked, aware this isn’t the time as you step back.

You shake your head, tears dangling, resistant to fall. “I bet you’re not even staying.”

“I am—”

Head tilting, a crystal tear falling down your cheek, you scoff. Loud. Brutal. “Have you even unpacked? Or did you just get on a plane here?”

Swallowing, Javi rolls his jaw. Fingers flexing at his side, staring, urging himself to find words as his tongue thickens in his mouth. Because he’s staying, he’s staying, he’s staying—

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Flor—”

“Save it.”

The door of your bedroom slamming behind you is the final sound that echoes out between you both.

It was different.

Hearing you cry down the phone—than when the two of you were younger.

When your first love broke your heart and he lay beside you on sheets covered in stitched flowers. Your head turned to him, the bedroom door open, as you teased your lip between your teeth. The tears had dried, but the rest had still been there, written in markers across your face as you sighed, staring, waiting for him to answer. “What do you want, Piña?” you’d asked, and he’d swallowed that he wanted to punch them.

Now, though, there were miles between the two of you. Distance far more than there had ever been—cities, a whole country.

“I’ll be home soon—can visit you.”

He heard you laugh, it hanging, echoing. “Yeah, yeah.”

“I mean it.”

“You mean a lot of things, Javi.”

“Flor—”

“I wish you'd never kissed me.”

It's a whisper, the way he said your name. It cracked, snapping as it left his tongue.

“I should go shower, early morning and all that.”

He asked you to stay and he heard you sigh.

“What do you want, Piña?”

Swallowing, Javi tapped his fist on the desk—tiredness having crept over him, the last ditch at doing right in Colombia suspended over him. Tell me I’m doing good, that it's worth losing you, Flor. “Have a good day, Flor.”

It’s weeks.

Eight weeks and four days to be exact.

At some point, it becomes less of a want to get in touch and more of a need not to. Your number is always there on his fingers, but his digits never dialling it when his Pop nips out to go to the store, and he’s left alone with his thoughts and memories in a house stuffed full of them.

Javi doesn’t expect anything else.

Having woke that next morning to find a note attached to the book he had bought: Had to go to work. Have a safe flight. Speak soon—a thing he both hoped and prayed for, even as he nursed a drink on the short flight and chain-smoked at the airport before he did the drive home.

Home.

A thing it felt even less of when he arrived this final time. Pulling his truck into its place, dust swirled and kicked up around him. Staring at the house that hasn’t changed much, just the paint thinning, the sun-dyeing it.

Each day that ticks by, he thinks of you. Each week that’s collected, he fights with himself when he’s sat alone at the dining table about flying back out and apologising.

Because he knows what he did.

Did the same thing back then—assumed and foolishly acted as though your wants never mattered. But they do matter. A thing he rehearses in his head when he’s feeding the animals; a thing he runs over when he’s repairing a door here or a fence there.

One week adds up, then another, and another.

If his Pop thinks things, he doesn’t share them. Just shakes his head occasionally, not asking what is wrong, likely knowing. Suspecting he wears it like the rest of his shame, brightly coloured and decorated in bright lights.

A fool’s outfit, he thinks. A thing he is, a thing he knows. It carved into him at this point. Scratched into the skin and muscle, yet everyone else sees the word hero.

It’s eight weeks and four days when the door of the party opens, the sun streaming in—illuminating the back of a person in a dress adorned with flowers. It takes a second, the condensation on his beer dripping down his wrist as he stares, trying to place the shape and the style of the hair. Not wanting to imagine, not wanting to jump ahead of himself until he hears your mom say your name, all excitable—practically a shriek.

He’s not prepared.

Yet, it’s out of habit he moves.

Like the two of you are magnets, that realised they were supposed to be a pair. The music doesn’t quiet, and the room doesn’t hold its breath, but Javi does—and he suspects you do too.

Just as time comes to a slow stop—the hand in his watch takes an age to flick to the next second as his heart hammers into his ribs. Staring, fingers itching to reach out and ensure you’re not something he’s fabricated, not a mirage from wanting so badly and convincing himself he’d never have it.

“Hi.”

“Hello, Piña.”

It weighs heavy then—clots on his tongue. Almost shapes itself into bile and rests horridly against his tongue as he follows you around, hand close to reaching out to place on your lower back, but stops when he remembers where he is.

Home.

A thing it all of a sudden feels like when you turn your head, lift your chin and stare at him—eyes full of forgiveness, and understanding. “We should talk, right?”

Right, he thinks. Trying to stop the twist in his chest from tightening, trying to stop the dread from filling him and drowning from within. Conversations never go well. A thing he thinks over, and over as his hand strokes over his face, following, one foot after the other, until the warm sun kisses his skin and he finds himself leaning against the side of the building.

“I didn’t come for you.”

He says nothing, not sure if there are any to say.

“I quit. Moved back a week and a bit ago—” your hand comes up to halt him, half-pleading with a tilt and a raise of your eyes. “—and I needed to find things for me, first.”

Folding his arms, he stretches his legs, lets himself elongate, and tries to fill his lungs with air.

“Because I’d have resented you for being right.” Your chin dips, eyes following. “A thing I would do, because you, Javier Peña, know me. And sometimes I really hate that.”

Exhaling, he finds you do the same. Head tilting, lips rolling as you take him in, trace him with your eyes as though you can't quite believe he's real.

“Did you know that every person I’ve been with, it gets to a point where I think ‘Fuck, Javi wouldn’t do this to me’?” Meeting his gaze, you exhale. “And then, no matter how much I felt for them, it goes.”

“Flor…”

Swallowing, you offer the smallest smile. “It’s never gone for you, though. Not when you left. Not when you came back, and left again. Not eight weeks ago when I should have asked you to stay.”

Tongue sticking, flat against the roof his mouth, he grabs your hand—holds it. Runs his thumb over the knuckles as you avert your eyes.

“I live in Laredo now, further north. Did you know I’m so good at what I do, people seek me out?” you say, beaming, letting him pull you closer. “Think they’d have cloned me you if I’d asked for it.”

Dragging his knuckles down your cheek, he’s unable to stop the way it flares up in him—that joy, that ember of happiness—when you smile.

“Because I don’t think I find the idea of being yours that terrible—”

“That so?”

Shaking your head, fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt, he watches your smile falter—just for a moment. “Don’t do this, if you’re going to up and leave again, Javi. Because I’d have died happily not telling you what I feel for you.”

“Not doing it again to you.”

“Okay. Then,” you sigh, sliding your arms around his neck, his hands finding a home on your waist. “Well, I guess I should tell you that I really like your moustache.”

“Just really like?” he teases, swaying you as you purse your lips together.

“Fine. I love it.”

Smiling, walking you back until your back meets the wooden railings. “I love that you love it.”

Rolling your eyes, forehead meeting his chest, he feels the laugh roll through you. Rumbling.

“You owe me flowers.”

Snorting, he rests his chin on your head. “I’ll buy you a field, Flor.”

“That’s a good start.”

Thought so, he thinks. Wrapping his arms around you, keeping your head against him, rocking you, like he's wished to do so many times before now.

Home now feeling right.

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charlieleclerc16 · 4 months

Text

A game of UNO*

Summary: Charles and Y/N play a game of strip UNO. The rules are of course made up by Charles himself.

Pairing: bestfriend!Charles x reader

Word count: 4K

Warnings: No actual smut, as in P in V. Just a LOT of tension and ofc sexual topics such as stripping, making out, boners etc.

A/N: I guess I am now writing for Charles too. This story is originally posted on my other blog, so if it's familiar.. That's why lol. Also, funfact, I actually played a game of UNO with myself to get these cards to be accurate haha

Like they say; as we mature, the relationship matures with us. And so does the friendship between Y/N and Charles. The countless weekends going out to pubs are now spent mostly in the comfort of their own homes playing board games and watching movies. Of course, they liked to go out and drink, and God they still drink quite a lot. But they don’t care for loud music and sweaty people all around them.

Nearly every weekend, when there are no races, they come together and spend time like they always do. Downing a few bottles of white, munching on a delicious charcuterie platter, and just enjoying each other’s company. Today was like no other. Charles perched down in the corner of the comfy sofa and Y/N is getting the glasses ready for the delicious liquid.

“Can we watch The Notebook tonight?” Y/N said as she walked into her living room with two wine glasses and the bottle of white she had been craving all day. Charles simply chuckles and gives her a judgemental look. “What?” She asks him.

“Haven’t we seen that movie like a billion times already?” He laughs. Secretly Charles is a sucker for a good romance movie and Y/N is all too familiar with his preferences. When they were both still in their teen years and just met in school, Y/N had never seen The Notebook before and Charles insisted she needed to see it.

“I mean yes, but you know I love this movie.” Y/N states, remote control in her hand to turn on the movie with a smirk on her face. She lets out a sneaky giggle, getting all comfy against his body stretched out on the sofa. Charles’ strong arm wraps around her body so naturally. His delicious scent immediately relaxing her.

* * * Halfway through the movie, Charles gets bored. Each of them are two glasses of wine in and Charles is just ready for some action. He lifts his body off of the sofa making Y/N whine at the loss of contact. He makes his way to her board game stash. His feet drag across the floor and his hips sway from left to right, dancing his way to the cabinet. She laughs at him, the dork.

“What are you doing?” She questions, he is so cute dancing around your living room with his glass in his hand.

“I am done watching that movie, again. I wanna play a game.” He says with a mischievous smirk across his face. The little twinkle in his eyes tells her he really is up to no good. He opens the top drawer of the board game cabinet and pushes around some of the stuff in there.

“Ah! There it is.” Charles chuckles. He turns around holding the pack of UNO in his right hand. He brings it back over to the coffee table and opens up the little box as he sits down on the floor.

“You don’t want to watch a movie we’ve seen a billion times yet you do want to play a game we have played a billion times?” She questions Charles, although she has a feeling that there’s a catch. The look on his face tells her he is not about to propose a simple game of UNO.

“See, you got that wrong baby.” The smirk on his face is only growing bigger and bigger. “There's a twist.” The scared look on Y/N’s face is priceless to Charles. She grabs the remote control to press pause, putting all her attention on the man in front of her.

“How about we add some spicy rules to the game?” The room falls silent aside from the heavy breathing escaping her lips.

“What do you mean, Charles?” She whispers.

“I think you know exactly what I mean.” He says as he starts shuffling the cards. “Okay so, since it’s just the two of us, we shouldn’t’ make too many additions. How about every time you can match a numbered card or wild card with the most recently played card, the other person has to take off one clothing item.” His gaze never leaves her eyes. He starts dealing the cards as if he expects her to just go along with his plan. “Let’s also say for every +2 played, the other person also has to take off one item instead of drawing two cards.” And that’s how the rules are played out.

“I don’t know, Charles.” She says looking down at the cards as she picks them up in her hand one by one. Her first card is a yellow 1. She looks at the second card before she adds it to her hand, a red reverse card. The third card she picks up has her widening her eyes, a yellow +2. She picks up the rest of the cards and she joins Charles on the floor beside the coffee table. She has already decided to play along.

“What if this ruins our friendship?” She asks.

“Then we’ll stop being friends.” Charles chuckles, lust covering his eyes.

“We can’t stop being friends just because of a game of UNO, dummy.”

“What if afterwards, you don’t want to be friends because you want to be more than that.” The flirty smirk on his face is weakening her entire body. Fuck. She’s had the longest crush on the man in front of her. Her whole body is yearning to be close to him. Of course, she wants to be way more than that.

“This would have to be the most seductive game of UNO for that to happen.” She tries to shrug off the nerves in her body. Not really doing a great job at just that.

“Shut up and play your first card.”

Charles flips over the top card of the deck. A green 1 lying flat on the table. She takes a look at the cards in her hand. There’s no green so she decides on a yellow 1. She places down the card and a hissing sound coming from Charles’ lips pulls her attention to his eyes. The look on his face looks like pure mischief. His long fingers drag through his cards. He pinches one of them in between his thumb and pointer finger with a big smirk on his lips. God, he looks so kissable.

She takes a big chug from her glass. Charles slams down his card, showing the yellow 1 matching your card perfectly.

“I would’ve never guessed I’d be getting you out of your clothes so quickly.” His voice was low and husky. Her wine glass barely touches the table before she brings it back to her lips for another chug making Charles chuckle at her nerves.

She thinks for a second before she hooks her fingers on the welt of her right sock. Her knees press into her chest and she takes both socks off, one by one.

“Hold on, this isn’t fair. You’re wearing more clothes than I am.” Charles states as she see his brain calculating. They’re both wearing socks, jeans and a T-shirt. But Charles refers to what’s underneath that. Suddenly she feel thankful for deciding on wearing a bra today, because that’s not a given for every day.

“Well, I guess that’s just my advantage of being forced to strip for you.” She shrugs.

“I did not force you.” He pouts making her giggle. She looks at the table to check back in with the card that’s last been played before diving back into her cards. She can’t help but let the slightest smirk appear on her lips before she plays the yellow +2 in her hands.

“Fuck.” Charles laughed. “Off with the socks we go.” He continues as he takes both of them off in a swift motion. He adds them to where her socks are piled up together.

Charles looks in his cards. There is a red +2 in his hand which he could just play right now but he decides to keep that one in his hand for a little longer. Instead, he pulls out a yellow 5.

Y/N sighs, feeling relieved that she doesn’t have to get rid of any more clothes right now. The anxious yet thrilling feeling is riling her up. She have never felt any excitement like this before. Charles and Y/N have been friends since forever and she has had the biggest crush on him for nearly as long. Her eyes always lingered a bit too long when they went to swimming together and he was in just his swimming trunks. Or the goosebumps his touch left on her skin as his fingers danced along her arm as a small sign of affection. Friendly affection, but it still made her feel all sorts of ways.

Both of them play a couple of cards before Charles has a big smirk plastered across his face again. Uh oh. His fingers stride along his cards again before he picks one. He places a red 7 on top of your blue 7.

“Wouldn’t it be fun if your seven was blue too?” He says as he scooches a bit closer, their legs now touching.

“Stooop, you make me nervous.” She blushes.

“Don’t be. It’s just me.” Charles reassures her and wraps his empty hand around her ankle. His thumb moves in soft strokes up and down. She knows he tries to calm her down but every stroke of his thumb is sent straight to her clit.

Y/N plays a red reverse card. Allowing her to play another card since it’s a two-player game of UNO. She’s all out of red so she draws a card, a red 4. She places it down and look back up to Charles who still has his hand on her ankle.

“Isn’t that fortunate?” Charles teases.

“Just from you saying that, I know there’s nothing fortunate about it for me.” She mumbles as she frightens the next card that he will put on the table.

Charles has a twinkle in his eyes looking at the card in his hand. The red +2 is going to get rid of her first clothing item that’ll actually reveal some skin. Charles too had been pining over her for years. He started loving her in a bit more than just a friendly kind of way around the age of 16. Now 10 years later, nothing had changed. Both of them had been dating people, trying to distract themselves from the massive crushes on each other. But at the end of the day, they always came back to each other.

He finally places his card down, an excited look on his face. But she quickly takes her green +2 and smack it down on the table.

“Hah!” She yelps. “That makes two items for you to be gone!”

“Nah-ah, baby. Haven’t you read the rules before?” He states. “We both have to get rid of one item.” Charles smirks. Mr know it all, why does he know all rules of UNO? Probably because they have played it so many times.

“+2 plus +2 equals drawing four cards. Simple.” She argues but Charles already pulled out the rules from the box. He reads out the bit about how when your opponent plays a +2 card, you have to draw two cards and afterwards may continue your turn. Y/N is kind of sad that Charles isn’t going to get rid of both his jeans AND t-shirt.

Charles takes hold of the hem of his shirt with both his arms crossed before he drags the fabric over his head. In the meantime, she stands up to unbutton her jeans. She gets distracted by the beautiful sight in front of her. His abs are gorgeously on display his toned skin is like a piece of art. Charles had always been hot. But the more he started driving, the more he started working out. And damn did it do wonders for his body.

“What are you doing?” Charles asks as he throws his shirt on top of both of their socks. He softly chuckles at her eyes staring down at his torso.

“Ehm, sorry. I was taking off my jeans.” She states, causing Charles to groan. He shakes his head in a disapproving way. “What?” She asks him.

“Should’ve just taken off your shirt like I did.” He mumbles before he picks up his cards from the table. His eyes go from the discard pile on the table to the cards in his hand. There are no more green cards in his hand so he draws a card. Luckily it’s a green one so he places it on the pile.

“Hmpf, nah. I’ll keep my shirt on for a bit longer.” She mumbles softly. Being shirtless always makes her feel so exposed. Her insecurities would peak without a shirt so she’d rather keep it on for as long as possible. Charles notices how she tries to hide herself. His hand finds its place back on her ankle and slowly travels up to her calf, stroking up and down.

“You have no idea how god damn beautiful you are, do you?” He reassures and she tries to shrug it off.

Both of them have a few cards left in hand but none of them are useful. They draw a few cards, and some of them are played immediately. Y/N look at her cards and forges a plan. With a smirk on her face, she plays a wild card allowing her to change the active colour to blue. But she has instant regret when she sees a smirk on Charles’ face that’s even wider than her own.

His fingers pick a card from his hand but before he places it down he tugs it back and picks up another one to play. A simple blue 9 lays down on the table. But the twinkle in his eyes never left.

She sighs and take a big sip of wine to empty her glass. She places her cards down on the table and gets up to grab the bottle of wine in the fridge.

“Cute undies.” Charles coos since her shirt doesn’t reach past her bum.

She comes back with the cold bottle and fills up both of their glasses, emptying the second bottle of the evening. The glasses are a bit full but who cares? She places the bottle down on the coffee table and sits back in her spot.

The plan she made a few minutes ago still works, she plays a blue reverse card allowing her to take another turn since it’s just the two of them playing. Next, she plays a blue skip card to grant her another turn. And last up she plays a plain blue 6. During all three of these cards, the smirk on Charles’ face grew back more comprehensive and she just knows what is coming.

The blue +2 that hits the table was expected, and is followed by a shout of UNO!

“Fuck.” She mumbles and takes a gulp from her glass. “Fine.” She continues before she grabs the hem of her shirt. She drags it out, trying to hold off for as long as possible. But the anticipation is turning Charles on even more. Of course, he has seen her in a bikini before, but this is different. This feels different.

Her shirt is added to the growing pile in front of the sofa. Charles notices how she feels a bit uncomfortable. Her eyes avoid his and she is unsure where to actually look. His hand reaches out for her and slides from her upper arm all the way down to her hand. He holds onto it for a little while, squeezing ever so softly.

“You really are the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.” He reassures her by giving her the exact confidence boost she needed.

After Y/N plays her second to last card, Charles is able to finish the game by playing his very last card. Leaving him in his jeans and boxers and her in just her bra and panties.

“Let’s go for another round.” She states and already starts collecting all cards to shuffle them. Charles chuckles at her newly gained confidence. He is so ready to play a second round.

She deals the cards, places the deck back on the table, and flip over the top card of the deck. A yellow 4 is laying on the table.

“Since I won last round, you may start this one."

She places down a green 4 on top of the yellow one on the table. A simple but steady start, she thinks.

“Oh shit.” Charles says and places down the green 4 he already had in his hand, ready to play. “I’m so sorry, baby. You don’t have to…” He adds, suddenly getting nervous at the realization he is finally going to see her topless after years of wondering and imagining what she’d look like underneath.

“The game’s the game.” She states and lets her hand travel to her back to unclasp her bra. Charles gulped, feeling more nervous than he ever had before in his life. His heart was pounding as he looked into her eyes and saw the unmistakable desire there. He had no idea what she is thinking but he is fascinated by her daringness.

He watches as she pushes the straps of her bra off of her shoulders and drops the garment to the ground. She lets out a deep sigh of pleasure as her breasts become the focus of his attention, and the look in his eyes tells her he wants her just as much as she wants him.

She feels incredibly sexy and alluring. For a brief moment, their eyes meet. She feels a strange and wonderful stirring in her stomach. Her cheeks flush, and she quickly looks away. At that moment, she just knows that she is in trouble.

Without saying anything, she swiftly moves on with the game by placing down her green 8. Charles can’t seem to keep his eyes away from her for too long, giving her an enormous confidence boost.

Both of them place down a few more cards before she places down her Wild Draw 4 card and change the colour to blue. Charles draws his four cards and takes a good look at his cards. He’s having a hard time focusing on the game with the gorgeous sight in front of him.

He places down two cards in one go, a blue skip causing him to have a second turn, and a blue 5.

She places down her blue 8 and shout UNO! Charles looks through his cards again to find any card that may cause her to not finish the game. A Wild Draw 4, a +2, anything at all. But all he has is a blue 2.

“Oh my god, Charles. What are the odds.” She chuckles.

“What do you mean?”

She places down a blue 2 on top of his. She’s been waiting for this moment ever since he took his shirt off. Her thoughts have been flooded with the idea of him naked in front of her. It’s all she’s been thinking about for the past years.

“Fuck. You win the game and I have to take off my jeans?” He laughs. Without another word, he gets up, unbuttons his jeans and zips down his fly. His thumbs hook into the waistband of his jeans to pull them down painfully slow. A soft sign, nearly a moan is heard when his bulge is released from his tight pants. Ever since she had to get rid of her shirt Charles’ cock started hardening beneath him.

She gasps at the view in front of her. She makes it her mission to get him out of his boxers as soon as possible. The lust in her eyes is inevitable, not knowing where to look. His eyes? His hands, where he is pushing down his jeans? Or his bulge, which is honestly where she just wants to keep looking at.

Tension is rising and she can’t wait for him to add the last bit of his clothes to the growing pile. His jeans finally drop to the floor and he lifts his right foot trying to step out. His ankle gets stuck and she reaches out instinctively to hold the jeans down, helping him get out. She allows him to step out before she adds the denim to the pile of clothes.

Charles sits back down close to her. Both their legs touch again but now there is no fabric in between holding back the skin to skin contact. She looks down at where her legs touch and look back up to him.

“Hi.” He says with a soft smile across his lips. God those lips, they have never looked more kissable. Or is it just her mind playing games? Her thoughts are all over the place. All she wants is to just push him over, straddle him and kiss him. Everywhere.

“Hey.” She chuckles before a nervous laugh is heard from Charles’ side. Her eyes drop down to his boxers. He chose to wear navy blue Calvin Klein’s this morning and she is so thankful for his choice. The dark fabric accentuates his skin perfectly. An outline visible around his growing member.

“Eyes up here, baby.” He snorted as if he isn’t having the hardest time keeping his own eyes away from her tits.

“Sorry.” She whispers before Charles holds out his hand for her to grab. His thumb dances on the back of your hand. Both of them are quiet for a little bit as they soak up each other.

After what feels forever but actually are only 1,5 minutes, Y/N speaks up.

“Charles? What are we doing?” She questions him, still holding onto him as she looks their connected hands.

“Hmm, I don’t know actually.” He replies. His free hand reaches with his forefinger for her chin and pushes her face up so she’d have to look in his eyes. “All I know is that I want you. So, fucking, bad.”

Her eyes light up. She can’t believe he really admitted what he just said and without a second thought she gives in to her desire of just a few minutes ago.

Y/N lets go of Charles’ hand and pushes him onto the floor by his shoulders. Simultaneously she climbs on top of him, causing a muted “oh” to fall from his lips. He is surprised by her actions and honestly, so is she. His hands grab her by her hips as she sits down on his stomach, avoiding contact with his aching cock.

Their lips finally connect. Ten long years are coming together in this sweet and lustful kiss. Charles’ right hand travels up and down her side as his left nestles into her hair. The two of them sink into the living room floor, both desperate for the connection they have been longing for.

His opens his mouth and gently sucks Y/N’s lip between his. He lets go after a few seconds and licks softly over her bottom lip. Her heart races as her spine arches under his touch causing him to naturally pull her closer. She opens her mouth to allow her tongue to join his, going back and forth.

She moans with pleasure and their tongues intertwine even more vigorously, entangling with one another in a desperate search for more pleasure. Each movement they make is somehow more tantalizing than the last. Their hands exploring each other's body with a deep hunger for more.

Y/N wishes this moment would last forever. She is scared of what might happens next, what if this is just a heat of the moment kind of kiss and they really can’t go back to being just friends. Or maybe that is exactly what Charles meant with his ‘Then we’ll just stop being friends’.

Charles’ hand roams down her back. He moans a bit louder when he finally touches her bum. She feels a firm squeeze on her left cheek, ripping a moan from her throat. Y/N bucks her hips instinctively at the sweet tingles in her core.

Their lips part for a second and she presses her forehead against his. Both of them are a panting mess, feeling completely out of this world. With Charles’ hand still squeezing her bottom he speaks up.

“How about we take this to the bedroom, baby?” He whispers.

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vivwritesfics · 3 months

Text

Set The World On Fire

Chapter Eighteen

Lando Norris had been incredibly angry when they met. Incredibly angry, but sweet enough to help her. Turns out he just needed somebody to talk to, somebody to be there for him.

He was easy to fall for, and that put her in a world of danger

Mafia AU

1.6K

Series Masterlist

This one has discrepancies to the original fic. In the original, Lando doesn't realise that his sister is missing until the morning Carlos arrives. This is not the case here.

Nobody in the Norris house slept that night. The staff were running around, checking the doors and windows, checking the security cameras, and resetting the alarms. The house was so incredibly tense.

Lando wouldn't let her out of his sight. He held her in his office, kept her in his lap as men came to him with what footage they could find. She was on his lap, his gun in the waistband of her pyjamas.

"I've got you," he whispered, his thumb swiping across her cheek and wiping away her tears.

"I know." Her head away on his shoulder, face pressed into his neck. Her body still shook as she let her tears fall.

When there was a knock at his office door, she still, stiffening against him. Lando let his hand travel down her back, towards the gun in the waistband of her pyjamas.

"It's me," called Max (Fewtrell).

Lando moved his hand away from the gun and released a breath. "Come in," he called and kissed the top of her head as Max walked into the office.

Max didn't look at her as he walked into the office. Good, Lando couldn't help but think as he squeezed his arms around her. "Tell me you've found something," he said as Max approached the desk.

He shook his head as he threw down the stack of papers. "Nothing," he answered. "Whoever they are, they must have done this sort of thing before. They got through the alarm system as if they knew the passwords."

"Were they the same people that attacked a few months ago?" Lando hardly registered it as he lifted her head from his shoulder to look at the papers on the desk.

Pictures of the van she had been thrown into sat on the top stack of papers. And there she was, being thrown into the back. Lando took the picture from her hands and placed it face down on the table. "Don't, baby," he whispered and pulled her hand up to kiss it.

"No," she said and reached for it again. "I wanna see."

No faces could be seen beneath the black ski masks, but their builds were visible. She was visible, too. Gagged and bound, on the floor of the van. It was enough to have bile rising in her throat.

Putting the picture back down, she shut her eyes and pressed her face against his neck.

Told you. It was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. His fingers danced up her spine, but that wasn't what had her shivering.

Lando turned his attention to Max. "Contact the guy on our payroll, see if he can find anything out," he said, dismissing him.

Max said nothing as he backed out of the office and shut the door behind him.

Lando's lips were against her her cheek in an instant. "You should get some sleep, baby," he whispered, fingers still dancing across her back. It was so damn soothing, but she was as stiff as a board, fingers still gripping his shirt. "I'll take you to the bed."

She only gripped him tighter. "No!" She cried. "Lando, I'm not going back into that room."

A sigh left his lips, but he couldn't argue with her. "Okay," he whispered and squeezed her. Softly he hummed. Lando didn't often hum, but it was something she needed in that moment. "I love you," he whispered.

It didn't take long for her to fall asleep against him. Lando was just so damn warm against her and his humming was helping to keep her mind off of things. She didn't dream that night, and her sleep only last for a couple of hours.

Lando didn't sleep, not while she was laying against him. Constantly he was whispering to her, reassuring words of love. Whether she heard any of it was another story.

Four hours later, somebody was knocking at the door. Lando reached around her to check the front door feed on his computer.

"Fuck."

Her head lifted from his shoulder. "Lan?" She whispered as she wiped at her eyes and reached up to touch his cheek. "What's up?"

He sucked in a deep breath. "My brother in law is here."

*** (This will be very different to the original scene in nnta)

From the top of the stairs, she watched as Lando pulled open the front door. He was still in the suit he had been wearing the night before, looking dishevelled and sleepless.

He'd seen how excited Carlos looked through the cameras, and it filled him with terror. "Oh," Carlos said upon seeing Lando standing at the door.

"Carlos," Lando said, stepping to the side to let Carlos (and Oscar) into the house.

Carlos quickly looked around the house. Any minute now and his wife was going to come running down the stairs, he knew. He caught sight of Lando's girl at the top of the stairs, looking so damn afraid.

"Carlos-"

But his wife wasn't running down the stairs. Why the hell wasn't she running down the stairs? Maybe she was still asleep in her childhood bedroom, hand cradling her bump as she rested.

"Go and get her, Lando," Carlos said as he sat down.

"Carlos, she's not here."

Lando's hand was beneath his suit jacket, ready to reach for his gun. Carlos let his face settle in a deep frown as he stared at his brother in law. "Be very careful with what you say to me next."

Lando explained it.

Suddenly Carlos had a hold of him. He had his shirt collar in his hands as he pushed Lando up against the wall. "YOU SON OF A BITCH!" He roared. "SHE'S GONE AND IT'S BECAUSE OF YOU!"

"Carlos!" Lando pushed him back and Carlos let go of him, head falling into his hands. "They tried to take my girl, too."

"Tried," Carlos spat. "They should have."

From the top of the stairs, she watched. They should have. Yeah, because if they'd taken her, Lando's sister might have had a chance at being safe.

Suddenly, someone was sitting behind her. A hand touched her shoulder and her body jolted with fear.

"Sorry," said the person sitting beside her. She turned her head slightly to see the man that had rushed up the stairs just a few minutes ago. "Carlos doesn't mean what's he's saying. He just wants to know that his wife is safe."

She gave a nod. "I get that," she mumbled, head resting against the post.

"I'm Oscar."

Suddenly, she perked up. "Oscar? Lando's friend? The one who went to Spain?"

He gave a nod and, under any other circumstances, he would have been smiling. But his best friend, the girl he had been in love with at one point, was missing. "You must be Lando's girl."

Lando's girl.

Nobody had ever called her that before. Warmth blossomed in her chest at that as she looked at him at the bottom of the stairs. "Yeah," she mumbled, "That's me."

***

For four days Carlos and Oscar were in the house, trying to find any sign of the pregnant Mrs Sainz. But nothing was coming up and the three men were about to go out of their minds.

Lando let his forehead hit hers. "Fuck," he choked as she moved her fingers through his hair. He leaned in and pressed his lips against her own for only a second. His hands squeezed her, as if making sure she was really there.

"You guys are gonna find her," she whispered, but the words felt so damn wrong on her tongue.

A sigh left his lips, eyes falling shut. They would find her, he knew they would. He just didn't know what stare they would find her in, and that was so damn terrifying.

It could have been you. But Lando didn't say that. He kissed her shoulder. "C'mon, Baby," he mumbled and pulled her out of the kitchen. There was no way he was leaving her alone after this. She was never leaving his sight after this.

The moment she was sitting down, Carlos Sainz sat beside her. She swallowed as she looked at him. "I'm sorry," she said, the rest of the words getting stuck on her tongue. She cleared her throat, ready to force them out. "About your wife."

Carlos was simply glaring across the room, glaring at Lando. "He can't keep you safe," he spat. "He couldn't keep his own sister protected, what makes you think he could keep you safe?"

On the fourth day, Carlos Sainz got a text notification. He'd been getting them since he found out his wife was missing, but that was just his men informing him that she hadn't been found. It was a wonder he hadn't yet broken his phone with how angry he was.

This notification, though, was from an unknown number. There was a mixture of fear and anticipation.

Carlos opened the video that had been sent to him. The minute the deep breathing started, Lando and Oscar gathered behind him, watched the video over his shoulder.

It was hard to make out what he was seeing at first, the video too dark, the person not in focus. But then the person holding the camera adjusted it and the view of the person became clearer.

Carlos's eyes went wide.

"Hello, Sainz. I believe I have something that belongs to you."

If you enjoyed this, please feel free to buy me a coffee

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coriphallus · 1 year

Text

The Dark Urge thoughts (and prayers)

anyone whos been following me knows im absolutely not normal about durge and i wanna share some tidbits that are implied, but not necessarily canonised, from their story;

I already made a post about it but it seems like bhaal has a degree of control over whether they live or die. he can deny them death, if they fail the duel with orin.

bhaal can command the slayer. he forces orin to transform if you talk to her about sarevok and the scene makes it clear that its against her will.

bhaal manipulates his kin in a subtler way. in the colony you can find a letter from old durge thats apologising to his father for 'liking' gortash. you can interpret their relationship as something deeper but even if it wasnt, this reads to me as terrified and desperate.

the reason being, if you have a LI in act 2 you get the famous bondage scene. coupled up with the letter above makes me think this is a pattern. bhaal can use their feelings against them. he did it with sarevok and orin's mother, orin's mother and orin, etc... it's not as straightforward as 'if you disobey ill kill the one you love'. you will. durge will.

bhaal is testing them in act 2, he revels in chaos, sure, but in the grand scheme of things he doesn't care about isobel. even if you tell scel that you'll kill her you're told that youre too late, you ignored your urges. from durge, bhaal doesn't expect calm calculated murder, he expects blind obedience. failing to receive that his first punishment is to take away something they cherish. there are no half measures, theres no bargaining with a god.

we get so many snippets of information that this has happened before, their foster family being their first victims. theyre made to kill their support system with their own hands, with no one to blame but themselves. they are actually apologising to their father for being fond of gortash because (in my humble opinion) theyre genuinely afraid.

how many times could this have happened, how many nights durge couldve woken up covered in the blood of someone they love until they gave in, became daddys obedient puppet?

durge is groomed for murder. scel says 'you always failed to conduct yourself without me' and given who he is i dont think hes talking about table manners when he says 'conduct'. durge needs 24/7 oversight to set themselves right lest they get tempted by softer things. lest they dare to step away from bhaals grand plan.

durge do have a choice. just as shadowheart had a choice, just as wyll or astarion had a choice. its a choice only in name.

theres no ending besides refusing bhaal that their friends and LI wont die by their hands. the entire lore of bhaalspawn is that theyre meant to conquer the world in his name and slit their own throat a top the mountain of corpses. as cazador aptly put, 'theyre made to be consumed.'

you can pray to bhaal and the narrator says he won't accept [any offering] but the entire world.

durge (and bhaalspawn) do get some sort of euphoria from murder. they crave it like an addict, but bhaalspawn (on prev games) don't constantly have to grapple with these urges as durge does.

now durge is a slightly special case but not in a good way. its implied that theyre not like a regular bhaalspawn, that theyre made by bhaal directly -so to speak-. which is to say, if youre playing a drow, they are bhaals closest approximation of a drow rather than a drow flesh and blood.

thats why theyre fighting tooth and nail against these urges every step of the way, they are literally bhaal himself(in essence). the personality they develop, the person who calls themselves 'tainted' and 'wretched', the character thats making choices throughout the game, theyre the tumour.

theirs is the story of cycle of abuse cranked up to 1000 and it is in parallel to all other origin companions.

#bg3 #durge #the dark urge #dark urge #DU #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 #personal

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sturniluvr · 4 months

Text

meet my girlfriend

Matt sturniolo x fem!reader

word count: 2,294

warnings: couple spelling mistakes, a couple swear words, lots of fluff (a bit cheesy😅), italics = flashbacks

summary: Matt and childhood friend Y/N announce their relationship on his personal channel.

A/N: Matt is 18 in this fic and reader is 17 as said in fic!

❗️semi proof read❗️

Matt sets up the camera on the dashboard, his best friend of 12 years and girlfriend of 2 years in the car seat next to him. Matt hears Y/N let out a sigh, he looked to his side and saw Y/N looking nervous.

“It’ll be fine my love. The fans already love you, announcing that you're my girlfriend won’t change that, I promise.” Matt says, grabbing her hand and rubbing his thumb across her knuckles in a comforting manner. “We don’t have to tell the fans if you don’t want to darling. It’s completely up to you.” He added on as he lifts her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“No, I want to do it. Just some silly nerves that’s all.” She replied, intertwining their hands and smiling at Matt.

“You ready?” He asks.

“Yeah, press record.”

Matt hits record and started to talk to the camera, his hand still intertwined with Y/N’s.

“Hey guys, welcome to my personal channel, where I will be posting content without Nick and Chris. I won’t post as often on here, but I will try my best.” Matt starts with a little laugh before continuing.

“For my first video on this channel, as you could probably guess by the title, I’m going to introduce you to my girlfriend, she’s a girl that many of you will be familiar with and if not then she’s about to introduce herself.” He added on, Matt gestures for Y/N to introduce herself, she gives a little wave and smile to the camera.

“Hi everyone, most of you already know me but for those of you who don’t, hi, my name is Y/N and as Matt said, I am his girlfriend. I’m 17 years old, unfortunately I’m still in high school unlike Matthew here” she points to Matt and he lets out a little laugh at her dislike for high school before she carried on introducing herself.

“I just started my senior year, and like the triplets, I am from originally from Boston and I have known the triplets since I was in second grade and they were in third grade I think, is that right?” She looked over to Matt for confirmation to which he nodded.

“Yep. She’s been in our lives since we were 8 and she was 7. She’s known us longer than Trevor!” He jokes, the couple chuckled together at his random fact.

“Anyway, today, in honour of announcing our relationship, we’ve decided to answer some questions. I posted a question box on my Instagram story and we’re just going to scroll through and answer some of them.” Matt states.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened up Instagram and clicked on his story to see the questions. He read out the first question.

“Okay, first question is ‘how did you guys meet?’ you wanna answer it Y/N/N?” she nodded before answering.

“So, I actually met Nick first out of the triplets, mine and Nick’s science classes got merged one day because my teacher was sick and me and Nick got paired for a project together. Me and Nick became friends and one day he invited me to his house after school, and that’s how I met Matt and Chris, and we were all inseparable ever since. I constantly got them mixed up until they were about 14.” she replies, Matt and Y/N both smiling at the memory of how many times she got the triplets mixed up. Matt handed his phone to Y/N to read out the next question.

“Okay next question is ‘who made the first move?’ Matt surprisingly, made the first move, I’ll let him tell the story of how it happened.”

“So, it’s a pretty cliche story, but we were at a party for our high school’s sports teams and cheerleaders which we both had to be at since she’s a cheerleader and I was on the lacrosse team. Me, Chris, Nick, Y/N and a few other people were playing spin the bottle and it was my turn to spin and it landed on Y/N. At this point I’d had a crush on Y/N since we were in middle school, but I just never ‘had the balls to do anything about it’ as Chris would always say to me.” He rolls his eyes, remembering all the times Chris had tried to get Matt to tell Y/N how he felt. He carried on telling the story.

“So obviously, me and Y/N kissed and then the day after at school, I left a note in her locker asking her out on a date, obviously, she said yes to the date and low and behold, 2 years later, here we are. Pretty cheesy but, hey, what can you do about a man in love?” He shrugged his shoulders with a small smirk on his face.

“Fun fact, I still have the note to this day.” Y/N stated proudly, looking at the camera. Matt looked over at her shocked.

“You do?” He asked, looking at his girl in pure adoration. She looked at Matt and nodded her head, smiling at him. She handed him his phone back so he could read the next question.

“Okay, next question ‘what are you lockscreens on your phones? and what is the story behind them if there is one’”

Y/N pulled out her own phone and Matt locked his so that he was ready to show his lockscreen. She turned her phone around and showed her lockscreen. (a/n: pretend it’s Matt😭)

“Mine is a picture of Matt from a couple weeks ago. Me and the triplets went to the safari park, and I got this picture of Matt looking at the map and trying to figure out where one of the rides were and thought it was cute.” she smiled at her lockscreen before turning off her phone.

*flashback to safari park*

Y/N giggled as Matt looked at the map in his hands, confusion evident on his face. The four of them were stood in the middle of the path, Matt trying to figure out how to get to the log flume.

“Matt c’mon mannnn” Chris complained. Nick rolled his eyes at his younger brother.

“Baby, do you need help?” Y/N asked. Matt shook his head.

“Really? Cause you’ve been looking at the map longer than Nick was looking at the elephants.” she chuckled, and Chris laughed along with her, Nick had spent ten minutes staring at the elephants earlier that day. She walked over to him and looked at the map, trying to help him.

“I got it, I got it, gimme a second.” Matt said. Another minute passed of Matt looking at the map, looking adorably confused with a little smile on his face, Y/N thought he looked absolutely adorable and quickly took a picture before Matt laughed to himself and smiled as he looked at his brothers and girlfriend.

“I got it! It’s this way.” he pointed in the direction of the log flume, and they all made their way to the ride.

*end of flashback*

Matt turned on his phone and showed his lockscreen to the camera. (a/n: again, pretend it’s y/n and Matt😭)

“Mine is a picture that Nick took of us in the car about a month or so ago. We were going on our annual family trip and as always, Y/N came along with us, and we were parked at the gas station and I noticed Y/N had fell asleep on me and Nick saw and took a picture of us and sent it to me and it’s one of my favourite photos ever” Matt spoke.

*flashback to the family trip*

Y/N and Matt were currently sat in the very back on the car with Nick. Chris, Trevor and Justin sat in front of them, and Marylou and Jimmy were sat in the front seats. They were parked at a gas station filling up the car and Y/N was falling asleep with her head in Matt’s lap, sharing headphones with him and Nick was sat on his phone.

“You tired baby?” Matt whispered, looking down at the sleepy girl in his lap. She let out an incoherent mumbled reply.

“Look at this TikTok!” Chris said loudly, turning around to face Matt and Nick. Matt shushed him.

“Y/N’s asleep Chris be quiet!”

“Shit! sorry, look at this TikTok though” Chris repeated, much quieter. The boys collectively laughed quietly at the TikTok he’d shown them, Chris turned back around and showed Justin the same TikTok.

Matt moved a piece of hair out of Y/N’s face, smiling at his sleeping girl. Matt was unaware of Nick looking at the couple with a soft smile of his own on his face, he’d always been their biggest supporter ever since they told him about their relationship. Nick quickly opened his camera on his phone and snapped a picture of the couple and immediately sent it to Matt, the younger brother opened the message and a grin automatically grew on his face.

“Thanks man, I love this photo” Matt spoke as he set the picture as his wallpaper and sending it to Y/N, so she also had a copy of the photo. Nick smiled.

“Of course, I’m your personal photographer.” He joked and the brothers softly laughed before going back to doing their own thing waiting for Jimmy to get back in the car after filling it up.

*end of flashback*

Y/N put her phone back in her pocket and Matt passed her his phone to read the next question.

“Aww this one is cute ‘what is your favourite memory with one another?’ I love this question” she smiled.

“my favourite memory with Matt is probably last Christmas when Matt woke me up around 4 in the morning because it was snowing so much and he just couldn’t wait to go build a snowman, this kid literally had a jacket and coat and my shoes ready for me and just woke me up.” They both started laughing at the memory from last Christmas and Matt hit his head on the steering wheel as he leaned forward laughing, causing Y/N to laugh even more as Matt held his head in his hand.

“Laughing at my pain, I see how it is missy.” Matt exclaimed, he reached over the center console of his car and started tickling her sides causing the younger girl to yelp out and tears started streaming down her face as he continued to tickle her.

“Okay I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Y/N shouted, out of breath, softly chuckling as she held her hands up in surrender. She passed Matt’s phone back to him.

The couple continued to answer questions and laugh with each other replaying memories from as early as their childhood to as recent as last week.

“Okay, final question, this was asked by quite a few people ‘what is your favourite thing about each other?’ We’ll do one physical aspect and then one personality trait, okay?” Matt spoke and Y/N nodded in agreement before Matt continued.

“My favourite physical thing about Y/N has gotta be her freckles, I’ll admit that I have caught myself counting the freckles on her face before while she’s been asleep” he admitted with a slight blush creeping up on his cheeks.

“My favourite thing about her personality wise is how persistent she is. I’ve seen her get into heated debates with Nick over the most random things and most of the time she’ll win, and I could honestly sit there for hours watching them argue back and forth, it’s so funny” Matt adds with a laugh and he smiles in Y/N’s direction.

“It’s true, I’ll never let up if I think my opinion is right.” She said laughing with him. “Anyway, my favourite physical thing about Matt is probably his smile, his has got to be my favourite smile ever!” She said proudly, the blue eyed boy next to her stared at her with a soft expression and a wide smile on his face as she carried on talking.

“My favourite personality trait of Matt’s is how attentive and kind hearted he is, like I remember before he made this channel, we were sat on the couch together and he said he wanted to make this channel to help people who may be struggling with mental health like him and to make it a safe space for everyone. And he’s just such a genuinely great guy and nowadays, that’s pretty hard to come by and I couldn’t be more thankful for him. I can confidently say, I can see Matt being the guy I marry when I’m older.” she finished talking. He smiled at her for what felt like the millionth time this video, his cheeks started to hurt from how much she made him smile.

“I love you baby” Matt spoke, planting a kiss on her cheek, her cheeks flushed.

“I love you too Matt. So much.” She replied, smiling at the boy she’d been in love with for as long as she could remember.

“I hope you enjoyed this video guys, we both enjoyed filming it. We love you. Stay happy and stay smiling.” Matt smiled at the camera and Y/N blew a kiss to the camera before he stopped recording. He put the camera down and looked over to Y/N

“Did you mean that baby? About me being the guy you’d marry?” He asked her, his eyes full of love. She nodded with a smile on her face.

“Of course, my love. You’re the best person I’ve ever known. You’re my person” she replied.

He stretched over the center console and placed a kiss on her lips, both of them smiling into the kiss.

“You’re my person too darling. I’ll marry you one day I promise.”

And he did.

They got married a few years later.

A/N: Lowkey was inspired by @imwetforyourmom one shot that was like this. Hope you don’t mind me stealing your idea ahah🫶🏻😅

594 notes · View notes

earthtooz · 2 years

Text

x : BETWEEN LOVE AND LIES :*+ﾟ

in which: you thought nagi was dating you for media reputation... so why does this relationship feel suspiciously real?

warnings: 11.9k words, pro-soccer player!nagi x physiotherapist!gn!reader, reader has hair, lots of food, not at all a realistic story but that's okay pls don't come for me, SLOOWWWWBURN, fake-dating au, reader is oblivious :<

a/n: goodness. if this flops i will cry bc i spent way too long this for it to be healthy for me. enjoy !

↳ 5K EVENT MASTERLIST ༉‧₊

nagi approaches you the day after his name goes viral.

you weren’t doing anything spectacular, merely putting away all the kits and equipment you’d used for the day when the white-haired soccer player approaches you, his hands in his pockets, strolling over to you as he would on any occasion.

your heart races- as it does whenever he’s around, regardless of said occasion, but what tumbles out of his mouth next was worthy of ceasing your heart rate all together.

“wanna date?”

you’re speechless. malfunctioning as you register what he’s saying. the sheer casualness of it all is alarming and you have to snap yourself back into your physical environment before your mind loses to a universe of questions and doubts.

out of all people who have asked you to date, nagi was definitely the most unique. was he okay in the head? did he come for a check up? did he get one of rin’s kicks to the head? or was he just straight up delusional?

“uhh, why?” you ask, cursing yourself a little for how disgusted you sounded.

fortunately for you, your ungracious tone didn’t phase him, not one bit. “isn’t that what two people do when they like each other?”

yeah, romantically. you don’t even think nagi likes you beyond simply platonic, whereas you have to try and shove your feelings for him down your throat every morning before walking in to the training grounds for blue lock’s official team.

you find yourself agreeing regardless, still a little overwhelmed by everything that was going on.

the soccer player then has the audacity to give you two thumbs up in approval, a dumb smile plastering on that expression of his. this confuses you even more.

“okay cool, so what should we do now that we’re a couple?” he asks.

you glance away, unable to look him in the eye for too long without getting flustered. the various weights and foam rollers still scattered on the floor catches your attention, reminding you of your previous task before nagi came to stir up a storm. “well, i have to put these away amongst various things. you can sit on the couch if you want to pass time?”

“do you need any help?” he questions, already bobbing down to be eye-level with you, ignoring the second half of your statement.

“no it’s fine, thank you though.”

“are you sure?”

“yeah! i don’t want to bother you.”

“well if you do this all by yourself, it’ll take longer, and you take longer, it means i have to wait longer to spend time with you.”

when you turn around to say something, the words die on your throat when you realise just how close he’d come to you during the time you had your back towards him. a flash of hurt crosses his typically emotionless eyes when you instinctively recoil from him, his innocent stare dimishing just a little.

“you know how much i hate waiting. it’s such a pain, so let me help out and you’ll get done faster, right?” his hands are already reaching for some of the foam rollers before you can stop him. with an affectionate sigh, you take it from him, placing it back in its original spot.

“fine,” you say with a smile. “if you insist then would you mind putting the ice packs in the fridge? isagi’s ankle was messing up earlier and chigiri came in for his knee again.”

the white-haired hums before obeying, his footsteps that shuffled along the floor telling you know that he is carrying out his duties that you’ve assigned for him. the way his tracksuit makes a noise every time he walks is distracting, but you can’t help but think how much nagi reminds you of a penguin. the adorableness of it all might just kill you.

if only the internet and ‘#nagi seishiro’ tags knew just how much of a teddy bear that 6’3, legendary prodigy, nagi seishiro was, and how you had to massage him almost everyday after training sessions otherwise he’d come to practise the next day with the resolve of a five year old.

being a junior physiotherapist for the blue lock team, you only took care of a few blue lock athletes as your clients since the team was divided between you and a senior physio. nagi wasn’t one of your assigned athletes, however when you first came to the job, he would come during almost closing times (when you had no one booked) and ask for a massage, even if he had his own physiotherapist to request that of. however, nagi seemed to always have some sore muscle because his demands for a massage became a daily recurrence.

you just hope whatever is wrong with him gets sorted out soon.

sure athletes are meant to work hard and use their bodies in the field but physio massages were to assist with injuries by minimising the risk of them, fixing the alignment, or help extend any limited range of movement.

whatever. now’s not the time to think too hard about it because you’re about to go on a date with nagi seishiro.

after cleaning up your space so you could prepare to take care of more athletes tomorrow, nagi is sauntering over to you once more. this time, he drapes himself all over you, causing you to stumble a little from how heavy he is. you pray to whoever’s listening that he can’t feel or hear the way your heart races in your chest, threatening to climb up your throat and jump into his hands.

“tired, nagi?” you question, words muffled against his shoulder as you bring your hands to soothingly pat his back.

“yeah,” whines the white-haired. the smile that creeps onto your face is one full of adoration for the man slung over you. “let me take you out.”

“where to?”

“a night market? it’ll be fun.”

“sure.”

at your confirmation, he separates from you with an excited glimmer in his eyes,

after grabbing your bags and setting out, you’re violently flooded by dozens of paparazzi and interviewers who are click their cameras in hopes of catching blue lock’s soccer player who has taken the world by storm. it’s a little overwhelming, but when nagi covers you from the reporters with his arm which had his tracksuit jacket draped over it, you’re thankful for his thoughtfulness, especially when you’re relying on his grip around your waist to pull you in the right direction.

the crowd is shouting a flurry of things, nothing that you can make out amongst the mess of your mind, your heart, and your ears.

it’s not until you decipher someone shouting something about dating rumours with a japanese pop singer, that you piece together his intentions; a loud wakeup call to the reality of your ‘situation’ with nagi.

the possibility that nagi was using this ‘relationship’ for media coverage and acknowledgement was very likely, especially with his recent growth in popularity and social media following- it would be understandable if he wanted to prolong his moment in the spotlight by entering beneficial relationships.

except typically, celebrities would do it with other celebrities.

so what’s the appeal behind using you?

a funny feeling brews in your gut, one that clawed at your chest with a series of disappointment, anxiety, and dismay. it was unbelievable that someone as hot, both literally and figuratively, as nagi would be interested in you; a junior physiotherapist fresh out of university, but you had hoped. his abruptness today and the whole ‘we should date’ ordeal was to dispel the media from his back, not bred from any genuine feelings.

if this was the only chance you got to stand beside nagi and have him hold you like this, so protectively against him, then you were going to take it until fate deemed it over and pulled you away from him itself.

you were young and simply put, nagi could provide the companionship you were looking for.

fortunately, the press left him alone at the parking lot where security guards were standing, two in the booth and one purchased near the gate. you give them a shy greeting and they return it with a bow.

“sorry about that,” nagi mutters, not looking at you even when you turn your head to stare up at him. “i wasn’t expecting paparazzi to be right outside, they’re such a pain.”

“it’s okay, if anything i owe you a thank you for covering me from them,” you huff, stuffing your hands into your pockets, mind still a little frazzled over the memory of how protective nagi was over you. “stuff like this happens when you’re famous, mr soccer hotshot.”

he rubs his neck, looking to the side as his next words tumble out of his mouth: “does that impress you?”

“why wouldn’t it?”

you try not to think too hard about the blush that manifests on his face, pinning it on the colder weather and frostbite rather than your words.

“so… where’s this night market? i didn’t know tokyo had many night markets.”

“just in shibuya.”

“won’t it be busy?”

“yeah,” he shrugs before adding as an afterthought: “does that bother you?”

“no not at all, i just thought you hated big crowds and busy places.”

“‘s won’t be so bad with you there.”

for someone who prefers to keep quiet majority of the time, nagi sure does have a silver tongue. this is probably the third time in the past half an hour that he’s made your stomach flip, and you can’t help but question his intentions. if he was trying to make you actually fall for him to make your relationship look more legitimate then he’d be disappointed to know that you already had, way before he approached you today.

he agrees to drive the way since one: it was easier and two: you could avoid the paparazzi that way.

upon arrival, you’re glad to see that there aren’t too many people in the crowd. since it was a weekday, students would be participating in extra curriculars and businessmen would be only just finishing work. the majority of the people here were older with a few couples here and there.

“oh, they have lemon tea,” nagi mutters, grabbing your hand before unceremoniously dragging you to the stand. his excitement was endearing, especially when all 6’3 of him approaches the lemon tea stand, needing to bend down in order to be seen by the elderly stand owner. a flash of surprise crosses the maker’s face as he makes eye contact with the white-haired.

“two lemon teas please,” requests the soccer player, using his hands to gesture ‘two’ as he fishes out the appropriate amount of money.

“hey, you’re that soccer player, nagi! you scored an awesome goal the other day. mind if i get a picture?” the owner’s gruff voice requests, a cheery smile making its way onto his face.

“oh. sure.”

you take the picture for them, counting down ‘3, 2, 1’ as nagi gives the camera a peace sign and the owner has a wide, bright smile on his face; so bright that you couldn’t help grinning as well. “i’m putting this on my store front. now you want two lemon teas?”

“coming right up!”

“did you just buy me a lemon tea without asking?” you question, a smile appearing on your features as you glance up at your companion.

he meets your eyes, “yeah, ‘s there something wrong with that?”

“no, not at all. i wouldn’t mind some lemon tea right now. i’ll pay you back.”

“don’t worry about that,” nagi cuts you off before you can even reach for your wallet. “everything’s on me.”

“but-”

“-it’s on me.”

the stand owner is handing over two iced cups of lemon before you can continue bickering and nagi hands one over to you with a wordless expression and you’re compelled to take it, though reluctantly.

“are you two a couple?” the owner asks.

nagi nods, “yeah, we are.”

“ah! no wonder. you two look amazing together, you bagged a real gem,” he says to nagi, pointing at you. you laugh it off, flattered.

“i know i did. thanks for the tea, sir.”

“thank you!” you call out to the owner before being dragged away by nagi again, careful not to spill your drink from how much vigour was in his steps. for his one stride, you had to take two.

after going from store to store and blindly following nagi who led the way with his stomach, you’re eventually brought to a less busy, picnic-like area where there were various benches for you to sit on. it was away from the busyness of the main street, but still had lanterns hung around the premise, combating the darkness of the early sunset during colder months.

you take a seat beside him whilst he sets down the variety of food he bought from the merchants, not trying to think too much about the way nagi presses himself closely against you.

“oh, one of my games had a character drop an hour ago,” he absentmindedly comments, opening his phone for the first time since being with you. you catch a glimpse of his dim phone screen, seeing the notification banner from the game he was referring to.

“that’s cool,” you mutter, unsure of what else to say as you take a bite into the red bean taiyaki.

“yeah, he’s a cracked character. been wanting him forever.”

“are you gonna pull? i wanna see him.”

“really?”

when you give him the nod of affirmation, nagi opens the game whilst you continue eating, gentle anticipation hanging in the air as well as a comfortable silence. it doesn’t take long before he’s purchasing special event tokens, going to the special character screen and pressing the ‘draw x10’ option. you peer over his shoulder, trying to resist the urge to rest your chin on it.

you’re snapped out of your reverie when nagi emits a small gasp. “no way.”

“what?” you ask, watching the way his screen lights up in gold which signalled a successful draw. he looks up at you, eyes wide and mouth partially parted. “did you get him?”

“yeah, on the first go,” he says in wonder, a dazed look in his eyes. “that’s never happened before.”

“no way! you’re so lucky!”

nagi’s face erupts into a small smile, and you’re caught off guard all of a sudden when his hands snake around your waist, pulling you up to sit on his lap. the new proximity and abruptness of it all causes your mind to stop for a second, shutting off as nagi peers up at you with stars in his eyes. you want to hide, but his grip around you is too tight, pulling you in to him.

this feels criminal.

“nah, i just think you’re my lucky charm.”

a quiet squeak of ‘is that so?’ is all you can reply with before looking away, trying to distract your rampant thoughts, hoping that the cool breeze will calm the heat creeping up to your face. “so,” you begin, trying to recover yourself from embarrassment. “can i see your characters? all of them?”

“all of them?” nagi repeats and you miss the small look of bliss on his expression.

“yeah.”

“i showed them to you the other week.”

“okay, well show me this new character then.”

“as you wish.”

he talks you through the characters and their tutorials, showing you their special combos and ultimate moves, all whilst you have to feed him the variety of foods he bought whilst dragging you around like a dog and its owner. as he munches on the takoyaki, kebabs, and sweet potato, you realise just how bottomless nagi’s stomach was and the way he hums in satisfaction after each bite was very adorable.

the night fades into a nice memory of laughter, emptied food boxes, and easy conversation. somehow nagi has manoeuvred himself so that his head was now in your lap, snowy hair spread so invitingly as you resist the urge to run your hands through it, wanting to respect any boundaries of his.

every so often you have to remind yourself that this wasn’t real.

reality hits you once more the following morning when you check social media just to see ‘#nagi seishiro’ trending all over again, all talking about the paparazzi photos that were taken yesterday. taking a glimpse for yourself, you hate the way your gut sinks, especially as articles with the title ‘nagi seishiro with a new lover?’ shine in your face.

it only solidifies your speculations about this (fake?) relationship, and despite coming to accept it, growing resentment poisons your system, rendering you incapable and bitter as you let your breakfast grow cold.

at least nagi correctly covered you with his jacket, your face is completely obstructed, only your body is revealed. you thank your lucky stars that you decided to not wear your ‘blue lock’ staff clothes that morning and just opted for your own athletic wear, that way your identity could be hidden at least just a little.

a message from reo captures your attention and you click on it immediately.

reo: is that you with nagi?

you: yeah!

reo: about fucking time. got sick of you two never doing anything.

you: haha 😐thanks reo 😐

reo: did he take you to the night market last night?

you: yeah! it was fun :)

reo: that’s good, nagi’s been waiting forever.

reo: don’t break his heart

you scoff at the irony of reo’s last text, typing something noncommittal before throwing your phone else where.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

the whole team practically knows about you and nagi when you return to work the following monday and the second you enter the building, you’re swarmed by the friendly faces of bachira, isagi, and chigiri, who are seemingly holding a tired nagi hostage. quite an amusing sight. three people, who are roughly a head shorter than the white-haired, restraining a lethargic 6’3 athlete with their bodies.

“are you really dating nagi?” isagi begins before you could even fit in a ‘hello’.

“uh… yeah?” you sound unsure; because you are. a fake relationship is still a relationship, it’s just that one party is more infatuated with the other.

“damn. i didn’t think it was real,” mutters chigiri. “are you sure? he’s not like… paying you to do this, right? you like like him?”

“yes?” you exclaim, a little overwhelmed. “i’m not getting any monetary returns even though i wish i did.” nagi narrows his eyes at you, you poke out your tongue. “please, no more questions, it’s way too early for this.”

“you don’t know how long we’ve been waiting for nagi to ask you out, y/n. even we placed money on him,” reveals isagi but before you could say anything in response, bachira cuts in, practically skipping up to the white-haired.

“finally grew some balls and asked, good job bro!” bachira sings, patting nagi on the back with a violet slap before disappearing.

“see you at practice, nagi!”

the three athletes disappear and you finally exhale after holding in a breath for what felt like ages. what an animated way to start the day.

you hold your breath again when nagi approaches to stop in front of you, a singular coffee cup in his hand; one that he holds out to you.

“good morning, nagi,” you greet.

“hey, i got you coffee.” instinctively, you take the cup from him, immediately warmed up by the heat emanating from it. “i hope it’s still warm. i’ve been waiting for you for a while.”

“you were waiting for me?”

“yeah. wanted to see you before going to training. makes my day less of a bother.”

you smile into your cup, trying to hide the effect that nagi has on you. you were so stupid for him it was insane.

“i’m sorry for making you wait, the trains were a little delayed this morning,” you confess, “but thank you. you’re very thoughtful, nagi.”

his face contorts into an ugly expression, a display of his feelings that are quickly quelled by the feeling of your cold hand grabbing his warm ones. “you take public transport to work?”

“i don’t want to pay for parking and everything. it’s not all bad, i get lovely views and a wake up call every morning.”

the white-haired athlete makes a face of contemplation briefly. “let me pick you up from now on.”

“no, it’s fine. i don’t want to be more of a hassle. i know how much you hate waking up to even just come to work so-”

“-i want to.”

your heart flutters at his insistence and all you can mutter out is a feeble ‘ok’ before slipping your hand out of his. you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to get used to the way nagi seishiro so effortlessly warms your insides; to the point that it becomes an unrecognisable pool of putty.

after a moment, you regain your senses. “you should be going off to practise. don’t make ego mad before the day even starts.”

he groans, “won’t you come and watch? i’ll feel a little better if you’re there.”

“i have my own work to get to but i don’t have many checkups today so if i can, i will.”

“i suppose that’s good enough,” mutters nagi before pulling you in for a loose hug, arms wounding around your waist, breathing you in before stepping back, as if rejuvenated by your touch and presence alone.

“work hard, nagi.”

you go your separate ways, him to the field and you to your office where various coworkers resided.

after a morning of answering emails, going to meetings and consulting the results from various body screenings, you finally have a chunk of time around 11:45 am to go and watch practice. as soon as you entered the training grounds, you’re a little stunned and impressed to see that they were all doing shooting drills, landing them perfectly with no effort, the harsh sound of shoe slapping against leather ringing throughout the area.

nagi notices you almost immediately, his eyes lighting up a little when you shoot him a small wave before wandering into the bleachers, taking a seat in a second row.

you continue watching, straightening up in your seat whenever it’s nagi’s turn, waiting to watch the genius at work. the results are no less than impressive every time but you have to pretend like you weren’t at all marvelling at him whenever he turns around and looks at you expectantly.

15 minutes later, ego calls for an hour lunch break, allowing the players to break off to do whatever their heart desires. the first thing nagi does is walk over to where you sit in the stands, leaning over the first row of chairs to reach you.

“why hello there, soccer sensation,” you greet and he gives you a lazy smile.

“hi.”

“you going to go for lunch?”

“yeah. have you had something to eat yet or do you wanna grab a bite together?”

“i brought cup noodles but i don’t mind. don’t you want to go with your friends?”

“you’re better.”

“please shut up, that’s so cringe,” you murmur with an undeniable grin, one that causes his gaze to soften as well. “let’s get lunch together then.”

“let me get dressed,” the athlete says, about to run off when you abruptly stop him, causing him to turn around suddenly, his hair whipping around with his actions. “what’s up?”

beckoning him over, he returns to where he stood before and you take out a hair tie, one that you store in your pockets all the time just in case. “does your hair not bother you when you practise?” you silently ask for permission, hand merely hovering near his head until you realise that he was okay with the contact. “it’s getting all in your face, even i was annoyed when watching you.”

gently, you run your hands through his hair and despite the sweat on his forehead, it’s still soft and fluffy. goodness you could play with it forever.

then, you gather nagi’s front bangs, bringing them together to resemble a unicorn horn, tying it with your hairband. when you part from your work, you’re pleasantly surprised that it holds but you suppress a giggle because of how ridiculous he looks, paired with that dazed look in his eyes, you never thought you’d see nagi like this.

when you reach to tug your hairband out of his hair, he waves you off, taking the updo out himself.

“can i keep the hairband?” he pleads and you quirk an eyebrow.

“it’s just a hairband,” you say.

“so you won’t miss it right?”

“no, i won’t-”

“-okay, epic,” he mumbles before putting the hair tie around his wrist and a part of you swells with pride at the sight; a feeling that you try to shove down with little success. “can i get changed now?”

“yes, go.”

whilst you watch the white-haired disappear from your vision, you can’t help but wonder how you got yourself into this situation with such a weirdo. still, you adore said weirdo and this was no one’s fault but your own.

nagi wears the hair tie for the remainder of the day.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

roughly two months or so pass by and the days become a blur, especially since training is becoming more rigorous for the team due to the preparations for their spring soccer season. your schedule is piled day by day with athletes coming for their regular checkups and consultations, leaving you drained as soon as the work day is over.

nagi, your loving ‘partner’ notices this because he always likes to stick around after hours and bother you for a massage. he always insists that you do it because it’s like an immediate ‘full heal’ but you just think that he’s too lazy to book a professional masseuse and that you’re the next best thing.

whatever. at least he’s cute.

“i hardly see you nowadays,” he mutters, voice muffled by the leather bed of your workspace.

you gather a little more lotion on your hands, spreading it along his calves before pressing your thumbs into his muscles, trying to identify where any tight spots might be. “i’m sorry, i don’t have much time nowadays. appointments with you guys go all the way til six, and i don’t get home until 6:30. then i’m practically out like a light.”

he hums in torment and in consideration, tensing his shoulders a little as a natural response to the pain in his legs. “well, tomorrow’s a saturday. can i take you out?”

“i don’t know, some athletes may sporadically come and bother me to get a massage so i’ll let you know if anything comes up.”

“be serious.”

“i am free tomorrow.”

“sick. keep it that way.”

“even if athletes bother me for a much-needed massage in order to perform at their best?”

he huffs something in response before flopping his face back down on the leather bed, the (seemingly invincible) knots in his calves taking too much of your attention for you to think too hard about tomorrow’s date with nagi.

he’s still wearing your hair tie around his wrist.

true to his word, nagi picks you up the next day at 3pm for your date since he insisted that was the earliest he would be ready by (meaning, it’s the earliest he can wake up). when you meet him, you’re a little stunned by the amount of disguises he’s wearing. sunglasses, beanie, and a face mask, you’re not sure whether he’s going to attract more attention or blend in.

also, when you’re 6’3 it’s hard to avoid eyes.

“hey, i’m supposed to meet someone called nagi, he’s got white hair, grey eyes, 190 cm, have you seen him?” you ask as soon as you approach the soccer player. he sighs through his mask when you erupt into a fit of laughter. “i’m just kidding.”

nagi brings down his mask to sit below his chin. “your boyfriend is right here,” he corrects, voice demanding and authoritative, sending shivers down your spine.

“so he is,” you mumble, stepping closer to engulf him in a hug. he wraps his arms around you in return and you contentedly sigh when he pulls you into the comfortable, expensive material of his hoodie. “what’s with the disguise?”

“i don’t want anyone to ruin our day out so i’m wearing this.”

“ever so thoughtful aren’t you?”

when you take a step back, nagi’s careful to not let you stray too far which is indicated through the protective arm he keeps around your shoulders.

“should we get going?”

“yeah.”

the white-haired laces your hands with his, his grip gentle yet committed to keeping you near him as you stroll down the warming streets of tokyo.

“it’s finally spring,” nagi comments offhandedly, causing you shift your gaze towards him. you’re surprised that he was initiating conversation, majority of the time it was you doing the rambling and him partaking in the listening. “the cold weather was getting bothersome. hated going to practise all freezing, makes warmup so hard.”

“i like the cold weather,” you say. “it’s easier to dress for winter than it is for summer.”

“that is true.”

“do you like spring?”

“yeah, ‘s my favourite season.”

you didn’t think someone like nagi would bother too much with having a favourite season. “why’s that?”

“it’s a good season for napping and staying inside. i like that i don’t have to do much nor think about much.”

such a nagi response. you admire how stubborn he sticks to his ideals and general philosophy, it’s a comforting quality and aspect to have.

“plus it’s your birthday season,” you add.

he looks at you with a gentle smile before repeating: “it’s my birthday season.”

nagi takes you to a park where the cherry blossoms are in full bloom, its petals decorating the scenery and ground, creating a dainty, lovely carpet of pink and beauty. however, the main attraction of the date isn’t the scenery of the park but rather, the lake where several pedal boats float on the water; some occupied, some vacant.

the soccer player shows the attendant his purchased tickets, getting them scanned before you’re led to get on one of the boats.

“so… are you liking the date?” nagi asks when you’re out far enough from the dock so that no one can hear you. here, he takes off his mask, tucking it into his pocket.

“i am, i’ve been wanting to ride one of these boats for a long time but i’ve just never found the time,” you confess. “i’m glad that it’s with you. thanks, nagi.”

he looks away, an obvious pink tint appearing on his cheeks as he rubs his neck in embarrassment. “it’s okay, i s’pose.”

“you’re so cute,” you say whilst raising one hand to drag through his hair.

“stop,” he whines but not brushing you off or pulling away, instead, he leans into your touch.

a few minutes of silence pass by before nagi speaks up again, retreating back into his personal space as he fishes for something in his hoodie pocket. he pulls out a long velvet box, handing it over for you to take which you do with a little hesitation.

“i wanted to give you something to mark two months,” he tells you and you feel your heart drop.

“wait what? two months? i didn’t know we were celebrating that!” (because you spend too much time fretting over the day he’d tell you that he wants to break up, not needing this fake relationship anymore.) “i didn’t get you anything, i feel terrible now-”

“-it’s not a big deal, i just wanted to give you something.”

“nagi i can’t accept this, this is too good-”

“-i insist.”

“but i don’t have anything for you-”

in the blink of an eye his hands are clasped tightly around yours, his face incredibly close to yours that you’re stupefied into silence. “i. insist.”

you stare at him for another three seconds before relenting, opening the velvet box with the utmost care in fear that you might drop it in the water; a horrifying thought.

a gasp of delight slips out of your mouth when you see an emerald necklace beaming brightly in your face. it’s in the shape of a pendant, encrusted around a halo plate with gold surrounding it, and from the looks of it, it couldn’t have been cheap.

looking back up at him to express the disbelief you feel, you’re silenced by the gentle look in his eyes, one that shines with adoration and devotion.

“it’s beautiful,” you whisper, unable to talk much louder in fear that it’ll cause the emerald to shatter in your hand. “you shouldn’t have.”

“i wanted to because i really like you. stop worrying.”

you exhale deeply, a little flustered and caught off guard by how candid he was. this feels suspiciously real.

“where did you learn to be so romantic?” you quiz, using humour to narrow how awkward you felt.

“shoujos,” he answers shamelessly.

“ah.” makes sense as to why he makes you feel like you’re in one. “can you help me put the necklace on?”

the white-haired shines with glee, features brightening for a second. “y-yeah, of course.”

“thank you.”

when he grasps the jewellery in his hold you turn around to expose the back of your neck to him, practically holding your breath when you feel his warm fingers brush against your skin, his touch barely there yet still prominent enough to blaze trials of fire where he caresses.

“how do i look?” you ask, turning back around.

“beautiful,” he says, no louder than a whisper.

eventually the boat ride comes to an end and you return back to the dock. a lingering feeling of bliss and giddiness resonates in your chest, evident in the undeniable grin plastered on your face whilst you walk through the park; this time with a pretty gemstone adorning your neck.

“nagi, look!” you exclaim, gesturing over to a company-branded photo booth that had set itself up in the middle of the park. there were various people lining up for one and judging by the pleased squeals from groups of students, it would be a nice memory to keep for today. “should we take one?”

“sure,” he shrugs, letting you drag him to hop in the queue which was going much faster than you anticipated.

when it’s your turn, there’s hardly any time to discuss poses when the cameraman clicks the countdown button so unexpectedly. you reflexively hug nagi whilst smiling and he just gives a simple peace sign. he then stands behind you, wrapping his arms around you to place his head atop yours. finally, he bends down to kiss your cheek, rendering you completely mentally inable as you default a pose, not entirely too sure which one whilst you wait for the countdown and the camera flash.

“you guys are so cute!” the photographer exclaims, handing your photobooth strips already. even then you hadn’t regained your senses, relying on nagi to guide you with his hand on the small of your back.

glancing down at the photo strip, you’re stunned into speechlessness at the last photo. you can still remember the feeling of his lips on your cheek, specks of his warmth lingering on your skin whilst you continue trying to register what just happened.

you might explode or something.

“cute,” nagi mumbles whilst putting the photo strip into his wallet, pulling you in by the waist to stand closer to him, whispering in your ear. “i still have one place i want to take you.”

“do you?” you squeak, earning you a nod as he leads you through the park, coming to a stop when you enter a somewhat secluded section that had a sign labelled ‘private picnic rooms’ with various price ranges according to the number of people.

once again, he claims to have a reservation and you’re led by an attendant towards a specific area that had a table scattered with plates of snacks and various decorations. the vibe of the room was incredible with tatami mats, a floor to ceiling glass window that outlook the cherry blossoms, and if you tried hard enough, you could hear a stream running.

“you… really outdid yourself,” you murmur, wandering over to one side of the table, expecting him to sit on the other. instead, he takes the spot right beside you.

you’re not too sure if this layout is how the establishment intended it to be but it is now.

“so you like it?”

“i do. i love everything you’ve done today, you’re too good for me.”

“not true,” he grumbles, too quiet for you to address it further but loud enough for you to hear.

your relationship doesn’t make any sense to you. why is nagi trying so hard to impress you when this relationship was just for beneficial gain? what does he get from booking a pedal boat ride, buying you a (clearly expensive) emerald necklace, then taking you to have a private picnic?

picking up a piece of halved mochi with the provided fork, you give the first bite to nagi who is more than happy to oblige, chewing on it with a satisfied expression.

he’s so cute, you could pinch him.

your eyes then flit over to the decorations on the table, reaching over to the branch of cherry blossoms in a vase before you could think, ripping off one of the sticks with the bloomed flower and putting it in nagi’s hair and behind his ears. his adorableness just tripled.

“aww you look really cute with pink!”

“ya think so?”

“yeah! you’re so pretty nagi,” you reach over to fiddle with the flower, not registering how close you’d gotten to him until you feel his breath fan across your face.

then you comprehend it, frozen in place for a second as you study nagi’s beauty from an angle you hadn’t before. how his snowy hair fanned perfectly over his forehead, the way the light bounced in the reflection of his eyes, and the imperfections that littered across his skin all contributed towards making the pretty being that was nagi seishiro.

he leans in. you freak out, instinctively turning your head.

your breath gets caught in your throat when you feel nagi’s lips brush against the corners of your mouth, lingering there for a moment before parting and the look of hurt that flashes across his face hurts your soul.

did you do the right thing? you thought you did- you know nagi isn’t into you the way you are into him. this relationship was made for media attraction, for him to gain more seconds of fame, so why does he keep acting like you two are real? why does he keep protecting your identity from the internet, why did he wear a disguise when meeting you when he would have wanted to boast that he was taken, why does he want to kiss you?

why does he look so hurt when he didn’t?

this was all so confusing.

tension lingers in the air for the rest of the date. you try to compensate for it by being a little more affectionate, giving in to your desires of openly loving him for the day. nagi’s satisfied.

you don’t notice how the cherry blossom fell from his ear.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

you won’t find answers to your questions for a long time. in fact, the amount of questions you had quadrupled one night when you had spent the day at nagi’s apartment after work one day to watch a tv show that was on his ‘to-watch’ list.

“stay the night?” asks nagi, resting his head on your shoulder to give you his best puppy-dog eyes. you will yourself to not look at him by keeping your gaze firm on the television screen.

“oh this episode sounds good. maybe we can watch this then i’ll get going,” you mutter whilst fiddling with the remote, dutifully ignoring his pleads and the way he tugs at you; something that does not resonate well with him.

“oi. don’t ignore me.”

with a rough exhale, you finally turn towards him. “i can’t.”

“why not? we don’t have work tomorrow.”

“i know but i just feel bad to bother you and take up your space.”

“you’re not botherin’ me. there’s so much space here, it feels empty without you.”

“nagi-”

“-won’t you call me seishiro? or something more romantic?”

the relationship shifts with his very words and you feel the genuine desperation that bleeds from nagi through his tone. when you look him in the eye, part of you shines with hope that maybe your relationship was real and not bred for media benefit.

in this moment of weakness, you let the top of your walls crumble.

“okay, seishiro.”

he beams. a smile so pure that you shatter like glass in his hands. “yay.”

you then find yourself underneath him as he lays his entire body weight over you, pressing you into the comfortable cushions of his couch as his hands delicately run up and down your waist. paralysed with confusion at the amount of love he pours into his touch, you keep forgetting that the higher you climb, the harder the inevitable fall will be.

“stay the night, please?”

how could you say no when he was asking so nicely? “okay, seishiro.”

“yay.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“hey seishiro, are you ready?” you ask, fiddling with your rings as you round the corner of your living room where your oversized boyfriend is lounging across the couch whilst you got ready (boyfriend still feels weird to say even if he has zero problems with addressing himself by that title).

“yeah. let’s go-” he grumbles, cutting himself off when he glances over at you, eyes widening. “-whoa.”

heat rushes to your cheeks whilst nagi continues to shamelessly marvel at you, slowly standing up to cross the distance between you, his hands naturally hovering to hold your hips when he’s close enough. his gaze lingers even longer on the emerald necklace that sits between your collarbones. “like what you see?”

he stays silent for a second, leaving you to anticipate his answer. “we don’t have to go to isagi’s,” he mumbles. “how do we feel about staying in?”

“don’t. your best friend is hosting this party, can’t you at least show up for him?”

the white-haired sulks. “but you look so good. why should i celebrate that shortie instead of you?”

you push his face away, jokingly fed up with your boyfriend’s lazy attitude. “isagi is also my friend and i want to celebrate with him, just for an hour or two and then we can leave. deal?”

“fine.”

twenty minutes later, you arrive at isagi’s place where a good amount of his closest friends had gathered, showing up far earlier than you and nagi did.

truthfully, you were looking forward to isagi’s party since he was not throwing a massive rave where everyone was invited- those always ended up to be more unfortunate than fun in your opinion, and that wouldn’t exactly cater to his shy and sensible character. tonight was a gathering for his friends to hangout and celebrate. some you recognise from the team, some of them must be from high school or elsewhere.

bachira’s cheery face is the first one you see upon arrival, his smile wide as he practically bounces off the walls in excitement and you already begin to wonder just how many desserts and sweets he’s had upon arrival.

“hey it’s the couple of the century!” he exclaims with a wink. nagi keens at bachira’s compliment, all proud and boastful as his hand creeps up to hold your hip protectively. “lookin’ good as always!”

“yo, where’s isagi?” the white haired questions.

“around, i’ll take you to him c’mon!”

the two soccer players are off before you can even count to three, nagi and bachira disappearing into the crowd as the hyperactive boy drags your 190 cm of a boyfriend through the crowd. well, at least he took the gift you both bought with him, but now you feel a little alone and very awkward.

walking around the hallways of isagi’s, you feel a little out of place since most of them seemed to be high school friends. it’s not until you reached the kitchen that you sigh in relief, met with the familiar, friendly faces of chigiri and reo who see you first.

“hey!” the red-haired calls out, waving at you as you walk over to them. “it’s good to see you, y/n, how are you?”

“hey chigiri, hey reo, i’m good! i just arrived but this seems like a cool gathering. isagi’s really outdone himself,” you greet.

“yeah he did. good way to unwind before the soccer season gets too crazy,” reo chips in. “nice outfit by the way, you served!”

“oh shut up, you look amazing yourself. you too chigiri.”

“so… where’s nagi?” the purple-haired asks, checking his phone to see if he had received any texts from his best friend. “didn’t he come with you?”

“yeah but bachira dragged him to go talk to isagi as soon as i arrived. you know how he is.”

after a few more minutes of talking with the two, you finally pause the conversation out of concern about nagi’s whereabouts might be. you thought he’d come and find you after a while but guess you’ll search for him first.

informing the pair first before breaking away, you wander into the rooms where bachira pulled nagi into, blindly hoping that they’ll be in there. to your chagrin, there were only a few unfamiliar faces spread along the couches, discussing something with a drink in their hand. you ignore the sight of otoya and one of isagi’s friends sitting too close for comfort.

when you walk into the next room, you stop in your tracks at the sight in front of you: nagi leaning against the wall with a stranger who clearly has no distinction of personal space, their hand resting on his chest. your heart plunges the bottom of your stomach as distraught settles within you because of the scene unfolding in front of you, chest churning with a distant ache that you can’t put your finger on.

then he looks over at you.

the instinct to turn around and run overpowers any rational judgement, especially when a flurry of emotions begin to well up inside you, causing you to sink further and further in an ocean of doubt and fear.

you had no right to be jealous, not over nagi because you’re just his ‘pseudo-partner’, he’s not really yours and it’s moment like these that truly humble you into remembering. you’re just his ‘pseudo-partner’, you’re just his ‘pseudo-partner’, you’re just his-

“-where are you going?” comes an indifferent voice from behind you. all anxiety floods out of you like a broken dam. a warm, large hand tugs on your wrist and even if he had not spoke, you’d know from touch alone that it was nagi behind you. the multitude of times that he’s spent holding you, intertwining his hand with yours, and cherishing you has forced you to brand him into your memory.

you are his. even if it is not mutual, you would be his until he stomps the fire out.

“i-i thought i was interrupting something,” you stammer, looking into at nagi’s doe eyes.

“you didn’t. actually, you made it better by coming,” he says before wrapping his arms around your torso. “that person wouldn’t leave me alone, such a pain. tried to say i was taken too, so glad you came.”

you return the hug, trusting his words. “glad i came too.”

nagi pulls you out of the water.

“can we leave yet? i don’t wanna be here anymore.”

“just a little longer. i haven’t even seen isagi yet. plus, we should dance.”

he gives you a quick look up and down before nodding in agreement. you smack his shoulder.

you manage to locate isagi rather quickly. he was near the food bar where refreshments and various desserts and snacks laid so after greeting him, wishing him ‘happy birthday’, and chatting with him for approximately five minutes before nagi started getting bitchy, you’re pulled into the dance floor by the white-haired. he said that they were playing a good song when you asked why he was being so impatient.

with a laugh, you give in.

nagi doesn’t really know how to dance but you can’t help but be a little entertained, deciding to end his awkwardness when you grab his hands and lead him through some moves, singing along to the song with each other. it ends with your arms around his neck and his around your waist (again) when a slower song plays.

hiding your face in his chest, you breathe in the subtle aroma of his cologne that you urged him to put on earlier. when he gently prompts you to look up at him with a hand gently pulling on your hair, your breath gets caught in your throat at the close proximity as nagi stares at your lips, glancing up to meet your eyes again before leaning in.

this time you don’t feel as cruel, bracing yourself for the first sip of water after crossing the desert, for the final puzzle piece clicking into place, for the feeling of his lips slotting against yours; for the feeling of completion.

instantly you relax at the sensation, melting into his embrace as you hold onto him a little tighter, wanting more. you want to take as much of him as he’ll allow and even then, you’ll cherish every last part.

you want him the same way the ocean longs for the moon.

parting from him makes you feel empty. the lidded look he gives you is full of temptation and… love?

snapping out of your reverie, you step away from him, using his dazed state to create some distance between the two of you as you come to your senses. senses that scream at you for possibly ruining… this.

you hate that you keep running away from him, leaving him in the dust of the mess that are your feelings. it’s immature, irrational, and downright childish, really it is, but how else can you stop the way you’re about to burst at the seams? how can you stop yourself from devoting yourself fully to nagi seishiro if you don’t forcefully screw the lid over your emotions?

for the second time tonight, the white-haired chases after you because there was never another option. he despises being away from you and despises it even more when it’s him you’re running away from, wanting nothing more than to be by your side at all times.

for the second time tonight, he grabs your wrist but now, he leads you through isagi’s house, weaving through a series of well-kept and simply decorated rooms to finally arrive at a balcony. one that was untouched by the party goers.

“why do you keep doing this?” he asks, pleading for an answer as desperation laces his voice and eyes. “why do you keep running away?”

you’re stunned. he’s hurt by your carelessness and the way you constantly recoil from him as if he was electric, his powerful figure slouching, all his quiet confidence and stubbornness seeping out of him, running to pool at your feet.

“am i doing something wrong? i thought you liked me.”

“i-i’m confused,” you stammer stupidly.

he grows even more perplexed. “you’re confused? i’m even more confused! one second i think you like me then the next, you’re trying to avoid me. why do you keep doing this? i really really like you, y/n. but it doesn’t feel like you like me at all sometimes.”

“no!” you blurt out. “it’s not like that! i do like you, a lot, in fact i might even… love you? it’s just…”

as you try to recap the timeline of your relationship in the past few months, you find yourself at a loss for words as you truly realise the multitude of your stupidity. you might slap yourself in the face.

this entire time, nagi has liked you- genuinely liked you for who you are yet you’ve been denying the love he has been trying to share with you since you internalised it all to be a sham. that someone like nagi seishiro couldn’t want you in the same way you wanted him. you’ve been hurting him this entire time and you don’t know how to begin explaining why.

well… no other option than with one word at a time.

you go to grab both his hands, inhaling. “i didn’t think we got together based on genuine feelings.”

he recoils, eyebrows and nose scrunching.

“i thought you were using me to- i don’t know, trend on the internet by teasing everyone with some sort of secret relationship which sounds so stupid, i know, but i just couldn’t believe that you would want me for me,” you ramble, only stopping to breathe. “these few months have been amazing but i lowkey thought you were going to break up with me and say something like ‘surprise! i’ve never liked you’ before leaving me. i don’t deserve someone like you and-”

“what?”

you shut up.

“you thought you don’t deserve me? that’s the biggest lie i’ve ever heard. you’re perfect. i was the one that got lucky.”

“lucky? you? really?”

“yeah,” he breathes. “you’re like a gift sent by fate.”

that renders you speechless for a little. there’s more to say, you know there is because of the pregnant silence that lingers around the two of you for a little but maybe that’s for another time.

are you dreaming? this feels surreal. maybe you’ll start floating too.

“also, why would i want to trend for any other reason but soccer?”

“i don’t know! you asked me out really abruptly- i’ve never been asked out like that before! talk about confusing. and the paparazzi was waiting for us after too like, what was i supposed to think!”

“i see.”

“yeah.”

more silence.

“so… you love me?” nagi asks and you groan, removing your hands from his to cover your face from embarrassment.

“i guess i do,” you grumble.

“hey, don’t hide from me,” the white-haired says before grabbing your wrists to lower them from your face. “i love you too.”

“really?”

“yeah.”

“that’s cool.”

“it is.”

you do both of you a favour by kissing him fervently.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“sei, shouldn’t you be getting ready for the match or whatever it is you athletes do?” you ask when nagi’s mop of white hair peaks up from behind the door to your physio office.

he steps out from behind the doorframe, crossing the distance to get to you. he’s sporting his blue lock tracksuit with his hands dug into his pocket and you’re a little envious of how comfortable he looks. “i was until i realised you weren’t there. i was waiting for you to show up.”

“well i don’t really have to be there early. i just get there around 20 or so minutes earlier.”

“i see.”

“why, did you want me there or something?” you ask with a cheeky eyebrow raise, poking him in his sides causing him to recoil a little from your touch.

“why else would i walk all this way?”

“a stunning 50 metres- i’m so sorry for your perilous journey,” you comment, placing a kiss on his cheek before walking away from him to set up your box of medical supplies including kinesio tapes, bandages, and cold spray. he slumps down on the waiting couch near the entrance.

your role as blue lock’s official therapist meant that you had to be on standby for the team at all time during official matches. even though you aren’t their nurse, you still bring first aid things like ice packs to minimise the amount of time spent travelling between offices, especially if that distance is not needed.

after scanning the box for the last time and mentally ticking your checklist of materials required to bring, you pat your leg in satisfaction before standing up. “i can go to the field now. there’s probably tape changes that i need to do.”

nagi lazily grins, searching for your hand to help pull himself up. “yay.”

“you need to be warming up while we’re at it.”

“aw. okay.”

the walk back to the field is painless enough with nagi holding onto your hand for dear life whilst carrying your box of supplies for you. for someone who is about to compete in less than an hour, he is surprisingly calm, hardly different from his passive, pacifistic self. should you be nervous on his behalf?

stepping in to the field, you’re overwhelmed by the enormousness of blue lock’s home stadium, the lights shining down on you so brightly that you need a moment to recollect yourself. to think that all these empty seats will be filled with various people scares you mindless; even vacant it was still overwhelming.

“y/n!” isagi’s voice breaks you out of your reverie and he jogs over to you with that friendly smile of his. “what’s up?”

“hey isagi, sei dragged me out of my office,” you grumble before turning around to the white-haired who places your supplies on the ground, instructing him to: “go continue warming up.”

he grumbles something incoherent, leaning in to place a kiss on your forehead before running off, leaving you a little flustered as the dark-haired player waits patiently to talk to you.

“so what’s up?”

“i just needed my ankle to be retaped, is that okay?”

“that is my job so come over,” you say, beckoning isagi to one of the benches nearby where you decide to station yourself for the time being.

whilst you’re unrolling the adhesive, he awkwardly sits there with his shoe and sock off, exposing his joint where he already you tape it for him.

“do you want pink or blue tape?” you ask, holding up the two options.

“pink.”

the background noises of athletes shouting and kicking soccer balls fill the silence whilst you cut up the length needed to tape isagi’s ankle.

“how are you and nagi?” he asks.

“we’re good,” you respond, mentally reminding yourself to give isagi a present in exchange for his birthday being the sole reason why your relationship strengthened. “both been busy cause of the season but it’s fine.”

“that’s okay, you’re making it work!” he reassures, “well, nagi is really happy.”

“is he now?” you ask, looking intently at your hands as they worked around isagi’s ankle, hiding your giddy expression from the soccer player. the effect nagi has on you will never disappear.

“yeah! always talks about you to us.”

“does he?”

“of course, why wouldn’t he? swears you’re the best thing to have happened to him in a long time or whatever.”

your heart warms uncontrollably. nagi seishiro was going to be your downfall.

finishing up on isagi’s ankle, he tests it out quickly before thanking you and running off again to blend in with his teammates again. ‘don’t work too hard!’ you yell out after him.

after retaping chigiri’s knee, commanding karasu to do his recommended exercises, and other various checkups, the boys are ushered back into the stadium so the audience could begin filing in. before nagi went in, he runs over to you, bundling you in his arms despite the various exclaims of ‘hurry up!’ yelled at your white-haired partner.

“gotta go,” he says breathily.

“wait, shouldn’t you take this off?” you ask, gesturing to your hair tie which sat snugly at his wrist.

“do i have to?”

“you can always rewear it after the match sei, it’s not a big deal.”

“fine. i’ll see you soon then.”

you give him a smile of reassurance, hugging him back. “go. i’ll be watching, my superstar.”

his eyes shine. “cheer for me, won’t you?”

“of course i will. i’m your lucky charm,” you tease but he takes your statement quite literally, grinning at what you say which only illuminates the cheery look on his face.

“can my lucky charm give me a kiss?”

cupping his face, you quickly place a peck on his nose before lightly pushing him away. you know the kiss is not good enough to satiate his hunger but perhaps that’s just what you want from him, to try hard for a better reward. and in this case, by trying harder, he would bring home the trophy.

“go line up!” you command.

nagi grumbles something before stepping away, “i’ll score for you.”

he dashes towards the stadium entrance, leaving you in a lovesick daze as you watch him retreat. someone clears their throat behind you and you remember where you are, sitting down to preserve some professionalism.

sitting in the medics corner was scary, especially as you watch every seat getting gradually filled with an onslaught of different people, but all you need to do for the 90 minutes is watch and be attentive to the game and the health of the players. an easy job for the amount of pay you get.

when the teams walks out into the field, everyone in the stands erupt into a roar, waving their various flags and colours. despite the chaos, nagi looks over at you and you blow him a kiss, unsure of whether or not he could actually see you.

as everything settles down, the match finally begins, starting off with a bang. from time to time you talk with the two other blue lock medics and spend the other moments admiring your boyfriend in his athletic glory.

it’s not until almost halftime that something disastrous happens. when itoshi rin collides face-first into another player, toppling over on the field on top of each other, the crowd erupts into a series of gasps and concerned noises. as the referee’s whistle is called, you three official blue lock staff scramble to the middle of the field where a crowd was gathering around the two, trying to help their soccer players but stepping out of the way when you approach.

“where are you?” one medic begins asking.

“the stadium. we’re in the middle of a match,” comes rin’s gruff tone.

“you are?”

“itoshi rin.”

“how many fingers am i holding up?”

“four.”

“what hurts?”

“my fucking face,” rin snarkily replies, trying to stand up but not making it past his knees as he stumbles a little, holding on to his nose. “shit.”

taking his hand away, there are droplets of red coating his skin and you snake yourself under his arm in order to assist with helping him to the medic’s area, another nurse doing the same. hopefully it’s not serious and he won’t need be to sent to hospital, only benched by ego. which, he was.

in your panic, you don’t register any of the commotion happening within the players themselves whereas nagi, on the other hand, hears it all clearly. how a player on the team he was playing against says something like ‘look at that cutie. reckon i could cuff ‘em?’ where his friend replies with a ‘yeah dude. seems like a babe to be honest, workin’ as a nurse and shit’, geturing to you.

nagi has never felt such an overwhelming urge to punch someone, to jump the two players and tear them apart with the fury he feels accumulating in his insides.

the whistle to notify that the game was continuing disrupts nagi’s train of thought. he goes back into position but not without snaring at the opposition.

blue lock seems to be doing fine without their number one player for the remainder of the game; in fact, nagi is practically dominating the whole field as he shoots, earning goals left and right for blue lock. he’s moving with unmatched determination; a blazing kind that you’ve never seen from him despite having seen countless of his games. you wonder what happened to him since rin got injured, where did the calm, unbothered nagi go? why are you kind of scared of your boyfriend right now?

maybe your good luck kiss worked in giving him the boost you predicted.

however, you never could have predicted the huge turnaround that your life would take when nagi’s jealousy gets too ahead of itself. when his urge to show the world whose you are outspeaks his rationality, too caught up in the torments of untamed jealousy. he’s never felt this way before; a carnal desire so inherent that it makes him feel bare.

only you could do this to him.

and only you could fix the ugly monster inside him

when blue lock scores the goal needed to take the trophy home, the stadium is deafening, so loud that you need to cover your ears from the unrestrained passion of fans and watchers alike, the buzz of excitement unmatched.

nagi is awarded man of the match, taking home a shiny trophy in recognition of his athleticism and remarkable talents. yet the first thing he does when taking his prize is not rush over to his teammates and… do whatever it is that men do, but to run over to where you reside, a possessive and dark look in his eyes. it sends shivers down your spine.

he sweeps you into his arms, winding you so close that you can feel the body heat radiating from him, even through the fabric of his jersey. the trophy presses against your back.

“can i kiss you?” nagi questions although it sounds more like a demand, especially with that breathy voice due to how much he’s been running around.

short circuiting for a moment, you reply: “but everyone’s watching.”

“let them.”

you’re well aware of the multitude of cameras that may be pointed at you and nagi. if you act stupidly, it will appear on the internet and who knows what repercussions it might bring, are you ready to be thrown into a life of chaos, joining alongside your boyfriend?

the answer is obvious when you take the initiative of kissing him, allowing him to devour you whole: his first act of establishing just exactly who you were to the entire world.

you adore how scandalous this feels.

his second act comes mere minutes later at the exit where paparazzi and media were waiting patiently behind barriers for their star players. this time, instead of leaving alone or with his teammates, there’s an unidentified figure accompanying him, hugged close to his side and proudly wearing his jersey. the very one that boasts ‘NAGI’ along the back. everything descends into chaos.

an immense feeling of deja vu encompasses you when you recall the day nagi asked you out and the overwhelming lineup of paparazzi and photographers that waited for him outside. it’s different now. you feel confident in your place beside nagi, looking perfect to him in his clothes- as if you were meant to be his.

nagi walks in front of you to use his stature to protect from the greedy eyes of the internet whilst you use your hands to cover your face as best as possible, all to ensure your privacy from those who are going to eat these photos up when they see them.

and- well, if everyone is going to see them then why not send a little message whilst nagi’s here?

the kiss nagi sneaks on your neck is entirely proprietorial, a clear sign of affection for the whole world to see as he eyes the cameras with a deadly look in his eyes.

“mine,” he mutters in your ear, sending one last glare over his shoulder before disappearing from their nosiness and intruding flashes.

the cameras can see your hair tie that slips up when his sleeves are tugged too short.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

your notifications are rampant the next morning, mostly because of friends, and ‘#nagi seishiro’ has taken the internet by storm once again.

this feeling of anxiety settling in your stomach will never go away whenever you check social media to see if any of your information has been leaked and by whatever miracle, you’re absolutely relieved to see that nothing drastic has been revealed.

speaking of boyfriend, nagi stirs from where he lays beside you, stretching for a moment before patting the bed in search for your warmth.

shutting off your phone and putting it down, you watch him try to locate you, unable to stop the smile from stretching at the corner of your lips. he’s adorable. even more so when he has to open one eye because his instincts were failing him.

“oh. why are you awake?” he asks groggily, still adjusting to consciousness. nagi tries to sit up to rest on his elbows only to fail miserably and fall face-first into his lush pillow.

“body clock,” you say. you’ll talk about yesterday later. right now, it was just you and him and the soft glow of the sun saying good morning.

“turn it off and go back to sleep.”

“fine.”

“c’mere,” nagi beckons you over weakly, hands reaching for your figure but falling short due to the enormous size of his bed.

it’s not like nagi to splurge on things but it is like him to splurge on getting the most comfortable bed ever, so when he demands you to fall back asleep, how could you say no when it feels like napping on a cloud? and with your adorable boyfriend? some things in life come too easy.

shuffling back towards him, he’s quick to throw an arm and a leg around you, trapping you in.

“my body hurts,” whines nagi. “so much.”

“what do you want me to do about that?”

“massage later, please?”

“is that all i am to you?” you question teasingly whilst rubbing hearts into his skin.

“maybe,” he sings.

astounded, you give him your best look of betrayal. “we’re breaking up.”

“no, don’t do that,” nagi pleads, hugging you closer as if you were going to get up from his vice grip in the first place. “don’t be mean.”

“oh sure because i’m the mean one,” you joke as he burrows his head into your neck. instinctively, your hands card through his hair, extra soft from washing it last night. after a moment of silence, you speak up. “you’re trending again because of me so just remember that what i said about our fame-grabbing relationship was true.”

“i didn’t mean for that to happen. i’m just too good,” he takes his head out of your neck, doe eyes looking up at you with heart wrenching awe. “and i love you too much to hide it.”

you pat his cheek, unable to stop a wide, dreamy smile from appearing on your face. “go back to sleep.”

“‘k. goodnight.” the second nagi’s head hits his pillow, he’s out like a light.

it’s a little surreal to be wrapped in his embrace like this, to be able to gaze at his features so closely and unabashedly whilst his arms extend to mould you into him. even being as close as humanly possible isn’t enough for nagi who has an unlimited desire for more, at all times.

if it’s you he wants, then you’ll happily grant it.

the last thing you see before falling into a deep slumber is a hair tie that lies on his bedside table.

#pls be nice to me i'm really fragile rn i'm sorry this wasn't amazing #nagi x reader #nagi fluff #nagi seishiro x reader #seishiro x reader #nagi x you #nagi drabble #blue lock x reader #blue lock nagi x reader #blue lock drabble #blue lock fluff #bllk fluff

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