#new hope club matching pack

[prettygiri222]

okay but imagine eren seen a video of his baby momma at the club singin sexy redd’s “ FUCK MY BABYDADDY ” 😭😭 he just brings their son or daughter to reader’s mom and goes back to reader’s house and tears them TF upppp.

i can just hear him saying “ fuck yo baby who?? oh aight. ”

I had to add rapper!Eren to this cause it's something I always wanted to write😋

Eren x Black Fem Reader, PLOT + SMUT

rapper Eren Yeager's longtime girlfriend of six years broke up with him after having his first child, Duke Yeager. Eren shared a post on instagram confirming their breakup but stated that the both of them remain in Duke’s life as co-parents. the reason why was unreleased so fans speculated that Eren must’ve cheated because why else would you willingly break up with the famous rapper. his management released a statement saying it was due to conflicting schedules but it was seen as damage control so no one believed it.

during the six years of the relationship, his management managed to keep your face out of the media. but with the way Eren was constantly posting snippets of you, fans soon discovered who you were after matching physical features, traits and location that were found on his story with the ones present on your small instagram.

you two quickly became the it couple, how the girl from nowhere pulled a famous rapper gave fans hope because they saw them reflected in you. a woman who didn’t have to undergo multiple surgeries to pull the industry's finest. but after the breakup, that image fell.

his management did their best to keep things under wraps to keep the media from tormenting you but it didn’t work. when you posted a picture of yourself postpartum your dms filled with hateful comments wondering why Eren had gotten with you in the first place. you knew it was just jealous fangirls but it still got to you, especially since you weren’t all that confident in your new body and still recovering from your pregnancy. your accounts went silent shortly after.

although the breakup was mutual, the reason why was deeper than scheduling conflicts. you needed someone who was able to be there physically, emotionally and mentally. it was hard for Eren to provide that due to his career path, always travelling the world with a packed schedule. you guys did your best to make it work but after Duke came into the world you just couldn’t handle it anymore. 

Eren was a decent baby daddy and you guys co-parented well. you had full custody of him but when Eren was in town and would have time off you would send Duke over to him. Duke loved his daddy, always wanting to watch his concerts and interviews on the TV when he wasn’t there or free to facetime. Eren always made sure to send double what was asked for in child support to make sure you took care of yourself as well as his son.

that’s why when you reposted your friend’s story of you in the club all hell broke loose. people took it as a diss to your baby daddy, which it was, but not in the way they thought.

earlier that week you had dropped Duke off at Eren’s mansion. he had just flown back in from his world tour and finally had a few weeks off. despite being exhausted he called you up and asked if you could bring Duke over, wanting to spend as much time with his son as possible during his break. he sent over an uber black to pick the two of you up.

when Eren met you two at the door, Duke jumped into his arms smiling and giggling. it’s been a while since he’s seen his daddy in person. the sight made you awe. Eren turned to you and asked if you wanted to stay over so he could spend time with the two most important people in his life but sadly you declined. you didn’t want to interrupt their father and son bonding time.

Duke was almost a clone of Eren, he had his sharp green eyes, german nose and face shape. the only hints of you in him were his full lips, darker skin and coils. Duke was your little bundle of joy but he could be a handful at times. during the few times those two got to spend together Eren spoiled him rotten, whatever he wanted he got and it showed. whenever you told him no he would throw a tantrum saying how he wanted his daddy. you knew you were a good mother but hearing him say that when you were the one who took care of him every day hurt.

---

it was a friday night and Eren was at his crib chilling with Duke. he had his phone on do now disturb so his time with his family wouldn’t be interrupted. it was a shame you weren’t here to spend time with them. after having pizza, soda and ice cream for dinner the boys passed out on the couch after staying up past midnight watching movies. 

his peace was soon interrupted by the constant buzz of his phone. it roused him from his sleep but Duke slept through it. after the third ring, he finally answered the phone. he was pissed that his manager was calling him knowing it was his time off but he figured it must be important for them to use emergency bypass to call.

“what’s going on?” his voice gruff from his slumber and irritation. he turned on his phone to see it flooded with notifications from instagram, snapchat, tiktok, twitter, messages, missed calls from his friends and one from his mom and his heart dropped to his stomach. he hadn't dropped anything new recently so he knew whatever was happening had to be bad.

“well… it’s about your baby mama… she uh…” his manager was at a loss for words. he didn't know the words to describe the situation to make it not seem as bad as the media was already making it out to be. he knew Eren would be pissed when he found out what happened and they didn't want to be on the end of it. 

Eren was extremely protective of his family and friends. when he saw the hate you were receiving after you posted a picture of yourself postpartum he took to twitter immediately. he did not play when it came to you, together or not together. you were the mother of his child and you needed your respect. so he was wondering why you were playing in his face like this.

“well what is it?” he snapped, already losing his patience. “is she ok? is she hurt?” he shot upright from his resting position on the couch. he opened up the group chat between him, Armin, Connie, Onyankopon and Jean first. all that was sent was a blurry video followed by a bunch of skull and grave emojis.

he opened the video and immediately recognized the faces of a few of the girls in it as a few of your friends, Sasha, Mikasa and Historia at a club. Sasha, Connie’s model girlfriend was the one to record them singing along to a sexyy red song. he wondered what the video had to do with him until it panned to you. you stood out with your brightly dyed red hair styled in a what he recognized as a wash-and-go.

“fuck my baby daddy! fuck my baby daddy! fuck my baby daddy!” you were shouting the lyrics a little bit too passionately. you had your middle fingers stuck up to the camera showing off your glittery red acrylic nails. you were clearly wasted, drunk off of whatever drinks Sasha managed to shove down your throat.

“yes bitch!” your friends shouted as you turned around to shake your ass sticking out your tongue. you were wearing a ripped mesh dress. one of your friends reached out to pull down the back of your dress to prevent your ass from showing but the dress was already leaving very little to the imagination. the pregnancy did your body good, you were a bit on the skinny side before but now your hips had filled out, your ass and boobs swole and your skin finally cleared up. you were glowing.

“I’m a fine ass bitch, I ain’t in the in the house sad!” you were feeling yourself. it felt nice to get out of the house and away from Duke no matter how much you loved him. having to take care of a baby by yourself was tiring, no matter how much Eren supported you from afar you needed him there with you.

your friends were hyping you up and your mind grew hazy from both the alcohol and adrenaline. you were far too gone to realize what you said when you yelled “fuck Eren!” instead of the actual lyrics. the camera quickly panned to the floor before the video stopped.

Eren had to replay the video countless times to process what he had seen and heard. but he couldn’t believe it was you. never in the eight years he’s known you have you ever picked up the phone to send a dig at him through social media. no matter how tough the going got, it’s what he respected about you. you always wanted to talk problems through and try to make it work. Eren clenched his fist looking at you now.

Eren knows how baby mamas like you are seen and treated in the industry. he’s seen how they're constantly bashed and embarrassed by the fathers of their children and the media. Eren never wanted that for you, he wanted to give you a ring before he gave you a baby but accidents happen and here you both were. instead of calling him or stopping by to talk you wanted to show out for the fans and diss him. it was stupid of you, he knew you were better than this.

“so it’s “fuck Eren” is that right,” Eren laughed to himself throwing his head back on the couch. sure he couldn’t be there for you and Duke all the time like he wanted but at least he tried. he was a very busy man. but he did what he had to to make sure his mother, Duke and you could have a nice and cozy life. where Duke didn’t have to worry about if he was going to eat dinner that night. “bet.”

“sorry little man but I have to go get your mommy. you’re going to go to stay with your grandma tonight, ok?” he cooed to Duke, waking him up. Duke slowly woke up and was trying to rub the sleep out of his eye. Eren loved his son very much he was the reason he kept this stressful life up. 

he enjoyed making music and performing but not during the days when he slept in the studio trying to find the perfect lyrics and beat or days where he hardly slept because he had to stay on his feet. it was a fast life and if he couldn’t keep up it would all come crashing down. and for you to make a dig at that knowing how he felt was fucked.

“Eren Yeager!” his manager shouted through the phone overhearing the whole thing. he needed Eren to keep a calm head and not do anything rash tonight. he didn’t need him sparking more outrage in the media or doing something that could potentially ruin the relationship you two had. “what are you going to do?”

“what else, I’m going to go fuck my baby mama,” before his manager could get another word out he hung up the phone. 

“daddy said a bad word!”

“...don’t tell your mom and I’ll bring you to the studio with me.”

---

you wobbled into your apartment with a sheepish grin. it felt like a huge weight was lifted off your shoulder tonight. it’s been a while since you went to the club and got so drunk that the world became a blur. you were slowly regaining memories of what happened that night and you couldn’t help but cringe knowing you would regret some of them in the morning. your phone died on your way home after you reposted Sasha’s story so you were oblivious to the buzz you had created.

when you went to unlock your door you found out that it was already open. you raised your brow but you brushed it off thinking you must’ve forgotten to lock it in your rush to leave the house. you knew the security for your building was tight, it was the main thing you were looking for when you were buying your apartment. it was a necessity since Duke was the son of a successful rapper. 

when you and Eren had split you bought yourself a nice little two-bedroom apartment deep in the city. Eren offered to pay for it but you immediately declined, you didn’t want anything else of yours to get attached to him. during your relationship you saved up a lot of money since Eren had always offered to buy you whatever you wanted and spoiled you rotten just like he was doing with Duke. he fueled your shopping addiction only wanting his girlfriend to have the best of the best.

you had a little side hustle as an occasional hairstylist and nail artist for your friends and family with the occasional new client. Eren told you time and time again you didn’t need to work and that he would take care of everything. but you liked having your own source of income it made you feel independent plus you enjoyed your job.

being able to close on your dream apartment was a dream come true and it left you feeling satisfied. you loved how everything was within walking distance, there was a daycare down the street along with an elementary school for when Duke got older. there was a grocery store right around the corner with a few outlets and public transit ran just outside the building, it was perfect for a single mother like you. 

“thought we were doing good with this co-parenting shit mama?” the second you opened the door you were greeted by a voice you knew better than your own. goosebumps covered your arms, ‘why is he here’ you thought.

“Eren?” you called out into the dark apartment. you felt the wall closest to the door for the switch and turned the light on. and there he was, Eren, your famous baby daddy. he turned his head to look at you from where he was seated on the couch. his eyes were extremely low, watching your every move. “are you ok? where's Duke?”

“with your mom,” Eren was having such a pleasant high, he felt so relaxed and calm in the dark room. he didn’t have the TV on and was just staring at the black screen. but the second the room lit up and you walked through the door with that tiny see-through dress on it dispersed. he narrowed his eyes down at you and you could tell you had just blown his high. his anger simmering underneath his calm demeanour. 

“how’d you even get in?” you never gave Eren the key to your apartment. having already been split and you always dropped Duke off at his place there was no reason for him to have one.

“front desk gave me a key after I flashed a couple of stacks,” he replied nonchalantly, like it wasn’t a crime on both parts. you rolled your eyes, this was how Eren fixed all his problems, with money. you get that when he was growing up it was something he didn’t have but now that he had it was like all he knew how to do was throw it at people to make his problems disappear.

“well if Duke isn’t here then there’s no reason for you to be,” you don’t know what you did to warrant this visit but you didn’t want to be in his presence any longer. you liked to keep your contact with Eren as minimal as possible. plus you didn’t have the energy to deal with him tonight, you were tired. hoping he would get the hint it was time to leave you walked away and headed towards your bedroom, “please see yourself out. we can talk another day.”

“nah, 'cause it’s “fuck Eren” right?” he got up from the couch and followed you down the hall and into your room. the wooden floor creaking under his weight. you didn’t have to turn around to know he was towering over you, you could feel him breathing down your neck. you tried to move away from him but he gripped your waist with a firm grip underneath and pulled you against him. “you must’ve gone crazy going so long with my dick huh? that must be it, acting like you lost your damn mind.”

“Eren!” you pulled away to look back at him in shock. “what are you even talking about?”

“don’t play dumb with me mama, your ass is all over the shade room talking about “fuck my baby daddy” ” he took his phone out of his pocket to show you their newest post. it was a screenshot of a video but it was clearly you, it was the same outfit and hairstyle you had on right now. you swiped the image on his phone in disbelief and the video played, “fuck Eren! fuck my baby daddy! fuck my baby daddy!”

“oh my gosh! Eren, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, I was drunk and got carried away,” you looked up at him from the phone. you could tell he was pissed, his eyes darkened after hearing what you said in the video for the hundredth time. you were horrified, you didn’t mean to air out your personal problems and make Eren seem like a bad father. you knew how the public blew things out of proportion.

“they say drunk words are sober thoughts,” Eren stated, shrugging his shoulders. “I know Duke be stressing you out ma, let me fix it,” he stared down at you with a little smirk. he licked his lips, obviously checking you out. it's been a while since he's seen your body exposed, you always show up to drop Duke off in oversized sweaters and shirts. just looking at you like this made his dick hard, “plus you owe me an apology.”

that’s how you found yourself face down ass up in your bedroom with the man you’d never thought would step foot in your new apartment. Eren was behind you standing at the edge of the bed, his black and grey nike tech sweater was thrown somewhere in your room leaving him in a white wife beater and his golden cuban link chain. his grey sweats were down so that just his dick was out.

“mm fuck Eren! please,” you cried out. no matter how deeply you arched or angled your hips you couldn’t get him to reach where you needed him the most. he knew that but he loved watching you struggle and the way your brown cheeks jiggled after coming into contact with his pelvis. you were a sight to see, one that he deeply missed.

“you can do better than that mama,” he raised his pierced brow watching you. Eren stood completely still behind you, you had your face buried in the sheets as you attempted to throw it back on him. you were still dressed in your mesh dress but he ripped your thong off. “I saw you in that video. you were shaking that shit so c’mon, fuck me back ma.”

your makeup was staining your sheets but you could care less right now. the feeling of Eren stretching out your practically virginal walls was dumbfounding. he didn’t bother to stretch you out believing that your body was already moulded to his shape. but it’s been about two years since you last had sex. your tight walls were struggling to accommodate his humongous size.

“ ’m trying,” the lack of stimulation on your sweet spots had you in tears. the stretch was pleasurable but it wasn’t enough, paired with the shallow thrusts. you so desperately craved more so you reached in between your legs to play with your clit. Eren groaned at the sight of you touching yourself, not to mention you began to clench around him. 

“damn ma, now that’s what I’m talking about,” Eren gave your ass a harsh slap. you let out a little whine as you lost your rhythm because of it. but you soon found it again. your wetness was soaking his dick and you were basically twerking on his dick. Eren loved every second of it. 

he took one of your ass cheeks and pulled it to the side with his tattooed hand, he watched himself go in and out of your brown folds. feeling the unsteady approach of his orgasm watching as you struggled to fuck yourself on him he decided to finally grant you mercy. he languidly began to thrust into you. “go ahead and nut on this dick mama.”

 “o-okay” you stuttered out. you struggled to concentrate on stimulating your sensitive clit while bouncing back to meet Eren’s lazy thrusts. your fingers were covered in your own wetness while you rubbed little circles on your bud. each loop paired with the tip of his dick pressing against that spongy spot inside you brought you ever closer to your climax. “ ‘m so close!”

“let it out for me baby,” the pace became erratic, you guys’ release at its peak. sometimes his dick collided straight into your soft spot and sometimes it completely missed. but the feeling of him pummeling in and out of you had you convulsing around his dick. “keep squeezing around me like that and I'll put another baby in you, fuck.”

you let out broken whines as you struggled to continuously stimulate your bud. you were soaking wet that your fingers slipped around. “‘ren! ren!” you chanted, reaching out toward him with your slick-covered hand. Eren grabbed it and put it in his mouth. groaning deeply as he licked and sucked on your coated digits.

“don’t worry mama, I got you. let it out for me,” Eren leaned over your arched form and whispered in your ear. his husky sending shivers down your spine as he talked you through it. you listened to him feeling the wave of pleasure overwhelm you, the sensation in your stomach bursting.

“f-fuck, fuck!”

“shit,” when he felt himself about to burst he pulled out of your pussy's compelling grasp. he watched the lewd scene in front of him and used it to jerk off. he groaned out stroking his soaking dick. your pussy hole remained gaping after he pulled out and your liquids were spilling on your sheets. after a few strokes, he released all over your back onto your mesh dress staining it.

you plopped down onto your empty bed exhausted. the room filled with the sound of laboured breathing as you guys tried to catch your breath. the sound of Eren shuffling around could be heard soon after. your heart ached at the thought of him leaving you so soon but you closed your eyes, ‘it’s for the better’ you thought. you wanted a few moments of rest before you went to wash up.

but Eren wasn’t finished yet, he was shedding the remaining articles of his clothing leaving him naked. your eyes opened feeling the bed dip under the extra weight. before you could protest, Eren had already climbed on top of you, grabbing your legs and having them pushed over your head, “we’re not finished yet.”

this time Eren took the lead, he had ripped off your dress leaving you completely naked and exposed to his eyes. he had you folded over like a pretzel leaving you open for him. your legs were bent so far over your head you could see the top of your pussy and watch as Eren thrusted in and out of your overstimulated hole from above. the pleasure made you want to slither away but Eren’s strong hold kept you still.

“E-eren!” you were losing your mind from the stimulation. “too much! it’s too much!” you cried out. you reached out to push against his rock-hard abdomen. you didn’t want him to stop, not when you were so close to your second orgasm of the night but it was too much. he was being so rough with you. you didn’t think you had it in you after motherhood to be manhandled like this.

“nah, you can take it. you’re a big girl now, dissing me at the club with your friends. be glad I’m even fucking you since I’m such a “bad baby daddy.” Eren mocked you from above. he didn’t even flinch as you tried to push him away. he smiled down at you watching how easily you got fucked out. moans were no longer coming out your mouth, more like strangled sobs and whines that were being forced out after each deep thrust of his. the head of his dick battering your insides and abusing your soft spot left you tremoring underneath him.

“imsorryimsorry,” you babbled out. your mascara and eyeliner were running down your cheeks and your lipstick was smothered but you couldn’t look any prettier to Eren. he enjoyed watching as your tits bounce around. he brought his forest green eyes back up to you watching as you bit your quivering lip.

“how’d that song go again?” Eren sarcastically asked. with the number of times he replayed that video he had the lyrics, beat and rhythm all memorized. “something like this right?” pap! pap! pap! Eren changed the rhythm of his thrusts, the sound of his balls clapping against your ass and the squelching sounds of your pussy mimicked the bow bow bow of the song. he angled each thrust to deliver a particularly harsh hit to your g-spot.

without warning an intense feeling of pleasure erupted in your stomach. “imcuming!” you cried out. you could feel a liquid flow out from your pussy, completely drenching Eren’s dick. he quickly pulled out to watch you squirt, a sight he immensely missed. the translucent liquid gushed out of your hole soaking the sheets as well.

“you said fuck your baby who?” Eren smiled down at your fucked out face. you couldn’t even answer him with the overwhelming pleasure rendering all of your senses useless. your head was thrown back and your face furrowed, coming down from the high of your intense orgasm. “oh aight.”

I think I got a bit carried away🤭

[woso-dreamzzz]

Skatt's Halloween

Mapi León x Ingrid Engen x Child!Reader

Summary: The first of my Halloween-centric fics

Mapi sighs as she assembles you and your sisters in front of the big wall by the hallway for a picture.

Your oldest sister, little Cub, is whining at Ingrid.

"I want to be a lion! You said I could be a lion!"

"And you will be a lion," Ingrid assures her," But for proper Halloween. For club Halloween, we agreed that you'd be a beetle, remember?"

For the four years you can remember being alive (though you can only really remember three of those years), you know that Halloween is difficult.

There's two Halloweens but also kind of not really.

Mapi says your family does two Halloweens. Proper Halloween that everyone celebrates and club Halloween that only your family does at the last training day before Proper Halloween.

You think it's kind of cool that you get to get dressed up twice.

But, club Halloween means matching costumes. Or, at least a matching theme.

The chooser of the theme is picked out of a hat to avoid arguing after last year's debacle when Cub and Bebita got into a big fight and Sunshine's new camera was caught in the carnage.

But it's okay now because you were chosen and you want the family theme to be insects.

Teeny is dressed as a stick insect. Your twin, Bebita, is a mosquito. Sunshine is a ladybug and you're a bumblebee. For actual Halloween though, you're going to be a cockroach.

Cub's meant to be a beetle but she keeps trying to take off her costume no matter how Ingrid tries to placate her.

"Cub, please," She says," It's only for a few hours!"

"No! No! Lion! Lion, rawr!"

Mapi sighs again as Teeny drifts off to the side to grab at a toy, completely ruining the shot.

"Bebita!" She says suddenly," Stop trying to bite your sisters!"

Bebita, who was halfway to putting Sunshine's arm in her mouth, huffs. "I'm a mosquito! They bite!"

"Yes but you don't need to bite your sister....Teeny! Stop trying to open up the markers!"

"No!" Cub continues," I want-I want to be a lion because I'm Cub and cubs are lions!"

You don't know why Cub's kicking up such a fuss. It's a good beetle costume. It's not itchy or scratchy so you don't get why she's complaining.

"Sunshine, please don't try and pack that camera," Mapi says on the very edges of your senses," That's the expensive one and we've had three broken cameras this week alone."

You giggle a little as you run your hands down your fluffy bumblebee costume, wiggling a little to look at your stinger. You really like your outfit, even the little wings that you can't quite see but know are there.

Ingrid had assured you earlier that you looked like the best little bumblebee in the world so you hope on Proper Halloween you can look like the best cockroach in the world too.

"Lion!" Cub insists and you look over at her, feeling all weird in your tummy.

Cub cries a lot more than you and Bebita. Sunshine doesn't cry much either but she can be a little emotional. Teeny's the youngest so she cries a lot too.

"Cub, baby, please-"

"There's a lion beetle."

Cub stops, turning to look at you. "What?"

"There's a beetle called a lion beetle," You reply," It's a type of longhorn beetle."

Cub falls silent for a moment, thinking as she holds her løve. "Okay," She says eventually," I'll be the lion beetle for club Halloween and a proper lion for Proper Halloween."

Ingrid breaths out a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Cub. Now, are we ready for pictures?"

"Okay."

Cub goes hurrying off to the wall and you take Ingrid's offered hand as she leads you over.

"Thank you, Skatt," She says, a soft kiss dropped onto your head," Are we all ready for pictures now?"

"All good," Mapi says as she corrals the rest of your sisters to the wall," Ingrid, I think we've got the prettiest set of insects anyone's ever seen."

Ingrid smiles indulgently, clicking her fingers above her camera to capture everyone's attention. "I think so too."

"A stick insect, a mosquito, a ladybug, a beetle-"

"Lion beetle!" Cub cuts in.

"A lion beetle and a bumblebee," Mapi finishes," Alright, girls. Look at Mumma's camera. Smile."

Ingrid takes lots of photos before getting everyone in the car.

"Did I do good?" You ask when Ingrid takes your hand," With choosing the costumes?"

"A perfect job," Ingrid assures you," I love seeing all my girls as little insects."

"Good," You say, giggling as kisses flutter all over your face and neck," Sorry Cub started arguing."

"It's okay, Skatt," Ingrid says," It's not your fault. You're a very cute bumblebee."

"That's what Mami said!"

"Well, sometimes Mami's right about a few things."

"Hey!" Mapi hangs her head out of the window. "I'm right about a lot of things."

"You called my costume a honey bee! I'm a bumblebee!"

Mapi laughs, waving her hand. "Same thing."

"It's not!"

"She's teasing you," Ingrid says," She knows you're a bumblebee for Halloween."

"Really?"

Ingrid grins. "The prettiest bumblebee in the world!"

[coupsiedaisee]

double the trouble, twice the fun | b.sk c.sc

when a mistake ruins an already terrible day, there's two people ready to make it better for you

pairing: boo seungkwan x f. reader x choi seungcheol genre: crime au, smut warnings: kissing, killing, guns, uses of daddy and puppy, oral, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie wordcount: 4.6k a/n: this was supposed to be a present for @hannieween for new years but i guess better late than never lol. happy valentines bbygirl i hope this ruins your day!

"We should get out of here," Mingyu says, standing up to grab his sniper off the ledge of the roof.

You had missed.

He packs his rifle into a hard case as you stay kneeling in shock, rough with the way he pushes it into its designated slot and clicks the case shut, slinging it over his shoulder like a backpack. "Earth to Venus, let's go," he says, bringing you out of your stupor.

You clamber to stand up, hands shaking as you gingerly set your rifle inside its case before throwing it over your shoulder like Mingyu.

You were 8 years old when you first shot a gun.

It was a foggy Sunday morning. Shaken out of your sleep, a jacket and earmuffs were shoved your way and next thing you knew, you were being driven to an abandoned barn on the outskirts of town.

Your father, a stoic bearded man with a gaze icy enough to freeze Calcifer, silently pressed a 9mm bronze pistol into your hands. It looked massive compared to the tiny thin fingers clutched around the handle. The metal was cool to the touch, a feeling you'd never forget.

The clicking of a lighter rang through the silent morning as your father lit up a cigarette, taking a long drag before breathing smoke out of his nose. He motioned his hand at something behind you and you tore your eyes away from the smoke wisping around his head.

Behind you, far on the other side of the barn, was a dummy. Or at least, that's what you supposed it was. It couldn't have been more than, say, 10 feet away. Dry hay bundled together with zip ties in the shape of what resembled a human body. A black target symbol was misshapenly drawn on a sheet of paper and tacked onto the "head."

You turn the gun over in your hand, chewing your lip. You'd never shot a gun before. What if you missed? Or worse, what if you missed and the bullet ricocheted off of one of the beams, hitting your father? The gun felt like a pound of bricks in your hand, and the thought weighed in your brain, equally as heavy.

There was a low grunt as your father shuffled to stand next to you. The lit cigarette stuck out of the corner of his mouth as he pulled a similarly coloured bronze revolver out from his pocket, aiming the barrel at the dummy, then pulled the trigger. With a bang, a single bullet shot through the air and straight through the paper-target-hay-dummy. The dummy tipped back from the force before falling forward, standing still and upright He took another slow drag of his cigarette, smoke blowing out into the cold air.

You didn't want to let him down and, wordlessly as he may be, you knew exactly what he wanted from you at that moment.

As you tried to mirror the way he stood, feet planted shoulder-width apart, he watched. Watched, the way your hands trembled to hold the gun up. Watched, how you swallowed nothing as you found your target and locked in.

Watched, as you pulled the trigger.

You're quiet on the ride back home.

Mingyu hums along to a soulful voice crooning the latest pop hit through the radio, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to match the beat.

Reeded wetlands soon turn into highrises as the car descends back into Seoul. Brightly lit signs reflect off the car window and you stare out into the city, watching as people come in and out of bars and clubs.

Normally it'd be you behind the wheel, but you hadn't trusted yourself. Accidentally killing Mingyu in a car crash would truly be the cherry on top of today's rotten cake and, thankfully, Mingyu was more than happy to take over..

It wasn't like you to put your life in anyone's hands but your own. At least, not since your father had died.

Cops had come, knocking at your door in the wee hours of the night. He jumped off the roof of an abandoned building. Paramedics didn't get there in time. We're sorry for your loss. You'd scoffed, even at 16 you could smell the stench of foul play.

It was the nail in your coffin for how truly alone you were in this world.

Your father, dead. Your mother, never in the picture to begin with. Friends? Ha, in your fucking dreams.

Though he may have left you all alone, he didn't leave you completely empty-handed. Your father left behind exactly two things: one, the small hovel you'd called home your entire life, and two, his bronze revolver.

The flat was easy enough to get rid of. Sold under the table to some shady "realtor" who most likely didn't even pay half of what it was actually worth, but you weren't complaining. That black cash kept you afloat for a long time.

As for the revolver, you used it for what you'd hoped your father would have wanted you to.

You used it to find yourself a job.

It started with odd jobs and always with someone different—you never worked for the same man twice. The first few didn't even pay you properly but you used the cash you had to bounce around town, staying hidden in the shadows of the city. Most of the time, finding the poor sucker was half the battle, all they'd give you was a name.

It wasn't long till word got around the city of a new hitman—hitgirl—who worked so eerily similar to a man they'd known to be dead. You'd begun to make decent money, but that didn't stop you from flat-hopping. You liked your anonymity. The detachment from people around you. In a sort of backwards way, it was the most comforting part of your life.

A few years back, when you were recruited into SVT as their resident sniper, Mingyu tore through that comfort with large garden shears, hacking away with impudence only a 6'3" man could hold. Show me how to shoot. I want to become a marksman. I heard you're the best. Left on the floor were scraps of a lonely little girl. A girl who wasn't even remembered, so she couldn't be forgotten.

Dokyeom, or Smiley Dokyeom as you liked to call him, is waiting in the front hall when you two pull into the driveaway. He thinks he's being slick, but you see his round eyes peek through the window of the front door.

You don't wait for Mingyu to put the car in park, manually unlocking the door to get out, not bothering to grab your rifle from the back seat.

The front door to the house opens before you can even grab the doorknob. Dokyeom has his signature wide sunshine smile as he holds the door open for you. You stalk past him without even a glance, and you don't see the way his smile drops. As you slip into your room, you hear Mingyu, "Don't take it to heart DK, she's just—" You don't wait to hear him finish, closing the door behind you with a resounding slam.

You tear your clothes off, stumbling as your arm gets stuck taking off your shirt. Kicking the pile into a corner, you pull on an oversized sleep shirt and ungracefully fall face-first into bed.

Today has been a terrible day. An awful day. A downright atrocious day.

From the moment you awoke, nothing has gone your way.

First, you're pretty sure something was growing in the milk carton this morning. Smiley Dokyeom was supposed to have cleaned the fridge out so that he and Mingyu could do a grocery run later this week. Well, he didn't. And now, the last bowl of Cheerios was covered in fuzzy green stuff.

You had to go sans breakfast, a fantastic start to your morning.

Second, your holster suddenly broke at its seams, falling apart into two and forcing you to keep a pistol in your waistband.

Third, Mingyu and his too-long-for-anyones-good legs had tripped you going up the stairs. He'd caught you before you keeled over the edge of the stairwell and fell to your death, but the same could not be said for the pistol that slipped out of your waistband. Luckily, it didn't go off when it hit the ground.

And fourth, your magnum opus. The pièce de résistance.

You. Had. Missed.

This was a first. Never, within your memory, had you ever missed a shot on an assignment.

Best sniper in Seoul, your ass. You were pathetic. A disgrace. A blight on your team.

How the fuck could you miss. You scream into your pillow and burrow further into your blankets, rolling around till you're burrito-ed into them.

As hired hitmen, the job was rarely as simple as today's. SVT was not a particularly large organization, but you lot could handle more than one would think. Each of the 14 members had their own specialities. You were their designated lead sniper, with Mingyu as your second when you needed one. Dokyeom is an accountant by trade, taking care of any and all transactions, always keeping the money flowing into SVT, always needing to know how the job went. But don't let his sunshine smile fool you, he's got the knife work to rival that of Mr. Lecter, and has no problem utilizing it.

There are more though.

Need to break into someone's computer system? Need to find someone on an airplane manifest? Woozi, the tech god, is your man. Need someone beaten up within an inch of their life, but still keep that life? The8's got a mean right hook.

Today's job was elementary: find the two marks, kill them. Truly could not get any simpler than that.

The first shot went straight through the window, shattering it, then barely grazing the mark's shoulder. The second, into his head, right between his eyes. However, there never should have been a second—

There's a knock at the door.

You lay still in your bed, letting your breathing go even, hoping whoever it was would turn around and leave.

Rap, rap, rap. A pause. Then the door opens just enough for The8 to pop his head in.

"He's asking for you," says The8.

You groan, rubbing your hands over your face, "Tell him I'm preoccupied. Too busy planning my own funeral."

"Tell him yourself," he deadpans and then does the worst, leaves without closing the door.

You kick yourself out of your cocoon of blankets. As if today could not get any worse, you were about to get a talking-to.

Begrudgingly, you drag yourself up to the fourth floor, where there is only one door at the end of a long and winding hallway. His door.

When you go to knock, you find it's already open and you push through.

The room is empty. A tall lamp sits in the corner, casting a faint amber glow atop a velour reading chair. Near it, a massive california king sized bed, neatly made, corners drawn tight. The window behind it is open, letting a cool breeze flow through the room. A shiver rolls down your back, and the hairs on your arms stand up.

"Boo," a voice whispers, hot breath fanning across your ear.

You react instantly, swivelling around to grab at the intruder. They sidestep your reach, grabbing you by the arm and spinning you back around, keeping both your arms bent behind you.

"Oh, you are off your game today," they drawl. Boo Seungkwan. You struggle in his hold, trying to elbow your way out of it, but his grip is tight and unrelenting.

Boo Seungkwan. President. CEO. Leader. The boss man. Whatever you want to call him, he's in charge. The top dog calling all the shots.

"I am not off my game," you hiss. "It was one mistake."

A shove from behind, and you're falling to the floor, letting out an oof as you hit the ground. You scramble to sit up on your knees, pulling at the hem of your sleep shirt to cover yourself as much as possible.

"Yes, but you don't make mistakes, do you?" He says, voice mirthless.

You bow your head, giving it the smallest of shakes.

His hand is back, this time roughly gripping your chin and forcing you to look up into his eyes.

Dark, sharp eyes, mildly shaded by dark inky hair with strands of grey coming through. You drop your gaze lower to his full cheeks, and plush, full lips.

You gulp.

"Look at me when I ask you a question." Seungkwan squeezes at your jaw, the pads of his fingers digging into your cheek, then throws your face aside,

"So?" He says, not sparing you a single glance as he takes his jacket off, going to hang it in the armoire. He bites the finger of one of his gloves to pull it off, pulling the other off with his free hand. "Give me your report, pup."

You keep your eyes trained on him, watching intently as he unclasps his watch, setting it down next to the gloves. "Woozi procured information this morning that Kang Juyeon and Lee Kangin would be meeting today. He gave a location and a time. Once Mingyu and I confirmed the location, we used a nearby building to take them down from afar. On the way up, we unfortunately lost a pistol. While taking out one of the marks, I missed my first shot and released a second bullet to kill them. Both marks died on the scene and there was no evidence of us left behind.

"Except a pistol."

Your jaw clenches, "The pistol is untraceable, both by make and bullet. We have also taken extreme caution to prevent any fingerprints from being left behind."

Seungkwan nods as he unbuckles his belt, pulling it off and meticulously rolling it up before setting it inside the armoire.

"And do you feel today's assignment was successful?" He asks, unbuttoning his pants and slowly peeling them off.

Your breath hitches at the sight of his toned thighs, "N-no."

"No?" Seungkwan quirks an eyebrow at you.

"We completed our assignment today, yes." You hesitate for a moment, chewing your lip, "But, with today's mistake, I would not consider the assignment a success."

Seungkwan tilts his head, staring you down while clad in nothing but tight black boxer briefs and a fitted white crewneck. "I see."

He does not elaborate and, instead, saunters over to the bed, taking a seat at the foot.

"Come here," he commands. You make to stand up and Seungkwan shakes his head, clicking his tongue with a tsk, "Stay on your knees."

Your mouth dries up, and you nod, leaning forward onto all fours. As you crawl over to him, a cool breeze floats across your barely clothed pussy, and you pray no one else walks in, feeling unbelievably exposed.

Seungkwan leans back on his hands, his honey thighs spread apart before you, cock bulging against the black cloth of his boxer briefs.

"Get up." You start to stand. "And take those off," he says, motioning to your lower half.

You falter, "My panties?"

Seungkwan's eyes darken, "Don't make me ask twice, pup."

Your fingers hesitate with the waistband of your panties, before pulling them down and letting them drop to the floor, stepping out of them.

"Good girl," he says in a low voice. The praise goes immediately to your core, and you can feel yourself getting wet.

Seungkwan pats his thigh silently, and you don't need him to tell you to know what he wants.

You climb up onto the bed, straddling his thigh with a knee on either side. The second the cool, smooth, expanse of his skin touches your bare pussy, you shudder,

"Ride me puppy."

You start to move, bracing yourself by bringing a hand to his shoulder.

Seungkwan watches you like he's assessing you. As though he's a professor and you're grades are dependent on how well you cum on his thighs.

He flexes his thigh and your hips stutter, if only for a moment, and then continue grinding, dragging yourself back and forth along his thigh. As your pleasure builds, little gasps start to leave your mouth. Each drag brings you closer and closer to the peak and your fingers dig harder into his shoulder.

Any thoughts about today's assignment are gone as your mind clouds over. Just as you feel as though you're getting close to the edge, Seungkwan's hands come to either side of your hips, stilling your movements and holding you in place. When you try to move, his fingertips dig in, forcing your hips to stay still.

Though he makes no inclination, you know he can feel the way your pussy pulsates against his thigh and, for a moment, you wonder if you could clench against his thigh in place and bring yourself to orgasm that way.

"Don't even think about it," he says in a low growl.

A whine leaves your lips and your forehead drops to his. "Seungkwan, please," you whimper. Seungkwan lets your little breaths skate across his face before leaning up to close the distance between your lips, leaving a chaste kiss, a rare moment of softness.

"Go on," he says firmly, loosening the hold on your hips.

Slowly, you begin to gyrate. You can hear how wet you are with every roll of your hips. Seungkwan flexes his thigh muscles once more, and you let out a gasp that soon turns into a breathy moan, "Fuck, that feels good."

Again, Seungkwan stops you, hands digging into your hips. You nearly cry out in frustration, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, and your chest undulating with every breath. You understand now that this is a punishment.

There's a sound at the door, and someone hurries in, bag crashing against the doorway as they step through.

"Are you starting without me?" says a deep voice hurriedly. Choi Seungcheol.

Choi Seungcheol. Cocky, rowdy, hammer enthusiast, boxing enthusiast, Seungkwan's right-hand man, and menace to society.

There's a clunk as his bag hits the floor, and footsteps pad across the room till a warm body presses up against your back, boxing you in.

"I can't believe you started without me, hyung." His fingers play at the hem of your shirt, and you raise your arms so he can pull it off, tossing it aside. You're wearing nothing underneath and your bare nipples perk at the sudden exposure. "But, god do I get why."

Seungcheol cups your breasts from behind and begins playing with your nipples, pinching and rubbing them between two fingers. His hands don fingerless gloves, and the cool leather leaves a trace of goosebumps wherever they touch your skin. He leans down to suck little kisses down your neck and on your shoulders. You throw your head back against his chest, mouth parted to let out quiet whimpers.

"Gods, you sound so good for us, pup," He hums into your shoulder and the vibrations go straight to your pussy. "Why don't you go ahead and cum for us then?" You look to Seungkwan, your eyes heavily lidded in lust, waiting for the okay.

Seungkwan, who's been quiet, gives a short, barely there, nod. He reaches his hand up to cup your jaw and slips his thumb into your mouth.

It's all you need and you begin to roll your hips against Seungkwan's taut thighs, pleasure coursing through. You give his thumb a harsh suck and a moan as the wave of your orgasm comes crashing down.

Any chance of some post-nut clarity is gone as Seungkwan grabs you by the back of the neck with his free arm and rips you away from Seungcheol, rolling you over onto the bed. Your head barely touches the mattress before Seungkwan's thumb is replaced by his lips, thighs quivering as Seungkwan's clothed cock grinds into your sensitive pussy.

Seungcheol fumbles around in the background as he tries to get undressed as quickly as possible, thumping against the dresser as he struggles to pull off his last pant leg.

At the sound of something clattering to the ground, Seungkwan sucks harshly at your bottom lip. His hand finds its way down between your legs, fingers coating themselves in your arousal before pushing a digit in.

You shudder against his lips as he pushes another finger in and begins pumping them at a glorious pace.

"You'll let us do anything to you, won't you pup?" Seungkwan curls his finger inside you, deliciously hitting your g-spot and you cry out, hips rising off the bed. "Answer me," he growls.

"Oh, oh, I—yes. Anything. You can—oh—do anything."

Seungkwan seems to like this answer, as his lips curl up into a sneer. He has you writhing under him as he begins to move his fingers faster.

Your walls spasm as you squeeze your eyes shut, overwhelmed, cumming all over his fingers. He pumps you through your high and when you open your eyes, Seungcheol is standing next to the bed, completely naked, hard cock coated in his precum as he pumps it in languid strokes.

Your mouth starts watering at the sight. Seungkwan gives your pussy a tight slap, as if to remind you who's still in charge, and it stings deliciously.

"Come here," Seungcheol says. Seungkwan climbs off the bed without saying anything and you take his lack of argument as an okay. You roll over to crawl to Seungcheol and he bends down to capture your lips in a kiss. His hand slides into your hair, gripping it tightly and giving it a slight tug as he nips at your lower lip. He stands straight again and tips your head back the slightest bit, "Open up, pup."

You open your mouth, like the good pup you are, and Seunghceol nudges his mushroom tip against your open lips. You suck around his tip, lapping at his cockhead with little kitten licks. He holds the back of your head, slowly pushing his cock in deeper and deeper. He then starts to thrust, slow at first, then picking up speed. Your jaw aches trying to accommodate his girth.

"Shit pup, god gave you that filthy mouth just for daddy's cock, didn't he?" says Seungcheol, holding your head with both his hands and fucking faster into your mouth. You can't stop the desperate moan that comes from your throat and it's enough to send Seungcheol over his edge. He curses, holding your head still against his cock as cums into your mouth and down your throat, the excess dribbling out and making a mess down your chin.

Seungcheol's breathing is heavy as he pulls out and you stick a tongue out to lick up the cum that's escaped your mouth. He lets out another curse and swoops down to capture your lips in a rough kiss.

When you separate, Seungcheol looks at you with a look that can only be described as hungry. But he doesn't act on it. He knows how far he's allowed to go today.

"She's all yours hyung," Seungcheol says over your shoulder before stepping away, and heading to go shower. You feel the bed dip behind you and you turn to see Seungkwan, shirt and boxer briefs discarded, cock hard, angry and pink.

Seungkwan makes no effort to be as gentle as Seungcheol was, roughly pushing you back onto the bed and your legs apart. He rubs the length of his cock up against your folds, letting your creamy wet ess coat him and you mewl when his head nudges your sensitive clit. Then, he lines up against your entrance and pushes in, all in one go. He hisses as your walls squeeze around him, sheathing him like a glove. Your hips swivelling to get his cock in deeper as he begins to thrust. Seungkwan lifts one of your legs, as he slams into you.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," You cry with each thrust.

"You're so fucking tight," Seungkwan hisses, grunting with each thrust. A cacophony of your moans, his grunts, and the slapping of skin on skin echo through the room and you wonder if Seungcheol can hear it over the sound of his shower.

Seungkwan's hand travels up past your breasts and grips the lightest of holds on your neck, but it's enough to have you tipping into hell, your eyes rolling back over the heightened pleasure. At the feeling of your walls convulsing around his cock, Seungkwan lets go too, shuddering from his orgasm as he cums inside you.

The two of you lay there for a moment, skin to skin, as you both breathe heavily from both your orgasms. He slowly pulls out, using two fingers to scoop up his cum leaking out of you and pushes it back into your pussy. You whine at the sensation, your pussy sensitive from the overstimulation.

Seungkwan lets you lay in the sheets, your energy spent. He throws half the comforter over you and crawls off the bed. You feel yourself drift off to dreamland for just a moment before being awoken by the sound of Seungcheol coming out of the bathroom. He's only donning a towel around his hips, chest glistening with a sheen of moisture.

Seungkwan stands by bathroom the door. "Come here, pup," he commands. You swear your legs are made out of jello but you also know he doesn't like asking twice. You do your best to walk over without collapsing and Seungkwan takes you into the shower.

The shower is one of the few places Seungkwan lets a soft side out. He lets the water spray over you and starts with your hair first, lathering shampoo in it. The feeling of him massaging the shampoo into your scalp is soothing and you close your eyes for a moment.

He tucks a wet strand behind your ear, "About today's job, pup."

Your eyes fly open, "Yes?"

His gaze flits between your eyes, bringing a hand around to cup your cheek. "Get it together. Don't let it happen again." He pats you firmly on the cheek twice.

"I—yes sir."

Seungkwan is satisfied with your answer and finishes rinsing you off. Then he ushers you out, preferring to clean himself up alone and join you both in bed afterwards. You dry yourself up and wrap a fluffy black bathrobe around your naked body.

Seungcheol's already in bed, having finished changing the sheets and switching out the comforter for a new one. He flips the edge of the comforter over so you can slide in next to him. You slip your robe off, letting it fall on the floor, and get in.

Seungcheol lets you run your hand down his body, feeling that he's completely naked, and also completely hard. You know what comes next, turn over to face your back to him. Then you feel it, the press of his hard cock against the back of your ass as it finds your folds. As he rubs his cock against your entrance, he reaches an arm around to rub languid circles against your clit. You feel arousal pooling once more between your legs and you let out a gasp as Seungcheol slips his fat cock in, pushing into the hilt.

Seungcheol stops the fingers on your clit, instead bringing the arm around your waist and pressing a soft kiss against your bare shoulder.

"You did well today, pup. Go on, go to sleep now"

a/n: i hope y'all liked this :3 i feel like seungseung couple is so underrated so this is my horny love letter to that hehe. pls let me know your thoughts and feelings and what nots!!!! id love to hear any feedback u guys have! thank yoooou, daisee out~

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO CTRLALTDAISEE I DO NOT ALLOW TRANSLATIONS, CONTINUATIONS, REIMAGINATIONS, OR REPOSTING OF MY WORKS ON THIS OR ON OTHER WEBSITES

[lost-in-thoughts03]

Falling for you // Hwang brothers

Previous part || Next part

Summary: Confessed. Rejected. Get wasted. You are grateful that In-ho has so much patience for you. You will be held accountable if he doesn't.

" Soon you will be mine, oh, but I want you now."

Warning: Harassment, beating, drinking, clubbing, broken hearted (reader), stalking, In-ho is being In-ho, reader is being drunk, a lot of teasing, reader is being feisty, mutual-pinning, possessive In-ho

The bass thumps through your chest, the flashing neon lights blurring as you knock back another shot. The alcohol burns your throat, but it’s nothing compared to the ache in your heart.

You weren’t supposed to feel this way about Jun-ho. Not anymore. Not after everything. But here you are, drowning in liquor and regret, hoping the music will be loud enough to drown out your thoughts.

Your friends finally arrive, sliding into the booth beside you. “ Damn, you started without us?” One of them teases, nudging your shoulder.

You barely manage a laugh before your face crumples, and just like that, you’re spilling everything. About Jun-ho. About how he still lingers in your thoughts, in your stupid, fragile heart. About how unfair it is that after everything, after all the pain and betrayal, a part of you still wants him.

Tears slip down your cheeks, and your friends exchange a look before one of them groans. “ Are you seriously crying over this man right now?”

Another one leans in, snatching your drink away. “ Y/n, you’re acting like he’s the last guy on Earth. News flash—he’s not. And even if he was, he’s not worth your damn tears.”

You sniff, wiping at your face. “ But—”

“ No ‘but.’" They grab your hands, pulling you up from the booth.

“ We came here to party, not to listen to you mope like a tragic movie protagonist.”

Someone shoves a drink into your hand, another drags you onto the dance floor.

“ Come on, Y/n. Tonight, we forget all of it. Jun-ho doesn’t exist. Only the music, only the lights, only this moment.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you let go.

The music pulses through your veins as your friends drag you onto the dance floor, their laughter cutting through the fog in your mind. The club is packed—bodies swaying, lights flashing, the heavy scent of alcohol and sweat filling the air.

“ Loosen up, Y/n!” One of your friends shouts over the music, spinning you around.

“ We are not letting you ruin the night over some man!”

You let out a shaky breath, still feeling the weight of Jun-ho’s name lingering in your chest, but you force yourself to move. At first, it’s awkward—your limbs stiff, your mind still tangled in memories. But then, your friends start hyping you up, hands in the air, cheering every time you match their energy.

“ There we go! That’s the Y/n we know!”

Someone hands you another drink, and this time, you don’t hesitate. You do it in one go, letting the warmth spread through you, melting away the heartache bit by bit. The beat drops, and suddenly, you’re laughing—really laughing—as your body finally syncs with the rhythm.

Jun-ho doesn’t exist right now. He’s just a name, a ghost lost in the flashing lights and heavy bass.

“ You’re free, babe!” Your friend twirls you around.

“ No more sad girl hours!”

And for the first time in forever, you believe them.

...

In-ho leans against the cold railing outside his house, the distant hum of the city barely registering in his mind. The cigarette between his fingers burns slowly, the smoke curling into the night air as he exhales. His thoughts are a mess—circling back to you, like they always do.

Then, his phone buzzes in his pocket.

At first, he ignores it, staring blankly at the street lights flickering in the distance. But the buzzing continues, and with a sigh, he pulls it out, unlocking the screen with one hand. His brows furrow as a notification pops up.

Your location.

His grip tightens. He knows it’s wrong—knows he shouldn’t have put a tracker on your phone. But he can’t help it. He told himself it was for your safety. That’s all.

But when he sees where you are, his jaw clenches.

A club.

At this hour?

He flicks his cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his shoe. His thoughts spiral—his mind painting images he doesn’t want to see. You, surrounded by strangers.

Hands touching what’s his.

Some asshole getting too close, whispering things in your ear, thinking you’re just another girl looking for trouble.

His chest tightens, a sharp, ugly possessiveness taking root in his gut.

Without another second of hesitation, he shoves his phone into his pocket, yanks open his car door, and speeds off into the night.

In-ho’s grip on the steering wheel tightens until his knuckles turn white. The engine roars as he presses down on the gas, weaving through traffic without a second thought. His jaw is clenched so tightly it aches, but it’s nothing compared to the storm raging in his head.

" Stupid. Fucking stupid." He mutters under his breath, eyes burning with frustration. " What the hell is she thinking?"

You. Out in the middle of the night. Alone. In a club full of drunk idiots who wouldn’t think twice about taking advantage of you.

He curses again, his foot pressing harder on the accelerator. The thought of someone getting too close, of some asshole putting his hands on you—it makes his blood boil.

If anyone even tries…

His fingers flex against the wheel, his mind already flashing through all the ways he’d make them regret it. He’s never been the type to lose control, but when it comes to you, it’s different. It’s always been different.

You don’t even realize the kind of danger you put yourself in. You never do.

And maybe that’s why he’s like this. Why he’s always keeping an eye on you, why he can't trust anyone else to do it.

The club's neon lights come into view, glowing like a beacon in the dark. He pulls up to the entrance, parking recklessly before yanking the keys out of the ignition.

In-ho pushes open the car door with so much force that it nearly slams back at him. His long strides eat up the pavement as he makes his way toward the club entrance, his pulse hammering in his ears. The bouncer barely gives him a glance before stepping aside—whether it’s because of his intense expression or the sheer authority in his presence, In-ho doesn’t care.

The moment he steps inside, the pounding bass rattles his bones. The stench of alcohol, sweat, and cheap cologne fills the air, but none of it matters. His sharp eyes scan the crowd, searching for you in the sea of bodies, his chest tightening with every passing second.

And then he sees you.

You’re on the dance floor, laughing, your body moving with the music, completely unaware of the chaos brewing just a few feet away. The flashing neon lights highlight your face, your carefree smile—one that he hasn’t seen in a while.

But In-ho barely notices any of that.

His attention is locked on the guy standing way too close to you.

Some asshole with his hands grazing your waist, leaning in like he has the fucking right.

Red. That’s all In-ho sees.

Before he even realizes it, his feet are moving. His body cuts through the crowd like a predator zeroing in on its target.

The moment he reaches you, he doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t need to.

...

" Hey, pretty thing." A slurred voice murmurs against your ear. You stiffen, an uncomfortable shiver running down your spine.

You don't even have the energy to glare, let alone entertain him. With a sluggish step, you try to move away, but he grabs your wrist, his grip tight and insistent.

" Where are you going? We were just getting started." He sneers, his breath reeking of alcohol.

" Let go." You mutter, attempting to yank your arm away, but he's stronger than you expected. His fingers dig into your skin, his other hand wandering to your hip.

Your stomach churns—not just from the alcohol, but from the sickening realization that he's not going to stop. Your mind is screaming at you to fight, to do something, but your limbs feel heavy, useless.

And then—

With one swift motion, someone grabs your wrist and yanks you back, away from the guy, away from whatever bullshit you thought you were doing tonight.

“ In-ho—?!” Your startled voice barely registers as he turns to the guy, his dark eyes filled with nothing but cold fury.

“ You got a death wish?” His voice is dangerously low, laced with a quiet threat that makes the air feel suffocating.

The guy raises his hands in defense. “ Chill, man. We were just—”

“ Don’t. Fucking. Touch her.”

And before the guy can utter another word, In-ho’s fist collides with his face.

A sudden, forceful crack fills the air, and in an instant, the man is ripped away from you, staggering back before crashing onto the floor.

You blink, your vision focusing just enough to see a familiar figure standing in front of you, his fist clenched, his chest rising and falling with controlled fury.

Why is he here? You never told him where you’d be—hell, you never told anyone except your friends.

Your heart pounds as you stare at him, searching for answers, but In-ho's cold, sharp gaze is locked onto the man groaning on the floor. His jaw is tight, his shoulders tense as if he's barely holding himself back from beating the guy into oblivion.

And for a moment, you forget your heartbreak, your drunken state—because now, you have a different question haunting your mind.

How did he know you were here?

...

The cold night air hits your skin as In-ho practically drags you out of the club. Your heels scrape against the pavement as you stumble forward, the alcohol churning in your stomach. Before you can stop it, you double over, clutching your knees as you vomit onto the dirty sidewalk.

The alcohol buzzing through your veins makes everything feel lighter, funnier—like the world isn’t as serious as he’s making it seem.

You don’t even remember how you ended up outside so quickly. One second, you were dancing, enjoying yourself, and the next, you were yanked away by a very, very angry In-ho.

“ Are you out of your goddamn mind?” His voice is sharp, cutting through the haze in your head, but instead of feeling guilty, you just…giggle.

Oh, he hates that.

“ You think this is funny?” He glares at you, his hands still gripping your wrist tightly, his chest rising and falling with frustration.

“ Do you have any idea how fucking reckless you’re being? Alone in a club, drunk off your ass, letting random guys put their hands on you?”

“ What the hell were you thinking, Y/n?” He snapped, finally stopping in the dimly lit alley beside the club.

His eyes scanned over you, checking for any signs of trouble. “ Going out this late? Alone? Do you even know how dangerous that is?”

You rolled your eyes dramatically, swaying a little as you tried to stand properly. “ I wasn’t alone.” you slurred, pointing a lazy finger at him. “ I was with my friends. I have friends, y’know.”

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “ Oh, you mean those friends who were too drunk to even notice I dragged you out here? Real reliable.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “ Hey, they’re fun! You should come meet them.” You turned back toward the club, attempting to walk back in, but In-ho caught your wrist again, pulling you back effortlessly.

“ Absolutely not.” His grip tightened slightly as he stared at you, exasperated. “ You don’t even know how vulnerable you are like this.”

You just pouted, tilting your head as you studied him. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his dark eyes scanning your face, probably checking if you were even listening.

Spoiler: you weren’t. Instead, you made a face at him—puffed your cheeks, crossed your eyes a little, and grinned when he sighed heavily, looking up at the sky like he was asking for patience.

Then you laughed. Hard.

“ Oh my god.” You gasped between giggles, barely able to hold yourself up. “ You—You sound like a dad.”

His entire body stiffened. His grip on your wrist loosened as he pulled back slightly, blinking at you as if you’d just insulted his whole existence.

“ A dad?” He repeated, his tone flat.

You nodded enthusiastically, swaying a little as you poked his chest. “ Yep! All strict and grumpy—‘Y/n, don’t do this, Y/n, don’t do that, Y/n, you’ll get yourself killed’—” You mimicked his voice mockingly, only making yourself laugh harder. “ Relax, old man.”

He looked genuinely offended now. “ Old man?”

You gave him a teasing smirk. “ Yeah. You’re acting like some overprotective father figure.”

In-ho scoffed, crossing his arms. “ I’m not that old, and I sure as hell don’t see myself as your father.”

You grinned, swaying on your feet again, and before you could stumble, he sighed and caught your arm, steadying you. Despite his frustration, his grip was still gentle, his touch grounding.

“ You’re impossible.” He muttered.

“And you’re dramatic.” You shot back playfully.

He rolled his eyes, dragging a hand down his face. “ Let’s just get you home before I actually lose my mind.”

You tilt your head, trying to focus on his face, but he’s moving too much. Or maybe you’re the one swaying. Either way, it’s amusing. “ Whaaat? I was just having fun.” You poke his chest, giggling again.

“ You should try it sometime. Y’know, fun? Ever heard of it?”

In-ho exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “ Unbelievable.” He looks like he’s trying so hard to stay calm, but you can see it—the tight clench of his jaw, the fire in his eyes.

And for some reason, that only makes it funnier.

You burst into laughter, leaning against him as if your legs can’t hold you up anymore. “ Oh my gosh, you’re so serious all the time.” You slur, grinning up at him.

“ Are you mad? Huh? So mad? So grumpy?”

His grip tightens on your wrist, his other hand moving to hold your waist to steady you. His patience is hanging by a thread. “ You’re drunk.” He mutters.

You nod enthusiastically. “Yup! And you—” you boop his nose, which makes his eye twitch, “—are sooo dramatic.”

In-ho closes his eyes, takes a slow breath, and then, without a word, scoops you up into his arms.

“ HEY—” You yelp, kicking your legs, but he doesn’t even flinch.

“ We’re going home.” He says firmly, carrying you toward his car like you weigh nothing.

Your drunken protests turn into sleepy mumbling against his shoulder.

And even as annoyed as he is, he still holds you close, making sure you’re warm, safe—far away from anyone who isn’t him.

In-ho practically shoves you into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut before stalking around to the driver’s side. His jaw is still clenched, hands gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles turn white.

You, on the other hand, are completely unbothered. Still drunk. Still way too amused by his anger.

“ Damn, In-ho.” You giggle, leaning toward him as he starts the car. “ Didn’t know you were this bossy.”

He exhales sharply, eyes fixed on the road as he pulls away from the curb. “ Shut up.”

That only makes you laugh harder. “ Ooooh, so scary.” You poke his arm, dragging your fingers down his bicep. “ All tense and broody…you sure you didn’t wanna stay at the club and have a little fun?”

He swallows hard. Your touch—light, teasing—sends a jolt straight through him, but he forces himself to keep his focus on the road.

You don’t realize what you’re doing to him.

Or maybe you do.

You lean in closer, your breath warm against his neck. “ You smell really nice, y’know that?”

In-ho grips the wheel even tighter. Fuck.

You hum, your fingers tracing circles on his thigh now. “ And your arms? So strong. Maybe I should let you drag me around more often…”

His entire body stiffens. His jaw tightens. His breathing turns heavier.

“ Y/n.” He warns, voice low, dangerous.

But you just smirk, completely oblivious to the fire you’re playing with. “ What? You’re acting all serious, but I bet you like it.” Your fingers trail higher up his leg, and that’s it.

In one swift move, he jerks the car to the side of the road, slamming the brakes.

You barely have time to react before he turns to you, his face inches from yours, his dark eyes burning with something dangerous.

“ You think this is a game?” He murmurs, voice thick with something you can’t quite place.

Your breath catches in your throat. The air shifts—suddenly heavy, electric.

For the first time tonight, you’re speechless.

The silence between you crackles like a live wire. The streetlights outside cast flickering shadows across In-ho’s face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the tightness in his expression. His hands are gripping the steering wheel so hard you swear you can hear the leather creak.

Your playful smirk fades slightly, replaced by something else—something you don’t quite understand yet.

“ In-ho…?” You murmur, tilting your head.

His eyes are locked onto you, dark and unreadable. But the tension in the air tells you everything you need to know.

He’s holding back.

You swallow, suddenly hyperaware of how close you are, of the way his chest rises and falls a little too fast. Of the way his lips part slightly, like he’s on the verge of saying something he shouldn’t.

His jaw tics. “ You don’t get it, do you?” His voice is dangerously low, rough around the edges.

You blink up at him, your drunken haze slightly lifting. “ Get what?”

His eyes flicker down—to your lips, to the hand still resting on his thigh. Your breath hitches as you realize just how bold you’ve been, how reckless.

Because In-ho isn’t just some guy you can tease and walk away from.

He exhales sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair, as if trying to shake off whatever thoughts are running rampant in his head. “ You really shouldn’t play with fire, Y/n.”

Your heart pounds at the way he says your name—slow, deliberate.

And maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s just him, but you can’t help but whisper, “ What if I want to?”

N/A: Y/n and Jun-ho met when they were 16. In-ho, on the other hand, began to like her when she reached her legal age—around the time Y/n was in her twenties. (I need to clarify this to avoid misunderstandings between the characters)

Y/n and Jun-ho's age right now: 23 (College students)

In-ho's age right now: 30 (I need to lower down his age to make it more accurate)

Tags: @frontwomann @strawberrychita @thereal1515 @tremendouswilly @roach467855680568876

Part 5?

[rinnstars]

sweet like bubblegum!

hcs of school romance with itoshi rin! (fluff, pt formed)

inspired after reading his novel last night TT + new jeans bubblegum!

CLASS TIME!

tbh wld be reading soccer related items (from novel) underneath his desk 😭

probably has copied your homework a few times (its ok bc hes cute)

but would be so obvious with not paying attention if you arent so the teacher doesnt focus on you

the type to help you do the textbook stand thing to hide if youre sleeping or playing your phone

wld lend you his jacket during lectures/air-conditioned classes

sneaks sweets in for you if you like them

study sessions during break (where hes studying soccer theory stuff and maybe pcassionally his revision during exam period)

seem like the type to doodle on his work ?!?! he wld doodle u n him.. just dont look at his math homework

matching keychains on his bag to yours!!!

LUNCHTIME!

has his own packed lunch probably something abt hitting his protein goals

wld 10/10 buy your lunch for you both financially and physically ie. queue up for you first if classes end later

eating together<3 and talking abt anything and everything!!

probably at some quiet place in school maybe at the stands near the field

would get scammed by vending machines to get snacks or drinks for you

lets you sleep on his shoulder or lap as he tries not to freak out too obviously (fail rate at 75%)

AFTER SCHOOL!

ice cream dates after school!!

would share his food with you even if you didnt ask

sitting at the stands as he practice as you do whatevers

always hopes youll come just simply because he does better when youre there watchingn him

would wait for you by practicing soccer if you habe club/detention + get you drinks (from canteen/delivery)

study dates with him at library/cafes -> getting distracted but its okay bc its him

would wear the small gifts you gift him ie. necklaces/keychains/small paper rings

shy abt pda in public: at most linking pinky together / sharing food

would be awful but gets better for claw machine -> would go dyring weekends to surprise you when you two meet again after school

calling at night to watch/play horror / visual novel games

falling asleep to your voice on call

[tsxkkis]

# tsukishima kei - careful

a/n: last of the requested fics (that took me too long to write), i hope the anon who requested it will enjoy it :33 also, my manga collection is growing (five new mangas are coming my way) and let me tell you i'm excited asf !!!!!

summary: you hurt yourself during a volleyball match, and tsukki seems to be worried

warnings: none, reader hurts their finger

'aw, shit.'

you tried to hide it, but everyone inside the gym could clearly hear you hissing in pain after the spike hit your fingers a tad bit too hard, ball falling out of the court right after.

karasuno wasn't a school known for having volleyball prodigies, especially concerning the female team - the girl's skills were far from perfect and thoughts of ever winning a high-school championship could only be a dream out of reach for them. the idea of having a training match with the other team to try and improve their skills against a tougher opponent was surely a great one.

except for the fact that you weren't particularly used to spikes being this strong.

asahi looked in fear at your painful expression as michimiya checked up on you, the older student already walking up to apologize over and over, embarrassed with how he couldn't properly manage the strength of his spike. as he walked under the net, already coming up to you, he realized that he was overtaken by someone already.

'would it kill you to at least try and be more careful for one day?'

tsukishima grumbled to himself, fingers intertwined with yours as he firmly held your hand and dragged you away, making sure you heard the annoyance in his tone. he wasn't mad at you - if anything, he was worried and irritated with the turn of events.

he huffed, motioning for you to sit down at the bench, eyes scanning the gym hall for one of their managers, whom he intended to ask for the tape and bandages, as well as something to reduce the swelling. fortunately for him, he didn't have to ask, as yachi had run to get those things the moment she noticed the accident happen.

the blonde girl smiled at you, crouching down next to the bench.

'i can take it from here-'

'no need.'

she turned to face tsukishima, but he didn't even let her finish the sentence, already grabbing the stuff from her hands as he put the ice pack over your fingers carefully.

'does it hurt?' he mumbled the question, reaching for the bandages.

'you're being so dramatic right now, kei.' your words gained an annoyed huff from him. 'i barely got hit.'

'you didn't answer my question.'

'alright, it hurts a little.' you admitted, trying to move your index finger a few times, a jolt of pain making your face scrunch.

'then it needs to be taken care of.'

the two of you seemed to have ignored the overbearing silence from other club members, most standing over you to make sure you're alright, some still waiting for the match to continue. tsukishima seemed to be in his own little world, completely focused on properly bandaging your fingers, hands carefully wrapping it around, making sure he didn't accidentally hurt you in the process.

there was always some sort of gentleness in everything he did around you; from his eyes, usually so cold and emotionless, that would always stare at you with utmost love and care, to the occasional touches, small and, for some, insignificant, that were more than enough for the blonde to show you that he cares.

whenever with you, his facade would slowly crumble, the true nature behind it out in the open.

'aww look guys, tsukishima is actually not a heartless monster!'

his fingers froze in place, and if it weren't for the fact he was handling you at the moment, tanaka's comment would probably make him leave the gym with an annoyed huff.

the boy turned around for a second, a smile gracing his face.

'that's why the girl i like actually said yes.' he adjusted his glasses, head slightly tilted to the side. 'and how is that going for you?'

you couldn't help but crack a smile at tanaka's enraged expression, the upperclassmen having to hold him back from smacking the blonde first year, all giggling as they watched the scene unfold.

'don't be so cocky, kei.' you mumbled in his ear, standing up from your seat as you nudged your boyfriend's shoulder with your healthy hand. 'i don't think i have to remind you that i had to ask you out because you were too much of a coward-'

'we can leave that out of the conversation.'

taglist: @moonswolfie @wyrcan @kitsune-kita @haechansbbg @luvvrgirll @serotoninbarbz @sugaraddict301

[b14augrana]

Scrubber

Your first time with the national team, hoping you’ll find yourself being of importance to the team with your Vidić-reminiscent play style

Barça Femeni x teen!reader

pt. 6 masterlist

Warnings: the rfef ⚠️⚠️, a teeny bit of badly translated spanish and like one sentence of catalan, angst if u squint 🙂‍↕️

A/N: our scrubber is back 🥳🥳! this part is longer than usual, i hope you enjoy 💝

You couldn’t remember anything between landing in Denmark and waking up in your hotel room. You were still in the clothes you had travelled in, and neither Irene or Alexia were in the room… until the door opened and both of them were.

“(Y/N), get up, we’re going to breakfast,” Irene said, yanking the covers off. You sat up and rubbed your eyes, adjusting to the light beginning to peek into your room as Irene pulled up the blinds before her and Alexia left the room and left you to get ready.

It’s like you were on autopilot the whole time as you got into your Spain training kit and took the elevator down to the cafeteria. When the elevator stopped and the doors opened into the hotel’s foyer, it was easy to tell where the cafeteria was because of the voices you could hear.

Tentatively, you stepped into the room. Your eyes scanned every table for any sign of your Barça teammates, the only people you wanted to see right now amongst the abundance of other women that were now your new teammates.

When you saw Aitana and Irene’s heads amidst the crowd, your muscles relaxed with relief, and you made your way over to them swiftly.

“Buenos días,” you mumbled, sitting down beside Aitana, yawning as you cracked your neck. “Buenos días, (Y/N),” the brunette replied, smiling at you.

The room was packed with women, all wearing the same training gear as you. Some of them you recognised from times you versed then with your club; Laia Codina from Arsenal, Alba Redondo from Levante, Laia Aleixandri from Manchester City… and some Madridistas.

One thing about you was, you were passionate about Barça. In your eyes there was no ‘best club in the world’ debate, let alone best club in Spain — that title immediately went to Barça.

You were a Barça fan before you were a player, hence why you have always been well-versed in the club’s history, and therefore the history of the rivalry between Real Madrid and FC Barcelona.

You had bad experiences with Madridistas. El Clásicos were already competitive matches (for one side, at least), so you didn’t really like the way you were almost seemingly targeted by your rivals, due to your age. Irene and Mapi were never pelted by so many balls and forced into so many one-on-one duels.

Even though you were more than capable of crunching them, it exhausted you. You woke up the next morning with bruises you didn’t know had formed and grazes in odd spots that made you wonder what kind of tackles you were performing to get them in such areas.

The wingers gave you the most problems. They constantly cut into the middle, choosing to take you on. Part of you couldn’t blame them because you wouldn’t want to take on Lucy, Ona or Frido either, but what the hell?

The room was definitely not devoid of Madridistas. You could see Misa, their goalie, sitting with Alexandria. There was another face you recognised from those El Clásico matches, but it was a vague remembrance that made you think long and hard to remember the name. You only remembered her nickname within your Barça teammates; la hija de Frido.

Whatever. You’d figure it out later.

“Are you going to eat anything, nenita?” Irene asked from across the table, and you nodded hesitantly.

Leaning over, you whispered, “Can you come with me? Please?”

She nodded with a smile, standing up. “Aita, come with us. We’re going to get some food.”

You were always grateful for your Barça family. They’ve always been your big sisters, people you can trust and find comfort in, your second family.

(Except, they were basically your first family.)

You were more grateful for them than ever today, because this Spain camp was intimidating and scary, you knew nobody except your club teammates and you were pretty much lost.

All you wanted to do was cling onto Irene or Alexia or Aitana the entire day and never leave their side. Even as you were getting food and piling breakfast onto your plate, you stuck to Irene like glue.

With your plate in hand, you walked cautiously to balance all the food and prevent it dropping. You found yourself feeling way hungrier than normal, and you blamed it on the nerves as you placed your food onto the table.

"Irene, watch my food please," you said once she returned to the table with her own breakfast, "I'm going to get a drink."

"That's a lot of food, but I'll look after it anyways," the woman laughed, sitting down and dragging your plate beside hers. You returned to the buffet table and as you were debating on making yourself a cup of tea or just having a glass of ice water, another woman approached you from the side, bumping your shoulder.

Your lip subconsciously curled up, your nose scrunching. Your head snapped sideways to look at whoever it was that just bumped you, and a dirty blonde-brownish ponytail swished in your face.

It was the girl whose name you didn’t know, the Madridista. She was putting a couple slices of toast onto her plate, and it seemed like she hadn’t even realised she bumped you.

But it didn’t make sense. It was a solid shove which definitely wasn’t accidental..

Grabbing a glass from the collection on the table, you walked past her slowly, waiting for the perfect moment. As she placed her plate down and picked up a spoon to load some strawberries onto it, you took an extra step closer to her and shoved her shoulder with yours.

The strawberries she had picked up on the spoon all dropped back into the container upon the impact. You hurried over to the water jug to pour some into your glass, not looking at her for a moment despite being able to feel her cold glare on you.

Your shove was a bit harder than hers had initially been, but that was because you were bigger and probably stronger.

You returned to your table quickly, and Irene pushed your plate back towards you before you had even sat down.

“Who’s that girl, over there?” you asked Aitana and Irene, discreetly gesturing to the table behind you where she sat.

“You mean Misa?” Aitana questioned, and you shook your head. “No, the other one, the one she’s talking to.”

“Ohhh, that’s Athenea,” Aitana replied, and the name was suddenly very familiar to you. You had vivid memories of her getting sat by Frido during multiple Clásicos, and it was apparent that Aitana was reminiscing about the same events due to the laugh she was trying to suppress while talking about Athenea.

“She just bumped me off,” you explained, and Aitana’s eyes widened. “Did she apologise?”

You shook your head, giving her a shrug in return, “No. I couldn’t help myself and shoved her back, but I seriously didn’t mean to do it as hard as I did,” you responded, sighing.

Aitana rubbed your back and smiled, “Don’t worry about it, just eat. You need energy for training.”

As you put a piece of waffle into your mouth, you tried to recount all the interactions you’ve had with Athenea — there was the time you two-footed her out of nowhere when she managed to get past Irene, the time you had an aerial duel with her and she headed your shoulder instead of the ball, the time she lost the ball to you and it resulted in a goal…

You also remembered her unnecessary physicality when you didn’t have the ball, the snarky remarks she’d make to her teammates about you and your own teammates, and other coarse behaviour she displayed throughout each Clásico.

You went to stab another piece of your waffle until you realised you had eaten it all, along with the hash browns, fruits, toast and scrambled eggs.

Irene and Aitana had also finished their breakfast, and while Irene took a sip of her coffee, Aitana did the same with her orange juice.

“Vale,” Irene spoke, placing her coffee down, “Preparémosnos para entrenar.”

You were nervous for training. You weren’t sure if they’d be like Barça in terms of utilising your skills; would they be accepting of your play style or completely discard it, forcing you to play differently?

Your play style was an important part of you as a player, but also you as a person. It was the manifestation of your passion for Barça and the pride you felt whenever you got to wear the blaugrana.

It was also an ode to your idol who demonstrated what it means to give your all for the badge. Without your play style, you’re nothing.

It was the only thing you could think of as you strolled to the training pitch, boots in hand. You deliberately waited for everyone else to leave so you could loom behind them, and you planned to keep it that way until you found someone you properly knew.

Captain Irene was occupied with talking to some other players and Alexia was nowhere to be seen, but luckily Aitana was stretching by herself on the side. There was also Cata, but she was in the goal, getting warmed up by Salma.

You almost sprinted to Aitana, relieved that you didn’t have to spend another second wandering around aimlessly.

“Aita," you said, dropping your boots on the ground before sitting down, shaking your slides off and loosening the laces of your boots.

She got up from her lunge position and smiled, "Hola. Where's Ale?"

You shrugged and returned to trying to get your boot on. "Stupid sock boots..." you grunted, the elastic sock snapping against your ankle, making you wince.

“Why are you on your own?” you asked her, tying the laces of your boots as you watched her extend her leg outwards and reach over to touch her toes.

“I thought you’d want to be without the others for a bit,” Aitana responded simply. She was right — it was a huge relief to find her amongst all the clusters of people.

You missed Frido. You missed Mapi and Patri and Pina. You missed Barcelona.

You wished you could skip straight to playing football without having to introduce yourself to anyone or learn their ways. Obviously, that wasn’t the case.

“I’m scared, Aita. What if they think I’m too physical, or I don’t play– ‘Spanish’ enough?” you ranted, folding your arms across your body.

Aitana sat back up, letting go of her foot to cross her legs as she gazed at you and began to speak.

“Pequeñita, if you’re worried about fitting in, don’t be,” she started, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“You were there at the back when we needed you the most as our last-ditch defender, our last hope. If you weren’t so physical and dedicated to defending and not ‘Spanish enough’, we wouldn’t have a Champions League.”

You were born and raised in Spain, you knew Barcelona like the back of your hand and you spoke both languages. You were Spanish through and through, despite living in France for a couple odd years. You were Spanish. It was your idolisation of a non-Spanish, non-La Liga player that set you apart from the others.

You were about to respond, but your words were cut short by a tap on your shoulder. You glanced up, expecting to see Alexia, but it was Irene standing behind you.

“(Y/N), officials of the federation want to meet you,” she said in a low voice. You caught on to the way she glanced around, making sure nobody was around to hear.

Your eyes narrowed while Aitana’s widened, and you looked at Irene with an expression of uncertainty. “Do I have to go?”

You didn’t necessarily want to go, but you knew you weren’t left with much of a choice, and Irene’s nod confirmed that for you. You sighed, getting up from the grass and brushing off your shorts.

“Thank you, Aita,” you said, referring to the talk you two had earlier. She smiled and reached her hand out to squeeze yours gently, and you returned the gesture with a small smile of your own. “I’ll tell you everything!”

You left your gear in the care of Aitana as you and Irene made your way to the head office. You were nervous and a bit scared of what was about to happen, because the personal stories you’ve heard about the federation haven’t been good ones. Nonetheless, you walked beside Irene and waited in front of the mahogany wood door as she knocked on it, and it opened to reveal about three officials sitting around a table.

Your skin felt hot and feverish as you stepped over the threshold. The amount of eyes on you was unsettling, and if Irene wasn’t beside you, the feeling of discomfort blooming in your stomach would be way stronger.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N)?” the man at the door asked, and you nodded nervously. Your eyes flickered up to Irene whose jaw was set, her cold glare fixed on the man as he spoke to you, “Please, sit.”

You slowly walked to the nearest seat and sunk into it. Irene did the same, pulling out a seat beside you and crossing her arms across her chest.

A man across the table began to speak once you two had taken your seats, “(Y/N), we’ve been very eager to meet you ever since your debut in Liga F.”

You clenched your jaw, unsure of where this conversation was going. You simply nodded, trying to hold your tongue and refrain from speaking for as long as possible.

“You’re very talented, especially given your age. Barça’s prodigy, the new stargirl…” he continued.

Leaning across the table, he spoke, “I’ve never seen a player that plays like you, especially in Spain. Have you always played for Barça, or wanted to?”

Your answer came without any hesitation. “Barça is my home. I am Barça through and through, forever. I’m just inspired by someone else whose passion aligns with mine.”

“You’re different. I’ve seen your play style, and it goes hand in hand with fearlessness and elegance. That’s why we called you up because after one of our best defenders withdrew from the squad… we haven’t been the same.”

You didn’t need a rocket scientist to figure out who he was referring to. Your hands gripped the armrests of your seat as you responded, “I can’t replace the likes of Mapi.”

You were already sick and tired of this conversation. The mention of Mapi unsettled you all over again, because you knew that something happened between her and these very same officials that led to her withdrawing from representing her nation, and you didn’t want to be in the company of the people that forced her to feel such a way and make that decision.

“We’re working on fostering a healthy environment at our camps–”

Irene stood up, her chair scraping across the floor with an unpleasant noise that grabbed everyone’s attention. “Work harder. I don’t want anyone playing another season under poor leadership,” she snapped. Her arm shot down to yours, tugging you up gently. Her tone was everything but gentle.

“My player needs to get back to training. We’re done here.”

You were eternally grateful for Irene. You got to your feet and quickly exited the room, aware of her storming out and slamming the door behind you two.

“The federation has lacked a ‘healthy environment’ for a while,” Irene frowned, slowing down in pace and breaking into more of a stroll.

“Don’t let their shitty leadership make you feel bad about this opportunity. Just like everyone else, you’re here to play football and win the Olympics. Forget the federation.”

It was easier said than done — both of you knew that — but neither of you said anything about it as you walked back to the pitch.

When you entered into the grassy clearing, Aitana and Alexia were nearby practicing their headers. They stopped when they noticed you and Irene, and they quickly came over to you guys.

“What happened?” Aitana asked, her expression slightly concerned, much like Alexia’s. You told them about everything that happened in the meeting (with some help from Irene), and at the end of your explanation, the two Spaniards didn’t look any less concerned.

“We’re praying the new coach and president do something to change the culture in the federation,” Alexia finally said, and you sighed. “Let’s hope so.”

“La hija de Frido is staring,” you grumbled, earning a laugh from Aitana who glanced in her direction. Indeed, Athenea was looking at your group with a firm glare, her Real Madrid teammate on the side trying to grab her attention.

“What’s wrong with her? Did something happen?” Alexia asked, and you shrugged. “She doesn’t like me that much, I think. Maybe because, y’know, she’s not exactly a challenge for me to defend…” you said with a nervous smile. Aitana’s laughter only increased, and a smile appeared on Alexia’s face.

“Barça es la millor!” she cheered happily, embracing you in a side hug.

[vxtanne31]

As the Night Crawls

Takes place during the seven years of Silco’s control of the Undercity.

Wrote this because I wanted to see more of Sevika with someone who matched her energy.

First time writing so be nice please : One shot Sevika/Reader

Sevika/you (OC nickname is Cannon)

(Muscle mommy/ Dom fem energy reader)

Warnings: 18+, Oral (r!receiving,Sev receiving), fingering, tribbing, (switches) F/F men and minors DNI

*two years prior*

Zaun, what a shit show, but a shit show which was your home. With most of your family dead or hooked on the latest drug, you weren’t about to sink in that hole with them. A bag slung over your shoulder, you entered the noisy halls of a club you knew Silco owned.

You had an appointment with him. He saw you take down a man twice your size outside the Last Drop and gave you his card.

“Tomorrow, 9pm sharp.”’

You took it without delay, knowing that to work for him might be a dangerous game, but it would pay well.

And now you were here, this place used to be a more cozy bar until Silco started running these streets. Shimmer, the purple powerful drug found everywhere, was his biggest source of income.

You walked into the loud club and headed up the stairs Silco directed you to do yesterday. He was looking for some extra muscle and you weren’t gonna leave without that job.

You walked up, knocking at the door.

“Come in,” you heard a voice say.

You opened it and looked around Silco’s office, neatly done but not ornate.

He swiveled in his chair to face you, “right on time. Good.”

You stepped in, shutting the door behind you. You said nothing, knowing your smart mouth could get you into trouble. Best to let Silco do the talking. Men like him preferred it anyway.

“I saw your work yesterday. You seem to know your way around a fight. Could use someone like you. Have any other skills I would find…useful?” Silco gave you a once over before looking back at the papers on his desk.

You set your bag on the floor. “I am a pretty good negotiator. Used to bargain some good deals for my father who was a mechanic. I am pretty handy as well.”

Silco thrummed his long fingers against his wooden desk. “How old are you girl?”

You wanted to quip back at him for calling you ‘girl’, but decided against it. “Twenty-Nine Sir.”

“You work well with others?” Silco picked up a piece of paper on his desk and looked over it.

“Depends who the ‘others’ are I suppose. I usually get along with almost anyone. Not here to make any waves. Just do my job.” You folded your hands behind your back, hoping you didn’t say too much.

“Family? They living?” Silco still didn’t bother to look at you.

“Either dead or disappeared. Just me to rely on, no one else.”

“Where do you live?” Silco’s eyes continued to scan the paper.

“My dad’s old shop. But it’s kind of rundown. One of the men who you were with yesterday told me to pack a bag.”

Silco finally met your eyes. “I own a few apartment buildings. I like those who work with me to live close, in case there are any late night… disturbances that need handling.”

There was another knock on the door. “Enter,” Silco flicked the paper back on the desk.

In walked a woman who you hadn’t seen before. Tall as hell, imposing, with piercing silver eyes and a tightly packed muscled frame that you knew could cause some real damage.

“You wanted to speak with me?” Sevika’s gaze drifted over to you, brow raised in a quizzical nature. She had seen you around before, tough little thing you were. Maybe not so little but at least three to four inches shorter than Sevika.

“Sevika, meet your new partner.” Silco motioned his hand to you.

You could tell by the long drawn out silence that Sevika did not like this news.

“Why do I need a partner? I’m doing fine on my own.” Sevika’s eyes narrowed, taking a swig of whatever bottle was in her hand.

“Because I have money out on the streets and I need more muscle to collect. Show her the ropes, it’s not up for discussion Sevika.”

Sevika’s lip curled as she strode up to you, finally getting a good look. You’re dressed mostly in black, your tight leather pants that showed off your thick thighs, you didn’t have much of an hour glass but had some strong abdominals and well muscled arms.

“Name, doll face?” Sevika licked the top row of her teeth as she bent to look down at you. She smelled of cigar smoke. By the way she stood over you, you could tell she was trying to intimidate.

“Y/N…but my actual nickname is Cannon” you matched her energy, your eyes studying her from head to toe. She wore a red cloak over her left side, a cropped vest that showed off her impressive lower abdomen, and metaltoe boots.

Sevika smirked, slightly impressed that you didn’t waver under her scrutiny. “Doll face suits you better.”

You matched her smirk and took a step closer, getting into Sevika’s personal space. “And what nickname should I give you? Sweet cheeks, pretty eyes, big mama? Take your pick.”

This made Sevika’s lips part in surprise. No one ever had the gall to speak to her so casually.

Before she could respond, Silco cleared his throat. “I expect you two to get along. Sevika, she will be living in the west building a floor below you. Show her to her place.”

Silco threw Sevika a set of keys which she caught easily in the air. “Come with me, don’t fall behind.” Sevika turned on her heals and walked out Silco’s office.

Sevika led you a few narrow streets down and up the stairs to a small apartment on the third floor. You stood behind her as she fumbled with the keys in the door and pushed it open. 345, your apartment number. “This is yours, already furnished.”

You stepped in as Sevika held the door open for you, studying the place. Not too bad, furniture definitely old but manageable. Everything you could need and hopefully with a decent salary you could make some improvements.

While you meandered around your new place, Sevika stewed in her thoughts. How dare Silco suggest she need help. She was doing just fine on her own. Wasn’t she? Hadn’t she given Silco everything? Sleepless nights on missions, broken bones, friends lost, what more could she do?

Sevika was too lost in her darkness to notice you had turned your attention back to her. “Ya know, it’s not my intention to step on any toes. I just need a job, gotta be able to feed myself and all.”

Sevika blinked to jog herself of her own thoughts and threw your set of keys on the kitchen counter. “Silco better be right about you. Can’t have someone slowing me down out there.” Sevika then moved her exposed hand to the doorknob and looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s late, I’ll be at your door at 8am. Be fucking ready.”

Without letting you get a word in, she slams the door behind her, the walls shaking at the force. “Well you’re gonna be an absolute fucking dream to work with,” You grumble and walked over to the bedroom.

You grumbled at the size of the full bed. First thing you were going to do with a paycheck was buy a queen sized bed and mattress. You hated small beds and liked stretching out. Couldn’t imagine someone as big as Sevika even having this bed.

That woman was going to be a handful to work with.

You threw yourself on the mattress and stared up at the ceiling. You smiled to yourself, thinking about how Sevika would be a hard one to crack. You enjoyed the difficult ones. You wanted to peel back her layers. Living in Zaun made you hard, and molded you into a jaded, tough person. You knew that better than anyone.

“This will be fun”

*two years later*

You leaned back a chair, your relaxed demeanor now common in the Last Drop as you watched Sevika play cards with her regulars. An arm was bent over the back of the chair as the other held the glass of brown liquor you nursed.

“Rotten luck boys,” Sevika smirked and threw down her cards. The smoke curled from her mouth as she took a drag of her cigarillo and exhaled.

Damn that bitch was good at gambling. You smirked at the men’s groans as Sevika gathered the chips on the table.

After years of chipping away at Sevika’s resolve, she seemed to have least grown to respect you. You’ve proved to be a smart, cunning and strong partner, ensuring you have her back when it comes to the hard jobs Silco puts you two in.

You still haven’t figured out what to do with your attraction to her. Call it narcissism but you admire the qualities you two had in common. You valued someone who handled her own, and whose presence brought fear and respect.

Sure, you and her discussed your flavors of the month, conquests of women. Most of them were feminine and pliant, easily submitting to you. There was always something missing for you. You knew deep down Sevika was that missing piece. The worst thought though was to ruin the friendship you had formed.

(Sevika’s POV)

Damn you were hot. The way you confidently leaned back in your chair, your impressively toned arms on display. Your hair was half up like hers, a little longer past your shoulders, short pieces of your curtain bangs falling in your face. You only had taken two sips of the drink she bought you.

You weren’t much of a drinker but you did sometimes steal a puff or two of her cigarillo. Sevika’s stomach would flip when you took it from her mouth to inhale the slightly sweet tasting Tobacco. No one in their right mind would ever dare to do such a thing, but you, you constantly pushed your boundaries with her, tested her.

Sevika felt a magnetic pull, she could spot you in a crowd, knew where you were at all times. It had taken years for you to chip away at her walls, to peel back her layers and earn her trust. She wasn’t one to divulge her secrets, or share her thoughts, but you forced her to talk. You knew every slight shift in her demeanor. She sometimes hated that you knew her so well, but it was oddly comforting.

You were a loyal friend to her, keeping a watchful eye around the room while Sevika played cards. You could have been flirting with the woman who was eyeing you from her place at the bar, but there you were, sitting next to her.

“You ever think about playing?” Sevika shuffled the cards before her, mechanical hand quite dexterous as she sent some of them flying to each player.

Your emerald eyes shifted from your glass to meet her’s, the devilish smirk plastered on your pretty lips. “Nah I like watching you win though, you’re usually so generous with me when it comes to drinks.”

“Don’t think you’ve paid for a drink in almost two years.” Sevika scoffed as she took her cigarette case out of her pocket to put another one in her metal mouthpiece.

Before she could find her lighter, you picked it up and flicked it open, leaning forward with your forearm resting on the table. “I’m just here to give you a light.”

Sevika leaned forward and inhaled, the end of the cigarillo catching light. “I can do it myself smart ass. Besides I see a pretty patron over there eyeing you.” Sevika motioned her head over to the bar.

You lazily rolled your head to where Sevika’s attention was. Sevika didn’t necessarily like you turning your attention to other women, but knew it was only ever just sex with them. You had mentioned time and time again how the job prevented you from making real connections. It would be too dangerous for your partner to have you as a girlfriend. You didn’t want the weakness.

If only you knew that you were Sevika’s weakness.

(Your POV)

You looked over to the pretty little thing in the tight purple dress. “Oh Veronica? She’s always a good time.”

She was up for anything, downright in love with the way your tongue moved across the soft flesh of her core. Most of the women you went after had enjoyed your skill, the way you could make their limbs turn to jello. You were a giving lover and they always came back for more.

Sevika’s pale grey eyes studied you. You never knew what she was thinking when she looked at you like that. Was it judgement? Jealousy? Was she jealous of you for having Veronica or was she jealous of Veronica for having you? You were not sure. You dared not hope for the latter. You wouldn’t speak of your attraction until she spoke first, lest you ruin your friendship.

“How long are you gonna string her along Cannon?” Sevika took a drag of her cigarillo and handed it to you.

You shrugged and took the cigarillo from Sevika, inhaling, letting the smoke exhale from your nose. “She knows I’m not looking for anything serious. She just wants a bit of fun, like me.”

“Yeah well, never works out well for you. They always get attached. Then I have to hear them wailing and throwing shit around when you tell them to leave.” Sevika watched the smoke billow from your mouth. Your apartment was directly under her’s and the walls were thin.

You chuckled, “yeah guess they can’t resist falling for me when I put my tongue to good use,” you hand the cigarillo back, resting both elbows on the table.

Sevika rolled her eyes and shook her head, “I’m sure you tell them what they want to hear.”

You pursed your lips, and nodded. “I guess I’m not entirely…innocent.”

Sevika was silent for a moment, studying your pretty face. She threw her cards on the table and yawned. “Alright I’m bored, everyone fuck off.”

You knew by ‘everyone,’ she didn’t mean you. Her men grumbled and collected whatever money Sevika didn’t take from them.

When everyone had vacated you and Sevika sat in silence. You knew she wanted to talk about something she didn’t want her men to hear. You waited for Sevika to speak first.

(Sevika pov)

Sevika’s heart thundered in her chest, making her feel like she was about to vomit. She wanted to tell you how she felt. She promised herself she’d do it tonight, before she had to watch you take another woman to your bed.

But how could she? You were the only one who ever stood toe to toe with her, who challenged her and wasn’t afraid. Sevika was also not accustomed to these feelings. You had broken down the emotional walls she spent her whole life building.

It was a good five minutes of just sitting there in silence. You preoccupied yourself with looking around the bar for a while until the silence got weird.

“You gonna say what you need to say or is this awkward silence just foreplay?” You quipped.

Your voice startled Sevika, the sarcastic tone irritating her already frazzled nerves. It was more than enough of a reason for her to swallow her feelings back down.

“You’re an annoying pain in the ass, you know that? I’m going home.” Sevika stood up hastily, the chair almost falling to the floor from the force.

You scoffed at her abrasiveness and folded your arms, leaning back. “What did I do?!”

Sevika opened her cigarette case and threw a cigarillo on your lap. “Since I know you’d ask me. Maybe one day you can buy some of your own. See you tomorrow.” With that Sevika stormed off, shoving those who didn’t get out of her way.

Sevika stewed as she made her way home. Why couldn’t you just shut up for once and let her talk? Why couldn’t you just read her mind? Why did she have to spell it out for you?

Sevika knew she wasn’t being fair but she wouldn’t apologize for what she said. You pissed her off with your cavalier attitude when she was trying to be serious.

(Your pov)

“What the fuck was that…” you seethed in your chair. Why did Sevika have to be such a fucking bitch?

One second she was your closest friend and the next she was cruel and spiteful. But what was she going to say to you?

You took the cigarillo from your lap and lit it, realizing Sevika had forgotten her lighter. You took a second to calm down and think about what had just occurred. As you were deep in thought, Veronica sauntered over and leaned over the table, her ample breasts on display in her dress.

“Haven’t heard from you in a while Cannon.” She cooed, sliding a fruity drink towards you.

You clench your jaw in annoyance at the interruption, then realization hit you. Sevika was trying to tell you something, probably serious or personal and you interrupted her. You made a stupid joke when she was trying to be real with you.

“Fuck,” you said out loud and got up, taking an inhale of the cigarillo before snuffing it out. “Gotta go,” you didn’t bother to look up at Veronica as you made your way out the door.

You knew that trying to talk to Sevika right now would be a poor choice. It was best to let her calm down.

You walked over to a little market and purchased a big box of cigarillos, enough to last at least a month and more fuel for the lighter.

You filled Sevika’s lighter and then asked the man at the counter for a pen and paper.

A few minutes later you walked up to Sevika’s door and placed the things on front of it. You pounded on the door three times and left back to your place.

The note read “sorry for being a dick-Cannon”

The next day Sevika didn’t acknowledge the things you left at her door, she doesn’t mention what happened, she only continues acting cold.

…………………….

Two weeks had gone by and Sevika acted like you were just her coworker. She didn’t even bother gambling after work as soon as she was done for the day. It was hurtful, you missed your friend, you didn’t know what you did wrong.

You both stood in Silco’s office, waiting for him to give the task for the day.

“I’m sending you both to the far side of Zaun to negotiate this deal for me. Get there tonight and check into the hotel. You’ll meet with the men tomorrow. I need this to go well. We need these supplies to be at a reasonable cost. Cannon, do what I pay you for, Sevika I need you to back her up.”

Sevika glanced over to you briefly and nodded, showing herself out. You followed her, walking quickly to catch up.

“Sev can you talk to me? I don’t get why you’re actin’ like this.”

Sevika’s jaw shifted in annoyance. “Don’t know what you’re talkin about. Go grab a bag and meet me at the front of the bar.

You narrowed your eyes, and without a second thought of the repercussions, grabbed Sevika’s shoulder. Sevika stopped walking immediately, almost frozen. Her sudden stillness would have had anyone preparing for a blow to their extremities. You knew Sevika wouldn’t hit you.

You decided to drop your cocky attitude for a second and let her know how much her coldness was effecting you.

“Sev, you’ve been my friend for years now. Just tell me how to fix it.” Your voice was filled with the sincere pleading and sorrow you wanted to convey.

Sevika didn’t turn around but looked at where your hand touched her. “It’s not you, I just gotta figure some shit out. Just drop it.”

You let Sevika walk out of your grasp and watch her disappear into the crowded streets of Zaun.

(Sevika’s pov)

Sevika cursed herself as she walked away from you, refusing to look back at your crushed expression.

She was trying to distance herself from you to avoid her feelings. If she ignored you enough, perhaps she could trick herself into thinking she no longer wanted you.

It was getting harder and harder for her to do so. She missed you, missed your laugh, missed your friendship. She was alone again, alone with her sadness, alone with her anger and frustration. But what was the alternative? To watch you eventually connect with another woman and fall in love? For you to give someone else the affection she so desperately craved? Maybe at some point she could return as your friend. She had to rid herself of the feelings first.

(Hours later. Your POV)

You and Sevika checked into the hotel room Silco’s assistant booked for you. Not a separate room but a room with two full beds which you managed with a little smooth talking to upgraded to two queens. No way in hell were you sleeping on a tiny little bed.

You knew Sevika wanted to argue about sharing a room. You didn’t give her time to argue, nor were you going to let her avoid your presence like that. It was childish and frankly, you didn’t deserve the silent treatment shit she was putting you through. All the years you have been working with Sevika, you knew that you were the more emotionally mature one. Maybe you were more reckless, sure, but you knew how to express how you were feeling without resorting to ignoring people.

When you got to the room, you were surprised that it wasn’t a complete shithole. It was near a port outside the seediest part of the under city, almost towards topside.

You threw your bag on the bed closest to the door, letting Sevika take the window bed. You felt gross from the travel, sticky from the sweat of the summer heat. You took off your half cloak, similar to Sevika’s, and hung it up on the closet.

Sevika threw herself on her own bed, the mattress squeaking in protest at the sudden weight. She let one leg hang off the bed as she lit a cigarillo.

“Wanna go and grab a drink?” You suggested, trying to break the awkward silence.

“I’m good here,” Sevika quipped, not even looking at you.

‘Fine be a child.’ You thought to yourself. You started removing the buckles of your vest, revealing a cropped tank underneath. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

You threw the tank over your head and walked onto the bathroom, your naked back to Sevika. You shut the door and turned the water on, the nice shower steaming up the room.

(Sevika POV)

Sevika felt as though she might crack a molar with how hard she clench her jaw. Fuck, how did ignoring you only make her want you more? This was not her. She was Silco’s right hand, the most feared woman in Zaun. Cocky, arrogant, sure of herself, not some simpering woman who fell apart from the mere sight of your naked back.

Sevika took a long drag of her cigarillo, the smoke on an empty stomach churning her insides. She snuffed it out on the ashtray and sat up on the edge of the bed, gripping the mattress with her flesh hand till her knuckles turned white.

She was losing her cool, she wanted the upper hand. She imagined herself undressing, opening the bathroom door and pinning you against the shower wall. She could have you falling apart with her skilled fingers in just a few minutes. Sevika could wipe that cocky look off your face with one swipe of her tongue.

“No,fuck..” she shook her head of those salacious thoughts, her heart thundering as though she had decided to act on her impulse. Sevika stood up, walking to the mini fridge and swung it open, glass clinking. There were tiny bottle of liquor lined up on the inner door.

Fuck it, Silco was rich and he owed her for all the years she’d saved his ass from danger.

Sevika took two of the tiny bottles of the same liquor, snapped the seal and poured it into one of the complementary glasses. She stared at the glass before swigging the amber liquid down in one go.@

Gods she was acting like such an idiot. All for some woman who finally made her feel something, finally took the time to break down the many walls she had put up.

But what if you didn’t feel the same? Or what if you both started this and it ended horribly? You would have to work together after that. What if she didn’t know how to actually be with someone? What if you didn’t know either?

Her anxiety won out again as she dove back into the fridge to retrieve more tiny liquor bottles.

“Not gonna save any for me?”

Sevika froze, she was too preoccupied with self loathing to notice you had opened the door, steam billowing from the bathroom, heating up the room.

She turned to look at you. white towel you had folded at your waist, the other smaller towel you were using to dry your hair. Her grey eyes wandered up to see your bare chest. Though not big, your breasts stood upright, a metal bar piercing each nipple.

You noticed her gaze and looked down at your own chest. “Oh yeah, got them done a couple months ago. Saw them on another girl and thought they looked hot.”

Sevika blinked, her face stoic once more. She needed to get the fuck out of the room before she did something stupid.

“Help yourself to what’s left in the fridge. I’m heading out, don’t wait up.” Sevika moved past you, deliberately moving her body away to not touch you as she got to the door.

(Your POV)

You turned to watch her practically run for the exit, the door slamming behind her making you flinch and the room shake.

You blinked, your mouth agape and in utter shock at Sevika’s attitude. It’s not like she hasn’t seen your chest before. You weren’t shy when it came to partial nudity, often changing in front of her in the locker room of the small gym or using a steam room.

You started putting the pieces together. There was something up with Sevika, and had something to do with you. The only change in her behavior was her demeanor towards you.

But what could you have possibly done to warrant such coldness? You tried and tried to apologize but she never wanted to discuss it.

You looked up to Sevika in so many ways, to the point where you may have forgotten she was just a woman too. Maybe she was going through something. Something she was embarrassed to speak about.

Instead of laying there with your mind racing, you got up and got dressed, heading down to the small hotel bar. You knew Sevika wouldn’t have gone far.

You saw Sevika, sitting in a corner shuffling her cards to play a solitary game, her dexterous metal hand throwing the cards before her.

“Do you ever take a hint?” Sevika grumbled, not looking from her cards and taking a swig of her drink.

You pulled out a seat in front of her and sat down. “Enough of this crap Sev. What is up your ass?”

Sevika let out what was between a scoff and a laugh, picking up a cigarillo and lighting it. “You’ve got some fuckin nerve.” She inhaled and let out a long breath of smoke from her nose “can never fucking drop it, can you?”

“Not when someone who I called a friend, just starts ignoring me out of the blue. Like what could I have possibly done to make you so upset?”

Sevika went back to playing with her cards. “Told you, it isn’t about you.”

“Bullshit,” you folded your arms and leaned back in the chair.

Sevika’s grey eyes finally locked on yours. “You think the only problems I have involve you? Don’t be full of yourself.” She knocked some ash from her cigarillo and pushed the box to offer you one. You take one, not because you particularly want one right now, but because it’s the kindest gesture she’s given you in two weeks.

“No I don’t think your world revolves around me. But I know for a fuckin fact that this,” you motion to her and her pouty demeanor, “very much has to do with me. So out with it. What are you hiding?”

Sevika’s eyebrow rose, “what exactly are you looking for? For me to tell you I’m in a shitty mood and need some time away from your big mouth?”

It was your turn to scoff. “I know you’re always kind of bitch Sevika, but this is pretty bitchy, even for you.”

Sevika stared at her glass, gripping it so tight she thought she might break it. You could see her eyes searching the table, as if she was trying to come up with a response.

You decided it was time to take a dive. Something that could end well or with you getting punched.

You looked under the table from your relaxed position and saw Sevika sitting in her usual stance, legs open.

“You seem… tightly wound.” You lifted your leg and put the pad of your boot on the edge chair between her legs.

(Sevika POV)

Sevika felt her face burn, as though someone spiked the heat in the room. You were hitting on her. This was it, she could either dive in or continue on her path leading to nowhere.

Fuck it

Sevika leaned back and looked down at your foot, the sheer boldness making her pussy clench.

“Are you offering to…unwind me?” Sevika took her flesh hand and placed it on top of your metal toe boot.

You shrug nonchalantly, “if it will stop you from biting my head off.” You ran your tongue over your bottom lip and flicked your darkened eyes back down to her grip on your foot. “To be honest, I’ve always had a thing for you. You’re hot, even when you’re being an asshole.”

Sevika felt emboldened by your words. She responded by scooting closer to your boot, the sole pressing into apex of her thighs. “You like to talk.”

“You can always sit on my face and shut me up?” You suggested, pressing your sole harder against her.

Sevika sucked in a sharp breath at the pressure. She could feel herself growing wet.

“Upstairs, now,” Sevika said through gritted teeth.

(Your POV)

The stair climb to the hotel room was agonizing. You walked behind her, feeling yourself get more end more excited. You had been waiting two years for this. Ever since your eyes locked on hers.

When you got to the room, Sevika turned the key and opened the door for you. As soon as you were both inside, she shoved you against the wall.

Sevika hovered over your lips, the anticipation killing you.

You finally had enough and gripped her by the back of the head, hand on her half ponytail, pulling her in for a deep kiss.

You both groaned in satisfaction, bodies melting, the kiss was something you had both been dreaming about for so long. Sevika slipped her knee between your legs, pressing against the heat of your core.

Both of your hands flew to one another’s clothes, almost ripping fabric to shed each other of the barriers to bare skin.

You pushed Sevika’s vest off her body, the clothes falling to the floor with a heavy thud. Sevika was less patient. She took her metal finger and sliced the front of your cropped tank. Your eyes narrowed.

“You owe me another one,” you hissed as a cold metal hand moved under your breast. “If you rip a nipple ring off with your bionic-ah” Sevika moved her flesh hand to kneed the other breast.

“I’ll be careful.” Sevika murmured, her lips pressing against the sensitive parts of your neck.

Your hands wandered over to Sevika’s belt, unbuttoning the fly. Before you could finish, Sevika took both your hands and pinned them over your head. She then continued to kiss and bite at your neck, leaving marks.

“Don’t have to act all dominant.” You moved with her as Sevika rutted her hips against your knee, craving the friction against her pulsing clit.

Sevika relented and loosened the hold of your arms, letting them go so you can travel back down to her pants. You slowly unzipped her fly, opening up the front to reach your hand down into the waistband of her black underwear.

Your fingers found Sevika’s pussy, eliciting a groan from both of you. She was soaked. Your index and middle finger slipped inside her with no resistance. You pumped your fingers in and out. Sevika braced both hands on the wall on either side of your head. “Fuck,” was all Sevika could grit out, her head bowing down from the pleasure.

You backed her away from the wall, removing your hand from her. Sevika wanted to whine at the loss of contact. She didn’t have much time to process before you placed a hand on her chest and pushed her onto your bed. Sevika landed backwards on the soft mattress. She propped herself on her elbows to gaze up at you.

You stood before Sevika, not breaking eye contact as you toed your boots off and leaned down to take care of her boots as well.

Sevika helped you pull her foot out of each shoe, hating how slow you were moving.

You finally crawled on top of Sevika, like a predator over prey. You molded your body to her’s, a knee between her legs and leaned down to kiss her uneven lips. You didn’t want to just fuck Sevika, you wanted to show her intimacy, something you knew she wasn’t comfortable taking from anyone else.

Your instincts seemed to be spot on as she responded in kind, her flesh hand threading fingers through your soft hair. Her metal hand moved to your hip, encouraging you to grind against her. Sevika mimicked your move and bend her knee to supply you with the same friction.

The position was intimate, not rushed, finally enjoying the moment you both didn’t know would have ever been a reality.

You pulled her under tank up over her ample chest, squeezing her larger breasts and testing their weight. They were much bigger than yours. Your lips traveled down past her neck to take one nipple into your mouth.

Sevika rolled her hips, your mouth making her core ache. This felt good to her but it wasn’t enough.She gripped you by the back of your hair and pulled making you release her nipple with a ‘pop.’

Sevika wanted, no, needed, to taste you. She easily flipped you on the bed and sat up to peel your tight black pants and underwear off in one motion. You sat up to grab Sevika but she placed a large hand on the center of your chest and pushed back down.

“Stop fucking moving and let me do what I want,” Sevika rolled her eyes and got off the bed, kneeling by the edge.

“So bossy as usual,” you scoffed, sitting up and resting your weight against your elbows.

Sevika shook her head in annoyance and grabbed you by your calves, pulling your hips to the edge of the bed. She stared at your sex, neatly trimmed and wet for her. You were beautiful, sexy, strong-

“You just gonna stare at it orrrrr?”

…and absolute a pain in her ass. Sevika gave you the stare that always meant ‘shut up’ and leaned down to throw your legs over her shoulders. Her large right hand splayed your lower abdomen kept your hips down as she swiped a tongue over your folds. Her eyes almost rolled to the back of her skull at your taste.

You licked your lips and gripped the sheets at the first swipe over your swollen clit. You inhaled a sharp breath as she dipped her tongue into your center. “Fucking hell,” you murmured.

Sevika feasted upon you as if she was starved, her mouth trailing up to suck expertly at your clit. Sevika was experienced, she knew just how to use her mouth to make you arch and writhe. She moved her flesh hand holding you down and used it to insert to large fingers into you, pumping in time with her tongue.

You sat up and looked down at her on her knees, she had to adjust her large body, her knees farther back so she could get her head positioning right. Luckily her mechanical hand was able to take all her weight leaning on the bed. This position left you to admire her chiseled back, moving and flexing as she pumped her fingers.

“Fuck that’s it’s Sev,” you gripped her by the half ponytail on the back of her head, keeping her mouth locked on you.

Sevika, encouraged by your words, moved faster, the noises coming from her mouth on you were absolutely pornographic. Her fingers sped in and out of you, fucking you with the sucking of your clit.

Your body then tensed up, muscles tightening around her fingers, as you came with a groan of her name. There was no sweeter sound to her ears.

She continued moving her tongue, making you squirm and pull away from her face. “Holy shit woman give me a second,” you panted as you backed your hips off the edge of the bed.

Sevika sat up, wiping her face with her forearm to glower at you. “Who said I was done?”

“My clit for one thing, give me a second to breathe.” You flopped down on the bed.

Sevika ignored your snark and ran her hands over the softness of your thighs, her eyes hungrily drinking in your naked form.

She wanted to devour you all night.

You sat back up and pulled Sevika in for a kiss, your tongue running over her bottom lip. Sevika eagerly responded, both mechanical and flesh hand cradling your face.

When you parted, a string of saliva connected you both. “Stand up Sev,” you whispered.

Sevika wanted to refuse you. She wanted to spend all night with her mouth on your sex. She reluctantly stood from her kneeling position, coming to full height before you.

You stood along with Sevika and gently pushed her against the far wall. She looked down at you, her face almost unreadable. She was fighting for any amount of control over her emotions.

You kept your eyes locked on her’s as you knelt before her, gripping her already opened pants and pulling them down. Sevika lifted one foot at a time to help you.

You broke eye contact to trail down to Sevika’s exposed sex. You were met with a dark patch of curly hair, her slit glistening with arousal. “You’re fucking perfect,” you admired as you reached back up and gripped her hips, moving your knees closer to find a good angle.

Sevika moved her flesh hand over to your mouth, running her thumb over your bottom lip. “Let’s see why those other bitches fight over you.”

Was that jealousy? You would have to unpack that later, right now you had a job to do. You had rarely been able to take a woman in this position since most women you were with were shorter.

When Sevika removed her thumb you wasted no time latching your mouth to her. Sevika bowed forward from the onslaught of your tongue. “Shit,” she gritted and stood to full height again, gripping the back of your head.

Sevika tasted amazing. The scent of her arousal flooded your senses as you moved your tongue from her entrance to suck her swelled clit.

“Ah, ah!” Sevika couldn’t form words. She looked down at you, your beautiful eyes staring up to watch her face contort in pleasure. She didn’t want to admit it out loud but fuck you were good at this.

You took two of your fingers and inserted them into her, curling them up. Sevika’s grip tightened on your hair, the pull on your scalp painful. You continued to suck at her clit, realizing it’s what Sevika responded to the most.

Sevika threw her head back, colliding against the drywall with a ‘thunk.’ Her knees threatened to buckle as her climax built. “Don’t stop,” she commanded, trying best to keep her voice from shaking.

You pressed your tongue to her clit and aggressively shook your head. Sevika’s mouth was agape, moving her head back down so she could look at you. “I’m gonna-oh fuck!”

You felt Sevika’s climax as her walls tightened around your fingers, she pinned

your head to her, her hips thrusting to your mouth as you sucked .

Sevika’s whole body shuddered, vision going blurry from the wave of pleasure. She let her hand fall from your hair as she panted against the wall.

You released your mouth from her sex, sitting back on your haunches to look up at her. Your mouth and chin glistened as you studied Sevika’s face. “Now you see why they fight over me?”

The corner of Sevika’s lip twitched in a sneer, she gripped you by the back of the neck and tugged on your hair, making you stand to avoid further pain. “They will have to fight over someone else from now on,” she hissed.

Before you could respond, Sevika crashed her mouth to yours, tasting herself as her tongue ran over your bottom lip.

Sevika backed you up back to the bed, both of you falling onto it. She hovered over you, eyes wandering over your pert breasts. “I love these by the way. Suit you.” She dipped down and flattened her tongue over your pierced nipple.

You sucked in a sharp breath. “Good, because getting them done hurt like shit.”

This made Sevika smirk and flash her eyes up to yours. “Too bad I didn’t bring my strap.”

You narrowed your eyes and shook your head. “Not really my thing.”

Sevika quirked her head and teased your nipple between her thumb and forefinger. “Ever try it? You might like it.”

You propped up on your elbows. “Can I fuck you with it then?”

Sevika pursed her lips in thought, not the response she was hoping for. “I’ll think about it.”

You shrugged, “only fair Sev. You ever try it? You might like it.” You threw her words back at her.

Sevika sighed and rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky you’re hot. Such a pain in my ass.” She then sat up, settling herself into a position where she was in between your legs, holding on one of your thighs as she met her pussy with yours. Sevika started to set a pace, rotating her hips back and forth.

You relaxed on the bed and moved your hips in time with hers. “You think I’m hot Sev? How long have you thought so?”

Pieces of hair fell in front of Sevika’s face as she enjoyed the feeling of her clit meeting yours. “Ever since I saw you in Silco’s office two years ago. I thought you were fuckin’ beautiful.” Sevika’s jaw clenched as a swivel of your hips gave her clit the angle she needed.

“Oh really? Seemed like you wanted to throw me out the window first time you met me. Thought you hated me-ah!” You threw your head back as a wave of pleasure hit you.

“I kinda did, you have a mouth on you. You don’t know when to back off. Stubborn bitch.” Sevika moved her hips faster.

“Seems liked my mouth just fine few minutes ago.” you reached up and gripped Sevika’s left breast. She slapped your hand away and leaned forward to cover your mouth with her palm.

“No more talking,” Sevika growled and rutted her hips faster, her movements getting sloppy as she got closer to the edge.

You glared at her, you were done being told to shut up. You pushed her hand away from your face and gripped the back of her head, using your strength to flip Sevika onto her back, switching places.

You wanted to laugh at the shocked look plastering Sevika’s face. “You,” reaching out to harshly grab her breast, “don’t get to tell me to shut up.” You moved your hips at the same speed Sevika began at.

(Sevika POV)

Sevika stared up at you, enjoying the view. Watching you take control was incredibly hot, your hair now undone, cascading over your lovely face. Your eyes held a mischievous glint as you gripped her thick thigh for support.

“Fucking hell girl,” Sevika rasped as she held your hand to her breast, mechanical hand at your hip.

Sevika was trying to hold her orgasm for you but was losing the battle. It felt too good, too safe, uninhibited.

(Your POV)

The feeling of her metal hand on your skin was sexy. One wrong move and it could pierce you. “You close Sev? You gonna cum? You like being handled don’t you?”

Sevika whined, her eyes glued to where your pussies met, watching as they rubbed and ground against each other.

You loved the noises coming from the big tough woman below you. She was giving you the control so held so dear. You were close but you refused to finish before her.

“I wanna see you cum Sev. Cum for me baby,” you moved your hips faster, trying to push Sevika to the finish line.

Your dirty words worked, her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she cried out your name, both hands gripping your hips now to keep you in the desired place.

Your beginnings of an orgasm died when she made you stop, but you let Sevika take her pleasure out on you. You watched her come undone underneath you.

It took a minute or two for Sevika to come to. The orgasm was just as intense as the first. Her legs went slack as she caught her breath.

You looked down at Sevika, peaceful, serene and eyes closed. The room smelled of sex, clothes everywhere, the bed tilted from the box spring. You were too busy looking around you did not notice she had opened her eyes.

Sevika pulled you, as if you weighed nothing, to hover over her face. She wasted no time and latched her full lips over your clit, both human and mechanical hand holding your hips to prevent you from moving.

You had no intention of moving, bringing a hand down to grip Sevika’s hair. “So fucking good at this.” You moaned and gasped, hips rocking against her tongue.

Sevika moved her hands from your hips to your ass and flipped you to your back, her mouth still locked on you. She inserted to of her fingers into you, thrusting up to meet with her tongue.

You orgasm hit you like a train, your cries loud enough to be heard in the hallways. Sevika held you down, her mouth riding you through. When your body started to twitch away from her, she moved her mouth from your pussy and rested her cheek on your inner thigh.

Both of you stayed silent for a second, your minds clearing from the passion you just shared.

Sevika sat up, placing a last kiss upon your sex before she moved to lay down next to you on the crumpled sheets.

You both said nothing, waiting for the other to speak.

You finally opened your mouth to say something but Sevika beat you to it. “I don’t want you seeing Veronica anymore.”

“Who?”

[delfiore]

—SAD TO BREATHE (THE AIR WHEN YOU'RE NOT THERE).

pairing: aitana bonmatí x uswnt!reader

synopsis: aitana leaves for the international break and you become a mopey little shit.

word count: 1.1k

a/n: something short and sweet to get me back into the writing groove. the final inspired me this. and yk what this was nice, writing fluff ... is nice (sometimes).

It was embarrassing, really, the way you moped.

Unapologetically, you pouted and rolled around on the couch, convulsing and whining the way a child would beg for more candy. You would be convulsing and whining standing up if you weren’t so hung over from all the alcohol and clubbing you had done the past two days (most of which was justified, most of it).

“Do you have to go?” You knew the answer to that. In your mind, you looked very convincing. You’d hoped Aitana would notice and take pity on you and spare you a glance amidst her running around the house to pack.

“Amor, I’ll be back in two weeks.” Then she switched to Catalan. “[Plus you’re going soon too anyway.]”

It was true that the USWNT camp would assemble tomorrow, but that was one more day you would have liked to spend with Aitana after all the chaos of the Champions League weekend. The whirlwind of Barcelona’s victory has left little time for you to be alone with her. As soon as the match was over, the celebrations began, and Carla and the media team deemed that most of it should be on record. You wanted to be with your girlfriend so badly, but with Aitana dutifully attending to Carla’s every PR need, you were left pouting and giving her sad puppy eyes long before this morning.

“But-but—” you groaned as another wave of the pounding headache hit you, and you lay back down on the cushions.

“You see, this is why you shouldn’t drink so much.” She said, standing in front of you for a second to check that you weren’t going to vomit everywhere on the new couch.

“I’m sleepy. Come cuddle, please.”

You watched her stuff another pair of pants into the suitcase that lay open in the middle of the living room. “I didn’t ask you to get up with me.” She didn’t look amused. Somehow, it spurred you on even more, to know that she was having none of your shit but still engaged.

“But I always notice when you’re not in bed with me,” you whined again. “Can’t sleep after that.”

Aitana shook her head, barely acknowledging your predicament, scanning her suitcase, then went back upstairs.

With Herculean willpower, you stood up and followed her up the stairs. You stopped at the door of your shared bedroom, watching her collect her things from the en-suite bathroom.

“It’s just, I’m gonna miss you,” you said pathetically, “a lot.”

You didn’t know why, but this particular stint between this upcoming international break and the last felt much longer than others. It might have had something to do with the many things that happened during it—the many trophies that, looking back, you thought the team must have been running on crack to have won all of them whilst keeping yourselves fit and sane. In the middle of all that, you had Aitana, and she had you. The spotlight wasn’t easy, but it was alright because you both had each other to return to at the end of the night.

Finally, your pout must have worked because Aitana set her toiletry bag down on the counter when she met your eyes in the mirror. “Oh, amor. Why are you acting like a child?”

You didn’t care that you were; you just wanted your girlfriend to hold you before duties take her away.

Resting your head on her shoulder, you let out a sigh of desperation when she put her arms around your waist.

“I’m gonna die here, all alone, all by myself, and you don’t even care.”

“You’re not going to die, Y/N,” Aitana scoffed, but she held you closer. “[I’m sorry we didn’t spend much time together after the match]. Winning is exhausting, sí?”

You blew a raspberry. “Can’t wait for this season to be over.”

“No, you don’t, because then it means we’re going to the Olympics.”

You groaned, and plopped yourself onto the bed. “I don’t like playing against you.”

Aitana giggled, the sound floating like music in your ears. “Why? Scared you’ll lose?”

“Excuse you!” You put your hands on your hips. “I’m calling it, you guys versus us in the final. Better start practicing those free kicks.” You grinned and pulled her close, bumping your nose against her stomach.

“We’ll see.” When she leaned down to kiss you, you were ready and puckered your lips, but Aitana had the audacity to evade you and pecked your forehead instead.

She grabbed your chin and finally bestowed on your lips the kiss that you had been yearning for.

It’s not ever easy to let down your defenses, but with Aitana it felt so easy to do so. You never thought you’d ever be this lucky, certainly not two years ago, when you first transferred to Barcelona and Aitana started consuming your every thought. From the moment you laid eyes upon that beautiful smile and her unstinting kindness, you knew you were gone.

The memory of your first meeting lingered in your mind as your girlfriend dragged her suitcase towards the front door.

“I’ll call you when I get to camp,” she said.

“You promise?”

“Yes, promise. Now come here.” Her hands found yours and tugged you forward as you grinned. How could you not smile when her face was so close to yours? “I love you.”

You cupped her face and kissed her softly. “T’estimo.”

“Don’t be too sad, okay? It will go by quickly.” At least she pitied you enough to reassure you.

As you watched her get into her Uber, you could only wish she was right.

Aitana kept her promise and FaceTimed you once she had settled at camp a few hours later. The conversation didn’t last long, as she had to go quickly after that.

“I’m sorry,” you remembered saying.

“For what, my love?”

“For being clingy,” you laughed and shrugged. “I don’t know . . .”

It was a surprise, then, after you had packed your things for your early flight back to the States that night, that she called you again before you went to bed.

“Babe, is everything alright?” You had feared the worst when she texted you.

Are you still awake? Can we talk?

Super cryptic.

“Yes, everything is good.” After a quick pause, she said, “I couldn’t sleep. I miss you.”

A large grin crept onto your lips. “Well well well, how the tables have turned.”

As you heard a groan on the other side of the phone, you laughed, and thanked your lucky star above that you had someone like Aitana to look forward to coming home to.

[flemingsgirl]

PART 1: Building bridges and boundaries

It’s an always kinda type- chapter one - first glances, lasting moments

Back in 2020, Jessie transfers to Chelsea, her first professional season, away from home and friends. But what if she wins friends in this special club, a new family. Follow Jessie and Y/N on their journey through friendship, rivalry and maybe something more. How circumstances change their dynamic and their growth as individuals.

Tw: full of fluffy (the first chapters), heartache/ break, angst (somewhat along the line, I'll tell you if time is ripe:))

AN: Here I am! Back from the dead. Hope you enjoy this story about Jessie, as much as I like daydreaming about it. Let me know your thoughts 🙈

“Let’s welcome our newest signings!” Emma’s voice rang out through the packed meeting room, her energy lifting the atmosphere. “Until now, they’ve trained individually with our coaches, and some of them have already met during those sessions. But today, they’re official Blues.” The room erupted into cheers as the new players stepped forward to introduce themselves.

Jessie Fleming, the young Canadian star, was among them. When it was her turn, she gave a shy smile and introduced herself, taking a seat next to Y/N.

Y/N couldn’t help but glance at the woman next to her. What had brought her here that still required an introduction? Jessie Fleming—Canada’s brightest talent, the one they all whispered about in hushed tones. The rivalry between Canada and the U.S. ran deep, but now, it was time to become teammates. The Canadian’s freckled face turned toward Y/N, her hand outstretched.

“Y/N,” the American replied, shaking her hand firmly but with a softness that matched her smile.

“Y/L/N, right? I’ve heard of you. We’ve played each other quite a few times,” Jessie said, her accent adding a bit of warmth to the already friendly exchange.

“That’s right, but I thought now, as teammates,” Y/N shrugged lightly, her tone relaxed, trying to break any tension.

Jessie chuckled softly. “You’re right. I’m Jessie,” she responded, squeezing Y/N’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“You know, Jess,” Y/N began, leaning in just a little, “It’s okay, right? I really want to get to know you. After all those games we played, I can honestly say I love your style of play. Watching you is fulfilling—you’ve got so much talent.”

“Thank you. Likewise. You’re tough to play against,” Jessie replied, her lips curling into a shy smile, her cheeks tinted with a soft blush.

“But that’s the fun part, right?” Y/N grinned, her eyes glimmering. “I appreciate it!”

Before the conversation could go further, a familiar voice broke in. “Psst.” Sam Kerr’s voice was filled with mischief as she turned toward the younger players. She gave Y/N a teasing wink before facing forward again.

“That’s… Sam Kerr, huh?” Y/N started.

Jessie cut in, her voice light but filled with admiration. “Yep. Quite the impressive player.”

Later, after the meeting wrapped up, Emma called everyone onto the field to kick off the new season. “Form pairs!” she shouted, the players quickly pairing up. Y/N turned to find Erin, her usual partner on the field, but before she could, Jessie tapped her lightly on the shoulder, offering a shy smile. “Can we maybe… pair up?”

“Usually, it’s Erin and me,” Y/N said, glancing back at the Scottish player, who was already moving off to partner with someone else. “But I think it’s okay. Let’s go for it.”

Jessie smiled brighter now, picking up a ball and finding a spot for them to start the drill. “So, London—what brought you here?”

“Well, not the weather, that’s for sure,” Y/N said with a playful grin.

“Compared to California? Definitely not,” Jessie agreed, her eyes sparkling with humour. Y/N laughed.

“Honestly, I see this team as a chance. A platform to grow, maybe win a few trophies, and—hopefully—make new friends,” the Canadian states.

“The team really is nice,” Y/N assured.

“Everyone seems really welcoming.” Jessie responded thoughtfully

Y/N nodded, Jessie glances out over the pitch. “Tell me more,” she said, eager to get to know the team better.

“Well, Erin’s a bit… strange. I’d recommend staying away from her.” Y/N’s voice carried a teasing tone, and as if on cue, Erin shot her a mock glare from across the field, which only made Y/N laugh harder. “Told you.” She chuckled and looked back at Jessie, who was grinning.

“I can see it,” Jessie replied with a nod. “She sounds like quite the character.”

“She is,” Y/N confirmed, her tone fond. “But you know, she’s a gem. She’s the one who answered the phone every time I called her at weird hours of the night. She’s always there.”

“That’s a true friend,” Jessie remarked, her voice soft.

Y/N smiled at her, feeling the warmth of the conversation settle between them. “Yeah, for sure. Then there’s Sam. She’s one of a kind, like everyone on this team. In the last year, I’ve learned so much from her. She’s like an older sister to me—teasing, challenging, but always having my back. I love her, but all platonic, of course,” she added with a slight, nervous chuckle.

“Sounds like you’ve got a really strong bond with them,” Jessie said, her eyes softening.

Y/N’s smile faltered for a moment, her gaze dropping to the ground. “Yeah, I had to leave my family and friends behind when I moved here for competition, for change. But in the end, I found my people. They’re my family now.”

Jessie looked at her, understanding flashing in her eyes. “I get it,” she said quietly. “I hope to find that here too.”

Y/N met Jessie’s gaze with a warm smile. “Of course, Fleming. You’re not being left out.” She shifted slightly, then added, “I can show you around, the good side of London. I think you’d like it.”

Jessie hesitated for a moment, then smiled, her cheeks slightly pink. “I don’t want to force you.”

“If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have asked,” Y/N replied, her tone firm but gentle. “I’m an honest person, Jess.”

As they continued their drill, Niamh appeared, offering a thumbs-up to confirm their plans. “Right after training, we’re all going out. You in?”

Jessie glanced at the ground, her fingers fiddling nervously with the ring on her hand as heat crept up her neck. She nodded, agreeing with a soft smile.

After training, the trio found themselves wandering through the streets of London, Y/N leading them to hidden gems.

“You know the hidden spots, huh?” Niamh asked, her voice curious as she looked around.

“Erin showed me around, and I guess you could thank her and Millie for it,” Y/N said with a grin.

“You made it, huh?” Niamh’s voice held a teasing tone. “You’re officially with the cool kids now.”

Y/N laughed. “More like the older, noisy sisters,” she teased, giving Niamh a playful shove on the shoulder. “Let’s grab some food. I’m starving.”

Later, seated in a cozy Italian restaurant, the trio relaxed into conversation, their laughter filling the air. “What are your first impressions of training?” Y/N asked, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

“The squad seems nice,” Jessie answered, a note of genuine warmth in her voice.

“I agree,” Niamh chimed in. “The staff, too. They seem like a good group.”

Y/N leaned back in her chair. “So, who are you looking forward to playing with most?”

Jessie’s eyes twinkled as she thought. “I think Sam and Magda would be fun to play with.”

“Ah, I see,” Niamh mused, “Can’t wait to play with Pernille, or you, of course.”

Jessie’s eyes flicked to Y/N, a subtle shift in her posture as a small smile danced on her lips.

Y/N noticed it, but before she could comment, Niamh leaned forward with a mischievous grin. “So, Fleming. What are your thoughts on the team?”

Jessie’s cheeks turned a shade darker, and she quickly turned her gaze away, fumbling with her hands under the table. “I’m happy with everyone,” she said quietly, her voice soft. “I couldn’t choose, really. They all seem amazing.”

“Sweet answer,” Niamh teased. “You’re definitely a heartwarming person. I’d love to have a friend like you.” She reached across the table, giving Jessie’s cheek a playful poke.

Jessie’s cheeks turned a deeper shade of red, and she shifted awkwardly in her seat, avoiding their eyes. “Well… he’s not my type,” she whispered, barely audible.

Niamh’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?” she asked, clearly puzzled.

Y/N glanced between them, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “I think we’re getting off track here,” she said, laughing. “Any thoughts on lunch?”

After a long, laughter-filled evening, the three of them finally parted ways, heading home for the night. Y/N drove Niamh and Jessie home. She looked over at Jessie as they stopped in front of their apartment building. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow,” she said, her tone gentle but firm. “you’re on my way to training anyway. Let’s take turns driving.”

Jessie hesitated for a moment, but Niamh cut in. “Sounds good,” she agreed quickly.

Y/N smiled, giving them both a thumb-up. “Til tomorrow.”

As she drove back to her apartment, she couldn’t help but think about the night—and the spark of something that felt like it was just beginning between her and Jessie.

[kickbackkanzaki]

The Dungeon Master and Chess Queen

You're the new student and chess captain at Hawkins High. When Eddie Munson asks you for tutoring you're certain you have him handled but you may have underestimated his strategy.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

It was morning break on Monday when Eddie came to find you.

You and Max were enjoying the quiet isolation of the picnic bench Eddie usually dealt at. You were sitting lotus style on the table with your chess board set up mid game while Max read a graphic novel you'd found in a thrift store.

Eddie's boots made enough noise to announce himself but you were completely transfixed by the still pieces on their squares. Max saw Eddie but went back to reading without a word.

Today you'd separated her hair into multiple braids and woven them together into a crown. Eddie thought of suggesting you swap book selling for hairdressing but he supposed a legitimate business wouldn't supply the same thrill.

"Sinclair said you two sometimes come up here before class," Eddie tried to get your attention away from the stalled game. "I hope I'm not disturbing you guys and your invisible friend."

Max muttered something about Lucas being a snitch and went back to reading.

You were more polite lifting your eyes and smiled at your visitor.

"I was hoping to catch you actually," you said and motioned for Eddie to join you.

"Really?" Eddie asked suspiciously, "Most people don't say that."

"Do you have ten bucks?" you got the point before he could waffle on. "One of my clients stood me up so I'm short."

"Oh so that's how it works does it?" Eddie asked with mock indignation. "You think a hot time in the janitor's closet opens an account at the Bank of Munson? Well credit denied madam!"

"I left half my good lipstick on you!" you protested joining in the joke. "You owe me! They're quality cosmetics!"

"I'll pay that," Eddie conceded with a chuckle and passed you some crumpled notes from his vest pocket. "What are you buying?"

"Greyhound tickets to Detroit," you answered and smoothed the currency on your leg. "I'm playing at a tournament this weekend. I'll pay you back next week plus ten percent of anything I win."

"Done deal honey."

"Hey, ten bucks doesn't buy you familiarity," you warned jabbing the notes his way threateningly.

"We're beyond familiar babe," Eddie replied then turned to Max. "Scoot kid, I need to talk to your mum."

"Do what I've shown you Max," you sighed returning your attention to the board.

Max flipped Eddie off with both middle fingers and told him to, "Die in a fire."

"I see you're a big inspiration for the youth," Eddie remarked snidely as Max packed the graphic novel in her bag.

"Says the man running a cult," you countered and turned to Max who was on her feet. "You don't have to go because of this guy."

"I don't want to hang around for the pillow talk," Max grunted. "I'll see you later?"

"Yep. Science Lab B for chess at lunch. I have a new opening for you."

Max stomped away through the undergrowth and you were left alone with Eddie and the chess board.

"Did you say I was a cult leader?" he asked when Max was out of earshot.

"You're a charismatic guy with wild hair who recruits young people to join him in practices outside the mainstream and adorn themselves in matching garb," you answered with a small shrug. "Pretty apt description."

"That doesn't make me a cult leader," Eddie retorted and crossed his arms.

"Whatever you say," you said as a smile started rising on your lips. "Just don't run a Kool Aid stand at the next school carnival."

That tickled Eddie's macabre sense of humour and he had to laugh. He and his Hellfire Club had been called a lot of nasty things but no one had the nerve to tease him to his face.

Besides, coming from a chess captain it was insults amongst outcasts.

"What did you come here for Eddie?" you asked.

The bell would ring soon and you needed to cut the banter.

"I wanted to check how you were with the suspension and everything," Eddie slipped his long legs over the bench so he could sit near you. "I would have called but none of your friends would give me your number. Robin said I'd make heavy breathing calls."

"Probably best you didn't. Dad has a habit of answering and trapping people on the line," you admitted.

"Yeah I heard your dad's a little-" Eddie broke off when he saw your friendly expression suddenly drop and eyes narrow.

"Go on," you dared.

"Never mind," Eddie was smart and changed the subject. "How much trouble did I get you in?"

"Got me in?" you nose crumpled from your confused expression. "I got you in trouble, I undid your pants to conceal my controversial library."

"Which I made you show me," Eddie interjected.

"Let's not squabble over details," you said rubbing your temples. "All Dad asked was who I was kissing and why so nothing came of it."

"He was cool with you kissing me? Really?"

One time he had seen his lab partner with her mother at the supermarket and had helped load their shopping onto the conveyor belt. Come Monday he was reassigned a new lab partner because the mother didn't want her daughter subjected to a "long haired thug" who would destroy her chemistry grade.

"A really nice guy who helped prevent a book burning? What's the problem with that?" you asked with open hands.

Eddie was rarely silent so you worried he was catatonic by the way he stared at you blankly while the birds chirped and trees rustled around you.

He thought your fiery defense of his character in the principal's office had stemmed from your need to rebel against Higgins, not genuine faith in his character.

He could count on one hand those who would stand up for him.

"Eddie?"

"Um yeah," Eddie came back online and blinked a few times to dissolve the glassiness of eyes. "I was wondering something else while you're here."

Your stomach began to twist and you held your breath. You'd been worrying about this possibility during your suspension, that Eddie would mistake your cunning romantic ruse for something real.

Something he would want to pursue.

"I hear you do some tutoring for the middle schoolers," Eddie continued before he lost his nerve. He never like admitting he was vulnerable. "I was wondering if maybe you could help me out with a few subjects?"

"Oh, yeah, sure," you stumbled through your quick reply. "We can sort something."

The bell rang and you both leapt into action relieved to end the awkward conversation. You had been rehearsing the 'Let's Be Friends' speech since the weekend and were elated to now know it wasn't needed.

Eddie was likewise pleased as he's half expected you to be contemptuous. He hadn't been suspended like you, he'd spent the last week in after school detentions where he'd asked around about the impressive grades Principal Higgins had mentioned.

Apparently you would be this year's valedictorian if only you could tell people to fuck off less. Hawkins High was not going to let you make the graduation speech for the Class of 86.

One of his fellow reprobates mentioned his younger brother was getting tutoring from you and Eddie started to think. He could feel this was going to be his year and now he knew why, the universe had brought you to him.

Eddie helped you pack up the board and offered a gentlemanly hand to help you off the table.

"Who won?" he asked showing his good mood. "You or Mr Invisible?"

"I lost that one," you admitted as you made your way down the hill together. "I was trying to find where they first made the play I didn't see."

"Who in the club beat you?" he asked curiously.

"That was a match from a local tournament three years ago. I like to go over my old games and analyse my opponent's strategies," you explained.

"You're shitting me," Eddie scoffed as the prison of Hawkins High came into view. "You can't remember the layout from that long ago."

"I shit you not," you countered and gave him a dead serious look. "I remember all my games. Even my first one."

That sounded incredibly spurious but somehow Eddie could believe it. He'd never seen you play but an amateur wouldn't take a six hour bus to play chess against strangers on a weekend.

"Well you better give me a kiss before we go to class," Eddie said changing the subject as you walked into the building.

"Pardon me?" you asked amazed at his hubris.

This guy had some serious balls if he thought you were going to dish out kisses like lollipops on vaccine day.

"The Eye on Sauron is upon us babe which means-"

"Principal Higgins is watching us for any further sign of felonious behaviour," you translated before you got buried in Tolkien theology. "So we best feed the gossip mill who will quilt us a cover with their vicious whispers and spiteful stories. I read Lord of the Rings too."

"Baby I'm not sure if you can get any hotter right now," Eddie purred silky and leaned in for the kiss.

Your lipstick printed on his mouth and you slipped a hand around his neck to feel the smooth skin under his jacket collar. There was no passion in the exchange but you had to admit the way Eddie brushed your hair behind your ear with his calloused guitarist's fingers wasn't entirely unpleasant.

You received a few catcalls and crude comments then pulled away from each other.

Mission successful.

Eddie had such a smug smile on his handsome face you couldn't let him swagger away in victory.

"Tolkien was overrated," you whispered in his ear and wiggled your butt so it suggested you were promising future favours. "Too many descriptions of fucking trees."

Eddie's nostrils flared like an enraged bull's and he opened his mouth to destroy you but your hand was already moving towards the winning move.

"I'm gonna eat this for lunch!" you yelled over the student herd migrating around you and gave Eddie's crotch a tight squeeze.

The crowd went wild with whoops and shouts and you held the delicate bulge just long enough for an appropriate amount of people to witness it.

Eddie was frozen in place and his bag slipped from his shoulder landing on the floor spilling his pens and books. His mind couldn't comprehend what was going on but his cock could.

The warmth and strength of your grip had opened the hormone floodgates and blood rushed straight into his length. You'd let go but his dick was crying out for more like a semaphore flag waving frantically for attention.

"Don't leave me hungry baby!" you hollered and ran towards your history class.

Checkmate.

[yeeterthek33per]

Sparklers (Kyra Cooney-Cross x Reader)

A/n Requested. Honestly this one isn't my best work but I just wanted it to be done, so it's not as substantial but I promise I did my best to save it from the clutches of undone WIPs.

Content/Warning(s): Fluff, Kyra being a pest.

-----------------------

When Kyra had first left for Sweden, she'd been adamant that she couldn't leave you behind.

But after many tears, hugs, kisses and persuasion in the form of future travel plans, she left for Hammarby IF, while you stayed with the Melbourne Victory.

Thus, nearly two years later, just a month before the World Cup and one week before the start of camp, a very tired and whiny girlfriend of yours sits on facetime with you, begging you to let her come over to Australia early to spend time with you.

"Babe, c'mon, I'd only be missing one match anyway."

And thus, you subsequently scolding the twenty-one year old.

"Kyra, no. No way. Seriously, play your last match, if I remember rightly, Hammarby haven't offered you a new contract right?"

She huffs, silently fidgeting with her fingers and not making eye contact with you through the camera.

"You need to play the last match, Ky. Be professional about it, please, if not for the club, for me? I want you to be able to get opportunities over there. Take it seriously and you can come see me the moment your last match is over."

She groans, letting her head hit the bed from where she'd been laying stomach down with her phone in front of her.

"Promise me, Ky. Play out the rest of the season. Even if you don't get the league, you've still got a trophy under your belt there, baby."

"Alright."

The look in her eyes as she turns her head away from the camera makes you sigh softly.

"Kyra, promise me you'll stay. I miss you more than anything, but your career comes first. Promise me."

She mumbles back, finally.

"I promise, baby, I promise I'll stay."

You nod in satisfaction, giving the girl a small smile and pressing a kiss to the tips of your fingers before holding them up to your phone as she does the same.

"Goodnight, baby."

"G'night, Ky."

-----------------------

So she does stay.

She plays her heart out in her last match, taking the draw with Piteå before finally getting on her flight to Australia.

She's exhausted from the match, and nearly forgoes showering and changing to switch tickets to an earlier flight.

Instead, she heeds your warnings of not kissing her should she decide to show up at the training centre without at least taking care of herself first.

She's already got her bags packed and ready in her rental to fly to Australia, and just about drags them to the match with her but forgoes it.

The poor aussie just needs to see her girlfriend. To collapse into a warm, fluffy pile of cuddles and-

"Flight 157 to Sydney, Australia, Now boarding."

She sighs and hopes the flight boards quickly, eager to see you.

-----------------------

Everyone was told similar times to be at the centre by, giving them a roughly six hour window to arrive in, given any delays in flights, although that doesn't seem enough knowing international boarding mid year can be dicey.

So you've taken the initiative to be in Brisbane early to avoid the traffic of the day.

It's ripe time at six-thirty in the morning, meaning you're far earlier than all of your teammates, even the one's closer to Brisbane than you are, and thus you have plenty of time to kill and nap in the lobby waiting for your teammates to start arriving at around ten.

Of course, you're startled awake by a slap to the stomach.

Taking a precursory glance at the clock on the wall above the receptionists desk, it's about three and a half hours later.

It's Steph and Caitlin, both of them sporting tired smirks at you.

"Well hello miss."

You just about jump into the arms of your vice-captain, having missed seeing the woman at the last camp due to injury, thus you haven't seen the woman since the games in April against Scotland and England.

"Steph!"

She chuckles, giving you a tight squeeze.

She had taken you under her wing the moment you'd stepped into your first national team camp just four years ago, not long after the World Cup but right before the Covid Pandemic.

She'd been the one to stick with you over facetime while you navigated the league in Australia, and of course, once a sense of normalcy returned and after the Olympic games in Tokyo.

You were often found in her room with her even though you'd all been given the privileges of single rooms.

Now, you tended to spend more time with Kyra, but, if your teammates needed you, it was always one of the two of them that you'd be found with.

"What, and I'm chopped liver, am I?"

You poke your tongue out at the striker, burying yourself back into Steph's arms.

"No, I'm just the favourite."

"Please, you and I both know you're no longer the favourite."

"Shhhh, let me have this, she isn't here yet."

Giggling, you nudge the defender and separate from her.

"I'm in love with the girl, but you're more tolerable, some days."

"Ayy, that's my girl."

She ruffles your sleep mussed hair.

"Hey! Hands off the goods, Catley."

You swat at the older woman, who dodges the tired attempt.

"Yeah, stop bullying my girlfriend, Catley."

Your head shoots up from it's laid back position on the back of the couch to look at the newly appeared brunette, standing across the lobby from you.

"Ky, get that cute butt over here, right now."

At your demand, she drops her stuff and runs over in two seconds flat, nearly tackling you back onto the seating, arms wrapped tightly around your form, nose buried in your neck.

Staying for a moment to just breathe each other in, your hands rub circles into the woman's back, your face buried in her hair, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, wincing at the smell of airplane on her.

She pouts when you pull away with a terribly hidden grimace.

"Baby, I love you, but you need a shower."

A soft whine from the midfielder makes you raise a brow at her.

"I just got in, can you blame me?"

There's a teasing smile on your lips as you wrap your arms around her waist.

"Obviously, you were supposed to shower before coming here."

Kyra huffs at that, crossing her arms.

"Love you."

She grumbles in response.

You nudge her, pouting.

"Love you."

Still no response.

You grab her face, turning her head back towards you with a small frown.

"I love you."

When she doesn't respond again, you start peppering her face with kisses and she gives in, grinning at you.

"Alright! Alright! Love you, too."

Satisfied, you give her a small peck, to which she chases you up for a second, a third and then someone clearing their throat beside you interrupts her from a fourth.

"Alright, you two, stop being gross."

It's a grunt from the striker on your left, which earns her a slap to the shoulder.

"Leave them be, Caitlin."

-----------------------

It's your final day off before the full commitment to the World Cup preparations takes precedence over your time in Australia, thus you want to do as much as you can with your girlfriend before your time together, alone, gets limited.

You'd had a few days off to explore the city, but nothing really concrete as you and Kyra had just wandered around the area where the hotel is.

This time, you wanted to plan something for the midfielder, something to last you both the couple weeks of the World Cup, hoping it would tide you both over, knowing it'd be torture not spending time together.

At least when she was in Sweden, you had space to yourselves over facetime.

World Cups are chaotic, and allow little to no time to yourselves, as you've so discovered and been told by the older girls on the team.

So, here you are, calling various different restaurants for reservations tonight, with, unfortunately, no luck.

Instead, managing to sneak away from the girl for an hour or so, you run down to the grocery store, pick up several of her favourite snacks, drinks, and a small surprise that you think she'll love and then rush back to the hotel, getting ready for a night out in one of the cities parks.

She looks at you suspicious when you drag her down, scraggily dressed in hoodies and sweats, to a taxi rather insistently, dragging a completely full duffle bag behind you.

Not that you blame her.

You would be sussed out, too, if she decided to randomly drag you out to a taxi at six on a Saturday night, carrying a nearly ripping at the seams, black duffle bag.

"Sooooo... Where are we goin', babe?"

"You'll see."

You let out a little laugh at the small pout she has on her face, pecking her sweetly on the lips in exchange for the small smile she relents at the sound of your giggle.

When you finally pull up at the park, you're all but dragging the woman across the green grass and to the edge of the waterline where you drop the blanket you'd been carrying down onto the somewhat flat grassed area.

It's lit well enough that when the sun starts to set, it's not ridiculously dark, so you take a little comfort knowing it's not entirely dangerous out, plus the added comfort of the occasional family or couple wandering by on the path just to the left of you by ten feet or so.

You nudge her to sit down next to you, hand settling in hers.

"I wanted us to have a nice little sit down together to just relax and talk and eat and just be stress free for a little while. Just to breathe for the night. Together. It's about to be even more hectic and I've missed you."

You pout softly, leaning into her a little.

She leans over, kissing you fully, hand on your face tugging you in closer.

You're both a little breathless when she let's your face go again.

"I love you, so fucking much."

Giggling, you kiss her once more.

"I love you, too."

Finally, you open up the bag and dump out the contents onto her lap, knowing you're about to have a very excited sugar hyped puppy on your hands after this.

Her eyes sparkle up at you, the grin on her face causing her eyes to crease at the corners.

"Just wait 'til you see what else is in there."

Eyes darting around the small pile, she digs through it to find a pair of packets of sparklers and a small lighter.

She feels giddy, and looks the part, too, her immediate giggle and hug crushing you making your heart just about melt through your body entirely.

It's adorable.

It's cute.

It's oh so Kyra and you feel your heart bursting at the thought that you get to call her yours.

You're dragged out of your train of thought by said woman dragging you to your feet, lighting a sparkler and handing it to you, running around you, both of your giggles and the small handheld fireworks lighting up the night sky and the river before you.

No matter where you are, how far apart they keep you, Kyra will always be your one, you realise.

It's a small, heartbeat skipping thought, but it makes you smile harder and enjoy the moment all the more while you can.

The sparkler she's holding blasts out tiny stars of combusting magnesium, being spread out harmlessly in the air and onto the grass as she runs circles around you.

It goes out within a minute or so, and she's looking over at you with puppy dog eyes.

"Babe, can you get another one out, pretty please? I wanna attack those cheezels soon."

You chuckle, obliging with her demands, a small kiss to your lips as thanks.

She may be a child at heart still, but she's yours.

-----------------------

[mothhball]

II – VIRIDIS

viridis – marked by youthful vigor

JONATHAN CRANE X FEM!READER

summary Drinking your woes away was a temporary solution, and it ends up in tears. But even in the darkest night, there's the chance of a silver lining. Just be sure you're well-informed about your shiny spark of hope.

warnings NEEDLES, BLOOD SAMPLE, very mild medfet (a whisper for now), alcohol, reader gets drunk, some mildly foul language, unhappy relationship,

notes oooo longer chapter! and things are MOVING

! MINORS DNI !

story masterlist • main masterlist • taglist • kofi word count: 5.2k

The news themselves were already bad, but even worse was the pity from everyone you told about the rejection. Behind every sympathetic smile and half-hug was a hidden “I told you so” that no one said out loud, but was obvious enough.

Despite what people told you, apparently no one had believed that you could make it in the first place, and that realization caused a rage to burn and fester within your guts. A rage which found no outlet since that wretched Thursday that you since then blacked out with a fat sharpie from your calendar. Reading that letter felt like repeatedly getting hit over the head with a steel pipe, beating you into a pathetic, bloody pulp right where you were standing in your kitchen. Your boyfriend tried to rub your back, but you bristled and immediately turned away from him, scowling like it was him specifically who sent the rejection. His little pout disgusted you. But what made you actually nauseous was the relief in his eyes. Never once, in 3 years of this relationship, did you resent him like you did on that Thursday afternoon. Bitter, seething resentment which almost caused you to lash out at him like a riled-up dog.

But instead, you chose to take the high road. Or rather you fled, left the apartment and drove over to your best friend Mina’s to cry and shout into one of her lovely couch pillows. The smart, admirable choice would’ve been to write an email to Potomac. To timidly ask Dr. Rabin to turn a blind eye and allow you to send in a late application. But every time your fingers hovered over the keys of your old, ratty laptop, the embarrassment was too much, and you slammed it shut once more, leaving the unfinished request behind. But your boyfriend Tristan, in his seemingly endless quest of half-heartedly trying to manage your future, urged you to send the email. So, you did. At least that’s what you told him. A little white lie to let him keep his peace of mind. 

Your mood only got worse towards the weekend, prompting a few of your friends and your boyfriend to drag you off to do the responsible thing. Get drunk and shake off the tension during a night out. And now here you are, downing shots on a Saturday night in an attempt to forget your woes at least for a little while.

The club is packed and stuffy, and the lights flicker over a mass of people that seems to have grown into one hive mind of an entity, allowing you to feel swallowed and anonymous for just a few blissful hours. Every mouthful of alcohol that you swallow works in your favor to numb the anxiety gnawing at your bones while the bass gently licks at your feverish skin, causing your heart to vibrate in your ribcage. It’s easy to lose yourself in sips of colorful shots and cocktails. At least until a firm hand on your shoulder prevents you from placing another order. Turning your head, you’re met by Tristan’s disgruntled eyes, and before you can shake off his grip, he’s already pulling you away from the bar to a relatively quiet spot in another hallway of the club. Still, he has to raise his voice when he speaks to you, already laying the foundation for a screaming match.

“What are you doing??” he asks, giving you a once over that only serves to further sour his mood.

“What do you mean? I’m just having a couple of drinks,” you slur back at him, returning that nasty look he’s sending you. Tristan scoffs, shaking his head like you’re a lost cause, even though he’s not exactly sober either.

“You’re getting wasted. Are you still sulking over that rejection? Jesus…”

That actually makes your jaw drop, and you’re speechless for a few seconds, which your boyfriend takes as his cue to continue.

“Just let it go. Some things aren’t meant to be. It’s better this way”

“What the hell do you mean by that?” you hiss back at him, curling your fingers tightly into the fabric of the little dress you’re wearing.

“I… Listen, we both know Arkham isn’t… your style. You… you’re not that kind of person –“ Tristan sighs, somehow trying to make his statement seem less insulting and vague by waving his hands around in your face.

“The kind of person to what??”

“The kind of person who’d make it there! You would’ve quit after two weeks! Let’s be real for once. And then you’d have to start over again and you would have to wait yet another semester to graduate!” Every word that leaves his mouth pisses you off even more, and a truly ugly emotion rears its head within you. Things are escalating. You still have half a mind to realize it. You should call it a night, go home and talk things out in the morning. But this is the first time that Tristan is being brutally honest about your career choices.

“Oh, I didn’t know it was a race, Tristan! How silly of me! I’ll make sure to plan every future decision around your life schedule from now on!” You get in his face, venom dripping off of every shouted syllable that slips from your tongue a little too easily.

“You’re putting words in my mouth! I never said I wanted you to plan your life around me! I’m just worried! All of my friend’s girlfriends –“

“So that’s what this is about? The girlfriends of your little business school friend group?? Am I part of some weird dick measuring contest?” You continue before he gets a word in, asking a question that’s been burning in your throat for a few months now.

“Are you ashamed of me??”

You’re met with silence. Silence that’s so obviously an answer in itself that it causes your heart to slip out of your chest and shatter on the sticky floor below. Tristan notices the devastated expression on your face, but his drunken audacity eggs him on to double down. 

“I wouldn’t have to be if you just acted like an adult! You can’t always get what you want! For fuck’s sake, just be happy with what you have for once!” You wish you had a drink you could throw in his face. But your hands are empty, shaking with anger and disappointment. You can’t look at him anymore.

“Screw you, Tristan.” And with that, you turn, leaving him standing there while you rush to find an exit as tears well up in your eyes. He doesn’t make a move to follow you, and it simultaneously calms and saddens you even more. 

Navigating the club is even more complicated with your blurred vision, and you bump into a few people, no doubt spilling a few overpriced drinks in the process. But you’re either too fast or they’re too drunk to really do anything about it.

Finally, finally, you make it outside, choking out a strangled noise that’s a pathetic mix between a sob and a whine, and you quickly duck into a nearby alley to give way to the tears. You’re drunk and overly emotional, you try to rationalize with yourself, but it doesn’t lessen the ache in any way. So, pressing a palm over your mouth, you reluctantly allow yourself to cry. The night air is icy, but fresh enough to comfort you and slowly clear up the lump in your throat, and after some cathartic five minutes, you start to calm down again. Your tears run black at this point, dragging your favorite mascara down your cheeks, and you sniffle as you into your purse to grab a compact mirror and assess the damage. 

It's in that moment when your phone display lights up, alerting you to an incoming call. Your stomach twists into knots as you fish the phone out of your purse. A call from Tristan might make things worse, and you’re not really in the mood to talk to him right now, so – 

But the call isn’t coming from your boyfriend. Your eyes widen before they narrow into slits, and annoyance bubbles up within your chest. There on the phone display, proudly displayed as the caller ID is Dr. Jonathan Crane’s name. Your thumb hovers over the glass before you decide to pick up the call. As soon as you hear his voice, annoyance gives way to a little spark of hope. It also serves to sober you up a little. You barely have time to rasp out a “Hello?” before he speaks, sounding almost relieved that you picked up.

“I know that calling at such a late hour is quite unusual, but I’m glad I could get ahold of you before it was too late. Believe me, I was just as surprised as you most likely were. To be frank, I was so certain that you'd be joining us that I didn't even check the list to confirm it.” Papers rustle on his end of the line. He must still be in his office.

“Yeah, I… I was optimistic as well. Maybe… Maybe a little too much,” you admit softly, trying to concentrate on your words to avoid slurring. Crane hums, and you can’t tell if it’s in understanding or amusement. Reading him in person was already hard enough, but it’s nigh impossible over the phone.

“Tell you what, I believe you dodged a bullet. I clarified with the other staff members what the responsibilities of those interns will be, and that wouldn’t be right for you. Sorting files and sitting in on group therapy sessions at the Low Security Wing? No, that would be a waste of your time. You’re not that kind of person. Which is why I’m offering you something else.”

You lick your dry lips, still tasting the salt of your tears and some last traces of your lipstick. For a second, you’re unsure if you heard him correctly. “Something else?”

Crane glosses over your question, and in your mind you understand. This might be sensitive information. Drunk-You feels a little like a spy, keeping a secret from Tristan who would surely be mad that you’re even talking to the director of Arkham Asylum right now.

“Are you free to come in tomorrow? I know it’s quite late already –“

“Yes. Yes, I am,” you interrupt, feeling brave. 

“Good. Then let’s meet in my office at… let’s say… 10 am? Is that alright?”

“I… uh, absolutely.” You quickly rummage through your purse, using a lip liner and an old receipt to haphazardly write down the appointment. “I’ll be there.”

“Perfect. Enjoy the rest of your night,” he says before he hangs up right after. You have no chance to say goodbye properly as the line clicks. Maybe it’s for the best. Knowing yourself, you would’ve wished him a great night as well with the addition of a plea to “get home safe”, which would’ve been a little much.

When you head back inside, you’re spotted by your worried friends and an indifferent Tristan, and dear GOD, the urge to boast and gloat has never been this strong before in your life. But you stay quiet as you put on a smile, avoiding to look at your boyfriend. You stay quiet as your group gets into a taxi, and stay quiet as you get back home and head straight for your bed. “You’re not that kind of person” was something you heard twice in one night. And only once did it feel right.

The pounding ache in your skull serves as your alarm clock the next day, tearing you out of a restless sleep only 10 minutes before you were supposed to get up anyway. A frown finds its way onto your features as you tiptoe out of the bedroom, catching a glimpse of the still sleeping Tristan on the couch in the living room. Neither of you have said a word to each other since the fight, and you'll be damned if you start the conversation about something he messed up in the first place.

You walk past him, feeling the cold surface of the floorboards beneath your feet as you head into the bathroom to try to make yourself look (and smell) presentable. The stench of alcohol leaves your tongue after brushing and rinsing with mouthwash thrice, and an overindulgence of body wash in the shower solves everything else. The final touch is a generous amount of concealer under your eyes, and you're surprised that you actually pass off as someone who doesn't have an awful hangover right now.

Getting dressed is another challenge, though. You can't exactly say that Drunk-You had the gift of foresight to pick a suitable outfit for your second meeting with Dr. Crane, so you dig through your closet to make yourself look presentable. Your fingers wander over the different fabrics, tracing cotton and polyester, wool and tweed as you grumble to yourself. Christ, this shouldn’t feel like rocket science.

This dreadful indecisiveness eats up a sizeable chunk of your time, and as you button up your blouse, you realize how late it suddenly is.

Breakfast consists of an aspirin and a large black coffee, and you make sure to let the coffee machine shriek as loudly as it wants just to spite Tristan a little more before you rush out of the apartment. 

This time around, the drive to Arkham Asylum feels a little more familiar. You still depend heavily on your GPS, but you remember some of the turns and streets, and you don’t feel as tiny and insignificant as you did a week ago. You’re here with an explicit purpose now. Crane knows who you are and asked you to come back nevertheless.

Upon entering the still intimidating building, you stop by the reception again, spotting a familiar face. The receptionist seems just as surprised to see you, sharp eyes flicking down to a visitor's list that seems to confirm the validity of your return before she points a manicured nail towards the security check. You raise your hand to wave at her as you pass. She doesn't wave back. Oh well, you can't get them all.

The maze of a third-floor feels straightforward as well today, made possible by the ever-present red lines guiding you to your destination. This time, you're able to meet Crane in his office, and his request to enter can be heard through the door after the first knock.

Everything still looks the same as you enter, save for his now orderly desk. The chaos of files from back then is now a neat stack that the doctor rests his folded hands atop. You open your mouth to greet him, but Crane speaks first, completely catching you off-guard.

"The bunny is back. I'm glad to see it."

"Excuse me?" You blink at him before you look down at yourself. No, no bunny-themed clothes or accessories anywhere that might have given him the idea to call you that. You’re drawing a blank. Unsure whether this is part of a hazing process or an inside joke you must’ve missed, you lift your gaze back up to him. There’s a fleeting look of sardonic amusement on his face before he reels himself back in to elaborate.

“That's what you reminded me of the first time you came here. Glancing around, all skittish and frightened in the hallway…” he explains, already turning his head away from you to reach into one of his desk drawers and retrieve a folder. Your folder. “Please, close the door and take a seat. We’re already running low on time.”

After following his instructions, you find yourself sitting in the same chair from a week ago, foregoing the act of presenting yourself as a confident person. It’s no use, anyway. Crane already knows you’re desperate. It’s seeping out of your every pore, giving your worries a rich and sweet taste that the director of Arkham seems to indulge in for a moment. At least, that’s what you assume based on the expression in his cold eyes. You’re no fool. It’s basically a guarantee that his offer will bite you in the ass in some way or another. 

“You must be a little put-off by this meeting. It’s not exactly orthodox to ask you to come in on a Sunday, but I read the list of this year’s interns just minutes before I called you last night. And that was purely by chance. Like I said, I was positive you’d be one of them.” Crane opens your folder, but his eyes stay on your face. “I have no idea what goes on in the heads of my staff sometimes, and now I’m fairly certain it can’t be much. But I don’t intend to waste a person like you.”

You shift in your seat, listening intently to every word that leaves his lips. It’s your lifeline. And he knows it.

“So, I am making you an offer. Just promise to listen first,” he says, and one of his eyebrows twitches upwards at the intensity in your gaze. “The position I’m offering you would be exclusive. It won’t be approved by anyone else but me and it technically didn’t exist before I made up my mind about it. I am offering you the position of intern assistant.”

Your eyes widen. Even in his darkroom of an office, it feels like the air just became lighter and the colors brighter. Crane lifts a finger, continuing his offer.

“No surface scratching – You’d be my shadow. Which means more work and responsibilities, but also more privileges, more insight, more knowledge. I’ll teach you what you need to know to get ahead in this field, and by the end of it, your fellow students will eat your dust. Your professors as well, if I’m being honest.”

Before you can even respond, he’s already reaching back into his desk, pulling out a massive stack of paperwork. And then the rushing begins. Crane checks his watch, clicking his tongue before he pushes the documents over to you, along with a fountain pen.

“How long would it take you to read this? I have to hand this in within the next 50 minutes to make sure you’re cleared in time. If you even accept my offer, that is. It’s a terrible time crunch, I know, but I’d really like to have you as a member of staff in one week.”

Tentatively, you reach out for the fountain pen, twirling it around in your fingers for a moment as you think about his offer. This hesitancy only causes him to lean forward and flip through the first pages, pointing out a handful of sections for only a few seconds each before he moves on.

“It’s the regular stuff, I guess. Everything I just told you in cumbersome wording. I really wish I could take my time and go through each page with you, but the circumstances just won’t allow it. If you have any questions, I’ll gladly answer all of them once you’ve signed.”

It’s shady as hell. A red flag that’s so glaringly obvious that it makes you wonder how Crane can keep a straight expression. But this is your one chance of getting a look behind the scenes. Your one chance of proving them wrong. Professor Campbell, Tristan, everyone who doubted you could do it. This could go horribly wrong. But it could also be your ticket into the big leagues. Shadowing the asylum’s director would be a privilege that no one else gets. A chance to make connections and grow. Not to mention that your résumé would look incredible with Crane’s recommendation attached to it.

Hell, he may be exploiting you, but who says you can’t exploit him right back? It’s your good right to milk this opportunity as much as you can.

Meanwhile, the psychiatrist continues to ramble on, rattling off half-apologies and made-up reasons why you have to sign as quickly as possible once he reaches the last page of the contract. The page where you have to place your signature on the intended line. Both of you are surprised by how quickly you sign it. 

As you place the cap back onto the fountain pen, it feels like the air has been sucked out of the room, creating a vacuum in which both of you seem to grapple with the reality that you’d be stuck to Dr. Crane’s side for a few months, following every step and instruction of his. You manage to break the silence first.

“There. I have questions now.”

“Of course. I already expected as much,” Crane says as he pulls the freshly signed contract back to his side of the desk, staring down at your signature as if he’s half expecting it to jump off the paper. But then he places the thick document back into the drawer it came from, letting out a quiet breath. You notice that he seems significantly more at ease now, movements once again patient and effortlessly measured, and your brows furrow a little as you speak.

“What’s my hourly rate?”

“There’s nothing of the sort, I’m afraid.” Your blood runs cold at his nonchalance, and your lips part to protest when he cuts you off. “You will be working the same hours as me. And since my overtime and schedule is a little unpredictable at times, we will just have to see. You will be paid at the end of the month, however. The amount will depend on how much we actually did.”

“I… alright.” You bite your tongue, even though your displeasure is obvious. Nevertheless, you proceed with your second question. “You mentioned more responsibilities. I guess there’s a catch, then? Or a few?”

Crane chuckles, getting up from his chair to walk over to a cabinet in search of something specific. He speaks to you from over his shoulder.

“Right to the point. Wonderful. But yes, there are a few peculiarities that come with the position. Starting with – You’re not afraid of needles, are you?”

He closes the cabinet, returning to the desk with a little tray containing various items.

“We’ll start with a mandatory blood sample. I hope this isn’t a problem. I just need to know that my assistant is in peak condition. And didn’t smoke anything on the way here.”

You want to scoff, but swallow the sound at the last second. The fact that you took offense to his unspoken accusation is written across your face, and Crane doesn’t comment any further on it as he sets the tray down on the desk and pulls his chair closer to yours.

“I’m fine with needles,” you murmur, already pulling up your sleeve.

“No trypanophobia? A shame,” Crane chuckles, sitting down again before he reaches out for your arm. Your doubts whether he’s even qualified to do this as a psychiatrist vanish the moment his hands come in contact with your skin. He’s cold. Almost uncomfortably cold as his fingers brush over the bend of your elbow in search of a suitable vein. Once he’s successful, he picks a tourniquet from the tray of equipment and fastens it around your upper arm. His movements seem too perfect to be experienced. As if he’s a green med student working with the textbook perched on his lap. As if he’d burst into flame if he did something wrong.

“So, about the catch,” he continues, grabbing a bottle of disinfectant and spraying it over the spot he picked on your arm. Surprisingly, the liquid isn’t much colder than his touch. “Since you’ll be my shadow, you’re also required to accompany me to appointments outside of Arkham. Conferences, meetings… so on and so forth. I also have some upcoming court dates within the next few months. Obviously, I’m not the defendant. I’m just an advisor.”

You nod along to his words, eyes following his hands as he rubs disinfectant into his own skin before he pulls on a pair of blue nitrile gloves. Crane stretches the material over his hands until it’s taut, making it squeak before he shifts closer until his knees touch yours. At this proximity, you can smell his cologne, and the combination throws you off a little. It’s mainly sandalwood and bergamot, but there’s a hint of something else you can’t quite grasp. Something chemical, almost acidic. The psychiatrist continues to speak, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Another catch is that there’s a required dress code for you. As my assistant, you need to always look presentable. You can’t be running around looking like a hobo since your actions and appearance will reflect on me as well. And I’d rather not be associated with… any of those cheap trends that seem to be popular with the bottom of the barrel nowadays. You’ll have to give me your clothing size so I can prepare a new wardrobe for you. It’ll just save us time in the long run.”

Your brows furrow, but his request seems reasonable. “Alright. I suppose that’s fair,” you say, watching closely as he runs his thumb over the bend of your elbow. Then, he presses down to anchor the vein. It’s right in this moment when he decides to drop another bombshell.

“Which brings me to probably the biggest drawback in all of this.”

Your eyes flicker up to meet his. He’s already looking at your face, watching for the slightest twitch in your expression.

“You’ll have to stay at my place for the duration of your internship.”

What follows is a solid minute of deafening silence. Your pulse races, thumping softly against the pad of Crane’s thumb. He can tell you’re displeased, and he frowns a little, surprisingly empathetic.

“What?” you manage to croak out, swallowing dryly.

“Believe me, I spent all night trying to come up with a better solution. Sometimes, I get emergency calls in the middle of the night and it’s vital that you’re there with me. Those cases are the real deal. They’re raw and unfiltered, often much more than incidents that happen during the day. And as you told me during your interview, you live quite far away from here.”

You nod stiffly, gaze dropping to where he’s still pressing his thumb down on your arm. Crane can see and feel how uneasy this condition makes you, and he tries to lessen the blow.

“You’ll have your own bathroom and bedroom, of course. We will only share the kitchen and living room. And the laundry room, but I suppose that is the least of your worries. I won’t bother you.”

When he sees that you’re still not too happy, he quickly adds, “You can also tell me to be quiet whenever I mention work after hours.”

This at least gets a reaction from you. You force yourself to crack a smile, meeting his eyes once more.

“Okay. I’ll hold you to it.”

“Perfect.” The psychiatrist nods, wasting no time uncapping a butterfly needle and puncturing your skin with it. The sudden sting almost makes you flinch, but his grip suddenly is so tight that you don’t get any wiggle room. You watch as your blood travels down through the attached tube, filling up a small sample bottle and shortly after, a second one.

“You’re pretty brave for a bunny,” he jokes, setting your blood samples down on the tray before he releases the tourniquet and reaches for some gauze. His eyes stay on yours the entire time as he pulls out the needle and presses the gauze against your arm, soaking up your discomfort in a way that only fascinated scientists are capable of. 

“Press down.”

You mutter a “sure” as you obey his instruction, relieved when he finally turns away from you to discard the needle and his gloves. The final touch is a little band-aid over the tiny puncture wound, and you keep your hand over it as Crane pushes his chair back into its rightful place and takes a seat once more. He studies one of the full sample tubes as he speaks up again.

“You must be a little overwhelmed right now. Which is understandable, don’t get me wrong. But I’d like for you to go home and start packing your most important belongings. I’ll text you my address and will take care of the rest. You just need to show up next Sunday and get started on Monday.”

“Do I need to bring anything in specific? Like… a notebook or something?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “You’ll get your stationery and other supplies here. I’ll make sure to try to organize you a separate desk. Maybe even one of the more comfortable office chairs. But I can’t really promise any luxuries.”

“I know this establishment oftentimes seems like a revolving door when it comes to staff applying and quitting. But I don't want that with you.” Crane tears his eyes away from your blood sample, giving you his undivided attention again. “There won't be an easy way out, however. Either you prove yourself and do your job until the end of your internship, or else there will be no certificate and you'll have to try your luck elsewhere. And I hate to worry you, but getting a job without one of my letters of recommendation might be a little tricky. But I assure you, that's the absolute worst-case scenario."

You let out a little breath and nod, straightening in your chair. Your mind is already racing, spinning around in a colorful variety that ranges from dread to genuine excitement. The biggest problem, however, is that you will have to break the news to your boyfriend. The thought makes you a little nauseous, but if Crane notices it, he’s generous enough not to mention it. 

Your goodbyes are brief, and you’re still holding your hand over the band aid as you leave the building and reach your car. Dark clouds are brewing overhead, announcing one of Gotham’s common rainy afternoons, and it already smells earthy with a hint of wet concrete.

The drive home doesn’t take as much time as you would’ve liked, even though you’re stopped plenty of times by red lights or passing cop cars with their sirens turned on. No, you reach the apartment much too soon, climbing the stairs with a heavy heart and sweaty palms. The band aid feels like it’s burning a hole into your flesh, hidden away underneath your sleeve. A secret hint of the meeting with Crane. Your key hovers in front of the lock on your front door as you freeze. Telling Tristan about the internship would mean telling him about your impending new living arrangements. Yes, you’d get the satisfaction of proving him wrong about your capabilities, but he’d blow up about everything else. Even worse, what if he reports the conditions of your internship? What if he ruins everything before it has even begun? 

Another big fight doesn’t fit into your schedule either. Neither does a breakup. Taking a breath, you unlock the door and step into the apartment, almost immediately meeting Tristan in the hallway. Time freezes for a moment, and then you say the first thing that comes to mind.

“I need to pack. They want me back at Potomac.”

It’s okay, right? It’s no big deal. After all, it’s just another little white lie to let him keep his peace of mind.

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[brightlight-dazzlingeyes]

sympathy for the devil | ruben dias

🩸 synopsis: You've been working at your childhood dream club, Manchester United, for a few years, but the reality of chaos, mess, and constant changes is taking its toll. Lately, you’ve been finding comfort in an unexpected place – Rúben Dias, a player from your club's biggest rival. tags: established situationship, rivals-to-lovers, mention of smoking, sports drama, arguing, mutual pining. (written in 2nd person but no mention of yn) (around 3.3k words)

part 1

You slip out of the locker room the moment you can, making a shitty excuse. No one questions you – they’re all too wrapped up in the post-match high, riding the wave of a rare, dominant performance. You should be celebrating, but instead, there’s this sense of dread clawing at your gut.

You’ve been here a few years, but it feels like you’ve lived a lifetime of disappointment, false promises, and crushed hopes.

How many times can you start over before it breaks you?

You step outside, the heavy stadium door swinging shut behind you with a dull thud. It’s cold – November in Manchester always is – but you barely feel the chill as you fish a crumpled pack of cigarettes from your coat pocket. Your hands are shaking a little, either from the leftover adrenaline of the match or the exhaustion that’s been creeping in at the edges of your thoughts for months.

Your lighter flares, a small circle of warmth in the dark, and you inhale deeply, the nicotine sharp and bitter on your tongue. It doesn’t really calm you, but it’s something to do. A familiar habit, a routine that hasn’t changed even when everything else has. You lean back against the rough brick wall, your shoulders sagging, and close your eyes.

They’re all talking about him – the new guy. The Portuguese manager who’s exactly what the board thinks they need to clean up the mess. You’ve seen this cycle before. Another savior, another man with a plan. You’ve learned not to get too attached, not to trust the optimism that comes with each “new era.” You’re tired of being yanked along, like a hamster on a wheel, running in circles while everything around you stays the same.

You take another drag, feeling the smoke burn in your throat. It’s all physiological, you tell yourself. The anxiety, the repetition. It’s just your mind playing tricks on you. But it doesn’t change the fact that this new manager freaks you out. You’re not even sure why, maybe it’s because you know how these things go, or maybe it’s because there’s a chance you won’t even make it to the end of the season with your job intact.

High chances you won’t, if he decides to only work with his own people. Your role’s not exactly critical, and even if you’ve been here for years, that doesn’t make you untouchable. You’ve worked hard, you’ve kept your head down, you’ve given everything you had to this club, but it might not be enough. It never seems to be enough.

You flick ash off the cigarette, eyes unfocused as you stare out over the parking lot, empty except for a few scattered cars. Somewhere deep inside, there’s a tiny bit of relief at the win, but it’s buried under layers of exhaustion and anxiety.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, but you ignore it. It’s probably Ruben, your Ruben, the one you should have nothing to do with. You’ll deal with that later. Right now, all you want is five more minutes of peace before you have to go back in, put on a smile, and pretend like you’re ready for whatever comes next.

Because Monday’s coming fast, and you know what that means – another fresh start. Another clean slate. Another spin on the wheel.

You stub out your cigarette on the concrete and crush the butt beneath your heel, exhaling one last cloud of smoke.

part 2

You show up at his place later than planned, you told yourself you wouldn’t let work bleed into this, but it’s impossible not to carry it with you. You know you’re dragging that weight into Ruben’s apartment the moment you cross the threshold.

You toss your bag next to the door and kick off your shoes, feeling the tension in your muscles. The sight of him, the comfort of his place – it should feel like a break from the chaos, but tonight it doesn’t.

You exchange a quick greeting, the kind that’s little more than habit by now, and settle next to him on the couch. It’s not awkward exactly, but there’s a distance between you tonight. He looks tired – more tired than you’ve seen him in a long time. 

“Hey,” you say, nudging his knee with yours, trying to draw out something, anything. “How’s the leg?”

He shrugs, not taking his eyes off his phone. “Better,” he says. “Physio says I’ll be fine in a couple weeks.”

That’s all you get. No sarcastic comment, no playful complaint about how much he hates sitting out. He just goes back to scrolling, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You were expecting him to be in a mood – City’s been struggling lately, and the timing of his injury couldn’t be worse. But still, it’s strange, the way he’s shut down. You fall back into the cushions and pull out your own phone, scrolling through Instagram.

When this started a year ago, it was never like this – there was no room for awkward silence or distractions. It was just heat and hands, tearing at each other like you couldn’t get enough. Now, there’s a lot more of this – just spending time together, filling the quiet with the small, mundane things.

Most of the time, you don’t mind. Most of the time, it’s kind of nice, this understanding you’ve built. But tonight, you feel like the air’s too thick, and it’s bothering you. You scroll aimlessly, barely paying attention to what you’re seeing, and it’s only when you hear the soft thud of his phone dropping onto the couch that you look up.

He’s staring at you, his brows drawn together in frustration, like he’s been holding back for as long as he can. “Have you been smoking again?” he asks suddenly, and the question catches you off guard.

Your stomach twists, but you keep your expression blank, fingers still moving on the screen as if you didn’t hear him. “And what does that have to do with you?” you ask, voice flat and dismissive, not even bothering to look up.

It’s a low blow, and you know it. But you’re not in the mood to be called out, not by him, not tonight. He’s watching you from the other side of the couch, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed in that way that tells you he’s annoyed but trying to keep a lid on it. You don’t bite. Instead, you scroll past another filtered photo of someone’s perfect life.

“What does it have to do with me?” he echoes, his voice low and tense. “Maybe because you said you were done with that. Maybe because it’s not good for you.”

You still don’t look up. It’s not that you don’t care; part of you does. He just doesn’t get it. Nobody does. The exhaustion, the stress of working at a club that feels like it’s constantly collapsing in on itself. It’s just a cigarette. It’s not like it’s going to fix anything, but it’s something. One small moment of control when everything else is spiraling.

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, tapping aimlessly through stories you don’t even care about, “things change.”

He sighs, and you hear the frustration in that exhale with the way it rushes out of him. He shifts on the couch, one knee pressing into the cushion, body leaning closer. “You’re just going to ignore me?”

You finally look up, locking eyes with him, and it’s like you’re seeing him clearly for the first time all night. There’s a heat behind his eyes that you’ve seen a hundred times before, but this time a bit different. Angrier. More desperate. You almost want to ask him why he cares so much, but you know the answer would be another fight.

He’s never been good at hiding his feelings, not when he’s like this, wounded in ways he doesn’t want to show. It’s not just his injury, or the losses, or the fact that he’s benched while everyone else heads off for international break. It’s all of it, pressing down on him like the weight of a season that’s already going wrong, even though it’s barely November.

“What’s going on with you?” you ask, more to break the silence than because you really want to know. It comes out sharper than you mean it to, and you see the way his expression shutters, defenses slamming back into place.

“What’s going on with me?” He lets out a harsh laugh, running a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots. “What’s going on with you? It’s like you’re not even here anymore. We barely talk unless it’s about–” He stops himself, cutting off whatever he was about to say.

“Unless it’s about what?” you snap, putting your phone down. It’s an instinct, this need to go on the offensive before he can twist the knife any deeper. “About football? About how fucked up everything is at my job? Or about how you get to sit around feeling sorry for yourself because your team is losing for once?”

The second the words are out, you regret them. You can see the hurt flash in his eyes, quick as a blink but unmistakable. You’ve seen him pissed off before, plenty of times, but not like this.

He nods slowly, like he’s forcing himself to accept what you’ve just thrown at him. “Wow,” he says, his voice low and dangerous, “I didn’t realize we were keeping score.”

“It’s not about that,” you say quickly, too quickly, the words tripping over themselves as you try to reel them back. “I’m just–fuck, I don’t know. I’m tired, Ruben. I’m so tired of everything.”

He looks at you for a long time, his eyes searching, trying to figure out if you’re lying or if this is just another one of the walls you throw up when you don’t want to deal with the truth. You can almost see the moment he decides it’s not worth fighting. He leans back, sinking into the couch cushions, and picks up his phone without another word.

The silence stretches out between you, and this time it’s suffocating. You pick up your own phone, but the Instagram feed blurs in front of you. You can’t focus, can’t even remember what you were looking at before he interrupted. You’re both here, sitting less than two feet apart, but it’s like a wall has gone up between you, solid and impenetrable.

“I should leave,” you say, standing up and running a hand through your hair, trying to steady the tremble in your voice. “In fact, I shouldn’t come here when I’m in a bad mood.”

He doesn’t even look at you at first. Then, when he does, his eyes are full of –  it’s either anger or disappointment, maybe both. “That was never a problem before,” he says, each word adorned with a bitterness that catches you off guard. “But yeah, maybe you should leave.”

You don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything. You just grab your bag from the floor, fingers clenching the strap so tight it’s a wonder the leather doesn’t tear. There’s a part of you that wants to drop the bag, to sit back down, to tell him you didn’t mean it – that you’re sorry, that you’re just so fucking tired of pretending that everything’s fine when it’s not. But you can’t. 

“I’ll call you,” you say, even though you both know it’s a lie. You can hear the emptiness in your own voice, and the way he laughs without any humor just twists the knife deeper.

“You won’t,” he says, his tone harsh, too raw, and you see the hurt behind it, the way he’s holding himself together by a thread. “But that’s fine.”

You hesitate, just for a second, standing there in the doorway with one hand on the knob, caught in that familiar push-and-pull of wanting to fix this and wanting to run away before you make it worse. He’s watching you, eyes unblinking, like he’s daring you to stay, and you hate him a little for that – hate him for caring when you don’t know how to anymore.

But you don’t stay. You close the door softly behind you, the click of the latch sounding too final in the quiet apartment. The weight of your bag feels heavier than it should as you make your way out into the cool night air, and you tell yourself you’ll call him tomorrow. You’ll apologize, explain, make it right. But the truth is, you don’t even know if you have the energy to try.

You know, deep down, that he’s right. You probably won’t call.

part 3

It hits you the next morning, sharp and sudden, like a punch to the gut. You wake up too early, tangled in your sheets, and the first thought that drags itself out of the haze is him. It shouldn't feel this intense, shouldn't have you wide-eyed and shivering before the sun’s even up.

But it does. It does, and the weight of it scares you.

Your whole body feels wrong, you skip breakfast, try to force down a cup of coffee, but it doesn’t help. Your stomach churns, and your skin prickles with a strange, feverish heat. You’re cold, so damn cold, but the sweat gathers at your temples and slicks your palms.

Emptiness settles in your chest as you go about your day, an ache that tightens every time your thoughts drift back to the night before. To the way he looked at you. And you hate yourself for it, hate that you need him, that your body is betraying you, craving something you can't let yourself want.

It's ridiculous. It's unbearable. It’s like you’re going through some sort of withdrawal. Just the thought of him – of his hands on you, his voice in your ear – sends a shudder down your spine, and you can’t even focus on the emails piling up in your inbox. You’re not used to this, not used to feeling so raw and exposed, and it makes you feel weak.

Lunch comes and goes, but you barely touch the food, staring blankly at your salad until you push it aside. Your appetite is gone, stolen away by the need that tightens your chest and messes with your breathing. You try to distract yourself, but it's like he's burned into the back of your eyes. Every other thought circles back to him, to the echo of his laugh, the feel of his fingers tracing patterns on your skin.

By mid-afternoon, you’re practically vibrating with it. The restlessness, the discomfort, the absence of him. You can feel it in your bones, this weird kind of panic that has your skin clammy and your hands shaking. It’s not normal, this kind of reaction, and it’s making you question everything you thought you knew about yourself.

What if you can’t stop feeling this way? What if this is just how it’s going to be now – this constant ache, this physical need that won’t let you breathe properly unless he’s there, grounding you?

You end up sneaking out early, your boss too busy with last-minute prep for the new manager to notice. You don’t know where you’re going, don’t have a plan. But your feet take you in the direction of his place anyway, like you’re on autopilot, the city blurring around you. Your phone buzzes with a message – something work-related, but you can’t even look at it.

All you can think is that you need him. You need him now.

part 4

You hesitate outside his door, you’re jittery, nerves buzzing under your skin, and your fingers hover over the wood, half-afraid to knock.

What if he doesn’t want to see you? What if he’s busy or worse – what if he’s not alone? You feel stupid for not calling ahead, for showing up unannounced like this. But it’s too late to turn back now. You take a deep breath and knock, your knuckles rapping against the door in a shaky rhythm.

Your heart is in your throat, the seconds ticking by in agonizing silence, and you wonder if this is how it all ends – him opening the door with a surprised look, gently telling you he’s got plans, and you slinking away like you never showed up in the first place. You’re ready to walk away, to put yourself out of this misery and pretend you never came, when you hear the deadbolt click.

The door swings open, and there he is, looking more surprised than annoyed. He’s wearing a loose t-shirt and joggers, barefoot, like he wasn’t expecting company. His hair’s a mess, and you realize with a weird sense of relief that he was alone.

“Hey,” he says, and you just stand there, because you don’t know what to say. Hey feels too casual for the way your heart’s racing, for the desperation that drove you here in the first place. He looks at you like he’s trying to read your mind, his eyebrows drawing together.

“I – I should have called,” you stutter, feeling heat rush to your face. 

“No, it’s... it’s fine,” he says, stepping aside to let you in. There’s a weird, careful distance in his voice, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like he can tell there’s something different about today. “Come in.”

You walk inside, brushing past him. You feel his eyes on you the whole time, tracking your every movement. It’s stupid how much you want him to close the door, to pull you close and tell you he’s missed you, that he’s felt the same aching emptiness since you left last night.

But he doesn’t. He lingers by the door, watching as you settle on the edge of the couch, your hands clasped tightly in your lap to keep them from shaking. He knows you’re holding back and is waiting for you to say why you’re really here.

You force yourself to look up, meeting his eyes.

“I needed to see you,” you blurt out. You see surprise flicker across his face, but he doesn’t move, just stands there waiting for you to go on. You swallow, your throat tight, and push the words out. “I just... I can’t stop thinking about you. It’s driving me crazy.”

His eyes widen. Then he’s crossing the room, sitting down beside you, his hand reaching out to touch your knee. It’s gentle, hesitant.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice soft, and it’s the concern in it that makes you want to cry. You nod, even though you’re not sure you are, not really. You’re still scared, still feeling that horrible emptiness clawing at your chest, but he’s here, and he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters right now.

You let out a shaky breath and lean into him, pressing your face against his shoulder, and his arms come up around you automatically, holding you close. The relief is instant, a flood of warmth spreading through you, and you realize how desperate you’ve been for this, for him. His hand moves up to your hair, fingers gentle as they brush through it, and you can feel the tension in your body start to unwind, little by little.

“Why didn’t you call?” he murmurs against your hair, and there’s something almost fragile in his voice, like he’s been waiting for you too, like maybe he needed you as much as you needed him.

“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice muffled against his shoulder. “I was afraid you wouldn’t want me here.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands cradling your face, and you can see the frustration and tenderness mingling in his eyes. “You’re an idiot,” he says softly, but there’s no bite to it, only a strange kind of relief. Then he kisses you, hard and urgent, trying to make up for all the things you didn’t say.

[tobiotaesan]

teal jersey #04 m.j.h — part two

☆ previous | next ☆

synopsis: with the hopes of gaining new experiences when you enter high school, you didn't expect that you would end up as a new manager in-training for karasuno's volleyball club. and you most certainly also were not expecting you would be wearing aoba johsai's jersey on your first day in training with the first years first practice match with the team whose jersey you were wearing.

genre: fluff, haikyuu au! high school au!

pairing: aoba johsai player! myung jaehyun x karasuno manager (in-training)! fem! reader

word count: 4.3k

warning: none afaik

notes: mj is portrayed younger than fellow 03z line, sungho is a 3rd year and riwoo is a 2nd year.

taglist: @saritahwang

you sigh as you stare at yourself in the mirror. that was the most eventful five minutes of your life. maybe its a sign from the gods above that you shouldnt have accepted this offer and leave as soon as possible. another sigh leaves your lips but this time, sounding even more frustrated. your eyes peer down to the shirt you were wearing.

should you even be wearing this shirt when you are literally in training to becoming the manager of karasuno volleyball club? why didnt the karasuno members have no extra shirt to lend you? but then again, it wasnt their fault but that damn klutz from aoba johsai. you wouldnt have minded if he simply collided with you, you couldve just moved on and changed into yachis shirt but no! he just had to have a cup of iced americano on his hand when he did! and to make matters worse, you hated iced americano! you have always wondered why people enjoyed such poisonous looking beverage that tasted like all the problems life has to offer. and now, you smelled like one?

dont even start with the shirt the boy offered. what kind of athlete doesnt pack an extra shirt in their bags especially when they have a practice match but instead packs another jersey? you knew you were going to get looks from other people once you walk out of this comfort room. you looked like a walking peppermint for gods sake! aoba johsai high really had to choose a bright teal color for their jersey, huh? you opted to close your eyes and ignore the printed design on it as it was just a number anyway. oh you poor thing, if only it really was just a number. and if only you knew the surname that took over almost half of the design printed at the back of the jersey. you poor, poor, coffee scented thing.

after minutes of stressing over everything that just happened to you and the color of the jersey shirt you were lent by, you finally got out. as expected there were eyes on you, not many fortunately. but still, all the attention you were getting were unwanted by you.

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as you get near the gymnasium, you hear the sounds of sneakers screeching as it rubs against the tiles and grunting, out-of-breath gasping. you realized the practice match had already started. upon entering the gymnasium, the audience from the opponents school release a very audible gasp once they saw you. almost immediately, they each turn to the person beside them and began whispering. you could already see them going after you for wearing the jersey when you were sat at their opponents side of the court.

well, hadnt one of your players spilled coffee on my already stained blouse and the shirt i was supposed to change into, i wouldnt be wearing your schools eye straining colored volleyball jersey!

you sighed internally although your face was unable to refrain itself from frowning at your thoughts. you shake your head as if your are metaphorically shaking off any more possible thoughts about the unwanted attention you were getting from other people; not wanting to keep on stressing over the events of your first day training to becoming the clubs new manager.

instead, you put your focus on the game happening before you. gazing at every player on the court, observing the way they move as they all try their best to keep the ball in the air. the first years of karasuno were not bad at all. considering it is only their first game as high schoolers and playing altogether against another school, you could say they were quite harmonious. what was noticeable about them was that they clearly religiously watched all available footage of karasunos esteemed first year duo with the way they pass the ball to their spikers. still a little sloppy with managing their tempo however, the accuracy of landing it directly to the spikers hand is improving at an impressively rapid time. at a glance, anyone can tell the massive potential of these newbies. though looking at the current state of scores between the two teams, you cant deny that regardless of how much potential they own, it was incomparable to the unleashed talent and nearly polished skills of the opposing team.

it seems as though everything that your school team lacked, the opposition excelled in. such as how your first years are still a little rusty with their serves compared to aoba johsais eye catching server; clad in a teal jersey with the number four printed in front.

coffee spiller.

so he was the coaches aforementioned successor of the now argentinian player. he is, beyond a shadow of doubt, an astounding player of his team. you almost forgot of his earlier faux pas with how mesmerised you were with his skills. a first year possessing this much aura and charisma whilst playing on court, a pro in the making. it sends you goosebumps, the thought of how much stronger their team could be if this was a real match; althought their current gameplay screams as if they are already treating this like a real one. players like them are terrifying, natural talents from birth probably.

the sound of the referees whistle breaks through your thoughts, you see the line judge cross their arms over their chest signalling the end of the first set. your line of sight then moves to the scores showing on the scoreboard beside the line judge, 25-23. karasuno is definitely not letting their guards down, slowly showing their capabilities and not allowing themselves to be overshadowed by a big name private school (oh just how pissed your younger self would be at you with the way you speak of your former dream school).

you feel yachi hand you some towels to distribute to the players for their short break in between sets. its only the first set and yet they already look exhausted.

"damn it! Its only the first set and I'm already exhausted! Meanwhile, look at those...walking highlighters! They look like they just went on a stroll!" a first year from your team yelps. you nod on the walking highlighters part, you thought of similarly to yourself when you saw your reflection in the mirror when you changed.

you cant help but give a glance to the other side of the court; the first year player was right. the players from aoba johsai didnt show an ounce of tiredness at all! sure theres a little shine of sweat on their forehead but that was it. this game seems to be nothing but a piece of cake to them. and before you knew it, you were staring at them long enough for number four to catch you. he gave you a small smirk before gulping down on his water bottle.

immediately, you put your attention back to your team, taking hold of their empty bottles and walking out to refill them.

"hey, i can go fill these bottles by myself you dont have to come along," yachi nudges your side.

"what? no! its fine, im in training i should be doing these errands with you."

"seriously, i can do it myself. id rather have you stay here and watch the first years play, its also kind of part of the job to help them out by giving feedback on they played during the game. so stay, i insist," she pats you on your shoulders before walking out to fill up the bottles she was holding. the sound of the whistle blowing loudly puts your attention back on the court, its the start of the second set. karasunos first years seems even more pumped and energized compared to earlier when they all looked like they were about to lose their minds out of nervousness. you chuckle subtly at their change in demeanor clueless to the pair of eyes boring at the side of your face from the other side of the net.

furrowed eyebrows, a small pout and curious eyes. his wandering mind caught by the hand of his captain "tapping" the back of his head. he whipped back his head so fast he almost broke it, all that just to glare towards the culprit. and almost immediately, his gaze softens and lips protrudes more.

"stop looking at the other teams manager and focus on the next set."

"i wasnt looking at the manager-"

"yeah, you werent because you were staring, why? im pretty sure shes the aoba johsai girl."

"w-what? no! thats- i dont know what youre talking abo- how do you even know that?"

"focus. the next set is about to start."

jaehyun sighs deeply. his mind kept wandering to the thought of how come you didnt say or react at all to seeing him. was it because your first encounter was him spilling his drink all over you? and he hadnt even had the chance to apologize about it yet causing him to beat himself up on the inside. before delving deeper into his thoughts, jaehyun forces himself to focus on the game. as much as hed like to keep looking your way he had a game to play.

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the whistle roars throughout the entire court, signalling the end of the game. the visitors side of the court explodes in cheers and applause. the opposing team has won the practice match. one by one, the players lined-up at the center of the court for their final greeting.

"good work today everyone! you did really well on your first practice match despite you all being a bunch of nervous wrecks earlier," yachi greets the players as they walked towards the side of the court to sit on the bench. you immediately stood up to grab and distribute them towels and ice packs.

"have 20 to rest, 15 to clean up the court and then head to the locker room for a meeting," yamaguchi announces before heading outside with the coach. probably to discuss about strategies and the performance of the team today.

its your first time staying late within school grounds for a reason other than studying. the experience is rather interesting for you. well, the entire day has been an interesting experience. at least now, its over. you got to have a little chit-chat with some of the first years and were able to learn a little bit more about the team. you figured you needed to start learning about them as early as now so, you can help out yachi a lot more in the future.

you got to learn that the team originally had a libero. and that you shouldnt worry too much about learning the duties of a manager when yachi is no longer around, as the said libero had helped yachi with her tasks so much, that he sometimes acts as the substitute manager when yachi is feeling under the weather. however, due to an injury he got from last years tournament, he is still undergoing his rehabilitation process. but according to their coach and captain, he might be returning sooner than expected, as his doctors says he is healing very quickly. you felt slightly more relieved at the thought of someone still being able to help you once yachi graduates. you heard from your teacher about just how picky she was with whom would be replacing her. so, you really did not want to disappoint her if she ever checks up on the team and finds out you messed up something when she left.

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"thank you so much for today, yn! you were such a huge help to me," yachi hands you a packet of jelly with the biggest smile on her face, her cheeks were tinted with hints of red, the dim streetlights couldnt even hide them.

"i didnt really do much but thank you." you smiled back to her while grabbing the jelly from her hands.

"so, how was your first day?" she asks with a small skip in her steps as you two walk home together. you couldnt help but chuckle a little at her actions, simply finding her way too adorable to be your senior.

"hmm...it was very eventful...? i just didnt expect things to unfold the way it did today. im really glad i was at least able to get to know the first years a little bit after the match. but today was really fun, it was my first time watching a volleyball match up close," you replied with your hands gripping the straps of your bags a little tighter as you recall the events of today.

"im glad you had fun today! i know its only your first day in training and of course, you can still totally quit after the training if you really think it doesnt suit you, but im impressed by how quickly you were able to adapt easily with the surprise tasks earlier," yachi beams at you.

"speaking of— i totally forgot about todays practice match, i was planning on showing you around first and introducing you to the members," she continues, a pout slowly appearing on her face.

as you were about to respond somebody cuts you off. well, it was unintentional, they didnt cut you off on purpose. while you and yachi were walking past coach ukai's store, your attention was immediately taken by the bickering of two people walking out of it. almost instantly, you both recognize them easily, donning the white and teal jersey, they were players at today's game; specifically, coffee spiller and the captain. your steps slowed down before fully coming to a halt. meanwhile, the two kept bickering about something but they were overlapping with each other you weren't able to make out any of the words they were saying. it really wasn't your intention to overhear and stare at the two of them however, they were blocking the entrance to the store. and they were too engrosed in their bickering for you and yachi to be able to butt in and ask them to move aside. luckily, the captain averted his gaze (looking away from jaehyun in frustration) and met yours, he immediately smacks his friend in the chest to stop him from talking (poor jaehyun got air knocked out of him). he stops talking and follows his captains gaze, his eyes widen and jaw drops, looking like he just saw dinosaurs resurrect right in front of him.

"hey, so you were still at school? thank goodness we were still able to catch you before you went home," the captain grins and points at you. to which you respond with your head tilting slightly to the side and one of your brows rising. yachi turns to you mirroring the same facial expression you had while looking at the people in front of you. you exchange glances with yachi and shrug your shoulders when you realize she was looking at you questioningly.

"this guy right here, hes the one who spilled coffee on you earlier by the way, was rushing me when we got back in our school so we can go back here so he could see yo-" he points to jaehyun (coffee spiller) who looked at him wide eyed hearing the words spilling from his captains mouth. his hands fly towards the captains mouth in attempt to stop him from exposing his reason for being there, although it was too late for that.

"...see me? what fo- oh! your jersey, right?" you point to the shirt you were wearing.

"yes! thats exactly why im here!" jaehyun responds a little too frantically.

"no, he just really wanted to see y- hrmhrmm.." once again, jaehyun covers his captains mouth.

"right...well, i cant really give it back to you right now..."

"oh dont worry about it! jaehyun will gladly give you his jers-"

"ah! captain!" jaehyun whines at his captain after he successfully escaped from his hands. jaehyun turns his  gaze back at you worriedly. it was true, his captains words, but considering how many times you two have locked eyes today and you having no reaction at all when doing so, he had concluded that he was nothing but a 'stranger' to you. it seems that you have completely forgotten of who he was.

"give me your number." you hand your phone to jaehyun.

"what?" he looks at you, surprised. his heart skipping a beat at the small interaction.

"your phone number. ill text you when i can give your jersey back to you."

"right." his hands were trembling as it reached out to grab your phone from your hands. fingertips grazing each other as he does so, his palms were sweating and heartbeat echoing in his ears as he typed on your phone. you couldnt control the subtle chuckle when you saw his hands still slightly shaking as he hands your phone back to you. he flinches when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. but before he could check the caller id, it stops ringing.

"thats my number. so you wont get surprised when an unknown number contacts you. thats all you need right? now, if youll excuse us, we actually need to buy something from the store." you waved your phone in your hand before slipping it in your pocket and gesturing towards the door they were standing in front of.

they immediately step aside to let you and yachi walk through. and right before you got inside, you feel a hand tapping your shoulder.

"if you dont mind me asking, may i know your name? i dont think jaehyun will tell me. im sungho by the way, im our teams captain." and before you could respond, jaehyun grabs the collar of his jacket from the back and drags him away from you causing sungho to fumble back. he tries to reach his hands out for you, his mouth opening to probably repeat his question but jaehyun beats him to it and wraps his forearm on sunghos neck. meanwhile, you and yachi stare at their disappearing figures dumbfoundedly. feeling like the whole thing that just happened was some kind of fever dream. both of you finding the entire thing weird. with a shrug of your shoulders, yachi pulls you inside the store finally being able to pursue your purpose of going there.

sungho urgently taps on jaehyuns arm, immediately bursting into a coughing fit as soon as hes free. turning to his junior with a sharp gaze but immediately switching to a concerned one. jaehyun looked like as if he was in a daze. his eyes were blank and was staring into the void (the empty street to the bus stop) and jaw hanging open a fly might come live inside of it. sungho couldnt help but laugh at the way he looked.

"hey, snap out of it and close your mouth." he playfully scolds jaehyun.

jaehyun slowly turns to look at him and slowly breaks into a grin, almost scaring the living daylights out of sungho.

"wah! captain, tell me im not dreaming right now! this is real, right? tell me its real!" jaehyun grabs sunghos shoulders and shakes him. its the happiest he had ever seen jaehyun become.

"its fine if she doesnt remember me...yet! this is good! even back then, weve never had such a long conversation. and the best part is she gave me her number! well...she asked for mine and then called me so i could save hers..." he animatedly moves his hands around in the air and dramatically trails off the end of his sentence.

"doesnt matter! i have her contact! and im gonna text her. tonight!" sungho was bewildered seeing jaehyun gradually transition from a walking zombie to a straight out from the screen nineties cartoon character in the span of a few seconds. he watched the boy skip to the bus stop with a huge grin on his face, all the traces of despair (jaehyun frantically walking around with his head in his hands at their locker room while recalling spilling his drink on you and not being able to apologize because they karasuno early. and then deciding he would run all the way back to karasuno to try and catch you before you went home) and nervousness when they bumped into you outside of the store right when they decided to give up and just go home, gone. this jaehyun in front of him was all sunshine, rainbows and sparkles. he couldnt help but shake his head in disbelief.

"at least aoba johsai girls identity is revealed." he muttered under his breath before running to catch up to jaehyun.

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you leaned back on your chair, staring at your phone screen. youve known jaehyun from before? but no matter how much you try to recall your memories, you cant really seem to think of having any memories of meeting a boy named jaehyun.

"ugh...why cant i remember him?"

you brush it off for and turn your phone away, placing it underneath your pillow. and with a sigh, you cuddle your blanket closer and drift off to sleep.

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your classes ended early so you decided to head right into the gymnasium to help out with the preparations, trying to make yourself get used to the duties of a club manager. however, as soon as you get there, you here sounds of a ball bouncing against the wall. you notice the door was also half open already so you slowly walked in. you notice a boy with orange hair and an undercut seemingly practicing. but he seemed unfamiliar compared to the players you met yesterday. he was also wearing casual clothing and not uniforms nor practice attire. so, you just stood by the door watching him with curiosity and wondering how you were supposed approach the stranger who could possibly be tresspassing the school right now.

whilst bouncing them against the wall, it accidentally bounces off your way. the boys gaze then ends up finding your figure standing by the door looking at him questioningly. and for a few seconds, the both of you just stared at each other in silence.

"who...are you?" youre the first to break the silence.

"i should be the one asking you that question. who are you? the only people who have access to this gymnasium are the members of the karasuno volleyball club, the coach and the manager." he replies coldly and with a suspicious look towards you. you even saw his eyes scan you from head to toe causing you to feel conscious of the way you look.

"thats rich coming from someone who isnt even dressed properly to be a player, too young to be a coach and definitely too guy like to be the girl manager of the team." of course you cant lose to a random boy you crossed paths with.

"you-" before he could even finish his words, he was cut off by yachi. entering the gymnasium.

"yn what are you doing here so early? im gla-...RIWOO!! YOURE BACK?!" yachi excitedly runs towards the boy while he gives her a smile back.

'huh? ri...woo?' you wondered.

"yn! hes the one yamaguchi and the first years were talking about!" yachi turns to you excitedly. you could tell how excited she was by this riwoo guys return.

"sorry for being rude earlier, let me restart this. my name is riwoo, jersey number 22! im the libero of karasuno! i was gone for a bit due to an injury but i have successfully finished rehab and will be returning soon! nice to meet you, manager in training for karasuno..." he approaches your still standing by the door awkwardly figure. he gives you a soft smile, contrary to his serious and piercing look he gave your earlier, and a hand to shake. for a second, you were frozen still, now that hes gotten closer, you were able to observe his facial features more.

'this dude looks more familiar than jaehyun...' you trail off in your head before realizing youve been staring at him for too long.

"o-oh...yeah, nice to meet you too. im yn ln, class 1-3."

you replied, taking his offer to shake hands. and as you were about to pull away your hand, you realized riwoo kept a hold of it. you look up to him and meer his gaze which was now closely analyzing your face. he furrows his brows further and leans slightly closer to inspect you while you just look back questioningly, wondering what he was doing.

"why do i ge the feeling that ive met you before?" he asks underneath his breath however he was so close to you that you heard it clearly. yachi just stands by where riwoo was standing earlier looking at the two of you weirdly.

"huh? were you two exes or something and you cant remember?" yachi jokingly suggests from behind with a chuckle, to which riwoo responds by turning to her and pointing at her with a big smile on his face.

"thats it! yeah, we are exes!" riwoo beams at yachi. on the other hand, you were left confused and shocked. you tried to rack your brain for any memory of having dated anyone when you were younger, but there was just none. it was impossible. absolutely impossible. your mom wouldve never let you date anyone so young.

"RIWOO YOURE BACK!! And wait- did you just say the manager in training is your ex?!" the three of you jump at another voice coming from behind you, yamaguchi and other team members staring at the three of you with the most confused face ever. not knowing whether they should be happy seeing the return of their libero or ask about the history you apparently had with their libero. you sighed in defeat before whipping your head to glare at riwoo and all he does is smile back.

'why do i have such a bad memory? why cant i remember anyone from when i was younger?!' you grunt silently in your thoughts.

to be continued...

©️ tobiotaesan

do not repost or translate without permission !

[libraryofloveletters]

New Year, New Challenges.

Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader

Warnings: heavy content warning ahead! - all the children are over 18!, cheating/publicized cheating, swearing, fights, separation of parents/divorce, alcohol and the consumption of, pregnancy mentions, abortions and medication relating to said topic, lots of tears, a few punches are thrown, throwing up, blood mentions, family therapy sessions, the dads are in over their heads, Charles is bamboozled as is Carlos and Pierre (all separate reasons), drunk teenagers, google translated French and Spanish. 

Word Count: 4.9k

Author’s Note: so many of you guys have been asking for an update to daddy and me + three, so here it is! it's a jam packed on so hopefully this holds y’all over lmao - there is heavy content in this, please check warnings before reading. 

Daddy & Me + Three Masterlist

---

Oliver’s 19th birthday was set to be an affair as dramatic as he was; booze, flair and fun was what the invite read when he showed you a few weeks back. 

As most events started, all of the children rounded up at the Leclerc house and headed out from there, the 6 of them heading to dinner with Georgina and Adrian meeting them there before they head to the club for the night. 

It was approaching 3:30 in the morning when the front door swung open - you, Charles and Carlos were all sitting in the kitchen. Sofia’s voice was coming from the foyer, the intensity matches the clicks of her heels on the tile floors.

Her father was waiting for her, the two of them would be on a flight heading to Spain in a few hours for her grandfather’s birthday. Hence why he was at yours, knowing that the kids would be getting in late and he figured it was best for her to freshen up by yours and head to the airport from there. 

What he wasn’t expecting were the words coming out of her mouth; “fuck you Christopher! You’re just like my fucking father. I refuse to end up like my mother.” 

The look of sheer mortification that covered her face when she saw her father in the kitchen was enough to make her sick to her stomach; the sudden taste of tequila creeps up the back of her throat before she runs out the backdoor. 

You could see the horror on Carlos’s face, the heartbreak setting in but her words replaying in his head as he realized what she said to Christopher, the man in the doorway. 

“You cheated on my daughter?!” Carlos shouts at him, already out of his seat. Charles was up right after him, putting himself between his son and his friend. 

Charles looks at you, his hands against his friend’s shoulders to push him back. Christopher was already rattling on an explanation to Carlos as soberly as he could and you took that as your chance to go out and check on Sofia. 

“Sof?” You called, stepping into the yard. 

The soft sniffles came from the swing set in the corner of the yard; you could see a figure in the dark, the light on the back patio brightened the yard just enough to make her out. As you made your way over to her, you thought back to the time she was 6 years old and Christopher had broken her favourite doll. She was in fits until Charles glued it back together for her but the entire time, she hid outside on the swings.

“Darling,” you rested a gentle hand on your shoulder, careful not to startle her. She turned to you in tears, her makeup smudged as she wiped her face with the back of her hand.

You can’t help but feel sorry for the girl, your heart breaking into pieces when you pull her into a hug. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled into your chest as you rubbed her back. 

You sat next to her on the empty swing. “What for?” 

“For causing a scene, I didn’t mean to lose it like that.” 

“It’s okay,” you reached over to pat her hand. “You’ve got your father’s flare for dramatics.” You joked, hoping to lighten the mood. The mention of her father caused the tears to start again and you’ve gotten up, hugging the girl once again. 

“I didn’t know he was there.” 

“I know, and it's okay. He knows you didn’t mean it to hurt him.” You looked down at the girl, your hands cupping her face; she looked so innocent and little. You can feel the pieces of your heart breaking as you look at her. “It's okay to be mad at your dad, given everything that’s happened.. and Christopher too.” 

You weren’t even sure if he did cheat on her, you prayed to god that he didn’t but the last thing she needed at the moment was you taking his side over hers. 

Sofia has had a hard few months; her father’s cheating was publicized all over the news in Spain and all over social media through the racing community, her parents’ picture-perfect marriage fell apart in front of her and she watched as her mother packed her bags, along with her sisters and moved back home to Spain. Sofia stayed in Monaco for school and her father stayed with her; despite the cheating, which she knew he did, she didn’t side with her mother. 

She had always been Carlos’s favourite and she knew as much - it wasn’t fair to her for her to feel like she couldn't be mad at him because of that. 

“I know I should hate him,” she sniffled, pulling away from you. “I can’t.. he’s my dad.” 

“I know baby, I know.” You wiped her face with the inner side of your shirt. “Do you want to talk to him? I can ask him to come out here.” 

“Could you?” 

“Of course,” you smiled at the girl, kissing her forehead before walking back to the house. 

The three men were all on guard, waiting for one of the three to swing first. It felt a bit odd to be walking into something like that but you cleared your throat when you walked through the back door. 

“She wants to talk to you.” You say and Christopher takes a step towards you but you hold your hand out to stop him. “Not you,” you turn to Carlos, “you.” 

In the moments it takes you to tell Carlos what Sofia said, Charles is pulling Christopher away to the living room. You follow them once the backdoor slides shut. 

“You cheated on her?” You started on your son, “I cannot fucking believe you’d do that to her!” 

“Mom, I didn’t-” 

“Christopher, do not lie to me. Sofia is the best thing to happen to you, that girl has been in love with you since you were ten years old and you cheated on her? What quick fuck could possibly be worth breaking her heart?!” 

“Maman!!” Christopher shouts, his French coming out when he was flustered. “I did not cheat on her!”

You looked at Charles, your husband silent as he listened to his son explain for the second time since he got home what had gone down that night. “Sofia was getting a drink and Georgina comes up to me-” 

The mention of your son’s best friend puts you on edge; she’s a wonderful girl but you knew Sofia was wary of her and Christopher does stupid things when he’s drunk. 

“She was pissed, drunk like there’s no tomorrow and she was asking about Adrain who was nowhere to be found. I couldn’t leave her like that, ma. I had to help her, so she's clinging to me and I'm practically holding her at this point and I drag her through the club to find Adrian. Sofia saw us and assumed something had happened between us; that we kissed. “ 

“And.. did you.. kiss?” You looked at him, hoping for a no.

Christopher shook his head, “ew no! I love Georgina like a sister, mom. I would never cross that line, even if I was drunk. That’s disgusting.” 

You let out a breath of relief you weren’t even aware you were holding. Charles reaches out for you, his hand on your back when you pinched the bridge of your nose. 

These kids will be the death of you. 

“Chris, I love you but sometimes I wonder how you get yourself into these stupid situations.” 

“What was I supposed to do, mom? Leave my best friend drunk and alone?” 

“No, you did the right thing but you knew this is something that’s sensitive to Sof; give her time to cool off before you talk to her, let her fix things with her dad, yeah?”  

“Yeah.” He nods, sighing. You give his arm a squeeze, turning back to look at your husband and before you could speak, the front door is being swung open again. 

Eloise is singing Elton John’s I'm still standing on the top of her lungs and terribly off key - something she picked up from her father- but it was beyond obvious that the girl was drunk. 

Charles is rushing over to Anthony, the boy struggling to keep his girlfriend up as she was over his shoulder. 

You knew your husband was as pissed off as Ellie was drunk but he needed to hold it together. 

She’s his baby, she always will be even though she’s 18 now and old enough to drink; he knew she did it but he never expected her to come up drunk off her ass. 

“What happened?” He asked, helping Anthony put her down. The boy looked like he was about to collapse as well - surely he was drunk too, just not as bad as Eloise was. 

“Uncle Cha, I don’t even know man.” He ran a hand down his face, “she was beside me and next thing you knew, she was drunk and dancing with some girl she just met. I don’t know when she had time to take all of those shots.” 

Charles looked back at you, giving you a glare as you pursed your lips and looked away; there were many evenings before all of you had children that Pierre and Charles would have to carry you out the club after you had drunk your body weight in liquor.

The girl dropped herself against her father when she realized he’s there. “Hi papa!” She grinned at him, goofily you might add.

His face twists when he smells the liquor on him but he still brushes the hair away from her face as he used to do when she was little. “Ma belle, what happened?”

She shrugs, “dunno daddiooooo.” 

You bit back a chuckle, noticing a shadow coming from the front door - you really needed to lock your door. 

“Oh tu es là, bien.” (oh there you are, good.) Pierre pats his son on the shoulder. You looked at your husband’s best friend, confused as to why he's at your house at 4 in the morning. 

“Anto said they were coming here, I figured I'd come and see if you needed help with the kids,” he fills you in and Ellie turns in her father’s arms when she hears the familiar voice. 

“Uncle Pierre!” She squeals, stumbling towards her boyfriend’s father. 

The Frenchman catches the girl, glancing at you the same way your husband did minutes ago when she clings to him. “Quelqu'un s'est amusé ce soir, pas vous ? Je peux sentir l'alcool, ma chérie.” (Somebody had fun tonight, didn't you? I can smell the liquor, sweetheart.) 

She giggled at her uncle, holding onto him. “Oui, enfin du bon fun.” (Yes, finally some good fun.) 

Charles had looked more worried now than he did when he found the pregnancy test in her room. Pierre gives his friend a look, “I got her,” he tells him, picking up the girl. 

He held her, carrying her like a princess as she used to say as a kid when Pierre took her to bed; some things never changed. Anthony followed his father upstairs while you comforted your husband over the changing of times. He went to check on Carlos and Sofia while you got some water and something for Ellie to eat to sober up. 

Pierre puts the girl down on her bed, pulling her shoes off so she can get comfortable. Anthony replaces his father by her bedside while he goes to get the trash can. 

Eloise reaches for her boyfriend’s hand, looking at him with eyes full of tears. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, knuckles brushing over her soft cheek. She sniffles, holding back the tears. 

“I wish I had kept it,” Eloise whispers to him and Anthony looks at the girl, confused. “Wish you kept what, amour?” 

“The baby.” 

Pierre was right outside her door but he froze, off to the side as he heard the words; he knew he should leave, he shouldn't be listening to their conversation but he couldn't pull himself away. 

“What baby, Eloise?” Anthony’s eyes scan her face for some sort of an answer. 

“Our baby.” 

“We never had a baby.” 

“We almost did.” She whispers to him, the tears rolling down her face.

“Wha- the test was negative, Ellie. You weren’t pregnant. You’re drunk, mon ange. Get some rest, you don’t know what you’re talk-” 

“I was pregnant, Anthony.” Eloise stops him, forcing herself to sit up. “The test my dad found.. that was after.” 

Anthony’s brain is running in overdrive, his heart pumping out of his chest as he takes in all the information she dropped on him. “After what?” He asks and she doesn’t answer. 

He grabbed her hand, pulling slightly to get her focus back. “After what, Eloise?” 

Her eyes met his ocean blue ones, the same eyes she could see her whole future in and now, it felt as if it was disappearing from her. 

“Eloise, answer me.” 

“After the abortion.” 

Anthony sat there in silence; his head spinning as he tried to make sense of it. She was pregnant with his baby, their baby and she.. got rid of it?

It didn’t make sense. 

Eloise loved him and Anthony loved her, she’d never do that. 

The tears rolled down her fair cheeks, her hands gripping his wrists. “Anto.. please, say something.” 

“You were pregnant, with our baby.” He finally brings himself to speak. She nods, unable to talk without breaking down further into tears. “Why.. Why didn’t you tell me? Did you tell anyone?” 

“Gabe knew,” she whispers, “he took me.” 

Anthony was seeing red at this point; partly toward Eloise for getting the abortion and not telling him but mostly towards his brother in law for taking her. Anthony loved Eloise with every fibre of his being, he'd give his life for hers if that meant she'd be happy; he would have dropped everything to raise a family with her. 

HIs heart shattered into a million pieces over what could have been. 

He didn’t stop to think how she must have felt to go through that alone when he stormed out the room. “Anthony, please!” She shouted after him, far too weak to get up. 

Anthony sees his father by Eloise’s room when he rounds the corner to the stairs. Pierre gave his son an apologetic look, his own sense of distraught coming into play for both his son and his son’s girlfriend.

The man finds her in tears, her hand pressed to her chest as she tries to breathe. Pierre rushes to her side, holding her as he rubbed her back; “slow breaths, princess. In and out. I'm right here.” 

Anthony’s heavy footsteps caused Charles to look into the hallway, about to shout for the boy but he was already out the door, the wooden door slamming shut. 

“Jesus,” you huffed, looking from the kitchen. “What was that about?” You asked your husband, the man glanced at you, the door and then up the stairs. 

You can see his train of thought in front of you and you’re behind him the moment he heads up the stairs. Charles is rushing into the room, sitting on the other side of Eloise, both her father and his best friend doting over the girl. You wanted to join them but you stayed by the end of the bed, figuring that she’d been a bit of space. 

Judging by the look on her face and who just ran out the front door, you were almost certain you knew what had happened upstairs. 

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Charles rubbed her arm. She can't bring herself to speak, looking at you to fill in her father. Charles follows her glance and looks at you, “babe.. what’s-” 

“Was it the..” you trailed off, and she nodded. 

Pierre takes that as his sign to step out, giving you two some privacy with your daughter. “She had an abortion, Charles.” 

The shock was written across your husband’s face but he said nothing, instead he held your daughter as she cried. 

He was in shock; he didn’t even know she was pregnant and you knew? You never said anything to him but that was a conversation between you two best left for another time.

Charles goes to say something to you but there’s a loud shout coming from outside and you rush over to the window, checking to see what it was. The boys were shouting at each other, Gabriel on the floor with Anthony screaming at him. 

You look back at your husband, yet another wordless exchange and you rush downstairs. 

Outside, the scene unfolds; Anthony punches Gabriel square across the jaw when he sees him. “What the fuck?!” Oliver shouts, helping his boyfriend up. 

“Why the fuck did you punch me?” Gabriel groaned, rubbing his jaw. 

Anthony’s cheeks were covered in tears, the blind rage he was in fuelling his hatred for Gabriel at the moment. “How could you do that? To me? To your sister?” He shouted, going to hit Gabriel again. 

Oliver looks between the men, realizing he's clearly missing a piece of the puzzle. “Babe, what did you do?” He asked, a bit afraid of the answer he was about to get. 

Anthony answers for him; “he took her for an abortion.” 

“Ellie was pregnant ?” Oliver turned to Gabriel, the surprise in his tone and on his face showed Anthony that it was in fact a secret. 

Gabriel doesn’t even have the chance to answer when Anthony swings on him again. Gabriel reacts quickly, punching Anthony before he can get to him. Pierre was coming out when he heard the noise, as was Carlos from the back yard. 

“Hey!” Pierre shouts, you watched from the front step unsure what to do. “Charles!” You shouted from your husband, “hurry!” You shouted again.

Christopher takes this as his chance to see what was happening, slipping past you when he sees the fight. You couldn’t even grab him, the younger twin rushing to defend his brother. Carlos and Pierre are trying to pull them apart, Sofia was shouting at them to stop and poor Oliver was sick, the boy hunched over in your bushes, throwing up what was consumed at the club. Charles comes down and rushes out when he sees them, you walk over to check on Oliver.

At some point after Oliver stops puking, the dads manage to separate the boys; Chris with his father, Gabriel with Carlos and Anthony with Pierre. 

There’s two people walking up your driveway; Georgina and Adrian. 

It was nearly 6am now, the sun starting to cast an orangish hue over Monaco and you needed everyone inside before the streets got busy again. You hold Oliver’s arm to keep him up, “alright that’s enough! Everyone in the fucking house!” You finally raised your voice despite all the chaos, sending everyone into the house. 

The front door was locked after you walked in; a part of you wanted to put a no strays sign considering the amount of drama you’ve had over the last two hours. 

With all the noise, Ellie had come down and ended up joining all of you in the living room. All 8 kids squished onto the couch and on the floor in front of it as you and the dads watched from the fireplace. 

Per usual, they've left you to clean the mess - starting off the makeshift family therapy session. 

“We're gonna solve this in order, okay? I don’t want to hear a word until you're spoken too.” The kids nod, all of them feeling some sense of shame, but they sat there quietly. 

You turned to Anthony, “why’d you punch Gabriel?” 

“Because of..” he trailed off, not wanting to air his dirty laundry to those who didn’t already know. 

Those who knew, understood why he acted the way he did. 

Eloise looked sick, like she was gonna throw up all over the rug and her brother noticed as much, Christopher wrapped an arm around her and rubbed her shoulder, handing her his water bottle. Gabriel butts in, defending himself and his sister. “You can’t be mad, Anto. I only did what was asked of me, I never forced anything on her. She knew if she wanted to keep it, we would have helped her.” 

Anthony looked over at his girlfriend, the sadness and regret mixed across her face. 

She had her father’s fair complexion but never had you seen her look so pale. 

“It’s true,” she says quietly, “Gabe didn’t force me to do anything; he sat with me, made sure I was what I really wanted to do and at the time, it was. I was 17 Anthony, you had just turned 18 - we weren’t ready for that.” 

The room fell silent, the fathers behind you exchanged looks to try and fill each other quietly so they could understand what was happening. 

“I assume Gabriel hit you back in self defence,” you glanced between Anthony and Gabriel before turning to Christopher, “but you, god Chris,” you groaned. “You make some stupid decisions sometimes; why'd you have to get involved?” 

“He was punching my brother, mom. You can’t expect me not to defend him.” 

Charles looks at you, giving your hand a squeeze. “Dites-leur de laisser tomber. Nous n'avons pas besoin de plus de combats.” (Tell them to let it go. We don't need more fighting.) He says to you quietly, you nod in agreement. Pierre got the just of it, nodding to the plan of action. 

“Okay if no one had anything else to add, we're gonna drop this stupid ass fight. What’s happened is all said and done, you're all gonna drop it, yes?” 

You look at your sons and your daughter’s boyfriend, the 3 of them answering with some version of yes. Oliver raises his hand, you nod in his direction waiting for him to speak. 

“I just wanted to say,” he leans over Gabriel to look at Anthony, “that was a weak ass punch.” 

Anthony wasn’t having it with his friend, reaching over Gabriel to smack him but Christopher pulls him back before he can get to him. 

You huff, roll your eyes at the dramatics. “Thank you for that very helpful piece of information, Oli.” 

Oliver grinned, giving you a thumbs up. “Always my pleasure, auntie.” 

In this moment, you can’t help but see Max in Oliver; the wicked grin on his face was identical to his father’s. He was the spitting image of Max, ways and all.

Pierre snickers from behind you and you turn, glaring at the man. He raises his hands in defence, “I can’t help it, that was funny.” Anthony rolls his eyes at his father’s comment but sinks back into the couch. 

The living room was quiet once again and before you get the chance to speak, Georgina starts. “I don’t know what I did to you, but why are you giving me the nastiest look on the planet ?” She purses her lips, looking over at Sofia. 

“Don’t act like you don’t know what you did.” 

Christopher rests his hand on Sofia’s thigh, which she pushes away. “Sof, please. Don’t start.” 

“No, please do.” Georgina tells her, sitting up a bit more. “What did I do to you?” 

Sofia scoffs, rolling her eyes at Georgina’s lack of self awareness. “You being drunk doesn't excuse the fact that you kissed my boyfriend.” 

Adrian turns to his girlfriend so fast that he’s given himself whiplash, rubbing his neck when he goes, “huh?” 

“I did not kiss Chris! That’s so gross, I mean no offense Chris but like.. ew.” The disgust was evident on her face, looking at her best friend and his girlfriend. “Chris was helping me over to Adrian, I lost him in the club.” 

“So you two didn’t kiss?” Sofia looks between the two friends. 

Chris and Georgina both answer at the same time; “No!” 

She felt a bit bad for the events that had occurred that evening; her screaming match with Christopher, the words she said to her father and about Georgina but nonetheless, she brushed away the feeling. 

“Okay,” she nods, “sorry for assuming.” She says, getting up. “Papá, deberíamos irnos. No queremos perder nuestro vuelo.” (Dad, we should go. We don't want to miss our flight.)  

Carlos nods, getting up from his spot by the fireplace. You turn to your friend, “¿Ustedes dos están bien?” (Are you two okay?) 

He nods, speaking quietly. “Tenemos trabajo que hacer, pero estaremos bien.” (We've got work to do, but we'll be fine.) You smile, giving him a hug before you let him and Sofia walk out. 

Christopher follows them to the door, giving Sofia a hug. “I’m sorry,” she whispers to him, kissing his cheek. He nods, “it’s okay, babe. Have a safe flight, yeah? Text me when you land.” 

“I will,” she smiles, giving him one more squeeze before stepping out. Carlos pats Chris on the shoulder on his way out. 

Georgina was yawning, leaning on Adrian. “Can we just stay here?” He asked you, and you nod. “Of course sweetheart, you know you guys can stay here anytime.” 

“I’ll make the guest room up for you two,” Charles says, getting up and walking down the hallway. 

“I’ll help,” Georgina announces, getting up to follow uncle Charles as the kids deemed him many years ago, down the hallway. 

Oliver gets up as well, helping Gabriel up. “We’re off to bed!” He calls, linking arms with his boyfriend as he holds a tissue to Gabriel's nose. Your oldest looks at you, giving you an apologetic look for the mess he’s made. 

You walk over, kissing his cheek. “It's okay baby,” you held his jaw softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek. 

“I’ll help him get cleaned up,” Oliver tells you, nodding to the now dried blood on Gabriel’s face. You smile, giving Oliver’s arm a squeeze before they head upstairs. 

You started clearing up the living room, tidying up the ruckus the boys made on their way in. Anthony gets up, walking over to Eloise. He kneels in front of his girlfriend who looks at him, the tears staining her pale cheeks. 

“Amour,” he starts, holding her jaw. You and Adrian take that as a hint to leave, he helps you pick up a few things and take it to the kitchen. “I love you, no matter what, okay?” He tells her. 

Eloise leans into her boyfriend, her forehead pressed to his. “Will you stay tonight?” 

“Not tonight,” he whispers. “I just.. I need some space tonight.” Eloise nods, understanding that this was a lot of spring on him, she could beg him to stay but it’d do neither of them any good. 

“I love you, always. I’ll be by tomorrow, okay?” He tells her when he stands. 

She nods, “I love you, Anthony.” She looks up at her and he gives her a small smile, the sadness not able to fully hide behind it. Anthony leans down, giving her a kiss before walking away. She blinks away the tears, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands. Pierre walks over to her, kissing the top of her head. 

“It’ll be okay,” he tells her quietly, “you’ll be okay, I promise.” He smiles at the girl, giving her a hug. “I hope so.” She whispers and he nods, “you will be.” 

She can hear Christopher and Anthony speaking in the hallway, eventually her brother comes into the living room and helps her up. “Let’s go to bed, yeah?”  He holds her to his side as they walk to the stairs. 

“Can I stay with you?” She asks, not wanting to be alone tonight. 

It reminded him of when they were younger and she’d swear she won’t get scared, begging to watch a horror movie with him and Gabriel. In the end, the three of them were squished into one bed because they were too scared to be alone. 

Christopher nods, “of course.” 

Adrian yawns, leaning on the counter as you filled the glasses with water. You slide two over to him, one for him and one for Georgina. “Did you tell your parents you were staying here? So they’re not looking for you?” 

“Yeah, my dad knows we're here but I couldn’t get ahold of Georgina’s parents.” 

“I’ll text George, don’t worry.” You tell him. 

Adrian takes a sip of his water before getting off the stool. “Is it always this crazy here?” 

You can’t help but laugh, “this is a regular Saturday for us, kid.” You walk him to the guest room, Charles was in the hallway getting extra pillows. “You get some sleep, it’s late.. or early? You know what I mean,” you give him a kiss on the temple before Charles hands him the pillows, the two of you leaving them to get some rest. 

Charles grabs your hand, sighing as you two walk to the couch. The curtains were wide open, the sun had risen and the clock on the wall ticked with each passing second - 7:23am. 

You looked over at him when you sat down, your husband’s head tipped back and his eyes closed. You can’t help but reach out and stroke his cheek - “remember when you wanted more kids?” You asked quietly, earning a laugh and a groan from him. 

He opens his eyes, looking over at you with a sleepy smile. “Thank you for telling me no.” 

Now you're laughing, leaning over to give him a kiss. “I love you, Charles.” 

“I love you, y/n. I don’t know what I'd do without you.” 

“Probably lose your mind?” 

He drops his face into your shoulder, nodding. “Most definitely.” 

--- 

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