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helen-with-an-a · 24 days

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Welcome Home - Beautiful Girl Series (18+)

Hiiiii - so I have deciede to expand this into a little universe type thing that I will be updating as and when I feel like it. I hope you enjoy.

Beautiful Girl Masterlist

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Description: Alexia comes home from the Olympics.

Word Count: 9k

TW: Smut, 18+, talking through an orgasm, self-doubt, SoftDom!R

Alexia was exhausted – so, so tired. But it wasn’t just her body that was weary. Sure, the Olympics had pushed her to her physical limits. The gruelling schedule of Euro qualifiers, the relentless training camps, and the fierce competition itself had left her muscles aching, her joints stiff, and her energy reserves depleted. Every stride on the field had demanded more from her than she thought she could give. Yet, it was the mental strain that truly wore her down, leaving her feeling hollowed out from the inside.

The pressure had been immense, an ever-present weight pressing down on her shoulders. Every match, every practice, had required her to be in peak mental form – focused, strategic, unyielding. The expectations of her country, her team, and herself had been a constant whisper in her mind, never letting her forget what was at stake. The emotional highs and lows, the anxiety before each game, the sleepless nights replaying every mistake, every missed opportunity – it had all built up, slowly eroding her mentally.

She had fought battles on the field, but the real war had been within her own mind. Now, as she sat in the quiet aftermath, the silence was deafening. It wasn’t just physical fatigue that made her feel so drained, but the mental and emotional toll of weeks, months even, of pushing herself to the brink. She was running on empty, not just in her body but in her soul. The exhaustion was deep and pervasive, and it clung to her like a shadow she couldn't shake.

Alexia wasn’t sure what to expect when she walked through the door to your shared home. Her mind raced with possibilities, each one a small beacon of comfort she desperately needed after everything she’d been through. Maybe you would be there waiting for her, the door opening to reveal your warm, familiar smile. She could almost feel the way your arms would wrap around her, pulling her into a gentle hug that seemed to melt away all the tension she’d been carrying for so long. The thought of your soft voice murmuring reassurances, telling her how proud you were, how happy you were to have her back, sent a wave of warmth through her. She imagined you guiding her gently to the couch, where she could finally let go, sinking into the cushions as you tucked a blanket around her, making her feel safe and cherished.

Or perhaps, as she walked in, you’d greet her with a cup of chamomile tea, its soothing aroma already filling the air. You knew it was her favourite, the one thing that could calm her mind and ease her into relaxation. The steam would rise in delicate curls, and she’d close her eyes as she took that first sip, letting the warmth spread through her. Beside the tea, maybe there would be one of her favourite snacks – something simple but perfect, just what she needed after the chaos of the past weeks. You would take her bags without a word, knowing she didn’t have the energy to deal with them right now, and quietly carry them into the bedroom to be unpacked later, when she was ready.

What she didn’t expect was you standing just behind the door, so close that she almost bumped into you as she stepped inside. The proximity startled her, making her jump slightly, her hand instinctively going to her chest as her heart skipped a beat. But the surprise quickly melted away into a smile, a mixture of relief and affection spreading across her face.

Before she could say a word, you were already there, closing the door behind her and enveloping her in your arms. “Welcome home, my beautiful girl,” you cooed softly, your voice a soothing balm to her frazzled nerves. The words were simple, but they meant so much to her.

You had been able to attend her group games, cheering her on from the stands with that infectious energy she loved so much. Every time she glanced up at the crowd and caught sight of you, it filled her with a surge of pride and determination, knowing you were there, sharing in her victories and frustrations. But the demands of preseason back home had called you away sooner than either of you had wanted. Just when the tournament was heating up, when the stakes were getting higher, you had to leave France and return to your own commitments. She understood, of course – the preseason training took precedence for you – but that didn’t make the parting any easier.

It had only been a few days since you’d left, but to her, it felt like an eternity. The days without you dragged on, each one longer than the last. Every time something happened on the field, whether it was a brilliant play or a tough moment, she found herself instinctively wanting to look for you, to share the experience with you. But you weren’t there. The seat you’d occupied during those first few games was now empty, a stark reminder of your absence.

She tried to focus on the competition, on the training sessions, on the strategy meetings, but there was an ache in her heart that she couldn’t quite shake. She missed your voice, your reassuring presence, the way you’d always know exactly what to say to calm her nerves or fire her up. The brief video calls and text messages you exchanged were a lifeline, but they weren’t enough. She wanted to feel your hand in hers, to see your smile in person, to hear your laugh echoing around her again.

Even the few days apart had felt like a lifetime. Every night after the games, as she lay in bed alone, she found herself reaching out, hoping to find you there beside her, only to be met with the cold, empty sheets. She missed the way you’d hold her close, the sound of your breathing lulling her to sleep. Without you, the victories felt a little less sweet, and the tough moments a little harder to bear.

You pulled her into a hug right there in the hallway, not caring that her bags were still slung over her shoulder or that her hair was tousled from the long journey.

She felt the tension in her body begin to dissolve as she leaned into you, breathing in the familiar scent that she had missed so much. “Hola, mi amor,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as she let herself relax completely.

Your embrace was strong yet gentle, your firm body providing the perfect support as she melted into you, allowing you to take her weight without hesitation. It was as if all the exhaustion and stress she had been carrying evaporated in that moment, leaving her feeling lighter, freer. You held her close, your arms wrapped securely around her, one hand rubbing soothing circles on her back while the other cradled the back of her head, pressing her even closer to you.

“You did so well,” you whispered, your voice filled with genuine pride as you held her close, your lips brushing against her ear in a way that was both comforting and reassuring.

But she couldn’t let herself fully sink into your embrace, not when the weight of disappointment still hung so heavily on her shoulders. “We lost,” she said bluntly, her tone edged with frustration and a trace of bitterness. It was a simple statement, but the finality in her voice spoke volumes. Forcing herself to step out of your arms, she created a small distance between you, her gaze dropping to the floor as if to avoid the kindness in your eyes. The warmth of your hug, which she had longed for during those endless days apart, now felt almost too much to bear. She couldn't let herself be comforted when all she could think about was the sting of defeat.

“You came fourth,” you countered, your voice firm yet gentle, refusing to let her diminish her achievement. “That’s not losing, baby.” Your words were meant to soothe, to remind her of the incredible feat she and her team had accomplished, even if it wasn’t the outcome she had hoped for. But you could see the stubborn set of her jaw, the way she crossed her arms tightly over her chest as if trying to hold herself together. She wasn’t ready to let go of her disappointment just yet.

“We won the World Cup,” she argued, her voice tense with the pressure she had placed on herself. The memories of that triumphant victory were still fresh in her mind, the euphoria of being the best in the world. “We should have won this too.” Her words came out in a rush, tinged with self-reproach, as if by not winning, she had somehow failed to live up to her own expectations – or worse, to yours.

You looked at her, your eyes softening with understanding. “It’s more than I’ve ever done,” you said with a raised eyebrow, your tone light but with an underlying seriousness that you hoped would break through her self-imposed guilt. It was your way of gently reminding her that not every battle could be won, that her worth wasn’t tied to a single result, and that you were proud of her no matter what. The eyebrow raise was your little challenge, a playful nudge for her to see the bigger picture.

But more than that, it was an invitation for her to acknowledge her own greatness – not just as an athlete who had once stood at the pinnacle of the world but as someone who had given everything she had, time and time again. You didn’t need her to be perfect, to win every trophy, for her to be your hero. You admired her not just for her victories but for her courage, her tenacity, and the way she kept fighting even when the odds were against her.

She met your gaze, and for a moment, the tension in her features softened. There was a flicker of something in her eyes – a hint of acknowledgment, maybe even a touch of the humour that had always been between you. But it was fleeting, and she quickly looked away, still struggling with her own expectations. Even so, your words lingered, like a seed planted in her heart, waiting for the right moment to take root.

You had been expecting this – the self-deprecation that crept into her words, the harshness with which she judged herself. It was a familiar pattern, one you had seen many times before, but it had grown more intense since her return from injury. She had always demanded excellence from herself, setting standards so high that even her most extraordinary achievements seemed like mere steps on a ladder she was forever climbing. But now, her expectations had spiralled into something almost unattainable. Perfection wasn’t just a goal; it had become an obsession, and anything less than flawless felt like failure in her eyes.

Since that injury, the one that had taken her out of the game she loved and forced her to the sidelines, she had been on a relentless quest to prove herself again – not just to the world, but to herself. She believed that every move, every play, every decision had to be executed with absolute precision. There was no room for error, no space for the human imperfections that naturally came with being an athlete, especially one who had battled back from the brink.

But flawless was a standard she could never quite reach, and deep down, you knew she realised that. It was as if no matter how well she played, no matter how many accolades she earned or how many times she was hailed as a hero, she could always find the cracks, the tiny flaws that no one else noticed but that loomed large in her mind. She would fixate on them, replaying them over and over in her head, as if by dissecting every mistake, she could somehow erase it from existence.

You had watched her after games, seen her sit in silence with her head bowed, her mind churning as she picked apart her performance with a ruthless precision. Even when she had been the best player on the field, she would find something – anything – to criticise. Maybe it was a pass she hadn’t made, one that in hindsight seemed obvious, but in the heat of the moment had slipped by. Or perhaps it was a pass she had made, but it hadn’t gone as planned, the ball intercepted or misdirected, and she would berate herself for not seeing a better option.

Then there were the tackles – those split-second decisions where she would question whether she had gone in too soft or too late, or if she had hesitated when she should have acted. She would remember every press she hadn’t started, every time she hadn’t been quick enough to close down space, and those moments would linger in her mind, gnawing at her confidence. It was never enough for her to simply have done well; she needed to have done everything perfectly, and that was a burden she carried alone, even though you were always there, trying to help her see just how incredible she truly was.

You understood that this self-imposed pressure came from a place of love – love for the game, love for the team, and love for the standard she believed she needed to uphold. But it also came from fear. Fear of not being good enough, of not being the player she once was, of letting others down. And that fear had taken root during her recovery, blossoming into an unyielding drive for perfection that was as much a curse as it was a motivator.

You had seen it in her eyes, the way they would cloud over with doubt even as others celebrated her success. You had heard it in her voice, the way it would falter when she spoke about her performance, as if she couldn’t allow herself to take pride in what she had done. It was as though she believed that acknowledging her brilliance might make it slip away, that if she didn’t keep striving for more, she would somehow fall short.

And so, as she stood before you now, her posture tense and her expression guarded, you weren’t surprised by her reaction. You had known this moment was coming, the one where she would downplay her achievements and focus on the mistakes, no matter how minor they were. But what she didn’t realise was that in her pursuit of perfection, she had already achieved something far greater. She had fought her way back from injury, not just physically but mentally, and had returned to the game with a resilience and determination that few could match.

She might see the flaws, but you saw the brilliance – every single time.

“Ale, baby, I need to ask you something,” you began, your voice steady but laced with concern. You took a small step closer, ensuring she could see the seriousness in your eyes, feel the weight of the words you were about to speak. “And I need the truth from you, okay?”

Her gaze met yours, a mixture of curiosity and slight apprehension flickering across her face. She could sense that this was more than just a casual question, that what you were about to say carried significant importance. You reached out, gently taking her hand in yours, your thumb brushing soothingly over her knuckles as if to reassure her that whatever she said, it would be alright.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” you continued, your tone softening, letting her know that there was no pressure, no expectation, only the need for honesty between you. “Or if you think it might be too much right now.” You paused, giving her time to process, to understand that this was a safe space where she could express herself freely, without judgment or fear of disappointing you. “But I really need your honesty.”

She looked at you, her eyes searching yours for a moment, and you could see the internal struggle she was grappling with – the desire to be strong, to push through, to keep going despite the exhaustion that weighed on her, both physically and mentally. But beneath that, there was also a flicker of vulnerability, a quiet plea for understanding, for permission to admit that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as okay as she tried to appear.

You waited patiently, giving her the space to respond in her own time, your hand still holding hers, grounding her in the moment. Finally, she gave a small nod, a silent acknowledgment that she was ready to hear what you had to ask.

“Is it too much for you right now?” you asked, your voice gentle, filled with nothing but concern and care. The question hung in the air between you, and you could feel her tense slightly, the weight of the words settling over her. You knew how hard it was for her to admit when she was struggling, how much she prided herself on being resilient, on pushing through whatever challenges came her way. But you also knew that everyone had their limits, and you needed to make sure she wasn’t pushing herself past hers.

You watched her closely, seeing the conflict play out in her eyes, the way her brow furrowed as she considered your question. You could almost hear the thoughts racing through her mind, the internal dialogue as she weighed the expectations, she had placed on herself against the reality of how she was feeling. You squeezed her hand gently, offering silent support, letting her know that whatever she decided, whatever she needed, you were there for her.

And as she looked back at you, there was a moment of quiet understanding between you – an unspoken recognition of the love and trust that bound you together, and the knowledge that she didn’t have to carry this burden alone.

“Sí,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, yet the weight of that single word was enough to break your heart. You nodded, feeling a deep ache settle in your chest as you looked at her. The strength she usually carried seemed to have faded, leaving behind only the raw vulnerability that she rarely allowed herself to show.

“Do you need me to make it better?” you asked softly, wanting nothing more than to take away the pain, to ease the burden that had become too heavy for her to carry alone.

“Sí,” she said again, her voice a little stronger this time, but still tinged with that same quiet plea for help. It was a simple answer, but it carried the full weight of her exhaustion and her need for care. She was finally letting herself admit that she needed you, that she couldn’t do this alone, and that small surrender filled you with a fierce determination to be everything she needed in that moment.

“Ok,” you whispered, your voice steady even as you swallowed the lump in your throat. You wanted to be strong for her, to guide her through this moment with the gentle care she deserved. “I want you to go upstairs and shower,” you said, smoothing a hand over her hair in a soothing gesture. You felt her lean into your touch, seeking comfort in the simple act of you being there for her.

“I want you to make the water nice and warm, and take as long as you need,” you continued, your voice filled with a calm assurance that you hoped would ease the tension you could feel radiating off her. “At least five minutes, but you can take longer if you need it.” You chose your words carefully, emphasising her needs rather than her wants. You wanted her to understand that it was okay to prioritise herself right now, to take the time to care for her body and mind, to let go of the pressure she constantly placed on herself.

“When you’re finished,” you added, keeping your tone gentle and steady, “go to the bedroom and lie down for me. I’ll be up very soon.” You wanted her to know that she wasn’t alone in this, that you were right there with her, ready to take care of her, to make sure she felt safe and loved.

As you spoke, you pressed a gentle, reassuring kiss to her lips, a tender promise of your unwavering support. It was a brief moment, but it conveyed everything you felt – your love, your concern, your commitment to being there for her no matter what. You felt her respond to the kiss, a small sigh escaping her as if the simple act of being close to you allowed her to release some of the tension she had been holding onto for so long.

She pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting yours, and in that moment, you saw the gratitude mixed with the fatigue. She didn’t have the strength to say much more, but she didn’t need to. The trust in her gaze, the way she leaned into you, spoke volumes. You gave her a small, encouraging nod, and she turned slowly, heading upstairs with the kind of weary steps that told you just how much she had been holding in.

You watched her go, your heart heavy with the knowledge of how much she had been carrying alone. But now, she didn’t have to. You were here, and you would make sure she got the care and rest she so desperately needed.

As the sound of the shower started upstairs, you took a deep breath, already thinking of what else you could do to help her feel better, to bring her some peace. This was just the beginning of making sure she knew that in her moments of weakness, she could always count on you to be her strength.

You could tell this was going to be a difficult road to navigate, one that required a delicate balance between understanding her needs and guiding her through the storm of emotions that swirled inside her. You knew her well enough to recognise the signs – how she would retreat into herself, seeking an outlet that would let her escape from the relentless pressure, from the weight of her own expectations.

She would want you to be rough, to push her beyond the edge of her thoughts, to make her brainless through sharp commands and intense physicality. It was a dynamic you had shared before, one that allowed her to relinquish control, to lose herself in something raw and primal. When everything else in her life felt like it was slipping out of her grasp, she craved that release, that moment where she didn’t have to think, where she didn’t have to be perfect. She needed to let go, to surrender completely to you, trusting that you would guide her through the darkness, but you knew this wasn't just about physical release.

This time, it wasn’t just about intensity or escape; it was about her deeper need to be cared for, to be understood in a way that went beyond words or actions. She needed to feel safe in her vulnerability, to know that even in her most fragile state, you would be there to catch her, to hold her, to bring her back to herself.

But navigating this would require more than just responding to her desire for roughness. It would mean reading between the lines, understanding the nuance of what she was truly asking for, even if she couldn’t articulate it herself. You would need to be attuned to every subtle shift in her mood, every flicker of doubt or hesitation that crossed her face, and respond with a mixture of firmness and tenderness that would allow her to feel both challenged and cherished.

There would be moments when she might push you away, trying to test the boundaries, trying to see if you could really handle all that she was feeling. In those moments, you would need to stand your ground, to be the rock she could lean on, even when she was fighting against the very support she needed. You knew she might want you to be rough, but you also knew that you couldn’t let it go too far – that beneath the surface, she needed your guidance, your patience, your unwavering presence.

You would have to walk this line carefully, giving her what she craved while also protecting her from the depths of her own frustrations. It would mean being firm when necessary, issuing commands that would help her shut off the noise in her mind, but also knowing when to soften, when to pull her back from the brink and remind her that she was more than the sum of her failures and frustrations.

You started the ascent up the stairs, making your way over to the dresser in the corner of the room, your steps purposeful but measured.

Inside, there was a neat row of toys, each item meticulously arranged, each one holding its own set of possibilities. The collection was a blend of colours and textures, each piece chosen with care, not just for their functionality but for the unique experiences they could create. You ran your fingers lightly over the array of plastic dildos, each one varying in sise and shape, each capable of evoking a different response, a different sensation. The cool, smooth surface of the toys was a contrast to the warmth of the room, and the familiarity of their weight in your hand brought a sense of calmness and control.

Next to the dildos were a few vibrators, each one powerful in its own right. You knew how to use them to draw out her pleasure, how to make her lose herself in waves of sensation, leaving behind the thoughts and worries that so often clouded her mind. The quiet hum of these devices was a promise of escape, of a release that went beyond the physical, allowing her to focus on nothing but the feeling of being overwhelmed in the best possible way.

Nestled beside the vibrators was a small bottle of lube, the clear liquid glistening in the dim light of the room. It was a simple yet essential tool, one that ensured comfort and ease, allowing you both to explore without hesitation, without any barriers between desire and action. You picked it up for a moment, feeling the coolness of the bottle in your hand, before setting it back down carefully, knowing you would reach for it again soon.

And then, there were the soft, fuzzy red handcuffs, resting at the far end of the drawer. The bright red fur was a playful contrast to the metal underneath, their purpose clear but their execution gentle. They weren’t about confinement or punishment; they were about surrender, about giving her the opportunity to let go completely, to trust you to guide her through the experience, to hold her safely in a space where she could finally release all the tension she had been carrying.

You reached for the items you had chosen, the carefully selected tools laid out before you. Your fingers brushed over them with a sense of purpose and anticipation. The time you took to pick out each piece reflected the care you wanted to show Alexia, knowing that every touch, every choice mattered in creating the experience you both sought.

You then turned your attention to your own clothes, removing them with a deliberate slowness. Each article of clothing was shed with a mix of intention and reverence, as if the act of undressing was part of the ritual of preparing for this moment. As you slid out of your shirt and then your pants, you could feel the fabric falling away, leaving you with a growing sense of readiness. The process wasn’t rushed; it was part of the anticipation, a way to connect more deeply with the moment and with Alexia.

Once you were down to just your underwear, you paused for a moment, taking in the way the soft fabric clung to your skin. The sensation was both intimate and grounding, a reminder of the shared vulnerability that was about to unfold. You felt a gentle thrill at the thought of Alexia waiting for you, her trust in you a constant source of motivation.

You knew she would be on the bed, likely lying there with a mix of expectancy and quiet submission. The thought of her waiting, possibly feeling a blend of nervousness and excitement, added a layer of intimacy to your movements.

You were right; Alexia was exactly as you had envisioned. As you entered the room, the sight before you confirmed your expectations. She was lying on the bed, positioned exactly how you had requested, her body relaxed and open. Her blonde hair was spread out across the pillows, cascading in a cascade of soft waves that framed her face and shoulders like a golden halo. The contrast between her pale skin and the rich texture of the bedding created a striking visual that had your blood thrumming.

Her hands rested by her sides, palms open and fingers slightly curled, as if she had consciously chosen to display her openness and surrender. The act of leaving her hands unguarded was more than just physical – it was a testament to her willingness to let go of control, to embrace the moment without reservation. She showed no attempts to hide herself or shy away, even though she was completely naked. There was no self-consciousness in her posture, no sign of hesitation or discomfort. Instead, there was a raw, unfiltered trust that emanated from her, a profound assurance in your presence and in the dynamic you shared.

Her complete nudity wasn’t just a physical state but a symbolic one, representing her willingness to be vulnerable and exposed, both emotionally and physically. It was a reflection of the trust she had in you, a trust that you would honour her needs and desires with the utmost care and respect. The way she lay there, seemingly at ease, was a powerful display of her belief in your ability to guide her through this experience, to help her find the solace and release she sought.

In this moment, Alexia had relinquished the burden of her thoughts and anxieties, surrendering them to you with an unspoken plea to make them vanish. She was not just seeking physical pleasure or release but a deeper form of escape – a chance to reconnect with herself, to rediscover the parts of her that were lost or obscured by stress and self-criticism. You were acutely aware of this, recognising that your role was to bridge the gap between her current state and the peace she yearned for.

She trusted you to make her Ale again, your beautiful girl.

You were prepared to honour that trust with every touch, every word, every action. Your goal was clear: to erase the stress and worries that had been clouding her mind, to restore her sense of self and allow her to be nothing but your beautiful girl once more.

“Well done, baby,” you cooed softly, your voice rich with affection as you walked over to her. The warmth of your words was like a gentle embrace, meant to soothe and affirm. The sincerity in your tone conveyed how deeply you appreciated her willingness to follow your guidance, her openness to the experience you were sharing.

As you approached her, your gaze took in every detail of her delicate form, lying gracefully on the bed. The sight of her – vulnerable, trusting, and completely present – filled you with a profound sense of gratitude and love. You could see the subtle flush on her cheeks, a testament to the emotional and physical journey she had undertaken. The glow of her skin, warmed by the moment and the intimacy of your shared experience, made her even more radiant in your eyes.

You reached out, your movements slow and deliberate, as if you were savoring each second of the connection you were building. Your fingers traced a gentle path over her cheekbones, the light touch designed to convey both reassurance and tenderness. The sensation of your fingers dancing across her flushed skin was meant to be soothing, a delicate caress that spoke of your deep appreciation and care.

The way your fingers moved was deliberate and graceful, each touch lingering just long enough to be felt but not so long as to disturb the serene atmosphere you had worked to create. Your touch was meant to connect with her on a deeper level, to reinforce the trust she had placed in you, and to remind her of the intimate bond you shared. You could feel the subtle texture of her skin beneath your fingertips, the slight warmth that spoke of her emotional openness, and the gentle rise and fall of her breath as she relaxed into the moment.

As your fingers continued their exploration, you allowed yourself to fully immerse in the sensation of the moment. You let your touch convey all the unspoken words and feelings that were so important in this shared experience. Your caress was a silent affirmation of how much you valued her effort, how deeply you cherished her willingness to be open and vulnerable with you.

“You are such a good listener for me,” you added, your voice infused with admiration and tenderness. Your touch continued to explore, tracing the contours of her face with gentle precision. You let your fingers move with a lightness that was both comforting and intimate, allowing her to feel the full extent of your care. Each stroke was a promise, a reassurance that you were there to guide and support her, to help her find solace and connection in the experience you were sharing.

“Por favor, mi amor. Quiero volver a ser Ale, no Alexia,” she murmured, her voice tinged with a blend of longing and vulnerability. The request was both a plea and a declaration, a tough one for her to make.

“Oh, my beautiful girl,” you responded, your voice softening with a mixture of affection and reassurance. The words flowed out of you comfortingly, settling over Alexia like a soft blanket. “Thank you for telling me what you want.” Your appreciation was sincere, recognising the courage it took for her to voice her desires so openly.

You moved with deliberate care, positioning yourself to straddle her, your presence becoming a tangible anchor in the sea of her emotions. As you settled over her, you let the bright blue vibrator slip from your grasp and fall onto the bed beside her. The vibrant color of the toy stood out against the bedding, its presence now a clear indication of what you had planned for the night. You allowed her to see it, its promise of intense, controlled stimulation adding a new layer of anticipation to the moment.

“Can you tell me what you need, though?” you asked, your tone gentle but insistent. Your question was more than a simple inquiry; it was an invitation for her to articulate her deepest desires and requirements. You wanted to ensure that every aspect of the evening catered to her needs. You knew that what she wanted sometimes was what she needed.

You watched her closely, noting the way her eyes softened as she considered your question. You hoped she would feel empowered by your willingness to listen and adapt, finding comfort in the fact that you were committed to meeting her needs with sensitivity and care.

As she began to speak, you tuned in with complete attentiveness, your focus unwavering on both her words and the emotions they conveyed. Her voice, though hesitant and laced with vulnerability, was filled with a deep, earnest need. “I … I need … I need to be good again. I need to be good for you.” Her admission was a fragile thread of hope, a cry for reassurance that she could reclaim a sense of self that felt lost or diminished. “Ya eres buena. Ya eres tan buena para mí.”

You could see the conflict in her eyes, the struggle between her self-perception and the reality of your feelings for her. “I will help you be Ale again,” you continued, “but I need you to know that you already are la chica más perfecta del mundo.” Your declaration was a heartfelt promise, a commitment to guiding her back to a place of inner peace and self-acceptance.

“I do not feel it,” she admitted, her voice breaking slightly as she spoke. Her words were a testament to the gap between her self-perception and the image you held of her. It was clear that she was struggling to reconcile her inner turmoil with the love and admiration you offered.

“I know, and that’s ok too,” you reassured her, your tone steady and understanding. “But you are kind, and beautiful, and strong, and good.” Each descriptor was chosen with care, meant to address different facets of her being that you saw and cherished. The kindness that defined her interactions, the beauty that radiated both inside and out, the strength she demonstrated in facing her challenges, and the inherent goodness that made her who she was – these were the qualities you wanted her to remember, even when she struggled to see them in herself.

You leaned down, your movements slow and deliberate. Your lips met Alexia's in a kiss filled with all the passion and tenderness you felt for her. The kiss was soft at first, but it quickly grew more fervent, a dance of affection and desire that mirrored the intensity of your feelings. You poured your emotions into the kiss, letting the heat of your passion blend seamlessly with the gentleness of your touch. Each movement was a deliberate act of intimacy, meant to reassure her and to let her feel the sincerity of your love.

As you pressed your lips against hers, you felt her sigh softly into the kiss. The sound was a subtle but powerful affirmation of her surrender and trust. It was a release of the tension that had been building within her, a moment where she could let go and simply be present in the shared intimacy.

Her body seemed to melt into the bed. The way she relaxed into the mattress spoke of the safety and peace she felt in your presence. It was as if the kiss was a balm, soothing away the anxieties and stresses that had been weighing on her. She let herself be enveloped by the sensation of your touch, the softness of the bed providing a supportive backdrop to the warmth and intensity of your kiss.

The kiss continued, a blend of passion and tenderness that flowed effortlessly between you. Your hands cradled her face gently, your thumbs stroking across her cheeks. The movements of your lips were synchronised with the rhythm of her breathing, creating a harmonious exchange that was both comforting and exhilarating.

“So beautiful,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you gazed intently at her. The words were a soft exhalation of admiration, a reflection of the profound appreciation you felt as you took in every detail of her face. Your eyes traced the delicate contours of her features, from the gentle curve of her lips to the soft arch of her brows. Each nuance of her expression seemed to radiate a captivating beauty that was both physical and emotional, captivating in its sincerity and depth.

In response, she offered a tender compliment of her own, her voice warm and affectionate. “Tu también eres hermosa, mi amor,” she said, her words wrapping around you like a comforting embrace.

“Thank you, baby,” you replied, your voice carrying a note of gratitude and warmth.

“Ale, I want you to do something for me, can you do that?” you asked softly, breaking the moment of love-filled silence that enveloped you both. Your voice was tender not wanting to pop the bubble you had created.

She looked at you with a mix of curiosity and openness, her voice carrying a gentle sigh as she responded, “Cualquier cosa.”

“I want you to take this vibrator,” you said, reaching over to pick up the toy from where it was resting on the bed. “And I want you to use it on yourself.” As you spoke, you noticed a wave of panic flicker across her face. Her initial reaction was one of concern, a surge of anxiety about the unfamiliar direction in which you were guiding her.

“Hey, no, shhhh, it’s ok,” you reassured her gently, your voice taking on a soothing tone as your hands carded through her hair. “I’ll still be here, I’ll be right here.” You shifted your position, climbing off her and laying down on your side beside her. The movement was deliberate, meant to provide her with the reassurance that you were not retreating but rather preparing to support her in a new way. As you settled into your new position, you maintained eye contact, your gaze steady and comforting.

“I’m going to walk you through it, ok?” you said, your voice firm yet gentle. The promise of guidance was meant to provide her with a sense of direction and support, to help her navigate this new experience with confidence. “And I want you to listen to me. Can you do that, beautiful?” The question was both an invitation and a challenge, encouraging her to trust in your words and follow your lead.

She hesitated a little, her hazel eyes wide with nerves and uncertainty. “Don’t worry, Ale,” you said softly, your voice a steady anchor in the sea of her anxiety. “I will do all the thinking for you. You just have to follow what I say.”

She took a deep breath, her resolve firming as she nodded slowly. Her eyes flickered back to the vibrator in your hands, a mixture of curiosity and nervousness reflected in her expression. With deliberate care, she extended her hand towards the toy, her fingers trembling slightly as she grasped it from your grasp. She held it in the air for a moment, waiting for you to tell her what to do next.

“Ok, beautiful,” you said, your tone warm and encouraging. “Turn it on for me and put it on your stomach, trail it up and down – do whatever feels good.” Your instructions were clear and gentle. You leaned in, pressing a soft, reassuring kiss to her temple.

Alexia jumped slightly when the toy made contact with her skin. She traced the vibrator slowly up and down her abs, each deliberate pass enhancing her sense of confidence and control. As the gentle hum of the toy made contact with her skin, she began to feel the initial waves of anticipation, each movement helping to melt away her lingering tension. The soft vibrations worked in tandem with her growing self-assurance, guiding her into a deeper state of relaxation and enjoyment.

Your hands soon joined the vibrator in its exploration, adding an extra layer of sensation to the experience. You moved with a mixture of intent and tenderness, scratching light, teasing patterns on her skin that complemented the vibrator's rhythmic pulse. Your touch was deliberate, tracing a path along her abdomen with a feather-light caress, heightening the overall sensory experience.

Every now and then, you allowed your hands to wander higher, reaching up to pinch gently at her nipples. The slight, sharp sensation of your touch contrasted with the vibrator's steady hum, creating a thrilling interplay of pleasure and sensitivity. Your fingers, confident and skilled, occasionally grasped and squeezed her breasts more firmly, sending pulses of sensation that made her gasp and moan softly. Each touch, whether gentle or firm, was designed to enhance her pleasure and deepen her sense of connection with the experience.

“Such a good girl,” you whispered softly into her ear, your voice gentle and reassuring to avoid startling her. Your words were a caress in themselves as Alexia let the thoughts slip further from her mind.

As you spoke, you felt her body respond with a soft whimper, a deliciously melodic sound. “You look so sexy,” you continued, your voice rich with admiration. She swallowed at the praise, her breath increasing with every passing heartbeat.

The sight of her reaction was incredibly rewarding, and you took a moment to truly appreciate the scene before you. The way her body responded to your compliments, the way she seemed to melt into the experience, was something you would never forget.

“Open your legs for me,” you instructed softly, your tone laced with the same affection and care that had marked your previous words. The command was gentle, intended to guide her without pressure, to encourage her to further engage with the sensations you were both creating. You reached out, skimming her face in a gentle touch. Your fingers lingered on her skin, feeling the warmth and softness of her skin.

She complied with your request without hesitation, her movements smooth and responsive. As she followed your instructions, you let out a contented hum, a sound of approval and satisfaction that conveyed how pleased you were with her responsiveness.

“Are you wet for me, Ale?” you asked softly, your voice carrying a note of genuine curiosity. You didn’t really need to ask, you knew how easily Alexia could get wet, but it was a way to check in with her.

“Sí,” she stuttered, her voice betraying a mix of anticipation and vulnerability. Her response was tinged with a breathless quality that had your mind reeling. You responded to her admission with another tender kiss, this time pressing gently against her cheek.

You let your hand find hers, gently halting her movements. Your touch was purposeful and deliberate, designed to guide her without disrupting the flow of her pleasure. Slowly, you manoeuvred the vibrator between her thighs, positioning it in a way that would maximise the sensations she felt.

“Let yourself feel this, baby,” you instructed, your tone soothing and encouraging. Your words were a gentle nudge towards whatever she felt like doing. “Do what feels good, what feels right.” The emphasis was on her autonomy and pleasure, encouraging her to listen to her body and respond to her own needs.

“If you need to cum, you can do,” you added, your voice filled with a supportive warmth. “If it’s too much, you must stop,” you continued, your tone shifting to a more serious but caring note. The instruction was a crucial part of maintaining her comfort and safety. “I’ll know if you push yourself.” The reminder was a protective measure, meant to ensure that she was aware of her own limits and that you were attuned to her well-being.

She nodded furiously at your words, her eagerness palpable as she prepared to follow your instructions. Her eyes were tightly shut, her breath coming out in short, sharp huffs. “Go on, beautiful girl,” you murmured softly in her ear. “Show me how good it feels.”

With a gentle but deliberate motion, you finally pressed the vibrator against her clit, its vibrations meeting her sensitive skin with a precise and exhilarating touch. The moment of contact was electric, her reaction almost visceral.

The moan that escaped her lips was nothing short of cinematic, raw and unrestrained in its expression of pleasure. It was a sound so primal and expressive that it felt almost otherworldly, as if the sheer intensity of her feelings had transcended the ordinary. Alexia had always been vocal in her pleasure, her sounds often coming out unabashed and proud. But this moan was unlike anything you’d ever heard before.

As you continued to hold the vibrator in place, you could see the impact of your touch on her body. Her breathing became more erratic, each inhale and exhale a testament to the waves of pleasure she was experiencing. Her body responded with a mixture of shudders and tremors, her hips pressing further into your hand.

As each compliment left your lips, you watched Alexia’s body react in increasingly intense ways.

“You look so fucking good, baby,” you murmured, your voice thick with admiration. The impact of your words was almost immediate. Her body responded with a shiver, a visible tremor that coursed through her as if your praise had ignited a spark of pleasure. Her eyes fluttered open briefly, locking with yours before slamming shut again as another wave of ecstasy coursed through her.

“So wet for me,” you continued, your tone filled with a blend of appreciation and desire. As you spoke, her breath hitched, and her hips instinctively arched slightly in response. She let out a soft moan, her body moving rhythmically with the vibrations.

“Look at you, beautiful. Letting yourself feel good,” you said next, your voice gentle yet filled with admiration. She gasped, letting her shoulders relax as she let out a contented sigh, her body seeming to melt further into the bed. Her face contorted in pleasure; her mouth thrown open in a silent scream as she surrendered to the sensations with an almost ethereal grace.

“I’m so proud of you, Ale,” you said, smiling as her cheeks turned crimson. Her back arched slightly, her chest heaving as she absorbed the warmth of your pride. Her entire form seemed to radiate a mix of pride and pleasure telling you just how much she needed this.

“Una chica muy buena,” you whispered softly, your words laced with endearment. You knew how much you speaking Spanish turned her on.

She began to jerk slightly, the rhythmic, involuntary movements a clear indication that she was on the verge of reaching the peak of her pleasure. Each slight twitch of her body was a telltale sign that she was just about to tip over the edge into the intense, exhilarating climax she had been building towards. Her entire form seemed to quiver with anticipation

“Mi amor,” she gasped, the term of endearment escaping her lips as she forced her eyes open. Her gaze was filled with a mix of desperation and longing, a visual cue of her need for connection and reassurance as she approached her climax. Her breathing was uneven, each gasp a clear sign of her struggle to maintain control amidst the surging waves of pleasure.

“I’m here, baby,” you responded softly, your voice a soothing balm amidst her heightened state. You leaned in close, pressing a quick, tender peck to her lips. The kiss was brief but intimate, a way to anchor her to your presence as a soft murmur of encouragement and praise. “You’re doing so well for me. So pretty, so sexy.” Each compliment was carefully chosen to help guide her to release.

“You’re my good girl, aren’t you, Ale?” you asked, your voice filled with a mixture of affection and anticipation. The question was a gentle prompt for her to finally let go. Her answer came in the form of a shout, a loud, expressive confirmation of her pleasure and the intensity of the moment. The shout was a raw, uninhibited sound that told you just how much she needed this.

In that instant, she came hard, her body reacting with a powerful intensity. The climax was sudden and overwhelming, her body twitching violently in response to the peak of her pleasure. Her entire form seemed to convulse with the intensity of the orgasm, her muscles contracting and releasing in rapid succession.

You continued to talk her through it, your voice a steady, soothing presence amidst the storm of sensations she was experiencing. Your words glided over her body like a gentle caress, each phrase carefully chosen to enhance her pleasure and provide comfort as she squirmed and writhed in the throes of her climax.

"Just let it happen," you murmured. “"You're so beautiful like this, so perfect. Feel every bit of it, let yourself go."

As she squirmed, you adjusted your touch to stay in sync with her movements. The gentle pressure of the vibrator, combined with your affirming words, created a harmonious rhythm that matched the ebb and flow of her climax. "You’re so amazing, Ale," you continued, your voice infused with admiration. "I love seeing you like this, so open and free."

When she finally pushed your hand away, you could immediately sense a shift in the dynamic between you. It was as if the push was a punctuation mark on a deeply satisfying experience, an unspoken acknowledgment that she had reached her limit and was ready to transition from the intensity of the moment.

The way she moved your hand away was deliberate, though not harsh – more of a gentle nudge than a forceful shove. Her fingers, slightly trembling, brushed against your skin as she guided your hand away, and the contact was a tactile reminder of how much effort and energy she had expended. The push was accompanied by a deep, ragged breath, a sign that she was feeling the aftershocks of her climax and needed a moment of reprieve.

As your hand left her body, you could see the immediate change in her expression. Her features relaxed, and her eyes, which had been wide with the intensity of her pleasure, were now soft and partially closed. There was a look of exhaustion mingled with satisfaction – a sign that she had given everything she had to the moment and was now in a state of blissful fatigue.

“Was … was I good?” The question carried with it a subtle hint of self-doubt, despite the overwhelming evidence of her pleasure and the constant stream of words from you. Her inquiry was more than just a question; it was a reflection of her desire for affirmation and connection. You knew she wasn’t asking about the sex either – her question was layered with deeper significance. The last few years had been incredibly taxing on her, leaving her emotionally drained and often in need of reassurance. The demanding pressures of her career, coupled with personal challenges, had created a landscape where her self-esteem and sense of validation were frequently put to the test.

“So good, my beautiful girl.”

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tsumuus · 3 months

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my masterlist !

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haikyuu

random texts w/ random HQ boys; parts i. ii. iii. iv. v. vi. vii.

the bachelorette | multiple character series

birds of a feather | kotaro bokuto

about you | toru oikawa

best friend | atsumu miya

looking out for you | tadashi yamaguchi, kei tsukishima

in my mind | hajime iwaizumi

right side of my neck | i. ii. iii. iv. | keiji akaashi

reflections | atsumu miya (♥)

it was always you | atsumu miya

olympic beach volleyball | toru oikawa

it'll pass | atsumu miya

first date headcanons | toru oikawa, hajime iwaizumi, issei matsukawa, takahiro hanamaki (♥)

first date headcanons | tetsuro kuroo, kenma kozume, lev haiba, yaku morisuke

crushing on you headcanons | tetsuro kuroo, daichi sawamura, wakatoshi ushijima, shinsuke kita

crushing on you headcanons | kotaro bokuto, asahi azumane, hajime iwaizumi, kiyoomi sakusa (♥)

crushing on you headcanons | atsumu miya, toru oikawa, keiji akaashi

lost love | tetsuro kuroo blurb

adore you | shoyo hinata blurb (♥)

risk | kiyoomi sakusa blurb

forbidden | kotaro bokuto blurb

bothersome | atsumu miya blurb

rivals | osamu miya blurb

i wish you were sober | rintaro suna blurb (♥)

phone works two ways, yk | atsumu miya blurb (♥)

cuddles | keiji akaashi blurb

meet cutes | shoyo hinata, tobio kageyama, kei tsukishima, tadashi yamaguchi

meet cutes | atsumu miya, osamu miya, rintaro suna, aran ojiro, shinsuke kita

more coming soon...

mha

random texts w/ random mha characters; parts i. ii.

katsuki bakugou smau but hes got a little crush on you

pr manager | katsuki bakugou

how much i really liked you | tenya iida

pleaser | denki kaminari (♥)

disloyal | katsuki bakugou

physical touch | katsuki bakugou (♥)

grumpy x sunshine | katsuki bakugou

ready | shoto todoroki (♥)

dreams | katsuki bakugou (♥)

dreams part two | katsuki bakugou

first date headcanons | izuku midoriya, katsuki bakugou, shoto todoroki

american high school au headcanons | katsuki bakugou, shoto todoroki, izuku midoriya, eijiro kirishima, denki kaminari, hanta sero, tenya iida, hitoshi shinsho

rainy day | katsuki bakugou blurb (♥)

untitled | katsuki bakugou, eijiro kirishima blurb

falling behind | katsuki bakugou blurb (♥)

falling behind part two | katsuki bakugou blurb

untitled | katsuki bakugou blurb

my kind of woman | shoto todoroki blurb

awkward | neito monoma blurb

accidentally in love | katsuki bakugou blurb

crush on his coworker | izuku midoriya blurb

you know me | hanta sero blurb

he wants you so bad | katsuki bakugou blurb (♥)

enough | eijiro kirishima blurb

enough part two | eijiro kirishima blurb

sleep | katsuki bakugou blurb

words of affirmation | eijiro kirishima blurb

touchy | mirio togata blurb

cuddles | shoto todoroki blurb

sick reader | katsuki bakugou blurb (!)

meet cutes | tenya iida, hanta sero, eijiro kirishima, denki kaminari

more coming soon...

atla (cartoon and live action)

crushing on you headcanons | zuko

more coming soon...

legend of korra

first kiss | bolin

more coming soon…

last updated: 9.14.2024

#kitskasoboring #tsumuus #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #my hero academia x reader #mha x reader #avatar the last airbender x reader #atla x reader #legend of korra x reader #lok x reader #x reader #fanfic #fanfiction

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deliciousangelfestival · 2 months

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I Hate It When You're Drunk - 2

Character: bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Princess!Reader

Summary: A forbidden love between a princess and her bodyguard. They love each other deeply, but their relationship is threatened by the tyrant king's oppressive rule and their differing social statuses.

I Hate It When You're Drunk Series Masterlist

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Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

"Good morning, Your Highness." One of your servants opened the heavy curtains of your bedroom.

"Morning." You groggily rubbed your eyes, slowly sitting up in bed. Your head pounded from the remnants of last night's alcohol. "What's my schedule today?" you asked, wincing as the bright light from the open curtains hit your eyes. Every movement felt like a struggle, your limbs heavy and your mind foggy from the overindulgence.

"We've made sure to clear it until noon because you're not in the best condition." Even the servants were used to your drunken state.

"Perfect." You sighed. With some effort, you got out of bed and started getting ready.

Your head still felt dizzy from last night's drinking. You shouldn't have drunk so much. What had triggered you to drink until blackout was seeing another of your friends getting married. You felt happy for her, but deep down, you were jealous because they could marry without any objections.

But your father is the king. And to make it worse, he's a tyrant king. He controls every aspect of your life, dictating whom you can and cannot love.

As you finished dressing and stepped out of your room, Bucky was waiting for you, as always. His eyes softened with concern as he saw you.

"Headache?" Bucky asked, his voice gentle.

"A little bit." You pinched the bridge of your nose. "I went overboard again last night, didn't I? I'm sorry." You leaned your head against his chest, seeking comfort.

His fingers gently brushed your hair, soothing you. "Don't drink like that anymore," he said, his voice filled with a quiet pain. He hated seeing you hurt yourself like this.

You nodded, feeling a pang of guilt. Then, you took his hands in yours. "Let's go. We can't waste more time."

Bucky followed you, his grip firm yet tender. Walking hand in hand through the hallway was the longest moment you could be together like a real couple. This short walk was your favorite part of the day, a fleeting taste of the life you both wished you could have.

As you moved through the palace, the sun streamed through the tall windows, casting long shadows on the marble floors. The silence between you was filled with unspoken words and shared glances. Bucky's presence was a steady anchor in your tumultuous life, and these stolen moments were your refuge from the storm of royal duties and impossible expectations.

You squeezed his hand a little tighter, silently promising each other that, no matter what, you would always find a way to be together, even if only in these brief, precious moments.

But the moment ended when you entered the dining room. Bucky couldn’t join you; only royalty or invited guests were allowed. He had to stand outside. It was always difficult to let go of his hand.

"You need to eat," Bucky reminded you gently.

"Can’t we eat together?" you whined, a pout forming on your lips.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness." He chuckled lightly.

You rolled your eyes, sighing in defeat. "Fine."

Suddenly, one of the guards interrupted, causing you to release Bucky’s hand. The guard greeted you and announced, "The king has returned."

"Okay," you replied. Then you realized the gravity of the situation and looked at Bucky, "Fuck. Wasn't he supposed to come back next week?"

Bucky immediately switched into professional mode. He spoke through his earpiece, issuing commands, "Prepare for the entrance."

The king had been on a world tour for conferences and the Olympics. While he was away, you had used the opportunity to be close to Bucky. But now, that had to end since your father was back.

After two hours, the entourage and the king arrived. As the princess, you had to welcome him at the grand entrance along with the ministers. While waiting, you kept glancing at Bucky, who stood far to your left. He looked strong and imposing, like a knight straight out of a storybook, his posture radiating vigilance and strength.

The horns blew, signaling the king's arrival.

"King Leonard Damon II has arrived!"

When the announcement was made, everyone bowed. The large doors opened, and the most important figure in the country stepped into the castle.

King Leonard Damon II was a man in his 50s. He looked dignified and confident, his presence commanding respect. His eyes, however, seemed lifeless, devoid of any warmth or feeling. It was understandable; he was known as the tyrant king.

Leonard acknowledged everyone with a curt nod, but his gaze lingered on Bucky for a brief moment before returning to you. It made your heart race.

"Continue with today's agenda," the king commanded as he walked, not pausing for rest despite just arriving.

You felt a sense of foreboding. Glancing at Bucky, you saw your worry reflected in his eyes.

As the king walked past, you couldn't help but feel the tension in the air. His return meant a return to strict protocols and the end of the small freedoms you had enjoyed. Your mind raced with possibilities, wondering what his sudden return would bring.

Bucky stood tall, his eyes following the king while staying alert to potential threats. His presence was a silent reassurance, yet you couldn't shake the unease in your chest. The king's glance at Bucky had been brief, but it carried a weight that made you anxious.

You straightened your posture, preparing to follow the day's agenda, but your thoughts were still with Bucky. You managed a small, reassuring smile in his direction before turning to follow your father.

👑👑👑👑

The meeting primarily involved discussing the results of the king’s world tour. The Veridian Economic Minister, Hugo, who had accompanied the king on the journey, excitedly explained, "Many foreign investors are interested in investing in our beloved country. It will boost the economy significantly."

"They won’t be taxed?" you interjected.

"Ahem, that’s right, Your Highness." Hugo was always startled whenever you spoke up. He glanced nervously at King Leonard, but the king didn't seem to mind his daughter interrupting the presentation.

"That's great," you continued. "But I hope that as Veridian's GDP rises, we will also support the younger generation who want to start their own businesses. We should offer small loans and assistance because they are the future pillars of our country."

As you spoke, everyone listened intently.

"I agree, Your Highness. I see that you've met with young entrepreneurs during our absence," Hugo remarked.

"It's good to see you engaging with them," King Leonard added.

Everyone nodded in agreement. "She’s perfect as the next ruler," Hugo commented.

"She only needs one thing: a spouse," someone interjected. The room filled with murmurs of agreement, but you flinched at the mention.

"I already have candidates in mind," King Leonard announced.

After his declaration, the room fell silent, followed by applause. "That’s wonderful. If it's King Leonard's choice, the person must be the best," the ministers echoed their support.

You sat there, your nails digging into your thighs, looking at your father with a mixture of anger and frustration, your eyes burning with unshed tears.

👑👑👑👑

Everyone left after the meeting was over except you and the king.

You fixed your gaze on Leonard, who appeared unruffled, as he always did in moments of confrontation. His posture was relaxed, almost casual, as he lounged back in his ornate chair, fingers steepled in front of him.

His eyes, cold and calculating, never wavered from your face as if he could read every thought passing through your mind.

"Say it," he commanded, his voice cutting through the tense silence like a knife.

You swallowed hard, feeling the pressure of his gaze bearing down on you. Slowly, deliberately, you spoke, your voice steady despite the turmoil. "I already said that I won’t get married unless it’s Bucky."

A flicker of something unreadable crossed Leonard's face, gone as quickly as it appeared. His lips curled into a half-smile, devoid of warmth or amusement. "Over my dead body," he replied coolly, the threat underlying his words unmistakable.

"Should I take your life first so I can be with the man I love?" you retorted, your voice shaking with emotion.

"My child," he said, leaning back in his chair with a casual air, the leather creaking softly under his weight. He studied you with a cold, almost amused detachment, his fingers lightly drumming on the armrest.

"You’re not a killer like me," he continued, his voice smooth and unyielding.

The word 'killer' sent a shiver down your spine. Because it was true, you were different from him. The reason why King Leonard Damon II was called the tyrant king was because he was a cold-blooded killer.

Leonard had killed his own siblings to secure the throne. He felt no remorse after taking their lives. Not just relatives, but also anyone who objected to him being king. This included the family of the queen, his own wife, your mother.

"Do you hate Bucky because of what happened to my mother?" you asked, your voice trembling.

Leonard fell silent, then hurled his glass of wine across the room. "Never mention that woman."

"There’s no evidence that she ran away with her bodyguard," you insisted. This was the kingdom's biggest secret. Outside the castle walls, everyone believed the queen had died of illness. But the truth was, she was missing. You didn’t know if your mother was alive or dead.

You understood why your mother might have run away from your father. He never acted violently towards her, but his actions against her family made her hate him. She had never wanted to be a queen. One day, she vanished, and her guard also went missing a few days later.

Leonard became obsessed with finding his wife. He spared no expense, sending out the kingdom’s most skilled trackers and investigators to scour the land. Despite their efforts, every lead turned cold, and every trail went nowhere.

You rubbed your forehead, feeling the weight of your family's complex dynamics. "If I’m not married, will you still pass the throne to me?"

The lack of an immediate answer gnawed at you, amplifying the uncertainty of your future. You knew your father’s mind was a labyrinth of ambitions and schemes, where even the most straightforward question could hide layers of strategy. His silence spoke volumes, a testament to his unwillingness to relinquish control or reveal his true intentions.

"Father?" you prompted.

Finally, Leonard spoke, his voice measured and devoid of warmth. "Maybe. Perhaps after 10, 15 years," he said, his tone betraying no hint of reassurance.

You hadn’t expected this. "I should’ve known. You never planned to make me a queen," you said, feeling a surge of despair. Without becoming queen, you couldn’t marry the man you loved.

Leonard's face remained expressionless, his eyes cold and unyielding. The tension in the room was palpable, and you felt a mix of anger and hopelessness. Your dreams of a future with Bucky seemed to slip further away with each passing second.

Your father’s silence spoke volumes. He had always been calculating and ruthless, willing to sacrifice anything and anyone for his own power. The realization that he never intended for you to rule cut deep.

You clenched your fists, trying to steady your breathing. "So, my fate is to remain a pawn in your game?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Leonard stood up, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the room. "You will do as you are told, for the good of the kingdom," he declared, turning to leave.

As he walked away, you felt a tear slip down your cheek. You were trapped in a gilded cage with no way out. Your love for Bucky seemed destined to remain unfulfilled, crushed under the weight of your father's tyranny.

When Leonard reached the door, he paused and looked back at Bucky, who had been waiting outside. "Remember your place," he said coldly before exiting the room, leaving you alone with your tumultuous thoughts and fears.

Bucky’s grip tightened as he watched the king leave. Once Leonard was out of sight, he rushed to your side. As he entered, his eyes immediately found you already on the ground, knees pressed against the cold stone.

Shock mingled with concern in his eyes as he took in your tear-streaked face, your eyes red and puffy from crying. Seeing you in such distress tore at his soul. He wished he could shield you from the pain, protect you from the harsh realities that surrounded your life.

"Hey," he murmured softly, his voice a soothing balm amidst the chaos. "I'm here." His words were simple but carried a world of comfort and unwavering support. He brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his touch tender and gentle.

Seeing your pain, Bucky's heart ached. What had the king said to you?

Without a word, you collapsed into his arms, your body trembling. He held you close, his strong arms enveloping you in a protective embrace. You buried your face in his shoulder, your sobs muffled against his uniform.

"Oh, Bucky, what should I do?" you cried, your voice breaking.

Bucky gently stroked your hair, his hand moving in soothing circles. "Shh, it's going to be alright," he whispered, though he knew the words felt hollow. His own heart was heavy with the knowledge of the king's cruelty.

A/N: Did you enjoy Chapter 2? What would you like to see in the next chapter?

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hgfictionwriter · 5 days

Text

Self Control: Part Ten - Setback

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Jessie suffers an injury during a game and has to navigate balancing her recovery and caring for you. She feels helpless as she tries to step up for you, but can't the way she wants to.

Warnings: Language. Slight angst.

A/N: Inspired by poor Jessie's injury during the Olympics. And everyone please knock on wood I'm not putting some bad mojo out there with this. Oh, and in this world Janine is still a Thorn 🙏 Rest of the series is here.

"-and Fleming is down. Oh, that looked like a hard hit. She's moving, but she's not getting up."

Football was a physical sport. She'd seen far too many friends ushered off the pitch to never fully, or sometimes even ever, return. She'd been extraordinarily lucky that she'd been more or less injury-free her career. However, sometimes she did take a few knocks.

Normally, she was most worried about the team anytime she was injured; that she was letting them down. But as you held her hand while she sat on the examination table in the medical assessment room, your eyes filled with concern and worry - at least for the short amounts of time she could manage to look at you; even with dimmed lights it was too damn bright - she felt most guilty about you.

"I'm confident we're looking at a Grade 2 concussion here," the team doctor said. "I'm not worried that we're into severe or Grade 3 territory. Y/N, I'm going to ask that you help monitor Jessie's symptoms and recovery over the next couple of weeks. If repeat vomiting occurs, extensive dizziness, or she's having prolonged confusion or headaches aren't improving, please contact me immediately."

Jessie had her eyes screwed shut. She tried to focus on her breathing and keeping herself steady as she attempted to will away the incessant pounding in her head. She opened them as the doctor finished speaking to see you nodding eagerly. Your eyes were trained on the woman before glancing back at Jessie and lifting her hand to give it a quick kiss.

"For the next couple of days - lots of rest. That means physical and mental. Very limited reading and screen time. And you're going to be really sensitive to lights and sounds, so a dark and quiet environment is best.

"Days three and four, you can start some light physical or mental activities again. Short, non-strenuous walks, for example. But listen to your body. Days five to seven, you can increase things a bit more, but-"

"We're moving in less than two weeks," Jessie interjected, wincing as she opened her eyes once more to look at the doctor. The doctor, who she knew well, gave her a look of warning, knowing where this was going.

"You should not be packing or moving furniture in two weeks," the doctor said firmly. "You can take on some light packing maybe 7-10 days from now, but carrying heavy boxes is out of the question."

Jessie shook her head and regretted it immediately, wincing sharply this time, a hand flying up to her temple as she grimaced in pain. Your hand came to her shoulder and she sat very still as she rode out a wave of pain.

"We'll hire packers," you told her sternly. "We already have movers anyway."

"No," Jessie returned stubbornly, still unable to open her eyes.

"Well, she's still coherent enough to argue with me, so I guess that's a good sign, right?" You relayed flatly to the doctor who chuckled.

"It is, actually," she said. "Y/N, you know my number. Feel free to contact me directly if you have any questions. Jessie," Jessie felt the doctor's hand on her shoulder and she slowly blinked her eyes open to face her, "behave yourself. I know you like to be busy and I know you want to take care of your fiancée, but you'll be able to get back to that much sooner if you listen to your body and to me."

"Mm," Jessie voiced noncommittally.

The doctor chuckled and spoke to you again.

"Okay, you can take her home now. And with all of this urgency I didn't even have a chance to ask how you're doing. How much longer?"

"About two months left," you answered.

"Oh my gosh. Final stretch, hey? How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay," you said. Jessie peeked an eye open to see your hand subconsciously rubbing your enlarged stomach while you continued to hold her hand in your other. "She's so active." You shot Jessie a sidelong, mildly teasing glance. "And at night in particular. I blame myself for that one - I'm the night owl of the two of us, so she must be getting that from me. But yeah, some of the third trimester symptoms are certainly popping up, but truly, I can't complain too much. Or shouldn't yet anyway," you finished with a smirk.

"Well, it'll be nice to get settled in your new place before the baby comes. I'm positive you'll sort out the logistics just fine," the doctor added pointedly and Jessie knew it was for her.

"That's the plan," you said. "It shouldn't be bad. We don't have too much stuff. Most of the furniture will be new and we're just getting all of it delivered after our move-in date."

"That's great. Well, Jessie, I will be seeing you in a week for a follow-up, but Y/N, if I don't see you anytime soon, I have my fingers crossed that the rest of your pregnancy goes smoothly. Can't wait to see pictures of your little one once she's born."

The walk out to the car was slow and tedious. Jessie tried to walk casually and easily, dismissing your supportive arm and wanting to walk on her own, but ended up bracing herself against a random car only ten feet in as she became disoriented. Your arms were around her in a second.

"Baby, come on. Don't be so stubborn. Put your arm around me," you told her both tenderly and firmly. Despite the medication the doctor gave her, her head was still pounding and she had to relent.

She was filled with self-contempt as you eased her into the passenger seat and gently closed the door, wary of both the jostling and sound.

"My baby," you cooed after you climbed in and were settled. You rubbed her thigh and placed the cold compress the doctor had given you into her hand. "Here, hold this against you. It'll help."

"I hate this," Jessie said, voice shuddering against her will.

"I know, love," you said gently. "Let's be grateful it's nothing more severe. I know that doesn't help you in this moment though. Let's get you home, alright?"

She opened her eyes to look at you. Your bump was nearly pressed against the wheel at this stage in your pregnancy.

Jessie sniffled and rubbed her face in aggravation. You shouldn't be taking care of her. You shouldn't be worrying about her. It should be the other way around.

Though you drove as steadily as you could the whole way home, even the slightest jostling or bumps sent pain through her. She gripped the seat tightly and breathed heavily as she fought off a persistent wave of nausea.

She leaned heavily on you despite herself as you both walked up to the apartment. You'd found a hat of hers in the trunk and put it on her to block out some of the lights she'd encounter on the journey up. She apologized repeatedly throughout the walk and you tutted in disapproval and shushed her.

You put her to bed and Jessie began sniffling again as emotions began to bubble up once more as she watched you going all around the apartment to get her set up and cared for.

At one point you were in digging through one of the bottom drawers in the bathroom for something. You held onto the counter with one hand to balance yourself and you huffed in exertion, your stomach very much in the way.

Jessie sat up, wanting to come over to help you. She grimaced as her head began to pound anew and her vision narrowed to a point. She swayed in bed for a second before she felt safe enough to move again. She'd only flung the covers off of herself and lowered her feet to the floor when you voice boomed from the other room.

"Jessie," your voice sharp and making her flinch. "Get back into bed," you said insistently, but much softer this time as you walked back over and gently pushed her back down. She whined and sniffled as you did so. You began to laugh and her eyes grew wide as she looked to you in disbelief.

"Why are you laughing?" Jessie asked, her voice so much weaker than she intended.

"You're being silly," you said through a residual laugh. "You're so stubborn. You were levelled onto the pitch, nearly unconscious, less than two hours ago. Please, just relax tonight. Can you do me that favour?"

"I should be helping you," she went on, her voice up an octave as she fought through emotion.

"You can help me by resting," you told her patiently. "Oh, I have to text your parents back. They're worried about you."

She really wasn't in the right state of mind, because suddenly she felt her face screw up and she began sobbing, made worse by the physical pain the action triggered inside of her.

"Jess," your tone gentle and inquiring, but clearly in shock at the sudden outburst. You sat down next to her immediately and began caressing her head. "What's going on?"

Jessie winced in pain as her shoulders shook while she cried.

"Oh my gosh," you said, underlying concern in your voice as you began to rub her back and you took her hand. "Is it your head? What can I do, baby?"

"I'm letting you down," Jessie forced out, breath hitching at the end of her sentence. "I should be taking care of you."

"Oh my God. Babe, stop that," you said gently, but urgently. "You're not letting me down at all. You take care of me all the time. You're injured. It's okay."

"I'm not a good partner," she sobbed. She heard the sound of surprise from you, but she couldn't stop herself. "I'm not around enough. And that's bad enough. And now we're having a baby? I'm never going to be around. I'm going to be an absent parent. And even if I'm here, I might be injured and you'll have to take care of us both."

"Jess. Oh my God," you said in bewilderment as you rubbed her back further. "Baby, please. None of those things are true. Take a breath."

You placed a hand on her chest, pressing firmly and somehow it immediately caused her to slow her breathing. She brought her hand to yours and clutched it tightly.

"Breathe," you said patiently. "It's going to be okay."

Within those few moments, Jessie's breathing began to normalize and she felt her pulse slow once more. She exhaled and the tightness she'd held in her brow relaxed with it.

"It's okay, baby. Just breathe," you coaxed softly as you continued to rub her back and hold your hand and hers to her chest.

Her eyes remained closed as she let you calm her. Her shoulders hitched periodically with a residual cry, but eventually, she sniffled and opened her eyes to look up at you. The room was dark, but she could still make out your features.

"I don't want to let you down," she whispered, voice still trembling as her throat tightened once more, emotions threatening to spill over once more.

"You never let me down," you told her resolutely. "Ever. And I mean that." You let those words sink in before carrying on. "You are the absolute best partner I could ever hope for."

Jessie watched quietly as you smiled, but it faltered. Looking closer she saw tears starting to form in your eyes.

"I'm serious. You know my family. My parents marriage was absolute shit. I didn't know - for a long time - that relationships could be good. That they should be. The way you love me, the way you care for me, is something I didn't even want to hope for because it seemed so impossible. And then even if it was possible, there was no way I'd find someone like that for me. That I would deserve to be loved like that."

"Babe-" Jessie went to interject, but you stopped her.

"When I tell you you're incredible, I really mean it. You're far more than I could've ever hoped or dreamed for. You show me more love and affection in a day than I felt for years at a time. I swear. So please don't ever worry about letting me down."

Jessie was sniffling now, blinking tears onto her pillow and she lifted your hand to kiss it, holding it there against her lips and clutching you tightly. She hated that you felt that way for so many years. And though she was happy that she could make you feel loved like that, it broke her heart, too. She just couldn't fathom someone not loving you wholly and completely.

You leaned down and kissed her forehead, removing your hand from her back to caress the side of her face. You chuckled lightly, speaking against her forehead.

"Short of cheating on me or having some secret family on the side, you could never let me down."

"Babe," Jessie complained, shifting her head to try to look at you. "I would never do that."

"Just saying," you said lightly as you sat back up. "That's the line. For clarity purposes - even if you fell out of love with me and chose to end things, you still wouldn't be letting me down. I'd be devastated, of course, but I would respect that and still love you."

"Babe," Jessie started whimpering again and you consoled her.

"Okay, okay," you placated. "Last thing. Yes, you travel. Yes, you'll be away sometimes. And yes, it is possible that you could get injured again. But that's okay. Of course, I don't want you to get injured, but because I love you. You need to understand that we're partners. We take care of each other.

"And lots of parents travel for work. I know you sometimes forget, but I'm pretty independent and I'm capable," you smirked. "Plus, we have lots of support in case I or our daughter need anything while you're away. What stands out most to me is our daughter will grow up seeing her mom pursue what she loves, working hard to be the best as what she does, and inspiring a new generation of players. That means so much and I wouldn't change it."

You laid another kiss on her forehead. "Get some rest, baby. I love you so much. I'm going to take care of a few things, but I'll be back soon and we can lay together, okay?"

She gave a faint noise of acceptance and you rose from the bed, pushing off slowly, now having to lean back and get your balance to counter the weight of the baby. Jessie's hand shot out to brace your back, and though you delivered a stare her way after you were steady, it dissolved into a smirk.

"See? You're still helping me."

------

The week dragged on so horribly slowly for Jessie. She was so frustrated and upset with herself. She would've always wanted to be able to get up and go, do things, but especially now. You’d taken over essentially all of the household chores and errands and she felt exponentially guilty.

One day you came home, shuffling through the door with bags of groceries hanging off your arms. Jessie shot up off the couch to help you, but her vision began to peter out. She paused a few steps in to brace herself against a nearby chair.

"Jessie," you chided.

She could hear you putting down the various bags. And she pre-emptively put up her hands in defense. "I'm fine." When she opened her eyes again, she was met with a disapproving look from you. She dropped your gaze immediately.

"Sit down, please," you instructed.

"I can help you put everything away," she insisted as she tried to push past you, only to have you hold her back.

"Jess," your voice was curt and she knew you meant business. She could feel your gaze burning into the back of her head and she forced herself to look at you. You went on softer this time. "I'm sure you could help me with groceries. But I'm fine. Honestly. You can help me most by doing as your doctor said, and taking it easy."

She was contemplating a rebuttal, which you saw it coming from a mile away and you continued.

"Don't make me resort to tactics of emotional warfare," you said sarcastically and Jessie huffed, recalling how you told her the other day that the more you had to wrangle her, the more your daughter kicked and squirmed and tired her out.

Jessie sighed begrudgingly and collapsed into the couch, an instant pang shooting through her head at the jarring motion. Served her right for being petulant, she thought ruefully. Despite her antics, she felt your hand caress the side of her head.

"It's like a preview into parenting," you joked before kissing her head and returning to the groceries. Jessie opened her eyes and glared at your retreating form.

"Yeah? Are you going to threaten our kid with guilt trips, too?" She'd meant it as a bit of a snide joke, but immediately regretted her words as soon as she'd said them. Your movements stilled and you slowly turned back to face her, your expression one that made Jessie sink further into her seat.

"Do not start with me, Jessica."

"I'm sorry," she muttered. "That was uncalled for."

"You're still injured. A brain injury at that," you replied as you went back to the bags before giving her a pointed look. "I'll chalk it up to that. You get one freebie."

Jessie was silent as she watched you work. Your movements were laboured at times and she see how much effort it took to do certain tasks. Still, it was true, you managed just fine.

When you were finished, you returned to the living room and sat heavily next to her, a sigh of relief on your lips as you leaned back. You were short of breath, and Jessie looked away quickly when you felt her watchful gaze and peeked open at eye at her. You held out a hand, gesturing for her to relax.

"She's pushing against my diaphragm; it's making it harder to breath, it's not a big deal," you reassured her pre-emptively. You placed your hands on the cushions and pushed yourself up to sit straighter before you met her eyes again. You took her hand.

"I know you want to help. But you have to pace yourself. You can't spring up and sprint over, or you can't be up and down trying to pack and lift things. Not right now. You know better than that," you said gently.

"I already texted Janine and Kelli about packing. They agreed to come over tomorrow," she pouted, spurred on by another failed attempt of hers yesterday. You sighed and kissed her cheek.

"Thank you for doing that. I feel much better about that approach," you told her.

"I'm sorry," Jessie said, fingers fidgeting as she remained slumped on the couch. She sat up and gave you a hopeful look. "I'm feeling better every day, though. I'll be able to help out a lot more around the house soon."

You gave her a patient look and cupped her face in your hands.

"I'm pregnant - not infirm. Did you know...there are thousands of women, for one reason or another, who do this alone? I am very, very lucky that I have you and you’ve been so attentive and wonderful. But there are many women who manage all by themselves. I can do the same - not even, actually, since you’re still here and supportive - for a couple of weeks."

Despite your words of reassurance, Jessie's face fell and she snuggled into you, resting her head on your shoulder. She frowned as she felt your body jostle with a soft chuckle as you wrapped your arms around her. You kissed the crown of her head.

"My sweet baby," you chuckled further against her though she groaned. "Don't worry. A few weeks from now when I'm complaining 24/7 and can barely get out of bed, you'll be relishing these moments."

--------

True to their word, the next day Kelli and Janine were over and were making serious progress on packing up the apartment under Jessie's and your watchful eye.

Despite their help, it was a struggle for Jessie. She was very particular about things like this and she wanted things packed up and organized in specific order and way. With some coaching from you, she'd had to let some of that go, but it wasn't easy.

She and you packed up the lighter things, but anything heavy, and particular full boxes, were left to the girls. And what upset her even more was that she was having trouble focusing. Between all of the lights - clearly, none of you could pack in the dark - and physical exertion, she found herself having to take more breaks than she liked and you'd had to take over quite a bit in directing the girls.

Still, when she was able to, she tried.

"Oh, that needs to go over here," Jessie interrupted as Kelli was setting down a box in the obviously wrong pile. Kelli rolled her eyes good-naturedly and picked up the box once more with a heaving motion, balancing it against her thigh as she adjusted her grip before moving it to the appropriate area.

"Better, princess?" She asked, eliciting a scowl out of Jessie. She knew Kelli was just joking, but it was grating on her. Kelli called her that a few times now, along with a couple of other cracks in that vein.

Her friends, throughout her entire life, had always loved teasing her. Maybe it was the way she blushed when she got flustered or worked up, but people just seemed to love poking at her. Normally, she took it in stride, but it was hard to laugh them off today.

She had all of this mapped out and was fully ready to tackle it alone. Did Kelli think she wanted to ask them for help? No. She hated it.

You were supposed to have your feet up without a worry while she took care of it all. Instead, you were on your feet, packing alongside them and doing more than your fair share of directing and corralling. She saw how you stood there, a hand on your back as you caught your breath, a veiled wince now and then. She could see how sore and tired you were getting.

Her stare followed Kelli as she bounded back over to Janine to gather up some more items. Jessie could feel the heavy tension between her shoulder blades and she felt her face and ears growing hot. She took a steadying breath, she knew this feeling; if she wasn't careful she'd be blinking back tears soon.

She released a slow, deep breath as she returned her attention to the box in front of her and labelled it accordingly. She was setting down the marker when out of the corner of her eye she caught you waving Kelli over. She watched as you spoke in a hushed tone to her and nodded to the other room.

Jessie frowned as she watched you two retreat. Something seemed off, confirmed when you partially closed the door behind you. Jessie quietly padded over and held her ear close to the opening. She whipped her head around, gritting her teeth momentarily at the way the sudden motion aggravated her symptoms, when she felt Janine sneak up, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"What's going on?" Janine mouthed, ever curious. Jessie shrugged the girl's hand off her shoulder tempermentally.

"I don't know," she mouthed back with a mild glare. Janine rolled her eyes and they both leaned in.

"-I appreciate your help. I know you don't have to be doing this. But you need to stop making jokes. She already feels bad enough. She doesn't need you making cracks at her expense. She wouldn't do that to you if situations were reversed. So stop. Please."

Jessie's stomach sank. Now you were defending her as well. She went to push the door open, but Janine pulled her back and away, well out of earshot.

"Let it go," Janine told her.

The emotions Jessie had been working to keep at bay just minutes ago were now raging forward. Her ears were burning and she sniffled.

"Jess," Janine warned her with underlying care in her voice. She knew the last thing Jessie would want right now is to have an emotional meltdown. Janine placed her hands on Jessie's shoulders and spoke calmly, but firmly. "It's fine. Nothing to get worked up about. Y/N loves you a ton. She's being a mama bear to you right now. And fair enough. You're not feeling well, so she's looking out for you. Kelli's a big girl. She'll get it. She'll be fine."

Jessie sniffled and folded her arms against herself.

"It just sucks," she said as she worked to regain her composure.

"I know," Janine said as she patted her on the shoulder. "You'll be all better soon though. Take it easy on yourself." She smirked. "Y/N said you were planning to paint a few rooms in the new place a couple weeks from now. You're on your own for that."

Although she fought it, Jessie had to laugh. She was about to comment when she noticed the door open behind Janine and you and Kelli stepped out. She studied you both and to her surprise nothing seemed odd.

Janine followed her gaze and looked back at her with a wink before going back to help Kelli, who, at least as far as Jessie could see, was in fine spirits.

You must've noticed Jessie's behaviour because you soon approached.

"Everything okay, babe?" You asked.

She looked to you, her gaze eventually falling to your rounded stomach. She placed her hands on your pronounced bump and ran a thumb lovingly along it before lifting her gaze back up to you and all of the boxes around; a physical manifestation of the new chapter you both were starting together. She smiled at you.

"Yeah. Everything's good."

#jessie fleming #jessie fleming x reader #woso x reader #woso imagine #canwnt x reader #wlw fiction

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sweetbans29 · 5 months

Text

Sweetbans Masterlist 💛

Hi lovelies! Here is a place where you can see all of my writings (Little Miss Queen of Imagine Domesticity). I hope you enjoy!

Requests are currently CLOSED! Read more about requests! Please make sure to read the link above before sending in requests. I am averaging about 2 requests per week and will do my best to complete any request coming in. On that note, thank you for trusting me with your ideas, I truly appreciate it 🥹

Caitlin Clark 🤍

Hey You - A history worth revisiting

Hey You (PART 2) - A future worth fighting for

Be Here - 3 times you pull Caitlin out of her head

Now's Not the Time - 4 times you rile her up

Mia Bella - You and Caitlin meet at the dog park

Not Now - 4 times Caitlin riles you up

Greece - You go on a holiday to Greece

Spoken For - Your marriage with Caitlin comes to light

Should Have Been Me - Things will never be the same

Power Couple - You and Caitlin are known as the power couple

Eyes on You - You catch Caitlin's eye during a game

Friendship Bracelet - Meeting Caitlin at a TSwift concert

Come On Now - Caitlin being super proud of you

Crush - Caitlin has a crush on you

Sleepy - 3 times Caitlin falls asleep

That’s Mine - You don’t like when people take what’s yours

Little Ones - When talk becomes reality (baby edition)

Challenge Me (Spoken For part 2) - Your teams meet as UConn takes on Iowa

Match Me - Caitlin and you are known for your game day fits

Protector - 3 times Caitlin is overprotective

It’s Not You, It’s Them - Where you hide your parents from Caitlin

Long Way Home - Miscommunication leads to unnecessary heartache

Power Couple Part 2 - You and Caitlin take the Olympics

Feud - You and Caitlin navigate a long standing media feud

Mic'd - You forget you are mic's during practice

Out - You and Caitlin compliment each other well

Mistakes - They were made

Catch Me If You Can - Caitlin cracks your code

Bowling - Date night

Jersey - Caitlin’s game jersey belongs to you

Thinking of You - It’s all about timing

Train with me - Meeting Caitlin at the gym

Exposed - 3 times your relationship was almost exposed

Frustrated - Caitlin is frustrated

Rules - You have one rule

Little Flirt - Flirting goes on for way too long

Milkshakes - Prequel to Should Have Been Me

Biggest Fan - You are the Fever’s best fan

Varsity Jacket - You forget your jacket

Support - You are an advocate for CC

Long Way Home Pt. 2 - The after

Playbook - AKA your dad is your wingman

Wait for Me - HC of CC during pregnancy

Overprotective - She’s overprotective

Photograph - She loves the way you photograph her

You’re Mine - Jealous Caitlin

Hesitation Series - Slow is okay when it’s more than just you

Tiny Dancer - You dedicate your senior project to her

Capture This - Caitlin sees you in her future

Marked - Caitlin loves to leave marks

Pups - You’re Caitlin’s neighbor

Unmarked - Marked Pt 2

Flight - You hate flying

Stress Ball - Taking care of a stressed CC

Meatball - Photography AU

Paige Bueckers 💙

Teach Me (COMPLETED) - You ask Paige to teach you all you need to know about being intimate

The Ask

The Art of Kissing

The Art of Teasing

The Art of Practice

The Art of Touching

The Tragedy of Conflict

The Art of Confessing

The Art of You

Injured - You get hurt and Paige is there for you

Private - You and Paige try to keep to yourselves

Child - Mom Paige

Kate Martin 💛

Mascot - Kate has it down bad for the school mascot

Down Low - Dating Kate

#caitlin clark #caitlin clark x reader #caitlin clark imagine #caitlin clark masterlist #22 #paige bueckers #paige bueckers imagine #paige bueckers masterlist #5 #kate martin #kate martin imagine #kate martin masterlist #20

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seeingivy · 2 months

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slut!

satoru gojo x f!reader

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

“just so you know, the dining hall closes at seven.”

you look up to find a short girl – dirty blonde hair braided at her sides with an awkward smile on her face – as you shoot her an apologetic smile.

“right, cornelia. sorry, i’m almost done, i’ll just be out.”

cornelia works morning shifts in the dining hall.

you tend to frequent the place at odd hours – particularly getting cravings when it’s closed – and she’s always sweet enough to oblige you with whatever they have left over.

you have a sneaking hunch it’s because she saw utahime be over-exceedingly harsh with you on the first day of training. you’re thankful for it nonetheless.

“just…finish up by seven. i’ll be out of here by then to go home.” she responds, words laced in her thick dutch accent.

you shoot her a grateful smile, looking down at the mess of rice and chicken that you’ve demolished into oblivion with your fork, and wonder if it’s still edible. you mindlessly reach for your phone, scrolling through the litter of texts on the screen.

in amsterdam gymnasts 2024

[shoko]: there’s a party on the first floor if you guys are down

[nobara]: do yk think that girl we saw on the train will be there?

[yuuji]: BRO literally has green hair. she’d be hard to miss

[nobara]: stfu

[utahime]: We’re training early tomorrow. Don’t be irresponsible.

knowing yuuji and nobara, they had probably already schemed their way to the party. out of everyone on the mixed teams, you could tell that they were enjoying themselves the most – sitting with the spanish water polo players in the dining hall, scrolling on hinge to find people in the olympic village, and attending every party they could.

you were happy for them. at least they were enjoying themselves. the mindless mantra that was ringing through your head was stopping all your attempts to enjoy the three weeks you were spending here.

if you put your head down and give an honest effort, things will work out for you.

that’s how it’s always been and always how it was going to be – sitting at the back of the class, answering the questions in your head. being sought for your work and your work alone – you had to be outstanding just to be noticed, because you weren’t going to mention it otherwise.

working hard in silence until it was pointed out, hustling and grinding until you couldn’t anymore, just so that someone would, on an odd chance, remember you and push you forward.

and it worked. it worked most of the time and got you far enough. but at the end of the day, it was always the same result.

you got drowned out. you get drowned out like you always do but it doesn’t sting any less.

by a loud, boisterous voice – an emboldened sense of confidence that you don’t have, one that utahime does – and three words that sent all of your efforts down the drain.

if only you were brave enough to talk. emboldened enough to boast – to show off, to embellish, to call attention to yourself – but, you weren’t. it just wasn’t something you could bring yourself to do.

it was just another day.

“are you okay?”

you look up from the plate – you’re positive the fork must have left scratches in the porcelain – to find the source of the voice, light glowing around his frame and head blocking the glow of the dingy light bulbs in the ghost town that is the dining hall.

you know those eyes. satoru gojo.

you immediately reach up, wiping away the leftover wetness on your face, and feeling the burning of your cheeks underneath your fingertips as you gesture for him to take the seat across from you.

satoru gives you a lopsided smile – blue eyes filled with kindness or pity that’s just masked very well – as he slides his legs over the bench. you can smell the faintest hint of chlorine, his hair still matted and damp from the pool.

“yeah. yeah, i’m good. how’d she…how’d she let you in?” you respond, noting the shake in your voice, as you try to change the subject.

satoru gojo is a seven time olympic medalist – the pride and joy of team usa at the amsterdam olympics. six foot five, easy on the eyes, and an absolute menace in the swimming pool. coupled with an irritatingly charming personality and the grit of a professional – he’s one of the few athletes that’s taken seriously on the team.

he was the flag bearer at the opening ceremony. you’ve seen him at meets here and there, exchanged pleasantries, over the past few years.

not that he would remember that.

“she likes me.” he responds.

you snort.

“of course she does. who doesn’t?” you mutter.

you look up, feeling the leftover heat and tension from the crying still simmering behind your cheeks, as he shoots you a glimmering smile.

the mere thought of it – smiling so freely, that he looks so joyful or that really, this entire experience must culminate into everything that he has wanted and worked towards – sends an aching pang through your chest.

“you know who i am?” he asks.

“satoru gojo. small town college student turned gold olympic medalist. everyone’s heard the story. they don’t pick just anyone to be the flag bearer, you know?” you repeat, attempting to mimic the monotone voices of the news reports you’ve heard hundreds of times.

he clicks his tongue in his cheek, giving you a sly smile as he leans forward on his forearms, his face only inches from yours. it’s at this moment that you realize that he’s tall, obscenely tall even, because he’s able to reach over the length of the table while still sitting down – hovering in your space entirely.

“and we’ve…we’ve met before.”

“i know.”

you pause.

“you do?”

“are you shocked that i can remember conversations i have with people?”

“um. no, i guess not. you’re just a really big deal and all, figured you talk to everyone.” you respond.

“bold coming from you, y/n l/n. rookie gymnast with only three years of training under her belt overperforms in the olympic trials and makes it to the final team roster.” he responds, mimicking the same tone of your voice.

hearing the words, the premise, sends the tears running straight back to your eyes, as you try your best to swallow them down by staring down at the mottled mix of food. you give him a noncommittal hum in response, which you’re positive that he clocks immediately as he leans forward, his calloused hand on yours as he squeezes.

“hey really. are you okay?” he whispers.

you look up, warm and hot tears spilling out of your eyes at this point, as he squeezes your hand again, tilting his head to the side as he waits for an explanation. you sigh, biting at the side of your already demolished lip, as you look back up at him.

your voice wobbles when you finally muster a response.

“you caught me at a really bad time. i don’t actually do this whole thing.” you respond.

satoru smiles.

“what thing?”

“crying in front of strangers. and…and telling random people my business.”

satoru gives you an airy laugh, before squeezing your hand again.

“i’ll take your word for it. it’ll be a one time thing.” he murmurs.

you study his eyes – examining and analyzing for any sense of patronization in his eyes and tone – but you don’t find any.

if anything, he just looks curious.

“do you ever feel like all of your hard work has amounted to nothing?” you whisper.

satoru gives you a confused look, eyes expectant as he waits for a proper explanation. and you’re not sure what it is – why you give it to him knowing his reputation, that sweet talking and charming was just part of his human nature – but in the late hours of the night, when he walks you back to your room, you reason that it was just the circumstances.

that he was in the wrong place at the right time.

“you…you’ve struggled your entire life with your body. sometimes you almost feel like you’re at war with it and…and it’s frustrating feeling like you don’t have control. that you can pass out on a whim, that you’ll be on top of the world one day and at the bottom the next, and that there’s nothing you can do to remedy it.”

you sigh.

“you decide that you want to put in the work. that you’re going to push the limits, even if it seems impossible, because you’re not going to let this thing – this nervousness, the anxiousness tie you down. i spent a whole year training, figuring out how to do this thing. the second year, i qualified for the olympic trials and i choked. i took the loss so seriously, trained so hard that i actually made it here, and now that i am, i can’t even try for real because i’m being undermined by someone else.” you state.

“undermined by someone else?” he asks.

“utahime iori. she’s a four time medalist, the senior on the team. she’s been to the olympics twice. she told masamichi, our coach, that…that i got nervous on the floor routine that i’ve been preparing for the final and that they should just pull it to prevent a point loss. she thinks that she should just compete on the floor as well.” you state.

satoru gives you a frown.

“did you? choke i mean?”

“it was a bad day. i was all in my head and i couldn’t…i couldn’t bring myself to do some of the twists. i could do it the next three days and…and i’ll be ready to do it by the time we compete.” you state.

satoru smiles.

“of course you will. so what’s got you down?” he asks.

“that masamichi believed her. he’s trying to get me to change the floor routine to one that i did before. easier, it’s more safe, but it’s also less points.”

satoru hums in response.

“it’s just frustrating that i put in so much work to get here, that everyone knows i did and that i had put in so much hard work, and all it took was one person who’s louder than me to drown me out. that all the effort they’ve seen was easily discredited because someone else said so. that…that my work wasn’t able to stand out on it’s own and it almost never is. i’ve never been one to speak up and that’s always my downfall.”

you drop the fork against the plate, deciding that you’ve assaulted the chicken enough.

“so, no. i’m not okay. i cried so hard that the people let me stay here in the dining hall after it closed just because she felt bad for me. she even brought this cookie over while i was sobbing and then walked away.” you respond, holding it up in between the two of you.

you’re not a natural. and no matter how hard you try, you won’t ever make it to the top. it was in your fingertips and now it’s miles away, like you’re at the starting line but your feet are glued to the start.

because the time is running out, because you won’t get this opportunity again, and this is all that you’ll amount to.

“i’m just sad. i’ll get over it, deep down i know i will, because…because i know things happen for a reason, but it just…feels hard to find one right now.”

satoru takes the cookie from your hands, nimble fingers quickly undoing the packaging and splitting the cookie in half. he takes the bigger half, placing it in your hand, as he gestures for you to eat it.

you give him an irritated glare, taking a bite out as you swallow it down your dry throat.

“i mean, you get to be here before everyone else eats the cookies. and you don’t even have to get up to grab them, they actually deliver them to your seat all special.” satoru states.

you sigh.

“i can’t wait to tell the news when they ask me how i’m coping with not winning a medal that the cookies are great and life is good regardless.” you respond, voice coated in bitterness.

satoru slides the other way on the bench, now leaning his elbows and his torso against the table, his head leaned all the way back and eyes pinched shut. you immediately wince, noting the harshness of your words when he was just trying to be nice, as you sigh.

“sorry. i know you’re trying to be nice. and it’s a great cookie! i’m just frustrated. i just hate thinking that –”

“i do feel like all my hard work has amounted to nothing.” satoru responds.

you pause.

“what?” you ask.

“you asked me, at the start, if i ever felt like all of my work amounted to nothing. the answer is yes. i do feel like all of my hard work has amounted to nothing.” he answers, the tone in his voice steady.

you look down at the cookie, lifting to take another bite, as you ponder over the thought.

but he had everything. other teams – they were scared to see him coming. hopefully pining over the silver because they already knew that the gold was his, that there was no point in even hoping when they were competing against the best of the best.

“really?”

“mhm.”

“you’re telling me the satoru gojo doesn’t feel like he’s amounted to anything? you have seven gold medals. they’re literally scared to see you coming.”

satoru laughs.

“you really think they’re scared?” he jokes.

you roll your eyes.

“i sat with the canadian swimmer the other day at breakfast. they were over there debating who was going to get the silver, because they saw no point in even vying for the gold when they were competing against you.” you respond.

satoru’s face is painted in a satisfied grin.

“amounted to nothing? you’re literally at the top of your game.”

“i guess. if that’s what mattered. if i still liked swimming.”

you pause.

“you…you don’t like swimming?”

he smiles.

“not anymore. losing passion for the one thing that you’re good at can….cause it’s own type of meltdown. especially when there’s fifty people asking you how you're going to top yourself next time.”

satoru twists around on the bench, giving you a smile, as he leans forward.

“count yourself lucky, y/n. you’ve got a reason to move forward and prove yourself. the drive. something to push you forward.”

he pauses, taking a beat, before responding.

“things are entirely bleak when you have nothing to work towards.” he responds.

satoru gives you a smile, before pushing off the bench – fingers messing through his damp hair – before shooting you a smile over his shoulder.

“cornelia will get mad. it’s ten minutes to seven.” he murmurs.

you give him a noncommittal nod, pondering over his words, as you watch him walk away – the letters of his last name brightly stitched to the back of his jacket.

“hey. gojo?” you ask.

he turns around, eyes expectant as he waits for an answer.

“just because you don’t have something to work towards now doesn’t mean you won’t have something later.”

there’s an awkward pause – mainly because he doesn’t respond – and you give him a shrug back.

“satoru.” he states.

“what?”

“you can call me satoru.”

“she was at the party.” nobara states.

you look up from the bowl, noting the darkness around nobara and yuuji’s eyes, as you roll your eyes. you relish the fifteen minutes of peace you’ll get before utahime comes down to berate the two of them and most likely loop the rest of you in with it in the process.

“did you even talk to her, cupid?” you joke.

nobara kicks you under the table, as the group of you snicker under your breaths.

“we made very prolonged eye contact. you wouldn’t get it.” nobara responds.

“they were eye fucking each other. i felt like i was interrupting something.” yuuji adds.

it’s right at that moment that nobara and yuuji stop talking, eyes wide, as you give them a confused look. yuuji lightly waves his eyes to the left and you follow – only to see someone standing at the side of the table.

he’s decently tall, spiky black hair and solemn blue eyes. you note the embroidery on his jacket – megumi fushiguro, team usa, javelin throwing – and give him a smile.

you look back at nobara and yuuji, the two of them looking awkwardly back down at their plates.and decide to take one for the team and extend your hand out to him.

“hello. i’m y/n l/n.”

he places his hand in yours – you can’t help but notice how sweaty it is and silently wonder how he throws javelins with that slip – as you give him a polite smile.

“megumi fushiguro. i’m from new york. i uh…throw javelins.”

“cool. we’re with team japan. we all do gymnastics. these are my friends nobara and yuuji. nobara does all of the gymnastic rhythmic events and yuuji does specials with rings and the pommel horse.” you add.

megumi gives you a smile, before awkwardly running his hand across his neck before looking at yuuji. you note that whatever yuuji was talking about between nobara and the girl with the green hair is exactly what’s happening now – the eye contact the two of them were sharing so intense that you felt like you were interrupting something.

“right. um, it’s nice to meet you. well, we met last night but i’m not sure if you remembered since you…had a lot to drink.”

it’s swelteringly awkward – so awkward because yuuji’s so starstruck? or surprised that he doesn’t give him a response and instead just stares at him straight on. you kick him under the table, jostling him under the table, to talk.

“i love you.” yuuji responds.

you watch as megumi’s eyes widen, you and nobara shooting each other a look before attempting damage control.

“he doesn’t mean that! why would he love you? you don’t even know each other!” nobara responds.

“i mean, not to say that he won’t ever love you. maybe in the future! you’re probably a great guy!” you respond.

“he’s like repressed or something, i swear he’s normal when you get to know him.” nobara adds.

“but not in a weird way! we all get a little nervous here and there, right?”

“you know meets make people really nervous. he actually doesn’t even know english so..so that’s why he didn’t respond.”

you kick nobara under the table.

“he knows english. obviously! how else would you guys talk to each other?” you respond, trying to give a hint to nobara.

you and nobara pause, cheeks warm from the second hand embarrassment, as megumi nods at the three of you – unable to parse if you’re all part of some circus show or having an aneurysm – and smiles awkwardly.

“right. i’ll see you around, yuuji. it was uh…nice to meet you, y/n.”

“you too.”

the second he walks away, the three of you start shouting at each other.

“who the fuck was that?” you ask.

“i’m repressed? why would you say that, nobara?” yuuji responds, head in his hands as he pulls at the pink strands.

“because you fucking are. why were you staring at him like a deer in headlights? you had no problem putting your whole fucking tongue down his throat last night.” nobara responds.

you gasp.

“you kissed that guy last night?” you whisper.

“yes! it was so fucking good, i literally didn’t even sleep last night out of pure excitement.” yuuji responds back, a hint of a giggle on his lips.

the three of you silence at the sound of utahime’s tray smacking next to yours on the table, the three of you adjusting your posture – nobara and yuuji rubbing at their tired eyes – as you drop the conversation completely.

“well, don’t stop on my accord.” she states.

“good morning, utahime.” nobara responds, shooting you a pinched look.

she sighs, hands aggressive with the knife on her plate as she slams it down against the porcelain.

“just so you know, this is our one day to slack off since we’re touring the city. nobara, your beam is still sloppy. and y/n, i told you to start working on the other floor routine. i’ll let your shenanigans slide for today, but you both really need to stop fraternizing with other athletes and focus on what we’re really doing here.”

“we’re not fraternizing with other athletes.” nobara states.

utahime rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest, as she gives the two of you an accusatory look.

“so the girl with the green hair three tables down is just staring bullets into the back of your head for no reason, kugisaki?”

nobara’s cheeks go pink as she turns around – the girl immediately ducking her head down, embarrassed by being caught – as nobara turns back around and shakes her head. you can tell that utahime’s satisfied from her hunch being correct, as she turns her accusatory eyes towards you.

“and don’t even get me started on you.”

“i’m not fraternizing with other athletes.”

“right. satoru gojo’s sudden love for gymnastics just came out of nowhere, y/n.” she deadpans.

you feel your throat dry.

“what?”

“you haven’t seen the tweets?”

you shake your head, reaching for your phone in your pocket, as you slide open to the app. you note that there’s an obscene amount of notifications in your inbox but two that stand out particularly.

@satorugojo followed you!

@satorugojo retweeted your post.

you click on the notification to find the video of you at the finals – doing your original floor routine.

@satorugojo: every shred of patriotism coming back to my body as i watch the olympic gymnastics team….

you laugh at the tweet, cheeks warm from the acknowledgement – especially from someone with as many followers as him – as you immediately put your phone down and look back at utamime.

“i’d watch out for him if i were you.” utahime states.

“sorry, what?”

“he knows how to get around. focus on your floor routine and less on slutting yourself out. we all know what we’re here for and let’s remember that.”

her comment leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

“y/n, can you come here?” nobara asks.

you and yuuji shoot a lazy look over your shoulders to see her standing at the door, rolling your eyes.

“it’s your turn to pay for room service, bitch. don’t look at me.” you respond.

nobara turns around properly, eyes shooting bullets into your forehead, as she gives you an awkwardly peachy smile.

“y/n. i really think you’ll want to take this one.” she responds, her tone urgent.

you reach for the closest object to you, one of yuuji’s shoes on the ground, and lazily throw it in her direction.

“my bank account is doing just fine, actually. i think i’m good.” you respond.

nobara turns around, raising her finger in the air gesturing for a pause, before picking up the show and throwing it right back at you with full force. she’s quick to walk over, yanking your arms up from the bed, as you rub the sore spot on your forehead.

“get the fuck up. satoru fucking gojo is at the door asking for you.” she whispers.

you shoot her an apologetic smile, yanking your jacket off from the hook on the door and pulling it on, as you walk over to the doorway to find satoru standing there, hands politely in his pockets as he gives you a smile.

“good evening, rookie. how are you?” he asks.

you pause.

“i’m um…good, gojo. how are you?” you ask.

“satoru.” he insists.

you shake your head.

“right. satoru. uh, to what do i owe the pleasure? at nine forty-five in the evening? at my dorm….?”

he smiles.

“i have an in with the people at the gym the same way i do with cornelia at the dining hall. do you want to come and keep me company?” he asks.

you pause – hearing utahime’s words about slutting yourself out rattle in your head – as you give him an awkward smile.

“right, i would love to go but –”

it’s right at that moment that you feel two pairs of warm hands on your arms as nobara and yuuji rush to your side.

“she’s right, she would love to go! which is why she’s going!” yuuji responds.

satoru flickers his eyes in between the two of them, before looking back at you. you shoot him an apologetic smile, but not before the two of them keep talking.

“she loves to go out with guys.” nobara adds.

you elbow her in the side.

“i mean, not other guys! just you. she hasn’t talked to anyone in four years.” yuuji adds, tapping you lovingly on the head.

“but she’s not like decrepit or anything. she’s in her prime, trust us. she’s got a great ass.” nobara affirms.

satoru flickers his eyes in between the two of them, before looking back at you. you shoot him an apologetic smile, but not before the two of them keep talking.

“she loves swimming. knows everything about it.” nobara responds.

“i mean, not everything. she doesn’t even know how to swim!”

satoru’s eyes widen.

“you don’t know how to swim?” he asks, eyes wide in shock – and what you pander is amusement.

you sigh.

“i’m scared of the water.”

“well, now you have to come with me. swimming is a necessary survival skill, rookie. i can’t have you dying on me now.”

satoru shoots you a boyish grin – one that you can tell excites nobara and yuuji, who you’re assuming are probably starstruck at this point – as they squeeze down on your arms and push you out of the door. the two of them give you bright smiles as they push you out of the door, leaving you and satoru alone in the hallway.

you shoot him an awkward smile, as he reaches forward, twisting one of your pigtail braids in his hands.

“they seem fun.” he jokes.

you groan.

“that’s an interesting word for it.” you respond.

“who threw the shoe?” he asks.

you pause. he leans forward, thumbs soft on your forehead as he rubs at the spot.

“oh. nobara. but i threw it first so, it’s only fair.” you respond.

“naturally.” he jokes.

there’s a frigid chill in the gym as satoru opens the door for you, gesturing for you to enter the pool deck first, as he follows behind. the girl at the top of the stands shoots him a polite smile before leaving – which leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

who is she? is that who he has an in with at the gym? is that how he gets in with all of these girls – like cordelia and her – and most of all, now you?

though you’re not really sure what you’d have to offer that he’d really want.

“hey. you okay?” he asks.

“hm?”

“i was talking. you didn’t respond.” he states.

you widen your eyes.

“oh god, i’m sorry. was just in my head, thinking about the uneven practice i did this morning.”

satoru walks all the way to the front of the aquamarine pool, plopping down as he pulls his shirt over his head, and dips his legs into the pool. you follow suit, discarding your shoes at your side, the two of you sitting shoulder to shoulder with your knees brushing as you swing your legs in the cold water.

“what happened?”

“nothing. i kind of face planted during the warm-up.” you state.

“did you get hurt?”

“just a little bit of carpet burn from the floor.”

you lift the sleeve of your jacket up to show him the red marks on your forearm to which he leans forward, fingers featherlike as he brushes against the raised skin. he looks up at you, blue eyes peering into yours, that make you endlessly nervous before the thought comes to you.

how many times has he used that move on someone else?

you immediately jerk your hand back, pulling your sleeve up as you shoot him a polite smile. he gives you a strange look, eyes focused back down on the water as he reaches forward and feels the temperature with his hand.

“ready to go in?” he asks.

you give him a nervous nod, as he jumps down into the pool, and you pull your shirt over your head. satoru’s waiting, eyes expectant as you look down at the water, at the ten feet depth, before looking back at him with nervousness jittering in your stomach.

“don’t you think i should start with a smaller pool?” you ask.

he shakes his head.

“i’ve got you. i won’t let anything happen.”

“you can’t just…drag me out if something happens.”

satoru rolls his eyes.

“you don’t do your research, do you?” he asks.

“hm?”

“small town college student turned gold olympic medalist. did you ever wonder how that even happened?” he asks, repeating your words from yesterday.

“oh, no. how?” you ask.

satoru smiles.

“i got scouted at my job. as a lifeguard. trust me, i’m more than equipped to help you if something happens to you.”

you sigh, eyeing the depth of the water, before looking back down at him.

“okay, just. just…don’t let me go, okay? i’m not joking when i say i don’t know how to swim.”

he gives you an encouraging smile, as you dip down into the pool, immediately feeling the weight of the water as the panic surges through you. you immediately reach forward, looping your arms around his neck and leaning forward against him, your grip death like.

you can feel his hands on your waist, his grasp firm, as he leans back, his tone quiet as he talks.

“relax.”

“no, no. i should probably get out. this is really deep, satoru.”

“y/n.”

“it’s dragging me down.” you state.

“nothing’s dragging you down. i’m right here with you, rookie.” he whispers.

“satoru.”

“y/n.”

“i can’t die before i go to the olympics!” you shout.

satoru takes a beat, before giving you a full laugh.

“you’re not going to die before you go to the olympics. you’re already here.”

you groan, pressing your forehead against his bare collarbone as you feel the tenseness wrack all over your body, before one of his wet hands comes across your cheek, pulling you back with you flesh against his chest.

“hey. this really won’t work unless you listen to me, okay?” he whispers.

“okay. okay, okay. just…just…i’m being serious. please don’t let me go until i’m ready. this entire thing will blow up in your pretty face if you do.”

satoru grins, pinching at the side of your cheek, as you glare at him.

“this entire thing?” he asks.

you want to bite your tongue.

“you know. swimming.”

“right. swimming.” he repeats.

he hums in response, but you can tell that he doesn’t believe it. satoru drops his hand from your face, hands on your waist as he looks back up at you.

“let go of me.” he responds.

“no.”

“y/n.”

“satoru, no.”

“as much as i like you holding on to me the way you are, you won’t be able to swim if you don’t let go.”

you sigh.

“you’re going to paddle your feet back and forth like i am. when you let go, do the same thing with your arms, it’ll give you more control.”

you look down at your feet, before satoru’s hand is at the bottom of your chin, guiding your gaze back up at him.

“it’s not rocket science. don’t overthink it. it helps to keep your mind on something else.” he responds.

you give him a nod as you start mimicking his motions, your legs heavy as lead, as you try to get yourself to do it.

“uh. what do you think about? when you swim?” you ask.

“porn.” he states.

“what?”

he lets out a boyish laugh and you feel your cheeks burn as you lift one of your hands to lightly smack at his shoulder.

“that wasn’t funny.” you state.

“it was a little funny.” he defends.

“you were about to live up to your reputation there.” you state.

satoru pauses, narrowed eyes, before he talks again.

“my reputation?” he asks.

you pause, regretting your last words, as you look up at him, shooting an apologetic smile as you try to backtrack.

“i didn’t mean…you know a lot of people talk and i don’t mean to offend you when i say…”

satoru smiles.

“so that’s why you’re being weird.”

“i’m not being weird.”

“can i say one thing before you continue?” he murmurs.

you sink into the embarrassment, giving him a quiet nod.

“if she says things about you that aren’t true, would you really expect her to be entirely truthful when she talks about everyone else too?” satoru asks.

you groan – noting satoru’s sweet smile as he clocks you understand what he’s saying – and knot your hands back together behind his neck.

“hey. i’m really sorry, satoru. i just thought that –”

he smiles, reaching forward to cup the side of your face again.

“no wonder you were glaring at that girl up there. i can promise you, the only reason that i get late night access to the gym is because my coach arranged it for me. i don’t even know her name.”

you groan.

“oh fuck, this is so embarrassing.”

he laughs.

“don’t worry, rookie. i’m flattered you’re so worried about it. but i’m not going anywhere.” he whispers.

“you’re not?”

he shakes his head.

“i told you i wouldn’t let go.” he states.

“i was talking about swimming.” you mumble.

“and i wasn’t.”

you smile at him – one that he fully returns back.

he finally closes the space between two of you when he drops you back off at your dorm – matching pair of chlorine soaked hair – his skin still damp from the water.

nobara and yuuji watch it through the peephole, their excited chatter behind the door pulling the two of you apart.

almost fourteen days later – of you and satoru biking through amsterdam, you teaching him how to balance on a beam, and warm kisses later – you’re filled with nervousness at the thought of the floor routine.

you can hear his voice in his head right there with yours. that you’ve got this. that you can’t overthink.

there’s a tense energy in the air the morning of the final. you and nobara head down to the gym early, a very sleepy yuuji in tow for moral support, as you start drilling through your stretches.

you note that yuuji’s not offering his moral support alone, the awkward encounter you had a week prior shockingly coming off as endearing to megumi, who sits at his side with a coffee in his hand.

you can’t help but shake the feeling that the other teams are staring as you and nobara run through your warmups, the jittery feeling in your stomach accumulating as you chalk up your hands.

you have to focus. it helps to think about something else. you’ve done this routine hundreds of times – just let the muscles take over.

“you’re going to do the original floor routine. we’ll bet on it for the teams, but we’ll scale back for the all around at the end of the week if it’s lower than the trials.” masamichi states.

you give him a non-committal nod, eyeing the bars as you walk up to the podium, jumping up as you feel for the swing of the equipment. you can see the australian gymnasts swinging through the air out of your peripheral vision, the chatter of the people talking around filling your ears as you try to focus.

“no, i don’t think she’s coming.”

“the seam of the uniform is kind of fraying at the end, i might try to change it.”

“i’m just hoping to qualify for next time, when i have more time to train.”

“i heard her and gojo do it in the pool. like all the time.”

you miss the handle on the last swing, falling face first into the floor, the group of them turning around at the loud sound. you note that there’s a small sense of relief on their face from the mishap, as you lift off the floor, dusting the chalk off of your hands.

you can feel your throat dry as you make your way over to the bench, where nobara is sitting, your mind swirling with anger. she gives you a squeeze on the shoulder in support and you note that yuuji tells you to shake it off from his place in the stands.

“they’re saying that satoru and i did it in the pool last night.” you note, miserably.

“dude. they talk. they’re trying to put you off your game. we’re not even talking about this right now. focus on the bars.” nobara responds.

you sigh, looking back at the group of them as they fly on the beams, and feel the acid rise up in your throat.

you knew that people talked. you knew that it was natural – to comment on what it was that they were seeing in the dining halls and the hallways – but it didn't make it any less fair.

“fuck them.” she states.

“i know, i’m just saying…”

“who said it?” nobara asks.

you pause, before pointing it out to her.

“she’s just jealous. you do know she’s been in interviews saying that the person she wants to meet the most is gojo, right?”

you pause.

“dude, everyone wants him. that’s not your fault. they might be slut shaming you now, but they would kill to be in your spot.” she responds.

you pause, looking at the burn on the front of your shin.

“if he doesn’t care what they say, why do you? if you see it through, all the shit they’re saying might not even matter if he’s actually worth your time. he’s happily ignoring all of it, for you, because he actually likes you. he wouldn’t be sitting there in the stands if he wasn’t.” she responds.

“sitting in the stands?” you ask.

nobara points toward the left, where you see satoru and three of his teammates sitting in the chairs, in the middle of the conversation. satoru gives you a wave now that you’ve looked over and you can’t help but walk over – noting the bright smile on his face as he starts walking over.

you didn’t realize he’d be here this early.

satoru leans over the railing, his hair dry for once as you look up at him. he reaches forward, fingers soft on your forehead, as he smiles.

“hi rookie.”

“what are you doing here?” you ask.

“big gymnastics fan.”

you give him an accusatory look.

“did you watch me eat shit just now?” you ask.

“any carpet burn?”

“the trainer will wrap it when she comes in.” you state.

he gives you a nod, reaching forward to cup the side of your face, before smiling.

“don’t overthink it.”

“i’m not.”

satoru narrows his eyes at you.

“give me a smile.”

“satoru. don’t be patronizing.”

he groans. you note that he gets more theatrical the closer you get to him. you find if funny.

“god forbid, this pretty, sweet girl smiles at me. god forbid i would want to see that.”

you roll your eyes.

“oh wait! i’ve got something to take your mind off of it.” he adds.

satoru gives you a smile, before leaning back on the railing, and unzipping the white windbreaker that he has on. you can’t help but immediately laugh, heart burning at the absolutely corny shirt that he’s wearing with your face on it.

“oh my god.”

“figured if they’re gonna talk, i might as well get all dressed up and give them something to look at, right?”

“how did you even do that?” you ask.

“maki knows a guy. had to show everyone i’m serious and rep the team.” he responds, gesturing over his shoulder.

you shoot a non-committal glance over, shooting a smile to the girl – the girl with the green hair that you’ve been talking about ever since you’ve gotten here – before you widen your eyes and pull satoru down by his wrist.

“you know the girl with the green hair?”

“uh, yeah. she’s part of one of the volleyball teams. met her at the opening ceremony. she’s a lesbian before you say anything rude.”

“idiot. i know she’s a lesbian. or well, i didn’t know that, i had a hunch. not that i assume things about people, i’m just saying that –”

“you’re rambling.” he states.

“maki is the girl that nobara eye fucks.” you whisper.

you watch as satoru clocks what you’re saying, his eyes going past your shoulder to where nobara is sitting, before he turns around and gives maki a glance.

“yeah, i’ll talk to her.” he states.

you pause.

“really?”

“yeah, yeah. worry about it after, alright?” he responds.

you can’t help but laugh, leaning forward as you press your hands to his cheeks, and close the distance between you two. satoru gives you another kiss on the cheek before you run off to share the news with nobara.

the floor final is the very last and the way the last names work out, you’re the last person up to attend. nobara wobbles on her beam and utahime misses a few points for a bad landing – meaning that your score needs to be higher than it’s ever been to get it in good shape for the team.

you all wait in silence, satoru’s hand over the railing in yours, his chin on the crown of your head, as you wait for the new score to be reflected on the screen.

utahime challenged the floor score that they gave you. because if she counted her numbers right, your score should have been 0.3 points higher – meaning that your team would be in range to medal as first.

the problem? challenging the score can get you more points. or dock them all together. you could easily go from a silver medal to nothing at all. utahime makes the executive decision to bet on it.

satoru leans down, nose pressed against your hair as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“she really challenged the score for you?” he asks.

“we are a team after all.” you mumble.

satoru nods, hands soft on your shoulder as he squeezes the tense spots.

“how much longer?” he asks.

satoru brings his hands down the railing, thumbs rubbing into the softness of your cheek as you watch the announcer walk up to the microphone, cardstock note in his hand as he reads off the note from the judges.

“i can’t listen.” you state, placing your hands over your ears, the sound half muffled and mixed with the cheers in the crowd as they start jumping behind you, nearly shaking the floor you’re standing on as you look back at satoru, blue eyes wide.

satoru leans forward, arms harsh as he hugs you hard, nearly panting in your ear as you pull back, knotting your hands behind his neck.

“what?”

“you won a fucking gold medal, dumbass. what do you mean what?” he breathes, hands shaking with anticipation as he leans forward, closing the distance between you.

you can barely process the thought as he pulls back, tucking his face into your neck, and wrapping his arms around you as yuuji wraps the flag around your shoulders, the group of them jumping in the stands.

“wait, i…”

“go get your fucking medal. come back later, nobara’s waiting.”

you can feel your legs shaking, warm tears in your eyes as nobara gestures for you to join her, hand extended out as you step off the platform.

you won the medal.

you take three steps off before running straight back up, pressing your lips to satoru’s one more time, before joining nobara on the podium. and you can’t help but beam at satoru right across the way and note the way he has his hand pressed to his heart.

satoru gojo wins five medals at the end of the week – all of which are gold – and notes that his secret to success is having a reinvigorated sense of drive in the sport.

that teaching someone the basics reminds him of why he fell in love with it in the first place.

you’re the only one who knows that he’s not talking about the swimming.

an: please be nice im rusty

taglist: @invisible-mori @porridgesblog @k0z3me @sugu-love @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg @chilichopsticks @torureadz @dreamxiing @mamamamamarga

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absolutebl · 2 months

Text

This Week in BL - The Summer Games BLgin.

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top. Those Greeks did have that reputation for naked dudes rolling around together so I'm declaring it...

BL OLYMPICS!

I'll be passing out metals in various sporting events, as part of the weekly updates through mid August, just for funzies.

July 2024 Week 4

Ongoing Series - Thai

The Rebound (Weds Gaga) eps 9-10 of 12 - I guess mass murder is nothing next to having to raise funds for your basketball club. There were a lot of water sports in these eps (no not that kind). I’m not complaining. The street BB playoffs were fun. Frank is GOOD. I didn’t know he played. They aren’t using doubles for this. Meanwhile, it’s a bummer this one can’t be a poly romance.

Winner!

Gold in Handball

for that shower scene in ep 9 (also... ya know, DUNK TANKS)

Balls in hands of all types.

Briefly must chat about that intro/outro music. It's like Thai autotuned Stray Kids. Which means I kinda adore it.

Century of Love (Weds Gaga) eps 5-6 of 10 - I guess he’s had a long time to learn how to fight really really well. This is a fun show. It does occasionally feel like a bunch of gay boys playing dress up. I LIKE P’Third a lot. I hope he doesn’t turn out to be an actual baddie. I’m finding the music a little intrusive in these episodes. I love the deconstructed suits look, and the velvet blazer. Very 90s. The confessions scene was very cute. It’s a good thing Vee is so easy-going, because the last few months of his life have been truly insane. And now he’s queen of the castle? Still working his convenience store job?

I honestly thought we'd just get kisses halfway through not a full on sex scene. But it was very sweet and tender. Appreciated, boys, thanks. However it’s never a good sign when the sex scene is it at the halfway point, it just means there’s gonna be a lot of trauma to come.

(I gotta say every time Daou smiles he actually looks his age.)

This Love Doesn't Have Long Beans (Fri iQIYI) ep 4 of 8 - I like them now. I mean as a pair of characters. I wasn’t really sold on the main couple until this episode, and now I’m interested (yes I am shallow). The boy with the glasses is definitely sus. I’m quite drunk, thus I have to say Sailub is the hottest thing on my screen right now. Metas's taste in interior design sucks. OK, that physical therapy session was sexy. I wasn’t sold at first, but now I love this side couple too.

Argh. SailubPon kiss so well. Also COUNTER LIFT!!!!

Silver in Weightlifting

Sunset X Vibes (Sat iQIYI) ep 7 of 12 - I’m the one who always says this stuff, but this pair might be the best at relationship heat. Let me try to explain. They are good at putting on screen the kind of NRE, want to bone, just really into each other physically and also connected and loving. It’s the way their bodies always arch towards each other. They’re very comfortable in each other’s space in a way that’s really rare to see out of Any BL country but Taiwan. I think they might be my favorite couple currently active. I don’t know how to put it except that

it looks like they want each other,

it looks like they like each other,

it looks like they’re into each other,

and it looks like they GET each other.

It’s nice to see on screen. The plots/stories/narratives that they're given aren’t doing them any favors, but man they’re a good pair. Meanwhile, was I screaming the whole time don’t rip the sample of the custom piece? Yes I was. But it was still sexy.

Sam getting discovered was fun! Yo is gonna burn his arse good.

My Love Mix-Up Th (Fri YT) ep 8 of 12 - Okay! Officially boyfriends. I almost like the friendship btw Atom and Mudmee better than the romances. But they all so cute.

The Trainee (Sun YouTube) ep 4 of 12 - I hate the gf intern so much. I think she is past redemption now - time for death. What is it they say about ADs? they do all the work, for none of the credit but all of the blame.

Knock Knock Boys (Thurs Gaga) ep 10 of 12 - I guess Peak’s dad really is that awful. Jane is the beard? Got it. The show got suddenly quite sweet and complex. Where did that come from? Meanwhile ,Almond + Latte + sex education is awesome. Great trope we rarely get in BL.

Love Sea (Sun iQIYI) ep 7 of 10 - Look, what’s really annoying me is that I am neither upset nor pleased with the show. I like to be driven one way or the other by Meme. Trash watch here. (delayed this week, I can't face it)

I Saw You in My Dream (Weds Gaga) ep 1-2 of 12 - Out the gate I don’t like it. I don’t really like the teasing thing and the acting is poor. That said, neck kisses in the very first episode do make me happy. So I’m gonna keep watching. As for ep 2, I like the sides, and we have gay brothers trope activated. I also like the paranormal element, it adds some much-needed tension, but it is still a little slow (typical of a pulp).

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

I Hear the Sunspot AKA Hidamari ga Kikoeru (Japan Weds Gaga) ep 6 of 10 - I like our poor lost puppy slowly figuring out what’s going on. It’s so elegantly done. Also, the the boy begs his quiet seme to SAY something, you know he’s gonna DO something instead.

I could have done wihtout the pan around the head kiss. We over that, 8 years ago.

Takara's Treasure AKA Takara No Vidro (Japan Mon Gaga) ep 4 of 10 - Why don’t I like this show? I had to think about it quite a bit. It’s the power differential. I never enjoy it when the character with less power is the one doing the pursuing, it comes off as too desperate or something. In this case he is: from the country, poor, and younger, It just makes Takara’s dismissive attitude and snobbery unpleasant to watch. Also, you know me, =/= obsessive stalker behavior.

It's airing but...

Bad Guy (Korea YT) - yeah, erm, no thank you.

4 Minutes (Thai Netflix/Grey) ep... - Great, a rich boy studying business at uni, suddenly gains the supernatural power to see four minutes into the future. I try to catch up next week.

I have a source, but I simply didn’t have time to watch it. So sorry. Too much traveling too much BL to keep up with. A perfect conflation of conflicting priorities.

Meet You at the Blossom (China) - it's your funeral (or, more likely, one of the main characters'). You can argue but... statistics. You know my feelings on this matter. MY BLOG, remember?

64.media.tumblr.com

In case you missed it

The Time of Fever AKA Unintentional Love Story 2 (Korea movie) trailer IS COMING IN SEPTEMBER!!!!

Next Week Looks Like This:

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

Coming Up Next!

7/29 Battle of the Writers (Thai ????) - trailer here, TutorYim return, and while I adore them, I really hope this is better than Middleman's Love. Won't be hard. However: the premise? Ugh. Something something authors fighting - save me. Why don't writers understand that nothing is more boring than writers?

8/4 Sugar Dog Life (Japan Sun ????) 10 eps - OMG a uni student who looks too young and a... COP. GAH. The subversion and kink of it all. Please Gaga pick this one up? They made it for US.

8/7 Cosmetic Playlover (Japan Weds ????) 8 eps - office romance around the makeup counter featuring a younger seme and sex by blackmail. I am intrigued. DFTUJ (don't fuck this up, Japan).

8/8 Monster Next Door (Thai Thurs WeTV ) 12 eps - I am so DAMN excited to see Big finally lead a BL. I can't even with this, one of my most anticipated of this year. He's a great kisser ya'll, he's kissed a lot of boys as second lead. I can't WAIT.

8/12 First Note Of Love (Taiwan Mon Gaga) 12 eps - About a singer with stage fright and his timid fan stars Charles (H4 the puppy one) and Michael Chang (the youngster in My Tooth Your Love), plus side couple featuring a Thai actor Jame (Koh in Gen Y) and Liu Min Ting (of Guardian fame). What a damn tean. I can't wait. With thier powers combined!

8/16 The Last Time (Thai Fri YT) ? eps - Convoluted story of loss and possible reincarnation or something.

8/22 The Paradise of Thorns (Thai movie) theater release - Jeff Satur is back but this does not look like a BL (the gay lover's death is the inciting event). More in Goodbye Mother vein. Looks dark and dramatic. He opposite and extremely well known actor Toey Pongsakorn who has never done gay before.

Addicted Heroin (Thailand adaptation) is also supposed to release this month. GIVE IT TOO MEEEEEE. I don't care about anything else but August back on my screen. It's been almost a decade since he did BL.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

This week's adventures in caption "out of" and "off" are not the same thing. This is an uncomfortable thought.

I'm so tired I'm seeing double. This is all you get.

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are a pain.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

Sigh, Tumblr in it's infinite wisdom doesn't like too many tags.

Sports in Play (the jokes write themselves) )

Boxing

Breaking

(That's Not) Cricket

Diving (yes, for that)

Fencing (yes, with those)

Handball (exactly what it says, no, read the word.. again)

Rhythmic Gymnastics (obvs)

Squash (snicker)

Surfing

Swimming

Trampoline

Weightlifting

Wrestling

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shadow4-1 · 5 months

Note

continuation of the medic imagine please oh my goddd it was amazing 😭😭

lil panicked medic reader sobbing cus she couldn't save one of the 141 members; reliving the entire situation with her mentor all over again

Haha that imagine is honestly my baby.

I've worked on it for weeks to get the feelings right, and I'm glad I got it across. I'd love to write a second part but we'll see. Whumpy ficlets take a lot out of me emotionally (I also work in a very emotionally taxing profession - so I need to pace myself).

Now, I would LOVE to start a feral!medic series where I delve into what it would be like to deal with the constant anxiety/stress of dealing with these knuckleheads and their pain olympics.

Ngl, tho a lot of my more "intense" stories ideas are on hold for the next couple of weeks because of finals. I've still got a lot more lewd, funny stuff already ready to go though!

So please, bear with me in the meantime :)

#call of duty #cod imagines #mw2 #mw2 headcanons #simon ghost riley #cod mwii #john soap mactavish #captain price #shadow talks #kyle gaz garrick

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magics-neptunes-things · 30 days

Text

The City (One Love 10)

Hi guys :)

I haven't post since forever and I'm sorry. I started to work again and my brain wouldn't let me write. I didn't want to force me to write, so you had to wait a little bit.

Here is a new chapter for the serie "One Love" but you totally can read it without having read the others.

Also the title is because I was listening to Ed Sheeran while writing it.

Please enjoy ♥

As soon as they arrive in London, Lucy takes the lead about everything. She drags Ona through the airport to take their suitcases easily and find them quickly a cab to go to her apartment. The sight of it isn’t new for Ona, she already came here since Lucy lives here. Lucy never came back to Barcelona for now and she really looks to be able to do it soon.

But Ona has ten days of recovery offered by Barcelona, where Lucy doesn’t. She has training with Chelsea starting very soon and they both decided that Ona would come here to pass time with her girlfriend when she will have finished her training. They happened during the morning, that let them all the rest of the day to enjoy things together. And like that, Ona will be able to sleep in during the mornings.

Lucy laughs when Ona let herself fall on her stomach on the couch the second they enter the apartment, rolling her eyes playfully.

“You slept during almost all the flight and dozens of in the cab, Bonita. Aren’t you a little bit dramatic here?”

Ona grumbles something in Catalan for any answer, making Lucy’s smile wider. She loves to see the frame of the Spaniard in her apartment, even if it’s not ideal, it’s kind of remembered her the first days of their relationship. Ona coming discreetly in Barcelona and herself coming in Manchester. Less discreetly though, because she literally got caught on television while watching Ona playing with Manchester United.

Ona having only clean clothes in her suitcases, Lucy drags them to her bedroom before joining Ona on the couch. Sitting near her hips, she slowly strokes her hair. She was joking earlier, but she never seen her girlfriend as tired as she is right now.

“Would you like to sleep one hour before going to the restaurant? Or we can order in and go outside after if you don’t feel like going out” she proposes with consideration.

But Ona rolls as much as she can on her side, finishing with her back pressed against Lucy.

“No, I will have plenty of time to sleep when you’re not here. But would you mind if I take a shower before?”

“Not if I have the right to come with you” Lucy smirks back.

Several hours after, they are going out of the restaurant Lucy reserved for them. Ona has never been a big fan of the English gastronomy (apart from the Sunday Roast of her mother-in-law), but she has to admit that the meat pie she just ate was pretty amazing.

“Oh look, e-bikes” Ona points suddenly.

Lucy smiles softly, remembering how much Ona loves to use them near the beaches in Barcelona. Still, she wasn’t expecting the gaze full of hope from her girlfriend when she looks at her.

“Do you want to use them?” Lucy asks slowly.

“Yes?”

Ona was frowning, not understanding the surprise easily visible on her girlfriend’s face. They have made a lot of strolls with them in Barcelona and as far as she knows, Lucy loves it too.

“You just come out of weeks of training for the Olympics, and you want to ride a bike?” Lucy explains her point of view with a smile.

“Oh” Ona realizes, before smiling and shrugging. “Yes, if you don’t mind. I still need to stay in shape”

“You are very in shape, don’t worry” Lucy smirks cockily.

It makes Ona laughs, and she rolls her eyes before hitting Lucy playfully on her arm.

“Alright Lucy Bronze, get us two of those and we can flirt all you want while we pedal, yes?”

Being the one living here, Lucy takes the lead once again, taking Ona through London. Maybe not on the places full of tourists, even if they passed next the Tamise or other places like this. Ona takes advantage of their stroll to take so picture of her girlfriend. She even posts some of them when they are back home, Ona comfortably cuddling in Lucy’s arms.

“What are we doing tomorrow?” Ona yawns after having put her phone somewhere between two cushions.

“Well tomorrow morning I have training so you can sleep until I come to wake you up. Then I organized a creative activity, if you are up too.”

“What kind?” Ona asks with curiosity.

She seats a little more next to Lucy to have a better look at her. She never has been good with surprises, loving to know what will happen. She likes organizing them, though.

“You’ll see, Señorita Batlle. And while you are here, you will have a lot of surprises so you must learn to enjoy them”

Lucy giggles when she sees the pout on Ona’s face, who is however quickly erased when she kisses her.

“Let me take care of you, yes?” she whispers against her lips.

Ona hums, but she’s not sure about what anymore. She missed her girlfriend, but her girlfriend touch too and she might be more interested in Lucy than in the film in the TV.

Two days later, Lucy comes back home after training to find only silence. Yesterday, Ona was up when she came back but it looks like today it’s not the case. The living room is exactly like she let it before leaving this morning. She doesn’t mind though, and she happily take the direction of her bedroom.

She finds Ona dead asleep in her bed, her face hidden between her cushion and her messy hair. The sight makes her smile, and she use all of her discretion to crawls under the sheets without waking Ona.

The Spaniard still stirs when she feels Lucy passing her arms around her waist and kiss lovingly her jaw.

“Bon dia Bonita” Lucy whispers before kissing her again.

Ona mumbles something that Lucy doesn’t understand, she even wouldn’t be able to recognize the language Ona used. But she lets Ona turn in her arms and hides her face in her neck.

“Did you sleep well?” Lucy asks after several minutes.

“Better when you were here” Ona answers.

Lucy smiles one more time and strokes Ona’s hair softly, letting the younger one waking up slowly. Her gaze stops on the painted bears they made yesterday, standing proudly on the dresser in her room, next to one picture of her and Ona.

“What are we doing today?” Ona asks.

“Nice try” Lucy smirks before kissing her. “First you can go take a shower while I cook us something. Then we will go out”

“No, first cuddles” Ona decides.

Lucy obliges with pleasure, making the Spaniard laughs when she rolls on her, crushing her deliberately in the process.

“Lucy I can’t breathe” Ona managed to say still laughing, despite the attack of kisses that Lucy lays all over her face.

Lucy puts a last kiss on Ona’s nose with a noisy “Muah” before sitting on the bed. She feels her heart fluttered when she looks at her girlfriend, lying on her back in her white sheets with her hair spread all around her head.

“How can you be so beautiful?” Lucy sighs softly.

Ona rolls her eyes when Lucy strokes her cheek, but then Lucy slaps playfully her nose. They kiss for some minutes again, before Ona eventually gets out of the bed to go on the shower. Lucy takes advantage of it to make the bed and then go to the kitchen, making a brunch for both of them.

She pulls the bacon out of the pan when Ona joins her, getting on her tiptoes from behind to be able to kiss her neck. Lucy smiles before turning in her arms, not even mentioning the fact that Ona is literally wearing on of her shirt. To be fair, she’s actually wearing herself a white shirt who is at Ona, that Ona was wearing on a picture she posted on Instagram several days before.

“That smells good” Ona smiles, looking with at the food with appetite.

“With some luck it will taste good too”

Ona grabs the drink while Lucy takes their plate to eat on the balcony of the apartment. At London Lucy might have more trouble to be on it unless it’s during the Summer, but she wanted to have a balcony anyway. Lucy sits as close from Ona as possible, their chair glued to each other.

As always, the small talk is great, funny and interesting. After the breakfast they both clean the kitchen and the dishes before getting ready to leave the apartment. Ona still don’t know where they are going, but she follows happily Lucy to her car. Even if she almost sits on the wrong seat, the conductor being on the other side in England.

“How was training?” Ona asks during the trip.

“Pretty great. They made me answer some questions, I have to lie about one thing” she rolls her eyes.

“About what?”

“They asked me who is the last person I called. It was you obviously, but I answer my mom.”

Ona snorts at that, rolling her eyes before looking by the windows. They decided to be less secretive about their relationship, but she will probably answer the same thing if Barcelona ask her the same question in several days.

“You aren’t mad, are you?” Lucy asks nervously after realizing that Ona stayed silence after that.

“Of course not” Ona smiles softly, stroking Lucy’s neck with her fingers.

It makes Lucy shiver and Ona smiles. The Spaniard decides to continue to play with Lucy’s hair here while they start to talk again about something else. A little while after, they arrive in front of a building, and it would be hard for Ona not to understand what they will do.

“Golf?” she asks, arching an eyebrow. “I know we didn’t know each other at that time, but haven’t you seen videos of me playing golf before?”

“I did” Lucy chuckles before getting out of her car. “But I’m sure you will be great with a good instructor.”

Ona hums, not really believing it. But if playing golf makes Lucy happy, she will play golf. Ona grabs Lucy’s arm while they go to the reception, taking the reservation Lucy made several days before, when she prepared everything.

She lets Lucy talk with the woman behind the desk, looking with distraction at her, just to be sure that she won’t be hitting on the English woman. But she doesn’t and several minutes later they are going to one of the booths with thousands of balls and several golf clubs.

“Come on, show me what you can do” Lucy smirks.

Not being the one to take offense, Ona smiles and rolls her eyes once again before choosing a ball and a club. She then puts herself on position, looking the different targets on the green. Taking a big breath, she closes her eyes when the club hits the balls.

A metallic sound makes her understand that her ball didn’t go far, but Lucy’s laughs could have made her understand alone. When she turns in her girlfriend’s direction, the brunette was taking a picture of her.

“Stop making fun of me” Ona smiles. “Where’s my instructor anyway?”

“You are looking at her right now, Princesa” Lucy rolls her eyes while coming closer to Ona. “Like I was going to pay to watch someone putting their hands on you. Now, behave.”

Ona smiles, always amazed to see that her girlfriend might be jealous about her. She willingly let Lucy puts her in the position she wants, smirking when she feels almost all of Lucy’s front pressing against her back.

“Is it really professional, miss Bronze?” she teases.

“Mh, probably not” Lucy smirks before kissing Ona just behind her ear.

Ona smiles too, turning slightly her face to look at her. She could feel Lucy’s breath on her skin like this.

“Behave I said” Lucy smiles, turning softly Ona’s face on the right direction.

Ona smiles and let her girlfriend do once again. She listens with attention when Lucy gives her some advice about how to hold her club, trying to mimic her moves. She presses herself a little more against Lucy, unable to resist at her envy. Of course, Lucy feels it and she bites her neck softly, making Ona gasp.

“You’re such a tease” Lucy smiles against her skin.

“Not my fault if the instructor is hot as hell” Ona smirks.

Her smile gets wider when Lucy kisses her right where she had bite her, before releasing her. Lucy misses Ona’s body against her almost immediately, but they are in public, and she really wants Ona to be able to send this ball on the other side of London.

“Come on, make me proud”

Just to tease Lucy, Ona bows her ass a little more than necessary. She doesn’t have to look back to know that Lucy’s eyes are probably glued to it, before taking all of her concentration to hit the ball the right way. Lucy told her not to close her eyes so she lets them open and just like that she’s able to see that her ball fly way away than before.

“Vamos!”

Ona raises her fist with a big smile, before turning to Lucy, who smiles at her with a mix of pride and fun. The older one comes closer to Ona, careful to the club.

“Told you” Lucy smiles at Ona before kissing softly her cheek.

Ona hums happily before she hands out the club to Lucy who doesn’t hesitate before she takes it. And when Ona is fully allowed to check her girl out when she prepares herself to shoot, she tells herself that golf isn’t actually that bad.

“Lucy”

There is a moment of silence.

“Lucia”

Lucy groans and stirs in her bed, before rolling on Ona, preventing her from making the slightest gesture. But the Spaniard just laugh, stroking Lucy’s naked back with her fingers.

“You’re going to be late for training” Ona whispers.

“Don’t have training” Lucy grumbles, her head hidden in Ona’s hair and neck.

“You didn’t tell me” Ona frowns.

“Surprise. Now sleep.”

Almost two hours later, it’s Lucy who wakes Ona up with tender stroke in her face. She’s actually tracing her freckles together and kiss the corner of Ona’s mouth when she realizes that the Spaniard is awake.

“Hola Princesa. Time to wake up.”

Ona sighs and stirs in the sheets, and she wonder if she already felt so comfortable and warm.

“Why aren’t you naked anymore?” Ona frowns when she realizes.

“Because I went to take some pastries, couldn’t do it undress, could I?”

Ona groans possessively at that. It makes Lucy smiles, and she kisses her softly, her thumb still caressing her jaw softly.

“We will need to eat and drink on the car though, we have to leave in thirty minutes” she adds, looking at her watch.

“Where are we going?” Ona asks with interest.

“Somewhere where you will be able to relax entirely” Lucy answers, taking Ona’s hand to make her sit on the bed.

“I’m totally relax now, just like I was last n…”

Ona begins before Lucy puts her finger on her lips to makes her quiet.

“No talk about sex otherwise we will need to start again, and we don’t have time for that now”

She smiles in front of Ona smirks but still gets up to grab a sport bag in her cupboard and leave the room.

“Twenty-eight minutes, Bonita.”

Twenty-four minutes later, they are in Lucy’s car, Ona freshly showered even if Lucy told her that it wasn’t necessary. She still wanted to feel fresh and comfortable. She’s drinking her coffee, trying to guess where they are going. Lucy’s Spotify being wracked with Spanish songs, they have Rosalia singing in the background.

“When will we be able to see each other again, after that?” Lucy asks softly.

She wanted to let that question for later, not wanting to kill the mood of the day. But the question is still in her mind pretty much all the time.

“I don’t know” Ona sighs softly. “We have our games almost always the same days. I won’t be able to watch you play often…”

“Well at least it means that we will have two days free at the same time” Lucy shrugs.

She was right. Ona nods softly, trying to remember the planning of their games. It hasn’t been posted online officially, but the team already have it.

“I will come to Barcelona next time, if that’s ok for you?”

“Of course it is” Ona smiles. “I miss having you there”

Lucy smiles softly at that. She hasn’t left since a very long time, the season hasn’t even started yet. But she understands very much what Ona means. She loves London, but she would have preferred to stay in Barcelona. They badly couldn’t assure her what she needed so here she was, but she’s longing to live with Ona again.

They arrive soon after at the right place, Ona looking around with a little smile.

“A Spa?”

“A Spa Day for my very talented and very tired girlfriend, who needs to be taken care of” Lucy confirms before stopping the car.

“I’m already very well taken care of, thanks to you” Ona smiles.

Lucy smiles back and leans between the two seats to steal a kiss. Ona seems indeed very much relaxed and rested than when she arrived at London several days before. But it was in Lucy’s plans, and she doesn’t have training today so they will have all day to enjoy it together.

Lucy passes her arm around Ona’s shoulder to take her in the main building, taking their bathrobes and everything they will need during their time here. It was during the week so not a lot of people are here, which is pretty enjoyable.

They start with the hot swimming pool before going to the massage Lucy asked for. Then, both of their stomachs start to groan, and they decided to go to eat something in the restaurant of the place.

“Thanks for all you organized during my stay” Ona says, above her burrata salad.

“It was the least I can do, Bonita. You really need to rest, or you will end up injuring. I can say it now, but I really was concerned about you.”

“I know”

Ona sighs softly, playing with a piece of tomato and her fork. She didn’t say everything to Lucy because she knows that the older one was already worried. She didn’t want to worry her even more.

“The hardest was to be mentally tired” Ona adds softly without looking at her girlfriend. “I felt like we weren’t considered at all. I don’t understand why the staff wanted to try new things every time and not going for things we know would have worked.”

Lucy hums only. She has a lot of ideas about it, but it’s maybe better for now not to add fuel to the fire. Ona is out of it for now and Lucy really hopes that Montse Tome will leave soon for someone better.

“Maybe when you will stop playing, you can become Spain’s coach” Ona says suddenly.

Lucy almost chokes on her food.

“I’m pretty sure Leah would ask for my name to be erased from all the cups and wins we’ve won since I’ve played” Lucy rolls her eyes.

Ona smirks, thoughtfully chewing her food. She never really met Leah, the last time she saw her was on a pitch and it was when she did her ACL. And for the coaching, she was joking, of course. Lucy isn’t really interested in becoming a coach after her career, she knows it. Plus, she’s not sure that the coach is allowed to have a relationship with one of her players.

When they finish their meal, Lucy proposed to Ona to go for a jacuzzi. They have the possibility to have a private room with one in it, as long as one is still free. Luck seems to be on their side because they managed to find one who is empty. Lucy steel pouts when she sees that they have a view on the swimming pool.

“They were some of them with the view on the park” she explains.

But Ona doesn’t seem to mind, shrugging before taking her bathrobe off. A smile had been on her face all day, much for Lucy’s pleasure. Ona’s smile is definitively one of her weak spots.

Well, Ona is her weak spot, she thinks when she sees her girlfriend coming closer to her before passing her arms around her neck.

“It’s perfect like this. With you next to me, I have the most perfect view anyway”

Lucy can only smile too, kissing her girl softly. That day is perfect, but just like the entire stay of Ona. They both know they will need to say goodbye to each other in several days, but everything is perfect for now and they couldn’t ask for more.

#woso imagine #woso fanfics #ona batlle #ona batlle imagine #lucy bronze #ona batlle x lucy bronze #lucy and ona #lucy bronze imagine #lucy bronze x ona batlle

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chatsukimi · 6 months

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STREETRACER!TOJI x WEALTHY!READER ('my mother's blind in one eye and she can drift better than that') ⤷ genre: sfw, fluff ⤷ tropes: reader's bf is a btch, passengerprincess!reader, trustfund!toji, caring!toji, highschool!toji, jealous!toji ⤷ series (jjk men as athletes)

STREETRACER!TOJI who skips school to street-race. you've had an eye on him ever since testing reaction times in Physical Education class, introducing him to drift back in sophomore year. he was a natural.

STREETRACER!TOJI whose life revolves around the illegal sport, catching on so swiftly soon you buy him his first car. you tell him he gets to keep it if he can win in the races.

you're half convinced he'll call you one day to tell you your baby's on fire... literal fire. but he never does- it seems he respects the trust you put in him. and he wins on your bets, so you don't question it.

STREETRACER!TOJI who's always pawing for your colourful gambling tickets (his name purchased first) and you're always removing them from his sight: beggars can't be choosers.

whatever. he never wanted to befriend the rich kid anyways.

STREETRACER!TOJI who tells you to go away right before the competition when you come to check up on him. 'you're distracting me. where's your prissy prince?' when you look at your boyfriend in the stands, he scoffs.

STREETRACER!TOJI who narrows his eyes as your boyfriend slides into the driver's seat of the car you gave him, the car with which he won the race, and begins to drive around like a little kid. no technique whatsoever. he is suddenly reminded of a scene from the movie Tokyo Drift you once forced him to watch at the beginning of showing him cars: 'my mother's blind in one eye and she can drift better than that.'

well isn’t that the perfect descriptor for your boyfriend.

STREETRACER!TOJI who doesn't speak to you for a week after he notices a scratch on the car. he's in cold disbelief. one, that you would ever let an idiot close to a fine car like that. two, that you would trust that idiot to lead you around in a relationship.

i mean, seriously, how can a guy who parks for fifteen minutes and still crosses the line pick out what you want as a gift? how can a loser ever make you happy? he'll drive you carsick. toji's not sure how you haven't gotten so already.

STREETRACER!TOJI whose heart definitely does not flutter when he sees the dinner you’ve eft beside the vehicle after a race. you've left a note too: i know you're mad about the scratch, but congrats on the win. you drove really well. i've left a share of the cash in the centre console.

when he shows up in class the next day, he doesn't return your smile. instead, he stalks all the way up to your desk, silencing the rest of the class as he drags a chair to sit down next to you.

'i thought you didn't wanna associate with me at school?'

he shrugs. 'changed my mind.'

STREETRACER!TOJI who, when your boyfriend ditches last minute from taking you back to your countryside townhouse, shows up within ten minutes of you calling him up. he arrives. running.

you start to wonder if you should've introduced him to track and field and made a new Olympic gold medallist instead.

STREETRACER!TOJI who observes the v12 aston martin, cocking his head to the side.

you admit quietly, 'i... don't know how to drive' and he sighs, pushes you to the side, enters the driver's seat, then looks at you with an impatient stare.

'what are you waiting for? get in.'

you hastily enter the passenger seat, trying to unglue your gaze from the thickness of his arm around your steering wheel, the ease of his large stature adjusting the seat to fit, exhaling slightly when it works.

'trust fund baby,' you hear him mutter.

'hey!' you speak before you realise it. 'you're also my trust fund baby.'

his eyebrows shoot up, dark stare piercing the side of your face. what did you say? you bite your lip and prays for the seat to swallow you up. why did you say that? you feel him shift in his seat, inching closer until both his hands cage your smaller frame.

'say that again..'

STREETRACER!TOJI who drives you home all night, no breaks. you listen to music and watch the stars above the dark countryside trundling past. as the scene becomes monotonous, your eyelids slowly droops close.

toji notices, immediately speeding down by the side of the highway. he walks around the side of the car, opens the door, removes his leather jacket and gently places it over your sleeping figure. his breath almost hitches when you stir.

a tiny voice in his head yelps, whipped.

it's not even his own jacket. you bought him it as celebration for his first victory and he hasn't gone a week without it since.

STREETRACER!TOJI who carefully withdraws your phone from your pocket at the end of the trip, pressing a couple digits, raising it to his ear to leave a voicemail.

'hey,' he says, 'you're the guy who can't drive, right?' any sane person knows to never insult a guy's driving skills. toji pats the hood of the car as he speaks. guess he’s not so sane then. 'now i gotta say, i'm just looking out for you, yeah? stay away from my girl. she too expensive for you.'

STREETRACER!TOJI who dreams of a day he spoils you. a day when your bets on him come to fruition, when he can say with full certainty, 'bet on me, baby. put all your trust on me'

(extra: 'did you compare me to a car??' you listen to the voicemail toji sent to your ex. toji winces. 'had to get the point across. he can't be crashing and burning shit he didn't pay insurance for.' you cross your arms. 'and how are you sure you won't drive this thing off a cliff?' 'oh baby, cause i tokyo drift')

#toji x reader #toji x you #toji fushiguro #toji fluff #jjk #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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miraclewoozi · 6 months

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HIGH FIDELITY, PT 1. -c.hs

getting back on the horse is hard, and failing to hit it off with the cute gamer guy you went for a drink with last night has the potential to be your love life’s last straw. but when up and coming rockstar VERNON unexpectedly canters into your life, you find yourself asking one very important question: do you have it in you to saddle up, one more time?

pair ; vernon x fem!reader. content ; strangers to lovers. up-and-coming musician!vernon x record store owner!reader. fluff, angst, parts two and three will contain suggestive themes and smut. (MINORS DNI). warnings ; drinking + alcohol is a big theme pretty much throughout. mentions of past relationship breakdowns. reader experiences a lot of stress, anxiety and feelings of doubt, reflected in self sabotage. wc ; 13.5k ( ~35k total. ) disclaimer ; this fic was inspired by rob + liam in the series high fidelity and is therefore pretty influenced by the show. if you’ve watched it, you’ll probably see a lot of similarities! i just felt so drawn to vernon in this kind of role that i really wanted to try and put a spin on it. i do not claim that every idea behind this is original. notes ; been working on this one for a while. hope you enjoy it.<3

“What do you mean, no?”

Your best friend and longest standing employee Seungkwan turns his head away from the customer he’s serving to look at you with filth in his eyes. Unsurprisingly, his features don’t soften when you double down on your response to him.

“I mean, no,” you laugh. “I’m running on fumes, dude. I’m not going. No way.”

“But…” he whines, putting down the record in his hands. “No, come on. I told you about this weeks ago. You’re really gonna make me go on my own?”

“You won’t be on your own. Chan’s still going.”

Your younger friend, upon hearing his own name, whirls around from where he’s been rearranging the wall of cassettes and lifts an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

“You’re still going to that guy’s show tonight, right?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I am. Why?” Chan eyeballs your guilt-adjacent expression for a second before his face falls and he looks at Seungkwan with a curled lip. “What did you do? Why’s she not coming anymore?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Seungkwan barks. The customer he’s still not finished ringing up flinches at the lift in his voice, but he doesn’t notice. “Why is that always your first–”

“Shut up, don’t start this right n–”

“I’m not starting anything! You started–”

“Guys!” You interrupt, looking between the two of them and doing your best to smile apologetically at the poor lady fumbling through the cash in her fingers like it’s an Olympic sport. “Can we park this one? For five minutes? Please?”

The bickering pair fall quickly into silence and Chan sends one last glare at Seungkwan before he turns back to the cassettes, grumbling something under his breath.

With a clearing of his throat the only giveaway, Seungkwan drops seamlessly back into his customer service voice and plasters a charming smile onto his lips. He checks the register and warmly tells the young woman her total, holding out his palm for her to place the money into. Even knowing him as well as you do, the switch-up gives you a little bit of whiplash.

The customer passes over her cash and accepts her change from Seungkwan’s hands before making perhaps the swiftest exit you’ve ever seen anyone make. No sooner has the bell above the entry to OFF BEAT Vinyl rung and the door has clicked shut, the two men turn once again.

But not on each other.

On you. And it’s the more gentle of them that pipes up first.

“Why aren’t you coming?” Chan asks, abandoning his little project and hurrying over to the desk with a frown. You’re sure it’s supposed to look sympathetic to whatever issue it is that’s changed your mind, supposed to fool you into believing that this has nothing to do with him still blaming Seungkwan entirely. But… you know him better than that. You know them both better. If Chan and Seungkwan weren’t both employed by you, you don’t doubt that they would have ripped each other to shreds within the first hour of meeting. Their dynamic is fascinating to watch — one minute, the best of friends, the next just seconds away from throwing fists; you’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve had to send them to different rooms to avoid having to clean blood and tears off your shop (and sometimes your apartment) floor.

“I didn’t sleep so well last night, I just want to go to bed early. Is that… okay?”

(This is an embellishment of the truth, but what they don’t know can’t hurt them.)

“No,” they both exclaim at the same time, but Seungkwan goes one step further and slams his hands down on the counter for good measure. You purse your lips and narrow your eyes at him, but he keeps his palms flat and doesn’t give any indication that he’s about to apologise, so…

“Okay — God.” You turn away from them, heading towards the little office out the back of the store to try and get a few minutes’ respite. “Whatever. Fight with the wall, you guys – I’m not going. Check in with me before you head out, okay?”

Behind you, Seungkwan dramatically calls you a traitor and says he’ll never forgive you for this, but you just shake your head and continue on your way. The world falls into silence as you shut the door after yourself and you lean back against it, letting out a deep exhale and pinching the bridge of your nose.

Now, you did have an awful night’s sleep last night, and after how on-and-off busy the store has been all day today, the headache you woke up with this morning has only slowly gotten worse. But there are reasons for those things outside of what you’re going to admit to out in the main storefront. As close as the three of you are, there are some things that you’ve always thought it wise to keep… a little bit hushed. Especially at work.

When Chan and Seungkwan start an inquisition into your private life, it feels like it may never end. And so sue you, you’d actually like to make it home at a reasonable time, today.

True to your parting request, the two men close down the store for you while you sit out the back in your ‘office’, lights dimmed, pouring over both a new store playlist you’re trying to compile and a few less exciting — but actually important — tasks. Chan heads out first, all puppy-dog eyed when he pokes his head through the door and asking if you’re really not coming out. You shake your head, telling him to have fun and tell you all about it on Monday when he’s next penned in.

Seungkwan is slightly less easily brushed away. A few minutes after Chan says his final goodbye, your other employee slides into your office and shuts the door, sitting down in the armchair opposite you with his eyebrows scrunched together.

He doesn’t speak for almost a full thirty seconds, at which point, you look up at him from the small mountain of receipts you’re trying to organise and click your tongue.

“What?” you ask, leaning back in your own chair and crossing your arms. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You know why.” Seungkwan shifts forward on the cushion until he’s sat almost entirely on the edge of the seat. “You might think you’re really good at hiding your shit, okay? But you’re not. Not from me.”

“Please,” you sigh. “It’s nothing. I’m telling you, I’m just tired today.”

“And I’m telling you that I know you better than that. Come on, talk to me.”

This is, unfortunately, something you can’t deny. It also seems to be his unfailing last line of defence every single time you’re stubborn over discussing your problems. One of these days, you’ll be ready for it — you’ll have a response sitting on the tip of your tongue ready to shut the conversation down, and he’ll be the one on the spot, and you’ll treat yourself to a pint of ice cream or something when you get home as a victory snack. But today? Isn’t that day; Seungkwan stumps you, once again, so you groan in defeat, cradling your head in your hands.

“I went on a date last night,” you say under your breath.

“What?”

Clearing your throat, you look up at him. You say, louder, “I went on a date last night.”

His eyes blow wide and if he could get any closer to you without actually sitting on top of your coffee-stained worktop, you think he would. Which is strange, if you really let yourself think about it, because Seungkwan is sort of an ex-thing, and talking so openly to someone who has quite literally been inside you about going out with other people… shouldn’t come as easily as it does.

But that was quite some time ago, and for three long months, you drove each other nuts. The two of you are way better off as friends. (Whether you’re better as colleagues is still up for review.)

“You what?” he whisper-shouts. It feels almost like he’s hinting to an invisible audience that this piece of information is extremely scandalous: all wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Which would be fine, except it’s not really that scandalous at all, and neither should it be a surprise: you’re single, you have been for a while, and you have an entire sub-folder in your phone dedicated solely to dating apps — you’re at perfect liberty to go out with whoever you like. You just continue to stare at him, refusing to repeat yourself for a third time.

“You haven’t even been home, have you?” Seungkwan asks after letting the dust settle, the silence just on the brink of uncomfortable. “Oh my God. Tell me everything.”

“Shut up,” you groan. “His name’s Wonwoo. I met him on Hinge. And fuck you – yes, I went back to my own place.”

You pause for a second, taking a breath when his features cloud with the question he’s about to ask.

“It’s just-... so did he.”

Seungkwan leaps to his feet and claps loud enough that your already tender eardrums feel assaulted, adding an ‘I knew it!’ for good measure. You cringe at his volume, rubbing your temples – you should’ve known telling him this wouldn’t calm him down, but a small part of you was still hoping. This time, he actually does circle around the desk, carelessly shoving a few bits of paper out of his way before sitting on the newly cleared wood.

“Had you up all night, didn’t he?” Seungkwan asks. You shove his thigh, looking away from him, embarrassed. “What was the date?”

You just wish it was the kind of embarrassment that he thinks you’re feeling. Flustered, shy, giddy even. But it’s not any of those things.

“If I tell you, will you please turn it down a notch?” You ask, and Seungkwan nods, giddily kicking his legs over the side of the desk. With a sigh, you continue. “We just went for a drink. It wasn’t special, okay? It was bad. We had nothing to talk about, he was awkward, I didn’t even wanna be there – I took a bathroom break after like… a half hour, and I tried to bail but I’d left my phone on the table so I had to go back.”

“And how did that end up with him in your panties?” Seungkwan asks, thankfully a little quieter when he speaks this time.

“Do not talk about my panties out loud ever again,” you grunt, drumming your fingertips on the arm of your office chair. You give a dejected sigh as you answer him properly. “I guess… It felt like a sign that I was trying to give up too early. So I stayed a little longer, told him the truth about how I was feeling. I don’t know, maybe it took the pressure off or something? But we got talking a little more, we found some stuff we had in common… It just got easier and he started cracking a few jokes, so…”

“So… he laughed his way into your—?”

“He doesn’t drink alcohol,” you interject slowly, narrowing your eyes. “I asked him if he minded driving me home.”

“You devil,” Seungkwan grins, lightly prodding your calf with the side of his foot. “Was he good? Was it big?”

“Seungkwan!”

“Did he make you–”

“He was gone this morning when I woke up.”

Your friend doesn’t say ‘oh, shit’ out loud, but he doesn’t have to. The silence he suddenly falls into speaks for itself, his newly adopted slack-jawed expression the exclamation mark at the end of his unspoken sentence.

“Always the fucking ‘nice’ guys.” You push up from your desk and start to gather your things, shutting off your computer and grabbing your phone off the desk. You’re over it – you can deal with all this tomorrow.

Seungkwan hops down, biting the inside of his cheek as you pull your keys out of the pocket of your jeans. “Come with us tonight,” he tries one more time, laying a hand on your shoulder and sounding the kind of gentle that makes your skin itch. You swerve out from beneath his palm, shaking your head at him again. “Maybe it’ll take your mind off it.”

“I don’t need my mind taking off anything,” you insist softly. “I’m fine, I just don’t feel like going out. Gonna order in some food and get my ass to bed. Okay?”

Knowing he’s fighting a losing battle, your best friend finally stops pressing. He circles around you and flicks on the overnight alarm, letting you lead your way out of the office and then through the front of the store. He helps you pull the shutter down and tests the lock for you, as he so often does, before he holds both of his arms out in front of him. With a resigned roll of your eyes, you walk into his embrace for a couple of seconds.

“I’m okay, Seungkwan. Go without me. Have fun and let me know if this Vernon guy is any good, okay?”

“We’ll miss you,” he says as you pull away, and you clap him on the upper arm once before turning away, slipping your headphones on over your ears.

What you neglected to inform Seungkwan, even after allowing yourself those rare few moments of vulnerability, is who you bumped into on your way to the bar where you met Wonwoo last night. The encounter that set the tone in the first place. The reason you were so cold with the stranger who sat across from you in the booth, the reason you tried to bail, and two-thirds of the reason you’ve felt so damn out of it all day. That’s a story for another time, you tell yourself on your walk home. Maybe.

But… then again. Maybe not.

You’ve been marinating on your couch in a pair of sweatpants and a crisis hoodie for at least two hours and are currently on your second bowl of evening cereal when you hear a knock on your apartment door. You purse your lips and set the spoon back down inside the milky sludge, but you don’t set your ‘dinner’ to one side just yet. It’s probably just the old lady next door, asking if you’ve seen her cat, Houdini (you can’t help but feel like she was asking for trouble giving him a name like that) (in any case — no, you haven’t), or the middle-aged couple opposite asking you to turn your music down (you won’t) (it’s not even that loud).

You’re not getting up. All you have to do is wait for them to give up and away.

Knock, knock, knock.

They’ll leave.

Knock knock.

Any second, now.

…

Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock.

You groan loudly as you haul yourself to your feet and skid over to the door, crossing your arms tighter over your chest to try and shield you from the chill that always lingers in the hallway.

“I’m sorry, Mrs P, I haven’t seen H—” you start on exasperated autopilot, falling quiet the moment your eyes land first on Chan’s beaming smile, and second on Seungkwan’s guilty eyes. “How… the fuck did you guys get in here?”

“We followed someone in,” Chan tells you as he slides past, inviting himself into your haven and heading through to the living room where your favourite album is spinning on your record player. “That really tall guy – I think he lives on the second floor? Crazy hairline. Like, right back h—?”

“Cool,” you interrupt, except it’s actually everything but cool. Seungkwan steps through the door too, following behind you as you stalk after your younger friend. “Next question. Why are you guys in here?”

“You’ve been in a funk all day,” Chan says, tossing himself down onto your couch and nearly tipping your cereal all over the cushions. He eyes the glass you have on the side-table, raises a brow and looks back at you. “And you can’t deny that. You’re drinking rosè and eating fruit loops at 9pm on a Saturday. You need to get out of this apartment.”

“I don’t need to do anything,” you tell him, sitting down on the armchair to Chan’s left that only ever gets used when these two idiots show up at the same time.

“One hour?” Seungkwan tries again, crouching down in front of you and taking hold of your hand. “You don’t have to be out late. And – and I’ll open tomorrow. You can stay in bed as long as you want.”

“Do you guys ever stop?” You ask them, and in tandem, the two men shake their heads at you. “I’m staying here. You’ve gotta go, or you’re gonna be late.”

Chan whines your name loudly, stomping like an upset toddler. “You know it won’t be as fun without you.”

“It’s gonna have to be,” you shrug, picking your feet up off the floor and resting them on the coffee table. “Come on. I’m serious. Get out of here.”

Seungkwan watches you for a moment longer but when you eye him sternly, he stands up again, giving your hand a squeeze and sending a nod to tell Chan to get up and follow him. First taking a long sip from your wine glass, the younger man does as he’s instructed, concern etching a frown onto his lips as he walks towards the door.

“If you change your mind, you know where we are, okay?” Seungkwan says and you nod at him. “See you in the morning.”

The door clicks shut behind them and you feel your shoulders droop, a long sigh leaving your lungs now you’re finally back on your own again. You roll your head side-to-side, relieving a tiny bit of the tension that you’ve been holding up in your neck all day, before relaxing back against the cushions behind you.

I’m not going out tonight, you tell yourself as you try to time your breaths to the beat of your music, letting it drown out the fact that the young couple who live two doors down have started arguing just outside your front door. It’s not gonna happen.

There’s no way.

The chill of an ice-cold glass meets your palm not even an hour later.

Chan and Seungkwan had been sitting on the stairs outside your apartment building, giving you fifteen more minutes just in case you happened to change your mind. To your credit, neither man had expected you to get out of your quarter-life-crisis outfit. Each gave a whistle of approval as you stepped outside into the air in a nice pair of jeans and a cute, long-sleeved shirt.

You all set off in the direction to the Arrowhead (so-called thanks to the venue’s unconventional triangular room shape) and both of your friends managed to successfully paint a few smiles on your face along the way. Once inside, Seungkwan dragged you by the wrist up towards the main bar space. Before you even had time to process the blurred faces that you walked by and the fuzzy neon signs all the way up the stairwell, enthused cheers and applause from the room ahead and the melodic strumming of a guitar drowned out the dread you’d been feeling ever since you woke up.

“This guy is not covering U2,” Chan says almost incredulously as he thrusts the drink he paid for into your hand. You manage to work your way through the crowd a little: it’s busier in here than you’ve ever seen it before, and certainly way more full than you would have really expected, but there’s still just enough movement room.

“Yeah, he is,” you say as you weave your way into a decent spot, where you can actually see the musician whose logo has been plastered on every notice board around town for the past month and a half. You even end up with a bit of breathing space, which is a rare, but welcome, treat.

But whatever you were about to say next – about how you don’t like U2, and how you’ve never really forgiven them for putting their entire new album onto everybody’s iTunes back in 2014 – dies a magnificent death on your tongue. You pause with your drink halfway to your lips as your eyes land on the main attraction, the man up on the stage; he has a small band up there, too, but all the lights draw your focus to him. His eyes are sparkly. Both his hands are wrapped around the microphone like he’s caressing it, his rosy lips brush over the metal as they move with each word that comes out of his mouth. Watching him quickly becomes almost hypnotic.

So. This is Vernon.

Long, dark hair sits low over his temples, perfectly parted and shaped in the middle to frame his brows. The top few buttons of his emerald satin shirt are popped open, sleeves rolled up past his elbows, the hem half tucked into his black jeans. He has rings on almost every finger. A silver chain around his neck. He looks good, but his voice?

I think I hated this song ten minutes ago, you think to yourself, but there’s something about Vernon’s deep, rough-edged tone that has you considering never listening to anything else. If you could stand to look away from the way he cradles his mic, and the way one of his eyes squeezes tighter closed as he lifts up into a higher note, and the way he moves on the stage like he was born to be on one, you might notice your friends (and everyone else around you) equally entranced by this gorgeous rendition of Beautiful Day as yourself. You can’t, though, so you don’t.

You keep your attention locked on the singer and instead start to wonder just what he injected the air with when he stepped out from behind that curtain.

Vernon’s eyes flutter back open right as he hits the final line of the song, a smile spreading over his lips. You realise only now that you’re hardly breathing, nor blinking — your body doesn’t remember to function in the ways it needs to survive, too caught up being immersed all the way to the last beat. You think he looks right at you from up on the stage, you swear one of his eyebrows lifts and his features twist into a satisfied smirk. You’re certain, because for half a second it feels like the world tumbles into slow motion and it’s like he’s reading every single one of your secrets, scouring every corner of your mind.

And then… he looks away. He looks across the crowd applauding and cheering and whistling for him, before crouching low and taking a sip from the water bottle sitting on the floor beside his mic-stand. Only then does he speak.

“Risky opener, I know,” he chuckles, his speaking-voice deep and smooth and wholly entrancing. The room erupts into soft laughter, a series of whoops coming from the crowd, everyone disarmed by his slightly awkward charm; the singer’s cheeks turn rosy and a gummy smile lights up his face before he continues. “Thank you guys for giving it a chance, though. If you didn’t know… I’m Vernon—…”

You’re hooked on his every word as he starts to introduce himself and the band behind him — everyone is, but you don’t care about the people around you. Despite being shoulder-to-shoulder with your two best friends and with every breath inhaling the overpowering cologne of the guy standing right behind you, it feels, in a way, like you and the singer could be the only two people in the entire room.

The set lasts just over ninety minutes and is a carefully put-together mixture of mostly original songs and a couple of crowd-pleasing covers, a few slower ballad-types to offset the higher energy rock songs that he beams the whole way through. In-between, Vernon wins over the crowd with his dry sense of humour and a natural charisma that has you feeling mortifyingly warm, despite the fact that you know he isn’t speaking directly to you when he breaks to talk. You’ve been to more than your fair share of gigs in this venue over the years, but few performers have ever made one of their shows feel so genuinely intimate; by the time he says goodnight and heads off the stage, bidding everyone a safe journey home, it feels, in a weird way, like… you know him.

Most of the more local artists who play in the Arrowhead tend to hang around after their sets – sometimes they’ll have copies of EPs, others come with pins and badges showing off their logos, various cute freebies for people to take home. A few even just stand around in the bar and talk for a while, thanking people personally for coming, sharing information about their upcoming releases and future gig schedules. Unless you’ve been really blown away, this isn’t something the three of you often stick around for, though.

It’s therefore a bit of a surprise that when Vernon re-emerges some fifteen minutes later, you don’t even have to convince your friends to work your way into the crowd already starting to form. If anything, the look exchanged between you all establishes that wanting to praise this guy and say hello is very much mutual; the time that ticks by before you’re face-to-face with him really feels like no time at all.

The people in front of you move off to the side and you catch your first actual, unobstructed glimpse of him. He takes a sip from his glass and wipes his upper lip with the back of his hand before greeting you kindly. Somehow, he’s even more handsome up close. You really didn’t think it was possible.

“Amazing set, man,” Chan says brightly, doing little by way of snapping you out of your trance. “Super fresh.”

“Seriously. So, so good,” Seungkwan gushes.

Vernon pushes away from where he’s leaned against the bar, pulling his other hand out of his pocket and extending it to your friends in turn.

“Thank you so much,” he says. “Glad you guys liked it.” Another one of those easy, bright smiles spreads over his face. Maybe you entertain, for a second, that it grows a little more when he holds his hand out to you, too.

You’re still stunned into silence by how breathtaking he is, but you put your drink in the other hand and wipe the condensation off your palm on the side of your jeans before shaking his hand, as well. He’s really warm, maybe even a little clammy, but when he squeezes with his fingers and looks straight into your eyes, this becomes a very negligible detail.

“Your vibe really reminds me of someone… God, what was his name-...” Chan starts to babble, clicking his fingers at lightning speed as if it’ll help him remember. “He was on that survival show-...”

“We’re sorry about him,” Seungkwan interjects after a few more seconds of nonsense and half-spoken, incorrect names, lifting a hand and covering Chan’s mouth. “He gets a little… it’s just when he’s excited.”

“No I don’t,” Chan huffs, swatting Seungkwan’s hand away. You inhale deeply, trying not to cringe as you watch Vernon’s amused eyes bounce between your two friends like he’s watching a tennis match.

“Do too.”

“Do not.”

“Case in point—” Seungkwan starts, at which stage you lay one palm on each of their shoulders to try and get them to stop talking.

By some miracle, it works. At least, their mouths stop moving; there’s definitely a silent conversation ongoing in the filthy looks they continue to exchange, but they stop bickering aloud and that’s good enough for you, for now.

“Come on, let’s leave the poor guy alone,” you say, and Chan shoots Seungkwan a filthy look before he nods and takes a small step back from the altercation.

Vernon’s eyes glitter under the venue’s neon lighting, wide and focused on you while you do your best to mediate. You only notice this when you look back at him, by which point it’s far, far too late to stop the eruption of butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

“You’re really good,” you compliment finally, a smile tugging your mouth up on one side.

“Thank you.” Vernon grins, briefly dipping his head in your direction, but looking for a second as if he’s about to say something else. His chest rises with a breath, his lips push forward like they’re about to separate again, but before he can, Chan finds one more thing to come out with. Of course. (Seungkwan, regretfully, was right — he does get a little…)

“Do you like records?” he asks, pulling Vernon’s gaze away from you. The singer tilts his head, questioning. “Records. Vinyl – albums? Records.”

“Shit – yeah.” Vernon nods then. “Yeah, sorry. I um-... Sure. Yeah. Totally.”

“She owns a record store,” Chan says, jerking his head towards you. You feel your eyes blow wide and you’re tapping harshly at his back in an instant, begging him to stop. “OFF BEAT Vinyl. Not too far from here – it’s a cool spot.”

“No kidding?” Vernon says, glancing back in your direction, but you’re too busy silently pleading at Chan to shut up to realise.

“Mm. You should swing by, some time,” Seungkwan agrees, and all of a sudden, you’re overcome with the urge to fight him, too. “We all work there.”

“All right, let’s go,” you cough eventually, grabbing both men by the wrist and tugging. Vernon chuckles softly at the interruption; it’s almost as sweet a sound as his singing.

“OFF BEAT Vinyl,” he repeats, tasting the store’s name on his tongue, swirling it around his mouth like a wine he’s trying to savour. “For real. I’ll look it up.”

Chan grins proudly, finally letting himself be pulled away from the singer, and you manage to make exactly two paces before Vernon’s voice rings through your eardrums one more time.

“Hey, uh – what was your name?” he asks. It’s unmistakable who the question is aimed at (your friends don’t even entertain for a moment that he could be asking them), but regardless, it takes you a moment to let yourself believe he really wants to know. Vernon doesn’t push, though – he knows you heard him and he waits for your answer, leaning a little forward.

So, you look over your shoulder and you tell him. You see his lips move silently as he repeats it to himself, just like he did with the name of the store. He tastes it. Plays with it on his tongue, remembers the way it feels. As if it’s something he really intends to remember.

“Cool,” he breathes, pushing his hair back and off his forehead and making it very difficult to feel in any way rational. “Well – it’s great to meet you guys. Thanks for coming out, again.”

Finally, you manage to get your friends away. One of them, at least – Seungkwan decides that he actually wants to grab a few copies of his EP (‘one for me, a few for the store’) and rushes back towards the singer; you tell him to just meet you back at the bar.

Then, with another round of drinks on order, you turn to Chan and land a gentle thump on his bicep.

“Dude,” you groan, and he looks at you incredulously, rubbing his upper arm with a pout. “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?” Chan asks.

“Tell him about the store!”

“I mean – I didn’t think it was classified?” he says. “Shit’s slow right now, and he seems like the kind of guy to have a record collection. What’s the damage?”

Seungkwan appears behind you with his hands full of CDs, badges and a scrap of something that you’re reasonably sure is firstly, a napkin, and secondly, has been signed. So you rest your elbows on the bar and place your head in your hands, grumbling quietly about how you don’t know you’ve managed to survive this long knowing these two losers.

“Because you love us,” Seungkwan says, fastening a button to your t-shirt. “Stop trying to deny it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you sigh, accepting the drink from the bartender and taking a long sip. “God, you better have been serious about opening up for me, tomorrow.”

(Well. You have to give it to him: he was.)

“It’s just my opinion!”

From your perch on top of the store’s counter, you raise both of your palms in a display of your innocence. Chan stands in the middle of the R&B aisle, looking personally offended, fingers curled around the top of one of the wooden crates holding your stock.

“Me saying ‘I don’t think Welcome to the Black Parade is the best track on that album’ is not me saying that it’s a bad song.”

“But how can you say that?” Chan groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Who’s hearing the opening note to Famous Last Words and feeling the same way as they do with the Black Parade?”

“Most iconic doesn’t mean the best,” you counter. “Besides – I never said you weren’t allowed to have it as your favourite. It’d be a boring game if we all had the same answer.”

“I cannot cope with you anymore,” Chan whines. “You know what? No. I don’t even believe you. You’re just being a contrarian.”

“Why would I do that?” you ask.

“Because it’s the best song on the goddamn albu–”

The bell above the door chimes loud and clear through the store and both of your squabbling voices fall silent. Your head turns in the direction of the entrance, an autopilot greeting already forming on your lips, but you feel them fall slack the moment you realise who it is that’s just walked in.

It’s been five days. Though it would be a mistruth to claim you hadn’t thought about the singer since the night of his gig, it’s not one to say you didn’t think he would ever actually come into your place of work.

Much less at 3 o’clock in the afternoon. On a Thursday.

He pops his wrists as he walks a little further into the store, glancing around. Barring one of your regulars who walks about with his earphones in all the time, the store is completely empty; an adrenaline spike prickles the hairs on your arms, all the tiny muscles beneath your skin pulling them to stand upright.

“Hi,” he says once he deems himself to be close enough, stopping in his tracks and kicking the toe of his shoe against the floor.

“Hey,” you greet him in return.

“I’m-... Vernon. We met at the show, the other night?”

“Yeah — yeah, I remember you,” you smile. “I’m-... well. I’m still y/n.”

“Still y/n,” he says on a relieved exhale, grinning and glancing away from you. “I uh… I just had some free time. Thought I’d swing by and see what you guys had going on here.” Vernon adjusts the collar of his t-shirt, the silver of his rings glinting under the flickering yellow light overhead.

(It was definitely somewhere on your list of things to get fixed. Honest.)

“Sure, yeah,” you nod, swallowing hard and trying your best not to stare at him. It’s hard, though – in broad daylight, the way the flannel tied around his waist floats down over his hips and the way his jeans hug at his thighs is… you don't even have the words. “Let me know if you need help finding anything, okay?”

“I will.” He starts to thumb through one of the wooden boxes, offering a small smile your way. “Thank you.”

You’re holding your breath a little as he pulls a few 80’s rock albums out, his lips downturned in surprised approval at some of the records you carry. He holds onto a couple as he moves around the store and the entire time, you can feel Chan and Seungkwan staring at you. If there wasn’t a very real danger of Vernon looking your way again at a moment’s notice, you know you would be showing them your middle finger.

Really, they come away lucky.

“You don’t even know how long I’ve been trying to find some of these,” Vernon says after a few minutes, sauntering toward the desk – you’re still sitting on top of it, your legs swinging in the air beneath you. “Might have to make this my new stop.”

And displayed beside you on the counter – right by the cash register – are a few of his albums. The ones Seungkwan picked up after the show; until about two seconds ago, you had forgotten they were even there.

Vernon’s face lights up when he notices, turning to Seungkwan. “Come on, no way. I thought you were kidding about that.”

“Deadly serious,” Seungkwan laughs. Out of the corner of his eye, he must see you start to freeze up: he keeps talking instead of letting the silence settle. “It was on the speakers yesterday. Four people asked us about you.”

“For real?” Vernon asks. When all three of you nod your heads, you see the beginnings of a blush start to creep up his neck. “Wow. Thank you – um. That’s really cool of you guys.”

“It’s good music,” Chan shrugs. “You’re super talented.”

You’re not sure what it is about the onslaught of passive praise that gets so deep into Vernon’s head, but he doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself other than repeatedly saying ‘thank you’. Relief comes in the form of another customer jingling the bell above the door and drawing the attention away from him for a few moments.

“I’ll take these,” he says breathlessly as he turns to face you again. You find yourself a tiny bit lost in the warmth of his eyes and it takes you a second to remember to swivel around and slip off the other side of the countertop. You do, though. Eventually.

“Nice,” you say softly as you shuffle through them, ringing each one through. He’s got pretty decent taste, even if less than a week ago you were actively cringing at his choice of cover song. (It’s okay. That was before you knew better.) “Do you– need sleeves, or…?”

“I’m good. Thank you, though.” Vernon rests his hands against the edge of the counter and drums a quiet rhythm out with his thumbs as you tap away at the register. “Are-... you guys busy tonight, by the way?”

You look up from placing the records into a paper bag, glancing over to your colleagues who both rush to shake their heads. Vernon looks from them, to you, and you mirror their action. Even if I was, you start to think wistfully. I’d make time.

“I’m playing at the Orchid? Uh— it starts at eight thirty; I could get you guys on the list, if-... um…”

“That’d be awesome,” Chan says, nodding so hard you’re surprised his head doesn’t roll off his shoulders and start bouncing across the floor.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Seungkwan adds.

Vernon grins at them both, humming softly, before turning back to you and fumbling with his wallet to take out his card to pay for his purchases. You turn the machine around to face him; he hovers with his hand just above it.

“Maybe… I’ll see you tonight, too?” He says.

You can’t help the delight that rises inside you, as if it’s been injected straight into your bloodstream. It’s everywhere, all of a sudden. In your brain and your heart and your bones and in your lungs.

Yet, you somehow manage to keep your composure when you say, “yeah. Maybe you will.”

The payment goes through and you slide the bag over towards Vernon, your eyes never leaving his and his eyes never leaving yours. His fingers brush over yours as he takes it from you, the bite of the cold ring on his index finger a shocking contrast to the warmth the rest of his hand radiates. You hope your little gasp isn’t too audible, but… the way Chan whirls around to face away from the scene in front of him (presumably to poorly conceal his laughter), you know you haven’t gotten away with it.

“Cool,” he says, hesitating another second before finally pulling himself away. He bows his head in the direction of your friends, sending another of those irresistibly sweet smiles at you, and then he starts off towards the door. “See you, then.”

You feel your heart finally start to slow down as you grip the counter for dear life, setting out a long, drawn-out breath. What just happened? Why do you feel all… fuzzy?

“Maybe… I’ll see you tonight, too?” Chan asks in the deepest voice he can muster, snapping you out of your own head none too pleasantly. You turn in their direction as your other favourite moron feigns tucking hair behind his ear and flutters his eyelashes across at Chan.

“Yeah… Maybe you will.” And Seungkwan’s imitation of you is a little too accurate. Creepily so, and you want to curse him out for it. Instead, you scrunch up a bag to throw towards the pair of them, grinning despite yourself as they both swerve to dodge it.

“Oh my God, shut up,” you chastise them. You don’t have any bite, though, your brain still tingly and positively reeling and seeing Vernon’s dazzling smile every time you so much as blink. And when Seungkwan takes a running start and launches himself, full-force, into Chan’s unsuspecting arms? When Chan lifts him up and spins him around, and when they start making kissy-noises at each other between unearthly cackles?

You know that the next few hours are going to be the longest of your entire life.

The rest of the afternoon goes by without much disturbance and with evening plans now in place, you make the executive decision to send the boys home half an hour early. The three of you agree to meet outside The Orchid at just after eight o’clock, giving you all a chance to eat, wash up and change before the show; your friends separate and head in the different directions to the places they call home, making a promise to text your group chat before you leave to coordinate the link-up time. You head back into the office to finish tying up your loose ends and manage to depart just an hour later.

On your way to your apartment, you plan everything out to the minute in your head. You even allocate yourself twenty minutes to sit on the couch and decompress from your working day. So, when you settle down a little further into the cushions and put your head back, resting your eyes… when you tell yourself you’ll get up in just a minute and hop into the shower…

You certainly don’t expect to be woken up two and a half hours later as your phone vibrates on the floor of your living room.

With one eye still closed, you pick it up, yawning and stretching the lingering wisps of slumber from your body. Seungkwan’s contact name shows on your screen and you swipe to answer the call; on the other end of the line, a song you’ve never heard before is audible, but it’s accompanied by a voice you most definitely do know.

Everything snaps into place at once; in an instant, you’re wide awake, and you feel physically sick.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” you hiss into the speaker, scrabbling upright, tugging the phone away from your face to see the time. How is it already past 9pm?

“Oh, hello to you, too!” Seungkwan has to half-shout to be anywhere near audible over the music. You can almost perfectly visualise the way he’ll have sandwiched himself in a corner of the venue, pinching the bridge of his nose, head resting against the wall to try and block out enough sound to hear you. “Good to know you’re actually still alive!”

“Dude, I’m so sorry,” you say, rushing through to your bathroom to check if you can get away with leaving the house as you are. (Jury’s out, but you don’t have much of a choice.) “I… don’t know what happened. I fell asleep – I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

Seungkwan chides you again, this time reminding you that he’s been on your ass about going to a doctor to get your iron levels checked for months, that your timekeeping is terrible and that you really better hurry. You promise you’re on your way and hang up the call, pocketing your (horrifically under-charged) phone and slipping into a pair of sneakers you keep by the door before you head out. You told him you’d be here. Seungkwan’s voice rings loud and clear in your ears as you lock up your apartment.

But of course, bad things never happen in isolation. Waiting on the street outside your apartment block, you find yourself being cancelled on by not one, but two uber drivers: by the time the third reaches you, and has to follow the world’s most inconvenient diversion to get past some construction work, it’s 9:35. You know it doesn’t matter how quickly you run down the last stretch of the street and get up the seemingly never-ending staircase: it’s going to be too late.

You only manage to catch the literal last two songs of Vernon’s set. You’re not sure he even knows you’ve arrived, and in a way, you hope he doesn’t. Maybe having him believe you were a no-show is better than him knowing you’re about as low-functioning as a grown adult can be. You just slip in through the door as discreetly as you can and hover at the very back of the room as he rounds up for the night; Chan slips an arm around your shoulders as you turn to the bar and order yourself a drink, but it doesn’t do much to reduce the guilt that weighs heavy in your chest.

Which… is odd, really, you suppose. Seeing as you hardly know the singer much beyond his name and, now, a fraction of his record collection. Seeing as you certainly don’t owe him your presence at any of his performances. But there’s something in the way he made sure to ask you personally if you’d be able to make it, too, and you can’t shake it off, and… yeah, screw it, maybe you did want to be here. Maybe you did want him to notice. Maybe you do care what he thinks of you.

Maybe… you hope he feels the same about you.

Your drink hasn’t even arrived yet by the time you hear a chain of ‘excuse me – sorry, can I just? Yeah, thanks – sorry, excuse me’ -s behind you. Your eyes fly wide and you almost choke on your own spit at the sound, growing closer and closer, somehow audible over the background music floating through the speakers, over the other chattering voices and shrieks of laughter in every direction. Part of your breathlessness, admittedly, is to do with how immediately you just knew who that voice belonged to.

“Excuse m–” it sounds again.

And then, softer: “Hey.”

You turn around on your bar stool, barely managing to bite back a smile. “Hi.”

Vernon grins at you from a few feet away, a dark singlet hanging loose on his frame, showing off his long, lean arms, displaying the few bracelets he wears on one of his slender wrists. You’re staring – you know you are; you don’t even notice the fact that Chan takes several steps away from you, or how he throws a side-along glance toward Seungkwan, nor the fact that your two best friends start talking quietly among themselves, leaving you and Vernon almost alone.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know how I managed to…” But Vernon’s already shaking his head, coming up beside you at the bar, settling into the seat on your left.

“Don’t worry about it,” he insists, glancing over at you where you’re sitting. “I’m just glad you’re here, now.”

Chan stumbles over to you somewhere around midnight and claps his hand down on your shoulder, interrupting Vernon’s very enthusiastic explanation as to why flying is totally a better superpower to want to have than invisibility. Your giggles fall silent and Vernon stops mid-flow, waiting to hear what your friend wants to speak to you about. Unfortunately, Chan’s words are barely intelligible; it’s only when a marginally-better-for-wear Seungkwan appears too a moment later that you’re able to make any sense of him.

“We’re gonna–” Seungkwan hiccups, covering his mouth with his hand and wincing, no doubt at the burn of everything he’s had to drink now sitting high in his throat. “Gonna head out. Are you coming? We’ll split a taxi with you.”

You find yourself glancing over to where Vernon is standing, propped against the pool table that you’re now leaning on the edge of. He just smiles back at you, lifting his shoulders.

“I think… I’m gonna stay here a little longer,” you say after chewing it over. “You guys go ahead.”

Seungkwan looks between the two of you and frowns slightly. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Vernon gently pipes up from your side, sliding over a little so that his palm rests flat on the felt of the table, his forearm supporting your hips from behind. But it isn’t you he addresses, despite this butterfly-inducing contact. All deep and serious, he says, “I promise, she’s safe with me.”

He takes his time to show it on his face, but ultimately this satisfies Seungkwan, who (despite being just about able to support both his and Chan’s weight in his current condition) has before, and still will, ignore his body’s demands in the name of ensuring your safety. But maybe he sees a trustworthiness in Vernon, or maybe he knows that you can and do handle yourself quite well. Whatever it is, he’s happy with this development, and your two friends bundle you in a hug so tight that it squeezes the air out of your lungs before they make their way towards the exit.

Once they’re out of view, you turn back to Vernon again, raising both brows at the man now closer to you than he’s ever been. But it’s far from claustrophobic – not as these things can so often be. No. No.

It’s addictive.

“Oh you promise, huh?” The tease comes out before you can do anything about it. You even end up batting your lashes at him for good measure.

“Cross my heart,” he says with a small shrug of his shoulders. His eyes dip from where they’re boring into your own, glancing down a fraction, just for a moment, and you’re sure you see him start to lean. Drawn to you like an opposing magnet, like a moth to a flame — his breaths feel hotter as they fan against your skin, his cologne starts to smell a little stronger… then, his fingers on the other hand curl around the pool cue he’s been balancing on his side and he drags himself away from you. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna kick your ass one more time.”

One more game of pool quickly turns to two, and it even threatens to become a third as you tease, again, that Vernon just got lucky and he flashes you another one of those looks that says ‘oh? Try me’. But as tempting as it is, you don’t think your pride can withstand any more losses. You resign yourself from the table with a huff when he rests his palms flat on the velvet covering, leaning towards you in that mouth-watering way he’s been doing for hours. The thing is, for the size of his pool-playing-ego, Vernon isn’t even that good. Not if you consider the number of completely missed shots, questionable connections and pocketed cues. But, because your own skill level leaves plenty to be desired, he doesn’t have to be up there with the big leagues.

He just needs to be a tiny bit better than you.

Asshole.

An announcement for last orders from behind the bar tells you that it’s nearing one in the morning as he starts to circle around the table and makes his way towards you. The bar has emptied considerably since you arrived, the music has steadily started getting more and more cheesy, people in all four corners of the room have started draping themselves over one another like well-dressed blankets, having already chosen the individuals they’ve decided to take home tonight. By all accounts, it’s the perfect time to leave. If you head out now, you’ll miss the rush of people flooding into the street and, if you’re lucky, the surge in taxi prices. The really good takeout place around the corner doesn’t close for another half hour, too.

There’s just one problem. You don’t want this night to end just yet.

“I think I’m gonna get some fresh air,” you say to Vernon, trying to stretch out a burning knot in your shoulder. “It’s like, a thousand degrees in here.”

Vernon nods. “Yeah – cool. I’ll come with you.”

And with your bag slung over the arm not causing you an ache, you start off down the stairwell. The doors are already open and the late night breeze has you feeling like you’re walking through the gates of heaven as you head outside. You inhale deeply, making the most of this very rare occasion of the city’s air not feeling thick with car fuel and cigarettes. Your eyes fall closed.

“I always liked being out at this time,” Vernon says as he joins you, leaning one shoulder against the brickwork of the outside of the bar. “Feels peaceful.”

“Sure,” you nod, craning your neck to look at him. His face is half-illuminated in the neon red of the bar’s sign above you. The harsh lighting and the shadows cast by his angular features have him looking… sort of sinful, in a weird artsy way that you can’t explain thanks to the pleasant buzzing in your brain. Straight out of an arthouse, indie movie. I bet he likes those, you think absently.

He looks straight into your eyes, intense and focussed as if he’s trying to search them, though for what you’re not sure. Honestly, you think if he gave a few more flutters of those beautiful lashes, you’d bend in-half-and-half-again to give him anything he wanted, so in a way you’re interested to ask what he’s thinking about. You don’t end up saying anything, though. There’s something wonderful in these little unspoken moments with Vernon. Something raw.

Something… unexplainable.

Sitting at the bar and stealing tickled glances as the waitress fumbles and drops a tray full of glasses on the floor. Subtle winks of his right eye (always, you’re discovering, the right?) from across a pool table when he succeeds in making a shot he has absolutely no business pulling off. Standing opposite you in the store you own, waiting to find out when – not if – he’s going to see you, again –

“You know,” he starts, the tiniest edge of nervousness in his voice for the first time tonight. Is the performance adrenaline finally wearing off? Is he… maybe starting to feel a little shy? Whatever it is, your last train of thought melts away into the drain just to his right, and you focus on him as he continues down this new path instead. “I got a new coffee machine in my apartment last weekend and I haven’t had the chance to use it for anyone yet.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.” He nods, swallowing. “I uh…” He bounces one fist in the palm of his other hand, searching for the right order to put the words into. “I mean, it’s not like, one of those super fancy ones, or anything… but it’s sorta retro looking? Which is cool, and—”

“Vernon?”

“Yeah?”

“You‘re a little out of practice, huh?”

He chuckles on an outward breath, bowing his head, a grin that threatens to split his pretty face in two taking residence on his lips. “That obvious?”

“A tiny bit,” you say. “It’s cute though.”

He glances up at you, head a little tilted. “Yeah?”

“Mm… getting less-so by the second,” you tease him. “You can just ask me to come with you.”

“I-…” he starts, but he takes a deep breath instead and corrects his posture, as if it’ll prepare him somehow. “Okay. Okay — do you… maybe wanna come back to my place, with me?”

Not without flashing him a look first that says ‘now, was that so hard?’, you find yourself nodding up at him.

“I’d love to,” you say.

He pushes away from the wall and when you do the same, he falls into step, heading in the direction of his apartment. You try to discreetly roll your shoulder out again but it’s obviously not discrete enough; it draws his attention down to your arm, and he frowns slightly.

“Is that giving you trouble?” He asks.

“It’s fine.” You wave him off, stretching the muscle as best as you can by tilting your head as you walk. “It’s been like this for years.”

He scrunches his brows. “Here — can I?” He asks, his fingertip looping beneath the strap of your bag. You look down at your shoulder, then back up at him, before raising one brow, dropping the other.

“I mean — I don’t know if it’s your colour?”

Vernon barks out a ‘ha’, easily slipping your bag down your arm, the tips of his warm fingers brushing against your comparatively cool skin. You make no effort to stop him. He positions it on his own shoulder instead, the one furthest away from you so he can still walk right against your side.

“There’s a reason I wear all black, okay?” He says. “It makes everything my colour.”

His fingers smoothly slip between yours as he says it. It was quite the move, and for a second you’re impressed. At least, until it turns out that this simple action seems to jolt him back to his factory settings, because—

“I’m so serious about this coffee machine, by the way.”

“I know you are,” you laugh, bumping your weight against him and squeezing his hand. “I’m counting on it.”

“Okay, so,” you start, settling into Vernon’s couch and tucking one of your legs up beneath you. You cradle the mug of coffee he’s made you — admittedly, the retro-style machine was pretty cool — between both of your hands, a thumb brushing over the raised pattern on the ceramic. The fresh air from the walk here seems to have decently sobered you; barring a pleasant buzz, you feel almost like you haven’t drunk a thing. “How did you get into music?”

Vernon matches your posture play-for-play, biting the inside of his cheek before he answers. He drank less than you in the first place, but he seems steadier now, as well.

“Uh… a couple things, I guess,” he starts. “I mean, my parents are big into music. Sometimes they'd take me with them to shows and stuff, had a bunch of CD’s all over the house — all that. You know? I really grew up on it, so…"

You nod, tilting your head to gesture for him to continue.

“Then… I don’t know. There’s- okay, I was kind of a loser in high school,” he goes on. You roll your eyes; Vernon nudges your thigh with his knee playfully, shaking his head.

“I just mean, I didn’t have a lot of friends.” He pauses, pursing his lips. “So…, I mean, that’s— that’s whatever. The point is that I spent a lot of time on my own and I basically had an earphone in any time I thought I could get away with it, and–... and sometimes even if I couldn’t.” He chuckles. “Weird. Most of my teachers didn’t like me much either.”

You laugh too now, and Vernon bows his head a little; every single one of his handsome features brightens up and you don’t really know where to look. His never-ending lashes are so long they cast shadows down onto his cheeks, and the ambient lighting reflects off his eyes so beautifully that they look like they’re glimmering.

He goes on, “there was one, though. My bio teacher? She was really cool. She had a lot more time for me than the others did. And uh, she called me into her office after school one day and just said… basically, my options were to start giving a shit about… cells, and mitochon– whatever, or start really working for this great big thing that I spent all my time daydreaming about. And it’s been a little up and down, but…”

He trails off, shrugging on one side.

“I think you’re doing pretty okay,” you chime in, leaning one arm against the back of the couch and resting your head in your palm. “I bet those kids would lose their minds if they could see you now.”

“Oh?” Vernon asks, setting his coffee down on the side-table. You click your tongue at him.

“Don’t– come on.”

“No, seriously,” he laughs. “What do you mean?”

“I mean-…” you start, shaking your head. “Okay. People go out of their way to listen to you. Everyone who comes to one of your shows… that’s an hour, two hours, whatever – of making people feel exactly the way you want them to feel. They... all want to understand you. Right?”

Vernon just looks at you, forehead a tiny bit creased — the cogs in your brain tick away trying to find a better way to explain what you mean, but he finally speaks. (You’re glad, because you were struggling to come up with anything else.)

“Shit, I thought that was just an in to say you thought I was hot, or something.”

You push at his chest lightly, your palm lingering on his vest a moment longer than is, perhaps, strictly necessary.

“Shut up,” you groan. But a second later… “I guess there’s that, too.”

He sits back a little, pushing his hair off his forehead with a chuckle. “I dunno, I mean — I sort of… is it weird if I don’t really think about it that way?”

“Of course not,” you tell him.

He gets that look back on his face again; the pensive one, where he appears like he’s seconds away from saying something else, something important. But he falters, and when he glances back at you, his engine stalls.

Then, with a shake of his head, he says, “wow, okay, enough about me. I’m so sorry. Can I ask you a question?”

You take another sip of your coffee and set it down, too, nodding ‘yes’. To be honest, you were quite enjoying talking about him; at the same time, you know what it is to feel a little too perceived sometimes, so you let him move on without argument.

“How do you just… own a record store?”

You laugh. It’s been a while since you’ve had to explain this one. (When was the last time one of your dates was interested enough to ask?)

“I’m not as good a storyteller as you are,” you preface, mirroring him when he rolls his eyes, pretending not to notice that he shuffles even closer. You launch into it easily enough — the old store owner was a friend of the family, he let you work there while you were in college, took you on full-time after you dropped out. When his eyesight started deteriorating, he chose to retire and told you it was yours, if you wanted it.

“Place would’ve closed down, otherwise,” you shrug. “But I couldn’t do it on my own, so I brought the guys in to help. Two years later... yeah. I guess that's how.”

The whole time as you talk, his eyes don’t leave you. He’s quite expressive, you find — whether he’s lifting a perfectly shaped brow, nodding along to what you’re saying, smiling at you… you feel listened to. When he’s sat across from you, you feel heard; you feel known.

“Well, first — take it back. You’re a great storyteller,” he says. You feel your face grow warm and you nudge him with your knee, but you don’t argue — you aren’t convinced he’d let you win, anyway. “But that’s… really cool? Actually.”

“Oh yeah, I heard nine-to-five retail is the coolest thing you can do, these days,” you laugh.

Vernon scoffs at you. “You close at six thirty.”

(How on Earth does he remember that?)

To avoid thinking about it too much, and so you don’t have to try to navigate asking, you roll your eyes.

“You’re right,” you say to him. “That’s way better.”

“Do you like what you do?” He asks, and you tilt your head at him. “Well — okay. If you ignore the… boring, back-office stuff.”

“Yeah,” you say after a pause. “I guess I do.”

“Then it’s cool.”

Your coffees both go cold as you talk more, and more, and more — he asks about your life, and growing up, your friends, and he answers all of your questions in turn when you ask them. He has an interesting way of talking about himself outside of his job; it’s not so much that you have to pry for information, but he’s not super forthcoming. It’s as if he’s taking all of your questions at face value, like he doesn’t know how to go about expanding on them.

Maybe he’s just more of a listener, you contemplate once he turns yet another of your questions back on you and you teasingly pull him up on it. It flusters him, which you can’t help but find very endearing.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry — I just… you have such a pretty… voice?” he confesses, rubbing the back of his neck, ears burning pink.

“Oh?” You ask, stumped for a moment as your heart lurches in your chest. When he nods, you find the gall from somewhere to say, “takes one to know one.”

(You’re not sure how.)

And on it goes. On, and on, and on. More questions, more answers, more lighthearted shoves and lingering touches and shy glances away from each others’ scorching gazes as heat rushes to your cheeks. He even shows you his record collection and puts on one of his favourite albums for background noise before you settle back into the couch. It’s so natural, even when the vinyl runs to the end and the only noise from the player is a distant crackle. Being in his space and having mindless conversation after mindless conversation feels almost as comfortable as being in your own home.

You notice something, as you’re rounding off a monologue about why your highschool math teacher was the worst person you’d ever met. A tiny hair on the apple of his cheek. One of those lashes you envy so much. Even as you try to focus back on your closing remarks, your eyes keep dropping to it and you trail off into silence a few words short.

“I’m sorry, you’ve-… got an eyelash,” you say, tapping roughly the same spot on your own cheek.

“Mm. I have a few of them,” Vernon counters, wiping the heel of his thumb against his skin. He misses, though, and drops his arm back down with the lash still stuck to his face.

You move before you can stop yourself, hand lifting up to his face and hovering just a few centimetres away.

“Can I?” you ask.

Vernon nods, wordlessly. He goes cross-eyed and his lids twitch in a flutter as he watches you get closer; you brush the lash onto your thumb and he only breathes again when you rebalance it on the tip of your finger. You hold it up to him, settling back into your own part of the couch; he just stares back at you.

“Make a wish,” you prompt.

His confusion is poorly concealed, head cocked to one side as he looks from the lash to you and back again. “Huh?”

“Don’t you…?”

He shakes his head.

“Okay, wow,” you laugh, glancing down at your finger too. “You have to make a wish on your eyelashes when they fall out.”

“No, I got that part,” Vernon snickers. “I just mean — why?”

“I—” you start to explain, but you fall short of an explanation and frown instead, biting the inside of your cheek. “… I don’t know. It’s just what you’re supposed to do. I’ve always done it.”

The downturn of your lips doesn’t last very long, though.

“Well, what if it’s not an eyelash? What if it’s like… one of my eyebrows, or something?” He asks.

It's such a simple but off-the-wall response that you can't help but laugh, except it comes on so suddenly you start to choke on your own saliva. One of his hands circles around you and rubs soothingly between your shoulder blades as you cough, succeeding in bringing him even closer and failing to lower the fever you’re starting to feel creep up on you. By some miracle, you don’t drop the lash, even as you hack pathetically into the crook of your elbow; Vernon waits for it to subside, a weirdly fond look on his face all the while.

Now, when you turn your head, he’s right there. In your space. His arm still around your back, the glint of the bar pierced through his brow drawing your attention up away from those smiling lips.

“I guess it just doesn’t come true? I don’t know,” you say, shaking your head. “I’ve never tried wishing on an eyebrow before.”

“I’m just saying,” he starts, falling back against the cushions now he knows you’re not suffocating. His arm doesn’t move, though. If anything, he sort of pulls you with him. “What if it ends up like a reverse wish. Whatever I ask for, the opposite comes true, or something.”

“If you don’t want it, I’ll take it,” you say, starting to bring your finger closer to yourself.

Quicker than you can blink, he reaches to you and lightly lays his fingers around your wrist, stopping you in your path.

“Wait,” he says, pouting a little. “I didn’t say that.”

Both of you glance down to this new point of contact. Two sets of lips stay parted but two identical breaths remain held, burning in both your lungs and in Vernon’s. His gaze shifts back up to your face, eyes wide and wholly serious and unblinking.

“What do I do?” He asks on the eventual exhale. It reminds you to breathe again, too.

“Close your eyes.”

It takes him a second to obey, but he does. His eyes flutter closed and you clear your throat, lifting your finger until it’s just in front of his face.

“Make a wish.”

A few seconds later, his brows relax and he nods.

“Then… blow.”

His lips purse and he pushes a breath through them, lifting the stray lash off your skin and sending it out into the room. He opens his eyes, then, smiling in a manner that you can tell is absolutely despite himself.

He doesn’t move away, and his cologne, fresh and citrusy, mixes tantalisingly with the sandalwood candle he lit on your way back to the couch a little while ago, both accented by the chewing gum he popped to get rid of the mocha aftertaste still lingering on his breath.

“What did you wish for?” You ask, dropping your hand back down to your side.

He frowns.

“I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you,” he says. “Pretty sure that’s against like… wish laws, or something.”

“Boring,” you chide, slumping your shoulders, but he just grins at you, darting his tongue out over his lips.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see his Adam’s apple bob in a thick swallow and you can feel the gentle brushing of his thumb. The slow movements, up and down over the exposed area on your hip where your shirt has started to ride up, make you shiver, and you know your chest stutters when his fingers move to press wholly against your bare skin. You know he notices, because he does it again. And again, and again.

It's maddening. You end up stuck in this never-ending feeling of falling head-first into his arms.

“Where do you think the laws stand on showing you, though?” He asks, inching a little closer.

You hold your breath, little more than anticipatory static flooding your brain.

“I think they’re okay with it.”

You mirror, slowly, hooked in the gaze that has adrenaline dripping down the length of your spine like honey, and you can’t bring yourself to look away until you can practically taste him. He closes the space between you in half speed, but gently, like you’re both made of tissue, he brings his thumb and forefinger to your chin and touches his lips to yours. His nose presses against your cheek.

It’s comfortable. It’s warm. It’s easy, it’s exhilarating, it’s perfect. You feel like your heart just might burst clean out of your chest—

But… you can’t.

“I’m so sorry,” you gasp, tugging yourself away and clamping your hands over your mouth. “Shit — I’m-… I’m sorry.”

Out of nowhere, you’re fighting to catch a breath, head spinning in circles, and no longer in the good way. Have those beers finally come back to bite you in the ass? Or, deeper down, do you know your sudden intoxication isn’t alcohol related at all? Vernon shoots back from you like you’ve gone up in flames and he might catch, too — his eyes search your face as you scramble to get to your feet, and he looks… scared.

“Are you okay?” He asks. You don’t respond right away, already looking around the apartment for where you left your shoes, already trying to locate your bag too. (As you try to swim towards the surface, you forget that it wasn’t you who still had hold of it when you came through the door and placed it on the loveseat back in the living room.) “Hey… is everything-…?”

“I’m fine,” you interrupt. You’re not. “I just-… I remembered-… I have to go.”

You catch sight of your shoes, hidden behind the ones Vernon kicked off just after you, and you hurry across the apartment to get to them.

No bag. Where’s your bag? Where did you leave it? But… ah, your keys are in one back pocket and your phone is in the other and maybe it’s not the end of the world if you never see that lipstick again—

“It’s really late,” Vernon says as you bend down to re-tie one of your laces, hovering just a few steps behind you. “Are you gonna be okay to get home?”

“I’ll be fine,” you rush. “I’ll get a cab.”

“Well, at least let me wait with you until it—”

“I said I’m fine,” you insist, you snap, only now looking up at him again. He tenses, but his eyes stay soft. It’s not in the same way you’ve seen them all night, though. Not in a nice way. Not glittering and full of intrigue. No. He’s hurt. And like a wounded animal, he takes several stiff, unsure steps back away from you, swallowing hard and looking anywhere, everywhere else.

“I’m fine,” you say again, trying to sound a little quieter, a little calmer. Even if that is miles away from the truth.

“Okay,” he says, unconvinced and wringing his hands in front of his stomach. “If-… I’m sorry if that was-… I didn’t mean to make you-…”

You shake your head, standing back up to your full height, but you don’t close the gap between you. You don’t reach out to him, even though you want to. You just have to blindly hope he can read your mind somehow — there’s no way to explain it quickly enough without leaving you both in a mess, and right now...

“Hey,” you say, forcing him to look at you once more. “It’s not-… it isn’t you. I just have to go, okay?”

He doesn’t seem overly reassured by this, but he nods anyway. “Can-… you text me when you get home?” He asks. Then, hurried: “Just so I know you’re back safe. That’s all.”

You swallow hard.

“Yeah,” you say on an outward breath, cringing at how exasperated it sounds. You don’t mean it to — you’re really not mad at him. “I will. I’ll message you.”

Biting the inside of his bottom lip, Vernon takes another step back. He doesn’t say anything else, just shoves his hands as far into the pockets of his jeans as he can and watches you.

“I’ll message you,” you repeat, opening the door, speaking more to yourself than to him. “I promise.”

Then, you’re stumbling out into his hallway. Hurrying down the too-narrow staircase. Leaning your back against the brickwork outside, a light drizzle of rain splashing all over your bare arms. The stone prickles through your t-shirt as you slide down, as you feebly try to suck thick, damp air into your lungs, as your head starts to ache, as a dull throb starts to reside behind your eyes.

It takes ten minutes of staring into the empty road in front of you before you feel steady enough to attempt to wrestle your phone out of your pocket. No matter how many buttons you press, no matter how many times you tap it, the screen refuses to come to life and you only now manage to recall the ‘low battery’ notification that came through several hours ago. Briefly, it crosses your mind to go back upstairs and ask if you can request a ride on Vernon’s phone. You know he’d say yes. Hell, he’d probably throw a blanket over your shivering shoulders and fix you another cup of coffee while you waited, too. But you can’t. The look on his face as you slid out his front door is burned into your memory like a brand and there surely couldn’t be anything worse than having to go back in there and face him like this.

Five more minutes pass before you find the energy to stand, to stretch out your bunched up muscles, and start on the walk home. Another thirty until you’re trudging, sodden and blurry eyed and heavy-hearted, through your apartment door. Three and a half after that before you finally manage to text Vernon to say your phone died, but you’re back, you’re safe. That you’re sorry.

Barely ten seconds tick by before it pops up that he reads your message. (Followed by ninety seconds of staring down at the bubble that says he’s typing, waiting for a reply that ultimately doesn’t come.)

And four hours later, you’re still wide awake, lying under your covers, staring blankly up at the ceiling. You think you ought to be giddy, squirming, hiding your smile in your pillow — that’s how first kisses are supposed to make you feel. Isn’t it? Alas, you’re flooded instead with visions of the last time a first kiss felt like it made this much sense; in place of all the endorphins you’re sure should be ricocheting off every inner surface of your brain, all you know is heartache and dread.

So you stare, and you stare, and you keep on staring; even when your eyes start to burn, you stare a little more.

thank u so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed it! as always, likes, reblogs, comments & feedback are so so appreciated. parts 2 and 3 are very nearly finished, as well, so stay tuned.<3

#vernon fanfic #vernon imagines #vernon x you #vernon fluff #vernon angst #vernon x reader #seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #kpop fanfic #j writes.#re. high fidelity.#*

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chimcess · 6 months

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Waterlog || pjm (3)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Olympic Swimmer!Jimin, Ex Olympic Swimmer! Reader, Swim Coach!Reader Genre: Strangers to Friends to Lovers!AU, Coach!AU, Swimming!AU, HEAVY Angst, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, fluff, eventual smut, I'm so soft for these two it's crazy. Word Count: 12.2k+ Synopsis: After a car accident ends her athletic career, Y/N has slowly started rebuilding her life again as a high school swim coach. That’s until she gets a request from an old friend and finds herself back in the spotlight as the new coach of Olympic swimmer, Park Jimin. Warnings: toxic relationship (not reader and jimin), arguments, cheating (not reader and jimin), talks about previous child abuse, anxiety attack, strong language, crying, emotional abuse (not reader and jimin), talks of bad parental relationships, abandonment issues, some PTSD, prescription medication use, mentions of depression and mental health, lots of angst in this one, finally making some progress though, age insecurity, mutual pining, lots of side character development in this one, they really are so sweet together, jimin just being the nicest boy in the world, so much PDA, physical touch is his love language 👀👀👀, writing this is so comforting even when its angsty lol, i think that's it, let me know if I missed something A/N: Hello hello. Probably my favorite chapter to date. Bad news is that I think this series might be a little longer than originally intended. My inability to just get to the point has things moving a little slow, but I'm trying my best. We'll have to see, though! Hope you enjoy reading :)

prev || masterlist || next || playlist

Time went by quickly. Wednesday and Friday morning, Jimin and I met up to train for a few hours and then got breakfast together. When he asked if I wanted to work out with him in the evenings, I agreed. In the beginning, I had given him pointers, but after the second week came to a close, we had started exercising in silence. We spotted one another, made small talk, and went to dinner on the nights he did not go home to be with his parents. We got along and I was happy my overwhelming attraction to him had slowly calmed down.

I was still aware of his presence, the way he smelled, and how often he smiled and laughed, but I had grown used to seeing him walking around in barely anything at all. Hoseok called me a cougar whenever we had time to chat while Andy kept telling me to talk with Jimin about how I felt, but I had gotten very good at deflecting. Things were better and I was taking my wins whenever I could get them. Even if those wins meant I went home sexually frustrated and aching for someone to make it better.

Jimin was packing up for the night and I was getting ready to head out. He had plans with a large group of his friends, so I would have to figure out dinner by myself this time. He invited me but I politely declined. I could vaguely recall how rude his friends from that restaurant had been, and that one girl's mean glare. I had no interest in repeating that.

Giselle waved at me on her way out which I returned with a smile. She was a very sweet, college girl and getting to know her was fun. Her brother moved out here six years ago and was the only reason she left Memphis. In-State tuition and a rent-free bedroom was all it took to convince her to spend some quality time with her big brother and his dog, Lucky.

She and Sam were the closest, but I would often see her eating lunch with Megan when he was with a client. Everyone was making bets on when they would eventually hook up, but I was convinced that had already happened and they were keeping it a secret from the nosy staff.

"See you tomorrow," Yoongi called out from across the room, seemingly appearing out of thin air.

He was out of eyesight before I could reply.

"Bye Yoon," Giselle sing-songed anyway, shoving her ear buds in and leaving before the door could close behind Yoongi. "Night guys!"

As the young woman said, Yoongi and Megan were the two most important people to befriend. Not just for massages either. The both of them were hilarious and kept the back fridge stocked with our favorite snacks. On the mornings I did not have time to eat breakfast, Megan stopped and got me a muffin and coffee from her favorite cafe. If I needed someone to help me out in the pool, Yoongi was always happy to offer himself for the job. It was challenging for me to focus on my swimming when Jimin was around, and I would often come in early to get a quick work out in before he got here.

“You okay getting home?” Jimin asked.

We had come together tonight, and he had offered to drive us in his truck. I had grown very fond of the green machine, which Jimin affectionately called Fiona, and I jumped at the chance to get in his passenger seat. We were usually riding around in my car since it was better on gas.

“Yeah, I’m riding with Sam.”

Sam and I had grown close as well. He was super funny and always down to hang out with me if I showed up by myself. On the odd Sunday I felt like getting out of the house, I found myself at the gym with Sam. I was currently attempting to teach him how to swim and always filled in for Yoongi on the weekends.

Jimin nodded, “Good. See you this weekend?”

I smiled, “Can’t miss your big party.”

Jimin’s 24th birthday was on the 13th and his family liked to go big. Eloise was clearing out an entire section in their restaurant for all of us, and I had found myself teamed up with Taehyung to help with the planning. Na-Yeon put everything in his hands since she was not feeling up to the task this year. I only agreed to help when I realized just how overboard the snowboarder would go if no one was there to reel him back in. So far, I had placed the responsibility of decorating, music, and organizing the gift table on my shoulders. James had pulled me aside and thanked me when he found out. Apparently, he was also worried about Taehyung’s enthusiasm.

“It should be fun,” He nodded. “I’m going to head out.”

“See you tomorrow,” We had finally started coming 5 days a week. "We're working on your turns. Butterflies, too. Be prepared.”

He groaned, “You’re torturing me, coach.”

I laughed, “Is the baby upset?”

“Very,” He winked. My mouth went dry. Sometimes I felt silly for getting nervous around him, especially when I knew he flirted with everyone. I was not special. “See you Saturday.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled as I stared at his retreating back. “See you.”

Jimin’s birthday passed quietly. We had a great time and ate well. Taehyung got drunk enough to suggest karaoke once we cleared out the place for the night, and he and Na-yeon had all of us cracking up. I finally met Jungkook’s girlfriend, a pretty girl who did not talk very much, and I could feel the tension between the two of them. Jimin said that was just how they were and to ignore it.

After Jungkook successfully shoved Jimin's face into his cake, we opened presents. The boys got him tons of workout clothes and gear, Eloise bought him a new blender, and his parents both chipped in to get the new video game he had been talking about picking up.

I gifted him a bottle of his favorite cologne after Na-Yeon mentioned he was out. Jo Malone was the most distracting thing in my life right now, its scent clinging to the passenger side of my car most days and driving me insane if Jimin stood too close. Still, it was something I did not think I could part with now. Jimin was happy with the present and hugged me after opening it. I was positive I had this stupid grin on my face for the rest of the night.

By Halloween we were in the gym every day, save Sunday and the occasional Saturday when Jimin needed some time to rest. We both kept our word, our conversation at the restaurant we went to with Jungkook and Taehyung sticking better than I thought it would. Overtime he got more confident when asking for a break and I was a professional at picking up on his body language. We were a good team, and I was confident he would be in great shape for the Olympics.

It was mid-November now and Taehyung had finally gotten around to getting us together for the sushi date in Detroit. I had just gotten out of the shower when Jimin messaged he was going to come along. His mom had a rough Sunday and could not go to their usual dance class, so he had stayed with her instead. He looked worn out when he walked inside the pool room Monday morning so instead of training, I just sent him home. We were meeting back up on Wednesday to get back to work, but it seemed Jungkook’s nagging finally convinced him to come out with the rest of us.

My relationships with his friends had also started to improve. Taehyung had added me to their group chat a few weeks back and I had tried to keep up with them as often as I could remember to. It was not difficult. They text so often I had to silence notifications for the chat, but I had to admit they were really funny. Jungkook especially.

I was happy to spend time with everyone and getting out of the house sounded nice. Violet and Calvin were great, and I did enjoy eating dinner with them sometimes, but I would be lying if I said they would be my first choice to spend time with.

I had grown close enough with Taehyung during the partying planning that his bubbly, over the top personality had become more endearing than overwhelming. We had gone to lunch a few times together, his boldness only increasing with each meet up, and he could hold me hostage for hours if I let him. Milo was typically my saving grace, and Taehyung would leave with a wet kiss to my cheek and promises of the same time next week.

Tae: Y/N should pick you up

Jimin: Why???

Kookie: Your truck is ass

I chuckled and sent off a text of my own before going to my dresser to find something warm to wear.

Me: I don’t mind driving

Me: Don’t hate on the truck. I like it.

My phone chimed a few times but I ignored it for now. I knew I wanted to wear a pair of dark, navy jeans. It was freezing outside so a long sleeve was a must, but I could get away with just two layers. My hands found a mustard-yellow turtleneck and I smiled. I could wear my brown boots with it. Happy with my outfit, I checked on the chat.

Jimin: U sure?

Tae: The truck is GREEN

Tae: Already a crime

Kookie: It can’t go over 60

Darcy: omg stop blowing my phone up

Darcy: just ride with her dude

Jimin: Y/N?

I rolled my eyes. I hated when he did that. Jimin had the habit of double and triple checking in with someone. It was sweet but it also drove me insane. There was nothing more I disliked than repeating myself, especially if I already agreed to something.

Me: I’ll pick you up in 30, k?

Jimin: Thanks

Darcy: Was that so hard?

I frowned. So, Darcy was in a bad mood then. Shouldn't take it out on Jimin, I thought. Even if she was having a bad day, something that seemed to be a reoccurring theme with her, it doesn't mean she can just talk to people like that. Fighting the urge to give into my annoyance and call her out, I tossed my phone on my bed and made myself finish getting ready.

Walking into the living room, I went on a hunt for the jacket I wanted to wear. It was the same color as my leather boots with sherpa trim. It would tie everything together and, I hoped, would keep Taehyung from complaining too much about the “offensive” color of my shirt. He had a hard time accepting anything in the yellow or green family. Finding it on the sofa, I nodded and left it be. I would grab it on my way out.

It took me more time to get my hair figured out than anything, but once I gave up and did the same thing that I did every day, it worked itself. After that, I put on a little bit of makeup since I figured it would not take me very long. This was a casual outing with friends and the dim lights of the sushi place would give me some grace if things were not perfect. A nice base, simple eye look, and a layer of mascara already had me looking more awake than I had in months. After applying a layer of lip gloss and a misting of setting spray, I was out of the door, jacket keeping me warm, and purse tucked under my arm.

I drove in silence, like I always did, and pulled onto the curb of Jimin’s house. Sending a text to the chat, I waited for him to come out. I was a few minutes later than I said I would be, but Jimin found a way to be late for everything, so I did not feel that bad about it. Taehyung and Milo were already on leaving Ann Arbor, and Jungkook and Darcy riding with them. They would only beat us there by fifteen minutes or so, but I hoped he would hurry up and come outside. Taehyung worked hard for those reservations.

My phone vibrated and I stared at the little device in my cup holder. It was weird how my anxiety fluctuated on a daily basis. Back home, I could talk on the phone and hold a conversation behind the wheel, but ever since I came to Michigan it felt like I had taken three massive steps back. Taking a few deep breaths, I told myself that I was safe. I was parked, completely stationary, and no one was around. No traffic meant no accidents. Sucking in a harsh breath, I picked it up.

Jimin: Be out in a sec

Jimin: Just making sure mom is okay

He had not left his mother’s house in days. I was worried about Na-Yeon, but I had to believe that Jimin would tell me if something was seriously wrong with her. I had truly started to feel connected with the woman. We joked over dinner and I found myself helping her out more and more each time I came by. It would devastate me if she passed away without me knowing how bad it had gotten.

Me: Take your time

He came out only two minutes later. Wearing a heavy, black puffy jacket and tight pants, Jimin leisurely walked over and got into the car. His cologne hit me as soon as the door opened, and I bit my lip, trying to hide the deep inhale I took. Jo fucking Malone.

He smiled at me but otherwise kept quiet as I drove. He knew I had a difficult time behind the wheel and tried his best to keep conversation light. While I normally appreciated the sentiment, I did not want to make him sit in silence for 45 minutes. Opening and closing my mouth a few times, I struggled to come up with a good conversation topic.

We often bounced from idea to idea, mostly sticking to swimming and music, and I always found our little talks to be very insightful. Movies and tv shows had been fun to bond over, a small generational gap introducing us to shit we had never heard of before. There were so many things I could bring up, things that Jimin would jump at the idea to talk about. Still, I could not find my voice.

“So,” I started, awkwardly, trying to push past the blockade of anxiety. “Is this place as good as Tae says or is he going off on one of his rants again?”

Jimin chuckled softly. “It’s pretty good, but it’s still just sushi. Taehyung finds a way to make everything sound extravagant.”

We shared a quiet laugh.

“It was nice of him to invite me,” My hands gripped the wheel tighter. We were starting to approach more populated areas. “He didn’t have to do that.”

Jimin snorted childishly, the sound relaxing me ever so slightly. If there was one thing I hated was driving at night. I was lucky the snow had stopped falling yesterday afternoon and the roads were clear, but a part of me wished I had asked Jimin to drive.

Traffic in Saline was lighter than any town back in Colorado, and driving around was a breeze in comparison. At home, you were lucky if there was only one accident a day, but more times than not I had been stuck on the interstate for hours because of multiple car crashes. Michigan felt less hectic; safer. Not safe enough to let my guard down, but safe enough to listen to Jimin when he spoke.

“Taehyung is just that kind of guy.”

I nodded; eyes glued to the road. I wanted to say something and keep our conversation flowing, but the more cars around us the more I tuned him out. My eyes flickered between my rearview mirror, side mirrors, and windshield rapidly as I drove. Once we were out of Saline and on I-94, I loosened my grip on the wheel. We would not hit much traffic until we were closer to Detroit.

Jimin stayed quiet and looked out the window. I wanted to thank him for being so understanding, but I knew he would not want me to. I kept my thoughts to myself and focused on the road. Jimin began to hum an unfamiliar tune.

My hands were shaking when we pulled up to the restaurant. Traffic had gotten pretty bad coming into the city, but we had picked a good day to come out. Jimin hummed and sang underneath his breath for most of the car ride, and we had a few small sporadic conversations when I felt the knots in my stomach loosen for a few brief moments.

"It's been forever since I've come here," Jimin said to himself, going to unbuckle his seat belt. "It looks pretty filled up."

Bash was a sushi place across from Wayne State University's football field and was one Taehyung’s favorite restaurants. He bragged about how delicious their food was for weeks before finally wearing me down with the promise of picking up the tab. He made reservations for their omakase, or “chef’s choice,” and promised I would get his obsession.

When I talked to Megan about it, she had said it was an expensive meal, so I was going to try and force myself to enjoy it regardless of my own personal feelings. Jimin seemed to like it here, and we usually enjoyed a lot of the same foods, so it made me feel a bit better about things.

I had to park down the street and spotted Taehyung’s Mazda a few cars away. Instead of getting out, I took a few moments to gather my composure. Jimin sat beside me patiently. He had grown used to my traffic anxiety. We had driven together so many times now, and he had gotten a taste of the worst of it a handful of times.

He had only asked about it the first time we rode to the gym together, completely frazzled and unsure of himself as I hyperventilated in the driver's seat. My hands trembled violently as my palms sweat profusely, and I let myself shed a few tears once we were parked. He reached out, placing a hand on my back, and quietly asked me what was bothering me.

“Red light,” I managed to wheeze out. They were doing some construction on the main road and things started piling up. I had gotten stuck in the intersection for just a few seconds, but it was long enough to send me into a blind panic. “Anxiety. Sorry. Need a minute.”

He helped me calm down, calming down to help me through my panic attack. We played a game of I-Spy, Jimin picking out the most obvious shit and saying the most random things to point out in order to make me laugh. When I felt a little better, he got out of the car to help me get out. After that he kept quiet about my obvious driving discomforts, but stuck close just in case I needed the support, and always offered to drive.

“Ready?” He asked when I grabbed my phone out of the cup holder.

“Yeah.”

We walked inside and the hostess made light conversation while she walked us to the back. Taehyung's laugh could be heard from the other side of the room, and his bright blue hair and vibrant eyeshadow stuck out like a sore thumb in this place. Milo was dressed in all black, his arm draped around his fiancé's shoulder, and a smile on his face. Jungkook was beside him scrolling through his phone, but Darcy was nowhere in sight. Glancing at Jimin, he seemed exasperated.

“Trouble in paradise,” He murmured, leaning down so I could hear him. I had to imagine their relationship was very exhausting and took its toll on their friend group. I knew how much it sucked being caught between Tilly and Hobi back in the day. “Here we fucking go.”

Taehyung jumped out of the booth when he caught sight of us, his fluffy, white cropped top riding up, revealing even more of his tanned skin. The snowboarder wrapped his arms around my waist and snuggled my hairline, showering me in compliments. Gold hoop earrings tapped my forehead, and his belly button ring was cold against my ribcage. He was happy to see me “dolled up” for once and forgave how ugly my shirt was since I looked “so cute.”

Milo gave me a slight wave, eyes never leaving Taehyung's bouncing body as he embraced Jimin, and Jungkook put his phone down to greet us. Darcy had gone to the bathroom and from the look on Milo’s face, Jimin’s was right about trouble in paradise. Whatever was going on, we were all about to fall witness. It made my stomach churn just thinking about it.

Our waitress brought a new pot of tea, asking us if we needed anything, before leaving with the promise of the first course coming out soon. Darcy almost slammed into the poor woman on her way back to our booth, her annoyed huff making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. When she sat down beside her boyfriend her entire body was rigged and face pulled together tightly. She did not spare us a glance as she sulked.

Darcy was a very beautiful girl and it made sense why Jungkook liked her so much. Tanned skin, green eyes, and black hair, the girl had one of those bodies most women would pay thousands of dollars for. Like Taehyung had said, she was a pleasant enough person, and we did not along well enough to hold a conversation, but there was no hiding the fact that Darcy was not a nice girl. In fact, I would venture to say she was very, very mean.

I saw it firsthand at Jimin’s birthday party. I had a moment where I felt myself panicking. Overwhelmed with all of the noise and people, I excused myself and called Andy to get my head back on straight. The women's restroom was tucked away in a small hallway and allowed me the space to shed a few tears. I was just starting to calm down, Andy's words of encouragement getting back to some sort of baseline, while I rubbed cold water on my neck. That was when I heard Jungkook on the other side of the door.

He was angry and when I told Andy I needed to go, I had every intention of going out there to talk to him, but another voice beat me to it. Darcy had been in a bad mood since she walked through the front door, her shitty attitude bringing down the party every time she opened her mouth. At first, I just brushed it off as an off night, something I could feel empathy towards, but then she opened her mouth and stopped those thoughts in their tracks.

The two of them were serial cheaters, and Jimin had alluded to that being their main issue when I asked about her attitude problem earlier that night. Eloise was the person who gave me the whole story and was not afraid to voice her dislike for the older girl. This was different from Milo, a guy who she clashed with due to their night and day personalities. Darcy had actively picked on and made fun of her growing up, and bullied her older sister while they were in school together.

Darcy, according to Eloise, started the back-and-forth cheating when they were in college. Instead of going their separate ways, something I doubt anyone would have blamed Jungkook for doing, he chose to get even. After fucking one of her sorority sisters, Jungkook made his way through the entire house within the span of three months. In retaliation, Darcy slept with a couple of guys from the NHL, something she still did to this day.

On the night of the party, she was still fuming over catching him with another woman a few days prior. Trapped in the bathroom and too afraid to let them know I could hear them; I suffered through five minutes of a couple’s quarrel I had no business being in the middle of. It was an eye opener for sure and made me avoid getting too close to either of them.

Darcy was very mean and spiteful, her words meant to cut him deeply with little care about how it would make him feel in the long run. She even brought up screwing one of his rivals to get back at him, something she had done on numerous occasions, and went as far as to compare the two men in bed. It helped to explain why Jungkook hated Jackson Wang so much.

Jungkook, despite how much I enjoyed him as an individual, was just as awful. He spent most of the argument defending his bad behavior by bringing up her own and took no accountability for his actions. He could have sex with all of Michigan and it would be justified because she cheated on him first. It was all very juvenile, and I tried my best to avoid them for the rest of the night.

“Bet they can’t go ten minutes without fighting,” Jimin mumbled in my ear.

I fought back a smile, leaning into his side. Physical touch was the swimmer’s love language and I had slowly grown accustomed to small touches here and there. So, it did not catch me off guard when his arm came around my shoulders, resting just above my head, hand gently brushing against my neck. The voice in my head often wished he would do it more often.

“She won’t start something before the food gets here,” I reasoned, stealing a look at the couple. Jungkook seemed fine, but from the look on Darcy’s face that might change soon. “I’ll say twenty.”

“What are we bargaining for?”

I laughed awkwardly, “Whatever you want.”

Taking a second to think, Jimin eyed the couple across the table. Taehyung and Milo were obviously extremely aware of the couple's awkward tension and tactfully ignored them, instead giggling about some inside joke. They were a very sweet pair. My weariness about Milo had dissipated over the last few weeks, but I could understand why he and Eloise could not get along.

Lou herself had admitted to being a bit of a stuck-up teenager back in the day, and Milo was the typical small-town stoner. They constantly butt heads when they were in high school, and just drifted apart with age. Taehyung and Jimin's friendship were the only reason they were in the same circle anymore, and the two just never spoke to avoid pressing buttons.

“I want to do something together,” Jimin finally said, I smiled, trying to ignore the snarky comments Darcy was making. The arguing was starting, and I felt my neck growing hot. Did they have to do this in public? “Get dinner or something.”

“We do that all the time,” I countered, half-heartedly paying attention to him.

“Denny’s doesn’t count," He mumbled.

The waitress finally came back with a large tray of sushi in her hand. That seemed to break up the argument momentarily, but Darcy did not seem pleased to be interrupted. Stuffing a large piece of ahi sashimi in my mouth, I sparked up a conversation with Taehyung to keep myself from having another meltdown. Beside him, Milo sent me a grateful look.

The rest of the table was silent, waiting for the fight to resume. Taehyung kept smiling painfully, but I could see the panic bubbling in his eyes, and for once I saw a small crack in his otherwise well-crafted facade.

“I didn’t mean just getting food,” Jimin finally continued when we hit a lull, and it took me a few seconds to remember what he was talking about. “I meant… going out.”

I looked at him, eyebrow raised. His cheeks were puffed with scallops and I wished we were alone. This was not a conversation I wanted to have in front of the others, especially if he was insinuating what I thought he was. I did not want to jump to conclusions, but I was sure he was asking me out on a date. Even if it made me feel jittery thinking about it, I had a difficult time finding the voice to say yes. Saying no felt just as impossible, though, and I wished he would have picked a better time to bring this up. Whatever the hell this was.

“What are you asking me?” I whispered, taking another piece of fish off my plate, sneaking a look at Taehyung and Milo.

They were too wrapped up in one another to being listening in on us. I did not even bother checking in with the other two. I knew for a fact they did not care about anybody else but themselves.

“You know,” He replied.

Dating was not off the table, and I was more than happy to indulge myself, but I was worried about crossing this invisible line I had drawn. What would people say if they found out? A coach and her trainee, and even worse, the older woman and her much younger man. I could see the headlines now and it made my palms sticky. That would not be a good look for either one of us, and I did not want our personal relationship to affect Jimin’s career.

Putting my chopsticks down, I leaned away from him. “Can we talk about this later?”

He nodded, meeting my eyes, and I was relieved to see he was not upset. I had seen him angry a few times now, and he wore it on his sleeve with pride. Jimin was not afraid of his emotions, something I found extremely attractive, and it was nice that all I could see right now was understanding. Whatever happened he would hear me out, and I had to hope he would be understanding. I just had to be sure I did not fuck anything up.

Across the table the bickering had started again. Our waitress brought out the rest of our meal, sans desert, and seemed happy we were enjoying the food. She eyed Darcy wearily and left our table in a hurry. I felt horrible for the wait staff who had come to our table. They were all getting the nastiest looks from the dark haired beauty.

“Do we really have to do this now?” Jungkook sighed, running a hand through his hair roughly. His face was red and expression tight. “In front of my friends, dude? Are you serious?”

I cleared my throat, grabbed my tea and took a long sip before sinking into the booth and praying no one could see me. Jimin’s arm dropped, and he squeezed my shoulder in comfort. I let myself melt under his touch. It always felt nice when his hands were on me, his warmth burning hot like a furnace even in below freezing temperatures. Taehyung’s eyes were bulging out of his head now, his bottom lip trembling as he tried his best to keep the conversation between the four of us light. He had stopped trying to include the other two.

“You two seem close,” He gritted, fakeness coming from him that I had never encountered before. “Glad you were able to sort that out.”

I looked over at Jimin and saw his cheeks had gone pink. So, Taehyung knew something I didn’t. It would make sense for the childhood best friend to get the scoop before the chick he’s known for two months, I had definitely vented to my friends on more than one occasion, and my curiosity was peaked.

“I'm working on it,” Jimin replied, taking a big gulp of water. “Thanks, Tae," He breathed, rolling his eyes.

I stifled a laugh. He was so cute when he was embarrassed. I made a mental note to ask Tae to explain what he meant when we had a chance to get lunch. I had a feeling the snowboarder would be more than happy to divulge that little piece of information.

“Talking about me to your friends?” I teased, trying my best to ignore the ever-growing argument across from me. The butterflies in my stomach were a helpful distraction. “Good things, I hope.”

He cracked a smile, face and neck flushed. “The best things.”

Such a flirt.

I bit my lip and looked away. Eating was a nice way to interrupt the electricity that was enveloping us, and I gorged myself on octopus and tuna. Whatever the hell these dishes were, I had to admit the sushi here was the best I had ever had. I would never doubt a recommendation from Taehyung again.

The conversation started flowing easily after that. Jungkook and Darcy were at a stalemate and were relatively quiet on their side of the booth. With the atmosphere lightening, Milo felt good enough to start telling us his latest work stories. He was a firefighter along with all three of his brothers. His father was promoted to chief about five years ago but was coming up to his retirement. The only one of his siblings to avoid the fireman fate was his baby sister, but had still managed to find a job at the station.

"You guys must be close," I laughed in disbelief.

“It’s the family business,” He joked. "Rosie is our new EMT."

Taehyung spoke excitedly about his upcoming competitions and was really hopeful he would win enough to qualify for the Olympics this year. Milo and Jimin both reassured him multiple times while I tried my best to keep up with everything he was talking about. I had very little knowledge of snowboarding, so I was having to constantly interrupt and ask for clarification. No one seemed to mind, and eventually Jungkook joined in to talk about his upcoming hockey games.

The Red Wings were having a good year, and he was proud of his team for working as hard as they did. As a goalie, he did not do a lot of skating, but his job was one of the hardest on the team. From what I knew after watching a few games on tv with Jimin's family, Jungkook was one of the best goalies in the NHL who was highly sought after. He had been offered millions to transfer to the New York Rangers, but out of loyalty he turned them down.

“I’ll take you to a few matches if you want,” Jimin offered. “Kook can get us tickets whenever.”

I smiled, “That sounds like fun.”

“Milo and I go all of the time so we can sit together,” Taehyung interjected, his shoulders relaxed for the first time since we got here.

Darcy was quiet and stayed on her phone. Jungkook was pretending she was not here, and it helped keep the arguing from starting again. I was not sure how long the truce would last, but I hoped they could hold it together long enough for us to finish eating.

“So Y/N,” Milo mused, taking a piece of fish from Taehyung’s plate. “Have you ever thought about competing again?”

I laughed nervously, “For a time, maybe. My injuries make it hard for me to swim the way I used to so I decided to keep it as a hobby.”

It was not a complete lie, but I knew I might be able to get back into competitions if I put in the time and effort. I hated the thought of being back in the spotlight, cameras shoved in my face, only to lose and give them more to talk about. I was still recovering from the trauma they inflicted on me after the accident. My leg injuries just gave me the perfect excuse to keep my distance.

He nodded, eyebrows knitted, “I didn’t know you had medical leave. What happened?”

Jimin tensed up beside me.

“I was in a car accident,” I replied. Talking about what happened did not bother me as much as it used to, and Milo seemed genuinely interested in the answer. “I had to get a full knee replacement on my left side, and a full hip replacement. I should have lost my leg, but the doctor on staff recognized me and brought up my profession.”

Milo whistled, giving me a sympathetic look. “Leg? You could have died.”

“Well,” I breathed, finishing off my last piece of fish. “I pulled through though, so it wasn’t all bad.” I fiddled with my shirt, pretending to smooth it down as I played it cool. "Anyway, I have nerve damage in my leg that makes me get really horrible cramps and twitching if I overwork my muscles. It sucks but coaching is really fun, so I can't complain."

Blatantly lying wasn't something I did often, but I truly hated reliving the months of physical therapy. Unable to walk or talk, I was stuck in that hospital bed for weeks and then got sent home to watch my closest friends wait on me hand-and-foot. When I wasn’t in physical therapy, I was with my SLP. When I wasn’t with her then I was in bed, crying into my pillow, and wishing I had never woken up. It was an extremely dark time in my life, one filled with chronic pain and overwhelming depression, and talking about it made me emotional.

“Anyway,” Taehyung sent his fiancé a pointed look. “Kookie’s next home game is in two weeks.”

Happy to be out of the spotlight, I began to talk with Jimin about changing our schedule around so we could attend the game. Taehyung was excited to get me some Red Wing merchandise, and Jungkook quickly began to boast about his prowess on the ice. Darcy scoffed beside him and I felt the group tense up.

“You’re so cocky, Ian,” She taunted, eyes glued to her phone. “I heard Avalanche was doing really well this season.”

I knew from the group chat that the Red Wings and the Colorado Avalanche had a long-standing rivalry. It had started all the way back in the mid-90’s and reached its peak in 2002. While the intensity had dissipated over the years, it had recently spiked up again due to Jungkook and Jackson Wang’s ongoing feud. The only reason Darcy would bring that up would be to piss her boyfriend off.

“Hm,” Jungkook smirked, chuckling darkly. “Who told you that?”

I held my breath, already guessing where this was going. The tension from earlier was thicker than ever as we fell silent. Darcy put her phone on the table, flipped her hair over her shoulder, and looked Jungkook in the face as she replied.

“Jackson.”

It was dead silent for a few seconds. Then, without waiting for a response, Darcy kept digging the knife in and twisting. She called him ugly, said he sucked in bed, brought up all of the ways Jackson was better than he was, and went as far as to bring up his father's affair. Jungkook could not get a word in as her silky voice dropped lower and lower, words cutting deeper and deeper, and eyes growing brighter as she watched his expression fall. I learned something tonight. Darcy enjoyed hurting Jungkook.

"Why are you doing this, dude?" Jungkook's voice was thick with emotion. "You're acting like a fucking child. It's embarrassing."

“Holy shit,” Milo groaned as their voices got louder. “Are they being forreal right now?”

“Babe,” Taehyung scolded, the forced smile still plastered on his face. “Language.”

“You weren’t embarrassed when you fucked that girl” Darcy screamed and I felt my stomach twist uncomfortably. “Why should I feel bad about airing out my dirty laundry? Everyone here knows how much of a whore I am anyway, isn’t that right, Ian?”

“Keep your voice down,” Jungkook hissed, eyes glassy. “You’re causing a scene.”

Taehyung and Milo looked as mortified as I felt, both of them staring at Darcy in horror. The entire restaurant had gone silent. Eyes were glued to our table as they argued. She shouted about him getting his dick sucked in their bed, and Jungkook was just angry she was acting like this in public. It was Jimin’s birthday all over again only this time they knew people were watching and did not care. Taehyung’s smile was finally gone and replaced by trembling lips and fidgeting hands.

“Take that shit outside,” Jimin cut in, voice cold and hard. Darcy glared daggers in our direction. “You’re going to get us kicked out.”

Darcy opened her mouth to argue but was interrupted by the waitress coming back and demanding our party leave. Taehyung began to apologize profusely while Darcy stormed out of the restaurant, bumping into numerous people roughly without looking back. Jungkook was hot on her heels, breathing heavily, and eyes glossed over with unshed tears. She shouted that Jackson was outside and for Jungkook to go fuck himself. Jungkook didn’t reply but I knew he was not expecting the other man to be here. I sure the fuck wasn't.

An arm wrapped around my shoulders, “Hey, calm down. Breathe.”

I had not realized I had been holding my breath. Turning my head, I was taken aback by how close Jimin was. Our noses brushed together, his breath hot against my cheek, and I jerked away, heart racing. The butterflies were swarming now, and a shiver went down my spine. His arm dropped and I immediately missed its warmth. Flustered, I scooted out of the booth and kept my head hung low. I was so embarrassed, and I could hear Taehyung’s voice starting to wobble as he handed over some cash to the waitress for the trouble. No one was going home happy tonight.

“I’m so fucking pissed off,” Jimin grunted, keeping in step with me. Milo was attempting to get a now hysterical Taehyung calmed as they followed behind us. “I don’t know why Tae invites the two of them anywhere.”

I shook my head, “It’s not his fault. She needs to get some self-control, though. That was so rude and uncalled for, and for what?"

“They both owe him a fucking apology,” He sighed harshly.

The guests of honor were already in a very heated screaming match when we finally made it outside. Whatever had been brewing inside had clearly reached its peak, and neither one of them was willing to back down. Jimin’s arm was back around my shoulders as he tried his best to shelter me from the strong winds that were kicking up. Looking at Darcy and Jungkook all I could see were my parents and it caused me great discomfort. Maybe I should try to call my dad again and make sure he was alright? He rarely answered but at least it would cut some of the edge off of my anxiety.

“Why are you acting like this?” Jungkook shouted, pulling at his hair. “What the fuck is wrong with you, dude?”

“You!” Darcy shrieked. “You! You! YOU! You’re the problem. This is all your fault!”

Jungkook called her a crazy bitch and Darcy slapped him across the face before stomping off. A sleek red convertible was waiting for her on the curb, a well-groomed man behind the steering wheel. He smiled and waved at Jungkook before speeding off, Darcy already attaching her lips to his neck and not sparing any of us a second glance.

“What the fuck!” Taehyung shouted, sobbing and clinging to Milo.

I was surprised he was able to hold himself back for that long. He seemed hellbent on strangling Jungkook as soon as he was able. I stepped to the side watching a man I had never seen upset shove Jungkook backwards. Any resemblance of a smile was gone now, replaced with a snot-nosed, red eyed man with bared teeth. Jungkook stumbled, barely keeping his footing before shoving the other man back. Milo was quick to defend his fiancé, pushing Jungkook so hard he stumbled, fell on his ass, and cried out in pain.

Jimin’s arm gripped me tighter as he stared at the scene unfold in silence. His clenched jaw, however, told me how angry he was. I briefly wondered what he would be doing if he was not so focused on keeping me warm.

“That was so fucked up,” Taehyung cried, wiping his face roughly. “I told you both to keep that shit at home or don’t come!”

“She started it! It’s not my fault-”

“Dude,” Milo shook his head, wrapping his arms around Taehyung. “It doesn’t fucking matter. That’s your girl.”

As the three of them argued, I tried to decipher the look on Jimin’s face. He was angry, that was very apparent, and I felt my own anger finally start to rise. He had been dealing with so much shit and on his first night out in ages this happens? It was unfair and ridiculous, my frustration over the entire situation making me want to go over and push Jungkook around, too. However, I knew that was not the way to handle this. Truth was, he was not the only person to blame for how badly the night had ended. Darcy was the main instigator.

“Are you okay?” I asked Jimin, stepping away from his tight embrace. His arm was still around my shoulders with no sign of moving. “I’m sorry everything got so shitty.”

He nodded, face softening when he looked at me. “Just worried about Taehyung. He was really excited about tonight.”

The yelling was finally starting to calm down and I was happy that they were talking things out. I did not think I could handle the screaming for any longer. I had been a bundle of nerves since I left my house, and my fingers trembled at my sides. I could hear my mother’s voice echoing in my head, though I was positive it was distorted after so many years. Sometimes when her and dad fought, she would find me hiding in my closet and pull me out, hands leaving my skin tender from the harsh grip she had on my arms, before telling me to clean up the broken dishes from off the floor.

“Come here you little shit!”

She hated me; hated being a mother. I could remember how much I wished she would hold me like the other kids' moms held them but was too afraid to ask. One time I drew a picture of her at school and she never even looked at it. Instead, she smoked her cigarettes at the dinner table and watched Law and Order. If I really thought about it, she threw the drawing away. It was too dirty. Just like I was too dirty.

Mom had germaphobia and considered me one of the dirtiest things she had ever seen. I was not allowed in their bedroom because of it. Dad went along with it like he did everything else. When he wasn’t drinking, he was sleeping or in the garage. I hoped he was doing okay. Danielle seemed to be just as controlling as mom had been.

“Where’d you go?”

I startled, whipping around to find Jimin staring at me. His expression was gentle and calm, and I was suddenly aware of the harsh chill nipping at my wet cheeks. I had not noticed I was starting to cry. Strange. It had been a long time since those memories had been brought up.

“Are you okay?” He asked, rubbing my arm. “You looked lost.”

I nodded, quickly reaching up to pat the tears away. It was a good thing my mascara was smudge proof or else I might look even more pathetic. I am 31 now and it felt stupid to cry over things so far in the past. Things I had not had to deal with in well over 20 years. Dr.Wolfe would disagree with me, but she wasn't here.

“Yeah,” I nodded, voice thick. “Just zoned out for a second. Eyes must have dried out.”

It was a bad lie, but a lie he accepted. Squeezing my arm one last time, he finally moved away to give me a bit of breathing room. That was another thing that I always appreciated about the guy. He never overstayed his welcome, even if he wanted to. Taking a second to compose myself, I mindlessly fixed my hair and adjusted my clothes. Nervous habit.

“I think everyone’s heading home for the night,” Jimin said, nodding his head toward the other three men. “They seem cool. You ready to leave?”

I shrugged, “If you are.”

He nodded and walked over to the ground. I gave myself another moment to gather my thoughts. The worst of it was over and I doubted those memories would make themselves known again. With the screaming over it would not take long for my head to get itself straightened out. I might ask Jimin to drive us back, though. I was exhausted, and frankly, I did not think we would be safe if I was behind the wheel. Nothing worse than an anxious driver.

Jungkook was ashamed of their behavior tonight, and when I joined the others, he was quick to throw a million apologies in my direction. I accepted them all easily but knew it would take me a few days to fully forgive him. Tonight was a lot. Hopefully I could speak with Taehyung privately and ask him not to invite the couple out with us. If I never had to see Darcy again it would make my stay that much easier.

“I think we’re going to go home,” Milo said once Jungkook walked away. He was planning on calling an Uber so Tae could have a bit of space. “My little flower is burned out for the night.”

I smiled sadly, “Are you sure? We can always try something else.”

Taehyung’s head snapped in my direction and I wanted to scoop him up in my arms. His face was puffy from crying and eyes still misty. He was quick to nod his head and reached out to take hold of my hands.

“You still want to hang out with me?” He whimpered.

I had only said it to cheer him up not thinking that he would actually go for the idea. I had never seen him so distraught before and Milo seemed convinced that he was over having fun. Stealing a look at the blonde, he gave me a grateful smile but otherwise kept a watchful eye on Taehyung.

“Of course I do,” I finally replied, squeezing his large hands. “Tonight wasn’t your fault.”

His lower lip started to wobble again and next thing I knew I was in a very tight, warm hug. Taehyung cried into the crook of my neck. He was worried I would not like him anymore because of the fight. I awkwardly hugged him back, hoping my calm reassurances would soothe him. We really needed to get from outside the front of this restaurant before they called the cops.

“It’s alright,” I said, trying to gently remove his arms from my waist. “We’re still friends, I promise.”

After another minute of crying, Taehyung was back in Milo’s arms. His face was red, and his nose was running, but the sobs had stopped. Jimin placed a hand on my lower back and started to bounce a few ideas off of Milo. It was late, but from the sound of things, our get together was not over. I could not say for certain if this was a good thing or not, I did need to have that talk with Jimin. If we were out too late there was no way for me to promise I would not pass out in the car.

“Uh,” Jimin thought for a second. “If we’re still hungry there’s Pie Sci and Woodbridge is right down the street. There's also that park a few blocks away."

I shrugged, “Whatever’s the best?” Looking at Taehyung, I made sure that he was feeling well enough to hang out. “I won’t be upset if you want to go home. It was a rough night for all of us.”

He sniffled and nodded. “I’m just really tired.”

Jimin and I said our goodbyes and I promised the blue haired boy I would call him in the morning to set up another meet up. He called it a group date, something neither Jimin nor I disagreed with, but it did make me feel queasy. Depending on how our conversation goes, we may never spend time together outside of training. I felt like I was going to vomit.

“Let me drive?” Jimin murmured as we parted ways with the couple.

I nodded, digging in my purse to find them. “Mind reader, I swear. Get out of my head, kid.”

He snickered, “Who says you weren’t in mine, granny”

The queasiness dissipated and I felt like I could breathe a little bit easier now. Being alone with Jimin had never felt this nerve wracking before, not even the first time we met, and it was hard to explain all of the thoughts and feelings going through my head. We were finally having the talk, but I had never imagined it going this way. Handing him the keys, I elbowed him in the ribs.

“Whoops,” I mocked. “You know me and my bad eyesight, kiddo.”

“Watch it,” He hissed, rubbing the spot. “Don’t want you breaking anything. You know you have frail bones.”

I laughed, “Don’t make me give you a knuckle sandwich, punk.”

Sliding into the passenger seat felt less daunting after the light hearted exchange. Still, my blood was pumping as Jimin clicked his seatbelt in place. I had no idea when the conversation would shift into murkier waters, but I needed to start thinking about what to say to him.

Denying my feelings would only make things worse, and I did not think the younger man would believe me. In fact, he would be offended that I thought he was dumb enough to get bamboozled in the first place. Lying did not seem like the right call anyway. My feelings were not something to feel ashamed about, but they were very frightening.

“When is later?”

I gasped, startled out of my thoughts. We had been driving for over ten minutes already. Time seemed to slip by when I was lost in my own head. Jimin apologized for scaring me but repeated the question once I reassured him that I was fine.

“Now,” I mumbled. “I guess later is now.”

Turning on the blinker, Jimin switched lanes smoothly. He was probably the best driver that I knew and always made sure to keep my little quirks in mind during our rides. He had even gotten used to leaving the radio off when I was around, something that I appreciated more than words could ever say. Recognizing that I was stalling, I cleared my throat and tried my best to get my jumbled thoughts across.

“As much as I would like to go on that date,” I started, voice weak, “I’m just a bit concerned with how that might affect our ability to work together.”

There we go, I thought to myself mentally patting myself on the back. That was not as hard as I thought it would be. Leaving out a few details would not hurt anybody, and it was the main cause of concern for me. My age was definitely up there, but I doubted Jimin would understand my perspective. To him I was just older, but to the rest of the world I was this cougar on the prowl for young men to help me relive my glory days. Even my own friends thought it was funny to make fun of the age gap.

“Is it only because of that?” Jimin pressed, his voice telling me that he was still reacting positively to whatever was coming out of my mouth. I was refusing to look at him, fearful that he would see through me. “Or is there something else bothering you?”

“W-w-well-” I stammered, “There is the media frenzy to think about. Sejin is already dealing with the press and your ‘out of character’ seclusion this season. Then there’s the age gap. I just-” I struggled to find the right words. Having let my insecurity slip out, I lost my flow and scrambled to get back on track. “Look, I haven’t done this whole dating thing in a really long time, and I don’t want that to get in the way of being a good coach. Ozzie put me in charge of you, and my reputation is on the line.”

I could hear my heart beating in my ears. Mouth dry and palms sweaty, I forced myself to look out of the window as I spoke. Anxiety had been something I dealt with for as long as I could remember, and it only got worse the older I got. My hands and fingers trembled in my lap as I tried to steady my breathing.

In all of the dreams I had about Jimin, and there had been quite a few at this point, this moment had never felt so real and raw. We were always in these picture perfect pieces of heaven, sunshine beaming down on us, and the words I desperately wanted to say fell from my lips with ease. It was simple and sweet, and yet profound and beautiful. I could wax poetics and put myself thoughts together so eloquently he had no choice but to say yes to me.

Reality was different. Here I was stumbling over my sentences and stuttering my way through words. Instead of taking his hand with mine, I was fidgeting with shaking fingers and desperately hoping he could not see just how uncomfortable I was. I knew he did. He always noticed. My heart was racing so fast I was afraid it would burst. Had he turned the heart up? It was boiling.

“I just want to know how you feel about me.”

“Hm?” I squeaked, unable to form any real words. My mouth was too dry.

“I’ve thought about all of the same shit,” Jimin continued, voice as smooth and calming as ever. “I don’t care about any of that. All I want to know is how you feel about me.”

“You know,” I replied, wheezing. Talking felt impossible. “You know.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

Taking in a deep breath, I squeezed my eyes shut and began the mental countdown. My therapist taught me the technique years ago and I always found it to be helpful. I did this a few times until I felt calm enough to open my eyes.

“Are you alright?” Jimin asked.

“Yeah,” I nodded, finally feeling my heart rate slowing. “A little anxious.”

“Don’t be,” He placed a hand on my knee. “It’s just me.”

And he was right. It was just Jimin and I in my car, but that was also the reason I felt so suffocated. There was nowhere to run or hide in here, and if things went south I was stuck with him for half an hour. Trying not to let those pessimistic thoughts send me back into a panic, I began to mentally point out things in my car.

Air freshener. It's green. It smells like pine and lemons. I want a new scent. Jimin likes to buy this coconut and mango one that smells like candy. I will buy one like his. I love the smell.

I let out a heavy breath. Everything was fine. He was not upset. He just wanted to know how I felt about him. Nothing more nothing less. My heart was settling, and my fingers were no longer shaking.

“I like you,” I choked out, placing my hand over his. “But you already knew that.”

He gently laughed, flipping his hand up to intertwine our fingers.

“Yeah, you’re a terrible actress.”

I groaned, leaning my head against the window. As much as I tried kidding myself, there was absolutely no way he did not see the way I looked at him. I always knew when his flirting took on a more serious edge, like when he called me beautiful after seeing the scar on my leg for the first time, so it should not have been surprising that he picked up on a thing or two. Still, it did not make it any less embarrassing.

“How long have you known?” I asked, peeking at him through my lashes.

“I mean, I had a feeling when you first got to town, but I wasn’t completely sure until that first training day.”

He laughed at my embarrassed groan, holding my hand tighter. I knew I wasn't subtle enough. Poker face champion, my ass.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” He cooed. “You’ve been my dream girl since I was, like, 15.”

“That's not helping the age gap thing,” I tittered as I played with his fingers. Then, because I could not help myself. “Dream girl, huh?”

Picking up on the teasing tone in my voice, Jimin chortled.

“Okay, big head. Calm down.”

“Big head?” I guffawed, pulling my hand out of his grasp. “Who are you calling big head, shortstop?”

“You, big head,” Taking back my hand, Jimin pinned it down and kept a tight grip. “No take backs.”

I always loved it when Jimin was in a good mood. He was so playful and full of energy, and all signs of those dark days were in the deepest parts of his mind. It was impossible to keep myself from playing along which only served to egg him on.

“You never said yes or no.”

“Yes or no to what?” I questioned.

Jimin started rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb.

“To that date.”

Saying yes felt wrong, but saying no felt impossible. No matter what I said someone would be upset, and I had to decide who that would be: Jimin or America? I turned my own hand around this time and put my fingers through his. They fit together awkwardly, his hands just a bit too large, but I still found it perfect all the same.

“Do you have any ideas?”

His shiteating grin was contagious and a burst of butterflies began to flutter in my stomach. Hands clasped, Jimin started to list off all of the places we could go, but I was not fully listening. I had a date with this guy. I was going on a date with my trainee.

“What do you think?”

I blinked rapidly, hoping he could not tell that I had zoned out.

“You pick,” I breathed. “Surprise me.”

The rest of the drive back home was spent making small talk and discussing food preferences. Jimin was a dinner and a movie kind of guy, while I would rather do some sort of activity. What type of conversation could we have in a theater? Jimin seemed excited to plan out a fun night and I was just happy he was this into me. The feeling was most definitely mutual.

“Do you mind if I go to my house tonight? Mom needs some space and I know my dad is tired of having me breathing down their necks.”

I had yet to go over to his house. The days that we drove together were when he spent the evening with his parents. When Na-yeon and I talked about it, she was more upfront about her health situation than the men of the house. James spent most of his time taking care of his wife and their son enjoyed giving him a break every now and then. James would go on a fishing trip with his friends while Jimin stayed back to keep an eye on his mother.

“Is it closer to town?” I asked, nibbling on my lower lip.

I had yet to drive through downtown Ann Arbor. The Park house, and by proxy the Anderson’s, was a thirty minute drive from the bustling city. Nestled in the smaller town of Saline going towards Manchester, I had rarely had to leave the small town. This trip to Detroit was the farthest I had gone since arriving in Michigan, but I had a feeling the traffic in downtown Ann Arbor would be a bit much for me to drive through alone.

“Yeah,” I felt even more nervous by his nonchalant tone. “I used to live downtown, but I got tired of the noise. I bought my house in Eberwhite last summer, so there’s a little less foot traffic.”

“How’s the drive back to Saline?” Even I could hear the hesitation in my voice.

“Less than twenty,” Rubbing the back of my hand, his voice took on a sweeter tone. “We don’t have to. My truck’s at my parent’s place anyway.”

“Maybe some other time?” I forced myself to laugh, hoping to make the awkward tension leave. “Preferably when it’s not dark outside.”

I relaxed into my seat once I started seeing familiar landmarks. Saline was a very small town with a little over 2,000 residents, but downtown still had a way of attracting a relatively large crowd. Stoney Creek Brewery was packed and Jimin pointed out Sam’s car as we pass by.

“Looks like he came out with Otis and Skye,” He murmured.

Otis was another personal trainer at the gym, and Skye was responsible for marketing. They had been going out for a while now and made plan to move to Ann Arbor once Otis graduated from school. He was getting his masters in movement science at the University of Michigan. They had planned on moving out there when he graduated last year, but neither of them could find a job that could pay their bills. Otis was hoping the master’s would give him a competitive edge while Skye saved up enough money to start her own advertising firm.

“Think Gigi is with them?” I wondered.

“Probably not. She’s busy studying for an exam. I saw that she requested time off tomorrow and the day after, so I don’t think she has the time to go out for drinks.”

Giselle was getting her bachelor’s in dental hygiene at UM, and everytime I spoke to her she was swamped with work. I had no idea she needed to request time off, though. Must be an intense program.

“Did you ever go to college?” I asked Jimin.

He nodded, “I got my bachelor’s in psychology.”

Well, I had not been expecting that.

“Really?”

“Yeah, but I never went back to get my master’s,” We turned onto the long road that led to his parent’s house. “I might after the Olympics.”

It was interesting to hear about his goals post-swimming. I never had those. My entire life was going to be swimming, and then, once I could no longer compete, I was opening my own swim school. After a couple of years of coaching under my belt, the plan was to start training professional athletes until I could join the Olympic coaching team. The accident was a very traumatic and eye-opening experience for me, so most of those plans ended up getting changed and modified over the years.

“What about you?” Jimin asked, pulling up to the curb.

“I went through an accelerated program at UCCS. Just graduated with my Masters in Athletic Training back in April.”

Neither one of us seemed to be ready to break the bubble we created. Even if we were just talking about school, it felt too intimate to leave. Holding hands in my car was new and I was worried if I opened the car door all of this would turn out to be a dream. The date, the confession; all of it.

“I should get going,” Jimin sighed, still not moving his hand from mine. “It’s late and I have to drive home.”

I was the first one to move away. He was right. It was almost midnight and I had a really difficult time tonight. All of that yelling really took a toll on me. Jimin did not move until he heard the click of my seatbelt unfastening.

“See you tomorrow?” He asked when I rounded the car. Getting out of the car, he held the door open as I slid inside. “I know we were out later than we thought we’d be.”

I nodded, “We can have a late morning. 8:30 instead of 6.”

“Sounds good. See you then.”

He closed my car door and jogged to his truck. It was parked in the driveway today. I pressed the button to roll my window down.

“Drive safe!” I called out.

Looking over his shoulder, Jimin grinned and threw a hand up. I watched him climb into Fiona and tried to keep myself from worrying too much. It was so dark outside and he could be exhausted behind the wheel. Who knows what could happen to him.

He caught me staring and waved at me again. I returned it with a small smile. The truck stopped for a second and his phone was his hand. My cell phone vibrated in the cupholder.

Jimin: I’ll be okay

Jimin: Text you when I get home, k?

Looking back at the truck, I found him already looking at me. I nodded my response. He smiled at me again, waved, before finally backing out of the driveway. I did not move until I could no longer see his truck in my rearview. My phone buzzed one more time.

Jimin: At the stop sign on Woodland and Ann Arbor-Saline

Jimin: Go home. I’m here. I’m fine.

I hesitated texting him back when I knew he was driving, but decided that I would just have to trust he would not open it until it was safe.

Me: Get out of my head, kid

Finally putting my car in drive, I threw my phone back in its spot and made the ten minute drive down the road to the Anderson house. All of the lights were off when I pulled up and I was as quiet as a mouse walking to the backyard.

I was beyond tired but still needed to get my nighttime routine done. Stripping out of my clothes, I turned on the shower and took off my makeup. Tonight wasn’t a wash night, so I was not in the shower for long. I heard my phone vibrating as I put on lotion and I quickly threw on a night shirt and went to my bedroom.

Jimin: Who says you aren’t in mine, meemaw

Jimin: I’m home now so you can get some sleep

Jimin: Night, geezer

I snorted. That was a new one. Crawling into bed, I got comfortable under my blankets and thought about a good comeback.

Me: Thank you

Me: Geezer? That’s such an geriatric thing to say, you whippersnapper

Jimin: LOL night 🫰🏼

Me: Night 🌜

I quick sent Taehyung a text to make sure he and Milo go home safely before putting my phone on the charger. Jungkook sent a text to our group chat an hour ago to let us know he was in his apartment back in Detroit. He was in Ann Arbor so often since Darcy lived out here, but he had bought a multi-million dollar home in Corktown when was first signed to the Red Wings in 2019. Milo was the one to reply to my text, signing his name at the bottom, since Taehyung passed out in the car on their way back home.

I took my medications and started up a game of solitaire while I waited for them to kick in. My psychologist had sent me to Michigan with a three month supply. I was planning my first trip back next week so I could see the boys in time for their first big competition of the season. While I was in town, I would pick up another three month supply. We were making the arrangements work as best as we could, and I was lucky I had a large group of people willing to support me during this transition.

Finally I felt the sleeping pills kicking in and I went to my white noise app. I hated falling asleep in silence and Emery had suggested the app while we were in a session. I paid for a yearly subscription and never regretted the fifty bucks. It had been a huge help in lulling me to bed.

Lights out and blankets wrapped snugly around my body, I closed my eyes and thought about everything that had happened. Jimin liked me back, asked me on a date, and told all of his friends about his infatuation with me before I even realized something else was going on. I was his dream girl. That put a lazy smile on my face. Then, I could no longer think about anything and was plunged into a dreamless sleep.

Taglist: @ownthesunshine @screamertannie @lovelytaes-blog @pernesianparapio @tae-with-some-suga @sumzysworld @chimmisbae @adventures-in-bookland

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rogersideup · 7 months

Text

｡°✩ ♊︎ The Gemini ♊︎ ✩ °｡

Chapter four

Pink Peonies

Series masterlist

Previous part: expendable next part: Rearview

Word count: 7,972

Warnings: My blog is 18+ only. All minors or blogs without an age in bio will be blocked. Minors DNI. Mentions and descriptions of sexual acts, anxiety, and sever depression.

The week leading up to your final evaluation was nothing short of absolutely miserable.

Between losing Steve and Bucky, the only two people that made the compound a bearable place for you, fully processing your breakup with Harvey, and the stress that came along with such an important test made you feel like you were completely lost.

You showed up to work and private training like a good little agent regardless of how much internal pain you felt looking at Steve's face. You endured the two hours of uncomfortable silence with him after enduring working alongside Harvey for 5 hours, then went to the gym and worked out to make sure you stayed prepared and in tip top shape for evaluation.

But once your day was done and you were left to your own devices, it felt like you were shattering and crumbling between the walls of reality.

You could barely eat with the constant stomach ache you've had since Friday night, you could barely sleep through the sheer amount of racing thoughts in your head or the pain of your heart that felt physically broken, and in the morning you barely got yourself out of bed.

Showering and brushing you teeth felt like fighting a war, drinking water might as well have been an Olympic sport, your hair stayed up in a bun or a ponytail because doing anything more than brushing it wasn't in the cards for you.

The highlight of your day recently had been a phone call from Jane and Luca around 6:30pm, it was simple but still enough to keep you going. Your sister fed you just enough encouragement to get to your evaluation, and your nephew was just adorable enough to put a smile on your face even if it was short lived. They encouraged you to keep going, and promised they would be there for you on evaluation day.

It was a graduation of some sorts. Agents got to have close friends and family come watch and support them on the test day, and you we're looking forward to them finally getting to be in the compound with you.

However, all the happiness of Luca getting to live his dreams of seeing the Avengers compound was clouded with anxiety about Steve. You knew he would see his favorite superhero, and you knew there was absolutely nothing you could do to keep that from happening. But you were unwilling to not have your favorite little human not at such a monumental achievement in your life.

Luca watching you become an official, fully operable agent was important to him, almost more than it was to you. So you just hoped and prayed that Steve would react kindly to him, and your sister would react kindly towards Steve after knowing everything that happened between you two. For your sake and the five year old's, you needed everyone to just momentarily pretend like everything is alright.

The night before the big day had you in shambles. Your hands had been shaking with anxiety all day long, and as every minute passed and got closer to evaluation day, the anticipation killed you a little less slowly and a lot more aggressively.

You tried everything you could to calm your nerves. The animated movie illuminating your living room was going by unwatched, the comforting bowl of pho you got yourself was getting colder and less enjoyable with every individual noodle you convinced yourself you had to eat, and the quick shower you needed to take turned from a 10 minute task to a 45 minute one. You couldn't convince yourself to get in, then once the hot water rushed against your body with a comforting pressure, you couldn't convince yourself to get out.

Eventually the walls of your apartment felt like they were swallowing you whole, and no nook or cranny could provide you enough peace to calm your mind. So you threw on a big hoodie and grabbed a blanket before walking the halls until making it outside of the high tech building and onto the lawn.

You found a perfect spot tucked away by the building, it was clear enough out to see all of the stars twinkling in the night sky, and the moon was big and bright. So you laid out your blanket, and laid out on the underneath the night sky.

Rather than letting all of your thoughts and all of the new changes in your life scare you, you tried to slow them down and think through them logically. You thought about everything Steve said to you, what his feelings for you meant and how they affected what you thought you once knew about him and what they meant for you in the future.

You thought about how Harvey was probably going to fail his evaluation tomorrow, and how he would proceed after the fact. Would he give up working for Shield, or would he try again come next evaluation day?

You tried your hardest to avoid thinking about Bucky, because the situation with him was a new kind of pain. The platonic love you had for him was immeasurable, and day by day you found it harder to not forgive him. Because when it came down to it, you understood why he told Steve about your one time escapade. But for as long as Steve was upset, you knew it wasn't worth trying to mend your friendship with Bucky.

Rather than trying to run away from all of the hurt in your heart, the stars and the moon encouraged to you sit in those feelings for awhile. You got about 20 minutes into accepting them for what they were and working through them without pushing them away.

A few tears rolled down your cheeks, but you accepted those too. Instead of wiping them off your face, you just let them drip off the bottom of your jaw with the understanding that they would dry when they were ready.

Footsteps and booming laughter approaching from a distance made you sit up instead of laying flat on your back, not wanting to worry the people about to walk though the area. You tucked your knees to your chest and hugged your legs while continuing to watch an occasional lonesome cloud slowly pass by in the dark sky.

All of the grounding work you did to try and calm your mind and ease your broken heart was reversed as the laughter and footsteps came closer, and you started to recognize the people that the voices belong to. And sure enough, they came into eyesight faster than the universe allowed you to walk away.

Steve and Bucky turned the corner, and they were obviously very happy. Their laughter over what you assumed was an inside joke you were never included in didn't falter. Their happiness and humor felt insensitive at the moment, there was a split moment where you couldn't fathom that they were so jovial at time where you haven't genuinely smiled in almost a week.

You curled yourself up smaller and held your breath, hoping they wouldn't notice you or your slow falling tears. Though you were quiet, made yourself small, and sat in the dark on the grass furthest from the concrete path, they were trained to sense other people around them.

As if you had greeted them first they both stopped at the same time, their laughter fading just to give a friendly greeting to whoever was sitting out there. Only when they looked at you did you try to subtly wipe your tears and unblock your nose. With the hood of your jacket over your head, you could tell it took them a moment to recognize it was you.

You could see the very second your identity dawned on them, both of their shoulders fell and Bucky's face looked apologetic. Steve looked at his watch before looking at you.

As if you knew it was going to happen, your eyes met the grass before you let them look into his. You hadn't made eye contact with him since the initial argument, and you knew that killed him slowly and painfully.

They could both tell you were hurt, but especially Steve. Every single day he's seen you at work you looked just a little worse. It was as if you were slowly deteriorating from the person he once knew. Your big bright eyes where now dull and your eyelids were heavy, your pink cheeks were pale, your energy had sunken in.

"The sprinklers go off in two minutes." Steve told you.

Not expecting either of them to actually say anything to you, your brain couldn't process his words.

"What?" You questioned, looking up at Bucky in confusion, still refusing to look at Steve.

"The lawn gets watered every night at 10pm. It's 9:58." Bucky explained, his tone of voice was apologetic with a hint of empathy. "The sprinklers turn on in 2 minutes."

"Oh..." You understood, feeling disappointed that you had to move. "Thanks."

Expecting them to walk away, you stood up and grabbed your blanket off the grass. But when you turned around, they were both still standing there. Both still staring at you.

You moved onto the path, and they still stood there and stared. Not understanding their intentions, you cocked your head to the side and raised a challenging eyebrow.

"Excuse me?" You questioned, requesting them to stop blocking the path so you could get home and far away from them.

"Are you okay?" Bucky asked.

"Just peachy" You responded simply, pushing past their two bodies to walk along the path.

They started walking behind you, all three of you needing to get to the same elevator. Your body and mind filled with dread, hoping and praying they weren't going to follow you in and get in the same elevator as you. But just in case they were, you tried your hardest to stop crying. You were far too stubborn to let them get a rise out of you.

"You don't seem very Peachy." Bucky said. You could hear the pout and genuine concern in his voice. "We still care about you, Bug. We're worried about you."

"Don't call me that." You sadly shook your head. "And maybe speak for yourself."

Steve sighed at your comment, and you missed the way he tossed his head back trying his hardest to remain composed. He felt stuck between a rock and a hard place. Of course he cared about you, of course he was worried, but he was also mad and didn't want his words to be misconstrued as him trying to make advances towards you.

Bucky backhandedly smacked Steve's chest, trying to get him to say something. You heard the impact, and tried not to smile at Bucky trying his hardest to make it better.

As suddenly Bucky found out that Steve had feelings for you, he started recognizing that you also had very deeply suppressed feelings for him too. The difference was that you pushed them down because your heart was so disconnected from your soul from the amount of torment you went through on a daily basis. Your confidence had never been lower, you genuinely believed you weren't worthy of love, and no part of your heart was open enough to let in or accept that anyone could ever care for you the same way you did for other people.

The compound wasn't good for you, and he knew they made it worse. He wanted to fix it, he wanted both of his best friends to be happy.

"I care about you too, 306." Steve mumbled, hoping it wouldn't back fire.

You just kept walking, trying to blink back the new rush of tears in your eyes and noting that the sprinklers did really turn on at 10 o'clock.

"Why are you out here so late? You have a big day tomorrow." Bucky noted. "I know you're upset and rightfully mad at us, but I'll be there cheering you on tomorrow. No matter what happens I'm always rooting for you."

"Are you sure that's not going to make things weird?" You sassed, but your comment wasn't directed towards him. It was meant for Steve, and he felt the bitterness in every word.

Once again, you heard Bucky's metal hand make harsh contact with Steve's chest. This time it was accommodated with a small 'oof' but he had nothing to say in response to that comment.

"You're going to do great." Bucky said.

You reached the door to the lobby and Steve rushed to the handle to open it, but you got to it before he did, pulling it open and walking through, letting each of the boys hold it open for themselves.

"Thanks." You accepted.

A thick and uncomfortable silence took over as they followed you to the elevator, waited for the doors to open, then the three of you got into the small confined space together.

The silence was so intense that they could hear your tiny sniffles, and you nearly bumped Steve with your elbow as you rushed to wipe away a tear.

They rode it up to your floor first since they lived 3 floors above you, and you felt immediately relief as it stopped on your floor and the doors slid open once more.

Steve's heart thumped so hard he could hear the rush of blood in his ears. He knew this was his last chance to say something before your big day, and he knew he would kick himself if he didn't.

"Good luck." Steve offered with an artificial tight lipped smile. "It'll be easy for you, promise."

As if he said nothing at all, you got off completely unaffected by his words.

"We love you!" Bucky shouted as the doors closed behind him.

You got back to your place and bolted the locks behind you, not even letting yourself begin to unpack that interaction before diving straight into your bed and willing yourself to sleep.

Unfortunately, the morning came way too fast. Your phone was flooding with notifications from your out of state friends and family wishing you well on your big day. And as you slid into your uniform, and did your hair and makeup, you started receiving texts that your support had arrived to the compound.

Making the walk down to the training room and getting checked in was the scariest part. Once everything was set in place and you were waiting for your evaluation to start, you stretched out your arms, legs, and back while looking out into the crowd of your colleagues friends and family.

Surprisingly, you were feeling pretty good. You spotted your Mom and Dad, Sister and Brother in law, Luca all sitting clumped together. Sitting with them was Bucky and Natasha, who also brought along Tony who sat with sunglasses on and a face so straight while he pretended like he wasn't there.

Then walked in Steve, him and Commander Bennett, and Agent Maria Hill were the three leaders who graded each agent on their final and most important test.

The grading system was simple. It was pass or fail, with a note explaining why.

You could hear Luca's little voice through the small crowd of people when Steve walked in wearing his suit. His tiny little voice projecting the announcement that "Oh my gosh CAPTAIN AMERICA IS HERE!" Was just too damn cute for anyone to ignore. It earned lots of laughs from everyone in the room, and it brought a big smile to Steve's face.

Of course he immediately knew who that voice belonged to, but that didn't stop him from finding him in the crowd and waving at him. He understood why you loved the kid so much, he was just about the cutest thing Steve had ever seen.

He noticed Luca looking at you after he waved at him, so he looked at you too. You had a big smile on your face just for five year old who was bouncing with excitement, but Steve could tell the difference between your genuine happiness and the fake smile smeared on your lips.

Eventually the evaluation started. Agents were tested 5 at a time, all running the same sort of obstacle course and shooting test. By the end of each evaluation, it seemed as though each agent was struggling to catch their breath while dripping sweat. A few of them even sprawled out on the floor the second they crossed the finish line.

But you? When you finished your evaluation Steve noticed you were barely panting. Not a hair on your head was out of place, your makeup was still perfect, he couldn't even spot a single bead of sweat along your hairline.

He knew it would be easy for you, he practically passed you before you were even properly evaluated, but the way you were almost unaffected by the rigorous testing and walked away from it without batting an eye was even impressive to him.

The worst thing Steve took away from this, was the understanding of how deeply down bad he was for you. Because even in the midst of the pain of hurting each others feelings, he was immensely proud of you, and never found you more attractive than in this moment.

Because even as you walked up to the three assessors to collect your results, you still refused to look him in the eye. Although his feelings for you were completely misunderstood, he respected the way you held your ground in order to protect yourself and what you believe in.

It was a big improvement from the way you let Harvey drag you along through miles of mud and utter bullshit.

When you looked down at your papers, a very humble, yet genuine smile took over this time, and Steve was happy to see it. You didn't even bother reading the notes that were written for you before walking away quickly to unite with your family.

Steve watched from afar as your parents embraced you both at the same time. Your mom left kisses on your cheeks, your dad the top of your head. With no hesitation, your sister who had your kind eyes and familiar beauty joined the hug, followed by your brother in law, then Luca who tried his hardest but just ended up with his arms embracing your legs.

He couldn't help but to smile as you bent down and picked up the 5 year old, he flopped upside down before you lifted him up and over your head to sit on your shoulders. His belly laugh bounced off the smooth walls as he reached down and grabbed your cheeks, tipping your head upwards to look at him.

"Can I meet Captain Rogers?" He asked.

In an instant, your authentic smile turned plastic. "Who?" You joked.

Steve stood a little straighter, then made awkward momentary eye contact with your dad. Steve died a little on the inside when he politely motioned asking him to come here, presumably to meet Luca, but a part of him wondered if he had heard the news of what happened between him and his daughter. Keeping a professional face, he did consider that he was about to get his ass kicked by the man who created you.

"Look, Luca, he's coming over now!" Your dad announced.

"Oh, what a joy!" Your sister smiled wide, squeezing your arms and shaking you around a bit.

Okay, Sister definitely knows.

One deep breath for you and Steve, and your brave faces were on.

"Congratulations, Agent." Steve spoke firmly as he approached. "You did great, far beyond expectations."

"Thank you, Captain." Just like that, you made eye contact with him for the first time in a week. It was a testament to deep love you had for your family, but especially for Luca. You'd be damned if you crushed his tiny superhero loving heart, so you did your best to pretend like everything was perfectly normal. Luckily, five year olds can't see lingering pain deep behind your eyes like Steve could. "This is Luca, he's very excited to meet you. He was wondering if you would take a picture with him."

"Hey buddy! I've heard so much about you!" Steve's smile widened at the boy who was in absolute shock, staring right back at him with wide sparkly eyes and a slack jaw. "I heard you're going to join the Avengers soon, is that true?"

"I'm only 5!" The boy giggled.

"What?! You look strong enough to be an Avenger!" Steve enthused, "let me see how strong you are, give me a high-five."

Steve stuck his arm up over your head, and your nephew smacked his hand as per request. After hearing their two hands meet in the middle, Steve pulled his away and shook it off "oh yeah, we definitely have a future superhero on our hands."

"My mommy and daddy said I have to be a teenager before I can be an agent like Auntie." Luca explained.

"They sound very smart." Steve chuckled at the boy who was wise beyond his years. "Is this them?"

Wonderful. Of course Steve would be the man to introduce himself to your family completely unprompted. You watched him shake hands with your dad, sister and her husband, meanwhile your mom went for a full blown hug. In that moment you wanted to shrivel up and let the floor swallow you whole, maybe rip your mom away and correct her mistakes for the improper greeting to such a highly decorated service man. But Steve took it like a champ, and you knew he loved it, which made you want to rip him away and tell him to stay away from your mom for the rest of eternity. You wanted him to stay away from you for the rest of eternity.

Looking around for Bucky and Nat, maybe even Tony, shit, even Harvey to try and get you out of your own personal hell was wildly unsuccessful. The room was far too busy and disorderly to plot an escape plan before your Dad was shoving Steve next to you and Luca with a camera in your face telling you to say cheeeeeeeeessseeeee.

Hopefully your smiling face didn't come across as vicious as it felt when that photo was inevitably plastered across social media for the entirety of the internet to see.

Eventually you managed to peel Luca and your Dad away from Steve and herd your family around the compound and up to your apartment. As you were leaving you could see Harvey with his head down, yet all of his browbeater friends were celebrating around him. It made you roll your eyes, but once again you moved on for the sake of your family.

As you approached the door with your key in hand and family behind you, there was a big, beautiful fresh flower arrangement in front of it with a card. Your mom made some comments about how beautiful it was as you picked it up and let them inside.

You had a feeling you already knew who it was from, so you left it on the kitchen counter and decided to read the card later as you vowed to spend much needed quality time with your family.

Although the beginning of the day was emotionally exhausting, the rest of the day felt like a big breath of fresh air. Spending time with your family in your own home made the compound feel so much warmer than it ever has. A good meal, lots of laughter, and so much play time with the little one had your parents exhausted and shuffling out of the compound around 7pm after more hugs and lots of kisses.

That left Luca and his dad that we're both fast asleep on the living room rug as the TV played a Disney movie, and Jane who was sitting across from you on the couch.

"I can feel you staring at me." You looked over at her with a questioning tone.

She had a loving smile on her face. "I'm proud of you. You've turned into such an incredible woman right in front of my eyes, and I'm just so grateful that I get to look up to my own little sister. How many people can say that?"

"Well, I still look up to you everyday." You denied her complement, but she was still looking at you as if there was more she had to say. "Cut to the chase."

"You've spent a lot of time crying on my couch, I need to talk about the boy." She stated.

"Which one?" You grumbled. "I hate that there's 3 options."

"Steve." She said sympathetically. "I get to call him that because he hurt my baby sister's feelings."

"At least you didn't hug him." You shrugged. "Kind've don't care about respecting titles anymore."

"I know how much he hurt you, and I know he jumped the gun and is treating you unfairly compared to Bucky. I even know that you feel like your whole friendship with him was just his attempt at trying to sleep with you, but Smalls..."

"Don't say it." You plugged your ears and sunk deeper into the couch cushions.

Jane reached out and ripped your hands away from your ears. "The way he looks at you is just so sweet. And the way he was so kind to all of us and Luca even though you two aren't on speaking terms says a lot about his character. He's head over heels for you."

"The way he looks at me?" You scoffed. "He looks at me like an asset because he wants me to join the Avengers. They all see me like a little worker ant that's going to pick up the weight of their jobs."

"No, that's not it." You sister denied. "You know the truth and you're pushing him away because he hurt you. You hurt him too, even if you didn't mean it. I can see it in his body language that he cares for you, he seemed nervous for you today, and he looked so happy when you did well. That's not someone who's just trying to sleep with you and run."

"Well even if that's the truth, it doesn't matter because he's never expressed any of that to me with his own mouth." You explained. "You know how he handled the situation was wrong, he had no right to come at me with an attitude like that. Him and Bucky had no right to put all the blame on me. If he's having big feelings, he can express them with his big boy words. I'm not going to play a stupid little game with him like we're teenagers."

"I understand, and you're right." Jane validated your emotions. "But he seems really sweet... and he's absolutely gorgeous so maybe you should just consider my point of view."

"Ugh, his gorgeousness starts going blind to your eyes after a few hours. You get used to it, that's not a reason to forgive him." You lied.

"Who are the flowers from?" She quipped, knowing you lied straight through your teeth.

"I don't know."

"Should we read the note?"

"Nope." You looked straight forward at the TV screen. "That's not a question I need answered right now."

"Smalls..."

"What?"

"His gorgeousness never gets old, does it?" She called out your lie.

“... no." You threw your head back in complaint.

Eventually the three of them left as well. The day was getting late and Luca was exhausted from so much excitement, but the second you were alone in your apartment again you felt the weight of the compound right back on your shoulders.

Anxiety bloomed deep in your stomach and crawled up to your heart as you dragged your feet over to the flower arrangement that was left untouched on your counter. Your fingers struggled to open the card, but you got there eventually.

Before you even got to the note, you noticed that the arrangement was made of your favorite flower, pink peonies.

The entirety of your relationship with Harvey, he only bought you flowers once and it was after an explosive argument. Steve and Bucky came over the next day, and without fail both of them barked out a laugh at the flowers he had chosen because they weren't even your favorite kind of flower.

You didn't necessarily remember even disclosing your favorite flowers to them, yet they always referenced the bouquet of sad looking yellow chrysanthemums from the grocery store. Of course you reminded them that the type of flower or where he got them from didn't matter to you, it was just the effort and the gesture. The boys were fast to shut that sentiment down, because really, the pretty pink peonies weren't that hard to obtain, so how he managed to mess that up too was beyond your chivalrous best friends.

It didn't take long before you opened up the card inside and recognized the handwriting on it. There was an obvious effort made as it was written neatly and the lines were nice and straight.

Congratulations, Agent!

We're all so proud of you and everything you've accomplished through hard work and dedication. We've been keeping an eye on you, and we know this journey has been difficult regardless of how easy you made it look. Watching you grow from a rookie to the highest ranking Agent Shield has ever seen has been a privilege to say the least. Although you're skillful in battle and combat, your kind heart and determination that never faltered through the journey is what will get you far. We see all the amazing qualities that make you not just a great fighter, but a great person. We could always use more people like you, and we're here whenever you're ready. From the bottom of our heart, we hope you consider a place on our team once more.

With warm regards and no pressure,

Steve + Bucky, The Avengers.

(Okay, maybe a little bit of pressure.)

You put the letter down, not allowing yourself to break down and over analyze the potential double meaning behind each of the words. The ache pounding at the back of your skull was already a nuisance, and trying to figure out why the boys were being so nice to you after treating you so poorly and denouncing your friendship was bound to make the dull ache sharper.

You dragged your feet all the way to bed before flopping in and wrapping yourself up into the tightest, fuzzy blanket cocoon.

Even with your accomplishment today, tomorrow was your first day as an official agent, and there was more work to be done.

Just like there would be the next day, and Monday, and Tuesday, and Wednesday, and Thursday....

Well, Monday through Thursday were pretty uneventful. You dug your head into the new work assignments you got now that you didn't have normal agent training, and you loved every second of it. It was worth all of your blood, sweat and tears to get there. Then you moved on to individual training with Steve that you painfully wished could be over soon.

All week you let him talk at you, and you never verbally responded. Just as much as you didn't want to be there, you could tell he didn't want to be there either. Today the two of you just sat as he showed and explained to you the different kinds of restraints you would be seeing out in the world on missions, then he would put them on himself and show you how to get out of them.

Deep regret was the only emotion you could use to describe the feeling of saying you would finish off your last few weeks with him working through your biggest fear. It seemed like a good idea two weeks ago when you still had full trust and confidence in him, but now he was flailing ropes, zip ties and handcuffs in your face while you sat completely silent, hoping your face wasn't giving away how unsettled you truly felt by this.

Maybe it would've been better if his voice wasn't so low or monotone, maybe if he actually had changed into gym clothes instead of sitting on the floor in his well put together office outfit you would feel less intimidated.

The only words that made you feel less uncomfortable today was that he wouldn't have you practicing any of this until tomorrow. But his words sat heavily on your mind and made your hands shake all throughout the rest of your day, they made you lose sleep that night, pulled your mind away from work the day of, and made the brain noise so loud that you had to listen to music in your headphones to keep your anxiety to a manageable level just to get yourself to even walk to training again.

Trying your absolute hardest not to think about what was about to happen, you looked down at your own two feet and counted each step as you made the walk, and let the melody of your favorite song distract you from reality.

Unfortunately your music wasn't loud enough to drown out the sounds of your name being called from behind you in the hallway empty besides you and one of three people you really didn't want to see.

So, you tried your hardest to ignore the tormenting happening behind you.

"I know you can hear me, stop being a bitch." Harvey's voice cut through the peaceful music.

"Stop walking I'm trying to talk to you."

"Baby, please. It'll only take a minute."

"I swear to fucking god!" This time he shouted and grabbed your arm, yanking it as hard as he could. An excruciating pain through your shoulder manifested as a yelp and your feet stoped in their place. Keeping hold of your wrist, Harvey used his other forearm to dig into your collarbones and shove you against the wall, using his body to cage you in. "Don't walk away when I'm trying to talk to you."

He ripped one of your AirPods out of your ears and stomped it with his foot. "What the fuck do you want?" You questioned, hoping and praying the pain in your shoulder that was radiating down your arm was nothing but a short term reaction to his assault on your body.

"You blocked my phone number, you ignore me when I try to talk to you in person. How am I ever supposed to get through to you?" He scolded, getting all up in your face as an intimidation tactic.

"You're not supposed to." You sassed. "That's the point. Will you let me go now? You're going to make me late."

"Did you pass evaluation?" He asked.

"I'll tell you if you let me go."

"Of course you did." He got even closer and his voice louder. The whole font of his body was pressing into yours, creating an uncomfortable vice between him and the wall. "You never would've passed had it not been for your scheduled time to jerk off Captain Rogers every day."

"Is that what you're telling yourself to feel better about your failed assessment?" You asked, exhausted of the narrative that your success only came at the mercy of the men around you.

"Why would you think I failed?"

"Because you're sloppy, you don't take your job or the training seriously, you've spent more of you energy worrying about me more than yourself, oh, and your uniform still has the rookie patch on it." You let your words flow out of you like venom. Frankly, you didn't care if it upset him, traveled through his blood and left a toxic taste in his mouth.

Your shoulder was killing you, you were tired and angry, and in the middle of an argument with two grown men over the fact that you quite literally did not jerk Steve off. So yeah, you weren't going to bat your eyelashes and smile at a man who had you pinned against a wall.

Harvey was speechless for a moment, so you continued. "So, I don't think you failed, I know you failed. And I didn't only pass because of Steve. He helped me, but I was doing well before him and I'll continue to do well after him."

You used all your force to shove Harvey off of you, in a moment of shock from your words and behavior, he stumbled back. Then, he was angry all over again.

He tried to throw a punch right at your jaw, but you blocked it, and kicked him right in the stomach. Not hard enough to intend to hurt him, but hard enough to knock him off of his feet and flat on the ground.

With a groan and some struggle, he tried to get up. So you left your foot flat on his stomach as a statement. It quickly got him to stay down.

"Don't you ever try to contact me again. Not through my phone, not to my face, never." You practically growled, still trying to make sure he couldn't tell that he had caused you pain.

Once you were positive that you got your point across, only then did you remove your foot from his body, pick up your broken AirPod to keep as evidence, then start walking away.

“Everyone knows what you and Sargent Barnes did." His voice sounded from behind you.

You stopped in your tracks, oxygen momentarily leaving your lungs. "What exactly did Sargent Barnes and I do?" You asked while keeping a stern face, hoping it was all the same rumors that float around about you and Steve.

"I don't even have to tell you, because you already know what you did." Harvey denied your peace of mind. "Now I know what everyone else knows to. I should've never trusted that you were just friends with both him and Captain Rogers, and that you're the biggest slut in this place."

This time you really did walk away, ignoring his last attempts at getting you to bite into his bait by calling you a whore from his spot in the hallway unable to peel himself off of the ground.

Once he couldn't see you anymore, tears flooded your eyes but you couldn't tell of it was from the physical or emotional pain, and your gripped your shoulder trying to rationalize that you didn't need to go to the medical bay.

The last thing you wanted to do now was see Steve, but you hoped he would go easy on you considering the circumstances.

Your faith in his ability to be a kind and empathetic person completely faltered as your pushed through the doors to the gym and he was already angry at you.

"You're late." He told you sternly, his face was set in a disappointment.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and squeezed your shoulder, hoping the added pressure would help sooth your pain.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be late. I was on time then Ha-" You started explaining, looking at him with fear and tears in your eyes.

"I don't need an excuse." Steve grumbled, cutting you off and very obviously in a foul mood.

He started walking towards you with a rope in his hand, and your heart dropped to your stomach. "Wait, please just- I was on my way here but Harv-"

"I don't care, it's fine." Steve cut you off again. "We're already behind on time, let's just start."

He got close enough to touch you, and you instinctively took a big step back, but it didn't even phase Steve. He grabbed your hand off your shoulder and put it behind your back. Bracing yourself for the pain of him inevitably grabbing your other arm, you frantically let the words "he hurt me" Spill out of your mouth like vomit.

But it didn't come out fast enough, and before you knew it, both of your arms were behind your back and the pain shooting through your arm combined with the devastating realization that Steve didn't care about you anymore made you feel like you were going to be sick.

You could feel the rope around your wrist becoming uncomfortably tight, each knot he tied added another knot to your stomach. "Zero percent."

"What?" He questioned.

Your tears spilled over the edge. "Zero percent trust in you right now. Please stop and just listen to me for one second."

"You're only saying that because you're scared of the restraints." Steve rationalized. "I showed you how to get out, you'll be fine."

"You don't understand" You cried, feeling more and more unsettled by the second, a deep panic settling in your stomach. "Please, I'm trying to tell you what just happened and you aren't listening to me"

He finished up the knot then turned around to face you again. "This is the first time you've tried to even have a conversation with me in two weeks, why should I hear you out when you won't even begin to let me speak to you?"

Steve sat you down on a chair, and started tying your feet. Everything in you told you to fight it, but you were feeling unexpectedly scared of him. You knew you could never match his strength to fight off his efforts and you could never outrun him.

Your friend Steve was nowhere to be found, in front of you was only a dark and stormy Captain America. A weapon of a man with no intention of switching on the safety.

By unintentionally denying his affection towards you two weeks ago, you loaded him up and now the barrel was was pointed directly at your chest. Now, there was no empathy for your fear, no husbandry to make you feel more comfortable in a situation you told him you never wanted to be in, and no regard to what you just went through.

"I'm sorry, I'm just trying to tell you now because odds are you're going to hear about it eventually because-"

"Okay then I'll hear about it when it gets back to me. We really need to get this going" He told you. "Just calm down, and try to get out how I showed you yesterday."

"You're mad at me, and I get that, but I need my boss right now." You cried, yanking at the ropes on your wrists and ankles, none of them budging.

"I'm not your boss anymore, I haven't been since you passed evaluation." He told you, setting a timer on his phone for 54 minutes. "I only have an hour for training today because I was double booked. I'm going to leave you here to calm yourself down and figure out how to get out. I'll be right back there, either come get me when you're out, or I'll untie you at the end of the hour if you can't do it."

"Steve, don't walk away from me right now, I'm trying to tell you I need a medic." You said frantically, your panic attack hitting you harder by the second.

"Out on a mission we don't get to pick and choose when we get held hostage, consider this extra practice." He started to walk off.

You felt pathetic as your lungs stung with every panting breath, your hands shook as your fingers tried their hardest to untie the knot Steve made sure to pull extra tight, your stomach churned with uncontrollable fear, and your heart thumped so strongly and passionately that you could hear it in your ears despite the physical pain you felt in chest.

Whenever you had panic attacks, your skin broke out in a red splotchy tint, and the world seemed to spin around like a bad case of vertigo. It felt like the floor beneath you was crumbling and cracking with every moment passing, as the walls slowly closed in and the ceiling came down.

Black fuzzies and watery tears altered your vision as you pushed past the pain and tried to get your hands free. It only took about 15 minutes before the rope fell to the floor and the circulation rushed back to your hands. Untying your feet was a lot easier with two free hands, but still mildly difficult with Steve's knot tying skills and the sharp sting in your shoulder every time you exerted your arm.

You got out, you never doubted that you could. But that was never the point, and Steve would've known that had he ever just listened to you. That only fueled your panicked rage as you grabbed the ropes off the floor and stomped over to him, sitting in the very back corner of the gym watching you with a blank look on his face.

The thick ropes smacked the floor right next to his legs, exactly where you aimed as you snapped them out of your hands. "I have no interest in completing the rest of the hour you so graciously gifted me, and absolutely no interest in training with you ever again."

Steve was taken back by the fiery rage that was being directed at him. He knew he was being hard on you, but he was only being hard on you because he thought you could take it. "Woah, hold on. Let's just take a breather for a second."

"No, I don't need a fucking breather, you dipshit." You shouted at him, tears still flowing, hands still shaking. "I need to go see the doctor, that's what I need and that's what you're not understanding. I needed you to listen, I needed you to understand that I wasn't trying to get out of the lesson. I wasn't scared of your fucking ropes, I was scared of Harvey, and now I'm scared of you."

Steve immediately felt awful as your hand found your shoulder again, now that he was getting a better look he could tell it definitely wasn't in the right place. He gulped understanding that he let his pre-existing bad mood deepen the hole he dug your friendship into. "I'm sorry I didn't realize..."

"Now it's my turn to not care." You cried. "I didn't lose trust in you before, not even after you came into my apartment and yelled at me for what I did with Bucky, maybe a little after I found out our whole friendship was just because you wanted to get into my pants. But this stunt you just pulled? You've broken every ounce of trust I've ever given you and I don't think it'll ever be repaired."

"I- I didn't mean to." He said quietly, shaking his head. "I shouldn't have been so hard on you, I'm sorry, I was in a bad mood and I just... let it out on you and it wasn't fair."

"I don't deserve to be treated like this over one mistake, Steve. One. I'm sorry I accidentally hurt you, it was never my intention and I'll regret that till the day I die but I never deserved this." You cried. "Please just leave me alone now. I don't want formalities or pleasantries in passing, I don't want anymore flowers or congratulations, I don't want anything other than to just be left alone now. Because I can't do this anymore."

"Okay, I'm sorry." He surrendered, recognizing the agony you were truly in over this.

"This was way worse than anything I ever did to you." Your voice cracked. "It's a good thing you aren't my boss anymore, because as far as you're concerned I don't even exist to you anymore."

He couldn't mutter anything close to a proper apology or even a goodbye as you stomped away from him for the very last time.

Next Part: Rearview

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