#the rest were no brainers for me

[hxans]

I’ve always wanted to make one of these, and since shows like Babylon 5 never had any of these, here you go.

This or That - Babylon 5 edition.

[headkiss]

fall right into me

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: when something happens to your apartment and you need a place to stay, steve, your best friend, is quick to provide it for you. your prolonged proximity forces you both to realize some things.

word count: 13.6k

warnings: childhood bffs to lovers, absolute idiots in love, mentions of a negative relationship with parents, probably inaccurate descriptions of some things but it’s (say it with me) for the plot!!!

a/n: i know it’s been a LONG time since i’ve posted a long fic so thank u guys for ur patience <3 i had so much fun getting back to it and writing these two, and i hope it’s at least a little bit worth the wait!!! ily :,)

𝜗𝜚

Your shoes are still wet as you dial the first number that comes to mind: Steve’s.

He picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Steve.”

“Hi,��� you can imagine him on the other side of the phone, leaning casually against the wall, an easy smile on his face, “what’s going on?”

You’re not quite sure where to start.

Coming home from work earlier, you’d been excited to shower and change and lay around for the rest of the evening, your book hanging open in your lap and some mindless TV filling the silence.

The day seemed to have other plans for you, though, because as you walked down the stairs to your apartment—one in the basement of a sweet, older couple’s house who just never used the space and converted it—the carpet had made an ugly squelch as soon as you stepped on it.

You looked down at your shoe against the carpet, at the way its color was darker than usual from whatever water had gotten into it. Looking up, you found a complete mess. A piece of the ceiling hanging open right above your bed, water still dripping in steady drops from the gap, your bedding ruined among many other things.

You don’t know how long you stood there, hand over your mouth, eyes flickering over the damage like you were hoping it would vanish, like it was only something you imagined.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

The couple who owns the house came down when they heard you shout for them, unsure of what else to do. They’d both gasped when they came down, and began apologizing for something that really wasn’t their fault before one ran up to call whoever it was they needed to call to fix this and the other comforted you with a gentle “we’ll take care of it, sweetie.”

You nodded, eyes still roaming your space that was now uninhabitable.

It’s an old house, something was bound to happen at some point, you only wished it wasn’t so inconvenient for you. A small leak, you could have handled, but the ceiling practically caving in?

Yeah, it was a complete fucking mess.

Hours later, with the damage assessed and set to take a few weeks to fix up, you’re on the phone with the one person you’d known would pick up.

You fill Steve in on what happened, and his first response is a sigh of, “Shit.”

“Yeah, shit,” you agree. “And now I’m gonna have to live with my parents for a while and I don’t know how I’m gonna go back into that house, Steve.”

If you’re being honest, the couple you live with now was kinder to you than your parents were. You suppose that’s one of the many things that you and Steve have bonded over.

“Just come live with me, instead,” he offers without hesitation.

Steve says it like it’s obvious, a no-brainer, and you guess it should be, since you’ve slept over at the Harrington’s house countless times before. Only, this is different because you’d be staying for a while, because you’d be needing his help, which makes you feel all awkward and guilty.

He’s been your absolute best friend for as long as you can remember, and you’re one hundred percent sure you’d offer the same thing if the roles were reversed, but that doesn’t make it any easier for you to accept, not when you’re already frazzled from the events of the day.

“No, Steve, I’m sorry I’m just being dramatic,” you say, twisting the phone’s cord around your finger. “I’ll be fine, really. It’s just a month, or so, and I don’t wanna be in your way or-”

“When have you ever cared about being in my way, angel?” The pet name he’s called you ever since your ninth grade Halloween party slips out naturally, the way it always does. “Besides, this house is too fucking big for me as it is, and you know my parents won’t be around to care, either.”

“I can’t ask you to let me move in, Steve.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing you’re not asking. I’m offering. It’ll be like that one week when we were twelve and you stayed over for spring break, only longer. It’s perfect!”

There’s a small smile ghosting across your face as you recall the memory he’s talking about. A blanket fort in their spacious living room, sleeping bags and pillows piled inside it along with two flashlights.

You can picture the way he looks on the other end of the phone, his hair a bit messy from running his hands through it during the day, one strand rogue against his forehead, his shoulder leaned carelessly against the wall the way it usually is when he stands. Like he can’t be bothered to hold himself up, like there’s constantly a weight on him.

“Are you sure about this, Steve? It’s really okay if you’re not. I swear I’ll be fine.”

“As if I’m letting you spend multiple weeks back in your parent’s house. You’re staying with me, alright?” His voice is insistent, yet kind, letting you know that he’s being honest, that he means it. “We’ll order pizzas and watch shitty romcoms, ‘kay?”

“You can call romcoms shitty all you want, but we both know you get teary at every single one.”

“Don't change the subject, angel. Also, fuck off,” he says, though you can hear the smile in his voice. “So, you’re living with me, yeah?”

You don’t think you could say no to him even if you wanted to.

“Yeah, alright, Steve. Thank you so much.”

“None of that. I know you’d do the same.”

There’s something beautiful about the kind of trust and ease that comes with a friendship as long as yours. One where you’ve watched each other grow up, awkward phases and all, and stuck together the entire way. There’s no questioning whether or not you’d be there for each other if you were in need.

It’s known, felt. Like a fact.

“Now,” he continues, “I’ll pick you up, okay? Ten minutes, tops.”

“Okay.”

“You need me to bring boxes for your stuff?”

“I’m not sure how much is worth keeping. It’s pretty ugly in there.”

Your voice goes small at the end, because the gravity of it all is really sinking in. You’ll have to replace a lot of stuff. Stuff you don’t have money for right now.

But, you haven’t let yourself cry just yet, so you swallow it down.

“I’ll bring some anyway, then. We’ll figure it out, angel, don’t worry.”

“Thanks again, Steve. See you soon.”

“Ten minutes,” he assures you, then the line clicks.

-

True to his word, Steve arrives in under ten minutes, which isn’t surprising considering the size of Hawkins, but feels reassuring all the same.

You’re sitting on the curb in front of the house when Steve’s BMW pulls over on the other side of the road, and you stand just as he climbs out and shuts his door, rounding the car and jogging over to you.

His keys jingle as he tucks them into the pocket of his faded jeans, his opposite hand coming up to squeeze your shoulder, “You okay?”

The warmth of his palm seeps through your work shirt that you’ve yet to change out of, and you let your eyes fall shut just for a second before looking at his face, “Guess so,” you nod. “Maybe ask me again after all of this?”

Steve’s arm winds itself over your shoulders, tugging you into his side and dropping a kiss to the top of your head, simple as an instinct. “I’ve got you. We’ll get through this, angel.”

We’ll, he says. A team.

You reach up and squeeze his hand and nod, guiding him to the side-entrance leading to your basement apartment.

“I hope you didn’t wear your good shoes for this,” you say.

Steve looks down at his feet and shrugs, “Shoes can be replaced.”

He lets you lead the way down the stairs, his footsteps close behind yours. You wince when you look at the damage again, even though you’d seen it minutes ago. You can't bring yourself to look at Steve, to see the reaction on his face, because you think it’ll just make it all more real.

He mouths the word ‘fuck’ while you aren’t looking, then claps his hands once. “Okay, let’s figure out what we can save, yeah? Where do you want me?”

You’re grateful for his gentle guidance at what to do. “Maybe the bathroom? Everything in there should be fine, so it just needs to be packed.”

“‘Kay. I’ll just go grab some boxes from my car,” Steve says. He squeezes your hand once before heading up the stairs. “I’ll be right back.”

You decide to tackle the worst spot first. Though the place is more like a studio, the side that houses your bed and your closet is the most affected, so you head over there and try to tune out the squish of the carpet beneath your feet.

You’re opening the sliding doors to your closet when Steve comes back, dropping a stack of boxes by your feet and running his hand down your arm softly before heading over to the bathroom to pack for you.

Even his presence seems to be making things a little bit easier for you, and each time he finds a small way to touch you or speak to you, to remind you that he’s there, you’re glad for it.

Half of your closet is a gross, wet mess, but some things are salvageable, which you take as a win. Things might be damp, but at least it’s only water, you suppose. A cycle in the dryer and most things will be wearable again.

Your dresses that are hung get the worst of it, soaked and smelly, and you decide that it’d be easier to get a couple new ones than to try and save what’s there.

Steve checks in every now and then, poking his head out of the bathroom’s doorway to look at you and make sure you’re doing alright, giving you a thumbs up when you look over to him.

You’re not sure how you’d be managing this if you were alone, and you’re thankful that you don’t have to.

The next time he checks on you, you’re by your nightstand.

Sitting atop of it is a framed picture of you and Steve from summer camp when you were around ten years old, maybe younger. Only now, the picture’s stained with water and the frame you’d decorated all those years ago at camp is a splotchy mess.

Where yours and Steve’s handwriting used to be, is now a blur from the water seeping into the wooden frame, the marker’s colors muddy. You frown, picking it up and running your thumb over the edge.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re tearing up, frustrated and sad and tired. Memories like this one are the most special to you, the ones that have kept you going for so long, and just like that, the picture that’s sat on your nightstand since being taken is gone, and it fucking sucks.

“Hey, angel?” Steve calls.

When all you do is sniffle and mumble an “mhm?” in response, he sets the box he’d been packing on the bathroom counter and walks over to you.

He comes up behind you, resting his hands on your upper-arms and peering over your shoulder at the ruined picture.

“It was my favorite one,” you say, voice breaking a little. You wipe your tear away as it trails down your cheek, your own fingertips too harsh against your skin.

Although it’s soaked and splotchy now, Steve knows which picture it is. The one where you’ve both got your neon summer camp t-shirts on, the one where his cheeks and nose are completely sunburnt and you’re both grinning up at the camera from your seats on the ground.

Steve’s clutching a stick in his hand for some reason, and you’ve got your fist tangled in the sleeve of his shirt.

It feels like no time and forever has passed since then.

Steve grabs the picture and pries it gently from your hands, setting it back onto the table and turning you around in his grip to face him.

“We can fix it,” he tells you, his brown eyes all soft as his hands come up to cup your face, thumbs swiping your tears away.

“But the frame-”

“We’ll fix it, angel. I’ll find a way, okay? We can pack it in one of the boxes and figure it out.”

“Steve-”

“Look at me,” he urges you when your gaze flickers to the ground. You listen. “This fucking sucks, I know it does, but you’re strong and I’m here, and we can handle this.”

His voice is quiet, but sure. You search his face for any trace of a lie and find none. He really believes what he’s saying, and he really believes in you.

“Thank you for being here.” You take a deep breath and drop your forehead against the collar of his shirt. “I’m sorry for crying. I know it’s kinda stupid. Most of this is replaceable, it’s just-”

“It’s not stupid,” he says, letting his chin rest atop your head. “You’re allowed to cry. Hell, I’d probably be kicking and screaming on the floor like I'm back in the terrible twos.”

You laugh wetly into his shirt.

“Now,” he says, pulling back and putting his hands on his hips, “the quicker we pack, the quicker we go home. I’ll even let you wear a pair of my good fuzzy socks.”

A smile tugs at your mouth. “Deal.”

-

Steve wouldn’t let you do much of the work after that.

Instead, he simply held up items for you to assess from where you’d been leaning against the wall and packed it into a box if it was a ‘yes,’ or tossing it aside dramatically just to try and get you to laugh if it was a ‘no.’

Once things were sorted through and packed, you loaded everything into Steve’s car—which wasn’t a whole bunch, considering how much you had to leave behind.

You’d refused to let Steve carry the boxes all on his own, though he tried, but he still managed to open the doors for you whenever you made it to his car, even when his own hands were full, too.

By the time you were finished, you were drained. It felt like you’d lived multiple days in the one. An eight hour shift opening at the store, then coming home to a wrecked apartment. All you wanted to do was shower and lay down and not get back up.

Steve knows you well enough to be able to tell when it’s time to fill the silence and when it isn’t, and on the drive back to his place, while your head was leaned against his window, he knew to stay quiet and give you a bit of space.

He turned the radio on, but not too loud, letting the songs hum through the speakers. At every stop sign, he reached over and gave your thigh a light squeeze. Reassuring, kind, somehow exactly what you needed at the moment. Nothing more, nothing less.

You were no stranger to the Harrington’s house, having been there countless times since you were little, but it feels more intimidating now, knowing you’ll be staying. You feel silly for being worried, but you are. Asking for help makes you feel like a burden.

Steve, however, doesn’t let you entertain that thought for long, parking in his driveway and jogging around to open the passenger door for you. “Honey, we’re home!”

“Dork,” you say, though you accept his hand and let him tug you up out of the car.

Grabbing the first couple of boxes, Steve leads you inside and upstairs, right to the guest room across the hall from his own bedroom. The closest one to him.

The house has at least two guest rooms, though you suppose with how little Steve's parents are around, you could consider there to be three. Three spare rooms and Steve puts you up in the nearest one possible. It makes your heart squish in your chest, how caring he is. He doesn’t even have to try, really, the goodness in him shows even when he tries to keep it hidden.

It only takes a few trips down to his car and back before all of your boxes are stacked against the wall. You decide you’ll deal with them later.

Steve runs over to his room and grabs a set of pajamas that you’d left there, and hands them to you. “I figured you’d wanna wash up.”

“You calling me smelly, Harrington?”

“Shut up, I think you smell nice. Usually.”

“Hey!”

“I’m teasing, angel.” He ruffles your hair. You swat his hand away. “You know where the bathroom is, and there should be soap and stuff in the shower already. Just yell if you need something, okay?”

You do know where the bathroom is. You have your own toothbrush in a cup by the sink, a set of travel-sized skin care products in the cupboard behind the mirror for whenever you end up staying over.

It’s funny, you’ve always felt more at home here than at your own parents house, and though he hasn’t said it to you, Steve much prefers this house when you’re in it. There’s a warmth that comes with your presence that makes him ache when it’s not around.

You nod, “Thank you again for letting me stay, Steve. I won’t be in the way, promise.”

“I want you in the way. You know you’re always welcome. This is no different.” He shrugs, “Plus, it’ll be nice having you around. Place always feels so empty when it’s just me.”

“Maybe I’ll just stay forever, then,” you say, tone light and joking.

Steve, completely serious, says, “I’d let you.”

There’s a zip that goes through you when he says it, quick as lightning, something you’ve never felt—or noticed, rather—around him. It throws you off just a little.

“Anyways,” Steve cuts your thoughts short, “I’ll let you get settled. Pizza will be waiting for you when you’re done.”

He leaves the room before you can thank him again, his footsteps retreating and heading downstairs.

You’ve been to his house a million times, so you don’t really feel the need to ‘get settled’ but you desperately need a shower so that’s where you go.

You stay in for longer than you need to, letting the too-hot water run down your neck and back.

When you finally do step out of the bathroom, now clad in your pajamas, and head downstairs, Steve’s sitting on the couch in the living room, the romcoms he owns sitting out in front of the TV for you to choose from, your favorite blanket resting on your side of the couch, and pizza boxes on the coffee table just as promised.

It’s the best thing in the world, you think, to have a friend like Steve.

-

You’ve been staying at Steve’s for a couple of days already, and time seems to fly by a little quicker when you’re there, especially when you’re around him.

He’s taken it upon himself to have coffee ready in the pot for you every morning, one of your favorite mugs already next to it on the counter. You’ve cooked breakfasts together (pancakes one day, where you’d done most of the work, or something simple as toast when you both have to get to work), ordered dinners, and Steve comes home from his shifts with a new movie to watch almost every day.

It’s been so nice. Almost perfect, actually.

This morning, the first day where your shifts happen to be at the exact same time, he’d even insisted on driving you to work. It was an easy yes, considering it wasn’t out of his way at all.

After a short stint of working together at the grocery store in ninth grade, and your subsequent firing from the job after a month of constantly distracting each other on the clock, Tim, the grocery manager, took it upon himself to warn Hawkins not to hire the both of you together.

Eventually, you’d taken the closest you could get which resulted in you working at the arcade and Steve next door at Family Video.

You share a parking lot. Steve already drives you to work most days. You like to put up a bit of a fight just to annoy him.

Though you haven’t worked together in years, and he isn’t far away by any means, you miss having Steve around on days like this. Where the arcade is quiet save for the sounds of the games in the background, where you’re simply babysitting the desk and cleaning things multiple times to try and make the hours pass by.

If Steve were with you, he’d make stupid jokes that you don’t wanna laugh at but do, or coerce you into playing the games while on the clock with the change you find whenever you’re cleaning.

He’d probably trash talk you, and bump your hip with his while playing pinball, and be a sore loser, and for some reason you want him around so bad.

You chalk it up to getting used to spending hours and hours with him, every single day, these past couple of days. Staying with him has made you miss him more, you think.

That’s it.

Meanwhile, over at Family Video, Steve isn’t feeling too different from you.

He’s spent the morning stocking shelves, memories popping into his head whenever he’d come across a movie you loved or watched together, while Robin’s been manning the desk.

Then, when his cart was empty and put back into the back room, he sat on the chair behind the front desk, spinning around until Robin stopped him with her foot and asked what he was thinking so hard about.

Steve caught her up on what had happened with your apartment (you’d told him he could tell her, because she’s your friend too and would find out sooner or later) and how you’d ended up staying with him in his house.

She raised her eyebrows and hummed in a way that was automatically suspicious, because Robin isn’t very good at hiding things.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Nothing.” When Steve only gives her a pointed look, Robin continues, “Well… are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Now, Robin is one of Steve’s closest friends, and him one of hers, and she supports him in pretty much everything that he does even when she teases him relentlessly along the way, but she cares about both of you and doesn’t want to see anyone hurt.

She can read Steve better than he can read himself, probably, because to Robin, it’s clear that he feels more than friendly towards you. And he doesn’t even know it.

When they became closer, it was clear to Robin, even before meeting you, just from the way Steve spoke of you, that there was a spot reserved for you in his life that couldn’t be filled by anyone else.

He would say it’s that of ‘best friend’ but Robin would call it something even bigger than that. Still, even though she thinks he’s an absolute dingus, she’s trying to let Steve figure it out for himself.

Clearly, it’s taking fucking forever.

He looks confused at her question, “Why wouldn’t it be a good idea?”

Robin sighs and resists the urge to drop her forehead against the desk and decides on, “You know what they say: become friends with your roommates, don’t become roommates with your friends.”

“Whoever they are, they’re dumb as shit,” Steve says. “She’s been over, slept over, hundreds of times. It’s not any different, just longer.”

“I guess so,” she settles on. “The rules of the world never really seem to apply to you two.”

“That’s because the rules of the world are also dumb as shit.”

“How would you know? It’s not like you’ve ever tried following them.”

“‘Cause I’m a rule breaker, Robs.”

Steve wiggles his eyebrows. Robin shoves the rolling chair he’s sitting on with her foot, sending it into the other side of the desk with a thud.

“Don’t think that smoking weed in your backyard is enough to call yourself a rule breaker, dingus.”

-

That night, your routine was pretty much the same.

Steve was already waiting for you in his car when you left the arcade, a smile spreading onto his face when he saw you making your way across the parking lot to him, your skirt swishing a little with the breeze.

Rather than go straight home, you made a stop at your apartment to talk things over with the couple who owned the home. They’d met with a builder and plumber about getting everything fixed and wanted to walk you through it all.

Steve came with you and held your hand, and both of them cooed at him and pinched his cheeks and called him a cutie before getting to the important stuff.

After going over what had to be done (rip out the carpet, replace it, fix the pipes and make sure no others were at risk, replace the ceiling, and more you couldn’t even remember already), they’d assured you that they would be taking care of it all. Covering the entire cost.

You probably would’ve argued if not for how little money was in your bank account, and how stubborn you knew these people to be. Instead, you’d squeezed them both and thanked them while your eyes grew misty with tears.

Steve’s hand stayed in yours and squeezed when you sniffled.

He knew, because he knew pretty much everything about you, that these people were kinder to you than even your own parents. That, if this had happened at their house, they would’ve found a way to blame you for it.

You feel lucky to have found that kind of parental love elsewhere, sad that you didn’t know exactly what it felt like beforehand.

After giving the couple Steve’s phone number to call in case they needed you and giving them both another hug, you and Steve headed back home.

Home, you call it. Like it’s yours.

Sometimes it feels like it is.

Later, after you and Steve have both showered and had dinner and gotten comfy in your sweats, you’re back in the living room, Steve shows you the movie he’s brought back this time.

“Gremlins?” You ask, smiling and shaking your head.

“Hell yeah, angel. It’s a classic.”

Steve sets everything up, joining you on the couch after pressing ‘play’ on the movie and adjusting the volume with your guidance.

“So, how was work?” Steve asks during the opening credits. The two of you have a hard time being next to each other and not talking. It’s why you get dirty looks whenever you go to the movies.

“Weekdays are so boring, Steve,” you say, letting your head fall against the back of the couch. “You’re so lucky you have Robin to entertain you during the day. I think I dusted like, ten times at least.”

“Robin is a pain in my ass.” He says. He doesn’t really mean it, because even when she is, he’s glad to have her around. A different kind of gladness than he feels with you. “She kept pushing me every time I sat in the rolling chair. There’s probably a dent in the desk.”

“That’s because you were probably hogging the chair, Steve.”

“What the fuck!” Steve’s smiling when he says it, lacking any sort of anger. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Your smile mirrors his, the way it always does. It’s contagious, you think, the way his eyes crinkle at the corner.

Shrugging, you say, “I don’t know, I’d wanna push you around on that chair too, I think.”

“You’d spin me too much. I’d get sick all over you and then nobody’s happy.”

“Don’t talk about barf while I’m eating, Harrington.”

You throw a piece of popcorn at him. It bounces off his cheek and lands on his lap, and he doesn’t even flinch. Steve just picks it up and pops it into his mouth.

When the bowl’s empty, you lean forward and set it on the coffee table before sinking back into the couch, Steve's shoulder brushing yours. You let the warmth seep through your clothes and shut your eyes.

It’s a little more than halfway through the movie when Steve realizes you’re asleep. You’d been quiet, sure, but Steve only thought that meant you were paying attention to the movie.

That was, until your head slipped and rested against his shoulder.

He looked down at you, at the hair falling across your forehead (he smoothed it away gently, so it wouldn’t be in your eyes or your mouth), your eyebrows relaxed and free of any worry, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths.

He thinks of how tired you must be, after everything. Your apartment and dealing with the aftermath both emotionally and physically, working long shifts most days to keep your bank account full.

Steve, though he doesn’t let himself look too deep into it, also thinks of how beautiful you are. Now and always.

Not wanting you to get a kink in your neck from the position, Steve decides to rouse you from sleep as gently as possible. He slips a hand under your head to keep it steady and maneuvers himself to kneel in front of you.

“Hey, angel,” he almost whispers, thumb dragging across your cheek. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

Your nose scrunches and you grumble, but after some coaxing, you blink your eyes open and squint at Steve. You blame your half-asleep mind on the way you nuzzle into his palm. “Hmm?”

“You fell asleep.”

“Oh, sorry,” you mumble.

Steve laughs softly. “Don’t be sorry, I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

The warmth of his hand leaves your cheek as he stands and holds his hands out for you to grab. He pulls you up off the couch and starts leading you towards the stairs.

You knuckle at your eyes on the way, a tiny smile gracing your face at how sweet Steve’s being. As if you haven’t fallen asleep on his couch plenty of times before.

Still sleepy, you stumble a little on the stairs, but Steve catches you easily with an arm around your waist and a small “Careful.”

He leaves his arm there the rest of the way to what’s become your bedroom, guiding you over to the bed and lifting the covers for you.

Tomorrow, you’ll regret not brushing your teeth or washing your face before climbing in bed. But today, you don’t feel like risking not being able to sleep again if you wake yourself up further.

You’re practically asleep again by the time you’re settled with your head on the pillow as Steve tugs the blankets over you.

You’re just awake enough to feel the light press of his lips on your forehead and a soft “Goodnight, angel” against your skin before he leaves the room and shuts the door behind him.

-

On a random Thursday that you and Steve both have off, he convinces you to let him take you to the mall.

“We should go shopping,” he says when you walk into the kitchen. It’s a little later in the morning, having slept in since it’s a day off, the sun slipping through the window in warm beams.

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Like, groceries?”

“No, like shopping shopping. You know, the mall?”

You lean against the kitchen island, the countertop cool on your back where it touches the sliver of skin between your tank top and sleep shorts. Steve has his shoulder against the fridge, his arms crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his t-shirt tight against his muscles. Not that you’re looking.

You squint at him, trying to find his motive on his face. “You literally buy whatever the mannequins are wearing to avoid shopping.”

“That’s what they’re there for!” The sass in his voice has you biting back a smile. “You need new clothes,” he continues, “and I need to get out of this house.”

“We can do something else, Steve,” you say. “I thought you hated shopping.”

“Well, I don’t hate you.” There’s a pause, Steve’s eyes lowering to that sliver of skin above your shorts. He flicks them back to your face quickly, hoping you didn’t notice, because even he’s not sure what compelled his eyes to wander. “Plus, Eddie called me a hermit the other day and I really can’t stand for that, can I?”

“Ohhh,” you ignore the way your skin suddenly feels warm beneath his gaze, “so you need to make a public appearance to prove Eddie wrong?”

“Exactly. We’ll replace some of the things you lost and restore my reputation. Two birds, one stone, right angel?”

So that’s how you’d ended up at the mall. After Starcourt burnt down, the closest place was a couple towns over, and Steve (as always) offered to drive.

He lets you pick the music the entire way, sings along when you hold your water bottle by his mouth like a microphone, even attempts to harmonize with you which just ends in laughter because neither of you sounded that great.

You’re a couple of stores in, and Steve’s been complaint-free so far—which makes sense, since this was his idea, but you’ve caught him side-eyeing some things, so you know he’s got some remarks in his head he just hasn’t said out loud—and follows you around as you browse. You try not to take too long, because you can’t imagine that this is any fun for him.

“How about that one?” Steve asks, pointing at one of the dresses hanging along the store’s wall.

He’d seen your apartment, though that was a bit ago, and he remembered what you’d lost the most of, along with the type of stuff you like. He pays attention like that, in small, quiet ways that you think mean the most.

He knows you. He cares enough to know you.

“Yeah, that’s really pretty, actually,” you admit.

At your approval, Steve grabs one in your size (which he also just happens to know) and adds it to the couple of things he’d already been holding for you. Every time you picked something up, he was quick to snatch it from you, telling you it was ‘too hard to browse with your hands full.’

After making your way through the rest of the store, you decided to head back to try things on, holding out a hand for the stuff Steve’s holding. “You can wait out here, I’ll be quick.”

“Hold on,” he says, holding the hangers out of your reach. “Why do you think I’m here, angel? I wanna help you pick.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Give me a fashion show, yeah?”

“Oh my God,” you mumble, letting him follow you to the fitting rooms.

They’re hidden behind the back wall of the store, a hallway painted bright blue with pink changeroom doors on one side, and white benches along the other.

“Hi there,” an employee with auburn hair greets you both, her smile wide and kind, though you know it’s a practiced one. Customer service smile. “How many you got there, darling?”

“Oh, um,” you turn back towards Steve, who’s counting the hangers in his hand. “Five.”

“Perfect!” The girl takes the key hanging around her neck and unlocks one of the rooms for you. She takes the clothes from Steve and hangs them up inside for you, then turns to the two of you and says, “Your man can have a seat right here. We call them the ‘boyfriend benches.’”

“He’s not my-”

“Thanks,” Steve says, cutting off your correction because for some reason he didn’t want you to correct her.

Did he… like the idea of being your boyfriend?

Fuck. No. He just didn’t want you to have to explain the whole situation in your rambly way. That’s all.

The redhead smiles again, “Holler if you need anything,” she says before walking off.

You stand there for a second, something like confusion on your face. Did it look like you were boyfriend and girlfriend?

“Come on,” Steve says, snapping the both of you out of whatever that was. “Show me what you’ve got.”

“I can't believe you’re making me do this,” you say, walking into the fitting room and shutting the door.

You try on a couple of sweaters first, and Steve feels the fabric both times, making sure that it’s not scratchy on your skin. Then, there’s just some basic t-shirts that aren’t all that exciting, but Steve says they look nice anyway.

Finally, you get to the dress he picked out.

It really was pretty. A midi-length with a ruffled hem and straps that tie into little bows on your shoulders. You don’t always feel good in your clothes. Sometimes you wish you could crawl out of your skin when you look into the mirror, but right now, you don’t hate what you see.

You actually like it.

“Well?” Steve calls softly from the bench.

In response, you open the door and step out so he can see you.

Steve’s seen you in plenty of dresses—hell, you went to prom together—but for some reason this one makes his heart beat just a little bit quicker. Maybe it’s simply the fact that it looks great on you, or the way you’re smiling shyly as he looks you over.

Or, maybe it’s because he’s the one who picked it.

He stands up, spinning his finger in the air in a gesture for you to twirl. You roll your eyes but do it anyway, and he can’t take his eyes off of you. The hallway of fitting rooms isn’t very big, so with both of you in it, you’re standing toe to toe, the gold flecks in the middle of Steve’s eyes and the faint freckles that dot his nose are visible from where you stand.

As if he can’t help it, Steve lifts a finger and dips it beneath the strap on your shoulder. Not moving it or undoing it, just gliding along your skin where it sits.

“You look beautiful,” he says. His voice goes all quiet and soft when he says it, and his eyes widen a tiny bit, like he hadn’t meant it to slip out that way. It sounded… more than friendly. He clears his throat and steps back as much as he can in the small space, his finger leaving your skin. “I have great taste. Clearly.”

You blink at him, then shake yourself out of it as much as you can. “Yeah. Don’t let it get to your head.” You lift the tag where it hangs by your armpit and look at the price. You gasp and swat Steve’s arm. “Steve! Why would you let me walk into a place so expensive?”

You probably should’ve looked at the tag beforehand, but here you are. Steve, shrugging exaggeratedly, says, “I didn’t know!”

“Okay, I’m gonna change before she comes back. We can make a run for it.”

“We’re not stealing.”

“I know, but they look at you all judgemental when you try stuff on and don’t buy something. Trust me.”

You turn and go back into the fitting room to put on your own clothes, taking a look at the dress in the mirror one last time before shaking your head at yourself.

Steve, however, takes the opportunity to leave you and head back out into the store. He finds the dress easily and grabs another one in your size from the rack and heads to the cashier.

He’s just finishing up, bag in hand, when you walk out and meet him at the front of the store.

“For you,” he says, holding out the bag for you to take.

“Steve…” You grab it and look inside. Your chest aches when you see the dress, your heart suddenly too full and your stomach fluttering stupidly. “You didn’t have to do that. I would’ve been fine with something from the Gap.”

“I know that,” he says, a hand lifting to scratch at the back of his neck. It’s a nervous tick of his, and the thought of him being nervous right now makes you melt even more. “I wanted to get it for you. You looked too pretty in it not to have it.”

Your eyes catch his, and again, something passes between you that you don’t think you’ve ever felt before. A fizzle, a spark.

You rock back on your feet, looking down at the ground before meeting his eyes again. They’re so fucking soft it makes you wonder how lucky you have to be to have him in your life. Being your best friend, driving you to work even when he doesn’t have a shift, offering you a place to stay, buying you a dress.

He’s the sweetest boy you’ve ever known.

“Well,” you twist the straps of the bag around your fingers just to keep them busy. “Thank you, Steve. This is really nice.”

His knuckle traces down your arm just once, featherlight. “You’re welcome, angel.”

You don’t buy anything else after that, instead stopping at the food court for fries, stealing from each other’s baskets, smiling and slapping hands away.

It’s the best day you’ve had in a while.

-

You don’t think anything you do will convey just how grateful you are that Steve has been so kind to you. Always, but especially now. Letting you stay with him and refusing to let you pay rent. (“I don’t even pay rent, and I live here all the time.”)

But, this morning, you’ve decided you’re gonna try.

Steve’s favorite meal of the day happens to be breakfast, which is funny, considering he usually eats something as simple as cereal. He’d told you once that it was because, as a kid, breakfast was the most peaceful of meals, his parents too busy getting ready for work or wherever they were going that he’d have the kitchen table to himself.

Lunch was usually spent at school, and Steve was never a fan of school to begin with. Then there was dinner, which his parents (when they were home) still wanted to have all together. They’d ask him questions and make backhanded comments about every single answer he gave. He never won at dinner.

So, breakfast was, and has remained, his favorite.

You made sure to get up early enough to give yourself time to get everything ready before he wakes up. Steve’s usually the one making the coffee in the morning, and you figured the least you could do was give him a break.

Yesterday, while Steve had been at work, you went over to the Wheeler’s and asked Nancy if you could borrow their waffle maker. She’d directed the question to her mother, who went and grabbed it for you and handed it over with a smile. You promised to take good care of it and have it back in a couple of days.

By the time Steve walks into the kitchen, you’ve already made the batter and set out the toppings—berries, maple syrup, whipped cream—like a buffet. However, he just so happens to come in as you’re swearing at the waffle maker.

“Stupid fucking thing,” you mutter, trying to open it.

Steve smiles to himself before saying, “Morning, angel.”

You jump at his voice, not having heard him walk in. When you turn around, your heart beats for a different reason.

Steve’s still only in his pajama pants, plaid and soft, hanging low on his hips. And he’s shirtless, his chest smattered with hair and his skin a little tanned from the sun. He’s got beauty marks all over, like a constellation you could chart, and his abs are just visible beneath the soft of his stomach. A trail of hair leading to the waistband of his pants and disappearing beneath them.

You’ve seen Steve shirtless plenty of times. Swimming and sleeping over in the summer, in high school when you used to go to his practices, but it hits you harder for some reason this time.

The way his hair is still a mess from sleep, his eyes a bit heavy. The way it feels to be greeting him in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. Intimate. Domestic.

You clear your throat and turn back around to pry the waffle maker open, revealing a slightly burnt but otherwise good-looking waffle. “I’m making breakfast. Coffee’s already in the pot, too.”

He walks over, his chest close to your back as he grabs a mug from the cabinet above you before heading over to pour himself a cup. He looks at the spread you’ve prepared, “Waffles, huh? What did I do to deserve all this?”

“Just wanted to do something nice for you,” you say as Steve walks over to lean against the counter next to you, his hip barely touching yours. “To thank you, in a way. For letting me stay and the dress and-”

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop thanking me?” He says, though his voice is soft and still a bit rough from sleep. “I like having you around.”

“So you don’t want the waffles then?”

“Oh, I want the waffles. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything for me. It’s not some debt you’ll owe me, angel.”

“Want you to know I appreciate you is all,” you say, pouring a new scoop of batter into the waffle maker.

Steve, unsure of what exactly possesses him to do so, dips in and presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek, his lips a whisper away from your skin when he says, “I appreciate you, too.”

Then he pulls away and moves to set the table. Like it was natural.

And it was, in a way. How you moved around each other in the kitchen. You leaning out of the way when he needed to reach something you were blocking, him putting a hand on your lower back when he walked behind you so you knew he was there.

Your cheek still tingles from where he’d kissed it when you bring the plate of waffles to the table, your skin somehow even warmer under his gaze, like he’s still remembering exactly how it felt, too.

You sit in the chair beside Steve, not noticing the way he tugs it a bit closer to him with his foot before you sit down. Soon enough, both of you are digging in. Steve’s got more whipped cream on his plate than waffle (you tell him as much) and you’ve got your berries on the side the way you always do.

Neither of you work until later in the day, and it’s nice knowing that you can take your time. Steve tells you about the advice he gave Dustin about how to be ‘cooler’ in school (he’d told him that being cool is completely overrated, he knew from experience, and that being himself is the most important). You’d told him he was going soft with age.

You talk about anything at all. How Keith somehow manages both of your places of work, how he also somehow does both terribly. The way he says ‘if you have time to lean, you have time to clean’ while literally having Cheeto dust on his fingers. Laughing at each other’s impressions of him.

What the new highscores were at the arcade, what people were renting from Family Video.

You wonder what it’ll be like when you have to leave. When you’re living alone again.

Logically, you know you’ll still see Steve frequently, because he’s your favorite person and you can’t remember the last time you went longer than a few days without hanging out. Still, it’ll be different than right now, waking up in the same space and sharing breakfast and brushing your teeth side by side in the mirror.

You’ll miss it, you think.

Trying not to dwell on something that’s still a few weeks away, you take another bite of your waffle. Steve catches your chin and wipes off a bit of whipped cream from the corner of your mouth, then pulling away and sucking it off his thumb.

He goes back to his own plate without a thought. Like touching you just now was an instinct.

Then, he teases you, “These are a little crispy, angel. Maybe you should stick to letting me make breakfast in this household.”

You kick his leg under the table. “That’s a funny way of saying ‘thank you,’ Harrington.”

He kicks you back, much gentler than you’d been. “Thank you.”

“That’s what I thought.”

When you look at him, there’s an easy, boyish smile on his face.

A similar one stretches across your own lips.

-

Steve has had the thought pop up into his head a couple of times, that maybe he should’ve just asked you to live with him before you ever bought that apartment. Because having you around feels the most right things have ever felt in his house.

And though the circumstances of your moving in with him (temporarily, he has to remind himself), were far from ideal, he can’t lie and say that he isn’t glad that you’ve ended up sharing his space.

The room across the hall will always be yours, even when you move back to your place.

He knows that you feel indebted to him for all of it, but if anyone owes the other something, he feels like it’s him. For everything you’ve ever done for him. Sticking around even when he was an asshole in highschool, defending him to his parents whenever you’d cross paths, simply being the kind of friend he needed.

Even when you’re not around, he can picture your face, the way your smile spreads slowly until you’re fucking beaming. Worse, the way you cried into his chest that day at your apartment.

He remembers the crack in your voice when you spoke about that picture frame from summer camp. Though he hasn’t seen you cry since, or even bring it up, he’s decided he wants to fix it. He’d told you he would.

Dustin wound up roped into his plan: find a similar frame, decorate it the exact same way, and scour the photo albums in Steve’s room for his copy of that same picture.

When he was younger, the photo albums pissed him off, because they were purely for show. Pictures of his family that were all fake smiles. Now, he’s glad for them, because at least he has some good memories to look back on. To know it wasn’t always all bad.

Steve probably should’ve thought that one through, because when they looked through his albums, he was on the receiving end of relentless teasing from Dustin. (“Dude, you have an insane boogie in this picture.” “I was four!”)

He hopes it’ll be worth it.

Dustin was the one who found the picture they’d been looking for, and he cheered and waved it in Steve’s face as if they’d been racing.

Now, after driving Dustin back home, decorating the frame the way the two of you did as kids, trying to make his handwriting look like it did back then (which wasn’t too difficult, ‘cause Steve’s writing still isn’t that neat), he’s waiting for you to come downstairs before giving it to you.

He’d picked you up after your shift at the arcade not too long ago, but he knows you like to shower and change as soon as you get home from work, so he’d taken the opportunity to wrap the frame and have it ready for you.

Steve can hear you singing in the shower, and he knows you’re done when it goes quiet. A few minutes later you’re walking down the stairs in a baggy t-shirt and silky sleep shorts.

His eyes, for some reason, linger on your legs for a second.

He stands up, frame in his hand, when you walk over. “I have something for you.”

“Steve! Stop buying me things. Seriously.”

“This thing was free, so you can’t even be mad,” he says, smiling almost sheepishly.

Your eyes search his face, flickering between his own and dipping down to his lips and his nose and back to his eyes. He looks… nervous.

Steve’s never nervous around you.

“Okay,” you say, shuffling on your feet. “What is it?”

“Here,” he hands you the poorly-wrapped frame. “Open it.”

You scrunch your brows at him once, because you have no idea what it could be. It isn’t your birthday, or any sort of holiday at all. With zero guesses, you look down at the light yellow wrapping paper in your hands and slowly tear it open.

What you find makes your eyes grow misty, tears pooling at your lash line but not quite falling.

It’s your favorite picture, the one of you and Steve in those stupid neon shirts with messy hair and dirt on your hands. Only now, it’s not water damaged, and the frame is new, but decorated just like the old one. You run your thumbs over the glass lightly, smiling down at little you and little Steve.

When you look back up at him, he’s already looking at you, his brown eyes all warm, his smile kind but also worried, waiting for your reaction.

Seeing his face springs you into motion, jumping forward and wrapping your arms around his neck tightly with the frame still in your hand. “Thank you,” you say into his skin.

Steve’s arms move to hold you around your waist without a thought. A reflex. They squeeze you close to him, his nose pressed into your damp hair, smelling your shampoo.

“It’s not perfect,” he says. “But I know how much you love that picture, and I wanted to fix it.”

“Steve. Shut up. It is perfect.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he says, his thumbs running back and forth against your back.

You hug for what could’ve been minutes, but neither of you moves to pull away first. You’re not sure if it’s still considered friendly to stand in each other's arms, breathing each other in, for so long, but you don’t care at the moment.

This is probably the nicest thing anyone’s done for you in a long, long time.

When you finally do pull away, you don’t go far. Your arms stay slung over his shoulders, Steve’s hands framing your hips. His thumbs still dragging those sweet patterns against you.

“I’m keeping it forever,” you tell him.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Certain. You’ll always be my best friend, Steve.”

“You’ll always be mine too, angel.”

Then, your eyes both move to each other’s lips, yours flick back up in a second, startled at their wandering.

Steve, however, is a bit transfixed. He looks at the slope of your cupid’s bow, the way your lips are shiny from your lip balm. He thinks it quickly, like a gust of wind that can’t be stopped: I really wanna kiss her right now.

Fuck. He wants to kiss his best friend.

He blinks a few times, clearing his throat and pulling back, letting his hands fall from your waist as yours slide off his shoulders. He misses the feel of your touch immediately, but he’s too freaked out and confused to do anything about it.

“What are you in the mood for tonight?” he asks, cutting off his own thoughts. “I brought back a horror and a comedy. Take your pick.”

“Mmm,” he picks up two tapes from the coffee table and holds them up for you to choose from. “Horror. Unless you’re too scared?”

“You’ll just have to hold my hand, then, won’t you?”

“I guess I will.”

You look back at the picture while Steve puts the movie into the player. You smile at it every time you see it, because you can still see parts of Steve in him now that were in him then.

His eyes, always kind, the way he smiles when he laughs, and about a half hour into the movie, the way he holds your hand and squeezes it when he’s scared.

-

You’re having one of those nights. The kind where sleep seems to be fighting you.

You worked a closing shift at the arcade, which usually lasts until late considering how long you’re open plus all of the cleaning you have to do afterwards. Today was no different, and despite how much later you finish than him at Family Video, Steve waited and drove you home. He hung out in the arcade with you until close, actually.

You’d think that after such a long day, the second your head hit the pillow you’d be out and breathing steadily. Today, that is not the case. You fell asleep for maybe an hour before a nightmare woke you up. You can’t quite remember what happened, only that you’d been yelling for Steve and he wasn’t there.

Groaning quietly, you rub your eyes and toss the blankets away. You stand up and head down to the kitchen in the dark, hand trailing along the walls to make sure you don’t bump into anything.

Just as you’re pouring yourself a glass of water, you hear the shuffle of sleepy footsteps coming into the kitchen.

“Holy shit,” he says, walking over to grab a glass, one hand on his bare chest. “I thought you were a ghost or something just now.”

You shift out of the way to let him get some water just like you did, taking the second that he’s distracted to look at him. His hair a mess, wearing nothing but his boxers. You take a big sip from your glass.

“I feel like I should be offended right now,” you say, “if you think I look like a ghost.”

“Shut up,” he says, dragging out the second word. His voice being rough from sleep makes his words sound much warmer than they are. “My eyes aren’t awake yet. Nothing to do with you, angel.”

You shake your head, though there’s a soft smile on your face the way there always seems to be when you try to be annoyed with Steve. You tilt your head at him, asking, “Couldn’t sleep?”

He shakes his head. “Been tossing and turning. Just can’t get comfortable, then I got pissed ‘cause I couldn’t get comfortable and only made it worse.”

“You would get pissed at that. Probably slapped your pillow like it was at fault.”

He folds his lips inwards and blinks at you. Because he did smack his pillow and call it a dipshit. “Why do you know everything? Spying on me?”

“Hate to say it, but you’re getting predictable, Harrington.” You shrug, then move to put your now empty glass in the dishwasher. “I know you too well.”

He looks at you, your hair falling across your shoulders, your pajama shorts riding up a little as you bend down. The moonlight slipping through the window seems to hit you perfectly. Like a halo.

Fitting, he thinks. You’re his angel, after all.

“Yeah, you do,” he agrees. Then, “What about you? Why’re you up?”

“Nightmare. Been forever since I had one.”

“You okay?” he asks, trailing a knuckle over your shoulder, pushing your hair behind it.

“Yeah,” you say, skin tingling where he’d touched you. “I can't even remember most of it, but now my brain won’t let me sleep.”

Steve wishes he could’ve protected you from whatever haunted you in your sleep. It’s silly, he knows, to think he might be able to ward away anything that hurts you, but he wants to, nonetheless.

He thinks about how comfortable he is whenever you cuddle during movie night. Your head on his shoulder or his chest, his hand on your back or waist.

So, he blurts, “Why don’t you sleep over?”

You furrow your brows at him, “Um, I’ve been sleeping over. A couple of weeks now, actually.”

“No, I mean, like in my room with me,” he says, suddenly shy at the idea. He’s grateful for the darkness, because he can feel his cheeks warming up. “A proper sleepover.”

You’ve done it before. Shared a bed a bunch of times, but for some reason your heart jumps when he says it. Your stomach swirls as you say, maybe a little too quickly, “Okay.”

Steve’s eyes widen like he’s surprised, just for a split second, before a soft smile takes over his face. He holds out a hand for you to take, “C’mon.”

Soon enough, Steve’s lifting his navy bedspread for you, letting you slip into bed next to him. He stays further away at first, letting you settle and lay on your side the way he knows you always do.

You blame sleepiness—or, maybe, the lack thereof—for the way you reach behind you for his arm and tug him closer, draping it over your own waist.

He obliges, of course, his arm securing itself across your stomach, palm spread out and warm against your sleep shirt. His chest is only a breath away from your back, though he keeps his lower half a little more distanced.

His thumb runs circles over your shirt, once, twice, three times before stilling, his forehead pressing to the back of your neck.

“Goodnight, angel,” he says into your hair.

Your hand splays itself on top of his. “Night, Steve.”

And suddenly your eyes grow heavier, and sleep doesn’t feel like much of a battle anymore.

-

You wake up the most rested you’ve felt in a while. There’s warmth surrounding you, but not the uncomfortable kind. The kind that feels safe.

Somehow, you and Steve are even closer than you’d been when you fell asleep. His arm is still around your waist, his other outstretched and tucked beneath your head like a pillow. His chest is flush to your back, and you can feel it expand with every breath he takes.

Most differently of all, however, is the way his hips are snug against the curve of your butt. And you can feel him hard against you.

Your skin feels even warmer than before when you notice.

Steve hasn’t woken up yet, you don’t think, because the faintest snores are getting puffed out against your shoulder where his face is tucked. His hand on your stomach has worked its way beneath your shirt, though, and his fingertips press against your skin, like he’s fighting to keep you close.

As if you’d go anywhere even in your sleep.

His knee is tucked between your legs, and you’re quickly realizing that it’d be pretty impossible to get out of bed without him noticing. You’re completely tangled together, a knot of limbs somehow fitting together just right. Like two puzzle pieces.

In his sleep, Steve’s mouth presses against the back of your shoulder, and only when you involuntarily shiver at the contact, does he stir.

It takes Steve a bit to really wake up, mumbling words that don’t make sense, scrunching his eyes shut even further before blinking them open. He’s met with the sight of you right in front of him. Body curved perfectly against his.

“Steve? You awake?” you ask, checking.

“Mhm,” he hums.

Then, something that has his cheeks flushing pink, he registers the feeling of his boner pressed against your ass. He shuffles them back enough so there’s space between you. “Fuck. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say. Because he can’t control the way his body reacts while he’s asleep.

“I didn’t think-” he cuts himself off, because he’s not quite sure how to say I didn’t think about the whole morning wood factor or that I’d fucking plaster myself to you when I suggested a sleepover without sounding stupid. Instead, he just repeats, “I’m sorry.”

You twist yourself around to face him, sheets crumpling and twisting as you move. When you settle back onto the pillow and look at his face, at the redness on his cheeks and the tips of his ears, you squeeze his hand that’s now laying between you.

“It’s okay, really,” you say. “It’s, like, anatomy. You’re human, Steve.”

“I don’t want you to think I invited you to sleep in here for some pervy reason,” he says, scrunching his nose when he says it.

“I don’t think that at all,” you tell him. You squeeze his hand again. “We’ve shared a bed like, a hundred times by now. If anything I’m surprised this hasn’t happened already.”

“Oh my God,” he groans, shutting his eyes and pushing his face into the pillow.

“Steve,” you drag out his name, fighting a giggle at the way he’s acting. He’s got a reputation, after all, and how shy and embarrassed he seems to be doesn’t reflect the things you heard about him in high school. He’s changed a lot since then. “It’s seriously fine. We can pretend it never happened. Promise.”

Steve pulls his face from the pillow, eyes catching yours as his fingers squeeze yours back in appreciation. He lets his eyes wander a bit, at the messy bits of your hair around your face from sleeping, the marks in your cheek from the pillowcase, the way your sleep shirt has fallen off your shoulder.

He feels lucky to get to see you this way, right after you’ve woken up. Vulnerable, unguarded, beautiful.

It’s during this small stretch of silence that you realize how close your faces are now. You’re sharing a pillow, his nose not even an inch from yours. Shift forward the slightest bit, and they’d be touching. Your eyes trail down to his mouth, to the visible patch of chest hair and the freckles that dot his skin. He’s already looking right at you when your eyes flick back upwards.

You know Steve, could tell what he’s feeling just from the look on his face, but this is one you’ve never seen before. At least, not directed at you.

Steve moves first, his eyes a little darker than usual, shifting forward slightly, then looking at you. Daring you to make the next move.

“What if we didn’t forget about it?” he says. Quiet and scratchy.

You don’t have time to think before you move forward a bit, too. Your noses brush. “What would that mean?”

Steve doesn’t answer with words. Rather, he moves forward the final bit and brushes his lips against yours in a question mark of a kiss, giving you time to pull away.

You don’t.

Instead, the hand of yours that isn’t still holding his comes up to the back of his neck, gently encouraging him to do it again. His free hand tightens at your waist as he dips in a second time.

It isn’t as tentative now that you’ve urged him on. His lips meet yours more sure, more firm, but still soft against you. Neither of you cares one bit about morning breath, or about what this might change. As if the morning’s haze slows time, minds still a little sleepy.

You’re simply acting on instinct. And this feels too right to stop.

Soon enough it grows more heated, Steve shifting to hover over you, his elbows pushing into the mattress to hold himself up, his tongue sneaking out to lick against the seam of your lips for permission.

Just as you open up for him, the blaring sound of Steve's alarm cuts you off, pulling back with a gasp. He simply leans up on one arm and slams the snooze button—and you laugh, you laugh, at how hard he hits it—before diving back into you.

You feel hot all over, where one of Steve’s hands has moved to cup your jaw, his thumb running delicately against your face as his mouth moves against yours, practically devouring you. Where the blankets are still over your lower halves, trapping in heat. When he pulls back, looks into your eyes, fucking smiles all dopey and pretty, and then kisses you again.

It’s so good, you’re almost angry at yourself for not kissing him sooner.

You kiss until his alarm goes off again and Steve's forced to pry himself away from you, groaning about being on his ‘last tardy warning’ from Keith.

Still, he takes the time to kiss your forehead on his way out, Family Video vest slung over his shoulder, calling a sweet, “bye, angel,” on his way out. His hair’s still a mess from your fingers, and he doesn’t even seem to mind.

You stay in his bed longer than you probably should, blinking up at the ceiling, fingers pressed against your lips like you’re searching for physical proof that everything was real.

What the fuck just happened?

-

It’s been a couple of weeks, and Steve can’t stop thinking about that kiss. He doesn’t know it, but you can’t stop thinking about it either.

Neither of you have brought it up, and things have faded back to normal as if it had never happened. But you and Steve are both thinking the same things without knowing it. How good and natural and easy it felt, how, every now and then, you think about doing it again.

You talk and joke and watch movies and eat meals together the same way you always have, and it’d be so easy to stay that way, to never kiss again. But then, what if you could stay that way and kiss? Wouldn’t that be something close to perfect?

You lay awake thinking about it every few nights. Because, when you really reflect on your life and how intertwined it is with Steve’s, you realize that you’ve sort of always acted like a couple, minus the kissing and sex aspect. You go on what could easily be classified as dates—the movies, lunch or dinner—you cuddle on the couch almost nightly, and you’ve never shied away from physical touch with one another. Held hands, a palm on your back.

You haven’t brought it up with Steve because you haven’t even come to terms with it yourself. Feelings are so fucking confusing and messy and you’d like to have a better idea of what’s going on in your own head before asking him about his.

Meanwhile, Steve has allowed himself to come to terms with it. He’s in love with you.

He’s pretty sure he has been for a while. Months, maybe even years.

It hadn’t come easily, though. It was nights spent similarly to yours, running through interactions you’ve had and the way he felt that one time in senior year when you went on a date with some guy from your math class. Even then, a part of him felt wrong about it, that pit in his gut.

Then there were his shifts with Robin at Family Video where he’d practically spilled everything just to get her opinion. She looked up and sighed “thank you” before saying that it was nice of him to finally catch on.

Had he really been that obvious? All this time? And had he really been that oblivious to his own feelings?

Steve can’t answer those questions. He can’t say when his love for you changed from platonic to romantic, he just knows that it has and he doesn’t think he’ll ever come back from it.

You’re his best friend in the entire world, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, and he can’t picture himself loving anyone but you so wholly.

He’s fucking terrified of losing you, but he’s also terrified of never telling you how he feels and testing that what if.

So, like a desperate idiot, he knocks on the door to Eddie’s trailer.

Eddie opens it after a minute and what sounded like him stubbing his toe, “oh, hey Harrington. More weed?”

“No, shut up. I need your help.”

“You,” Eddie points at Steve, then at himself, “need my help for something? Are you ill?”

“Okay,” Steve, dramatic and bitchy as usual, sighs and mutters something about this being a stupid idea and turns to leave.

“Come on,” Eddie laughs, “I’m just joking. What’s up?”

Soon enough, Steve’s sitting on Eddie’s couch, Eddie pacing in front of the coffee table like this is a very serious matter, and telling him pretty much everything. Your kiss, the train of thought it sparked.

“Basically I’m in love with her and I have no clue what to do,” Steve finishes, sinking back into the couch cushions. It squeaks as he shifts.

Eddie pauses, tugging at his bottom lip between his fingers, then looks at Steve and says, “You know I’ve never dated anyone in my life, right?”

Steve groans into his hands, “Why do all of my friends have to be losers with no dating lives.”

Eddie ignores that, because he can tell how affected Steve actually is by all of this. How much he cares. He walks over and sits down on the opposite end of the couch. “Have you ever thought of, I don’t know, telling her how you feel?”

Steve rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward and letting his head hang for a moment before picking it up. “Of course I have, but I’m fuckin’ scared.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Um, she could reject me and not feel the same way and everything would be awkward because I ruined it and I’d lose my best friend in the entire world.”

“What if she does feel the same?” Eddie asks.

He’s both yours and Steve’s friend, he’s been around the both of you together. He’s seen the way you look at each other. Eddie might not be an expert, but it’s always looked a lot like love to him. He’s pretty sure the chances of you feeling the same are quite high.

“What do you mean?”

“What if she does feel the same and you never figure it out because you’re too afraid?” Eddie says. “Man, don’t you think that risk is worth taking?”

Steve thinks about it, and as much as he hates to admit it, Eddie’s right. He’d hate to always wonder, to lose out on the chance to really be with you when he knows it could be so good.

You are worth the risk to him.

“When the fuck did you become so wise, Munson?”

“Dunno,” Eddie shrugs. “Wanna smoke?”

Steve laughs, “Yes I do.”

-

With Steve gone at work and you off for the day, there’s been too much room for your thoughts to creep in. Too much silence.

You’ve already been thinking about things so much. Thinking about him so much, that in his absence, your mind seemed to work overtime to fill in the gaps.

You thought about the day he picked you up from your apartment, how quick he was to drop whatever he’d been doing and come over and help you and take you home with him. The day he took you shopping and bought you a dress because he thought you looked pretty in it, the way his fingers fiddled with the strap on your shoulder when you tried it on for him.

The day he gifted you a remade version of your favorite picture from summer camp because he knew how much it meant to you, the way you held on to each other afterwards.

How you’d been waiting for him to get home that night he went to Eddie’s, just to make sure he was okay. How when he came in, he smiled at the sight of you curled on the couch, and he kissed your cheek when he walked by like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Your brain knew he was high, you could smell the weed mingling with his cologne on his clothes when he leaned in close, but your heart didn’t care about that. It thumped in your chest the second he leaned in closer, even worse when his lips touched your cheek.

The realization hits you now like a shock, a quick zip of electricity running through your system. You fucking love him.

Sure, you’ve loved Steve practically your whole life, but this was different. You love him, love him. Like, you want to kiss him when he comes home from work and in the morning. You want him to introduce you as his girlfriend and to be able to call him your boyfriend.

You feel stupid for not realizing it sooner, because looking back on things now, knowing how you feel, you can see it written throughout your entire friendship. Holding hands and kissing foreheads and hands pushing hair away from faces.

For a second, you’re purely happy, because you get to be in love with your best friend and it feels as warm and sweet as sunlight. Then, the fear creeps in, and you’re scared. Scared of losing him, of making things weird, of change and doing the wrong thing.

So scared that you start to panic and pack up some of your things in your bag like you’re running away.

Truthfully, you’re not sure what else to do. You’ve never been in love before, you’ve never known it this way—so kind and unconditional. And your parents sure as hell didn’t set a good example for you. They’d fight, and someone would leave with the slam of a door, and then they’d be back and the cycle would continue.

You’re scared and confused and your instincts are telling you to run away even though the only place you really wanna be is with Steve. In his arms.

You’re stuffing clothes into your bag just to keep your hands busy, breathing hard and fast, when you hear the front door open and close. Steve’s quick to find you, his eyes scanning your room and then looking at you. “What are you doing?”

You feel like you might cry just looking at him. His brown eyes worried but warm as always, his hands stuffed into his pockets like he’s nervous.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be home until later,” you say, hoping he can’t hear the shake in your voice.

“It was dead, so Keith let me off early. I-” Steve furrows his brows, “are you leaving?”

You nod. “I’ve been in your way long enough.”

“I told you, you’re never in my way.” Steve knows you, and he loves you, and he can tell that there’s something going on. That you’re panicked and trying to get away from whatever it is. He cares too much to let that happen. “I want you to stay.”

You want to stay, too. You just don’t know what comes next, and that unknown, the lack of control, of familiarity, it makes your hands shake.

Your mind doesn’t work the same when you’re afraid.

“Give me one good reason why I should stay, Steve. I’ve been taking up your space for weeks and-”

“Because I love you.” Steve cuts you off. He hadn’t planned on telling you this way, he wanted it to be romantic and perfect but he can’t wait any longer. Especially not when you’re trying to run away. “I’m in love with you. And I want you here.”

You immediately stop in your tracks, blinking up at him like you’re not sure you’d heard him correctly. “You- what?”

“I love you. Romantically. And I think I have for a really long time.”

“You’re not high again, are you?” You ask, your eyes a little misty.

Steve walks over to you and grabs both of your hands in his, making sure you’re looking at him, at the sincerity written all over his face, when he says, “Completely sober. I fucking love you and I want you to keep living with me, because this house doesn’t really feel like home unless you’re in it.”

“What about when my apartment is ready?”

He squeezes your hands. “Stay then, too. Stay forever.”

You look up at him, his hair falling over his forehead, his eyes so honest, a tentative smile on his mouth. The only boy you’ve ever loved.

You feel silly for trying to escape this when this is how it’s turning out. Steve had been brave just now, telling you he loves you and he wants you to stay, so you decide to be brave, too.

It’s easier than you thought it would be to say: “I love you, too, Steve. I feel the same. I only just realized it and freaked out. I’m so scared of losing you, is all.”

“You won’t. Not ever.”

You tip your chin up to kiss him after he says it, because you can. You pour your feelings into it, and Steve returns your kiss as if it’s one he’s known for years. It’s slow, and deep, and sweet, and so full of love you’re practically overflowing with it.

The two of you only pull away when you need a breather. Steve doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against yours.

“So what happens now?” You ask.

“Well, we’ve been acting like a couple for a while, I think, so we stay the same. Mostly. Except now I get to call you my girlfriend-”

“Um, I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to ask me first.”

He lets go of one of your hands and pushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckle running lovingly across your cheek. “My angel girl, will you be my girlfriend?”

Your grin is wide and lovesick and cheesy and you don’t care one bit. “Yeah, yes I will. Boyfriend.”

“And, being your boyfriend means I get to do this.”

He kisses you once more. And you don’t ever want to not be kissing him again.

𝜗𝜚

thank you guys so much for reading!!! it would mean a whole bunch if you would consider leaving a comment or a reblog and letting me know what you think!! it helps more than you know <3

[babyleostuff]

─ PINK RIBBONS

𝜗𝜚 THEME: fluff, domesticity, you being jeonghan's whole world (mention of the military) 𝜗𝜚 PAIRING: idol!jeonghan x fem!reader 𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT: 792

natalia's note: idc if this is too dramatic, i don't want jeonghan to go

⦗💌 ⦘your favourite past time? playing with your boyfriend's hair, duh. sadly, it's the last time you get to do it for the next two years.

“here,” jeonghan drops a bunch of… somethings in your lap and sits down on the fluffy rug you bought last month, his back facing you. 

your boyfriend’s randomness is nothing new; even before you began dating, you quickly found out that yoon jeonghan was an unpredictable man. but no matter how much time has passed since you agreed to be his girlfriend, you are still taken aback each and every time he decides to do something out of the blue in his jeonghan fashion. 

you quickly grew to love his randomness, though. it’s like being surprised in the best ways possible.

“what,” you pick up a packet of colourful hair ties and hair pins, “what do you want me to do with those?”.  

jeonghan turns around and looks up to meet your eyes, his own holding nothing but fondness and warmth. “my hair,” he says and shakes his head of messy brown hair he died a couple of days ago. “we haven’t done this in a while, so i thought it’d be nice.” 

your stomach churned. how many times have you sat like this - you on the edge of the sofa and jeonghan in front of you, resting comfortably against a cushion you placed so as not to strain his back. a drama or a cooking show would be playing quietly in the background, neither of you watching it, too busy with basking in the domesticity. 

looking back, it was a no-brainer that you got addicted to your boyfriend’s hair so quickly. playing with it became a little habit of yours - before bed, in the morning, at a game night with the boys, during parties - whenever jeonghan was in your arm’s reach, you’d play with his hair, no matter if they were short or long (though you always mourned his long hair whenever he cut them). it always managed to calm you down and ground you when life got a bit too much. 

you’ve never experienced deja vu before, but if this was how it felt then you’d rather be hit with a sledge hammer. it’d hurt less. 

and now… despite that you could feel your heart breaking, you couldn’t tell him no. it’s probably the last time you’ll be able to do this before the enlistment anyway, so maybe… maybe it’ll be a nice way to celebrate his last days at home? 

“it’s hair. it’s just hair,” your mind seems to scream into the void as you grab a couple of the purple-ish hair bands and slide them on your wrist. but your heart is even louder and it feels like you’re being ripped apart. 

were you being dramatic? definitely. did you care? not at all. your whole life would change in the next day or so and despite preparing for this for such a long time now, it didn’t make it any less painful. with jeonghan leaving you’d be losing a part of yourself.

“hey,” he raises his hand and grabs your chin, “get that scowl off your face.”

“i know,” you sigh. “it’s just that-,”.

“i don’t want to hear any of that. we’re having fun tonight, honey,” jeonghan says and runs his thumb over your cheek. affection and pure love, which are always there whenever he looks at you (coups makes sure to point that out on every possible occasion), seemed to slow your racing heartbeat, because the longer you stared into his brown, gentle eyes the more your mind seemed to quiet down. oh, how you are going to miss that lovesick stare. “no more sad faces, yeah?” 

you swallow and nod, your heart heavy from all the emotions. the pink ribbons and blue pins look like the opposite of what you are feeling, but… you have to be strong. if not for yourself, then for jeonghan. 

“any specific requests?” you ask and comb your fingers gently through his silky hair.

“nope. whatever you do,” he says and turns his back to you, “it’ll look perfect.” you couldn't see jeonghan’s face, but you could hear the smile in his voice. 

placing a peck on your exposed leg, he makes himself comfortable against the cushions and lets out his grandpa-esque sigh. 

what the next days are going to bring - you aren’t sure. you don’t even want to think about it. but for now… for now, you are as content as you can be. enveloped by your love’s affection like a security blanket, his warm hands sliding up and down your calves, as if reminding you that he’s still there, it is enough for you. enough to swallow your tears and put a brave smile on your face for the man sitting in front of you. 

for now it is only you and him and all the pink ribbons.

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[willowsnook]

Done Waiting

Lando Norris x bsf!reader

She isn’t you

Hi, could I request a salami sandwich with tomato on wheat bread, please, and thank you. Request from @itsnotsophiasworld

—-------------------------------

MF: SOS, can anyone fly to Spain to check on Lando? From what I’ve gathered, he is staying in an Airbnb by himself and very much in his head. I’m caught up in some work stuff, or else I’d make the trip myself. 

Your heart sank reading Max's text to your friend group. Lando had been having a rough season and was constantly getting ripped apart in the media, no matter what he did. All you could do was make sure that he knew you were there for him and try to be around as much as possible, which was easy as you also lived in Monaco. But after the last race before summer break, none of you had heard from him. 

Looking at flights, you quickly replied to the group saying that you could go. One of the many perks of working remotely was that you could pick up your computer and go anywhere, so leaving to help Lando was a no-brainer. There was a flight leaving tonight, so you purchased that and started to pack. 

You wished the world could see him the way that you did. He was a caring, down-to-earth friend who would do anything for the people he loved. It was hard for anyone who knew him not to like him, and it was hard for you not to be in love with him. 

It hadn’t taken you long after meeting him to fall for his charm, but he had been dating someone else then, so you settled for friendship. That was three years ago, and you’d dated guys since, but the feelings still lingered. He could make you feel like you were the only girl in the world, so it was easy to get sucked in. 

Ultimately, you valued your friendship too much to ever act on it, even when you were both single. You’d been through too much together to risk losing him. You had a hunch that he felt the same way about you because of how overly affectionate he was with you compared to everyone else and that you were usually his first call. Still, his life was busy, and you understood that a girlfriend didn’t fit in that picture right now. 

Landing in Spain around 10, you grabbed your luggage before jumping in a cab to the address Max had sent you. The Airbnb was a cute little beach cottage right on the ocean, and you inhaled a deep breath of salty air and instantly felt better. 

The door to the house swung open, and you were greeted by what seemed to be a very irritated Lando. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Making sure you don’t do something crazy,” you replied, mirroring him with his arms. 

“I want to be alone.”

“I don’t care.” 

You stared at each other for a while, neither one giving in before he finally sighed and moved past you to grab your suitcase, grumbling to himself. The cottage had windows on the backside, allowing a constant view of the ocean, which you could appreciate. Lando put my luggage in the guest room before joining me as you looked at the water. 

“You didn’t have to come; I’m fine,” he muttered. You looked over at him with a sad smile, reaching your hand down to grab his. 

“I wanted to come.” He gave you a small smile, and you took in his exhausted state, noting just how bad it really was. 

“Why don’t we get some rest? Then you’ll be ready for a full day tomorrow,” you suggested, and he looked over at you. 

“I’m here to relax, y/n,” he said, and you smiled mischievously. 

“It will be relaxing, I promise.”

It was not relaxing. 

You dragged Lando out of bed at 7 a.m. to go on a run, and he was not happy with you, but you were just happy he came along. Jogging through the little town, you could tell that his mood was improving as he kept pace with you. 

Out of breath, you were hunched over as you two had climbed to the top of a dune. 

“Are you not relaxed?” Lando teased, and you gave him the finger. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?” 

“Yeah, I need to log on when we get back to the place,” you wheezed, and he handed you his water bottle. “What are your plans for while I work?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, scroll through social media hate, maybe watch all my old races and critique everything I did; the possibilities are endless.” 

Shooting him a look, you sighed, “That would be funny if I didn’t know you’d already been doing that.” 

He looked down at his feet, and you moved over to him, wrapping your arms around his torso. His head found your shoulder, he breathed deeply, and you held on tighter. 

“You’re going to be okay Lan,” you said, looking up at him. 

“I know,” he said sadly. 

Lando spent the rest of the day in the water while you worked, slipping away to get groceries for the night. He hadn’t had time to hide all the takeout bags and boxes he had been surviving on, so you figured a homecooked meal would do him well. 

Having dealt with him being a picky eater for a while, you were finishing up your favorite spaghetti and meatballs recipe when he came back into the house. 

“Smells great,” he commented and you smiled. “Can we eat outside?”

“You read my mind,” you replied, plating the food. 

Eating on the back deck, you felt a sense of serenity as the sound of waves crashing filled your ears. 

“This place is amazing; how did you find it?” You asked, turning to Lando. 

“Honestly, I just opened the app and picked the first place I saw that looked secluded,” he admitted. “I just wanted to be away from everyone.” 

“We are here for you to lean on Lan,” you said softly. “I’m never going to leave you.” 

“I know that, but I just don’t want to disappoint you,” he confessed, and your heart sank. 

“Lando Norris,” you said, forcing him to look at you. “There is nothing you could ever do to disappoint me. I am so insanely proud of everything you’ve accomplished. Please come back to Monaco with me tomorrow.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” He whispered, holding out his arms. You climbed into his lap, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and running your fingers through his hair. 

“You buy me so much shit so I have to be nice to you,” you joked and he giggled. He pulled his head back to look at you, and your breath hitched because of the lack of distance between the two of you. Shifting, you tried to move back but his grip on you tightened so you leaned down to bring your lips to his. As you were a millimeter away his phone started to ring and you rested your head briefly against his, groaning internally. 

Sliding off of him you handed him his phone as it was Max calling. Hearing him tell Max he was coming home the next day made you smile, and you gathered all the dishes to clean up. He joined you a little later, and neither of you brought up the almost kiss; you wrote it off as something that happened in the heat of the moment. 

—------------------------------

Zandvoort was a dream, and you were so glad you made the trip with your friends. The next race you were going to was Singapore and Lando had invited you, Max, and some others to hang out the week before in Portugal. 

Your friend group had rented a big house, and you were ready to soak in the sun and relax after taking the week off work. Pietra and you had flown in together and met up with everyone that night at dinner. 

“Hi, I’m Mary,” a girl you didn’t recognize said to you, holding out her hand. You smiled back warmly, introducing yourself. 

“Mary and I met at a shoot early this year,” Pietra explained, and you nodded. You chatted with her for a while over dinner, glad to have another girl on the trip. 

You were less happy the next day when you watched this girl throw herself at Lando every chance she got. Right now, you were watching as she asked Lando how to show her how to hit the ball off the tee at the golf course where you guys were. 

“Ya know I went golfing with her two weeks ago, and she had a perfect swing,” Pietra muttered and you grimaced, watching Lando wrap his arms around the girl to guide her swing. It seemed like she would find a way to touch him no matter where you went. Up against him at dinner, clinging to him in the pool, leaning on him while you were watching a movie. 

At this point your jealousy was flaring up and you were trying to keep your composure, especially because this girl had been nothing but nice to you. What made it worse was that Lando entertained it, accepting her advances right in front of you. Your mind replayed that almost kiss back in Spain and the way the two of you had gotten closer since that trip. It had seemed to you that something was changing in your relationship, but clearly not. The whole trip you felt like your heart was being ripped apart and you were starting to wonder if you needed to take a break from being around him until you could get over your crush. 

Two nights before you were supposed to leave the group ended up at a club downtown as a pre-celebration for what you predicted would be a Lando win in Singapore. Rounds and rounds of shots were taken and you were dancing with Pietra on the dance floor trying to have a good time. 

You briefly glanced back at the VIP section, and your stomach dropped. Mary was sitting on Lando’s lap, and you watched as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. Water instantly filled your eyes, and Pietra looked concerned before following your gaze. She looked at you with such sadness that you decided then and there that you were done. 

Leaving the club you walked back to the Airbnb alone. You weren’t sure if it was your drunkenness or just the emotional exhaustion of the situation but you started to get angry. Time after time, you were there for him and this is what you got back. It would be different if he had made it clear from the start that he wasn’t interested but he didn’t do that. He slept in your bed back in Monaco on nights like these, he spoiled you constantly with gifts, and you knew that he had told other drivers on the grid to back off from you, laying a claim. 

God, you were so fucking over it. 

You gathered all your stuff and threw it in your suitcase, calling for a cab to take you to the airport. You made it down the stairs just as Max was coming in. His face fell as he saw your bag. 

"No y/n don’t go,” he pleaded, and you shook your head, already feeling tears start to fill your eyes. 

“I can’t fucking do this anymore Max,” you said, voice cracking. “I have to protect my heart.” 

“You know he loves you,” he said moving towards you to hold you. “Everyone knows that.” 

“If that’s true, why have I watched him with her this whole weekend? Why did I just watch him sit there when she stuck her tongue down his throat right in front of me,” you yelled and Max stayed silent. “Exactly. I need some space to figure out how things can move forward between us.” 

Max helped you carry your bag outside and the two of you stood silently waiting for the car. Just as it pulled up, Lando walked up to the house, alone. 

“Y/N!” He called out, not seeing your suitcase yet. “Where’d you run off too? I was looking for you.” 

You turned around and his eyes widened seeing your tear stained face, his gaze flickering down to your bag. 

“What’s going on?” He asked hoarsely and you just shook your head turning back to get into the car before you started to sob. 

“Let her go mate,” you heard Max tell him and you looked out the window to see him holding Lando back. The sight made you cry harder as the car finally drove off. 

Lando’s POV

Watching the car disappear down the street, Lando turned to Max, panic and confusion colliding in his mind.

“Why is she leaving, Max? What the hell happened?”

Max let out a sigh, his eyes searching Lando’s face with a mix of frustration and pity. “Mate, she’s in love with you. And honestly, you’re in love with her too, even if you haven’t figured it out yet.”

Lando froze, the weight of Max’s words hitting him harder than he expected. He thought of all the moments he spent with you—the late-night talks, the shared laughter, the comforting silence. He thought about how he’d let Mary get close, but each time she reached for him, a nagging feeling crept up inside him.

She isn’t you.

The thought was so painfully clear now. It didn’t matter how kind or fun Mary was—she wasn’t you. And suddenly, he realized why none of it felt right.

“I need to go,” Lando said suddenly. “I need to go to the airport.” 

He took off down to the main street hailing a cab but when he finally got there, you were gone. 

—--------------------------------------------

You skipped the Singapore GP. You didn’t even watch it on tv so you didn’t know why everyone was wondering why despite winning, Lando looked miserable standing on the podium. 

He had texted you a million times begging you to call him but you declined the call everytime. You were trying to move on. You’d started running again in the mornings, working out of coffee shops,  and hanging out with your girlfriends. Basically you were doing everything in your power to not think of him; and it worked until 10pm each night. Then you were miserable. 

It was two weeks after Singapore when you heard knocking at your door one evening. You weren’t expecting anyone so you were especially surprised to see Oscar standing on the other side of your door. Considering he didn’t live in Monaco, you didn’t really know what to say, just stared at him silently. 

“May I come in?” He asked politely and you nodded, stepping aside to let him through. “Nice apartment.”

“Thanks,” you replied following him into the living room. “What are you doing here?”

He settled down on your couch, motioning for you to join him and you sunk down on the other side. 

“I need you to tell me what happened when you and Lando were in Portugal,” he said slowly and you immediately looked away. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you mumbled, playing with your hands. 

“It does matter,” Oscar insisted. “It’s okay if you finally rejected him but I need to know how to fix him.”

Your head snapped up, “I didn’t reject him Oscar. He basically rejected me.” 

“There’s no way,” Oscar said, shocked and you told him everything that had happened from you flying to Spain for him to him making out with that girl at the club. 

“Trust me when I say that I’m not trying to invalidate your feelings, but I feel like this is a big misunderstanding,” Oscar said and you rolled your eyes. “He is so in love with you y/n. All he does is talk about you.”

“Then why did he never tell me!” You said, voice rising. “I’ve been there the whole time Oscar, and he has never said anything. I want to be with someone who isn’t afraid to love me.” 

Oscar’s heart broke at your words, knowing you were feeling this way. 

“I came here y/n, because he is a mess without you,” he said. “I’ve never seen him like this and it’s starting to affect his racing so I’m begging you to at least think about talking to him.” 

—-------------------------------------

You would have thought that Lando would stop texting after a while but he didn’t. Every morning he texted you “good morning” and gave you updates on his day even though you weren’t responding. His plan seemed to be to slowly chip away at you until you were ready to come back and unfortunately it was working. 

Brazil was the next race that your friend group was attending and you went back and forth on what you should do before finally deciding to book a flight. Max must have told Lando because you immediately were notified that your flight had been upgraded and your hotel had been booked. 

Because of a work event, you weren’t going to be able to get there until Saturday night and probably wouldn’t see Lando until qualifying or after the race. You joined Max and Pietra on the track, bright and early on Sunday morning and you were wondering how Lando would survive with it being this early in the morning. 

Oscar gave you a big hug when he saw you and you could tell he was incredibly relieved that you were there. Qualifying was 20 minutes away and you heading towards the Paddock club when you turned a corner and were immediately wrapped up in two arms. Inhaling his familiar scent, you relaxed into his touch. 

“I missed you so fucking much,” he said into your ear and you hummed in reply. You were still unsure about pretending like nothing ever happened. He pulled back to look at you and his excitement was contagious, pulling a small smile out of you. 

“We’ll talk later okay?” He asked and you nodded. “I have a lot of things I need to say to you.”

He kissed your forehead before running off and you tried to keep your cool. Qualifying was good for him and you were feeling good about the race but a little nervous about the weather conditions. 

Sitting with Max and Pietra in the paddock club the mood was very much anxious. Lando had been doing great until a red flag reset everything. He had fallen down because of pitting and you watched as he went off the track on that first turn, your heart sinking. The rest of the race was a blur and he finished in P6 which you knew would not go over well with him. 

After the race, you felt hesitant heading back to the McLaren hospitality area. You weren’t sure if he’d want to see you, especially in his disappointment. But as you lingered by the entrance, you caught sight of him. Lando was drenched, exhausted, and his usual radiant energy seemed dimmed. Still, he locked eyes with you, a faint smile managing to pull at the corner of his lips.

He walked over slowly, stopping right in front of you. “You waited for me?”

“Of course I did, Lando,” you replied softly, feeling the gravity of the moment settle in. “I always do.”

He nodded, then glanced around at the crowded area. “Can we go somewhere… quieter?”

You followed him through the paddock until you found yourselves outside in a secluded spot overlooking the track. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Finally, Lando took a deep breath.

“I was an idiot,” he began, voice raw with honesty. “You don’t know how many times I replayed that trip to Portugal, thinking about what I could’ve done differently. I didn’t understand how much it would hurt you… I was blind to everything but my own mess.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he kept going, unable to hold back.

“You’ve been the best part of my life for years, and it took almost losing you to realize how much I’d taken you for granted. I’m sorry, y/n. I thought I was protecting you by not… admitting how I feel. I thought if I never said it out loud, maybe it’d hurt less. But I can’t pretend anymore. I love you.”

Hearing those words, the walls you’d built around yourself began to crack, the anger and disappointment from before softening as you looked into his eyes.

“I’ve loved you for so long,” you whispered and he gave you a soft smile. 

“I know, I’m sorry I didn’t see it before.” 

When he kissed you, it was tender and full of all the unspoken words and missed opportunities between you. As you pulled away, you both smiled, feeling the weight of the past couple of weeks finally lift.

[alphabetboyluvr]

the curious lifespan of migrating monarchs - jjk

THE CURIOUS LIFESPAN OF MIGRATING MONARCHS (& other aurelian affairs)

pairing: streamer!jk x international student!female oc (s2l)

warnings: strangers to lovers, clubbing, foul language, alcohol, vaping lol, jungkook is kinda famous, the oc is oblivious, the oc is also a foreign student who has very recently arrived in Korea!! (pls note - while i've been in korean uni dorms, i've never been in yonsei dorms specifically so don't shout at me if it isn't supeeeerr accurate), jaykay is speaking in eng for like 90% of this!!, i've also never watched a gaming streamer and had to do so for research lmao so there's a lot of guesswork going awwwn <3, the oc has tattoos, they bond over this, cute nicknames (tokki and nabi <3), one bed trope?? kinda, jaykay lives w/ yoongi and tae (they are streamers too (and dj?? (tae is a bit unhinged))), jungkook wears calvins!, a singular appearance of yoongi in his boxers!!, tipsy hookup, fingering, protected sex (woo!), desk sex, oral (m receiving), girliepop swallows <3, brief mentions of jungkook's starry eyes, lots of kisses, bunny ears, (1) mention of cross-fit

wordcount: 13011

note from holly: this was a commission done for the lovely Michelle over on my kofi page!! i don't open commissions often, but when I do I'm very lucky that the requests are so much fun. this actually ended up being way longer than it was supposed to be lol and is also available on wattpad!! also fun facts for you - I imagine the boys apartment (and jks room!) to be same as jk + jimins place in BD, just a little bigger lmao

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

CLUB SUNDOWN WAUSAN-RO, HONGDAE SATURDAY 02:24

Time ceases to exist after the sun goes down in Seoul. It could be two, or it could be five. The only thing that really clues you in on the actual time is the DJ schedule that lights up behind the decks: 02:00-03:00, Blu-Tae.

It's some guy you've never heard of. Looks no older than you. Probably a student, just like the rest of the crowd.

His hair is as blue as his namesake, which does make you smile, and his choices aren't bad either (even if somewhat questionable). You've never heard a jazz remix of Darude's Sandstorm before, and you doubt you ever will again.

Club Sundown is just as rogue as the rest of the city after the sun goes down. Hidden in the basement—like all the best places in Seoul are—the small room is packed to the absolute brim.

Who cares for views and sunsets offered by rooftop bars when you could lose yourself in the debauchery of an eternal midnight, instead?

Drinks are spilt on strangers, and dances have lost the grandeur of old-fashioned waltzes. It's not like you could dance properly, even if you wanted to. There's just simply no space.

Like Alice, you're down the rabbit hole—and oh, how you prefer it to being in the real world. In the shadows, you can be anyone you like.

If you were sober, you'd know this is also the case for daily life. You're in a new country with no ties to your former self. Who you are is who you choose to be.

But the shadows aren't all that dark. The red lights of the club bleed into the cracks, painting everyone in the same subtle hue of danger.

They shine a little light on the identifiers of you; the thin black lines of your patchwork tattoos. Trailing up your arm, they're memories of your past selves, and an indicator of who you hope to become.

"Down this," you say to your dormmate, Rae, handing back over the drink you've just ordered from the bar. "Cloakroom, then dance."

Still carrying your winter coats, you'd wanted to check the place out before committing to it. Entry is free, but the cloakroom is the same price as a drink. It would only be worth putting your coats away if you knew you wanted to stay—and given the fact the DJ was playing O-Zone's Dragostea Din Tei as you entered, you know it's a no-brainer. While his stage name might make you roll your eyes a little, Blu-Tae certainly does cater to your tastes. When you're drunk, and music vibrates through you, it's empyrean. No place you'd rather be.

"Oh, Jesus," Rae gags as she sips the drink you've just handed her. Despite her disgust, she's laughing. Head to toe in black, dark hair loose around her shoulders, she's been your ride-or-die since you arrived in Seoul. Both international students in the same dorm, there's no one you'd rather get up to no good with. "Vodka?!"

You beam at her like you're from the heavens above, wrongfully relegated to the depths of sin. Pretend like you love vodka. It's totally not like you panicked when you saw the menu was all in Korean.

Vodka-coke is a universally understood delicacy—the easiest thing for you to order without making a tit of yourself or butchering the pronunciation. When the bartender ignored your botched attempt at ordering in Korean and answered in fluent English, you'd wanted to melt into the floor. So embarrassing.

You're here, like most foreign students, for a language course. Semester is yet to start, and as much as you've studied and practised hard, it's always different when putting it into practice.

"I'm sorry," you laugh. "It's fine—you can order next time!"

But Rae has the exact same predicament as you. If anything, your language skills are better than hers, so you really have no hope. It's vodka-cokes for the evening, or maybe highballs. Once your tipsy brain manages to compute hangul cocktail names, you'll be golden, but that won't be for another few weeks, yet.

You'll look back at this time of your life fondly, realising how simple it all was, even if it feels incredibly overwhelming right now.

Funnily enough, hope is exactly what you have: for the semester ahead, for this new life you're forging, for the opportunities that may come your way.

In fact, by the time you're on your third vodka coke, you've managed to convince yourself you actually like it. You also can't taste it, thanks to the bartender freepouring a 60-40 ratio of vodka to coke in the first drink. Your tastebuds were wiped out pretty much instantly.

Coats in the cloakroom, you're glad to be wearing thin layers. The room is stuffy; your skin sweaty. While meeting new friends had been the goal, you keep to yourself. Dance like nobody is watching. Hold Rae's hands to stay close and ward off weirdos. Quickly realise that clubs back home are slightly different. Pay it no mind. Ignore the intrusions of hands on waists, because men, disappointingly, are no different.

Or at least most of them aren't.

But most of them don't look like the man in the corner booth, laughing with his friends.

Though he is tall, he's eclipsed by his demeanour. Shoulders broad, he's in a dark T-shirt and pair of jeans. Nothing special. Nothing that warrants such a perplexed stare from you - but he's familiar. You can't place him, but he's got the kind of face you swear you've seen before.

Rae doesn't notice the change in your poise, nor how you're desperately trying to work out where you know him from. Perhaps you've seen him around your university? It's only been a couple of weeks, but people are steadily moving in. Maybe he works at the convenience store you constantly find yourself in? Or mans the front desk of the noraebang you and Rae visit pretty much every other evening?

Impossible, you think. If you'd seen him before, you wouldn't have forgotten him, or the way he constantly toys with his lip rings. Plural. There are signs up around the place stating bar rules. NO SMOKING is rule number three. You've seen his friends pass him over a vape a handful of times. Anyone else, and you'd think it was cringe. Embarrassing.

But in the midst of his laughter settling, and a fresh toke being inhaled, his eyes flicker towards yours.

Perhaps it's just because you're drunk, but you don't avert your gaze. Show no shame. The smile on his lips sinks into a smirk as he exhales. An acknowledgement. A 'hello, trouble'.

Again, any other man, you'd find the vape smoke repugnant. Nasty. Now? Watching the way he flicks his tongue against his lip rings?

You wanna know how it tastes.

Black ink weaves an intricate outline of who he is up his arms. Where he's been. Who he's been. A map, if you will, of his soul.

Much like your own tattoos, he's got thick black lines, and little else. Simple, you assume. A man of convenience. Efficiency.

You wonder if he does everything in life with the precision to match his tattoos, and as your lips wrap around the straw of your vodka-coke, you decide you'd quite like to find out.

Interrupted by Rae pulling you deeper into the crowd, your night is spent in and out of shadows. Attempt subtlety. Try not to make your occasional glances to the corner booth noticeable, just checking if his eyes are still on you. More often than not, they aren't—but sometimes they are, and that's enough to fuel your little flirt.

It's not until the sign behind the DJ booth changes from 03:00-04:00, GLOSS into some other guy that you notice your staring contest opponent has slipped into the shadows himself. The booth is void of both him and his friends. Gone.

"GLOSS has a set at another club," Rae all but yells in your ear, and even then, you barely hear her. "All the hotties left when he did. Let's go."

"Where to?!" You laugh, empty cup in hand. Admittedly, the new guy who's stepped into the DJ booth is just not doing it for you. Blu-Tae was just the right amount of unhinged with classics, whereas GLOSS was definitely cooler, but still fun. Had the club yelling curse words over trap remixes just for the fun of it. This new guy, whose name you don't care to remember, takes himself too seriously, you think.

"It's, like, two blocks down," she yells back, tugging on your wrist to drag you to the stairwell that leads you back up to the streets of Seoul. The hustle and bustle of people trying to go in different directions in the tight place forces you apart, but you figure you'll catch up with her, or that she'll be waiting at the top.

You don't know the roads well enough yet to make it to whichever club it's at alone, and quickly realise when you nearly tumble into the side of a waiting taxi that you're far drunker than expected. Knew the bartender was freepouring, but didn't realise just how free those pours really were.

"Woah, easy trouble," a deep voice sounds from behind you as you're steadied to a more stable position.

"I'm good, I'm good!" You insist, shaking off the hands of your 'saviour'. Have no interest in being a damsel in distress, or some sober guy trying to take advantage of you.

Looking down to check your laces are tied properly, you check over your shoulder to make sure the guy isn't creepily waiting for a thank you that he can turn into an intrusive game of 21 questions—'are you open-minded?' or 'do you live alone?'—but when you glance in his direction, you regret it. Notice the tattoos immediately. Recognise the eyes. Want to die.

"Oh."

"Oh," he says back with a smile, imitating you. Suddenly, the confidence you'd had earlier when looking at him from afar dissolves into nothingness, just like the alcohol in your bloodstream. You feel rather sober, but your body would definitely disagree. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," you nod, suddenly a little stuck for words, desperately trying to play things cool. "Are you okay?"

The pouting of his lips as his tongue runs along the inside of his cheek only serves to make you internally cringe. Men who look like him have no business being on streets like this. Should be in a museum. Strung up on the walls with the other masterpieces. Admired by everyone who looks his way.

In a way you don't yet realise, he is.

Though he's not in galleries, he's often burning into people's laptop screens. Is the background of a fair few thousand lock screens. Indeed, he is admired by everyone who looks his way, just not in the traditional sense.

"I'm not the one who just fell into a car," he reminds you, as if you could forget your embarrassment so quickly.

"Was just seeing if you'd catch me," you bullshit, the confidence you usually have returning tenfold. Was just a momentary blip. He's just a man, after all.

"Oh?" He chirps, decidedly curious. "So you fell for me?"

"Stumbled."

"Semantics."

His fluency, and the fact he just said 'semantics' so casually in conversation, clues you in on the fact he might be a language student, too. 

Could be useful study partners for each other, you think, then mentally berate yourself for already masterminding ways to see him again.

"So, where you going?" He asks, not caring to downplay his curiosity. The bartenders were free-pouring his drinks just as severely as they poured yours. The only difference is that his were on the house—'cause you were right. He does have a recognisable face. "Should probably go with you. Make sure you don't fall into the road."

"Stumble," you insist, a little pleased with the boldness of his suggestion, but not wanting to blindly agree. "My friend," you say glancing around, only to find yourself completely alone. "She wanted to go catch the next GLOSS set. So, I guess that's where we're going."

"Just down the road," he says, knowing the schedule like the back of his hand. Bounces from club to club supporting his friends, just like they would for him. If he wanted, he could get a slot up there, too. He doesn't care for it. "I'll walk with you, if you want? My friends are heading there anyway."

It's not a bad offer.

In fact, it's probably the best offer you'll get all night.

"C'mon," he nods his head to the side, encouraging you to follow him. Checks his phone for the time. "Starts in five."

If there's one thing you've indulged in since moving to Seoul, it's how safe you always feel. Security cameras are on every corner, and you've walked home countless times without any issues, even late into the night. While the place isn't perfect, it's far safer than your home country.

Still, you're not a complete idiot.

"It's not wise to follow strange men down dark alleys," you tell him.

He holds out his hand. Waits for you to shake it. Cocks a brow when you hesitate, so introduces himself.

"Jungkook. Nice to meet you. Now, can we please hurry up? I promised I'd be there."

Narrowing your eyes, you don't shake his hand. Arms folded over your chest, there is ice to your exterior, and given how warm his eyes are, you doubt it'll last for very long. May as well keep up this hard-to-get act while you still can.

Walking on past him, you call back, "Alright then. Lead the way."

In the domed mirror meant for reversing cars at the end of a tight alley, you see him laugh. "Wrong way, idiot."

Pausing, you scrunch your face up. Don't turn to face him for at least a second or so—but when you do, you're surprised to see him walking towards you. Hooking his arm around your waist, he carries on walking in the 'wrong' direction, taking you with him.

"Was just fucking with you," he grins. Nods towards a sign by another basement entrance, listing both Blu-Tae and GLOSS.

By the door, Rae is looking around like a mother duck who's just lost some of her ducklings when crossing the road. Breathes a sigh of relief when she spots you.

"C'mon," she grins, then realises who you're with. Says nothing of it, 'cause she doesn't want to be weird, but she recognises him, too. Decides she's just had a little too much to drink. There's no way it's him. Holds out her hand for you.

Reaching out for her, you're let go from Jungkook's grip, ready to get lost in the lights once more.

HAEJANG24 WAUSAN-RO, HONGDAE SATURDAY 05:53

Seoul is a city for the nocturnal. The restaurants and bars are open until the last men are standing. Given how much you've had to drink, you're surprised you still are.

Rae had dipped an hour or so ago. Had hit it off with Mr Blu-Tae himself. Seduced him with the suggestion that their couple name would be Blu-Rae. He'd said they should go to a DVD-bang. Would be fitting. See what Blu-rays were on file.

Naturally, you'd looked on with mild disgust and also admiration for how quickly she'd worked her magic. Everyone knows what goes down in DVD-bangs. Small private rooms, often with projector screens and the world's least comfortable futons, they're somewhere you hope to never end up—but also can't wait to hear all the details the next morning when Rae comes to your room for a debrief.

You'd been left under the surveillance of Jungkook.

"Look after her," Rae had instructed, then narrowed her eyes. "Or I'll destroy your reputation with a single twitter thread, Tokki."

It's a threat he's taken seriously. Knows how the internet works, and even though he's never done anything worthy of a cancellation, he also doesn't intend on starting now. The fact you seem to have no idea who he is during the daylight hours intrigues him. It's a rarity on streets like these.

Even when a few people asked for pictures with him on your walk to the hangover soup place, you didn't clock it as weird. Figured they were friends passing by, wanting to document their chance run-in. Just another memory of the night. The way Jungkook had greeted them was full of warmth, and kindness. Why wouldn't you assume they were mates?

You were also still incredibly drunk at the time, so didn't think to question it. Was keen for food, and Jungkook had insisted on hangover soup, and so that's where you are. Dishes nearly empty, far more of it eaten by him than you, you're laughing about nothing and everything all at once.

"Right," Jungkook declares, deciding he cannot hold in a question that's been tickling at his brain for the entire meal. "What the fuck is that?"

Coat left in the cloakroom, long forgotten about, your tattoos are on full display for him, just like his are for you. Up your arm they trail; a patchwork of teeny tiny identifiers. Latin phrases around skulls, birth flowers of the people you hold close, butterflies and stars. There's an ode to your favourite musician and your favourite Shakespeare quote, too. The fabric of you etched into your skin. There's no reinventing yourself, even half the world away from home.

You know precisely which tattoo Jungkook is asking about. You've asked yourself the same question a few times.

"Fuck off," you laugh.

While most of your tattoos are gorgeous, there's one that was done by a rogue artist on a girlie holiday a few years ago. What was supposed to be a seashell now looks like... well, nothing really. It's just a blob, thanks to the artist being absolutely terrible. The only solace you find in it is that your two best friends have an equally awful permanent reminder of that holiday on their bodies, too.

"It doesn't look how it's supposed to," you explain with a little pout. "I got royally screwed over."

He cocks a brow. You still haven't told him what it is. He isn't gonna ask you twice.

With a grumble, you feebly admit, "A shell."

And then he's laughing. Really laughing. Laughing so hard you think he might piss himself—which you'd actually prefer, because then he could be the embarrassed one, instead.

"I'm calling you Shelly from now on," he says with a broad smile. Has had his fair share of tattoo blunders, and knows you must've developed an affection towards how shitty it is. Would have gotten it covered up, otherwise. "That's incredible."

"You're calling me so such thing," you assure him, but you also can't help but laugh.

"I am," he tells you, then really solidifies it. "Shelly."

"Fuck off," you whine, doubling down. Scanning his arms, you try and pick out anything you can use against him, too. "If I'm Shelly, then you're Mike."

"Mike?!" He protests.

"Yeah," you insist, pointing towards the microphone on his forearm. "Mike."

"You are not calling me Mike. Do I look like a Mike?!"

"Do I look like a Shelly?!"

You've got a point. It's not the name he would have first associated with you - but it is cute, he thinks. Cute how mortified you seem. Cute how you can't help but smile.

After a little bit of back and forth, it's decided that neither of you look like your namesakes.

"Y'know, we kinda have matching tattoos," he says, holding out his arm for you to study. "Or at least, the placements."

And sure enough, below his elbow lives the outline of a bunny sitting on a crescent moon. Holding your own arm out next to his, below your elbow is a butterfly. Above it, is a teeny tiny moon.

Like Jungkook's moon, it's a crescent. Was supposed to symbolise new beginnings. You wonder what his means, but don't ask. Instead, you marvel at the coincidence of it all.

He presses his index finger against the butterfly on the inside of your forearm. The echoing chatter of the restaurant fades softly into nothingness as he says, "Nabi."

You nod. Even if you have spoken with him in English this entire time, it's nice to hear him speak in his mother tongue, no matter how minimal - so you reciprocate. Press your index finger against his bunny. Smile. Say, "Tokki."

It further confirms to Jungkook that you have no idea who he is. Has been a while since he's met a girl in a circumstance like this where that's the case. Likes the anonymity of it all. Is hiding his identity from you, and yet hasn't felt such vulnerability for years.

"Daltokki, right?" You continue, not wanting the silence to linger for too long. "The rabbit in the moon?"

You're not wrong, but you're also not entirely right.

"Yeah," he smiles regardless. "That's it."

JUNGKOOK'S APARTMENT ITAEWON-DONG, YONGSAN-GU SATURDAY 07:12

"Shhh," Jungkook quietly laughs. 

His hand is over your mouth and the other is on your hip as he guides you into his apartment. With your back to his chest, you've both been giggling for the entire ride to his place.

He had insisted that he should walk you home, and was surprised by the offense you seemed to have taken by this. You then told him that he absolutely could not seduce you, and that it was very gender-role-conforming for him to think that you were incapable of getting home by yourself.

"Maybe I should be the one to make sure you get home safely," you had said with a false sense of concern, which had made him laugh quite considerably.

In all reality, you didn't mind him offering to get you home. You just hadn't tidied your room. Didn't really expect to be taking a boy back to your place, much less one that looks like him.

Together, you'd caught the early morning bus over to Itaewon instead of a taxi, 'cause you're still on a student budget and Jungkook wasn't quite ready to blow his cover just yet.

You've been teasing him—questioning his status as a potential International Super Spy—ever since he took your hand and guided you into one of the flashiest apartment complexes you've ever been in. There was security. Doormen. A passcode for the elevator—not to mention that he was heading up to the seventh floor once you were in it. Might not sound like much, but when there are only seven floors to the entire building, it makes it the penthouse by default.

"It's not a penthouse," he'd insisted. "Plus, I live with friends. Only pay a third of the rent."

But a third of his rent is more money than you'll probably see in three months of post-grad work. You're drunk, but you're not stupid. You also know that the rental market here differs significantly from your home country. Monthly rent is cheap, but the deposits are extortionate. Sure, he'll get it back when he leaves, but to have the initial money needed for a place like this? He's not a regular student, if one at all, that much is sure.

"Not sure who's home," Jungkook whispers as you both kick your shoes off in the entryway. Given the looks of the other shoes, it's clear that this is a guys-only living situation. You're proven right when he continues, "Betcha Tae's still in that damn DVD-bang, but Yoongi might be back."

"Yoongi?" You question.

"GLOSS," Jungkook says, remembering how oblivious you are to who he is. Reaching down to grab your shoes, he isn't gonna leave them by the door. Will take them to his room. Doesn't want the boys asking questions, if they are in. Knows they'll just use it as an excuse to publicly roast him whenever they're next online together.

Given that a stream is scheduled for Sunday night, he doesn't want to tempt fate.

Their current choice of wind-up, which the viewers have been eating up, is the joke that Jungkook is a virgin. He's not, but he never knows how to defend himself without sounding like a tool, so always gets a little awkward. A lot of their viewers love it. Join in on the joke. Some take it seriously. He doesn't care.

Next month, Taehyung will do something dumb, and he'll become the favourite joke for a while. Maybe Yoongi. But for now, it's Jungkook.

None of them take it to heart. They're just a group of friends who share their gaming hangouts online, and accidentally made it to the top of the ranks.

They aren't particularly good at gaming, but that's part of the charm. Crescent Collective is how they're known: Blu-Tae, GLOSS and Tokki.

After a bet went wrong, and they all lost, they ended up with moon tattoos and their respective 'symbols'. Jungkook's is a rabbit, Tae's is a blu-ray DVD disk (because he really is committed to the bit), and Yoongi's is stars to symbolise the shine of fresh gloss. Jungkook's makes the most sense. Yoongi's is pretty decent. Taehyung's is just... Well, it's very him.

Sliding open the door into the main living area, Jungkook has to cover your mouth again when you gasp at the sheer size of the place.

"I thought butterflies were supposed to be silent?" He teases. "Quiet for me, Nabi."

His place is bigger than your family home, you think. Hushing you again, he's laughing—and then he's cursing at the sight of a half-naked Yoongi by the kitchen counter.

In his boxers, with half a clementine slice hanging from his lips, he's just as shocked to see Jungkook with you. Gets over it pretty quickly.

"Don't mind me," he says, chewing down on the fruit with a smirk. Looks towards you. "Apologies for the lack of clothes."

With your shoes hooked on his fingers, Jungkook's other large hand is still over your mouth. You're not sure you can form any words as it is, but you do notice the crescent moon and stars on Yoongi's ribs.

"Not a word to Tae," is all Jungkook says. Knows that he'll be in for a world of teasing tomorrow if he gets wind of it. "I mean it."

Holding his hands up, Yoongi's still smirking, but he is backing away into a room just off the kitchen. "My lips are sealed."

Watching as he closes the door, you wonder how much truth is in his words. Jungkook knows it's absolute bullshit. Chooses not to dwell on it. Loosens his grip on you and heads towards his own room. Turns back to check you're following him, and can't help but smile when he knows that you are.

Tossing your shoes just inside the door, Jungkook is quick to pick up a pair of jeans he'd left on the floor, before chucking them over his desk chair. He tweaks his bedding. Straightens it out. Looks a little shy as he turns to face you.

"Made it home safe," he says quietly, as you close the door behind you.

You nod. Keep a little distance. Say, "It's dangerous to sleep after drinking. Make sure you build a tower of pillows in the middle of your bed so you don't roll onto your back."

Both of you are far more sober than you were earlier. There's no need to worry about anything like that.

And yet he nods, now. Says, "You're probably right. You can always stay, though. Just to check I don't die in my sleep, or whatever."

"It'd be the responsible thing to do," you nod, wondering if he can tell just how fast your heart is beating. "But I don't have any pyjamas."

Jungkook swallows. The way he looks at you now is entirely different to how he'd looked at you in the club. Back then, he'd been bold. Flirtatious.

Now, he seems vulnerable. Needy.

"I sleep in my underwear," he tells you, unsure if you'll actually be sleeping. While he likes the idea of fucking you, part of him doesn't want to. Fears it'll ruin the magic of the unknown. The way he throbs at the mere thought of it would suggest that his hopes outweigh his fears. "I don't mind, if you don't."

The clothes Jungkook's wearing are baggy. You've seen nothing of his figure.

Reaching for the nape of his neck, he tugs on the fabric of his T-shirt. Pulls it over his head and discards it in one swift movement. The sound of it crumpling on the floor is abrasive in how it makes you feel. Raw. Unrefined. You suppose it's just a natural consequence of seeing the toned muscles of his chest. How his waist defies what you thought was possible for masculine builds, and how broad his chest is. The indent of his collarbones, and the lines of his pelvis that draw your eyes downwards.

A pair of Calvins peek just above the waistband of his jeans, and a silver chain rests around his neck. Light from the city filters in, and LED lights around his impressive computer set-up paint him in a hue of violet.

"No," you manage to reply, which is a miracle, you think. "I don't mind."

And then you reciprocate. Reach for the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head, letting the fabric fall to the floor. Seeing him swallow back his nerves, or maybe his desires, makes you feel far bolder than you should.

"It's really uncomfortable to sleep in jeans," you tell him.

He nods. Agrees. Threads the button of his trousers through its loop. Doesn't take them off yet. Waits for you to do the same. Keeps his eyes firmly locked on yours. Doesn't let his gaze wander, no matter how much he has to fight all his instincts not to fully take you in. Is still pretending like he doesn't want you in the most indecent of ways.

The room you're in right now is known worldwide. 

People set it as their zoom backgrounds. It's on Pinterest. There are YouTube videos attempting to recreate the set-up. If he were to power up his computer—which, in all fairness, is only on standby—and go live, there'd be a thousand viewers within minutes. Doesn't matter what he plays, or who he's with. He doesn't give it much thought anymore. Is just life.

Sometimes, he regrets not being a faceless streamer, but he also knows that it's part of the appeal. Connection, and the fantasy that comes with this almost dystopian, parasocial idea of it.

After all, the meeting of his eyes with yours across a busy club led you to this point. Human connection in the simplest of ways, that he thinks could culminate in the most complex of ways, too.

"Okay," he says. "So take them off."

"You want me to?" You ask just to tease a little bit, and when a smile flickers onto his seemingly nervous lips, you're glad you did.

"You think we'd be here right now if I didn't?" He says with a tweak of his brows.

"You've got a point."

With that, you push your jeans down and reveal the matching set of black underwear you're in. It's nothing special. In fact, it's not really a set, but it's close enough that it'd fool anyone who didn't know.

Jungkook, in this moment, is indeed a beautiful fool.

There's a lopsided grin on his face as he lets his eyes rake down your body. Is shameless as he indulges in you. Nods, as he bites down on his bottom lip.

"It's cold," you tell him, urging him along a little bit.

"Shit," he says without much thought. "Sorry. Was just... Yeah. Shit."

It's both endearing and wholly confusing how Jungkook flips from confident to cute. A man of duality. It makes you giggle, and then you're the one biting down on your bottom lip. Are both a little bashful. A little shy.

"I'm only here to make sure you don't die in your sleep," you remind him before it goes any further.

Looking at him now, knowing you want him in the worst of ways, it's testing all of your willpower not to just cut to the chase.

Thing is, you liked his company tonight. Want it again. Want to give him a reason to seek you out once more. Want him thinking about you in clubs, and looking for you in crowded bars. Pining. Yearning. Needy.

"It's already gone seven," he tells you, walking towards his bed. Knocks his head to the side. Silently tells you to follow suit. "Will probably only get a couple hours in."

"Better than nothing. Plus, you're actually really irritating," you bullshit as you get into bed with him. Are adamant you won't fuck him, but you do let him pull you in closer.

"Oh, yeah?" He grins.

"Mhmm," you nod, pretending as if you aren't looking at his lips. "You'll be less annoying when you're asleep."

"I'm never gonna sleep again," he assures you. "Will annoy you forever."

"I know where the front door is," you say as you stroke a few of his loose, wavy hairs back behind his ears. They fall freely almost right away, but it just gives you another excuse to play with it "I can just leave. I'm only here to make sure you don't die in your sleep. Pointless if you're awake."

"So I have to be asleep for you to stay?"

"Mhmm," you hum.

He immediately loosens his grip on you and flops into an overdramatic sleeping position. Fake snores. Gets you giggling. Can't hide his smile, either. Laughs through the god-awful noises he's making.

But it is late, and you're both tired. As much as he'd like to stay awake with you, the pull of sleep is just too tempting now that you're beneath his sheets. It's not like he doesn't wanna fuck you. His semi is very much present, but neither of you mention it.

"Y'know what's sad about butterflies?" Jungkook mumbles after the laughter dies down. He carefully begins to trace the lines of your tattoo, eyes entirely focused on the tip of his finger.

You purr a response before you fully vocalise one. "Tell me."

He glances up at you only very momentarily. Looks back down. Is quiet when he says, "How quickly they die. Spend over half their lifespan growing into these beautiful creatures, and then they have, what—A week? Two? Three, tops—and then they're gone. It's like the cherry blossoms in spring. Beautiful, and then—" He clicks his fingers. "—gone."

Stroking back some loose strands of his hair, you wonder if he's thinking about you. About this chance encounter. Beautiful, then gone.

"Just means you have to appreciate them while they're still around," you say softly. "Cherish them, because you know you only have them for a moment."

His gaze lifts to meet yours. The reflection of his LED lights makes it seem like butterflies are floating around in his deep, dark eyes, too.

There are stories he could tell you of ancient folklore; about human souls taking the form of butterflies. Of justice, and peace, and spirits. Of back in time, when tigers still smoked. He could tell you of his favourite butterflies. Of the black butterflies that are as large as his hands in the summer. Of the huge display in a museum downtown that would transfix him as a child.

Instead, he gently presses his lips against the lines of your butterfly tattoo.

The rate at which your heart is beating multiplies. Like a swarm of butterflies chasing through your veins, you've no control over the way you're feeling. He's brought your artwork to life; set the souls inside of your butterfly free, only for it to be apparent that the souls belonged to the both of you, anyway.

You know that this is one of those moments; a butterfly passing on by through your lives. Here, and then gone. Beautiful, but fleeting.

There's a shyness to Jungkook now, as he rolls onto his back. A reluctance to get things wrong. He doesn't look at you, just nibbles on his bottom lip and pretends as if the empty white ceiling ahead of him is the most interesting thing he's seen all night.

It's not.

You are.

You, and those eyes that make him feel like the butterfly on your arm is tickling at his tummy. He finds himself jealous when he faces you again and begins tracing the thin lines of your butterfly once more. Wants to embed himself into you like the ink that's carved out a home in your skin.

"Sorry," he mumbles, seemingly regretful of the tender kiss he'd pressed against your arm just a short moment ago. "Don't know why I did that."

"It's okay," you reply without much thought. Like him, you're letting the way you feel dictate the words you say. Care not for playing coy. "I liked it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Jungkook wants to stop his mouth from letting his desires escape. The issue is, he drank a little too much tonight and his lips are a little too loose. Too bad. Can't help himself from asking, "Can I do it again?"

You're just as bad.

"Yeah," you whisper. "Please."

The way his lashes splay against his cheeks as he presses another kiss to your arm is nothing short of celestial. Like that damn moon on his arm, he's got a beauty about him that's hard to capture in words. Ethereal feels too fantastical, but gorgeous feels too dense. He resides in a realm somewhere between the two. Somewhere you'd like to stay forever.

Forever, sadly, only lasts a few hours. You've brunch plans with new friends you can't bail on yet for fear of running a friendship before it's even begun.

You see yourself out. Jungkook's still asleep. Not quite 10AM, you've a dozen missed calls from Rae, and a cold can of coke waiting for you in your fridge. Funnily enough, though, you don't really feel hungover. Must have gotten it all out of your system the night before.

It's only fitting, when you think about Jungkook on the subway home, and how soberingly drunk the idea of him makes you feel. 

YONSEI UNIVERSITY DORMS DAESIN-DONG, SEODAEMUN-GU SUNDAY 21:39

Brunch had, predictably, been a yawn-fest.

The people were perfectly nice, but you spent the entire time thinking about Jungkook; how you'd left him in a pretty slumber, the LEDs behind his computer still glowing, with not even so much as a note to say thank you.

It's not like he had any paper on his desk, and you weren't about to start rummaging around his room. You also didn't want to wake him. Part of it was because you knew you'd be saying goodbye, and the concept of that was one that you didn't like all that much.

And so your subway ride back to your dorm had been spent searching his name. He didn't take long to find. 

From the club's Instagram, you found GLOSS and quickly discovered that there was far more to both him and Blu-Tae than just being DJs. Their follower counts were wild. Numbers you know you'll never see on your own account. Verification check marks accented their display names. 

Who are you? You'd thought to yourself, incredibly perplexed by it all.

Jungkook was littered all over their pages, and yet it still took a while for you to click through to his account. You're not sure why, but think that perhaps the unknown was a nice place to reside within. Safer. 

CR3SC3NT_T0KK1 was his username—and curiously, Tokki was also his display name. Brows furrowed, you'd almost dropped your phone when you saw his follower count. It eclipsed both of his friends. 

Filled with gaming set-ups, merch drops, and general life dumps, it was pretty clear that whoever Jungkook had made himself out to be the night before was not who he was in real life. 

Equal parts offended and intrigued, you were only more confused when you saw that Rae was already following him—but not following Taehyung.

"What?" she'd beamed when you'd asked her about it after you'd arrived home from brunch, a scoop of hangover ice cream being waved around in the air with her flamboyant gestures. "He's, like, one of the biggest streamers in the country—and if I want to keep Tae obsessed with me, we need as many connections as possible. Jungkook's a frog to me, baby, not a prince. Don't you worry your little cotton socks. I'm not after him."

"I wouldn't care if you were," you'd blatantly lied in response, and then you'd giggled together at how ridiculous you were both being over boys you didn't really know.

Hovering over the bright purple 'JOIN STREAM' button later that evening, part of you holds back. Think it'd be weird. Strange. That he'd somehow know it was you.

Dipping your mouse, you tick the checkbox to join as an anonymous viewer. Take a breath. Think fuck it. Watch with bated breath as the loading wheel turns—and then he's there.

Jeon Jungkook has the kind of beauty that transcends shitty quality streams. Smiling as he jokes with one of his friends through a headset with a pair of black bunny ears affixed to the top of them, you hear a voice you almost recognise. Notice the friend he's streaming with in the top corner. Realise you do know him, too.

Hair as blue as the trees are green, Tae has just as much boyish charm as Jungkook, but also an incredibly large hickey that seems to match the ones on Rae's neck.

"Nah, can we get an L in the chat for Kook," he's teasing. Sure enough, the chat begins to explode with the letter, and Jungkook looks so pretty when he protests.

"It's not an L!"

"It is!" Tae insists. "Should have seen him, guys. Was following this girl around like a lovesick puppy—"

"No, I wasn't!"

"And she didn't even give him her number. Not even her name!"

"That's not true!" Jungkook whines. He switches between Korean and English with ease, sometimes just single words, other times whole sentences. "I have a name."

"What is it?"

"Not telling you."

"Cause you don't have one!"

"No, because you'll all make my life a living hell," Jungkook laughs—and then notices a bright blue comment lighting up in the chat. His eyes widen. "Fuck."

GLOSS: Was calling her Nabi when he got home last night Almost shit his pants when he saw me

"Yoongi, I'm gonna shave your eyebrows off in your sleep," Jungkook growls—only for the chat to start spamming butterfly emojis. Closing his eyes, he leans back in his chair, the still paused video game long forgotten about, now. Thousands of people are in their chat, and even more are watching the stream.

"Guys, get it trending," Taehyung goads. "Tweet, I dunno, bunny and butterfly emojis."

"Don't do that!"

"Hashtag find Jungkook's butterfly."

"Do NOT do that!"

"I'm like a modern-day cupid," Taehyung beams.

"I'm shaving your eyebrows, too."

Closing the stream, you sit for a moment, mouth ajar, unable to process what on earth you've just witnessed. Part of you feels as if it must have an incredibly vivid daydream; a projection of your heart's desire.

And you know you shouldn't, but when you get home from running errands the following day, you join the stream again. Blush when you notice the chat is still teasing Jungkook.

"I'm gonna block you all," he threatens them with a grin, which only encourages them to send even more butterfly emojis.

The next day is no different, nor the day after that.

He is, though. Has been letting it all play on his mind. Doesn't have much of a filter when it comes to streaming.

"What if she didn't even like me, guys," he whines to the chat. "And sees this and is like... mortified. I think I'd punch myself in the face if she ever saw any of this."

You toy with the idea of sending a comment into the chat. Something that only he'd realise was you. Thing is, you feel bad for intruding. As if you shouldn't be prying. As if you're eavesdropping on him chatting with friends, and not on the stream he's broadcasting live around the world.

Typing out a message, you deliberate your choice.

Punch urself in the face pls, tokki x the message reads. 

Simple. Effective. To the point.

But everyone calls him that, you stupidly realise, now.

And so you change the name to 'Mike'. 

Before you can even really realise what you've done, you've pressed send.

The message flitters into the chat feed. He's about to resume his game. Doesn't notice it at first.

Gives the chat one final glance, and then his eyes widen. He sits up taller. Straighter. "Mike?"

You close the lid of your laptop immediately.

"Fuck."

THE STREETS WAUSAN-RO, HONGDAE FRIDAY 23:51

"Tae is on in five," Rae squeals, dragging you down the road at lightning speed. 

You'd spent far too long at dinner, and also had far too much to drink with your food, so have been forced to make an undignified sprint to the club in an attempt to make it in before the place reaches capacity.

There's already a queue. You can see it from a mile away.

Realistically, Rae could have gotten Taehyung to add her to the guest list. He'd offered. She didn't wanna look needy, so had played it coy about her plans for the evening. 

After a single beer and soju, she'd decided that the idea of him hooking up with anyone but her simply wouldn't do.

"Shit," she sighs in defeat, looking at the queue. The direction you've come from means that you reach the entrance before you reach the queue, but even then, you can tell it goes around the block. "Are there no other clubs these people can go to?!"

There are—but this club is rammed tonight for the same reason Club Sundown was rammed the week before. People want to see the Crescent Collective. 

You didn't realise it at the time, but you'd bypassed the queue of the second club last weekend because Jungkook had been with you.

And as if by a stroke of luck, or perhaps a twist of fate, the same tattooed hand that had held you as you slept last weekend is now putting out a cigarette just a few steps away.

Eyes landing on yours, he looks away again, almost immediately. Feels embarrassed. Stupid. For the way you left him, and also for the way he knows you must know who he is, now.

Behind a red rope, he's away from the general crowd. It's sort of obnoxious, you think—but also know Jungkook is anything but.

"They're with me," Jungkook says to the bouncer, not really looking at you, but nodding in your general direction. Is deliberately keeping a little distance. Instead, he says to Rae, "Tae wouldn't want you waiting in line."

Nodding, the security guard makes way for you, stamping the backs of your hands with UV-activated ink as you walk past.

"Thank you!" Rae beams.

"No worries," Jungkook smiles right back. "He's about to start. Was just getting air. You're lucky you arrived when you did."

"Angel," she praises. "I'll get you a drink while we're in there."

You know her well enough now to know that she absolutely will not, but you don't say anything. Instead, you fold your arms over your chest as you walk, suddenly feeling all awkward in Jungkook's presence.

"Nabi," he curtly greets you as you head down the stairs.

"Tokki," you greet him back just as formally. Consider calling him 'Mike' instead, but you chicken out.

Face scrunching up, Jungkook tries his best not to cringe at himself. Doesn't know if you're addressing him by his tattoo moniker, or just calling him Tokki because you know it's his identifier online.

"How have you been?" He asks, not wanting to let it simmer.

"Alright," you say, aware of how awkward this all feels, as you descend the stairs and into the club. The music is getting louder, and soon you won't be able to hear him talk unless you're in each other's ears. "And you?"

"Alright."

Just as quickly as he appeared, Jungkook is lost to the crowd. 

He doesn't care to stick around if he's just going to be hung out to dry by you again. He tells himself that he only made sure you got in to keep Rae happy for Taehyung's sake—yet as he rejoins his friends in their booth, he finds himself desperately seeking you out again.

It takes him a while, but he eventually spots you by the bar in conversation with Rae. He can't make out what you're saying, but notices how your eyes are flickering around the room. Seems as if you're hunting for something. 

Deep down, even if he pretends like he doesn't, he hopes it's for him.

Pulled away from your search by the bartender passing over drinks to the pair of you, Jungkook feels bad. Knows the drinks are pricey in this place. Also knows, from the conversations you've already had, that you're on a tight budget. Had said that once the semester starts, you'll stop going to parties. Are seemingly unaware of the fact the parties never stop in this city. You'll learn.

When your eyes finally land on his a little while later, you're surprised by his intense gaze—intrigued by his lack of shame for being caught out. He doesn't look away or appear embarrassed. If anything, it's quite the opposite.

Girls are vying for his attention all around him, yet you receive all of it. Half the room away, hundreds of people create a sea between you both. Jungkook thinks he'd swim through it, no matter how choppy the water, if it meant he could have you right now.

You're the one who left, though. 

It's up to you to come back.

Part of you doesn't want to, but then you see another girl making advances, and Rae's horror over other girls trying it on with Taehyung seems to have rubbed off on you. The idea of it makes your skin crawl. You're drunk, and a little reactive, but Jungkook likes playing with fire.

As you work your way through the crowd towards him, he tries his best not to grin. Finds himself vindicated in his desire to be close to you, 'cause it seems like you want it, too.

Sliding in between Jungkook and the girl, you turn and apologise.

"Just need to borrow him for a second," you smile, clutching at his shirt and pulling him away from the booth before she even has a chance to protest.

With an ever-so-satisfied smirk, Jungkook shrugs towards the other girl, and lets you drag him wherever you want. He's putty in your hands, a little tipsy and desperately in need of attention from you. 

For the past week, he's played scenario over scenario over scenario in his head about this moment, and now that it's happening, he's glad he let you seek him out. Is so pleased that you actively want him just as much as he wants you.

In the middle of the crowd, you're hidden from prying eyes. It's too dark to notice any discerning features of the people around you, yet somehow, Jungkook seems like a vibrant golden light to you. Impossible to miss. Unable to ignore.

You wanna talk. Ask him about who the fuck he is. Explain that you didn't mean to leave so heartlessly.

Taehyung's set is so overwhelmingly loud, though. Can barely even hear yourself think.

As soon as he'd spotted Rae in the crowd, Taehyung had sent the bar coordinator to go and get her. She's sitting pretty up in the DJ booth, incredibly pleased with herself. Notices you and Jungkook almost immediately. Knows it'll be on Twitter in the next few hours, especially if that damn butterfly tattoo of yours is noticed.

Bunnies and butterflies have been trending for days.

Jungkook speaks, but you can't hear him.

"Huh?" You ask, getting on your tippy toes, but it's fruitless. Even as his hand drops to your waist to steady you and keep you in place, you can barely make out his words. "I can't hear you!"

He can't hear jack shit, either. Frowns. Looks around. Spots Yoongi by the booth and gestures towards the side of the room. When Yoongi nods back, it's Jungkook who drags you through the crowd, now. Just beyond the DJ booth is a little black door that Yoongi meets you by. Taps in the code. Nods in your direction.

"A pleasure," he says with a knowing smirk. Miraculously, you can hear him, but ultimately, it's because you're not in the direct line of the speakers now.

You don't get a chance to respond before Jungkook gets you into what can only described as a dark hole as quickly as he can. Romance, you think to yourself, but you also are very aware of the fact Jungkook doesn't let go of your hand, even when he's searching for the light switch. It takes him a second, but he manages to recall the approximate location quickly enough.

Dingy yellow light floods into the room. Small and boxy, it's a 3-in-1 storage room, bathroom, and dressing room for 'talent'. It's why Yoongi had the code, but you can't imagine anyone with any shred of self-respect actually using this place. The walls are the same grey tiles as the floor, and the light bulb hangs from a wire without a shade. The tap on the sink drips, and you're pretty sure there's a leak in the far corner by the mirror.

None of that matters, though. All you can focus on is the man in front of you. Though not soundproof, the room does offer a far more muted version of Taehyung's set. More importantly, it provides you with privacy.

It's been a week since you last saw him, face to face.

Though you have, admittedly, seen him what feels like a million times on low-quality streams from his bedroom.

Realistically, it's been about three times, but you think about it almost constantly.

"You left," is all he says, a little pout on his lips.

It's cute, you think, that he is so outwardly offended by such an act. You would have thought that a man of his position would have a habit of leaving, himself. Then again, you didn't know of his status when you left him in bed that morning.

"And you didn't die," you reply with a teasing smile, trying not to make it sound so severe. "You were fine without me."

"I'm not joking," he says, even if he can't help but smile at the recollection of how stupid the conversation before bed had been. "You left. It was rude."

"I had brunch plans," you tell him, reaching your hands out for his. He wants to resist. Fails. Lets you pull him closer. Incredibly close, in fact. So close that you begin to notice all sorts of things. His freckles. A small scar on his cheek. A tiny fleck of glitter on his skin, no doubt from one of the girls who had been desperate for his attention earlier. "You'd only had a few hours sleep. I didn't want to disturb you."

"Could have left a note," he says, still pouty but far quieter. You can smell the Jack on his breath. Have always hated the taste, but think you could grow to like it. "Your number. Something, at least."

"I could've," you admit, edging even closer. Closing the gap. Nudging your nose against his. But then you smile. Pull back. Tease, "And you could have warned me that I'd become a trending topic on Twitter."

Just like that, Jungkook's pout snaps into the prettiest smile. His face scrunches up, lines creasing on his nose. Beneath his closed eyes reside the sweetest little puffs. He's got the kind of face that is impossible not to like.

"Ah," he cringes.

"Yeah," you laugh at the stupidity of it all. What did he expect? That you wouldn't find out? "Ah."

"In my defence," he holds his hands up, eyes wide and innocent. "You called me Tokki. How was I to know you didn't know?"

"Oh, give over," you laugh, as he reaches for your hands once again. Pulls you closer. "You know I didn't know."

Truthfully, he does know this, but it was nice to be unknown for a little while. Nice to not second guess your intentions. Even now, knowing that you know, he feels like none of it matters. 

"Look," he begins, toying with the hem of your cropped shirt. Lets his fingertips graze your bare skin. Tries his best not to think about what you look like half-naked. Fails. "I only came out tonight 'cause I hoped I'd see you. I don't care about staying out till ass-o'clock, again."

"Think I've only just caught up on sleep," you hum, angling your chin up and giving him the perfect opportunity to make a move that goes beyond flirtatious touches.

"Exactly," he smiles, letting his hand squeeze the side of your waist. Pulls you closer. "And I've not drunk half as much tonight, but I think I could do with you making sure I don't die, again."

"Yeah?"

Nodding as he nudges his nose against yours, Jungkook is all smiles. Lets his lips line up against your pout.

"Yeah," he mumbles—then lets the word get lost in your lips.

Sinking into what it feels like to kiss you, Jungkook can't help but feel satisfaction. Has finally caught the damn butterfly he's been after all week. 

He's played a lot of games. Won a lot of battles.

And yet victory has never tasted so sweet.

JUNGKOOK'S APARTMENT ITAEWON-DONG, YONGSAN-GU SATURDAY 02:07

You retrace your steps. Get a taxi to his place, 'cause there's no point pretending like he can't afford it. Not anymore.

You're not giggling like you were the first time you were in his elevator, but it's kind of impossible to do so when your back is to the wall and Jungkook's tongue is in your mouth.

Your hands roam his body—waist, ass. If you can squeeze it, you will. Just makes him deepen the kisses. If his large hands weren't cupping your jaw, keeping you close, they'd be doing the exact same thing as yours.

The ding of the elevator pulls you apart just for a second, and then you're the one pulling him down to the corridor to his place.

He doesn't open the door. Just kisses you again. 

Finally understands what it means to get butterflies, 'cause he's got you, now, and he never wants to lose it.

Hooking his hands beneath your ass, he hoists you up. Gets your legs wrapped around him. Could go in, but where's the fun in that? There's a slight danger of getting caught. He knows the hallway security cameras will definitely pick this up. The threat that it could get leaked online, and the simple fact that he couldn't give a shit if it does, is kind of hot.

"I'm not fucking you out here," you tell him through a hushed giggle, when he rests his forehead against yours.

"Woah," he jokes. "Who said anything about fucking?"

"I can literally feel your boner, Jungkook."

"Touché."

He doesn't even attempt to downplay it. He puts you down. Gets you through the threshold of his apartment. Shoes off by the door, there's no need to be quiet. Yoongi and Taehyung are still out, and will be for hours. He could take his time if he really wanted.

But what he wants is you. Doesn't waste time. Gets you in his room. Kinda feels like you never left. Jungkook still wishes you hadn't, but doesn't mind the idea of you making it up to him now.

"So," you hum, trailing your fingertips across his desk. "This is where the magic happens?"

He smiles a little bashfully, head dropping for a moment before his eyes are on yours again. "Yeah. You could say that."

Now that you're back in his space, it's a little embarrassing just how many clues there were. A headset rests on the desk—black, robust, with his signature bunny ears secured on top—and a mic is hooked up by the monitor. The webcam doesn't look special, but the keyboard subtly glows in his darkened room. Violet, like the LEDs behind his screen.

A laptop covered in vinyl stickers is closed next to the set-up. He uses it when he's not streaming on his desktop. At least three of the stickers are of the Crescent Collective's logo.

Turning to fully face him, you rest your palms behind yourself and perch on the edge of the desk.

He gets a little kick out of seeing you so flippantly disregard the domain in which he dominates. Gives him a point to prove. Gets him closing the space between you, hands on your waist, dipping to your ass to leverage further back on his desk. Knows it's sturdy, 'cause he built it himself, but has never tested out quite how strong it really is. Thinks now's as good a time as any to find out.

Your legs wrap around his body with no thought, just the innate understanding that you want him in a way you're sure thousands of people have only dreamt of: in his room, on his desk, that damn 'Go Live' button just a few short clicks away.

Reaching beside you, there's a smirk on your lips as you retrieve his headset. Put it on him. Say, "The ears are cute, Tokki."

He rolls his eyes. Is fighting a smile, and currently losing. He's seen some lewd shit during his time on the internet and is well aware of the fanart that includes the ears and little else. Always found it kinda funny, before.

Now? He's so hard it almost hurts, and he thinks he could grow to like it.

As your arms drape over his shoulders, he takes them off. Puts them on you, instead. Adjusts the sizing. Gets them just right for you. Is attentive, like that. Pulls his head back a little, and then realises what a problem you're gonna be for him.

It's not so much the addition of animal ears that's getting him insatiable, but seeing you adorned with a crown that is so inherently his that does it.

Jungkook's no saint. He's had his fair share of one-nighters. A couple hours of fun never to be spoken of again. Since the group of them signed to their management agency, they've been repeatedly told how important it is to get NDA's signed. Something about it always feels so icky to Jungkook. Cruel, almost. Has only had a couple hook-ups since then, both with flings he's known for a good couple of years, with no fear of them spilling the beans on how prettily he whines when he cums.

You're the first new girl in a long time. He knows he should really pause things before you cut to the chase—but then your hand is trailing down his thick forearm, delicately stroking his rabbit moon with a curious smile. Decides he doesn't care.

"The ears are cute," he replies. Teasingly adds, "Nabi."

The position of your arms over his shoulders ensures the tattoos he'd traced the week before are fully displayed for him. As his eyes drop to your butterfly, you're curiously smitten by the way his lips move to press a kiss against it again.

"Suit me?"

"Mhmm," he hums, eyes flickering back up to yours. "Should also get you a pair of butterfly wings, or something."

"I'd make you wear them," you tell him with a cheeky glint in your eye. "Turn you into a butterfly, yourself. Your girlies in the chat would love that."

Jungkook knows without a shadow of a doubt he'd let you. Not for the girlies in the chat, but for you.

Ghosting his lips against yours, he's waiting for you to press down. Is letting you take the lead.

Your kisses are sweet. Tepid. Reserved.

You're feeling; his hands on your waist, the pressure of his lip rings, the presence of his nose.

And then he's feeling; your bare skin as his large hands slip beneath the fabric of your shirt, the way your legs wrap around him, the vibration of a small groan against his lips.

The skirt you're in is bunched around your hips, and the positioning is just right for you to feel how hard he is against your underwear. It's a little undignified, you'll admit, but you're impatient, so you take control. Reposition his hand between your legs. Encourage him to take things further.

"Yeah?" He checks.

Nodding into a needy kiss, you mumble, "Please."

It might've been a while, but Jungkook's muscle memory is enviable. He's the best player on the team for that very reason.

As he hooks your underwear to the side, he's pleased to be greeted with indications of your arousal. Smirks into the kisses he's giving you, as his fingertips graze against your clit. Trails his lips to your neck. Wants to hear the way you gasp as he pushes his thick middle finger inside you.

"Fuck," you sigh at the welcome intrusion. Nod, as he curls his finger almost immediately. He's got a lot to thank those damn video games for, that's for sure.

Softly moaning, just how he hoped you would, there's an arch to your back as he picks up a pace. The need to perform, almost.

Head tipping back as Jungkook fucks another finger into you, you're unable to think too cognitively. Can only think about the way he feels. The smell of his hair as he presses kisses against your neck, and how prominent his collarbones are as your nails trail up his toned torso.

"Feels so good," you tell him. Move the hand of yours that's been resting on his shoulder to his hair. Tug on it a little. Elicit the prettiest of whines from him.

There's something to be said for making a man—especially one of such strength, stature, status—so weak. Gets you all giggly. Jungkook can feel the satisfaction ripple through your entire body, and it just makes him groan against your neck even more.

"You're so wet," he praises, pulling back to study your face as he plays with you. Lets his thumb stroke up against your clit ever so gently. Revels in the way you get a little shaky. Twitchy. With those damn bunny ears, you really are like a little rabbit. Jungkook finally understands why the fan artists choose to draw him in such a way. It is hot. "You're making me so fuckin' hard."

And then you're giggling again.

"Is it a joke to you, huh?" He smirks. Looks down at your pussy, all swollen and sopping wet for him, in the hazy violet light of his room. Knows that his throbbing cock is gonna stuff you so fuckin' full that laughing won't be an option. Is desperate for it. "How badly I want you is just a big joke to you, huh, bunny?"

The way he groups you in with his moniker is too damn hot.

"Dunno," you rasp, desperately trying to hold off the orgasm that's building inside you. "Fuck me and find out."

Reaching for the button of his trousers, you're quick as you wrestle his jeans down over his ass. Don't bother pushing them down entirely. Just enough to get his boxers exposed, and in turn, his thick cock. Hard and engorged, his desperation for you is evident. A small patch of precum seeps through the fabric of his boxers. He curses as your thumb strokes against it.

"Condom?" You ask, knowing you've got none on you.

"Hold that thought," he says, regretfully pulling away from you.

Watching on as he pushes down his jeans, and strips himself of his shirt, you're at a loss for words. You've seen him like this before, but it's so much hotter knowing that he's gonna be fucking himself into you as soon as he possibly can.

Jungkook could very easily lead you to his bed. Get you comfy. Reach to his bedside cabinet for a condom. Fuck you how he likes—doggy-style, minimal face-to-face contact—and be done with it all very quickly.

Instead, he says, "Stay here."

Doing as you're told, you watch on as he walks to the cabinet, and retrieves a condom. Admire his back, and his broad shoulders. The valley of his spine, and the hard work he's put into crafting his physique. Smirk to yourself as he dips into his boxers. Strokes himself. Once, twice. Tears the packet open with his teeth, just like you were always taught not to do, and rolls the latex down his thick shaft.

"What?" he smirks as he walks back, realising your eyes are transfixed on his cock.

You say nothing. Smile. Hold your hands out for Jungkook to take, just so you can pull him back even quicker.

Lips pressing into yours as he closes the gap, Jungkook is all smiles. Rubs the head of his cock against your pussy, gathering up your arousal all over his tip. Lines himself up with your entrance. Waits for you to give him the go-ahead.

Hand on his ass, you pull him closer. Edge the crown of his cock into you. Whimper. Beg. "Please."

Sinking into you with a laboured grunt, he's surprised with how much tighter you are around his cock than you were with his fingers. Wet and warm, there's an undeniable pleasure that sparks through his body as he gets familiar with the way you feel.

Slowly, his hips begin to pick up a pace. As his tongue strokes into your mouth, there's no dignity to the way he's taking you. The increased pace means heightened moans, and it's not just you—it's him, too.

"Shit, yeah," he grits. "So fuckin' tight, aren't you?"

Whining, you nod into his kisses. Are at his entire disposal as he grips your waist, proving exactly why Tokki is the perfect nickname for him.

As much as he likes the ears, he's a little worried that he might fuck you so hard they fall off. Doesn't wanna break them, and definitely doesn't wanna think about the story the boys would make up when they go live tomorrow to tease him—but also really wants to fuck you harder.

Which is funny, cause the way he tugs them off with such desperation and tosses them down, you'd be forgiven for thinking he couldn't care less about breaking them. Doesn't give you a chance to say anything, 'cause his big hands are cradling your face, bringing you in for desperate kisses once more.

There's a lewdness to the sounds you make together, but Jungkook knows that if he was an entirely different kind of streamer, you'd make bank together. Wonders about the way it would look on camera. Worries. Pauses.

"You good?" You check a little breathlessly as he reaches behind you, just to tug the wire to his webcam from the plus.

"Yeah," he nods, still fiddling around behind you. Smiles in the hedonistic haze as your lips find a new home on his neck. Strokes your hair gently, and presses a kiss to the side of your head. Quietly says, "Just making sure there's no way in hell I accidentally start streaming."

You hum, all purry and pliant. "People would pay good money to see it."

While he agrees, and has had the same thought process, he doesn't care. "You saying I should be charging you for this?"

"Oh, no," you say all very sweetly. "You should be paying me."

"I'll pay you with orgasms," he promises, knowing that it's a rare currency for one-night strands.

You smirk. Pat the top of his head. "Sure you will."

If there's one thing Jungkook loves, it's a challenge.

Pulling back, he turns you around. Gets you bent over his desk with zero opposition from you. Rubs himself against your soaked cunt, then asks, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you smirk, and then settle into a sigh as he pushes into you. The feeling of fullness from Jungkook is one that's hard to compare. So thick, and fat, and heavy, his cock really is just as impressive as he is.

With one hand hooked at the crease of your thigh, the other holds the top of your shoulder. Gets you pushed down onto his cock as far as you possibly can be. There's a slight reflection in his streaming plaque beside the monitor, and you're pleased to see just how intensely focused he is on you, brows furrowed, pretty pink lips resting ajar. The silver of his lip rings and chain catch in the light, and you find you can't look at him for too long. He's too hot.

But then he's reaching down for your clit as he fucks into you. Has your legs shaking. The waves of a familiar sensation begin to lap against the shores of your pleasure.

"Fuck," you whine. "Feels good. Keep it like that."

Jungkook knows better than to ignore your requests. Does as he's told, the pressure of his fingers on your clit only deepening. Rubbing calculated circles against you, he knows just how to work you up. Gets you whining. Mewling. Moaning.

"Gonna cum, aren't you?" he smirks, as his own high builds.

"Fuck—"

"C'mon," he husks, feeling your walls tighten around him. He doesn't stop his relentless chase. Will win your orgasms fair and square. Continues pounding into you. Pace fast, strokes deep, he's everything you could ever want and more—and then he's slowing. Keeping you plugged, nice and deep, but focusing on the way he's toying with your clit. "You know you wanna cream for me. All over my cock, pretty Nabi. C'mon—"

"I'm close," you all but whimper. "So—fuck. So close."

"Yeah, you are," he tells you—and then your legs are shaking, pussy tightly clamping around his cock, one hand tense against his desk while the other grabs at his wrist. Uncontrollable, is the way you whine for him. It's so needy—so desperate and pathetic—that it's almost a sob. Jungkook doesn't ease up. In fact, his hips gain a little pace again as your orgasm shatters around you both. He's breathless, but manages to choke out, "Flithy fuckin' cunt. Feels so fuckin' good. Fuck."

The frail limpness of your body as the orgasm smokes away is cute. Jungkook loves it. You're so weak for him. He fucks into you still, chasing his own high, and your whines only get louder. It's overwhelming, but you never want to lose the feeling.

It doesn't take much. Just a minute or so of your tight cunt, and Jungkook is pulling out. Even though he doesn't ask you to, you get to your knees as he tears the condom off.

"In my mouth," you beg, and who is he to reject such an offer?

Jerking himself to completion, Jungkook is all pretty and pathetic when he cums, too. Looks at you with eyes so starry you'd been forgiven for thinking he was a descendant of the constellations.

He milks the final few spurts of himself onto your wet tongue, and curses when you press dainty kisses to his tip. Stroking your tongue against him, you don't want to waste a drop. Look up at him and find that his eyes are resting shut from the pleasure of it all.

Silence surrounds you both, just your beating hearts and laboured breaths filling to the room. He helps you up. Holds you tight. Hugs you for a little while, then presses a kiss to the side of your head. "Thanks."

"My pleasure," you giggle - and then he's smiling, too. Feels vindicated by his irrational thoughts about you over the last few days. He pays no mind to the fact you're still technically dressed, and he's basically naked.

As he sorts himself out, you perch back up on his desk and languidly swing your legs. Enjoy the thought of memories plaguing him whenever he tried to play his little games over the next few days.

"You wanna grab a shower?" he offers. "Food, too? Dunno about you, but I'm fuckin' starving."

"Same," you nod, biting down on your bottom lip. "I'll go wash up, you sort food? Are places still open for delivery?"

Checking his phone for the time, Jungkook is surprised that it's closer to midnight than it is to his morning alarm. Only a handful of places will offer delivery at this time, but that's enough.

"Works for me," he says with a yawn, then opens what you had assumed was the closet door. Reveals an en-suite and knocks his head to the side. "Get your shower. Gimmie a shout if you need anything."

Tiles large and grey, it's the perfect counterpart to his bedroom. A little dark, but it's only because Jungkook hates using the big light. Always flicks the small light switches instead. There's a window overlooking the city, and even though you're only seven floors up, the hills of Yongsan-gu mean that he's got a view you could only dream of.

You're about to start the shower up when he calls through. "Is pizza good?"

"Pizza's good," you call back with a smile. Look yourself in the mirror and wonder how the fuck you ended up in the bathroom of arguably the most famous person you've ever met. Decide it's better not to question it.

The shower begins to cascade down, even if your sins are washed way, you know you won't be able to forget the feeling of Jungkook so easily.

Truth be told, you won't even try.

YONSEI UNIVERSITY DORMS DAESIN-DONG, SEODAEMUN-GU SUNDAY 21:13

"L in the chat," booms the voice of Taehyung through your laptop speakers. His trademark grin rests on his face as he teases Jungkook.

You've only just opened the stream. Instantly, you focus on the prettily lopsided smirk of Jungkook's lips. You've learned it's an almost permanent fixture on his boyish face. Shaking his head, he's adjusting his headset. Making it a little looser so that it'll fit him properly.

No one is questioning it.

What they are questioning, is where the fuck that pretty purple bruise on his neck has come from.

"Cross-fit," Jungkook just shrugs, knowing that it's the colloquial term for suspicious bruises after some idol used the same excuse. Blatant horseshit. Jungkook doesn't care.

"I've never done cross-fit, but I know you're bullshitting," Taehyung snorts.

The chat seems to agree with him.

"Thought I was a virgin?" Jungkook states a little cheekily, making reference to Taehyung's usual banter. "How else would I get one?"

Taehyung knows better than the retort. Knows that Jungkook could very easily slip something about Rae into the conversation.

Virgin? You type through a message on a private discord chat with Jungkook. He'd set it up the day before. Has already sent you, like, a thousand messages. Is what can only be described as obsessed—but it's mutual. Could have fooled me.

As his eyes glance down to his laptop screen, he fails to hide his smile. Had opened your chat on there, cause he didn't wanna accidentally broadcast the messages onto his stream. Despite this, he doesn't care that there are nearly 10,000 people in his stream merely minutes into it. Is far more interested in his chat thread with you. Replies immediately.

Stop distracting meI'm working</3

Giggling as the message pings through to you, there's a giddy quality to the way Jungkook makes you feel.

He'd spent the day in bed with you after your night together. Had wanted you to stay when he started streaming that evening. Said he'd only be an hour or so, and was incredibly pouty when you did leave.

It had just been him on last night's stream—headset off 'cause he didn't wanna adjust it back yet, hoodie on to hide his neck. The other boys were nursing hangovers, so he could do what he liked.

What he did do had you incredibly curious. Was just chatting. Talking to the comment section. Sleepily reeling off facts he'd recently learned about butterflies. Debating over their lifespan.

You're not naive to the fact that Jungkook does this streaming stuff as a profession, and are aware that the more people talking about his stream on other platforms, the more viewers he'll get.

Made sense for him to add fuel to the butterfly-related fire by talking about them.

Had sent you a message earlier that evening to ask what kind of butterfly you had on your skin.

A Monarch, you'd told him.

"See, the thing is," Jungkook had rambled to his viewers a little later on. "Most butterflies have super short lifespans—Monarch's included."

Eyes all starry, lights in his bedroom purple as per usual, he'd looked cosy. You wished you'd have stayed.

"But there's a specific kind. Migrating Monarchs. They're the last of their generation—the final butterflies of the year," he marvelled at the magic of it all.

His facts were a little hazy, but he knew enough. Had been down a you-shaped rabbit hole all afternoon.

"And they migrate, right? Move away from home—somewhere warmer—and then it just extends their lifespan. 180 days. Not 30. That's six months. Six months. It's a long time. It's not fleeting. Not in the slightest."

It's also, curiously, exactly how long you're scheduled to stay in Korea for.

"I dunno," Jungkook had just sighed, a little forlorn, trying to make sense of his thoughts.

He bit down on his bottom lip, stroking his thumb against the hard plastic ears of his headset, then focused on the camera again. Wondered if you were watching. 

He simply shrugged. Said, "Counts for something, though, right?"

[kyracooneyx23]

You're My Little Secret - Kyra Cooney Cross

Kyra Cooney Cross x lionesses!reader

summary - kyra's coming to arsenal and none of the girls know that you already know each other very, very well.

warnings - nothing except its kinda crap, lot's of rambling. (let me know if you want me to make this a series)

Kyra x Sunny masterlist

Kyra Cooney Cross was Arsenal's latest signing, the young Australian leaving Hammarby to come and play for one of the biggest clubs in England. Most of the girls had known for a while now about her joining you since before the world cup.

Since the news was properly announced, Caitlin and Steph had made sure to send multiple essays on all the group chats about making the girl feel as welcomed as possible.

Unlike Kyra who had already played for two clubs, Arsenal becoming her third, you were much like Leah Williamson, you'd been with Arsenal since you were 8 and had risen up to the top through the academy and now were a frequent starter for the senior team.

Arsenal had become a home for you, and you never planned on leaving. All the girls had become your family, every single one of you shared a special bond. That's what made Kyra coming to Arsenal so awkward.

You didn't mean to keep such a big secret from everyone, you and Kyra had just wanted to stay private. No one knew, not even Katie who was like your older (extremely annoying) sister or Vic who was your best friend. Kyra hadn't even told Mini and Charli. You just never felt the need to tell them.

Only one person even knew the two of you had met before, but she didn't have a clue that you were together.

Even when they would constantly pester you, trying to get you to go on dates you just let them go on, always ignoring them.

But still after over a year of calling Kyra your girlfriend, not a single person knew about the countless kisses the two of you had shared, or all the nights you'd spent with only each other.

Nobody knew all the coffee dates or the late-night walks.

Nobody knew of the hours you'd spent on facetime when you were away from each other.

It was hard acting like you hadn't already known the girl for 2 years and been dating for 1 and a half of them. But it was better that way. You'd seen how crazy fans went about trying to prove that Katie and Caitlin were dating and the stress that had caused on their relationship, and all the times when they felt like they had no privacy. You and Kyra didn't want that. If you didn't tell anyone, not even your teammates and friends, there was no chance of the public finding out as long as you stayed discreet. But that was easy considering the two of you had a long distant relationship and no fans even knew the two of you had ever spoken to each other.

It was going to be harder now though.

Kyra had received many offers from clubs around the world, but when Arsenal had offered it was a no brainer that she would join the red and white team. She would do anything to be able to spend more time with you, a nice change to the normal distance in your relationship.

A few days after the news Kyra had joined was announced, it was her first day at the club. And for you it was your first time seeing most of the girls as you had been out since the end of the world cup with a minor ankle injury missing out on the games against Linköping and Paris FC in the champions league qualification.

Vic was the first person you greeted as she walked in, practically dragging her feet along the ground. You leaped onto your best friend wrapping your legs around her, forcing her to give you a piggyback.

'Get off me Sunny.' She groans trying to shake her body and get you off. You just wrapped your arms tighter around her neck resting your chin on her head.

Sunny was the nickname you had received when you had begun properly playing with the senior squad. The girls had been talking about you when the topic of your bubbly personality came up. You can’t remember who, but someone said something relating you to the sun and ever since then the name Sunny had stuck.

'But I haven't seen you in ages.' You complain before giving up and sliding down her body and landing on your bottom on the floor. A small pout on your lips. 'I hate you.' It was meant to just be a whisper but she still heard you, resulting in a kick in the head.

'Get up you big baby.' The Dutch girl demands, and you do as she says following her to the room where most of your teammates already were.

You go around the room giving everyone a hug, except for Steph and Caitlin your favourite people to annoy on the whole team. You tugged at both of their hair as they were facing away turning away almost immediately and diving into conversation with Beth and Leah.

You didn’t get to say much though, as a pair of hands turn you back around and your greeted by two pissed of Aussie's faces. Y/n L/n,’ you wince at the full name, the girls only ever saying it when you were in trouble, ‘we haven't even said a word to you and you're already annoying us.' Steph gives you a stern glare and you smile sheepishly.

It was well known by almost everyone that you loved to annoy your older teammates.

'We've only just gotten away from Kyra and now we have to deal with you, and her when she gets here too.' Caitlin groans, 'Do you reckon Jonas will let me resign and go play in a foreign country?' You grin cheekily at her, knowing that she really loved you. Katie often joked that you were like Caitlin's child as you always came to her whenever you had problems, and she always had your back.

'It's ok Cait,' You say, giving her a light pat on her shoulder 'I know you hate to admit it, but you love me.' She rolls her eyes at you wrapping you up in a headlock, you wriggle around, making weird, suffocated noises as you try to escape her grasp.

It's almost like fate that Katie walks in in that exact moment, you slip out of Caitlin's grasp and sprint over to the older Irish girl. 'Katie, you need to sort out your girlfriend.' You tell her urgently 'She was trying to kill me.' Katie laughs, looking over at her girlfriend who is back talking to Steph. The Ireland captain was used to the playful banter you and Caitlin had, often having to be the one to step in when you both took it a bit too far.

'Do I not even get a hello?' She teases you causing you to roll your eyes and poke her in the stomach. 'Oi, I'll get Caitlin to put you in another headlock.' She threatens.

'Please. No!' You plead, putting your hands up in defence before running over to Lotte. You slung your arm over her shoulder. 'Carlotte Mae Wubben-Moy.' You grin watching her face to see her reaction at her full name.

'You know how much I hate it when you call me that.' You don't have time to respond to her when Steph and Beth come and join the two of you.

'Is she annoying you as well?' Steph asks Lotte, giving her a sympathetic look as she sees your arm over her shoulder and your signature cheeky, smug grin that you always have whenever you are annoying someone. 'God you and Kyra are going to get along like a house on fire.' She tells you, her face slightly scared as she thinks of all the pesty things you and Kyra would do upon meeting each other.

Little did she know that you and Kyra already got on.

You’re about to respond but don’t get to as Jonas walks in. A hush settling in the room.

'Hello girls.' The Swedish man shoots everyone a smile as you all move to sit down on the chairs so you're facing him 'Special welcome back to Sunny, so nice to see you again after the break, congratulations on your success at the World Cup, you played brilliantly,' the mention of the world cup sends a stinging pain through you. You still hadn't fully recovered from the loss in the final to Spain, you were so close to winning and were still devastated that you couldn't get the result. 'Before we properly talk about the season ahead and reflect on the games against Paris fc and Linköping, I'd like to welcome our newest signing who I am sure will play a massive part in helping to lead us towards success. I am sure you already know who she is but please welcome Kyra Cooney Cross to the Arsenal family.' Everyone claps and some people even cheer as the Aussie comes into the room.

You almost immediately make eye contact with her who had been searching for you the moment she walked in. You have to bite your lip to hold back a large smile.

You hadn't seen her since the Lionesses had played the Matildas in the semifinals. You had been too busy recovering from your injury so you could be back in time for the start of the season to have time to properly catch up with her, so it took all your self-control not to get up and run into her arms.

She goes and sits with Caitlin, not wanting to make it weird if she went and sat with you.

You turn to Alessia who is sitting next to you, the two of you have a short conversation while Kyra is settling in, before you have to listen to Jonas talking about important stuff, but it was pretty much the same talk he had at the beginning of every season.

When he lets everyone go and do a light gym session, before proper training after lunch, you are almost immediately on your feet and heading into the gym.

You talk to Alessia but are hardly paying attention waiting for Kyra to come out wanting to say hi to your girlfriend. When she does, she's with Steph and Caitlin who are pointing at all the girls, probably telling Kyra all their names and stuff about them. You'd already done that over face time.

When Steph points to you and Alessia, you make eye contact again. This time you smile and wave at them. Kyra says something to them that you can't hear but they begin to walk over to you.

'I don't know if we should be doing this.' Steph says anxiously, who you can hear now since they were getting closer.

‘Doing what.’ Your girlfriend asks.

‘Introducing you and Sunny, you’re the biggest pests in the world.’ Caitlin tells her.

'We'll probably end up regretting this moment when they start stealing our boots every training session' Steph says and you grin at the left back.

'That's such a boring prank, I've got much better ones planned already.' You laugh and Caitlin rolls her eyes.

'Kyra this is y/n, but everyone calls her Sunny, Sunny this is Kyra.' Caitlin says to the both of you. It was weird hearing people introduce the two of you like you were strangers, but you played along with it anyways, not wanting to raise suspicions.

You pull her into a hug, and she wraps her arms back around you in return. You almost melt into her warmth, the familiar smell of her perfume consuming your nostrils. You could stay in Kyra's arms forever, but you know it would look weird if you stayed like this for too long.

'Nice meeting you.' Kyra says holding her hand out for you to shake. Her acting skills were terrible, she sounded like a robot, and you had to hold your breath so you wouldn't laugh at her.

'I look forward to playing with you this season.' You say back, knowing you probably sounded just as awkward as she did. You shake her hand, and she smiles slightly when she sees one of her rings on your finger. When you let go of each other Kyra turns to greet Alessia, this time the interaction seems more natural.

'It's going to be a tough race to see which one of you is more annoying.' Steph tells you as you and her watch Kyra interact with Alessia. You're not trying to look like a lovesick puppy, but as Caitlin looks at you from the side it's all she can think of, she tells herself she's just seeing things though, you can’t be looking at Kyra like she’s your long-lost lover. Right?

'I need the toilet.' Kyra whines to Steph after a while as the five of you are walking to the weights area of the gym.

'I'll show you where they are.' You say almost immediately, cringing at how eager you sounded to show a girl, who supposedly you were only meeting for the first time, where the toilets were. You played it off though missing Caitlin's small frown of confusion before she shrugs and says she'll meet Kyra at the cafeteria at Lunch.

'Don't get up to any mischief.' Steph tells Kyra in a way much like how a mother would talk to a child 'you don't want to make a bad first impression.' Kyra nods and you both watch as the two older Australians walk away.

'Lessi, you coming?' You ask the blonde striker, who shakes her head. 'I'm going to go and see Lotte.' She says leaving you and Kyra alone.

As you and Kyra walked off, you felt almost giddy. You had time just the two of you for the first time in ages. When you were out of sight from everyone else, yours and Kyra's hands intertwined.

'I've missed you so much.' She whispers a small smile cracking on your face.

'I've missed you more baby.' You say, turning around and holding open the door for her stepping to the side so she can enter. 'I'll wait out here for you.' A small frown forms on her cute face.

'I don't really need the toilet.' She tells you as though it was obvious 'I just wanted to spend time alone with you.' She steps closer to you placing a hand on your arm.

You two had been in moments like this too many times to keep count, but that didn't stop your heart from racing. Every time you were with Kyra, whether it be on facetime or in person, you'd constantly be questioning how you got so lucky to have a girl like her.

When she's so close to you that your chests are basically touching, you close that small gap placing your lips on her. Your hand holds the back of her neck, keeping her as near as possible, whilst hers sneak underneath the fabric of your training top running up and down your back. The contact of her skin on yours gives you shivers, turning into putty at Kyra's touch.

As the two of you were sharing a passionate moment, Steph and Caitlin were doing warmups in the corner of the gym, their voices were hushed but intense.

'I don't know, Steph.' Caitlin whispered; her brow furrowed with suspicion. 'Did you notice how they were acting before? It was just… off.' Steph nodded thoughtfully, adjusting the weights before her next shoulder press.

'Yeah, it was weird. Like they were trying too hard to act normal.' She glanced around before leaning in closer. 'Do you think they're hiding something from us? Like, maybe they knew each other before, and they've been keeping it from us this whole time?' Caitlin eyes widened with realization.

'I think you might be onto something. How else do you explain why Sunny was so eager to take Kyra to the toilet. and the way she was looking at her.' They exchanged knowing looks.

'Should we ask them about it?' Steph asked her Aussie teammate who just shook her head.

'Let's just see how the next few days go,' Caitlin says, not wanting to jump straight to conclusions 'There's probably nothing even going on and we're just overthinking. Sunny can be very friendly, that's probably it.' Steph hums in agreement the two of them changing the subject to Steph's upcoming wedding.

Back in the toilets you and Kyra were still making up for lost time. The two of you had moved into the bathrooms, you were sitting on the sink your legs wrapped around Kyra's torso. She had undone your plait, so your hair was now loose, all knotty from her hands being tangled in it.

When you pull away Kyra's eyes are glued to your face. The midfielder memorising every single detail almost as if she was never going to see you again. 'God your gorgeous.' She mumbles placing a light kiss on your jaw, you lean your head back a slight sigh of pleasure escaping your lips. Kyra uses this as an opportunity to place wet kisses all along your neck but you're quick to push her away knowing it would look strange if you came out of the toilets with fresh hickies littering your neck.

'Not now.' You tell her when she pouts, your quick to slide off the sink and readjust your t-shirt. 'We should get going before anyone notices we’ve been gone for a while.’

‘But I’ve only just got to see you.’ She complains clinging to your arm like a koala clings to a tree. ‘five more minutes? She begs giving you puppy eyes that you normally found it very hard to say no to.

‘I’m sorry Ky, but we really got to go otherwise they’ll start wondering where we are.’ It takes a minute of persuading Kyra, and then fixing your hair and hers before you’re walking back out to where everyone else is.

‘I’ve never heard anyone call you Sunny before.’ Kyra says.

‘Really? Surely you’ve heard someone call me it before, everyone does.’ You say slightly shocked, even your parents had started calling you Sunny.

‘Nope, never have.’ The Aussie answers ‘I think I’ll stick with babe and my love. You know, the names only I can call you.’ She sends a wink your way and you shove her lightly.

'Who said I wasn't seeing anyone else?' A teasing grin plasters your face as you joke with Kyra, her face turning stone cold.

‘I’ll take my ring back; I’ve been wondering where that was for a while now.’ She warns making you laugh.

‘Oh yeah.’ You’d almost forgotten about the ring ‘I think it looks better on me though. I even put it on my middle finger so I could do this.’ You flip her off making her jaw drop.

‘That is not the way you should be treating your amazing, super-hot and funny girlfriend is it?’ She teases ruffling your hair.

‘C’mon Ky.’ You sigh, undoing your hair again and re-plaiting it ‘That’s the second time you’ve messed my hair up already today.’ She laughs.

You are back in the gym now, hopping onto the bikes to do your warmups while Kyra leaves you to go back to Caitlin. When you get off the bike you grab a mat to do your stretches, alone until Vic comes next to you.

‘I’ve been looking for you for ages.’ She says sitting next to you watching as you stretch. ‘We need to do our pull-up comp, you may have beaten me last year but I want revenge.’ She grins and you roll your eyes.

‘As if. I love your confidence though.’

‘I’m serious, I’ve got this one in the bag.’ Vic tells you one you've finished, you and Vic make your way over to the pull up machines. Manu noticed the two of you getting ready and since last year, when you two had started the pull up competition everyone had been placing bets on who would win.

‘Everyone, Vic and Sunny are doing the pull up comp.’ The Austrian shouts catching most people’s attention.

Kyra was with Caitlin and Katie at the far side of the room, but still heard the goalkeepers loud shouts. ‘What is that?’ She asked the older pair.

‘When Vic joined last year her and Sunny did a competition to see who could do the most pull ups. Sunny won and Vic is determined to win this year.’ Katie says, catching Kyra’s interest. She’d love to see her girlfriend doing pull ups with her muscles on full display.

'Let's go watch.' Kyra insists, not leaving the others much a choice as she's already gotten up and started walking over.

'Someone's a bit eager.' Katie chuckles to Caitlin.

'Yeah.' The aussie responds, though her voice is only a mumble as her thoughts were still thinking about her and Steph's conversation from earlier.

When the trio reached the pull up machines, you and Vic were mid argument about who was going to go first. 'I won last time so I should get to pick.' You stated, restating your argument for the 100th time.

'Exactly.' Vic sighs, 'You won, so you don't need an advantage.' Everyone groans, some people who had gathered round to watch debating walking away if the two of you were going to keep going back and forth arguing the same points.

'Do you want to do this or not?' Manu asks the two of you, standing in between you to temporarily stop your bickering. 'Because if you carry on we're going to have to go outside before you can actually do the comp.'

'Fine.' You spit giving Vic a nasty glare 'You can go first, but you'll still lose.'

'Will not.'

'Will so.'

Will not.'

Will s-'

'Can the two of you shut up for once?' Lotte interrupts and you look around noticing that Lia, Sabs and Stina had all returned to their workouts.

'Sorry guys.' You apologize before walking over to the bar and getting your grip ready. When Manu says go you start, at first its easy and you breeze past the first 10, but then your arms begin to ache and you slow down each pull up becoming harder and harder.

'C'mon Sunny!' People begin cheering, their shouts getting louder as you get to your 20th, you use all your leftover strength to do one more before collapsing.

After catching your breath, you get up, sending Vic a cheeky smile as she gets on the bar ready to have her turn.

You spot Kyra watching from afar with Caitlin and Katie, not knowing that the girl was replaying your pull ups in your mind. The whole time she had been practically drooling over you, mainly your biceps that were on display.

No one had noticed the midfielders lovestruck expressions as she watched her girlfriend work out.

Everyone except Steph.

When Kyra notices you staring she smiles, dimples forming on her cheeks. She walks over to you and you've completely forgotten about the competition, unbeknownst to the loud cheers as Vic also reaches 20 pull ups. People sighing as she's unable to complete a 21st.

'Maybe I should get some bars so I can see you do that every day.' Your girlfriend whispers in your ear when she reaches you a small smile breaking onto your face.

'You enjoyed that did you?' You tease flexing your muscles causing Kyra's cheeks to get a light pink tint and her to stumble on her words.

You pull your sleeves back down when Vic wraps her arms around you. 'Were you even watching Sunny?'

A feeling of guilt washes over you as you realise you were too caught up with Kyra to watch Vic have her turn.

'Yes...'

'You little shit.' Vic gasps when you fail at lying 'I think you should be disqualified...' She turns around to everyone else 'Who else thinks Sunny should be disqualified?' she shouts everyone immediately agreeing.

'You guys.' You wine, hurt by their betrayal 'You don't even know why Vic thinks I should be disqualified.'

'Yeah but it's worth it to see you mad.' Katie laughs causing you to flip her off. 'I wouldn't be doing that if I were you.'

Later, when everyone was outside doing drills Steph and Kyra were distanced from the the others. The older girl asking Kyra about how she was settling in so far.

The left back, who had not been able to stop thinking about how you and Kyra had been acting strange decided now would be a good time to ask about you.

Steph leaned forward slightly, her expression curious yet casual. 'You and Sunny seem to get along really well. Do you like her?'

Kyra felt a pang of panic shoot through her. She hadn't expected Steph to pick up on anything. She tried to keep her voice steady, hoping that Steph was just being curious. 'Oh, um, Sunny? Yeah, she's… she's nice. We get along.' Kyra's words stumbled over each other, her mind racing for a suitable explanation.

Steph raised an eyebrow, her gaze penetrating. 'You seem a bit flustered,' she remarked softly, a knowing smile playing on her lips. 'Is there something you're not telling me?'

Kyra's heart sank. She hadn't planned for this conversation to take such a turn. You would kill her if Steph found out. She glanced around nervously, hoping no one else was listening in. 'I… I don't know what you mean Steph.' she managed finally, trying to keep her voice light despite the knot of anxiety in her stomach.

Steph leaned back, still smiling knowingly. She knew Kyra was hiding something. 'Come on, Kyra,' she said gently. 'I can tell when something's up. You can talk to me.'

Kyra sighed inwardly, knowing she couldn't keep denying it. She glanced over at Sunny, who was engrossed in her phone, oblivious to their conversation. 'It's… it's not like that,' Kyra began awkwardly, her cheeks flushing. 'We're just got along straight away.'

Steph's smile turned into a grin of amusement. 'Uh-huh,' she teased lightly. 'Sure, just friends.'

Kyra felt a mix of relief and nervousness. She hadn't intended to reveal anything, but now it seemed Steph was onto something. "I… I really mean it, I think that we're going to be close, that's all.' Kyra insisted, hoping her voice sounded convincing.

Steph chuckled softly, shaking her head. 'Okay, Kyra,' she said, her tone affectionate. 'Whatever you say.'

As they continued the drills, Kyra couldn't help stealing glances at you, when you looked up and caught her eye, you gave her a happy smile. Kyra thought Despite the awkwardness of the moment, Kyra couldn't deny the warmth she felt knowing that Steph suspected something, even if she hadn't outright admitted it.

[icarryitin]

Episode 16: Pretty

spencer reid/gn!reader

i realised i’ve done a lot of introspective narratives about Feelings™️ but not a whole lot of interaction so pls have some as a treat ilu🧡

series masterlist

word count: 1.9k // warnings: there is so much pining in here it could be a forest

summary: Late nights in strange towns lead to the most unexpected conversations and confessions.

You can’t sleep.

Sheep have been counted over, and over, and over again and still, it evades you. For a day where you’d been looking forward to nothing more than collapsing into bed at the end of it; you’re not best pleased. It’s a rough case as it is, you don’t want to be sleep deprived on top of everything else. But it just isn’t happening.

You count seventy three individual little swirly panels on the ceiling before you decide to get up. A walk might go a fair way to unravel your nerves enough to get a couple of hours, at least you hope it will.

With your jacket thrown over your old college hoodie, you don’t bother changing your sweatpants for jeans, and just slip your feet into your boots. Garcia would be outraged at the clashing colours. The look won’t win any best dressed awards, but at this time of night you’re more concerned with clipping your holster in place. You’re not taking any chances. Especially not with the victimology of this case - although you do have the advantage of knowing the Unsub is out there somewhere. It’s still not an overly comforting thought. But you’re out of options, it’s this or counting the rest of the ceiling panels and, frankly, you’re sure you’ll go blind if you have to stare at plaster swirls for much longer. So you tuck your phone and room key into your coat pockets, and leave the dingy little room behind for a while.

The hotel is, thankfully, almost completely dead, save for the night manager dozing at the front desk. Faded carpet plush under your feet, you’re quiet as you descend the stairs to the lobby and its dimmed lights. The world is dark outside the front doors and you hesitate. Is it really the best idea? To walk around in a city that’s home to a serial killer whose victims bear a striking resemblance to yourself? No, no it’s not. Especially not at, you tug your phone out of your pocket to check the time - jesus, two o’clock in the morning.

“Hey, you.”

It would honestly be wrong to say you’re not expecting his voice - if you were to guess which of the team would still be up and about at this time of night, you’d pick Spencer. It’s a no-brainer.

“Hey, me. Couldn’t sleep either?” Your smile is more strained than you mean for it to be when you turn it to him in response, he must have just come back, snuck in unnoticed while you were glaring at the time on your phone. He’s similarly dressed, coat huddled around mismatched pyjamas, another victim of case-induced insomnia then. His eyes are tired, they are more often than not these days. Yours aren’t all that better.

There’s a comfortable moment of silence where you just exist together, in the hushed quiet of the hotel lobby. Breathing in the calm of the night. It almost makes up for the chaos you know awaits the team in the morning.

“Is it nice out?” You ask, toeing the carpet with your scuffed boot.

“You’re not going for a walk, are you?”

“I’m armed, genius, and I’m twice as scary as anything out there.”

Spencer just huffs your name through an exasperated sigh and looks at you as you waltz past him with your hands in your pockets, turning at the waist to watch you go.

“So come with me.” There’s the vaguest hint of a teasing smile on your lips as you walk backwards towards to the front doors. He’s still not moved when you spin on your heel to push them open and walk off into the night - but you could live a hundred lives and still know the footsteps that follow you down the concrete steps anywhere.

He’s not exactly intimidating, but having him by your side in the small hours makes you feel safer than the weight of the gun at your hip ever could. You try not to think too hard about what that means.

“How many ceiling panels are in your room?” Your breath puffs out in a cloud, words winding around each other in the chill of the just about morning.

“A hundred and nine, if you count the ones that are cut in half.”

“Damn, I gave up at seventy three.”

“I’m not sure how much I believe that, I’ve never seen you give up on anything.” Spencer kicks a pebble into the road at the same moment your feet stop working.

To think he’s paid enough attention to you to notice a thing like that. Maybe you should expect it, especially being part of the team that studies human behaviour, but it still takes you by surprise. The idea that he could, would want to, notice things about you. It’s borderline dangerous. Stubbornness isn’t cute - you’ve been accused of being like a dog with a bone when it comes to your theories more than once. But the way he says it so casually yet so reverently, like it’s something to be proud of, like it’s something he admires. You just about manage to get your legs to cooperate before he can realise you’ve fallen a step behind.

He offers his elbow to you, an uncharacteristic first move, and you almost don’t know what to make of it. Spencer doesn’t initiate contact, ever. Or at least, you’ve never known him to unless it’s to check your tac-vest, and yet here he is. Hands in his pockets, sticking his arm out for you to take. You’re sliding your own arm through his before you even really realise it. Well, it would be rude not to wouldn’t it? When he’s offered so kindly?

In the name of safety, presumably. When there’s a killer on the loose and you just so happen to fit the victimology. Keeping you close is a precaution. You steer the conversation towards the case, if neither of you are resting then you might as well be trying to unravel the latest psycho’s motivations. Another precaution, although a little selfish this time around, to save your heart from falling even further for the man beside you.

“Statistically, people who are attractive are targeted more often that those who aren’t. This Unsub isn’t exactly going against the grain, he’s picking pretty victims.” He rattles off the thought as though it doesn’t threaten to stop your heart in your chest.

It was Spencer who’d pointed out the striking similarities between you and the victims in the first place.

“Doctor Reid, do you think I’m pretty?” Your scandalised gasp matches the hands you press against your chest in faux-shock. And, for once in his life, he doesn’t seem to have any words. He just stands there beside you, gulping like a fish. You like him too much to leave him squirming any longer than he already has.

“I, uh-��� He scrambles for a response.

“Because you’d be right, I am pretty.”

The answering chuckle you get is enough to encourage you to link your arm back through his.

“What you’re saying is,” You press on, shaking off the moment, giving him the time to recover, “There’s no shock factor. Single bullet to the head, dumped unceremoniously with the trash. There’s nothing that says ‘hey look at me’ about this guy.”

Spencer hums in agreement, suddenly very interested in his shoes as they traipse along the drizzle dampened pavement beside yours, and the conversation lulls. But you don’t mind. It’s never an uncomfortable silence with him, it never has been. You’re both more than content to just exist in the same space together - his is a calming presence, for all his nervous energy. There’s never any expectation to be anyone but yourself when you’re around him, no judgement, no pressure.

You’re more than happy to trundle along beside him between the streetlights, dodging puddles, the weight of your linked arms nestled comfortably between you. Except, you’re a profiler. So, for all his valiant efforts to keep your suspicions to a minimum, they’re just not quite effective enough. One glance at his face confirms that he’s thinking far too hard about something. You let your shoulder knock into his, your elbow in his side jolting him out of his thoughts.

“You’re doing it again.” It almost feels blasphemous to disturb the peace that’s settled over you.

Spencer releases his lip from between his teeth.

“There’s something we’re missing.”

“We’ll find it. With fresh eyes in the morning, I bet it smacks us right in the face.”

He doesn’t look like he believes you, and you’d have to agree with him there, but the furrow of his brow relaxes at your gentle reassurance. That’s enough for the moment.

A car door slams up the street and makes you both jump. For all the security the gun at your hip awards you, you’re still a little on edge. It’s just you, Spencer, and the door-slammer on the street - though the stranger seems to be so absorbed in his own world that he barely registers the pair of you. While you’re both fairly confident that the man walking towards you isn’t the Unsub, Spencer tugs you closer into his side by your linked arms all the same. He makes sure he’s solid where he stands between you and the passing stranger, even though you both know he wouldn’t stand a chance in that fight with his lanky frame. There isn’t a bit of you that minds the protection. Something catches in your chest, blooming, warming you from the inside out. It’s dangerous.

You’re not sure when you looped back onto yourselves, but the shadow of the hotel looms and suddenly there’s plush carpet under your feet again. Part of you is glad that your chances to embarrass yourself tonight are numbered. He’d be kind enough not to point it out if you did, though.

The elevator is too close to the front doors, there aren’t enough storeys to pass to get to the floor commandeered by the team, and your rooms are the first in the hallway. Doors opposite each other, the irony of the parallel isn’t lost on you. But it’s so rare that you get to spend time with him without any external pressures of a case or the prying eyes of more than a few colleagues. It feels a little unfair that the time has gone so quickly - an hour, your phone confirms when the screen lights up as you fish around in your pocket for your room key. There’s that pang in your chest again, the one that makes you feel like an impatient child. You know you can’t have him the way you want, you know why you can’t, you know it would probably end in heartbreak for everyone. But god, do you want him. It’d be worth every painful second.

Spencer’s voice across the hall stops your hand, room card outstretched halfway to the scanner in your fingers.

“For the record, I do.”

He’s chewing his lip again.

“You do what?”

You know what he means. He knows you know what he means. But neither of you will admit to it out loud. So it just hangs there, in the air between you, as you stand in front of your respective hotel room doors for a moment longer. And then he’s in his room, and you’re swiping your own keycard through the slot, and you’re shut away again. No less wired than you were when you left - but it’s hard to find it in yourself to worry about the sleep you definitely won’t be getting tonight, there’s no doubt about that.

Because Spencer Reid thinks you’re pretty.

if you’re reading this then thank you i love you i owe you my life i can’t wait to put these guys in more situations 🧡🧡🧡

[barcaatthemoon]

“You look better in my clothes than i do” - Ona Battle

sweatshirt || ona batlle x reader ||

spain was hot, and norway generally wasn't. you and ona had been together for nearly three years, and this was your first little winter holiday spent in norway. your contract was coming up at the end of the season, and barcelona made an offer to keep you. it was a no-brainer, even if you had lots of offers to come back and play in your home country.

"you are insane right now. it's freezing," ona said with a small shake of her head. you had gone out for an early morning meeting with one of the norweigan clubs that wanted you, and as soon as you got back home, you had shed every bit of the 'professional' outfit you had worn. if it wasn't a pair of shorts and a sports bra, you weren't wearing it for any longer than you had to.

"it's perfect, you're life in spain has made you weak, that's all." you were teasing, but it was nothing ona couldn't handle. she'd give it right back to you when you'd swear up and down that you were dying in spain. truthfully, there were practices where she was worried from the sheer amount of sweat you were producing.

"you say that, but you seem a little chilly." the little flick of ona's eyes at your chest made you blush as you playfully swatted at her. ona dramatically fell into your lap, surprised by the warmth your body was putting off. "why are you looking at me like that?"

"i was trying to remember when you started playing for the norweigan youth team, that's all." you cracked a small smile as you ran your hands underneath the sweatshirt ona had taken from your closet to sleep in. "you look better in my clothes than i do. maybe you should make a switch?"

"in your dreams," ona said with a small laugh. "maybe you should make a switch to spain."

"you've got me for the club, let norway keep me for country," you told her. you'd play at barcelona with ona for the rest of your career, but you'd never leave the norweigan national team.

[confused-pyramid]

Coming Up For Air | s1

pairing: aaron hotchner x childhood bsf!reader

summary: Hotch and his childhood best friend working together at the BAU: a slow burn across the seasons.

word count: 10.4k

warnings: canon!typical violence, mentions of abuse, death of a spouse, slow slow slow burn, specific episodes mentioned in this part are 1x01, 1x06, 1x07, 1x08, 1x15, 1x16, and 1x22

a/n: I started rewatching Criminal Minds from the beginning, and this is what came out of it heh. This is the first part in a little series I'm starting that follows Hotch and his childhood best friend in the BAU, beginning with the pilot. If all goes well, this will continue through the rest of the show, with ~1 part per season :) Title is from Coming up for air by Signals in Smoke

series masterlist

You haven't used your oven in over a year. It's not that you don't like cooking - because you do - you just haven't had the time. If you could, you would blame it on the extra hours you have had to put in after starting at the BAU, but that wouldn't be fair. Your transfer to the unit was the only thing that got you through his death at all.

After your husband was shot and killed in action while tailing a kingpin of one of the New York mobs, you couldn't bear to be in this house at all. You had gone back home to stay with your father for a couple of months, but eventually you had to get back to your real life. With a month remaining on your bureau-mandated leave, you returned to the home you had shared, before one of the lower-level mob soldiers misfired -

You didn't let yourself think about it for almost a year, but time heals all wounds. The poets were right. At least you hope they are.

Even back at home, you still couldn't bear to be there alone, other than when you were sleeping. That's why your peloton was gathering dust and your kitchen went untouched, until just now.

So, of course, the call from the office comes when you're making dinner. It takes five minutes to change into slacks and a button-up, and two more to toss your half-cooked vegetables in the trash, before driving down to headquarters.

A fourth girl has been taken in Seattle, and the local PD only now decided to invite your team. You know the BAU isn't well-liked by the other departments, but that doesn't mean you aren't effective.

When you enter the building, you rush through the I.D. check and jog over to the lecture hall, where Morgan and Reid are standing outside of a neighboring office like children waiting for their father to come and get them.

Shooting them both a thin-lipped smile, you step inside just as they finish discussing the unsub's pattern.

"They want you back in the saddle," Hotch says to the man beside him after greeting you with a nod.

Your eyes are so immediately drawn to Hotch that it takes you a moment to realize that you recognize the man standing next to him. You haven't seen him since the day you were assigned to the BAU, mostly because you were technically transferred to this unit because of his extended leave.

What was supposed to be one month became six, before Hotch informed you that your temporary placement would be permanent, if you were willing to stay in Virginia.

It was a no-brainer.

You turn your gaze to Jason Gideon as everyone in the room stares at him expectantly. He looks self-assured, but you're sure the confidence is a front. "They sure they want me?"

"The order came from the director," Hotch says simply.

"Well," Gideon states, "we'd better get started, then."

Hotch glances over at you as everyone files out of the room and you raise your eyebrows momentarily, a quick check-in between the two of you. He nods imperceptibly and it's enough for now. He didn't tell you Gideon was coming back today, but now isn't the time to give him hell for that.

***

Hotch is the last to board the plane, and he takes his usual seat beside you, this time in the aisle, a few rows away from the rest of the team.

"I was going to tell you," he says as soon as you close the case file in your hands. "The section chief wants me to evaluate him to see if he's ready to return to the team."

"That's a lot of pressure." They have to know that Gideon will be able to smell him out within the day. "You sure it won't get in the way?"

Hotch makes that face you hate, the one that says he knows you're deflecting. "I was going to tell you."

It doesn't take much for you to forgive him. It helps that you trust him completely, especially after everything he has done for you.

"Still," you smile, bumping his shoulder with yours, "it would have been nice to know about the sudden change to my job security."

You're mostly joking, but his frown is genuine. "Don't be silly. You'll always have a place on this team."

He takes everything so seriously these days. You suppose it's only fair, given the files he has to sort through on a daily basis. Picking which case deserves the team's attention the most.

But he wasn't always like this. You're the newest member of the team, but you've known Hotch longer than any of them.

You still remember the first time you met him, at eight years old. He was your first real friend at school, and you became inseparable easily. Your shared love for The Beatles and Law and Order made you fast friends, and as you grew older, your interests shifted in tandem.

Sometimes when you look at him, you still see that little boy who knew too much, but still managed to always make you laugh.

***

The team disperses soon after you land in Seattle. You've never had to come up with a profile in one afternoon, but it's also been a long time since your ticking clock to find the victim was just over a day.

When Gideon and Morgan head to the latest crime scene, you join Hotch and Reid to interview the victim's brother. The moment the three of you step into his house, his dog, Sandy, starts barking up a storm.

"It's what we call the Reid effect," Hotch smiles, walking over to pet her. "Happens with children, too."

You can't help but smile as well, peering over at Spencer, who looks about as uncomfortable as he usually does.

It doesn't escape your notice that the brother looks looser now. Hotch has a way with people that traces back to his childhood self. He was always wiser than his years, something you chalk up to his need to grow up faster than he should have, but his paternal instinct comes from practically raising his brother, Sean, after his dad's untimely death.

The casual interview reveals enough about the victimology that when you head back to the station, Gideon calls the officers in to explain the profile.

You can feel Morgan's agitation wafting off of him as he watches Gideon state his assumptions with startling clarity and confidence. Hotch, on the other hand, looks contemplative, which reminds you that he's been tasked with the returning agent's evaluation.

He can see your furtive glances in his direction, even as you try to remain secretive about your interest in his demeanor. He presses his lips together to keep from smiling as he thinks about how lucky you are that you went into profiling and not covert operations.

You have never been especially good at keeping your own thoughts or intentions to yourself around him. While some would call that a weakness in this field, he sees it as your greatest strength, because it clearly shows how much he can trust you.

As a kid, you were outspoken about every idea you had, and you used your strength and willpower to look out for him when he needed it. It took him a long time to admit how much he used to need you (maybe too long), but you always knew.

***

Gideon's profile leads to the arrest of Richard Slessman and Tim Vogel, and Elle manages to save the last girl while she's still alive. You catch your breath for the first time in 36 hours as you stand with Hotch in the shipyard, watching the paramedics and local police clear the scene.

"What are you going to tell them?" you ask under your breath as his gaze turns to Gideon, who is getting patched up in the back of an ambulance.

He had goaded the unsub into shooting him instead of the girl, but your mind can't seem to focus on the silver lining.

Hotch sighs, crossing his arms over his chest, as though to hold his coat closed against the breeze. "They want to know if he's fit to be a field agent again."

Normally, you would give him shit for using that tactic. Avoiding a question by providing more information. This time, you know he's just thinking out loud.

"What would you say?" Hotch asks as Morgan walks over and sits on a barrel next to you.

"Gideon saved her life," Derek shrugs, his eyes flashing to you for a moment. "That's good enough for me."

Hotch seems to ponder this for a second. "Do you know what Gideon means in Hebrew?"

"Mighty warrior," Reid interjects, popping in to the conversation with the subtlety of a tiger.

You're confused at first, but then you remember the baby names book that was sitting in Hotch's living room the last time you visited him. "You cannot let Haley name your child Gideon."

Hotch laughs suddenly, and you can tell you surprised it out of him. Your chest warms comfortably as he smiles, his cheeks flushing softly in the chill air.

He looks over at Gideon again, deciding in real time that he's going to recommend him to come back to the team. He would never admit it to you or anyone, but he knows that if your position on the team was in jeopardy from Gideon's return, he wouldn't have been able to complete his evaluation fairly.

It was Hotch who recommended you for the open position after he was promoted into Gideon's role as unit chief. You deserved the spot, of course, but Jeff's death had still been fresh and he knew better than most how much the job can take one's mind off of the other aspects of their life.

While Hotch watches Gideon, you watch him. You can tell from the look on his face that it's a done deal. Jason's coming back to the team. It will be a change of pace for everyone, but that doesn't mean it won't be good.

Having joined the team right after the bombing, you saw exactly how Gideon changed after getting the profile wrong, but so did everyone else. What people didn't talk about was how Aaron changed too. Rising into the rank. Growing to fill the hole that Gideon left in the unit, but somehow also shrinking into himself at the same time, because that's what this job does to you...it takes and it takes and it takes until you have nothing left to give.

But sometimes that's what you need: to give something up so you know you aren't losing everything.

***

Gideon settles into the team faster than you anticipated, and soon it's almost like he never left. Even though you can see the vein on Morgan's neck pulsate every time he hijacks a profile, you can't help but appreciate the support he gives to Spencer and Elle, both of whom are becoming incredible profilers before your very eyes.

That's also why you find yourself a little worried when Hotch tells you that Reid failed his weapons recertification.

"I thought you said you were helping him practice," you say as the two of you walk past security and toward the bullpen.

"I was," he emphasizes, before correcting himself, "I did. I'm sure he was just nervous."

You nod, pushing open the doors and spotting Reid sitting quietly at his desk. "He can test again in two weeks. He'll be fine."

When Morgan hands him a whistle with a quippy joke, you sigh into your coffee tumbler, but don't bother stepping in. He's being childish, but if you try to intervene, it'll just embarrass Spencer more.

"Okay," JJ starts, "Franklin Park, Des Plaines. Yesterday afternoon."

She dives into the case, but you have already read the file (and you know Reid has too) so you scoot your chair over to his desk and lean forward so only he can hear you. "I failed my first weapons certification at the bureau too."

Spencer looks up immediately, his face colored with surprise. "Really? You're one of the best shots I know."

You smile with a shrug. "The tests aren't real life. When it comes down to it, I get the job done. Just like you will."

He doesn't say anything for a moment, but then his lips curve up into a small smile. You both turn your attention back to the front just as JJ finishes explaining the case details.

"Wheels up in 30."

The flight to Illinois is filled with heated discussions about the bureau's fruitless history of trying to profile long distance serial killers.

"L. D. S. K.s are so rare, we haven't been able to build a standard profile," Hotch explains as the jet reaches cruising altitude.

Gideon chimes in immediately. "Here's what we do know: they're always male, and they frequently have law enforcement or military experience, and they always contact the police or the media."

Elle looks confused and you echo her sentiment as you lean your hip against her armrest. "To take credit or relive the experience?"

"Both," he says simply. "All serial killers attempt to relive the ecstasy they get from their killings. Some use souvenirs taken from the victims, and others return to the dump site to interact with the body. Both modes require contact with the victim, contact which, by definition, long distance serial killers don't have."

"Our unsub hasn't contacted anybody," you point out. "What do we do until then?"

"Sometimes it's not what the unsub does that reveals the profile. Sometimes it is what they do not do."

Reid glances up from the file in his lap, and you notice that he looks at Gideon first. "He doesn't kill his victims."

"Underkill's a unique signature," Hotch ponders, standing up and walking along the cabin. He only paces when he's deep in thought. "The question is, does he shoot them in the stomach intentionally just to wound them, or is he just aiming at the biggest part of the target?"

The team is silent as you take in this new analysis. You're not surprised when Gideon is the first to speak up. "Specifically, does the unsub lack the skill to make the head shot, or simply the will to take it?"

When the plane lands, you check out the last crime scene before spending the day talking to the local police and the victims' surgeons at the nearby hospital.

That night, when you check into your hotel room, the click of the door lock closing behind you is a welcome relief from the tension of the day. Many of the Des Plaines police officers were unhappy with the team's initial assessment, because it heavily implied that the unsub may have been a law enforcement official himself.

You wash your face and change into a tee shirt and a comfortable pair of sweatpants, before climbing into bed and opening the case file back up again. The rest of the team has also gone to their own rooms, but you can't help but wish you had another set of eyes looking at this with you.

As though reading your mind, a knock thuds on your door and you stand up quickly, in case it's an emergency. When you check the peephole, you see Hotch standing way too close to the door.

Unlocking it slowly so you don't startle him, you open the door to find him in still in a full suit.

"Is there a problem?" you ask immediately. "Do I need to get dressed?"

He shakes his head, glancing around the hallway so quickly that you almost miss it. "I was just looking over the profile and I wanted your opinion on some thoughts I had."

The corner of your mouth twitches and you open the door further to let him in. He doesn't miss a beat as he takes a seat on the armchair in front of your bed and flips open his notepad.

"I was thinking about the bullet we recovered on the scene," he says slowly, like he's thinking through every word he's saying.

You nod, sitting on top of the bed covers and crossing your legs under you. "Garcia called after you left the station. The bullet was a .223 fired from the M-4 variant of the M-16."

"That means he's military," Hotch says, reaching his hand out without taking his eyes off his notepad. You close the case file you had laid out and hand it to him. "M-4 is a shorter barrel than the M-16, so it's less accurate and a lot harder to fire, especially at these distances."

"This level of skill indicates specialized training. That means..."

"It means the underkill was on purpose," Hotch says, finishing your thought. "What is he trying to prove?"

You purse your lips as he sits up in the chair to give himself room to remove his jacket. His pinstriped button-down is slightly crinkled under his arms, but you can tell it was freshly ironed this morning.

"Maybe he's in a fast-paced occupation," you suggest, "which would fit with the profile that he has a big ego."

"Then we're back to law enforcement."

You lean forward, your eyes following his hands as they fidget with his cuffs and undo the buttons, one at a time. You've always been attune to every one of his movements, but maybe it's just because you've spent so much time around him.

"Hotch," you whisper-yell, snagging his attention from your case file, which he tosses back to you.

He hums and you take that as an invitation to continue speaking. "Be careful tomorrow, when you're giving the profile."

One of his eyebrows lifts and you can tell he's holding back a smile. "It's just in front of the Des Planes PD. You'll be there too."

"It's not that," you sigh, shaking your head. "Everything about this profile points to the shooter being either current or former law enforcement. I'd be surprised if they didn't take it personally."

His eyes flit up to yours, his brow furrowing. "I can handle myself."

"I'm sure you can, Hotch," you say with a breathy laugh. "Doesn't mean I don't still look out for you."

He pauses and it's like his whole body takes a beat. "I know."

***

You're talking to Dr. Landman with Derek, Elle, and Jason the next day when a gunshot rings out through the hospital. Last you checked, Hotch and Reid were in the E.R., but you haven't heard from them since you arrived.

"It's Phillip Dowd," a nurse informs you when you meet with local police outside the closed E.R. door.

After a quick call to Penelope, the profile becomes clear.

"He joined the army at 18," Gideon recites, pacing around the room in a vaguely reminiscent manner, "went to ranger school, did 6 years before being dishonorably discharged in '95 for conduct unbecoming. Obviously lied about it, joined the Arlington P. D."

"You were right," the police captain sighs. "He was a cop."

His hopeless tone is disheartening, and you find yourself upset for not the first time that your team was correct in their assessment.

After the initial commotion, the E.R. is silent except for a few muffled voices. You can't hear what's being said, but the lack of gunshots or loud noises is all that's keeping you from falling apart.

"It'll be okay," you hear whispered from next to you. You turn to see Derek, who presses his shoulder to yours briefly. "Hotch will know what to do."

You know there's nothing you can do from out here, especially with how precarious the situation inside is, but doing nothing has never been your strong suit.

"I know," you tell him, echoing your thoughts. "I just wish we could help."

Derek cocks his head at the S.W.A.T. team readying themselves to break the door down. "We can help. We need to give Hotch and the kid time to wear Dowd down."

His tone is light and you feel yourself laugh, ignoring the thickness that swells in your throat. "That shouldn't take long."

Derek bumps your arm again in a silent extension of comfort, and you mouth a silent thank you.

You can feel Gideon losing patience as he reasons with the captain, but he eventually buys them three minutes to do what they can. When the final five second countdown starts, you unconsciously hold your breath, only to be released when Hotch's voice calls through the door.

"Hold your fire!"

Your breath comes out like a gasp and you squeeze Derek's arm before rushing forward. Hotch stumbles past you with a murmur that sounds obscurely like "help Reid", so you push your way through the throng of civilians moving to escape until you see him.

"Spencer," you gasp, crouching down to help him into a standing position. You would never admit it to him, but ever since he joined the team, he's been something of a little brother to you. "What happened in here? Are you okay?"

"You were right," he says with a surprising steadiness to his voice. "I got the job done."

You don't ask what he means, knowing that Hotch will fill you in when the time is right. Instead, you decide not to fight the vaguely maternal urge rising within you and you pull him into a tight hug. It's more of a quick squeeze, because you don't want to push past his physical boundaries, but he doesn't complain, instead looking over at you with a small smile that's more than enough for now.

***

You find Hotch where the departed ambulance that patched Reid up was parked. All of the hustle and bustle of the paramedics and local police officers and bureau agents comes to a standstill as you walk over to where he's sitting on the edge of the curb.

"I heard what happened," you say as a way to announce your presence. "Can I sit?"

He nods without looking up, and you crouch down next to him, settling on the curb with your shoulder pressed to his. You can feel the tension in his muscles as he grips the sidewalk, his palms digging into the concrete like he could break through if he pressed hard enough. "Reid.."

"..is fine," you whisper, nudging him so he looks up to where Spencer and Jason are chattering excitedly. "He's more proud than anything."

He doesn't say anything, so you bump your knee against his. "I guess all of the physical training classes you made him take at the academy paid off."

He knows you know exactly what is running through his mind, so he doesn't bother trying to articulate it. Instead, he lets out the breath he didn't realize he was holding, and looks over at you. "Do you remember that self-defense class we took before law school?"

You're not expecting this question, and you almost laugh. "You mean the singular self-defense class you dragged me to before dawn in the summer before we started at Georgetown?"

He levels you with a look that you would think is serious if you didn't know him so well. "You don't regret it, though."

"No," you smile, your eyes blurring with emotion. That's where you met Jeff. "I don't."

He was your instructor that day. He only taught that class twice a week, between lectures at Georgetown Law, and it doesn't escape your mind that you so easily could've missed him. One day earlier or later and you never would've met him, never would've been his girlfriend, or his wife, or his widow.

Hotch remembers meeting him that day too. He had to literally come to your apartment and drag you out of bed to make the seven AM class that he had signed you both up for, and you had been grumpy the whole drive over.

There wasn't much, other than coffee, that could get you alert before eight in the morning, but the moment you walked into that gym, it was like you were wide awake. He spent the rest of the class trying not to look as the man he would later come to know as Agent Adler kept coming over to give you extra pointers, and he pretended that the coil of ice slithering up his spine was there just because he was watching out for you.

When he found out the two of you had started dating, he continued to pretend the nausea rising in his stomach was from the day-old sandwich he had had for lunch, because it wasn't fair. Especially since he was with Haley, and he was happier than he had ever been, even if the new law school course load was making it harder to see her as often as he wanted to.

But eventually, your happiness with him overpowered every protective urge he felt, and he realized that even if there was a feeling in his gut that he didn't recognize when he saw you two together, Jeff was perfectly suited for you.

***

"He's so gorgeous!" JJ coos, her hands twitching at her sides like she's trying not to reach forward and take the baby out of Haley's hands.

She brought Jack, their newborn son, in to work today to show the team, and Hotch looks prouder than you've ever seen him. "Thank you."

"If you find baldness and wrinkles attractive."

"Reid!" you chastise, swatting at him. He dodges your hands without even looking.

"Look at his widdy biddy nose," Garcia squeals, before turning to Morgan with an inquisitive look. "Don't you want one of these?"

He just laughs as he rests his chin on her shoulder. "Mm, I'll stick to practicing."

"Congratulations," Elle chimes in before returning to Gideon's side to continue discussing the new case that came in. She's always on top of things, and it's something you respect greatly about her.

"Thanks," Hotch smiles, his gaze returning to Jack after looking away for only a moment. Jack is like a siren, the way each of his little sounds or movements holds Hotch's attention so steadily. He's the most focused of all of you, but you've still never seen him this enamored. "She's amazing. I'm a little terrified."

"You're glowing," you tell Haley as the rest of the team heads to the briefing room. "How is it that you had a baby just a few weeks ago?"

"You're sweet," she smiles, before tilting her head forward. "Do you want to hold him? You're practically his aunt."

You gasp quietly, so as not to wake little Jack. "That is a title I will carry proudly. And yes, I would love to hold him."

Haley hands him to you slowly, and you make sure to support his head carefully as you cup your arms around him. He looks so much like Haley that you almost make a joke about Hotch's genes not even putting up a fight, but that nose...that nose has Hotch written all over it.

When you glance back to where the team left from, you see him turn back at the same moment and offer you an encouraging smile.

"How are you holding up?" you ask Haley, barely able to focus on your surroundings with a newborn in your arms. Maybe there is something to the siren thing.

"Jack's been incredible. He barely cries, it's kind of a godsend...but I do wish Aaron could take time off with me."

You give her what you hope is your most comforting smile. "We've been super swamped with cases here, but in all my years working with him, I have never seen him so eager to leave every night."

She laughs, a pretty sound you remember from your youth. "I know. I feel so unfair when I complain about these things, but I appreciate you humoring me."

"Not at all," you assure her, glancing back down at Jack, who is mid-yawn. "I understand completely. If I had one of these little guys, I wouldn't be able to think about anything else."

You hear her breath catch and you open your mouth to reassure her that it's fine, but she is already reaching forward to squeeze your arm. "You and Jeff would have made amazing parents."

When you both joined the bureau, you were so busy with work that kids weren't on your mind at all. It wasn't until you got settled at the BAU, and Jeff found his place with organized crime, that you even started talking about it.

You want kids, don't you?

Only a few. Maybe four or five. Yeah, five's a good number.

"I should get back to the team," you say softly, blinking away the memories.

Haley sees your face and she smiles sadly as she takes Jack back from your arms. "I'll see you soon. Tell him I'm heading home, will you?"

You nod and watch the elevator doors close in front of her, before joining the team.

***

"I can't believe you went bar hopping without me," Derek shakes his head, feigning offense as he leans so far back in his chair you're afraid it may tip over.

"I think hopping is kind of a strong word," you say, glancing over at Elle, who is perched on the edge of your desk. "We only had one bar in mind, but it closed earlier than we thought, so we went somewhere else after."

"This was a much needed girl's night," Elle grins, patting Morgan on the shoulder as he continues to pout. "We'll invite you next time."

"How was your weekend, Dr. Reid?" you ask, turning around to face him.

Spencer doesn't look up from his crossword.

You say his name again, recalling the attention of Derek and Elle, who had started talking about some trip they've been planning for what feels like months.

When he still doesn't look up, you pick up one of the BAU-provided pens on your desk and chuck it at him, just hard enough to bridge the gap between your desks, but not so hard that it hurts on impact.

"Ow!" Spencer yelps anyway, glancing up with a look that's somewhere between confusion and indignation. He picks the pen up off the ground and turns it over to see the tiny insignia on the cap. "This is FBI property."

"How was your weekend, Spencer?" you ask again, ignoring him. "Didn't you say you had some fun stuff planned?"

"I did," he lights up, instantly forgetting about the pen incident. "My local movie theater was showing reruns of the first season of the original Star Trek, so I got to experience it on the big screen."

Derek laughs and walks back over to his desk next to yours. "We have very different definitions of fun weekend plans, kid."

You're about to tell Derek that no one wants to hear what his idea of fun is when the office door upstairs flies open and Hotch and Gideon walk out.

Reid hands you back your pen, and Derek sits up in his chair so fast it's almost comical.

"We have another case," Hotch announces before coming to a stop.

Gideon takes it away. "Our unsub is male, intelligent, organized and methodical. He has the confidence of a man who's been killing for a long time."

"Only victim removed from the scene is Freddy Condore indicating some tie to him."

Hotch turns to you. "You, Elle, and Reid stay on Condore's background with Garcia. The rest of us will head to the crime scene."

You nod before standing up. "Let's go, kids."

Penelope's lair is just as eccentric as you remember it.

"Take a seat," she instructs before logging into her computer and opening up her criminal history database. "Just don't get too comfortable."

Your lips quirk up as Elle flashes her eyes at you, and you nod your head at the empty chair on Garcia's opposite side. Reid is already sitting on a desk chair by the back, spinning in aimless circles as he rattles off a list of markers to search for.

After a minute, Penelope stops typing. "Credit card receipts show Freddy loved crab cakes, preferred light beer and used to spend his Thursday nights with a woman in Fells Point."

You pick up a stress toy shaped like a tomato from one of her shelves and bounce it in your palm, just for something to occupy your hands.

"What about his associates?" Elle asks, grabbing a pen with a pom-pom on the end and poking it at Spencer's knee.

"Most of them have criminal records."

Elle glances up. "That much I guessed."

Penelope frowns, and looks pointedly at the pen in her hand.

"She's holding the tomato!" Elle complains, throwing a finger at you.

You lift up your hands in surrender, dropping the stress toy. "Thanks a lot, Greenaway."

"Anyway," Reid interrupts, to everyone's surprise, "One of these guys is particularly interesting. Pull up James Baker's rap sheet."

Penelope turns back to her computer as Spencer reads over her shoulder. "He spent time in juvenile detention for attempted murder, was released at age 21, and then subsequently arrested for, and this is in order, armed robbery, petty theft, burglary, narcotics sales, and rapе."

"What's so interesting about that?"

"When it comes to psychological behavior, anything is possible but this criminal history? It just isn't probable."

Elle nods in agreement. "I mean, as a minor, he began with attempted murder and then devolved into pettier crimes?"

"It's the criminal history of a fractured schizophrenic with multiple personality disorder," you sigh. "It just does not make sense."

***

Hotch calls you into his office when he and Morgan return from Baker's address. You can tell something is off before you even step through the door, so you shut it behind you and take a seat in front of his desk.

"What's going on?" you ask, your eyes glancing over his face to see if his micro-expressions can give you a hint. "What's wrong?"

He looks up with a sigh, his hands clasped on his desk. "Baker's place was an artificial dwelling, and the weapon we recovered on the scene was standard law enforcement issue."

It takes you a few seconds to comprehend what he's trying to say - a few seconds longer than usual - and your breath stutters in your throat. "He was undercover?"

"That's what it looks like," Hotch agrees. "I wanted to inform you before telling the rest of the team."

You nod, pressing your eyes closed for a beat.

He missed his pick-up, Mrs. Adler.

We'll call you as soon as we know more.

The memories start to flood back in and you squeeze your eyes shut tighter before opening them. Hotch looks blurry for a moment until your eyes adjust to the light again.

"Does organized crime know where he is?" you ask, desperately needing to fill the silence.

He looks down at the case file. "We assume so, but it's not like they would tell us. They weren't too happy that we were taking on this case at all, and now we know why."

"Maybe they'll talk to me," you suggest, even though the idea of talking to Josh Cramer makes you taste bile. You haven't seen him since a month after the funeral. It's not for his lack of trying, you just couldn't stomach looking at any of them after what happened. One missed call turned to ten and eventually they stopped trying.

There's a piercing pain behind your eyes and you squeeze them shut for a momentary relief. "It was only supposed to be three months."

Hotch's brow furrows and you don't look up at him just yet. You can already picture his expression, the anguish you know he feels for you whenever you bring up Jeff.

"It was a three month operation," you continue, knowing you won't be able to discuss it later if you stop talking now. "That's all we signed up for. Three months away from me and then he was on leave for the rest of the year, so that we could focus on us again. Maybe even start a family."

Your voice cracks on the last word and you tilt your head down to hide your face. He hates it when you cry, but that's not fair. He knows how important it is to get your emotions out, so they don't pile up inside of you, but if he had his way, you would never have had a reason to cry in the first place.

"I hadn't seen him in over a month when he was..."

He can hear the tightness in your voice and he resists the overwhelming urge to reach his hand out and take yours. You're sitting a foot back from the desk, and it's not he could reach you from here anyway, but his fingers still ache.

"I don't want to blame them, Aaron," you sigh. Your words sound watery, and he pulls a handkerchief out of his inside jacket pocket and hands it to you. He's almost surprised when you accept the gesture, pressing the cloth square under your eyes to catch the tears leaking out. You were so self-reliant as a kid, never wanting or needing anyone else's help. "I don't want to blame them, but I do. I can't help it, I just do."

Someone else would have consoled you. They would have assured you that feeling this way was natural, and that no one could blame you for feeling what you do, but that isn't who you two are. "Jeff wouldn't."

His name is like a dagger to your heart. You practically wince as Hotch digs further. "That team was his family, just like we are yours. He wouldn't blame them, not for this. Not for something he chose."

Something he chose. This is why you don't let yourself remember that day. This is why you kept that day - the day you got that horrible call - locked up inside your brain, where not even you could reach it. Because if you let yourself think about it and remember, then you will remember that it wasn't really Cramer or his unit or the bureau that you blamed. It was him.

For choosing to miss his pick-up. For choosing to go undercover. For choosing to join organized crime.

You take a deep breath and re-adjust yourself in the uncomfortable chair Hotch refuses to replace, even though it's literally splitting at the seams. Something about your tax dollars hard at work. "What are you going to do about Baker?"

He lets you change the subject. "We have to contact Agent Cramer before-

"What the hell is wrong with you people?"

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

"Sorry?" Hotch frowns, both of you standing up immediately.

Cramer doesn't take his eyes off Hotch as he seethes with anger. "I told you, this is my case! You ran my agent through IBIS?"

"Because I wanted to know who he worked for and now that I do, I'd like to talk to him."

"You don't have him?"

You can hear your heartbeat in your skull.

Hotch looks at you then, and finally Cramer notices your presence. "Y/N...it's been a while."

Your lips press into a thin line. "Almost two years." The anger you've been trying to avoid seeps into your voice against your will and you sigh, returning to the investigation. "How long has Baker been missing?"

"About 12 hours."

"You think he ran?" you ask, watching Cramer closely as his jaw ticks.

"No, Jimmy's too experienced to run without contact."

He realizes his misstep immediately and his shoulders fall. To his credit, he doesn't break eye contact, even as his expression softens. "That's not what I meant. All I'm saying is that I think someone's keeping Jimmy from calling in."

You can feel Aaron looking at you, but you avoid his line of sight. If you're going to have to interact with organized crime, you might as well make yourself useful. "We all want the same thing, Cramer: to get Baker back to his family."

You wait outside as he explains the situation in more detail to Hotch and Gideon, and you're surprised when he's the first to leave. "Can we talk?"

Hotch comes out behind him and raises his eyebrow for a fraction of a second, a check-in. Swallowing thickly, you nod your head and follow him down the hall to the top of the stairs.

"I'm sorry I haven't reached out recently," he says as soon as you're out of earshot of the others. "You know Jeff was one of our top guys."

Your eyes shut at his name, as though someone clapped their hands too close to your face. It's almost laughable how sure you were that you were past your grief. You passed the bureau's psych evaluation after your six month leave with flying colors (because your team practically wrote the answers yourselves), and as each new day passed and you weren't so debilitated by just the thought of him, you thought it meant you were fine. Because time heals all wounds. At least it's supposed to.

"I know," you whisper scratchily, before clearing your throat. "I know that. And it's okay. We've all been busy." You look down at the bustling bullpen where his agents are interacting with your team. "Clearly."

Then you remember you're job here in the first place. "We really are just trying to help. It wouldn't hurt to keep us involved."

Cramer sighs and you know he won't refuse. "We'll loop you in."

***

James Baker is found and Vincent Perotta gets taken into custody, but you can still hear the end of the interrogation ringing in your ears.

"You were just responding to what you learned, Vincent.

When you grow up in an environment like that, an extremely abusive and violent household... it's not surprising that some people grow up to become killers.

And some people grow up to catch them."

You can't pinpoint exactly what you're feeling, but if you had to guess, it would be sorrow. Sorrow for that little boy who got dealt the worst hand you can imagine, and still turned into the best version of who he could've been.

Hotch can't get the interrogation out of his mind either. He had grabbed his briefcase and headed out to the elevators as soon as Perotta was taken away, in the hopes of avoiding everybody. He's about to let out his breath when a hand reaches between the doors and sends them flying open again.

Normally your appearance is a welcome sight, but tonight, he's had enough talking. Perotta took everything he had to give, and then some, and he doesn't know if he has the strength to go through the proceedings again with you.

"I just want to get home," he says as you stand next to him without a word and face the doors. To my family.

You don't say anything as the little fluorescent floor number ticks down - has it always been this slow - and he feels his nerves tighten with agitation. You're never silent, especially not about something like this.

Just before the elevator reaches the second floor, you reach forward and pull the emergency stop button. He whispers your name, half irritated half relieved, and you step in front of him, focusing your eyes on his. It's a classic profiler technique, both to mentally establish trust and to physically block him from the keypad.

"You're a great father, Aaron."

His mind flashes back 25 years, but he squeezes the hand in his pocket into a fist to keep himself from succumbing to the memories. "I'm trying."

He knows what you're doing, and he would normally be open to a healthy exchange between two adults, but tonight he just can't. It's too fresh.

You seem to understand at least a fraction of what he's trying to convey. Your next words are gentle. "That already makes you a thousand times better than him."

That almost makes him smile. "You can say his name, you know."

You shrug, looking at him with a glint in your eye. "Honestly, I don't think I can. I'm afraid I'll turn into a pile of ash, with the fury your father instills in me."

That's what gets him. He coughs out a laugh that echoes around the elevator, and you return to his side, giving him a moment to breathe on his own.

This time, when his mind spirals back to his childhood, he's not as equipped to block it. The memories come in flashes, a blackening bruise on his abdomen, a split lip explained away through roughhousing in the backyard, the thin scars on his hands and elbows as he finally started to fight back. He would've taken it all forever if he had to, if it meant that he could keep the horrors away from the people he loved. "I really should go."

"Yeah." You push the emergency stop back into place and the elevator hits the ground floor in no time. "I'll see you tomorrow, Hotch."

He steps out, half expecting you to follow him. Instead, the doors close and he's by himself again, and he suddenly can't remember why he wanted to be alone in the first place.

***

When the Keystone Killer is finally caught after 18 years of inactivity, he finds himself expecting for there to be some sort of celebration, either in the form of a commendation, or a much-needed break. Instead, what he gets is a mountain of paperwork.

He usually doesn't mind the paperwork that comes after a long case. It's a helpful way for him to sort through his thoughts on what went down, and to learn from mistakes that were made along the way, whether in the profile or in the capture of the unsub.

Lately, paperwork has felt like an added torture to the long hours he already spends at work. It's not that he wasn't excited about going home before, but ever since Jack was born, he hasn't been able to get out of the office fast enough. But being the unit chief of the BAU has its responsibilities, and this is one of them.

He's drowning in consultation files and case reports when you knock on his door, two coffees in hand.

"Thought that was you," he says, finishing the sentence he was writing.

You frown, setting one steaming cup down on his desk. He hasn't even looked up yet. "How'd you know? Or do you just say that to everyone who walks in here?"

His lip twitches and he puts his pen down. "I could smell the coffee. It always smells the same when you make it."

"Oh?" You weren't aware you had a method. "And how's that?"

"Burnt."

You take the lid off your cup and chuck it at him with surprising accuracy. It would have thwacked him in the forehead if he hadn't swatted it aside with his stupid catlike reflexes.

"What are you working on?" you ask after taking a scalding sip of perfectly brewed coffee.

He looks up for a beat before diving back into the file he was skimming. "Paperwork for the Keystone Killer case."

"But we just finished that," you point out before reaching forward and taking the file out from under his nose.

He huffs. "I was...looking at that."

"This is a report on what happened a couple of hours ago," you say, ignoring his remark. "You can easily do this tomorrow, or later this week."

"It's fresh in my mind now. I don't want to forget any details."

You shrug in a motion that says 'fair enough'. "Or, you could actually go home before midnight for once."

You slide another file off the top of his pile and flip it open, reading over the notes Hotch has scribbled in the margins. He's so meticulous about his job that you almost forget he was promoted just a little over a year ago. He became unit chief at the same time that you joined the team, so you didn't get to see him in his early days, but looking at him now, you almost can't imagine it. It's like he's built for this, for taking responsibility and leading people with kindness and respect.

"Elle said something on the plane today," he says suddenly, jerking you from your thoughts.

You close the file and look up as he runs a hand over his head, pushing his thick hair back just for it to bounce forward again. "She said that she's scared she's going to look up and see that her life has passed her by while she was chasing monsters."

Something cold runs through your veins and you sit up straighter in your chair. "And what did you say?"

"I told her the truth."

You smile in an effort to keep your eyes from shining. "What, that we're all doomed?"

He looks at you candidly. "That this job will eat you up if you let it." Your smile falls and he continues. "You just can't let it."

"I'm sure Elle loved hearing that."

He shrugs. "She was surprisingly receptive."

That gets a laugh out of you, even if the good humor doesn't last long. "I don't know how you do it."

"Do what?"

"This job, while also being a husband, and a father." You sigh, and you can almost feel the weight of the air as it leaves your body. "When I go home, I don't have to be anything to anyone. Most of the time it feels awful, but sometimes, after an especially bad case, I'm almost relieved when I can go home and just check out."

You aren't talking about him anymore, and he can tell. He doesn't mind, if this is what it will take for you to work through your emotions.

"We were gonna start trying for a baby."

That surprises him. Not that you wanted to be a mother - he knows that - but that he didn't know you were already thinking about it, especially because of how you grew up. You don't talk about it often, but after losing your mother to a drunk driver when you were ten, you almost transformed into her, becoming the emotional support for your family when there was no one else to fill that role.

You press your lips into a thin line and take a deep breath, your coffee cold and forgotten on the desk in front of you. "We had been talking about it for years, but with the paths our careers were taking, there just wasn't enough time before then." Your eyes look far away, and you don't seem to notice that your lips have unconsciously curved up into a reminiscent smile. "Jeff wanted five kids. Five. God, can you imagine?"

He can, but he doesn't say anything, because he knows you aren't looking for a response. Just for someone to listen.

"I'm an only child," you say with a laugh. "I don't even know what it's like to have one sibling, let alone four." But Jeff had come from a huge family, and he had wanted you to experience that. He loved how full his home always felt growing up, never without someone to talk to. Now you won't ever get to experience that. "I guess I just wish sometimes that we had tried earlier."

"You'll have it someday," Hotch says simply, practically reading your mind. "If that's what you want, you'll have it."

"I waited so long," you whisper, closing your eyes for a long moment. "I was just so afraid that I wouldn't do it right, because I didn't have my mother anymore to help me."

"You would've been a great mother," he assures you, his voice confident. "One day, you will be."

Your breath comes out like a gasp and you clear your throat to keep the tears at bay. "How do you know?"

"I just know."

***

When you push through the doors to the bullpen the next morning, you are greeted by a familiar head of blonde hair.

"Sean?"

He turns around slowly, clearly recognizing your voice, and pulls his lips up into a smile that you return. "Hey, Y/N, how's it going?"

You weren't close to him as a kid, mostly because of the age gap between him and Hotch. You had tried to make more of an effort after graduating college, but Sean was fierce in his convictions, and there were a lot of things he didn't understand about his childhood that you certainly weren't going to explain to him now.

"Good, good," you say, leading him away from the throng of staring women. You shoot them a look that makes them disperse. "You here for your brother? He's upstairs."

He nods, glancing up at the closed office door. You start to lead him to the stairwell when he stops in his tracks and turns to you. "What mood's he in?"

"Why?" you ask, your brow furrowing. "You got bad news? Nothing I need to worry about, I hope."

Sean shakes his head, glancing up at the closed door again. "Nothing like that. I'll just go up."

You let him walk up on his own, knowing he doesn't want you getting involved in whatever he's thinking about. Before you have a moment to catch your breath, the three women return to your side.

"That's Hotch's brother?" Penelope asks, standing so close you can feel her breath on your ear.

"Maybe Hotch is adopted."

"What do you mean?" you ask, unconsciously glancing up the stairs. "They're honestly pretty similar." You're only half joking. They don't look anything alike, but that Hotchner brand of righteousness runs deep.

JJ frowns. "I don't see it."

"Yeah, he looks...like that," Penelope murmurs, before looking at you. "Did you know him when you were younger? Was he hot then too?"

You choke on your own spit. "He was nine years old when I left for college, so...no."

Her eyes widen and she lifts her hands in surrender.

"Ooh, here he comes."

You look up to see Sean storming down the stairs, Hotch hot on his heels.

"Sean, listen to me."

He turns so fast, you're afraid they're going to crash into each other. "Don't profile me, Aaron."

Sean stomps out of the bullpen while Hotch watches him leave, and you can't get the striking feeling of deja vu out of your head. Two boys, 15 years younger than they are now, standing in the same positions, with the same looks on their faces.

You imagine that you and Hotch probably act the same way around each other as when you first met, at eight years old.

The memory comes easily, even with more than two decades of time standing in the way. The little boy with dark hair who had sat next to you on the school bus, just because there were no other empty seats available that day.

You hadn't said anything for the first few stops, just watched him out of the corner of your eye as he nodded his head unconsciously to the music coming out of his large headphones. Eventually, curiosity got the better of you and you tapped on his shoulder. "What are you listening to?"

He had taken his headphones off quickly, as though caught in the act. "What?"

You repeated your question before leveling him with a pointed stare that meant 'there is a correct answer'. You were a feisty kid, and you weren't always the best at making first impressions, so his steady response impressed you. "Beatles. Revolver album."

"I love that one!" you had gushed, leaning in closer without a warning to press your ear to one of the speakers on his headphones. "Is this Yellow Submarine?"

He had nodded, the confusion in his eyes slowly transforming into delight. "You know their stuff?"

"Of course. My favorite's Eleanor Rigby."

He had frowned then. "That one's too sad."

You weren't surprised by his opinion. You had yet to find a boy your age who could appreciate serious music, but liking The Beatles was a start, at least.

"I'm Y/N," you had said, extending your hand like you were starting a business meeting.

He shook your hand furtively. "Aaron."

"Maybe I'll see you around."

The school bus had stopped at your street then, and you had gotten up without another word to this boy, who would one day become your best friend in the world.

Luckily, the next day, Aaron chose to sit next to you again, this time with a second pair of headphones to attach to his compact cassette deck. Two days turned to three, and before long, you had a new friend.

***

"I can't imagine what two weeks away from this place is gonna feel like," you sigh, packing some essentials into your bag and snapping it shut. "I might actually miss you guys."

"Not me," Morgan grins, before pressing a kiss to your cheek as he zips around you. "Two weeks of pure heaven with nothing but young, beautiful adults looking to make vacation memories."

"Your friend's resort better be as nice as you say it is," Elle says sternly as she wiggles her finger at Derek, who is busy inviting Reid to join their vacation.

"Thanks, but I'm going home," he says quickly, without looking at any of you. "Have a good one, guys."

"I'll head out too," you announce, grabbing your things and following him to the elevators. "Wait up, Spence."

He doesn't seem to hear you, but you slip through the doors just before they close. "You okay?"

"Huh?" he says, finally looking up. "Oh, yeah. I'm just not looking forward to the Nevada heat."

You can tell he's lying, but you don't want to press him right before the long break. "You can always call me if you need anything. Seriously."

"Yeah," he nods. "I know."

You wave goodbye to him in the parking lot, and you're back in the silence of your home by the end of the hour.

The rest of your day is spent lazing around the house, and you're asleep when you hear a knock at your door. After Jeff's death, you started keeping your gun in your nightstand, more out of a general sense of security than any specific acute fear, but its proximity during late night calls has given you the peace of mind you needed to finally sleep through the night.

Lifting it from the drawer, you hold it behind your back as you tiptoe to your front door and look through the peephole. When you don't see anyone, you carefully pull the door open, only to find a small packet sitting on your welcome mat with your name scrawled on the top.

After bringing it inside the house and locking the door again, you pry open the seal and extract a large piece of paper covered in a series of numbers and dots.

That's when the phone rings.

***

"How's it going?" you ask Reid and Morgan as you enter the conference room where all of the Fisher King's clues have been laid out. Neither of them have taken their eyes off the paper you brought in since you tacked it up on the board.

As expected, Reid doesn't look up. "The answer to what book we need has to be in here."

"Yeah," Derek sighs, glancing over at you, "but we sure as hell can't see it."

"Yet."

You look at the numbers again, hoping that your short walk to the coffee station and back would have been enough to unlock something new in your brain. Nothing. "The answer has to be based on specific details of each person's clue." A small sound turns your attention to the couch, where Elle is lying on her side. "Is Elle asleep?"

"I'm awake!" she starts, sitting up lethargically.

At the outburst, Hotch walks into the room and points at her bags. "I'm sending you home. You need to get some rest."

"No-"

"We won't do anything without you, I promise."

"Elle, seriously, we're not any closer than we were."

She nods, her lack of sleep seeming to dawn on her as she yawns again.

"Anderson," Hotch calls out, before you stop him. "What is it?"

"I can take her home," you suggest, looking over your shoulder as she lugs her bags down the hall with bleary eyes. He looks like he wants to protest, so you speak up before he has the chance. "She barely knows Anderson. I'll make sure she's settled, and then you can send him to watch her house, so I can come back here."

"I don't know if that's a good idea," he sighs, his eyes still trained on Elle's silhouette lingering by the elevator. "We may need you here."

You cock your head at Reid and Morgan, who have been sitting in the same positions for so long, you're surprised their necks haven't locked. "It's like they said. We haven't made any progress in over an hour. I'm not helping here."

He still looks unsure, but you know it's just worry. He'll always worry about you. "Okay, go. Call me in an hour to check-in."

You dip your head in a nod and jog through the bullpen to catch Elle as she's heading out.

"So you're my bodyguard, huh?"

You laugh, pressing the button for the ground floor. "Something like that."

"Good," Elle says, trying and failing to stifle a yawn, "you're much more fun than Anderson."

"Prettier, too."

The car ride to her house starts off silent, but eventually you break your internal promise to let her come to you. "How are you feeling after last night?"

She just shrugs. "It was more annoying than anything. I'm just glad I got to enjoy at least some of my vacation."

"I heard there was blood all over your room," you point out lightly, trying to broach the subject in a delicate manner. "That can't have been fun to wake up to."

"It was all on the outside. That's part of why they weren't able to hold me. That, and Hotch's lawyer chops."

You raise an eyebrow, glancing over at her as you pull over to the sidewalk. "His lawyer chops?" You know he used to be a prosecutor before joining the bureau, but you never got to see his skills in action.

"Yeah," Elle gushes, her face brightening considerably, "you should have seen the way he walked in there. Those beat cops had no idea what hit 'em. He was in full prosecutor mode, went all rainmaker on them until they released me."

You can imagine it. If any of you were in trouble, he wouldn't let anything get between him and your safety. "I wish I could've seen that."

When you put the car in park, you help Elle with her bags and walk her up to her door, where she insists that she'll be fine on her own.

"I promised I would wait with you until another agent could come and relieve me," you emphasize, instinctively scanning the vicinity around her home as she walks inside and drops her things on the floor.

"In about thirty seconds, I'll be passed out on this couch right here," she points at the window seat behind her, "so you'll just be watching me sleep for an hour."

You open your mouth to argue but she cuts you off. "Y/N, I'll be fine."

If there's one word to describe Elle, it's stubborn, so you let her shut the door behind her and you walk back to your car. Even if she won't let you sit with her inside, you still can't bring yourself to start the ignition, so you lean your seat back halfway and close your eyes, just for a few moments.

You haven't gotten much sleep either, and you're about to doze off when you hear a loud thud from outside the car. Jerking up, you undo the clasp of your holster and push open the car door. The world is silent, except for the rustling of leaves in the wind, but you start making your way up the drive, just to be sure. There's another thud, quieter this time, and you reach for your sidearm as you ascend her porch steps. Then comes a gunshot.

You start running.

[razzle-n-dazzle]

Almost made Adam Headcanon Yandere? You need to do it!!

ᯓ★ "Cus You're Mine, All Mine." (no shit I love you!) Yandere! Adam / Reader ignore my trying a little bit of a diff format

ᯓ Yandere! Adam and regular Adam honestly have a lot of parrels, at least in my mind they do, but they also have some key differences. They're both quiet obsessive and possessive in their own rights, and they both try and hide it. Yet, while regular Adam will be the type to completely deny his habits, Yandere! Adam will be quiet proud of them. "It made you stay, no?" He would ask with a cheeky, wide spread smirk on his mask. He stood behind you, your reflects seen on the dead screen of the TV, as his hands rested on your shoulder before trailing down to wrap around your waist. You could feel the claws of his hands slowly trail down, almost like they were touching your bare skin when you knew better; They weren't, at least not in this second, and yet it still felt as intoxicating as when Adam's hands did trail on your bare skin. It was almost his way of claiming you as his, outside of fucking you, and his gentle yet firm touch always got you. Even as you swallowed down some silva that formed in your mouth out of some unquenched nerves in your stomach, you felt safe with Adam. Even if his grin, which now laid next to your face as Adam rested his chin on your vacant shoulder, was slightly unnerving as he admitted to a usually bad habit. "And if I can keep you away from everyone who would want to take you from me.." Adam's husk voice whispered in your ear, "Than I think I'm doing my fucking job right. Wouldn't you agree?"

ᯓ Yandere! Adam who just always happens to know where you'll be and is there waiting for you; Not like he stalks you, of course not (he doesn't have to do that anymore),he just always has a similar schedule! Not like it's creepy or anything, most of the time he just knows you are longing for his company (like he's longing for yours) or just wants to make sure you're safe! Which is a no brainer why Adam was currently sitting at a nearby table, watching as you and Azrael, the Angel of Death, got some smoothies at a nearby shop. Neither of you had noticed him yet, he had made sure of that. He didn't want Azrael, and his god forbidden good senses, to pick up on him as he followed you both from the court room; And he didn't want Azrael to pick up on him now. It wasn't like Adam didn't trust Azrael, he was an angel and you could be in much bigger danger (like hanging out with a demon in hell!). Yet, out of all the Angels, Adam always had an yucky feeling about Azrael; He was always rather quiet and solemn, keeping to himself, yet seemed just peachy chatting with you and hanging out with you and no one else. Public or not it just rubbed Adam the wrong way. He better not be trying anything. Everyone should see you in the light Adam does, but no one had the pleasure of taking you home other than him. And that was a fact, whether Azrael wanted to admit it or not.

ᯓ Yandere! Adam who is somehow both egoistical and yet insecure, despite all the conflicts they provide. You can tell, after being around Adam for so long, when he gets jealous of other people you hang around. He'll never out right tell you, unless someone crosses a big line, but you can always see the slight scowl or pout on his lips, even behind the mask, and you get the hint to get to his side soon. Now, it's important to clarify, you go to his side out of free will, he's not dragging you there unless someone is touching you in ways they shouldn't; And even then, Adam is only dragging you back behind him and square punching the sucker in the face for even thinking they had the privilege to touch you! Adam will shit talk the guy who tried to get close to you when you come over him, saying how he was much better for several reasons (one being that he was the original dick, and thus he would always be better than any man or women) but would oddly enough point out things you didn't notice. Such as, the way they dressed, the way they carried themselves, their tone of voice, who they kept going to, and he would go on and on until your vision of that person is tainted. And he would snicker to himself as you sit down next to him, allowing him to drag you on his lap, as he knew he successfully managed to warrant away another competitor for your love.

ᯓ Yandere! Adam who knew, since day one, he wanted you and only you. It made Lute a little disturbed how quickly Adam had catch your figure in the crowd and instantly began to ask questions about you. Lute was sure you had gotten to Heaven in that week, she hadn't seen you around before, and yet that didn't seem to deter Adam. "So, I figured out who that hot Babe was from yesterday," Adam would tell Lute the next day as they sat upon the council, waiting for the next hearing. Curious, and a tad amused (as she didn't believe him), Lute would roll her eyes and amuse him. "Oh, really?" She would mumble, resting her elbow on the railing and her cheek against her fist. "Who is she then?" And Lute was certain she almost fell off of her seat in shock when Adam began to list your name, the mortal age you died and how, when you got to heaven, where you were living in heaven, possible family members, and some basic information about what you liked and didn't and your current favorite place in Heaven. She was sure Adam had gone insane, at least until he noticed and quickly gave her a cover story: He simply had met you in one of his favorite lunch places and you began talking and you two just clicked.

ᯓ Yandere! Adam who will never, ever, hurt you or anyone you care about yet take out his frustrations on the sinners of hell. Too many times have Lute had to watch, and listen, as Adam completely shredded through Sinners like they were nothing yet flies under his shoe while ranting about the last person you hang out with that got just a little too close. Lute was sure that if this kept up, Adam would not only violate some of the agreement terms that were laid with Lucifer, yet he would obliterate the overpopulation problem by killing the sinners, basically, single-handily. She wouldn't admit it yet it terrifies her a little how deep rooted Adam's love for you is, that she subconsciously began to distance herself from you just to not get on his shit list.

ᯓ Yandere! Adam who, after a long day of work, wants nothing more than to come home and lay in your arms all comfortable; And who is surprised, when walking through his apartment door with his guitar in hand, to see you sitting in wait at the kitchen island. "Adam, Honey, you're home!" You would chirp, shuffling off the bar stool and rushing over to his side; Letting out a soft bit of laughter as you noticed his slightly shocked look. Gently, you would take his guitar from him, asking in your ever sweet voice how his day was and if he managed to help keep Heaven safe. He wasn't sure why you had such an effect on his heart like this, on his whole body. Your single touch made Adam feel more alive than he did when he had been alive. Your sweet voice was like music in his ears and a drug he could never get enough of. And fuck your lips, Adam was sure he could kiss them for ever if you would let him. And so, when you reached up to take his mask off him, he would stop you. You were perplexed, a little shocked, as Adam raised his hands up to cup over your hands once they cupped his cheeks. Yet, upon seeing his face, the way it relaxed almost instantly upon your touch, all you could do was smile softly up at him. "Honey, come on, let's go sit on the couch and you can tell me everything that happened.." You would whisper softly to him, coaxing him to come and rest his body after a long day of work. And how could he say no to his darling? After this lovely, warming welcome, Adam felt like he should be the one praising and giving you such attention you bask on him.

ᯓ Yandere! Adam who waits on foot and knee if you ever need him. Yandere! Adam who would do anything to keep you with him, and only for him. Yandere! Adam who has charmed most of your friends and family. Yandere! Adam who doesn't force you to do anything but might play with your thoughts a little to get his way. Yandere! Adam who loves you more than he ever loved Lilith and Eve and makes sure you know it. Yandere! Adam who thinks, and half believes, he doesn't deserve someone like you and is selfish for handing you all to himself. Yet, also in turn, Yandere! Adam who might just die or go insane if he cannot bask in your love and affection.

ᯓ Yandere! Adam.. oh boy do you have your hands full with having him as your lover.

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ᯓ★ All posts/fanfictions posted under this blog is owned by @razzle-n-dazzle. Please do not steal, copy, or plagiarize the works! Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated.

[me-loving-woso]

Bruises, Apologies and Cookies?

You already know the drill. I don't know what this is. It took me a month to do it and it's not proofread. It's 17k and you have to imagine this as an AU in which Jorge Vilda is not the coach of Spain, but it's in therapy for his misogynistic tendencies and anger issues, and the Italian national team is actually a good team. I really hope you enjoy this.

Prompt: You start to hook up with Alexia, but then you realise you aren't meant to play against one another. (I'm bad at summaries.)

Here is Part 2

-

You were traveling to Barcelona today.

Your team and the Barca team had organized the game for the Gamper trophy, and you couldn’t wait to play against your dream team. Barcelona and Chelsea have always been the team you supported when you were young, even though you were neither Spanish nor English.

You have always loved playing football since you were little. And the fact that you were raised in Italy and were Italian, one of the best countries to experience football, made your love for the sport grow even more. But you knew you couldn’t go far in your country because women’s soccer wasn’t very developed in Italy, so as soon as possible, you decided to leave for the US. There, you studied to become a physiotherapist and played ‘soccer.’

You weren’t known for your speed or physicality but your football IQ and passes. At first, your coach put you as a striker, but then he soon realized that scoring wasn’t your forte. But when one of your teammates in midfield got injured, your coach put you as a defensive midfielder, and the rest was history.

You would control the midfield and give confidence and calmness to the defenders and midfielders; you had a style that reminded people of Busquets.

In college, you met your best friend, who was also Italian. She was your number 1 supporter; she would always come to your games, cheer for you, and support you even when you transferred to your first real club, Atletico Madrid. 

To the world, you were known as one of the cleanest players in La Liga, your timing was always perfect when you tackled someone, and you were able to anticipate the player’s moves so well that, in most cases, you didn’t even have to tackle them, you would snatch the ball away from them before they could pass it to someone else.

This made you one of the only players to never receive a yellow card for a foul. You only received one when you took off your shirt for scoring the winning goal for the Copa de la Reina.

After two outstanding seasons at Atletico, Chelsea called you, but not even after a year did you send in a transfer request, which you never did; you always waited for your contract to finish.

After a disastrous year at Chelsea, you wanted to go back home to Italy, and two clubs from your country showed interest. Roma and Juventus. You never supported Juventus as a child, so the decision was a no-brainer for you. You were back home, playing for a great team and sharing the pitch with your friends from the national team. You signed a contract until 2024, and you would respect it, even though you received many offers from other clubs, one in particular being Barcelona. But whenever the coach of Barca called, you told him about your wish to finish the season with Roma; they respected your decision and said they would try to get you during the summer window.

-

This left you playing the Joan Gamper trophy against your dream team, and you got the impossible task of marking Alexia Putellas. It was the first time that you were playing against her. Over the years, you had the opportunity to play against her, but between injuries or other stuff, you never managed to do that. So you were looking forward to it. 

During the warm-up, you found yourself stealing glances at her; she was even more beautiful in real life. As you saw her train, you tried to find a way in which you could stop her. She was quick, physical, and loved going deep. So the only way to possibly stop her was to anticipate her and not let the ball go over you to her or stop her before she could pass you. You loved a good challenge.

As soon as the game started, Barcelona came at your defense hard, but you wouldn’t let the ball go past you. As soon as you had the ball, you would pass it to one of your teammates or opt for a long pass if your number 9 was free.

Even though you were extremely clean in your tackles and respectful, you were famous for cursing in Italian whenever you had to run; you hated running, and whenever you would recover a ball, you would subtly celebrate in your opponent’s face. You were very competitive in that sense, and you knew that not many opponents went past you, so this furthered, even more, your competitiveness.

In the first minutes of the game, as you analyzed your opponent’s playing style, you realized nobody would dare to move the ball through the center; they knew they wouldn’t get past you, and you smirked at that realization.

The first time you had to mark Alexia was an offside kick for Barcelona; you shielded her with your hands, not making her move. You were shorter than her; you reached her shoulders, so you knew she could physically overwhelm you well enough, so you had to find another way to stop her. She was brilliant when playing. She could see the spaces and know exactly where to place the ball to her teammates, so you knew that distracting her even a second would help you anticipate her and stop her from going forward. 

As she was trying to unmark herself from you, you wanted to distract her by talking in Spanish, “They always call you La Reina because of your skills, and now that I’ve seen you in action, I can confirm that you live up to that nickname.” She slightly blushes.

“It’s not bad having someone like you watching me destroy your team.” She pushes you slightly to show her teammates that she is free. “I must say, though, that you look pretty good out in the field.”

Now it’s your time to blush; you turn your head to face her quickly, turning your neck upwards to look at her hazel eyes, “Flattery won’t get you past me.” You wink. “But I won’t tell you to stop; I like where this is going.”

Her teammates kick the ball, which makes you both go back into game mode.

The second time you talked to her, it was during a corner. They were using her as a decoy to make your team change the positions on the corner kick, but you soon realized that, and you went to mark her “You know, I think I’m actually enjoying this game more because I’m playing against you.”

“Is that so? I’m glad you are enjoying this. But don’t think I don’t know you are trying to distract me.”

“Me? I would never distract you in any way!” You act offended, putting your hand on your heart.

“Then you are secretly trying to win my heart.” She smirks, taking her eyes off the ball and looking at yours.

“Well, if winning your heart gets me a victory on the field, consider it a strategic move.” You remark, grinning as you see the captain of the other team a fraction of a second distracted, making the ball perfectly fall into your feet.

With a calculated movement, you dribble past her while she gives you a shocked look and sends a perfect ball to your teammate, who starts the counterattack. Nobody was expecting that, so your number nine, Giacinti, ran all the length of the pitch without any dangerous opponents, leaving her only with Paños. She scored, and you were finally 1-1.

As soon as she scored, you could see that Alexia’s expression changed sorrowfully as she blamed herself for the goal while you screamed, running to your teammate who had just scored.

As soon as you get on your field to restart the match, you walk past her, and she shakes her head sarcastically, “I thought I was good at playing mind games, but you, you’re on a whole new level.”

She walked past you, “Mind games? Nah, I’m just enjoying the company of a certain someone on the field.” You remark innocently.

After 45 minutes of intense battle between you and Alexia, in which you basically won all of them, Alexia became increasingly irritated. She was getting more sloppy and aggressive, but you expected that, so whenever you had the ball or just snatched it from her, you would pass it to one of your teammates as soon as possible.

The first half of the game ended, and you returned to the dressing room. You were still on a draw, so you only needed a goal to shock Spain and win the Gamper trophy, which was your objective. So during the break, you strategized ways to score that damn goal. After the 15-minute break, you returned to the pitch and knew what to do.

Roma was starting the second half. Giacinti passed you the ball from the center of the pitch immediately after the whistle, and she began her run. You stopped the ball and kicked it high, precisely where she needed it. She had only to dribble past Ona Batlle to score and did it perfectly. 

For now, you were winning, and you could see that Barcelona was getting even more frustrated. They needed to win that trophy; it was their trophy. 

You again found yourself in the same position as the corner kick-off. Alexia was outside the area, and you were marking her again. “If you get past me, I’ll let you swap shirts.” You smirk arrogantly. 

“You’ll let me?” She chuckles ironically, not making the same mistake and, this time, focusing on the ball.

“Yes, I’ll let you.” You wink at her, putting your arm on her chest, trying to put yourself in front of her. You swear you could hear her heart beat a little faster.

“Are you sure you are okay? I swear I could hear your heart beat faster.” You tease her.

She blushes, forcefully removing your arm from her, “You are making it really hard for me to focus, and it’s not just because of the game.”

“Oh really? Maybe I’m just trying to give you a good reason to remember this match and me.”

“You wish.”

“Joking aside, do you wanna swap shirts after the match?” You quickly glance at her.

“You’ll get to see my shirt every day next season.” She raises her eyebrow knowingly.

“Wait, you know?”

“Of course, I know; I was the one that suggested you to the coach.”

“Really?” You smile dumbly at her, a mistake nearly costing you a goal. She manages to get the ball and throws a beautiful cross, which thankfully was stopped by your defender Linari. You sigh in relief and get back to the game. 

The game was getting more and more aggressive as time was running out. You didn’t know how, but you were still winning. As you were waiting to intercept a long pass from your ex-teammate from Atletico, Mapi Leon, Alexia was trying to anticipate it.

You managed to quickly control the ball, and with your first touch, you passed it to Giugliano. Still, she didn’t see that you already had given the ball away because she raised her knee to try to control the ball, but there was no ball to control. Instead, she hit you where it would hurt the most: right on your groin. It hurt. It really hurt. You wouldn’t expect it to hurt that much when you were a girl, but it did hurt. So much so that you skipped a breath and mumbled in your mother language words that you wouldn’t repeat. The game was still ongoing, but you needed a minute, and Alexia noticed that. 

“Hey, are you okay?” She asks worriedly, putting your hand on your shoulder while you are crouching down.

“Alexia, you didn’t hit the ball. And you got a powerful leg, I must say.” You sit down on the grass, visibly in pain. Your captain, Bartoli, noticed that, and she soon stopped the game and went to you.

“Tutto bene?”

“Si mi serve solo un secondo, questa qui- pointing to Alexia- mi ha dato un calcio.”

“Dove?”

“Nella figa,” You say, putting your hands over your head while your skipper laughs.

“Cazzo ti ridi.” You say, laughing too at the situation. Then, some of your teammates swarmed you, pushing Alexia away, who took a step back embarrassingly.

As your skipper told everyone what happened, some other teammates started laughing, making the tension of the match crack. You show the finger to all the teammates who laughed at you, still in pain. 

“Riesci ad andare avanti?” The defender asks you, trying to keep a straight face.

“Si, si dammi solo un minuto, andate pure.” Your teammates slowly return to their positions, and Alexia approaches you. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think I hit you that hard.” She gives out a hand for you to grab to help you stand up to your feet.

“Don’t worry about it. It has always been a dream of mine for a hot woman to hit me on the groin.” You chuckle sarcastically, clearly not understanding what you have just said.

“You think I’m hot?” She grins while you clean off the dirt from your shirts.

“So not the point.” You say while returning back to your position. 

The match went on more fluidly, with your team more defending rather than attacking; you unconsciously avoided Alexia all game, swapping marks with one of your teammates for Aitana, which wasn’t at all that better, but at least she didn’t make you feel all hot and confused as the captain of the other team did. Eventually, you did lose the game, 3 to 2, but you thought this was a great way to begin the season.

As you went into the dressing room to get ready for a night out with your friend, you heard the cleats of a person behind you. You turn around, and your body winces, reminding you of the pain that you experienced earlier.

“Hey!” She walks up to you, still dressed from the match.

“Hey.” You reply awkwardly.

“Soo.” She crosses her arms and begins rocking her legs. “You said that if I got past you, you would swap shirts with me.” She smiles innocently, waiting for your reply.

“Well, that was before you made me lose the capacity to have children.” You say dramatically.

“Okay, that’s a little too dramatic. I didn’t mean to hurt you; I honestly thought that I was hitting the ball.” She says sorrowfully, looking down.

“Well, you didn’t.” You chuckle. Making her laugh.

“What were your teammates laughing about earlier?”

“I just told them what had happened. I would have laughed too if I wasn’t in so much pain.”

“Why would you? You were hurt!” She returns her gaze to you while you give her a shy smile.

“Well, you would laugh too if someone like Leo Messi would hit you in the groin like that. Even though I deeply doubt it.”

“So you think I’d have a future as a kickboxer?”

“Definitely.” You beam at her, clearly entranced by her. She was slightly biting her lips in an attempt to shy a smile; you thought to yourself that she had really gorgeous eyes. 

“So the jersey…” She suggests clearly understanding that you were slightly zoned out. You blush, a little embarrassed, and take off your shirt quickly, folding it, and then you hand it to her. 

“It’s a little dirty; I’m sorry.”

“You just ran on the pitch for over 90 minutes; you don’t have to apologize.” She takes it from you as her fingers lightly brush yours. What you noticed was that her hands were warm. It felt weird to you, as most people in your life had cold or sweaty hands, which you hated, but hers were different. They exuded this feeling of comfort that made you miss her touch as soon as she took the jersey from you.

You blink once, trying to return to the real world, waiting for her shirt. 

“Am I going back to Roma empty-handed?” You joke, while she was most definitely not looking at you in the eyes but more at your body, making you feel a little self-conscious.

“Oops, sorry.” She quickly removes her jersey, but as she is about to remove it, she stops, “Now this is embarrassing. I’m stuck.”

You chuckle, standing on your tippy toes, “Can I help you?”

“Yes, please.” You raise your hands, take the hem of her shirt, and pull it up; as soon as her head is free, her eyes lock in with yours, making you gulp slightly at the intense eye contact, lowering your feet, clearly showing the prominent height difference.

“Thank you.” She whispers, never taking her eyes off you. Your mind was getting hazier for every blink of your eyes, and you felt your cheeks redden. You thought you needed to take a step back to recompose yourself and clear that haze in your brain, but something about how she looked at you made you not move for even an inch. “How long are you staying in Barcelona?”

“Tomorrow, we are leaving.” You tell her truthfully without thinking, nor blinking, for that matter.

“What are you doing tonight?” She asks you seriously, moving her gaze dangerously close to your lips.

“I’m going out with Mapi and some of your teammates. We wanted to catch up, and she wanted me to meet some of you guys and her girlfriend.” You say, never moving your gaze from her; you couldn’t.

“ISo we’ll see each other there. And after that?” Her expression exuded an energy that you couldn’t quite understand

“What?”

“What are you doing after that?” She speaks more clearly, enunciating every word.

“I’ll probably go back to the hotel and sleep.” You reply honestly.

“I want to make it up to you. Will you let me do that?” She asks shyly, softening her gaze a little.

You, dumb as you are, don’t get what she was suggesting, making you, for the first time, take your eyes off hers and look down, which uncoincidentally was her chest. Still, right now, it doesn’t concern you that much. “You don’t have to; I know it wasn’t on purpose.” You reply innocently.

What actually concerned you was how nonchalantly, with her index finger, she gently raised your chin, making you look at her again, making you want to giggle from the nervousness.

“Are you sure?” She smirks, clearly understanding the effect that she was having on you.

The following words were some of the most honest words that ever came out of your mouth. “No, I’m not sure.”

She chuckles, “Give me your phone.” She tells you rather than ask you, making you once again be sure about your sexuality.

“It’s in the locker room.”

“Go get it.” She instructs you while she leans against the wall, still shirtless. She clearly knew what she was doing and why she was doing it.

You reply with a short nod, and without saying anything, you walk to the dressing room, your body on autopilot, with your brain still not functioning correctly. You get in the locker room and are soon swarmed by your team congratulating you, but you only have a task in mind: get the phone to Alexia. So, after some short answers, you quickly return to the hallway, searching for the woman.

She had your shirt around your neck with her back on the wall and followed your movements with her eyes, never taking her gaze off you.

You put yourself in front of her, taking her hand from her sides and placing your phone. She turns on the phone and sees your lock screen; it is a picture of your dog. “Cute dog.” She comments while she hands you back the phone so you can type the password. Then you hand it back to her, and she puts her number in your phone.

“If you are not too tired after we go out for drinks with the team if you want, we can do something else later.” She gives you a soft smile, giving you back your phone.

“Something else like what?” You tease her; riling her up is becoming one of your favorite things.

“Anything you are up to.” Raising her eyebrows, you place your hand on her stomach, gently scratching her skin. She stiffens at the contact but then relaxes, giving you a soft smile.

“What makes you think I am going to say yes?” You once again tease her.

“By your willingness to give me your phone and your hand placement.” She smirks while you retract your hand from her almost unconsciously, feeling the heat of your slight embarrassment settle on your face.

She opens her legs to reach your height, and with a small tug, she makes you come closer to her. She takes you by your sides, gently stroking the skin with her thumb. You were rather small-built, and she had big hands, which you were modestly and unceremoniously obsessed about. Her sudden pull on her made you stumble slightly, making you place your hands on her shoulders to stabilize yourself.

“So, what do you say? Will you let me take you out tonight?” You gently massage the back of her neck while playing with her baby hair.

“I’ll let you know.” You remove yourself from her, already missing the contact, and return to your teammates, leaving her in the hallway.

As soon as you sit in your cubby, you open your phone to see if she isn’t lying and actually put her phone number in your contacts. She did. In style, you could say. She saved herself as Your Favourite Kickboxer ;). That woman had some nerve, you thought, but it made you chuckle in surprise a little too loud, which got the attention of some of your teammates. They began asking you why you took so long to return to the locker room or were smiling dumbly at your phone. You soon shut down any suggestive questions and went in for a shower, making your friends more and more curious.

As soon as you leave the locker room, you meet Mapi and her girlfriend outside the pitch; between hugs and greetings, you enter their car and begin driving to a local bar with them. But before entering the place, you cannot not bring yourself not to text the woman who had been on your mind since the beginning of the day.

‘So you are my favorite kickboxer?” ‘I must say you got some nerve. The first time we met, you kicked me in the groin, and then you already put the salt into the wound.’

‘I had to find a way to make you recognize me.’ She replies almost immediately

‘I don’t know many, Alexias.’

‘Where would the fun be if I only put my name on it?’

‘Fair enough. Now I have a place I need to be. I’ll see you later?’

‘And I have a dog to feed. Yes, I’ll be there in 20 minutes.’

You were ordering some drinks and food while most of her teammates came to the bar and introduced themselves to you. But you were only waiting for someone who made you feel more today than any other girl in the last couple of years. 

“So, what happened with Alexia during the match?” Patri, one of your friend’s teammates, asks you.

“Yeah! I thought it was something serious, but then I saw your teammates burst out laughing, so I didn’t worry too much. Alexia was mortified, though.” Mapi adds, making the conversations shift towards you, waiting for you to answer.

“She didn’t tell you?”

“Oh no, she didn’t. She was very frustrated; you basically turned her into a beginner.” Your friend jokes, earning approval from her teammates, praising your skills.

So you tell them what happened, to make some wince, while your friend who has known you for years now releases a surprised chuckle.

“So that is why your teammates were laughing?”

“Yes, they are assholes. You too.” 

“I’m not laughing at you.” She reassures you. “Alexia has never been that clumsy; she must have been distracted.” She raises her eyebrow knowingly.

“I wasn’t distracted; I just thought the ball was still in the air.” You see a figure approach your table, making many heads turn around to see their captain. Her aura made it evident that she was their leader. As if she had this mask on, which showed her subtle leadership, making you smirk thinking that earlier that day, when you saw glimpses of a different Alexia that probably they didn’t see.

“Good game today, Y/n right?” She extends her arm for you to shake her hand. You innocently take it, thinking that if she wanted to play the game that you were strangers and that literally two hours before didn’t grab you by your waist nor kept looking at your lips, you would comply and play her same game.

“Thank you, Alessia, right?”

“It’s Alexia.” She said, a little irritated, still keeping her hand in yours.

“Oh, sorry, you know me, still working on my Spanish.” You wink at her, with both of you knowing that you did that on purpose.

After your ‘introduction’ to Alexia, the team divided into little groups, making you sit with Mapi and Ingrid, who were the real reasons you were there, and Keira and Lucy, whom you had already met playing against them during your time at Chelsea.

“So when are you coming to Barcelona?” Your friends ask you excitedly.

“What makes you think I want you again as a teammate?” You tease her, making her face turn into a shocked expression. Making the other people at the table chuckle at your witty reply.

“Well, Barcelona has always been your dream. We were supposed to transfer together that year, but you abandoned me for Chelsea.” 

“And I still regret it to this day.” You smile sadly, playing with your food. The year you transferred to Chelsea was one of the worst years of your life; you hated talking about it. It nearly destroyed both your career and yourself. “But the past is in the past, and I still have a contract with Roma.”

“Which will expire in 2024…” Your friend suggests making your room your eyes playfully at her. Making her girlfriend give her a warning look.

“Yes. I am well aware of my contract obligations.”

“So, Y/n.” Ingrid tries to change the subject of the conversation. “Are you single? Boyfriend, OR girlfriend?” You see Alexia from across the bar subtly turn her attention towards your table, waiting for your answer, making you internally chuckle.

“Me? No. I got traumatized.” You laugh to not cry. It was still a sore spot for you; your previous relationship ended badly for you, and you would be lying if it didn't make you more adamant about beginning a new one.

You saw people give you a puzzled look, so you explained what you had just said, “I was in a relationship with this woman for more than four years, but then we ended terms badly. But now I’m great! I’m focusing on my career, and I have a dog, so I’m good!” You try to lighten up the mood; you would hate yourself if the mods of the people around you would change because of you.

“You have a dog?” Lucy asks you excitedly. You quickly take off your phone and show her your lock screen with a picture of Argo, your dog. The fact that you had a dog created a lot of attention towards you; the team swarmed your phone to see the picture, making you chuckle shyly at all the attention given to you.

As the night progressed, you and Alexia would often find each other’s eyes and would share a small smile, something that made you look forward to the next interaction that you would have with her.

You didn’t exactly know what was going on between the two of you; she was making you confused, but at the same time, she made your heart flutter whenever you caught her looking at you.

You didn’t know what it was about her tonight, but you thought she looked stunning. Maybe it was the fact that she wore this comfortableness to her actions that made you want to bask in her aura, or perhaps it was the fact that she wore her hair down, and you literally turned into a gay panic for any pretty girl. Realistically, it was more the latter option.

As many of the girls went home or went to get drinks, this left you the opportunity to be alone with Alexia for the first time in the night. When you sat beside her, she was checking something on her phone, and you decided to make the first move. 

“Hey.” You utter, almost whispering. She takes her eyes off her phone and smiles.

“Hey, you. Are you having fun with your future teammates?” She raises her eyebrows knowingly.

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Everybody thinks I’ll become a Barça player, but what if instead I’ll become a Lyon player?” You joke, both knowing that you would never do that. “But yes, I’m having fun, even though there is someone who has been on my mind all evening.”

She looks around to see if anyone is watching your interactions and then leans closer.

“Oh really? Who is this person?” 

“Well, she is very tall, at least for me, and extremely stunning, and did I mention she has a really pretty smile? Oh, She has really beautiful eyes that, if you look closely enough, you can see some shades of green here and there. And, of course, she has a very powerful left leg.”

“I’ll let you know if I find her. For now, you are stuck with me.” 

“Too bad. I really wanted to ask her something.”

“What did you want to ask her?”

“Well, a question has been burning in my mind for the whole evening.”

“Which is?”

“Wouldn’t you want to know?” You tease her as Mapi and Ingrid come back to the table and begin a conversation with the both of you about her cat; then you hear the sound of your phone; you really hoped it wasn’t your coach wondering where you were.

You didn’t expect a text from the person in front of you.

Your Favourite Kickboxer ;)

‘Meet me in the bathroom’

You look at her, slightly puzzled, but she spurs you on with her eyes. She stands up from the table and excuses herself to go to the bathroom, thus beginning your thoughts on what justification to find to excuse herself from the table.

If you said that you had to go to the bathroom too, it felt like it would be weird, but if you threw a glass of water at yourself, it would be deemed as overdoing. Amid the panic, as you feel that time is running out, you do the second option and try accidentally throwing your glass of water on your hands. For your delusional mind, you thought that your plan actually worked perfectly, whereas for the other two people at the table, it just felt confusing and unnecessary.

You quickly go to the bathroom to dry your hands when you feel two hands sneak up on your waist from behind and perfume that is completely intoxicating you. You turn around with your hands leaning on the sink and finally see the woman consuming every fiber of your being just with her gaze. It was hungry, but at the same time, it transmitted this softness that totally fucked up your brain, not understanding clearly her intentions. But you didn’t care as of right now; that would be a problem for the future you. 

“Took you long enough.” She chuckles gently, caressing your clothed waist. 

“I had to find a way to excuse myself.” You put your hands on her shoulders, eliminating more space between the two of you, turning your lips in a soft grin when you saw her hunching a little her back to better look at you.

“Come home with me tonight.” She whispers earnestly while she slots her leg between yours, coming impossibly closer to you. Only a few inches divided you from her, her lips from yours. You didn’t drink that evening but felt utterly intoxicated by her. Everything about her made you want to throw caution out the window or, given the setting, down the sink.

You couldn’t speak. At least not something coherent, so you slowly nodded. Her lips were mere centimeters from yours, making you want so badly and so needily to close that unnecessary space and finally taste her. You thought she was reading your mind because your noses touched, making her wait for you to do the final step. 

You put your hand on her chest, “As much as I want to kiss you.” She released a low moan, making you shiver and forget your train of thought. “As much as I want to kiss you because I really do.” She lets her head fall over your shoulders, lightly kissing your neck, making a shiver course through your body, filling with goosebumps in the area. “We have friends to go back to.”

“Mmm mmm.” She goes back to kissing your neck, lightly pulling your hair to move your head to give her better access, which you obviously grant her.

“Alexia.” You warn her weakly. You were really enjoying what she was doing to you.

“Ten more seconds.” She muffles while she moves her hands all over your waist, shoulders, and back, trying to take you all in, not wanting to let go of the moment.

After at least half a minute, you warn her once again. “Alexia.”

You feel her inhale by the tickling on your neck that the air to her lungs was causing. She turns her head to look at you and then quickly pecks the corner of your lips.

“I’m done.” She quickly goes out of the bathroom, leaving you frozen in the spot recounting what just happened, still feeling her hands and lips on you.

You turn around to the sink and wash your face to sober up. It didn’t work. And you went back inside the bar.

Mapi was paying the check for her and Ingrid, “Oh hey. We are about to leave. Is it okay for you?”

“Oh, don’t worry. Alexia offered to bring me back to the hotel; she told me that she had to go that way to get to her house, so it would not be a problem for her. Plus, I know you live on the opposite side of where I’m staying.”

“Are you sure? Because for me, it’s not a problem.” She asks.

“I’m sure.” You reassure her. You saw Alexia getting her stuff and yours. “I’ll see you during National Break?” You tell her, hugging her tightly, that you missed being on the same team as her.

“Don’t do anything stupid, okay?” She advises you, making you subconsciously look at Alexia, who is talking to Ingrid.

“Me? Never.”

You go to Ingrid, hug her goodbye, and tell her it was a pleasure to have met her. Then Alexia hands you your stuff. And you go to her car together.

In the car, the air filled with a kind of tension that you couldn’t quite grasp. Less than eight hours ago, you didn’t even know each other, but somehow, the ride to her house wasn’t awkward. It was full of anticipation for what was about to come. “How long have you known Mapi?” She tries to break the silence, genuinely curious about how you know her friend and teammate.

“We played for Atletico Madrid together, became fast friends, and have been in contact ever since. It was true what she said; we were meant to transfer together in 2017. We loved playing together. But then life got in the way.”

“You know, it’s so weird that our teams have played so many times against each other, even in Champions League games or Euros, but today was the first time we actually played against each other.” She points out, never moving her eyes from the road.

“Well, look how it played out.” You joke. 

“I already apologized many times, actually. But I already told you I’ll make it up to you.” She smirks, placing her hand on your thigh, drawing little shapes on your jeans.

“I wonder how.” You whisper to yourself, focusing on the hand that is right now inching closer and closer to your center.

As soon as you get to her home, and as she opens the door to her house, you make her turn around to you, and you pin her against the door; with your hands on her muscular waist, keeping her there, you go on your tippy toes, and for the first time during the night, you kiss her. It was soft and made her understand how much you wanted this, almost reassuring. You could see that she was nervous during the car ride, and you wanted to take some of it away. Honestly, you were nervous, too.

You usually weren’t one for hookups; you’d always preferred to have something serious or nothing at all. But there was something about her that made you change that idea.

You knew it was wrong, that after that night, you would probably see her again on the pitch, and knowing what you were doing now would distract you. But she was there, looking beautiful as always, clinging to you, with her hands covering your cheeks, making the consequences worth it.

“That was definitely worth waiting for.” She chuckles, putting your foreheads together. “Let’s get inside.” She utters, almost whispering, taking you by the hand and bringing you inside her home. She closes the door and pushes you to the wall, covering your body with hers. Her hands were roaming everywhere as she brought you into a searing kiss. Her perfume intoxicated your nostrils, and all your senses had become her. You lose yourself in her sensations as she picks you up from the ground as if you weighed nothing, and you wrap your legs around her. You stop the kiss to look at her. She was beautiful. She was wearing a contagious smile that contrasted her blown-out pupils; this softness of her, even during these moments, made you go crazy. 

 “Take me to your bedroom.” You whisper softly, placing a soft peck on her lips.

-

As you lay on her bed in pure carnal bliss, looking at the wall, you thought you were hallucinating. She was actually there, and this was happening, or better, it had just happened. And as you lay there, you thought you were happy. Maybe it was just her or the fact that she had just given you more than an orgasm, something that hadn’t happened for more than two years since you broke up with your ex-girlfriend. 

You were still in your head, which worried the woman lying beside you a little. She shifts to your side and puts a hand on your waist, giving you soothing strokes to ask for your attention. You turn your head, snapping out of your thoughts.

“You okay?” She wonders, furrowing her eyebrows, worried that she had taken things too far. You hated seeing that expression on her, so you kissed her lips, trying to convey all your feelings instantly.

You thought it was an awful lot of emotions for a simple hookup, but that was a problem for a future you.

“I’m great.” You reassure her, shifting, laying on her side, and indulging in some cuddling. She drew patterns on your back while you ran up and down with your fingers through the middle of her chest, making her sigh contently. It wasn’t a touch with any malicious or sexual motive but a way to touch and memorize her body. To never forget the fantastic night that she has given to you.

She brings you closer to her, and your lips meet again. It was the softest kiss that she had given you. You get on top of her, pulling her hands on your back until they reach your breasts, making her understand what was on your mind.

-

That morning, you woke up with your hair disheveled and a nasty headache. You hadn’t slept at all, and you were clearly late.

You look at the clock and curse to yourself. Alexia was still sleeping peacefully beside you, lying on her front, showing all her tattoos on the back. You caress her muscular back, trying to wake her up. This might be a hookup, but you weren’t an asshole, so you would at least wake her to tell her that you would leave, and frankly, you didn’t want to intrude; she might have places to be.

“Ale. Svegliati.” You whisper, making her twitch her eyes, slowly waking up. She opens her eyes to see her surroundings, then closes them again, and her face adorns with the most relaxed smile you have ever seen. You thought you didn’t know someone more cute than she was right now. 

“Hey.” Her voice was still raspy and low, and she had no intention to move from her position. “We fell asleep.” She points out. You were meant to leave around 2 AM to return to the hotel so that nobody would notice you were gone. But now it was too late. It was already morning, and at 10 AM, you needed to take the bus to leave for the airport.

She gets up from the bed and goes to the bathroom, still naked, making you glance at her body hopelessly. You get dressed, putting on the same clothes you had on the night before, when she gets back in the room, with clothes on this time, and sit next to you, putting some shoes on.

“So breakfast?” She asks casually, while you stare at her dumbly, not expecting that question. More expecting her to kick you out of the house. 

“Well, it’s the least you could do.” She continues, almost as if she was stating the obvious. “After all we did last night, we don’t have to act like strangers.” She explains shyly.

“How about coffee?” You offer instead, with both of you clearly not wanting to let each other go. “I really have to be back at the hotel. Actually, I should have been there two hours ago.”

“Sorry. I completely forgot to put the alarm on. Usually, I sleep in after a match.”

“Don’t worry about it. You have already made it up to me enough last night.” You joke, making her crack a smile.

“I had a really good time last night.” She hides her face, turning her head down to look at her shoes.

“Me too.” You reply, placing a hand on her knee. 

“So, coffee?” She turns to you, hopefully.

You slowly nod, standing up and waiting for her to lead. She takes you to this small coffee shop near her house with her dog. Which you finally met, as you were a little too occupied last night to properly meet her.

She brings you coffee at the table, and you fall into a very peaceful conversation that people who have known each other for a long time would have. It was as if you had just clicked. There was no awkwardness, just conversations flowing simply and carelessly. She offers to bring you back to the hotel.

You hug her awkwardly, saying you would see her again during the national break for the scrimmage against Spain, the first game after winning the World Cup.

As you quickly snuck up to your room, hoping nobody from your team would see you, you had a quick shower to wash off the night before and pack up your stuff, clearly focusing a little more on putting away the shirt you swapped with Alexia. As you looked in the mirror, you saw the heavy bags under your eyes. You were sleep-deprived, so you put some sunglasses on to hide it from your curious teammates.

As you are on the way to the bus, you reminisce the night before and mentally curse yourself for all the feelings that you put aside during the whole day for the future you, which coincidentally was you of now. 

You were the last to go inside the bus, making your teammates tease you and whistle jokingly to you, making small comments like “Rough night?” Or “Did you have fun?”

You sit next to your usual roommate, still with your sunglasses on and about to put your headphones in, when she turns to you expectantly.

“So, how was your night out.” Air quoting the last part, giving you a knowing grin.

“It was good. How was your night.” You ask innocently.

“Cut the crap! You have your sunglasses on, you didn’t come back to the room tonight, and you have a slight limp. Who is it? Is it your defender, friend? Or is it someone else from the group?” She wonders curiously, making you roll your eyes at her and sigh loudly, clearly showing her your annoyance.

“A, I did come back to the hotel! You were just asleep!” You try to sound as convincing as possible. “B, Mapi is in a relationship, and she is like my sister! I would never hook up with her!” 

“So there was someone.” She smirks.

“I didn’t say that. You’re just going crazy. Did you eat some hallucinating mushrooms? Did you think that they were normal mushrooms, but instead, they tasted strange?”

“You’re an idiot. But whatever you did last night, I hope you had fun.”

“I didn’t do anything out of the normal stuff you do when you go out with your friends. But yes, it was nice. Now I’ll sleep.”

-

It was a national break, which meant that you were in Roma, this time, to train with your fellow national teammates. After your underwhelming World Cup and Euros run, you just got a new coach to train your squad. You really hoped that she would be better than the last one.

You were on the training pitch joking and laughing with your other teammates, juggling and passing the ball to each other, when she came on the pitch, making everyone stop in their place looking at her.

As she introduced herself to everyone, you could already see that she was not there to joke around. She was serious and precisely decided her words, but she was passionate about her new job.

“We have two weeks to prepare for the friendly against Spain. I want to create a team with a good mix of experience and fresh talent. All of you are talented girls, but I want to see you in action to create an efficient and strong team.”

The three captains go up to her and introduce themselves and the squad. While you began to juggle the ball to keep your mind off the current situation. You always hated when you changed coach; you thought you needed to prove yourself to them to be accepted in the squad, making you completely doubt your capabilities.

What made you nervous was that she wanted to rejuvenate the squad. Your previous coach tried to do that, but she failed miserably. Many great players were left out of the roster that you could’ve definitely used in the World Cup, so you really hoped that her plan was better than the other’s coach, hoping that she wouldn’t take you off the roster. 

So you gave it your all in practice, trying to impress her and, at the same time, prove to yourself that you deserved to be there. Even running laps without complaining, shocking your teammates, as it had become an inside joke that you wouldn’t run even if the world was ending. Which wasn’t quite right. Yes, you hated running, but on the pitch, you gave it your all.

They called you the female version of Daniele De Rossi since you played in Roma and had his number on, and sometimes gave you the same nickname as him, Capitan Futuro, because of your leadership and tenacity, even though when people looked at your style, they were more reminded of Pirlo’s or Busquets. But he still remained your idol. 

As soon as you finished practice, you were about to leave the pitch when the coach called you to come to her, making your heartbeat from the nervousness. 

“Y/n, come here for a second.” She made you a sign with your hand, and you ran up to her.

“Hey, Mister.” You smile politely at her, crossing your arms.

“Good job today, I have to say-“

“That I didn’t make it to the team? I know. I am a very particular player, so I get it if you want to have someone that better fits your team. I get it; I’ll pack my stuff.” You ramble quickly out of nervousness.

The coach chuckles at your antiques, “Rule number 1, Y/n. Never underestimate yourself. If you think you don’t deserve to be here, then you shouldn’t.” She says seriously, making you unconsciously straighten your back.

“I know; it’s just you are known as a brutal coach who doesn’t care about others’ opinions and is known to make very bold choices. I know that I deserve to be here; I’ve always been on the starting 11 in any important match, when not injured, of course. It’s a great honor to work with you.” You praise her, trying to make up for the bad impression.

“Likewise. But I have to ask.” She begins while studying you curiously.

“Sure, ask away.”

“Why are you here at Roma when you could be anywhere else? Who can actually give you the chance to use your full potential?” She asks so directly, making you blink twice.

“What, sorry?”

“I know that Barcelona, Lyon, Chelsea, and Arsenal all wanted you and actually offered big money to Roma for you, but you always declined. I wonder why, that’s it. I just think you are wasting your prime here.”

“I have a contract with Roma until 2024, then I’ll decide my future. As for the teams, I know that they are interested. Barcelona phones my agent almost every year. But I already informed them that I won’t accept any offer until the end of the season. I feel like I would let down the club. I told them that I would be there until 2024, so I’ll be there until 2024. It’s the least I could do after everything they did for me.”

She raises her eyebrow, amused, “Well, that didn’t happen for Chelsea. I followed your career and thought you were having a great season with the club.”

“I left Chelsea for personal reasons.” You turn your head skeptically. “With all due respect, coach, why are my career choices that important?”

“I just want to understand if I am going to make the right choice.”

“What choice?”

“You, Y/n, are going to be my new team captain.”

-

As soon as you go to the locker room, you go to your three team captains and ask them for an explanation.

“You know, they want to strip off your captaincy.” You say, wearing a disgusted expression to Cristiana Girelli. “You cannot let her do that! It’s disrespectful.” You say angrily.

“Y/n, look at me. I told her I wanted to step back from the national team. I’m getting older, and my time has already come. This is a new era. And you are the perfect skipper. They call you the Capitan Futuro for a reason.”

“But what about Barbara? And Elena? They are too, the captains.” You say sadly, clearly not wanting to take their place.

“Barbara decided to step down from the national team like me. Elena thought that you were the right choice as a skipper. She’s going to be your co-captain. We’ve already arranged everything. You just have to say yes.” You always looked up to Cristiana; she was your mentor, especially in the national team. If you were the player you are today, it was partly because of her.

“Do you think I could be a good skipper?” You ask her shyly, “I’ve never been an actual captain; with Roma, I’m the third, but the actual one? Do I make the cut for it?” You hated yourself for being this insecure.

She takes you by the shoulders. “You, Y/n, transmit something when you are on the pitch that not many people do. You make the team more calm and lucid. Knowing that you are back there allows everyone to be more free on the pitch. You are our most important player, on and off the pitch. So the armband is yours. You deserve it.” She gives you a reassuring hug, “Now go back to change; you are all sweaty!”

-

As the two weeks passed, you were really happy with the coach and the team. When the team found out that you would lead them, they were ecstatic, making you a little more comfortable with your new position.

The Spanish team would arrive two days before the match, and you were happy to see Mapi again and extremely stressed out to see Alexia. You didn’t talk or text after the night that you shared together; you both followed each other on Instagram, which you were stalking daily, but you didn’t give much thought to that.

You weren’t a simp. Especially for a girl that you have seen only for a day. You had some self-respect. That is what you were trying to convince yourself to believe. So you told yourself that you would avoid her at all costs. You were the skipper now, and you had to be extremely focused.

The plan failed miserably when you asked Mapi two nights before the match to meet up at a place for some drinks. She had never been to Roma and wanted to visit the city. What you didn’t expect was for her to invite some of her teammates. It’s not the fact that there were other people with you because you loved the Spanish girls, especially the ones from Barcelona, as you had already hung out with them previously.

Still, you were really scared of meeting Alexia again. Your fear turned out to be plausible because of the five players there, Alexia was one of them.

During the afternoon, you showed the Spanish girls, Roma, while they teased you, saying that you were almost better as a tour guide than a football player. They didn’t know you were making stuff up along the way, trying to act cool and knowledgeable.

You could see that Alexia would sometimes look at you, as her gaze would pierce holes at the back of your skull, but whenever your eyes would meet, you would soon avoid her gaze. You told yourself to avoid her, and that is what you did. What was more painful, though, was that she would look like a kicked puppy, making you feel very guilty for what you were doing.

After walking for a while, the girls wanted to try the typical ‘Aperitivo’ famous worldwide, so you brought them to a little place with a great view that you knew wouldn’t disappoint. They all ordered Aperol Spritz, apart from you, making them look at you a little puzzled.

“Oh, I don’t drink that much.” You explain while Mapi raises an eyebrow and chuckles.

“Okay, I usually don’t drink during the season.” She raises her eyebrow again.

“I only drink on special occasions.” Eying Mapi for making you sound like an alcoholic.

“When we won La Liga in 2017, we went out to party, and she didn’t hold back.” She glances at her, trying to make her understand to stop talking.

“And we are done with the conversation now. So, how’s Barça?”

You begin to share stories and funny anecdotes about your respective clubs, making you really happy to have decided to spend the afternoon with them. They were a tight group, and you could see that they deeply cared for one another.

As you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom, you quickly clean your hands, thinking about some random stuff, when your thoughts were interrupted by the door of the women’s bathroom swinging, finding yourself in front of you, the person you were categorically avoiding.

“Alexia, Hi!” You say, still a little shocked. She was still at the door, clearly trying to make some space between the two of you. She closes the door and then turns to you, crossing her arms.

“Are you avoiding me?” She asks you to wear this vulnerability, which is very uncharacteristic. Making you want to do anything to reassure her that it wasn’t true and make her feel better. You hated seeing her like this. But you were avoiding her.

“I-I.” You didn’t know how to reply.

“Because it’s very annoying, especially when we decided to be civil about this and not act like strangers. If you have a problem, that’s on you.” She was irritated and had every right to be; you were acting like an asshole, and she didn’t do anything to deserve that treatment. She was about to leave when you gently grabbed her hand,

“I’m sorry, okay? I just wasn’t expecting you to be here today. And you come here looking like this. It’s not helping.”

“Looking like what?” She takes a step closer to you, wearing a proud smirk. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” She was making you go crazy; your mind was hazy, fully intoxicated by her.

“Like what?” 

“Like you’ve seen me naked.” You reply. She replies, only smirking more and raising her eyebrows. She has seen you naked, and she was acknowledging that. She was coming closer to you, making you retreat to the wall.

“Alexia…” You warn her once. She knew that it wouldn’t stop her because you were enjoying this. “We have to act like professionals.” She took you by the waist and began kissing your neck. “This. It is not professional. It’s wrong.” You barely utter, trying to contain any sign that you are enjoying this. Which you were. So damn much.

“Your heartbeat says otherwise.” She gives you a kiss where you are most sensitive on the neck. She still remembered. Making you shiver. “Your skin tells me otherwise. It’s covered in goosebumps.” She leaves a small kiss till she reaches the back of your ear, whispering, “Tell me to stop, and I will.” 

You couldn’t reply. She was right. You didn’t want her to stop. You missed how her kisses made you feel, how her perfume intoxicated all of your senses, or how her hands, warm and comforting hands would roam all over your body in search of new skin to touch. She was lighting a fire that you knew you couldn’t put out. And frankly, you didn’t want to; you wanted that fire to consume you, leaving nothing but her behind.

“We can’t hook up in here.” You state, closing your eyes, getting lost in her. 

“Are you sure?”

“Come back home with me.” You blurt out, clearly not thinking about the consequences.

“So much for acting professionally.” She winks and then leaves you alone in the bathroom once again. You really had to stop going to the bathroom when you were out together.

When you both come out, you quickly find an excuse for you to leave. Thankfully, they had the hotel nearby, so they wouldn’t have to leave by car. Alexia told them that she had to buy some souvenirs for her sister, so she was going to come back late.

-

You get to your home by car, which fortunately wasn’t that far from where you were with your friends before, and you make her quickly come in, leading her without any hesitation to your bedroom. You were a girl with a mission.

As soon as you enter the room, you push her onto the bed and get on her lap, taking off your shirt in the process. She places her hands on the back of your shoulders, finally being able to touch your skin. You sigh at her touch as if you were finally able to breathe again.

Your faces were inches away from touching, but neither of you wanted to take that step, juggling anticipation with teasing. You were the one that surrendered, whispering, “Kiss me” To her lips as they soon met yours. It was excruciatingly slow, passionate, and tender. It was the first time that you kissed since the first time, and you finally realized just how much you missed it. Maybe too much for a simple two-night stand, but again, it was a problem for the future you.

As you lay together once again, this time in your bed together, both exhausted, even though it was barely time for dinner. She was lying on her front, with the sheets draping down her body, showing her strong back. She hugged the pillow, still keeping her eyes closed, fully relaxed. You loved seeing her like this. You let yourself leave a kiss on her temple while still stroking her hair, making her smile. She took your hand and slowly interlaced it with her, then kissed the back of your hand. “Hungry?” You ask her when she nods profusely.

“What do you want to eat?”

“Whatever you have.” You go to get up from your bed, and you throw on the first shirt that you find, which was hers, and you leave the room.

“Come back quickly. I want to stay in bed with you.” She tells you, making you chuckle at her cuteness.

You quickly retrieve some cookies and Nutella and return to your room. You place the food near your nightstand and roam for a shirt in your closet.

“Do you want a shirt?” You ask her.

“Yes, please.”

You throw her one of your old shirts from when you were younger, and she puts it on right away and subtly smells it.

Then you offer her some food.

“Where did you get these? They are so good.” She asks you while taking a huge bite.

“I make them.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah. Usually, before a match, I get a little nervous, so I bake. It’s my way of coping with anxiety. I usually share cookies with my teammates in secret. So that our nutritionist won’t say anything.”

“These are good!” She says. “They are very similar to the ones that Mapi did once.” Then it clicks for her. “Wait. Were you the one that taught her?”

“Who do you think she got the recipe from?” You chuckle.

“Yours are better, though. Like way better.”

“I know ’cause my recipe differs from the one I gave her. Mine is the real one. My dad would always say to never give out your recipes. They are a family’s inheritance.”

“You Italians are so weird with food and so extra.” She remarks, making you playfully slap her shoulder.

“We are not extra; you Spanish people are extra with your paella and the Jamon Iberico, or ‘Patanegra.’ You can find it cheaper here, and it is just as good.”

“That’s offensive. It’s like saying that Italian food is better than Spanish.” She says, clearly trying to rile you up.

“You did not just say that!” You put your hands on her thighs, looking at her, shocked.

“I did. And I don’t regret it.” She gives you a small peck on the lips and then goes on eating her cookie.

“You are lucky that you are cute.”

“Or else what? You are going to throw me out of your home?” She remarks playfully.

“I could if I wanted to, but then I’d be here all alone, without any clothes on, without anyone to keep me company.” You pout jokingly, making your voice even more needy to make fun of her.

In a swift movement, she pins you down the mattress with her fingers running up your thigh. “Thankfully, you are not alone.” She gives you a quick kiss. “By the way, you do look good with my shirt on, but you know what would make you look even better? If you took it off. So be a good girl for me and take it off.”

It was past midnight, you were both exhausted, and you were nearly falling asleep. You were lying on her side, slowly tracing her facial features with your fingers, trying to remember every little crease and mole that made up her skin.

“What are you doing?” She smiles, feeling slightly ticklish

“I’m trying to memorize your face. For the next time, we will see each other.” You say earnestly, not stopping your caresses.

“See. You cannot say stuff like that and expect me to not have a reaction.” She chuckles lightly.

“Maybe I want you to have a reaction to my words.” You say innocently, stopping your movements to kiss her soft lips.

“What are we doing here? What are we?” She asks you, making you retreat from your position sitting up.

“I don’t know.”

“Me neither. But I like this. Whatever this is.”

“Me too. We don’t have to label it. Can we just be? Is that okay for you?”

“I’m okay with it. Now come back here.” She offers her embrace to you, which you gladly accept, burying your face in her hair while she fatherly strokes your back, making your skin full of goosebumps. You sigh contently at the sensation.

“Can I ask you something?” You move yourself to better look at her.

“What?”

“I know that we are not an item or whatever, but I was just curious as to what happened with Chelsea. You can totally tell me to fuck off, and I won’t bring up the argument again, but you are known for always being very respectful to your clubs, and you always wait for a contract to finish before transferring, so I was wondering what made you change clubs.”

“Are you asking because you care or because you want a story? Because I really don’t like to talk about it, and if you don’t care, I’d rather not talk about it.”

“I asked because I care. I ask because since I have known you, I want to get to know you. I ask because you are a great person and I care”

“Okay,” You take a deep breath, and you begin. “This is going to be a long story.” You chuckle. “What do you know about my history with Chelsea?”

“I know that you transferred there after being at Atletico, but you sent in a transfer request soon after, and you came to Roma. That’s it.”

“You don’t know the reason, though, right?”

“There were just rumors, but I don’t know anything, and I don’t tend to believe rumors, as the majority of them are false.”

“Okay. So, to begin my story, we have to go back to my college years in the US. So basically, during those years, three major things happened: I got my degree in physiotherapy, met my best friend, and got a girlfriend who also wanted to become a physiotherapist.”

You told her how she was British and how you thought she was perfect for you. “Frankly, looking back at it now, we were very toxic for each other. We loved each other very much, but it was our first real relationship both of us. And honestly, I thought that I was going to marry her; maybe it was just me who was so in love with that girl that I didn’t even know how to distinguish and understand her flaws. But again, she was my first real relationship, and she knew how to use my weaknesses against me to get me to do what she wanted. My best friend hated her; probably, that should have been the first sign. We would fight and then make up, and then she would guilt trip me into doing stuff for her.”

“That doesn’t look like a really healthy relationship.”

“Well, yeah, I was really young and dumb. But anyway, when I went to Atletico, we tried to have a long-distance relationship. She found a job as a therapist at the Chelsea women’s team, and her career too was taking off. When Mapi and I finished the contract with Atletico, and she moved to Barça, I was to move there too. I knew that Barcelona was interested, and Barça was my dream. Honestly, it still is. But then she called me, the day before deciding on my future, saying that her mom was sick and she needed me. Probably, she just wanted to be able to see me more. So I stopped waiting for Barça's proposal and told Chelsea I would transfer for them. In the beginning, I loved being at Chelsea. I have always supported the club, and I fit their style of play. My career was taking off quickly, and I was wearing myself thin. Her mom was getting worse, so my time was divided between training and hospital visits. For my ex-girlfriend, her mom was like my dad to me. So, I understood how important she was to her, and I thought that if I stayed with her mom and kept her company, my ex would be happy. That is what I would want if my dad were to be sick. I would just want him to have all the support, not caring about myself if that meant for him to improve.”

“That’s not very healthy.”

“But if it were your father, you would do the same thing too, right?”

“Yeah.” She replies sadly. “I did the same thing.”

“So I guess I started neglecting my ex a little? I think. I know she was suffering, and I knew I could’ve done more to give her the support she needed, but I didn’t. I would train, go to the hospital, and then sleep. I was exhausted and couldn’t keep up with myself and her needs. Looking back at it now, I probably would have done things differently; I would’ve tried to not wear myself out that thin.”

“You were young.”

“Yeah, I guess. So I remember that one day, and I still remember the date. Don’t ask why; I just do. Her mom was getting worse, and she was exhausted, so I thought that I would let her go to sleep while I would try to keep her mom company. As she left, I stayed with her until the time was up, and I went back home and I-“

“No, she didn’t.” She says incredulously.

“Yeah. I caught her cheating on me with one of my teammates.”

“That whore.” She replies angrily.

“Well, she eventually married that woman, so I guess not.” You chuckle at her angry expression. “She told me that I wasn’t giving her the support that she needed and that the other girl was giving it to her. I got all of my clothes and left. I was still playing at Chelsea, but then word spread out that I was the one that cheated. Everyone started to treat me differently. I didn’t play anymore; I was always on the bench, and nobody talked to me. I reached my last straw, so I requested a transfer. Barça tried to sign me; I also wanted to go there. Everything was settled; I was about to leave when they blocked the offer and allowed me to decide between two Italian clubs, Roma and Juventus. And here I am.”

“So you stayed with her dying mother, and she had the audacity to cheat on you?”

“I guess? I don’t know Alexia. So much time has passed, and I don’t want to think about it anymore. She’s happy now, I guess. Honestly, I am happy too. I am really glad though that you won the Champion’s League final against them.”

“I am even more glad, too, now.” She brings you on top of her and gives you a hug, kissing the crown of your hair. “I am glad that you trusted me enough to tell me this. I hope that you know that you deserve better than her. You deserve the world. Her actions don’t define you, and don’t even think that you deserve what she did to you.”

“But what if-“You say insecurely when she interrupts you.

“No what ifs. You did what you thought was right, and by doing so, you put yourself second to everything else. You have no right to blame yourself for what she did.” She puts her hands on your cheeks and makes you look at her. “Okay?”

“Okay.” It was incredible how she knew what exact words to say and how, by her saying them, you actually believed them somehow.

Suddenly, you felt your heart crack open for her to enter inside it. And you realized that what you had with her wasn’t just sex. It was something deeper. In so little time, she was able to heal you from your past and open up again. And that scared you, no, it frightened you.

You had built the highest walls, and for the two days you had been with her, she could make them crumble. You were feeling too much; she was making you feel too much. You wanted to run away. Clear your head. Push her out of the way and never see her again. But you couldn’t bring yourself to move from her. Her embrace was what had grounded you. You weren’t drowning in her. She was your oxygen. And you were finally surfacing up from the depths of your mind to finally heal. This realization hit you like a ton of bricks, making you do the first thing your mind could think of. Which was kissing her.

You kissed her hard and passionately, trying to convey all the emotions to her, to show her how much her words affected you. Your action caught her by surprise, but she soon adjusted to it. You trail your kisses down her chest, then to her abdomen. Praising the body of the woman who had made you feel more today than anything your ex or anyone had ever done previously. 

-

The morning after, you wake up with an arm draped around your waist, holding you down. She tightens her arm around you as you try to tangle yourself out of her embrace.

“So you are just pretending to be asleep.” You smile at her, trying to take off her strong and dead-weight arm from your body.

“Five more minutes.” She fully snuggles into you.

“I have to shower, and you have to get back to your teammates.” You try to reason with her. “And we have to have breakfast.”

“Five more minutes.” She continues.

“Okay, but only five.” She pulls herself on top of you, spurring you to play with her hair, which you do, and the five minutes turn into ten. And then you both realize that you have to get up.

You decide to shower together ‘to save water.’ You both wash each other’s hair and back, this act of intimacy making your heart swell with affection for the girl who was currently hugging you from behind. 

You both have breakfast in your little kitchen, with conversations flowing effortlessly, alternating between joking around and surfacing more serious topics.

You could not but point out to yourself that this was what was supposed to feel like when you were in a relationship with someone. But you weren’t in a relationship with her. She liked the idea of not labeling this thing between the two of you and hell, you didn’t want to complicate stuff just because of some confusing and all-over-the-place feelings.

You bring her back to the hotel, telling each other that you will see them during the match that will take place the next day.

You put your sunglasses on, which you thought maybe were your post-hookup outfit choice, and you get to the training center. It would be your last session before tomorrow’s game.

As soon as you enter the locker room, your teammates from Roma chuckle at you.

“Fun night?” They tease you.

“I don’t know what you are all talking about.” Making some other teammates look at you curiously while you showed them the finger.

“So basically, we think Y/n is hooking up with a Barça player. So now she gave us another clue: She is Spanish.”

“I’m not hooking up with anybody. And it’s none of your business; I’m your captain. Get back to train!” You say, slightly irritated.

You quickly put your training gear on, realizing you were still wearing Alexia’s shirt, and then get on the pitch.

The coach comes soon after and calls you to revise some tactics.

“So you, Y/n, if Putellas is starting, you are going to be the one that will mark her.” Her surname makes your mind have flashbacks of your previous night. “You basically annulled her in the last game, so expect you to do the same tomorrow.”

“Yes, coach.”

“If Patri starts instead, you will mark Bonmatì.”

That evening, you were nervous, to say the least. It was your first match as the Italian captain, and you really wanted it to go well. So you started baking. You baked enough cookies for an army.

So you decided to leave some for Mapi, who has always loved eating them, and your pathetic ass also saved some for Alexia in the hopes that she would come and find you after the game.

It was match day. Alexia was in the starting 11, and your parents were in the stands supporting you, and as you were leading your team to the pitch, you felt a sense of pride. 

As you go to exchange the badge with the captain of the other team, Alexia, she tries to contain a smile that was creeping on her lips.

You shake her hand and give her the Italian badge. “Hello, Captain.” You greet her.

“Hello to you too, Captain.” She replies. You finish the formalities, and then you go to each other’s respective pitches.

Today, you would give it your all; nobody would stop you.

You were all over the pitch trying to help your teammates and leading them to score, but unfortunately, the Spanish team was a force to be reckoned with, and they exploited all of the weaknesses of your team. They were world champions for a reason. Thankfully, you were able to hold off a draw.

The first time that you had to mark Alexia, it was a free kick for Spain because of an offside.

“The armband has a good look on you.” She beams at you proudly.

“Well, the star looks good on your badge.” You reply. 

“Don’t you dare try to distract me.” She warns you.

“When did I ever do such a thing?” You reply dumbly. “I should be the one warning you not to kick me!” Mapi was about to throw the ball; thankfully, it didn’t land in the direction of Alexia because seeing her again on the pitch was making you feel a little distracted, and you’d really hate it if your team lost because of one of your mistakes. 

The rest of the times you interacted with her, you would snatch the ball away from her in most cases. You were working tirelessly, trying not to concede a goal. At half-time, you were exhausted, but you had something to prove. After half-time, Alexia was getting more annoyed; she really wanted a win as it would be their first win after their World Cup.

You knew you would get subbed off at the 70th minute to give some space for subs, so until then, you would give your 100%. It was the 65th minute, and there was a throw-in for Spain. Alexia was trying to get the ball from her teammates, and with a miscalculated movement, she quickly moved her elbow, which hit your nose, making acute pain grow in the middle of her face.

“Cazzo!” You scream. You throw yourself to the ground, still in pain, smelling iron and feeling a warm liquid in your hands.

The game quickly stopped, and Alexia turned to you, kneeling and touching your scapula. 

You were mad; you had once broken your nose more than five years ago, and it wasn’t pretty, and hated when people touched you when you were irritated, so you lashed out at her. “Don’t fucking touch me.” You squirm away from her touch,

“I’m sorry.” She says regretfully.

“You fucking did it on purpose, huh? If it’s broken, don’t you dare talk to me again!” 

Your team swarms you, pushing Alexia away. 

Linari, remove your hands from your face while keeping your eyes closed. “Is there blood? Wait, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know, or else I am going to cry or faint.”

You open your eyes for a moment and look at your teammates; they all are very worried. Linari was stomping towards Alexia, screaming in her face, but you couldn’t hear properly; your mind was a little hazy from the pain. 

You look at your hands; they are full of blood, and you begin to panic. You sit up and begin touching your nose, removing more blood, but you can still feel it flowing. 

The medics were running to you. “How bad is it?”

They inspect your nose, “It’s not broken; the impact broke some blood vessels, and you burst your lip. That’s why there is so much blood.

“Can you make it stop? I want to finish the game.” You look at your coach; she signs you to come off the pitch. 

You stand up, take your armband off, give it to your co-captain, and leave the pitch. You go to your coach, who reassures you that she doesn’t want you to risk anything for a friendly

-.

The medics brought you to the physio room and gave you some ice to put on your nose. Thankfully, the bleeding stopped soon after, and you were left watching the game on the TV while waiting for your teammates. You were happy that your team was able to hold a draw. As soon as the game finished, you were swarmed by your teammates checking up on you. You told them that you were okay, and then you began laughing and joking.

They stayed there for five more minutes, and then you heard a knock on the door, and you saw some of the Spanish girls checking up on you. Your team slowly exited the room, giving the death stare at Alexia, who shamefully wouldn’t look at you.

“You okay?” Mapi asked worriedly.

“I’m good. Thankfully, it is nothing serious; the impact burst some vessels, that’s why there was so much blood.”

They stayed there for another five minutes while Alexia stayed in the corner awkwardly looking at her teammates, never looking at you. As they were about to leave, you called her to stay a little longer.

“I’m sorry if I lashed out.” You say regretfully, holding out your hand for her to grab it while pulling her near you. “I know that you didn’t do it on purpose. It’s just- I had already broken my nose and didn’t want to break it again.”

“I’m really sorry.” For the first time, she looked at you; she had this kicked puppy look that you hated seeing on her face.

She takes the ice from your hand and slowly takes it off your face to check the bruising.

“Do I look that bad?” You try to joke; half of your face is red and really swollen.

“You look beautiful as ever.” She smiles.

You blush at her words, “You just say that because you were the one that caused it.”

“You know that I got screamed at by your teammates?”

“Linari?”

“Yep, Apparently, she knows Spanish really well. Honestly, I deserve it. If my teammate got kicked and punched by the same person, I would have had the same reaction.”

“Maybe you should stop then. Cause I really don’t want to know what will happen next time.” You joke.

“Maybe we aren’t meant to play against each other.” She remarks suggestively.

“Maybe not…” You reply. She kisses you on the forehead,

“Can I kiss you?”

“Just be gentle; it still hurts a little.” She gives you a feathery kiss, so gentle and so soft that it seemed like it was just a mere graze. She lingers her lips there for a couple of seconds as if she wants to savor this moment, and you both hear the door open, and you break off the kiss, pushing her away from you. You turn around and see your tattooed ex-teammate and friend staring at both of you, shocked.

“Oh wow. That was very unexpected.” She releases a surprised chuckle. “I’ll come back another time. I just left my sweater in here before.” She retrieves the sweater and she is about to leave when she turns around to the both of you, “I have to ask, though, when did you start dating, or whatever this is?”

“We are not dating.” Alexia turns to look at her, with her shoulders high and a serious face. She was closing off.

“Yeah. We are just casually keeping each other company?” You tentatively back up Alexia’s claim, clearly not realizing how weirdly you phrased it. Alexia’s face turned quickly to look at you weirdly. “Okay, that sounded a little bad. I apologize.”

“So you are hooking up?” Mapi concludes.

“Mapi!” Alexia rolls her eyes at her.

“What? It is true!” You slightly nod, making the other team's captain roll your eyes at you, too.

“I’d rather not discuss my sex life with you! I already know that in a matter of days, everybody from Barça will know, so the less you know, the better.” 

“I would never tell anyone!” She replies, offended.

While you sit there still in the bed, observing the interaction between the two friends, clearly annoyed with each other, you could see though how much they cared and loved one another. 

“So you wouldn’t tell Ingrid, right? I swear to god, you tell everything to that woman.” 

“She’s my girlfriend!”

“Yes, but still, you can’t keep a secret for shit!”

“Well, at least I didn’t nearly break her nose and kick her in the groin.” She comments calmly, making you release a surprised chuckle, making the two girls turn to look at you but soon shift their attention to each other again.

“For the last time! I didn’t do it on purpose!”

“Okay, that’s enough. As much as I don’t care about this bickering, I think it’s enough for today.” You go to stand up, but Alexia froze you with her gaze. Making you not move from your position “Now come and hug me. I won’t be seeing you for a long time.” You open your arms, and she walks right in them. 

“Take care, okay?” She says to you.

“I will. You too.”

“Let me see if I remember correctly. Ti voglio bene?” She asks, with her broken Italian accent.

“Si, Ti voglio bene anche io.” You chuckle. She exits the room, smirking at Alexia, leaving the two of you once again alone.

“Oh, I totally forgot. Can you pass me the bag that is under the table over there?” You point the bag with your finger while she quickly retrieves it and puts it on the bed next to you, where you are sitting, with your feet dangling in the air.

You quickly open the bag and hand her a little bag. She looks at you confused and then opens it.

“I made you cookies.” You explain, making her smile excitedly at the pastry.

“Why?” She turns to you incredulously, shocked by your kindness.

“Two days ago, you said that you liked them, and yesterday night, I made a batch for the team, so I thought that you would love to have them for your trip back to the airport. I made them also for Mapi.”

Her expression changed from incredulity to shock and then a mix between guilt and thankfulness. Seeing the shift in her face, your mind is plagued with doubt. “Did I overstep? I’m sorry. I just thought you might like something to eat. I always get very hungry after a match. I should’ve asked. I’m sorry.” You ramble quickly while you try to take the bag away from her, but she tightens her grip on them.

“No, you didn’t overstep.” She reassures you and gives you a big smile. “It’s just, nobody has ever done anything like this before. Thank you, Y/n. I really appreciate it.”

“It’s nothing, really. Even though you don’t deserve them, you still can have my cookies.” You tease her.

“Thank you. Thank you for the cookies, and thank you for the kiss. I have to get back to the locker room, or other people will start to wonder what we are doing here. I’ll see you tonight?” She asks as if it was the most normal thing.

“I can’t tonight. My parents are here, they came here from home to be at the match. Plus, I don’t think that we can do anything tonight.” Circling with your finger, your face.

“I just wanted to check up on you. Can you send me a text if it gets worse, please? I’m really glad, though, that there is someone with you tonight. I don’t think I could’ve slept well tonight if I knew that nobody would take care of you when I nearly broke your nose.”

“You are worrying too much. It’s just a bruise.”

“Yeah, but I don’t bruise the people that I dat- that I care about.”

“Ohh, you care about me!”

“Shut up. Do you want me to take the cookies to Mapi?”

“Yes, please.”

“I have to go now.” She hesitates. “Can I have a hug?” She asks shyly. You make her a sign to come to you, and she gently brings you her strong embrace, lightly pecking your neck in the process.

“I’ll see you next time?” She asks, hopeful.

“Goodbye, Alexia. Have a safe flight back home.”

-

‘Are you okay? Does it hurt?’

It was the third text that she had sent you that night. Every time, you would reassure her that it was nothing, just a bruise, but she didn’t care. She would ask you to send an update about your well-being every hour. 

‘I’m okay, Alexia. Stop worrying too much.’

‘I don’t care. In an hour, I’ll send you another text.’

‘Don’t you have like other stuff to do than worry about me?’

She sent you a picture of her and Mapi eating the cookies you baked. ‘Yes, but I can multitask. Like rn, I’m eating your cookies.’

‘I’m glad that you like them.’

‘You’ll have to teach me how to do them.’

‘You wish, haha.’

“Who are you texting?” Mapi asks suggestively to her captain, seeing her smiling at her phone.

“Me? Oh, Y/n, I wanted to see if she was okay.” She replies, never taking her eyes off her phone.

“You are down bad for that girl.” She grins.

“No, I am not. We are just casually hanging out. Plus, she told me that she didn’t want to label it. To ‘just be’.”

“Well, I don’t usually bake cookies for nightstands when they nearly have broken my nose.”

“She was just being nice because I told her that I liked them when I went to her place.”

“So you didn’t have to buy souvenirs?”

“Are you really that dumb?”

“Well, well, well, I didn’t know that you had it in you to have a nightstand. Not even her, honestly.” Alexia pulls her head down, not looking at her friend sadly. “Oh my god! You like her, like her!”

“I don’t know, okay,” She says, frustrated. “In the beginning, it was just physical. But then we began talking and laughing, and I don’t know. She just makes me feel so happy and relaxed whenever I’m with her.”

“Maybe it’s just the good sex.”

“The sex is good. Like incredible. But the little moments we have after are what I look most forward to. She baked me cookies, for god’s sake; how am I supposed to compete with that?”

“Can I say something that I don’t know if it will make you feel better or not?”

“Just say it.”

“When I first met Y/n, she was this shy little girl who just came from the US. She knew very little Spanish, but she had a huge heart. We became very good friends; on the pitch, we worked perfectly; off the pitch, she was my best friend at Atletico. Everybody loved her there. We also met her girlfriend at the time.”

“Total bitch.”

“Yeah, she loved her so much, but what hurt the most was that Kate was bluntly taking advantage of her kindness and generosity. Nobody in the squad liked her. When we were about to leave for Barça together, I was so happy. It was our dream, and I loved playing with her, but then her ex called her, and she wouldn’t wait for Barça. We got into this huge fight; it was the only time I had seen her angry. And then she moved to Chelsea.

What I’m trying to say is that Y/n, is a very kind and giving person, especially to the people she cares about. She always puts herself second to others, especially when they are in need. Giving you cookies might seem like a small and weird gesture, but for her, it is just a way to make your day, even by a little, better. She wouldn’t do this for people she wouldn’t care about.”

-

The third time you see Alexia was during the Champions League game against Barcelona. Talking to your coach, you refused to mark her, so you opted to mark during the game Aitana instead. With Alexia, things were going weirdly. You started texting more since she nearly broke your nose. So now you were friends? You really didn’t know.

The day before the match, the Barcelona team was at your stadium to meet some of your teammates from each other’s national team, but you quickly ran up to Mapi and gave her a hug. She was with some of her teammates, Alexia included, talking to each other. You soon greet all of her other teammates, leaving Alexia last.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” She picks you up in the air and embraces you tightly. “You okay?” She asks you, slowly putting your feet back down on the pitch.

“I’m good.”

“How’s the nose?” She gently pinches it and moves it to see if there is any swelling.

“Stop smothering me. It’s been like six months now.” You take her hand away from you. “And don’t you dare injure me again tomorrow?”

“I’ll try my best.”

 During the last six months, clips of Alexia injuring you from your previous two matches against you went viral. People saying that she hated you or that she didn’t care. Sometimes, even in interviews, people would ask you about your relationship with her or vice versa. And the both of you would simply say that you were just, unfortunate when playing against each other and that you were actually friends in real life. 

-

It was match day, which meant that you were about to face the best team in the world, which frankly scared you a little. It was at home, so you really wanted to win or at least have a draw. 

As you are about to go on the pitch, you meet your friends from Barça in line, and you go and shake their hands to all of them.

“We are swapping shirts after this?” You ask your ex-teammate, hoping that she would say yes. 

“Sure. If I win, of course.” She replies cockily.

“We have a pretty good team, you know. I wouldn’t be so sure about a win.” You sent her a playful smirk while you walked to shake hands with Paños and then Alexia.

“Capitana.”

“Good luck out there.” She smiles, slightly lingering her hand in yours, and then the moment is destroyed by your skipper calling you back.

In the first half, you became the shadow of Aitana; she never got past you. The difference between her and Alexia was that the younger girl was much quicker and more stubborn with the ball.

“So you are not marking Alexia this time?” She asks you, still with the game going on.

“Nah, I’d rather preserve my physical well-being.” You joke, making the younger girl release a small chuckle, then go back to focus on the pitch.

Alexia was looking at your interaction on the other side of the pitch, rolling her eyes and scoffing.

The game was pretty balanced somehow. You were giving it your all, running way more than needed. You could already feel how sore your legs would be the next day, especially when you knew Alexia would be coming over tonight.

It was the 60th minute of the match, you were on the counter-attack, and you sent the perfect long ball to your number 9, and she was running to the goal. You knew that she would be swarmed by the opposing team in a matter of seconds, so you started running too, to give her some support. Your legs were hurting, but you kept on going; you would score one way or another. You were nearly at the box when Giacinti cut the ball perfectly to your right foot, and you powerfully kicked the ball off the right top bin. Everybody stopped, you stopped. All looking at the quick ball, which was currently in the air. Paños dived, but it was too late. The ball already went inside the net. 

You ran to the side of the pitch where the fans were and kissed your badge, pointing at them. This was for them. Then, all of your teammates swarmed you and hugged you.

You raise your arms to make the fans get louder to cheer for your teammates. You were winning against the best team in the world. Now, you just need to keep it up; don’t let any slip or mistake jeopardize the victory.

As the final whistle blew, you could see the disappointed looks of the other team as they registered the first loss of their season, while you just dropped to the ground exhausted. Clearly, the stress from before the match and the running and shooting took a toll on you, and finally, you were able to rest. 

“You ok?” You open your eyes to see Alexia staring at you worriedly.

“I’m good. I just need to catch my breath.” She offers her hands to help you stand up, and you gladly take them. “You were great today. No wonder you scored against us.” You thank her again and search for Mapi to swap shirts.

“So, do you still want to swap shirts?”

“Yes, of course!” She pulls her shirt and gives it to you, and you do the same. You go and hug her, “Do you want to go for dinner tonight?” She offers, while you look at her a little guilty.

“I already have plans. But for the next leg, for sure.” 

“Plans with a certain tall woman from my team?” 

“Who, Ingrid?” You tease her.

“No, idiot. Alexia.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” You lightly blush, looking away from her knowing eyes.

“You know damn well what I am talking about.” She points her index finger at you, smiling. “I’m really happy that two of my favorite people started dating.”

“We are not dating.”

“If you say so!”

“I know so!” You saw all of your teammates leave for the locker room, “I have to go. Take care, okay? Don’t do anything stupid. Ti voglio bene.”

“Ti voglio bene. And you, too, don’t do anything that I wouldn’t do.”

“So you would fuck Alexia?” You began laughing.

“Eww, no. I’ll leave that to you.”

You playfully roll your eyes at her and then quickly hug her. “Bye, Mapi.”

“Bye.”

You quickly go to the locker room, but the UEFA people told you that you had just won the MOTM, so they wanted to give it to you. You pose for the picture, leave to change, and get ready for the night. You were exhausted. You kept yawning and barely kept your eyes open. But that night, you were going to see Alexia, and you really didn’t want to disappoint her. 

That night, you picked her up from her hotel to get to your place; you were having a really relaxed and enjoyable conversation when you got inside your house and led her to your bedroom. You sat on her lap, and as you were about to kiss her for the first time in nearly six months, you yawned. 

“Are you sure you want to do this? You look exhausted. Do you want to sleep?” She asks you worriedly, stopping you from doing anything else.

“No, no, I’m good. I don’t want to waste your time. I’ll be fine.” You go to kiss her, but once again, she stops you. She starts rubbing your thigh, soothing your aching muscles, making you close your eyes in relaxation.

“You are not wasting my time, cariño. I’m just happy to see you. We haven’t seen each other in nearly six months. We can just sleep if you want. We don’t have to do anything if you are not up to it.”

“I really like it.” You leave a small kiss on her nose.

“What?”

“The nickname, cariño.” You explain, feeling a warmth spreading in your chest. It had been some time since anyone had given you a nickname.

“Sorry, it just slipped.” She says, slightly blushing.

“I love it. Is it a problem for you if we just sleep? I’m really exhausted.”

“I’m okay with that. I’m really tired, too.”

“At what time do you leave tomorrow?”

“Not until in the afternoon.”

“Do you maybe want to stay tonight?” You ask shyly, tucking your head in her neck.

“There’s no other place that I would rather be.”

She makes you stand up, searching for something while you look at her confused.

“So, do you have any fresh clothes to change in? I don’t think you want to sleep in jeans.” She asks you while you point at your closet. She opens the first drawer and chuckles. 

“Is that my shirt?” She throws it at you, making your face turn pink.

“Well, it’s comfy, and it smells like you. Correction: It smelled like you. Now it’s just the fabric’s smell.”  

“I thought you had thrown it away.” She remarks sadly, throwing at you a pair of shorts.

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know.” She insecurely looks at you, changing the topic. “Can I borrow some shorts?”

“You can borrow anything you want.”

She takes a pair of shorts from your drawer and leaves to the bathroom to give you some privacy, which you thought was unnecessary as she has seen more of you than most people.

She returns to your room and lays down on your bed, making grabby hands for you to join her. You gladly do, sighing as you fall in her embrace, finally relaxing.

“Can I have a small kiss?” You ask her as you put your hand on her chest, quietly feeling her heartbeat.

“Ummm. Let me think about it.” She jokingly puts her hand on her chin, pretending to think. “Just one.” 

“Only one? You are making me work for them?” 

“Yep.” She pulls you for a slow kiss that takes your breath away. You hadn’t been kissing this woman for nearly half a year, and only now you realized how much you missed it. How much you missed her. As you finish the kiss, you both look at each other, “Okay, maybe another kiss.” You smile into the kiss as once again your lips met hers, and this time you melt into the kiss and break it off until you need to breathe again. 

“Buonanotte, Alexia”

“Goodnight, cariño.” You snuggle into her as she tightens her embrace, making you feel safe for the first time since you were little.

The next morning, you wake up with an empty bed. You sit up sadly, thinking Alexia left without saying goodbye or having breakfast. You leave your room and go to the kitchen to get some coffee, and there, you see her. She was rummaging through your cupboards when you walked to her and hugged her from behind.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, cariño. Did you sleep well?” She feels her relax in your embrace while you snake your hands under her shirt, gently scratching her abs.

“Really, really well.” 

“I’m glad.”

“What are you doing?” You ask her, peeking with your head around her back.

“I’m trying to understand how this thing works.” You turn to see that she has it in her hands, a Moka.

You chuckle, gently pushing her to the side, taking it from her hands, and unscrewing the top of the coffee maker. You prepare the moka, and then you put it on the stove. In the meantime, you go to retrieve some mugs; they were on the highest cupboard, so you had to stand on your tippy toes to get the mugs, but your lover? Could you call her that? Walked behind you while putting a hand on your side and retrieved them for you, making you want to giggle at the action.

“Showing off your height, are we?”

“Me? Never. I’m just helping out my short queen.”

“Oh wow. How chivalrous.”

You both sit down at your little table and bring a piece of cake from your fridge.

“Do you want a piece?” You offer, getting a piece for you.

“Did you make it?”

“Yes, I did. Yesterday morning. It’s still good.”

“I swear to god, Y/N. You’ll get me out of shape if you keep feeding me.” She remarks jokingly, taking a bite from yours.

“Hey! That was mine!” You smack her hand away from your little plate, offended.

You stay together for another hour, and then you go back to the hotel very reluctantly. You didn’t know what it was, but something shifted that night between the two of you. You didn’t know if it was because you hadn’t seen each other in so long or because there were a lot of unresolved and unspoken feelings between the two of you. But when you said goodbye to her this time, it felt sadder and more longing.

You didn’t want to leave her side, nor did she, for that matter. You gave her a last kiss. She called you for the last time, cariño, and then she left. Leaving you this weird feeling lingering in your chest that you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

-

In the second leg of the Champions’sChampion, you didn’t play as you got injured two days before. It was nothing major, but it still stopped you from playing the match, which you really wanted to. You knew this would be your last season in Roma, and you wanted to bring your team to new heights.

As soon as the whistle blew, your team lost 2-0, and you felt a wave of sadness come over to you. And that was where it really hit you. This would be your last season at Roma, last season with the girls. You went on the pitch with your crutches, picking your teammates up from the ground and consoling them, trying to keep your own emotions at bay. Your team soon huddles up, and your coach makes a speech, but it was all a blur for you. You shut yourself off completely and left immediately after the pitch. 

You go inside the hallway away from the cameras and push your back to the wall, resigned. You didn’t cry. But you needed to isolate yourself and not show any weaknesses to your teammates. At least one of you needed to be strong.

“Cariño?” You hear a soothing whisper while hands cover your face. You recognize the warmth of the hands, which make you bask in contact. “Are you okay?”

“Alexia, what are you doing here? You should be out celebrating with your teammates. You got into the quarters.” You slightly push her away.

“Don’t push me away, please. What do you need?”

“I need a hug, please. Can you hug me?” Your eyes twinkle wetly with a vulnerability that Alexia has never seen before.

She quickly acquiesces to your needs and brings you in a tight hug. Your head was on her chest because of the height difference, and you could feel her heartbeat soothing and giving a rhythm to your brain. She began placing small kisses on the top of your head, and her hands rubbed your back to give you as much comfort as possible.

“Are you okay?” She whispers worriedly.

“I just realized that this will be my last Champions League with Roma and my last year with my teammates. I just feel a little vulnerable. But I’ll be okay, eventually.”

“Let’s get you home.”

“Alexia. I will be no good company tonight. When I am sad, I only watch romance movies or listen to sad songs. It’s not pretty. And you don’t have any obligation towards me.”

“I know, but I still want to. We can do all those things that you listed together. Let me take care of you.” She offers, smiling earnestly at you, making it impossible for you to say no.

“Okay, but if at any time you want me to go, I’ll leave. I’d hate to be a burden.” She rolls her eyes at your stubbornness. 

She kisses your forehead. “Give me five minutes, and I’ll be with you.” She left quickly to her changing room, making you smile dumbly at her. At that specific moment, Mapi casually walks past you, rolling her eyes. “Definitely just hooking up.” She says ironically, leaving without the opportunity to say anything else.

Alexia was back to you in precisely five minutes and ready to leave. Meanwhile, you told your teammate that you would leave alone and be back tomorrow morning, to which she replied with a very suggestive smirk. You honestly really weren’t hiding anymore the fact that you were hooking up with a Barcelona player. All the team basically knew it, also your national team, so it was no surprise.

-

You get to her home, and she soon gives you some of her clothes to make you more comfy and then makes you sit on the couch and gives you a small blanket. Her little dog, Nala, sat on your lap, asking for cuddles. It was almost perfect, it just needed-

“Do you need something else? Do you want some food? Something to drink?” She was acting all serious, and while you just beamed at her, you realized that nobody had ever wanted to take care of you like she was doing right now. Your heart exploded with affection for the woman who was currently making herself so available to your every need.

“I just need you. Can you hold me, please?” She quickly sits on the couch and waits for you to come to her. “Watch out for my leg; it’s still injured.” You lightly warn her so she would make any movements towards your leg.

Your head was on her chest, some romance movie was playing in the background, and she was whispering sweet nothings in your ear, trying to lighten your fragile mood.

“So this is going to be your last year at Roma? You are not renewing?” You shake your head.

“So, where are you going?”

“Is that really a question when you already know the answer?” You tell her you weren’t looking at her face, but you could feel her face adorn with another one of her beautiful smiles.

“You are moving to Barcelona?” She asks, clearly trying to hide her excitement.

“Nothing is official yet, but I already talked to your coach. If everything goes to plan, we will be teammates. But don’t say anything to Mapi. I want to give her a surprise.”

“So we will play together? On the same team?” 

“Si, piccola mia. We will play on the same team.”

“I guess we were never meant to play against each other.” She chuckles jokingly.

“I guess not. I think we were destined to play together.”

[teojira]

HI FRIEND I SAW U WERE DOING $5 COMMISSIONS!?? what are your any and all hcs for wuthering waves any character?? especiallyJiyanaheehehehe ily thank you MWAH

[General Jiyan headcanons] [x reader!]

Summary: headcanons for Jiyan! And you, of course.

Warnings: None that I can think of!

A/N: Jiyan,,,,belobed,,,, thank you for commissioning me!! I hope this is okay!

Jiyan is a busy man, and it's hard for him to take the time away from his duties to spend quality time with you. But he does try.

He's the kind of lover who will make his way home to you in the dead of night, to find you curled up in bed. He makes sure to remove all his armor so the clanking doesn't wake you.

He rests his hand on your face, gently brushing the hair out of your face as he smiles warmly down at you. You're the reason why he fights so hard everyday, he has to protect you and the others, no matter what.

I don't think he'd be touchy, but let's you cling onto him as much as your little heart desires, it doesn't bother him, he only asks that you don't do it while he's on duty.

Hug him, squeeze him, kiss him all you want, he'll sit there and take it because while he may not show it in public, bro will kiss you breathlessly at home.

It's so bad that you gotta tap his shoulder to get him off, you're literally gonna suffocate.

He trains you to protect yourself, he is away alot. This is a no brainer, he worries about you every moment he's away even if he knows it may distract him from his job as a general. He shoves you out of his mind as much as possible, he really does try but it's still there.

Jiyan is a really good househusband, dare I say the better cook and housekeeper. There's something about taking care of you that fills him with joy. While he won't do every, he does every chore with you or you both split it equally.

He likes to playfully flick water off of his fingers at you, and then act as if nothing happened.

"Jiyan, did you just?" "No, what are you referring to?" "You flicked water on me!" "I think you're going a bit insane, my dear."

Oh my god can I say he's youe scary dog privilege? Very few people know you're his partner, so when it does come up, it's usually when you're at the market collecting fruits and vegetables and the like.

He trials behind you like a shadow, humming and nodding when you ask him his preference.

Let's say this is before marriage, he gets RED when people pass along their congratulations to the both of you, he doesn't deny it, just shaking his head behind you with a finger to his lips.

He does have a ring, but it's at the base, statched under his pillow where it'll sit until he's ready.

He doesn't think he'll ever be ready, but when you smile and blush like that, he knows the time will come soon.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Escape III

Bruna Vilamala x Eriksson!Reader

Summary: You visit Barcelona

"Looking good," Frido whistled as she slumped next to you in the stands," Looking to trade Germany for Spain?" She wiggled her brows.

"Everyone's abandoning ship," You shrugged," Jill's gone to City, Obi's running off to Bayern. Who knows?"

"Wait, seriously?" Frido looked at you in shock. "I was only joking but you're actually thinking about it?"

You shrugged again. "I'm only looking, getting a lay of the land and stuff. But it's warm here."

"And it's got Bruna."

You grinned. "And it's got Bruna."

"You're so in love with her, you make me sick. You're just like Magda."

"Take it back!" You pretended to gag. "I never want to hear those words again!"

Frido flashed you a grin. "Why don't you go to Bayern like Obi? Nice little sister reunion."

"There's better chance of me going back to Sweden."

"You're going back to Sweden?"

You looked over at the barrier and stood, shaking your head. "No, baby." You cupped Bruna's face. "I was just telling Frido that I'd rather play in Sweden again then join the same club as Magda."

Bruna laughed. "You could use Pernille as a buffer?"

"Magda would get me while I was sleeping. No, it would be much safer is I just came to Barca with you."

You leaned over the barrier to peck her lips. When you pulled away, she was blushing and reached up to keep your hands on her cheeks.

"Really?"

"We're already in talks. I thought about following Jill but I don't think I want to stay that far from you, baby. I told you, I want to be mushy with you like Magda and Pernille are...just...as far from them as possible."

"I'd like that," Bruna said," Are you still coming to the afterparty?"

"Yes. Go, baby, you've only got so long to rest before the second half. Score a goal for me, okay?"

Bruna did.

Half an hour into the second half, she scored from the edge of the box and celebrated by pointing up to where you were sitting and blew a kiss.

"Gross," Frido said," God, you and Magda are definitely sisters. You're always so lovey-dovey with your girlfriends."

"Stop comparing me to Magda!"

Frido must have been getting tips from your sister on how to annoy because she didn't let up until Ingrid dragged her off to the bar at the afterparty.

You nursed your own drink as Bruna sat in your lap, resting her head on your shoulder. You weren't that familiar with her teammates bar Jana so you were happy to let the conversation wash over you.

"I heard you're in talks with Barca?" Keira asked.

You shrugged. "Yeah, looking for something a bit different. Wolfsburg isn't going to be the same next year so I'm going to get out now."

"I heard that City was interested."

"They were. Jill's trying to vouch for them but Barcelona's got good weather and Bruna. It's a no-brainer really."

You felt Bruna grin against your shoulder, leaving soft featherlight kisses to the exposed skin.

"Well, if she keeps scoring like she did earlier then you need to transfer now because, wow, that was class."

You grinned. "I'll keep that in mind. We'll see what your club says."

"You're staying," Bruna whispered with certainty as the conversation moved on," I know you are."

"You're so certain, baby," You tutted," What makes you so sure?"

Bruna fixed you with a pointed look but only really managed to look like a disgruntled kitten. You'd seen angrier looks from Pernille, whose good books you perpetually lived in.

"One of the trainers broke the news that you'd already signed. He thought that I knew."

"Damnit," You said with an eye roll," There goes my surprise. Do I still get points for it?" You winked at her and Bruna laughed, pulling you into a soft kiss even though you were surrounded by her teammates.

"I guess so. When do you start?"

"After the summer," You replied," I'm going to finish off my last season at Wolfsburg and then fly over for preseason with you."

"You could start sending your stuff over now."

You laughed. "Slow your roll there, babe. I still need stuff at my place in Germany. Besides, Magda and Pernille are coming over next week. I didn't want them to be suspicious."

"Are you going to tell your sister?" Bruna asked as she relaxed more on your lap, stealing kisses whenever she could.

"She didn't let me know about her move to Bayern. I found out through Twitter."

"You could be the bigger person."

"Eww, no, gross! I want to stoop to her level! Hell, I want to get lower than her level! In fact, I want to play limbo with her level!"

Bruna giggled. "I think I understand why you and Magda fight as much as you do."

[drghostwrite]

Black is my color…

Pairing: Regina Mills x wife!reader

Summary: One jealous Regina.

Warnings: MINORS DNI, smut(like dirty sexy jaw dropping), some kinks (mommy, slight bondage/blindfold, strap on)

********************************************************

Being married to the mayor was one thing, always looking the part, being a driving force and support system, sometimes even her protector, honestly it wasn’t that bad, Regina had changed and everyone loved her so being mayor was like a no brainer.

Being married to Regina Mills, that was a whole other story, at first it was rough, proving to her that she deserved to be loved the way she loves, too many countless nights were spent arguing or even holding her in your arms as she cried from exhaustion and everything; though no one ever said marriage was easy.

You had your good times too, you had family and friends, you owned half the real estate in Storybrooke, but recently opened a bistro on Main street which allowed you to do your own thing and support Regina any way she needed, even if that meant mid day make out sessions in the office.

It was that time of year again, town hall meetings, because of not only owning half the town and also being the Mayors wife you also had to sit through back to back meetings with her.

“Dear, what’re you wearing?” Regina called out to you as she stood in front of the mirror putting earrings in. Your arms wrapped around her resting your chin on her shoulder.

“if I had my way I would say nothing, I’m going to tell them my wife wasn’t feeling well and I needed to take care of her.” You placed gentle kisses on her neck.

“Hm cute… but really?” She asked a hand coming to your hair as she leaned back into you, you inhaled the scent of her expensive perfume holding her a couple seconds longer.

“how’s this look?” You stepped back and in a moments notice she wanted to jump you, you had on the black knit top that hugged your upper body perfectly, the deep green suit complementing your skin tone the pants hugging your smooth curves, the stilettos peeking out made your legs look amazing.

“Absolutely amazing.” She said kissing you passionately.

“well then Mayor Mills, time to go remind this town what a power couple we are?” You held out your hand.

“Always.” She grinned, taking it and following you out to the car, when you arrived at the town hall you watched as people gathered and whispered among themselves.

when Regina entered the conference room followed by you it fell silent, power just permeating the room, there was a sense of security and gentleness that followed you and it was intimidating to most.

It wasn’t long before the meeting started to get slightly heated. You sat next to Regina, who was now distracted by how good you looked, oh how she wished she could take you right there, in front of everyone.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and looked at you a silent plea for help and immediately you were at her side.

“okay, okay…” you spoke up.

“So you do have a voice?” Gold snarkily replied.

“Gold…” Regina growled lowly, and he smirked.

“Hey she’s pretty persuasive at times… I’ll give her that…” Gold said raising his hands.

“Cause she’s hot, like dirty sexy hot… no offense…” Ruby started explaining, “if you weren’t married to the scariest person alive I would sleep with you.”

“Uhh, Ruby.” Snow gasped as the younger girl shrugged. You heard Regina, a scoff escaping her perfectly painted red lips behind you her signature eyebrow raised.

“Well fortunately enough, I’m happily married and my sex life is not the topic of this meeting.”

“well just saying though, no wonder you always get what you want… Regina’s hot too but you, she’s lucky she got her hands on you first.”

“Amen Sister.” Grumpy added. You knew your wife was on fire behind you as you stood and ended the meeting.

“Honestly if you ever, you know get bored… call me.” Ruby play flirted with you before leaving as you just rolled your eyes.

You felt as Regina quickly grabbed your hand and basically pulled you to the car. The car ride home was silent, Regina sat there not saying a word, you reached over and ran a hand on bare thigh were her skirt was lifted.

“Regina, love are you okay?”

“I’m fine…just ready to be home.” she said with sass and laid a hand on yours, you pulled in the driveway and she followed you in the house.

“I’ll be right there.” You said kissing her perfectly painted lips, going to put your keys away as she brushed past you to go upstairs. When you got up there you could tell something was off but thought maybe she was just tired, your eyes followed her half clothed form as she walked around your room in her underwear and the satin top partially unbuttoned. You wrapped you arms around her from behind, kissing her neck, “Hey, are you sure your okay?” She leaned her neck back to give you more access before turning around and pushing you back.

Soft kisses from you turned into bruising kisses from both of you as she pushed you back onto the bed, on flick of her wrist and you were unclothed, her in just a black lace lingerie set.

“Regina?”

“Dear?”

“Mm…” you said as her kiss stole the words from your lips. You let your hands roam her body, as she did the same to you, but not before she grabbed your hands off of her hips gathering them above your head.

“How much do you love me?”

“more than anything…” you replied.

“and you trust me?”

“with my entire life…” you said as she kissed you, her hands held yours in place as she was above you.

“Hm,” she softly moaned, “then be good for mommy.”

You let out a soft moan as she applied some pressure to your hands, grinding her hips into yours as she straddled you. You saw as she sat back biting her lip, going to move your hands but you felt the soft fabric as it strained against the headboard.

“Baby…” you whined.

“uh uh…” she moaned back, biting her bottom lip.

“mommy?” You asked, with a whine.

“are you asking or telling?” She leaned forward her breasts brushing your stomach as she slithered up your body, her hands roaming the goosebumps forming on your skin.

“I need you…” you whispered breathlessly.

“need me?… come on, you can do better than that…” she said her hands teasing your excited body, “I’m going to make you beg for my attention.” She chuckled darkly, her pupils blown as she pulled a hard nipple into her mouth.

“mommy I need you.” You whined out begging for her to touch you, to fuck you until you were seeing stars.

“if only they could see you now, the sexy and domineering mayors wife, falling apart at my touch.” She whispered in your ear, one hand traveling down to your core, between your legs where she was lying.

she slowly pulled her middle finger through your folds, teasing you, drawing moans from your plump lips. She knew you well, too well, enough that just her skilled fingers brushing against your sensitive clit was bringing you close to the edge, she moved down the bed her breath warm against your core.

“I-shittt, Regina…” you hissed out as she licked up your slit, pulling your clit into her mouth, letting her tongue make magic, you felt one finger then two slide in as she started pumping them, the black satin fabric around your wrist straining as you tried to touch her. You were so close panting, as you were on the verge of climax, then she pulled out, sitting back up to straddle your hips.

“Ughhh…” you let out a frustrated moan as she had robbed you of your high.

“not yet darling,” she said kissing your lips, her tongue roaming your mouth.

“don’t you taste amazing?” She asked you as you could taste you on her lips, she placed kisses on you neck and breast, leaving dark red marks that would definitely be purple by morning.

“the marks…” you struggled to get out, you would leave them on her in the most discreet places knowing that she hated when anyone else could see and yet here she was leaving them everywhere that someone could and would see them.

“I want everyone to know who you belong to, who’s wife you are, who makes you feel this good.” She said marking your body, hands pulling at the restraints as you tried touching her again.

“Damnit… let me touch you, please.” You begged again.

“Only if you’re a good girl.” She said crawling off of you and standing next to the bed, she stripped of her panties throwing them on the bed next to you, she tied another piece of black satin around your eyes, disappearing into your large walk in closet, you tried peering but the fabric wouldn’t let you see anything.

When she returned you felt as the bed dipped beside you and she undid your wrists, she slowly slid the blindfold from your eyes and you shot up on your knees pulling her into a kiss, but you were quickly met with a hand grabbing your hair and pulling you back.

“be a good girl for mommy.” She said her white teeth peeking through her signature smirk. You looked her over seeing the strap on that she currently wore, the thick black dick staring back at you.

“go ahead… show me what you can do.” she trailed as you lowered yourself in front of her pulling it into your mouth, feeling the bumps and ridges on your tongue. She sat there watching, admiring the perfect view of your ass in front of her. You looked up at her making eye contact as she reached down lifting your chin so she could pull you closer to her.

“you ready?”

“yes, mommy.” You said in a low tone watching her lips lightly part.

“Mm, then be a good girl and ride mommy’s dick.” She said sitting down her back against the pillows, you straddled her lap feeling as she positioned the toy at your entrance and you slowly lowered yourself. You hissed as you felt the slight burn as it stretched you, slowly turning into pleasure, you started grinding your hips against hers, the double sided strap on bringing you both pleasure.

you started moving you pace a little faster, “oh god, shit,” you reached out steadying yourself on the head board, your wife taking in the view, you riding the silicone cock, skin glistening, your boobs bouncing in front of her, it wasn’t long before you were both on the verge of climax, she thrusted up into you matching the pace of your hips, her hands gripping onto your hips helping to guide you, keep you steady. You threw your head back, eyes rolling in pleasure as a loud moan escaped from both of your lips. Your orgasms rocked your body, your legs shaking as you felt your muscles clenching.

You stayed there a moment the toy inside of you both as you sat in her lap, letting your breathing steady, gently kissing her lips, breath ghosting over each other as it slowed, you climbed off of her settling next to her on the bed.

“I would never leave you…” you whispered breathless, “I’m always yours.” You looked at her as she smiled at you and climbed on top of you placing delicate kisses on your lips.

“Dear, I’m not done with you yet.” She whispered in your ear, one hand going down to spread your legs, quickly repositioning herself between them, pushing the silicone toy back into you.

“im not going to be able to walk tomorrow,” you said breathlessly in between moans.

“Not when I’m done with you.” She said thrusting back into you bringing you to the edge of another orgasm.

******************************************************** Taglist:

@poisonappleeater @thesamesweetie @gayestswiftie

[lovezbrownies]

I will literally run over my dog (no I won’t I love her too much) for some more Lauren writing.

I NEED IT!!!!! 😭😭

-poopyhead🤪

Confessions after aggressions (Yan!Bully x GN!Reader.)

Hello dear poopyhead! hope you enjoy :3 this fic is almost 2.3k words! Sorry it took me a week to get this out! Blew my money on legos and I can only write when I have a drink in hand ;;

Masterlist

Synopsis: What happens when your lifetime bully who is madly in love with you catches someone trying to hit on you?

Bully Lauren McCanister x GN!Reader

WARNINGS: Bullying, verbal harassment, darling being hit on by a third party, threats, physical fight kinda!, darling's scared of Lauren, Lauren goes off, Lauren kisses darling without consent smh Lauren, fuck used a lot, degrading words against women used by Lauren, again smh Lauren, mildly cute at the end, No use of y/n

“Hey, if you don’t come to my game today I’ll make sure you regret it, and wear this. And you better fucking wear it. Either wear it once today or I’ll force it on you this entire month. Fucking weirdo.”

And that’s how you found yourself in this situation, out in the cold night, wearing your bully's jersey jacket she insists you wear, and watching that same bully carry her team to a win. It’s been going on for a while, you don’t know what the rules of football are, and you’ve never really been into many sports. Sure maybe you’ve watched a few games or liked a certain team but you never truly got into it, and you don’t think you ever will.

Lauren reserved you a seat at the very front of the school’s stadium, next to the team’s benches or whatever they call them. So whenever there’s a pause to the game Lauren can easily go up to the benches, rest, and talk with you. More like constantly begging you for praise.

“Look at that, the loser came, what did you think? Obviously, you thought I was cool, right? Well, that’s a no-brainer, you don’t know anything about football so you’d think anything I did was cool. Oh, you’re such a fucking freak! You want me so bad it makes you look stupid! You were staring at me sweating and heaving the entire time right you, weirdo?”

It’s always the same, she’s been participating in more sports lately since it’s her senior year but it was torture to attend every game of hers so she doesn’t give you hell later on. Lauren’s games never ceased to bore you, constantly watching her carry her team to a win every single damn game gets tiring fast. And if you dare look away to entertain yourself Lauren will purposefully fumble the game just so she can confront you for not paying attention to her faster. 

So when Lauren finally had the chance to take a break and take a sip from her water bottle you told her you’d be going to the bathroom, and her one response was “Don’t take too long.” Thank heavens. You couldn’t hold it anymore, and again if you left without telling her she would leave the field herself and chase after you, her team either winning by an inch or losing wholeheartedly.

Along the way, you saw many people skirt away from the stadium's seats to get food, and beverages, or to go to the bathroom. It was half-time, or whatever they call their little break, after all. You felt someone watch you as you walked to the bathrooms, but every time you looked around there wasn’t a single person looking in your direction, though your guts told you not to, you brushed it off and continued heading towards the gender-neutral bathroom the school’s stadium has. They mostly made it to save costs on individual bathrooms for specific genders.

You finished with your business in the stall, the moment you stepped out of said stall however a tall woman wearing the rival school’s merch stood right in front of you, blocking the way and effectively stopping you from moving anywhere.

You look up at the woman, she looks about your age with brown hair and eyes, nothing of note in her appearance. She looked down at you, smirking as if she were an almighty god. You raise a brow, trying to seem as uninterested as possible, to avoid giving her the wrong idea, “Can I help you?” Somehow the woman’s cocky smirk only widened as she reached a hand out to you, going out to grab your face.

“Was watchin’ ya earlier, wanted to ask if you’re singl-” Just as her hand grazed your chin you harshly slapped it away, grabbing a few people’s attention but no one wanted to anger the tall brunette. Yet the woman seemed to take your slap as an invitation, moving even closer almost pushing you back into the stall. And move back you did, trapping you with the woman in the cramped stall, with your legs pressing harshly onto the toilet seat and the woman’s arms reaching out to the stall’s walls.

She smiled so wide it resembled a horror character, her eyes filled with lust, the woman leaned down towards you, she was drunk you could tell from the overwhelming smell of her breath, “Hey! Back off! Get the fuck away from me!” You pushed and pushed as much as you could but that only enticed her, “Nah, need a cutie like you to hang off ma arm~” 

Just then the smell of alcohol and sweat disappeared and a loud crash was heard, “YOU GOT A DEATH WISH FRESHMAN?!?!” Is that Lauren? Oh, that definitely is Lauren, You peek out the stall to find the woman lying on the floor, looking up at Lauren, face full of fear, “Who the fuck are yo-” The lady couldn’t even finish her sentence as Lauren grabbed her by the hair, easily lifting the woman off the floor just by pulling at the hair of her scalp.

You couldn’t predict what had happened then, you heard Lauren threaten the woman, cussing her out in the most colorful ways with a low voice, “I’m going to fucking end your life, you fucking dickwad. You are nothing but a pile of shit compared to my baby, you don’t touch my sweetheart and think you can get away with it, fucking slut! You will pay for what you did. Keep one eye open when you’re sleeping, you dirty whore!” And much more that you missed. Lauren looked beyond angry, she looked like a feral rabid dog.

It was completely horrifying to witness the unbridled rage of Lauren McCanister. Your entire life you thought you’d been the only one to be relentlessly bullied by her, the only one who truly witnessed how insane she can get. But you were entirely incorrect, watching how tight Lauren’s grip is with the woman’s hair, how she yelled and spit on the woman, how she harshly pushed the woman against the floor, a loud crack came from the woman’s head making you cringe from how painful it sounded.

Lauren shifted her head towards you, staring at you like she was a predator in a horror movie before swiftly moving to you, taking two long strides to finally reach you, grabbing your hand she growled, “Good fucking thing you’re smart enough not to accept her shit. Else I’d make sure you never think of another woman ever again. Let’s get out of here, this place is full of morons anyway.” Lauren, with no regard to your own personal wishes, proceeded to pull you out of the bathrooms, people stared at the both of you as she led you to the underground car park.

You could barely breathe, fearful of what the monster would do to you. Will she hurt you? Are you done for? Should you quickly send a text to everyone you love? Was all that studying in vain? Are you already dead? Your thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of a cushy seat beneath you, the sound of a car door slamming, and then the roar of a car engine. Snapping out of your daydreams you look to the side, at Lauren. She still looked furious, though calmer than before. She was still muttering under her breath, her hands gripped at the steering wheel so hard her knuckles were entirely white.

“...ng loser, fucking idiot, fucking whore… Going after what’s mine? I’ll show her… my poor baby…” McCanister wouldn’t stop muttering, and you couldn’t stop shaking, she then drove the car off, you have no clue where you’re going. Maybe she’s already dug up your grave? Today really is your last day as a living person, maybe you can haunt this asshole in the afterlife? If there is one at least. It hit you that she will make sure you'll be in pain when she does kill you, there is no quick and painless with Lauren, only slow and torturous.

Suddenly you flinch at the hand that had grabbed your thigh, damn near screaming out in fear, “The fuck are you shivering for? Did that hillbilly bitch scare you that bad? God damn, I’m going to kill her for doing all that to you, my angel…” Angel? What the hell is up with her today? First she ‘defends’ you from that woman, and now that you think of it, all she’s been calling you so far are very affectionate pet names. Sure, she’s called you these types of nicknames before but in a more degrading form, hearing it now… It felt much more intimate than before.

You stare at her from the corner of your eyes, not daring to move a single muscle, hoping she somehow forgets your existence if you don’t move. Lauren had calmed down quite a bit now, it’s been a while on the road and you still had no idea where she was taking you, the roads were unfamiliar to you and even if you wanted to you couldn’t tell which road you’d know due to the fear overcoming your body. You decided to look down for the rest of the ride to not incur her wrath anymore.

It then clicks. The game’s still not over, they’re still playing, and the team’s golden ticket was driving a car to your grave. Lauren was still wearing her uniform and all, her headgear haphazardly thrown to the back of her expensive car, she even still has her team’s colors painted on her face. You don’t know the consequences of her bailing on the game, but you know she’ll be able to get out of it one way or another. Either by bringing her mom up or by bribing the coach into forgiving her. But all in all Lauren seemed more upset about what happened in the bathroom than her bailing on her game.

“Hey. Come on, stop daydreaming and get out.” Lauren’s voice was rough after she screamed at that woman. Turning towards the driver’s seat you didn’t see her there, the hell? Where did she go? Wait was it all a drea- “Over here, moron, god you’re so stupid. Or is it because that bitch rattled you to stupidity? Don’t worry, I’ll gut her soon.” Lauren said again, but this time you could tell she was speaking from your side, you looked over to find the door to the passenger’s seat was open and Lauren stood firm, her arms crossed and her face unreadable. Lauren reached a hand out to you, “Come on.” She said.

You didn’t want to grab her hand, who knows what she’d do to you if you did, so you tried to leave the car without her help, but before you could even put one foot out the door, Lauren pushed you back down, “Take my hand.” And you did, although hesitantly. Lauren, like some gentleman, pulled you up, helping you out of her ridiculously expensive car. You heard her mutter something for what felt like the 50th time this night, “God... still shivering.. to kill that freak…” Why in god’s name do you only manage to hear her murder plots when she mutters.

You look at the house Lauren parked at, it had the normal suburban house structure but was surrounded by much richer, fancier houses. Was it Lauren’s house? Knowing Lauren you’d thought she’d have a bigger, grander, fancier house. Your thoughts and speculations didn’t have to go on for long since Lauren spoke up as if she’d heard your every thought. “This is my house, from now on you’re going to come over every weekend, got it?” You turned to her, face full of disbelief. That ridiculous sentence completely woke you up from your fear, is she kidding? As if you’d spend two days and two nights trapped in her house, with satan and its spawn.

It all felt like a joke really, none of it felt real, so you laughed like anyone in this situation would. “Y-you’re kidding, right? You hate me! I hate you! We shouldn’t even be near each other for an hour, no less two days!”And you kept laughing, damn near falling to the floor from how stupid this situation is. A slow chuckle came out of the lady in front of you, looking back up at her you wiped away the fake tears, but oh how fast your smile fell. Lauren wasn’t chuckling because she realized how ridiculous she was being, she chuckled to get your attention. She looked beyond pissed, as if she’d strangle you if she so wished.

Lauren walked closer to you and you walked back until your back unfortunately met with the car behind you. Lauren placed one hand on your hip, and the other took hold of your chin, “H-Hey I-I was j-just kiddi-” You were silenced. Lauren crashed her lips into yours before you could utter another word. Shock filled every part of your body, you were frozen still. Unable to react to this sudden change of events, one moment she was openly threatening death on one person, and the next she’s passionately kissing the person she’s been relentlessly bullying. The strangest part is you could see her blushing, her eyes squeezed shut, while yours were still wide open.

Just as you were about to pull away she beat you to it, she was looking down at you all flustered, face so red it made a mockery of tomatoes, and her face paint was smudged. “You better know what this means. You’re mine from now on, you will be mine until we both die. I-I’ve never lov… Fuck, whatever let’s get in the house a-and makeout or something…” 

The rest of the night was fuzzy, but all you know for sure is that Lauren never let you leave her side.

[therealcocoshady]

Fun fact : for a minute, I actually considered a different scenario. Like Reader being like "I don't mind if you cheat. We could be in an open relationship" and at first, he'd be like "hey, that's cool 😏" only to end up not feeling it at all. First of all because he doesn't want to share his girl and also because she's the only one he wants to be with. Maybe I could still write that. What do you think ?

I know you have a lot on your plate right now but whenever you have time, this would be a really good read👀 we're here for it👍🏻

Kinktober - Day 19 - Cheating (alternate)

A/N : here is the second idea I worked with for the Cheating prompt for Kinktober 🙊. I hope you enjoy it. It is way less angsty and I hope you guys forgive me for making you cry with that other one 🥺.

CW : cheating - open relationship - jealousy - fluff

You and Marshall had been seeing each other for a while now, and even though it wasn’t official in the traditional sense, there was something undeniably real between the two of you. You liked him, a lot. More than you had expected to. But you were also pragmatic, grounded in the reality that his lifestyle wasn't accommodating for anyone, let alone a new relationship. He was famous, often on the road, and had a history. A messy one when it came to women, not to mention that this track record was pretty public. You knew about his past, about the infidelity, the chaos that came with his fame. It didn’t bother you as much as you thought it would have, though. He had been upfront, honest about everything, and in return, you had been honest with him. « How about we just have an open relationship ? » you had suggested one night. Marshall had raised an eyebrow, looking at you like you were a nutcase. « You serious ? » he asked, laughing under his breath. « Yeah. I mean, you're often travelling for work. When you’re not doing shows, you’re flying to LA to record. And I’m sure you meet new people all the time. Women. Attractive women. I'm not naive, I get it. And I don't want to be one of those girls who's constantly worrying or wondering. It makes sense. As long as we're honest with each other, what's the harm ? » you shrugged.

He had taken a second to think about it. On the surface, it did like a win-win for him. Freedom to do what he wanted without the guilt or secrecy that had plagued his past. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about you—he did, more than he was willing to admit at the time—but this was a setup that could work for the both of you. He’d still have you, still get to enjoy the time in your presence and he’d have the freedom he thought he needed. « Alright » he said slowly, giving you a crooked smile. « You sure about this ?  You had nodded. « As long as we’re honest. That’s all that matters ».

-

It had been a couple of months since you had both agreed to the open relationship arrangement. He was in Los Angeles for a work trip, and everything felt normal. Or at least, it was supposed to. You had fallen into a rhythm that worked for you. He would text when he could, call when the time zones allowed, and in turn, you went about your own life. But something shifted for him while he was out in California. After a long day of meetings and studio sessions, he found himself at a party, surrounded by people, women throwing themselves at him like they always did. There was one girl in particular who caught his eye. She was exactly his type—tall, blonde, and bold, not shy about what she wanted. Normally, this would have been easy for him, a no-brainer. He was allowed to have fun with her, if he wanted. After all, you both had an understanding. He was free to do whatever he wanted when he was on the road. This was the deal. And yet, as the girl leaned in, laughing at something he said, her hand resting on his arm, Marshall felt a knot in his stomach that he couldn’t shake. His thoughts drifted to you, probably asleep in your bed, completely unaware of what was happening. You trusted him. This was the setup you had both agreed on, but all of a sudden, it didn’t feel right. He pulled back, the girl’s smile fading into confusion. « You good? » she asked, looking at him like he’d just broken some unspoken rule. « Yeah, I just… » He trailed off, shaking his head. He didn’t even know how to explain it to himself, let alone someone else. He mumbled something about needing to head out and left the party without another word. As soon as he was outside, the crisp LA air hit him, and the realization settled in: he didn’t want anyone else. He wanted you. Just you. No one else mattered, no matter how much freedom he was supposedly given. The thought of you with anyone else, of you laughing and touching someone else, made his chest tighten in a way he hadn’t expected. Fuck. He needed to get back to Detroit. Now.

-

It was almost 3 a.m. when Marshall’s flight landed. He didn’t bother calling you, didn’t even stop to think about whether or not this was a good idea. He drove straight to your apartment, the adrenaline keeping him awake. By the time he reached your place, his mind was racing, emotions he couldn’t fully process swirling around like a storm. This wasn’t how he imagined the night going. He had tried to stick to the arrangement. Hell, he was the one who thought it would be cool—freedom, no strings, no complications. But the second he almost hooked up with someone else, it had hit him like a punch to the gut. The thought of you with anyone else, of another guy touching you, laughing with you, being with you—it twisted something deep inside him. He didn’t even realize how hard he was knocking on your door until it opened, revealing you, all sleepy and confused, your hair all messy and one of his hoodies hanging loosely off your shoulders.

« Marshall? » you mumbled, squinting up at him. « What are you—what time is it? What’s going on? ». His eyes darted around your apartment as if expecting to find someone else there, another guy maybe hiding in the shadows. « Is there someone here? » he demanded, his voice rougher than he intended. You blinked, still half-asleep, clearly thrown by the question. « What? No. What are you talking about? No one’s here. It’s just me. » Marshall took a deep breath, his fists clenching at his sides. « Good, » he muttered, stepping into the apartment and closing the door behind him. « Because if there was someone, you better tell him to beat it. Right now. ». You frowned, wrapping your arms around yourself, trying to wake up fully. « Marshall, what is going on with you? ». He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the small space of your living room, his frustration bubbling over. « This arrangement we have, » he started, his voice rising, « it fucking sucks. I thought I could handle it, you know? I thought it was cool. But it’s not. It’s bullshit. It feels- it feels like cheating. ». You rubbed your eyes, still struggling to catch up with his words. « The open thing? I thought we were on the same page». « I don’t want anyone else, » he interrupted, his voice shaking with intensity. « Not when I’m on the road, not when I’m here. No one. Ever. Just you. And the thought of you being with anyone else, it drives me crazy. I can’t fucking stand it. » Your expression softened, but you remained quiet, letting him get it all out. « I swear to God, » he continued, his agitation growing, « if some other guy even thinks about touching you, I’ll fucking fight him. I’m serious. I can’t do this anymore. You’re mine, alright? You’re mine. And I’m yours. I don’t care what we agreed on before. This whole thing stops now, because I’m not sharing you with anyone. »

There was a beat of silence as he stood there, breathing heavily, his fists still clenched, waiting for you to respond. But instead of getting upset or arguing back, you just gave him a sleepy smile and took a step toward him. « Are you done yelling like a madman? » you asked softly, your voice calm and warm, even though you were clearly exhausted. Marshall blinked, the tension in his shoulders loosening just a bit. « Yeah, » he muttered, the fire in his voice starting to cool down. « I guess I am ». You nodded, taking his hand gently and tugging him toward the bedroom. « Good, » you said, your tone playful but soothing, « because it’s late, and I’m tired. Come on, let’s go to bed ». He hesitated for a second, still feeling the residual storm of emotions swirling inside him, but the warmth of your hand in his grounded him. Without another word, he let you lead him into the bedroom, the weight on his chest slowly easing as you settled under the covers. For the first time in a long while, it felt right—no deals, no compromises. Just you.

As you both lay there, the quiet of the night wrapping around you, he couldn’t help but whisper, « You’re mine, you know that, right? ». You smiled sleepily against his chest. « Yeah, Marshall. I know. You made it quite clear ». Marshall lay back against the pillows, his breathing finally slowing down, the adrenaline from his late-night outburst starting to fade. You snuggled into him, your body warm and soft against his side. Just as he was starting to relax, thinking maybe he could actually get some sleep after the rollercoaster of emotions he'd just ridden, you murmured something, your voice soft and teasing. « By the way… I love you too, you idiot ». He froze, his body tensing up again, but for a completely different reason this time. He turned his head to look down at you, his brow furrowing in confusion. « What did you just say? ». You lifted your head slightly to meet his gaze, a sleepy smile playing at the corners of your lips. « I said, ‘I love you too,’ » you repeated, a little louder this time, your tone light. « You idiot. ». He blinked, his heart skipping a beat. « I didn’t… I haven’t said- ». You let out a small laugh, your eyes sparkling with affection even through her sleepy haze. « You didn’t need to. You pretty much screamed it ».

Marshall stared at you for a second, feeling caught off guard, but also… relieved. It was true. He hadn’t said the words, but everything he had just unloaded on you had been wrapped up in them. He loved you, he’d known it for a while now, but it hadn’t hit him full force until tonight, until the idea of you being with anyone else had made him feel like he was losing his mind. « Yeah, well… » he muttered, a bit embarrassed now that you’d called him out on it. « I guess I kinda said it without saying it ». You rested your head back on his chest, fingers gently tracing patterns on his skin. « You did. And it’s okay. I love you, Marshall. ». He smiled and placed a kiss on the top of your head. « I love you too. »