#things to do in tenerife | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

magics-neptunes-things · 7 months ago

Text

Ready, Aim, Shoot (3)

Hi guys!

I post it again, the other one just disappeared without any reason. Sorry if you already red it.

TW : Blood, creepy psychologist, panic attack, angst, depression.

PART 1 | PART 2

Blood. There is blood everywhere. The more you look, the more there is. You look at your shaking hands, cover in red. You don’t know whose blood is it though. The room you are in is only white, adding to the contrast with the blood color. Breathing quickly, you look around and that’s when you finally see her.

Alexia.

Alexia is laying in the middle of the room, her body surrounded by red too. Panicking, you kneel next to her, shaking her to try to wake her. But she doesn’t. She stays still in your hand, not moving. Not breathing. This is when you scream.

You scream so much that it wakes you up suddenly. Heavily breathing, you sit on your bed, blindly trying to find the button on your bedside lamp. You finally managed to find it, but when you put the light on, Alexia isn’t next to you in your bed.

It’s only when you left your room to look for her that you remember. She’s not here tonight, she’s sleeping in Tenerife, where she played today. Or yesterday, because it’s actually three in the morning. It’s the first time she leaves

you alone for all the night since you came back.

Alexia Is not here, but it’s your fault. You assured her that you will be ok, almost pushing her out of your flat. She made you swear to call her if you need her, no matter what time is it. She asked Mapi to come to look for you last night, so you watched the game with the blonde before she went home. You fell asleep quickly actually, you were far to imagine a wake up like that.

You should really call her; she will be disappointed with you if she learns the state of panic you are in without calling her. But you hate the idea to wake her up at this time of the night. She played yesterday, she’s coming home today. She needs to rest.

You find refuge on your couch, putting the TV on. But you can’t forget the picture of Alexia and the blood everywhere. You feel like it’s still on your body, no matter how many times you look at your hands to be sure that you don’t have a little red on you. Thirty minutes after you wake up, you decided to go take a shower.

You pass a long time under it, water burning, washing your body again and again. You ignore the scare that your accident left on your body. You hate them. No matter how many times Alexia kissed them, telling you that you are strong and even more beautiful than before.

You feel guilty as hell when you think about your girlfriend. She is amazing with you, so patient and so loving. You don’t feel like you deserve her. You don’t make any progress with your mental health and it’s disturbing. You even think about breaking up with Alexia one time, disgusting by yourself. She deserves so much more than you. But right after you had a panic attack, because how can you live without her? She’s your whole world.

You are not even strong enough to make the things right for her.

When the feeling of the hot water and the strength with which you rubbed your skin became too much to handle, you stop the water and get out of the shower. This time your skin is red, but you know why.

You pick a hoodie from Alexia and one of her old Barcelona’s short. If you can’t have your girlfriend’s arms, at least you can have her smell. And, after some hesitation, you even take her pillow to go with you to the couch of your living room. You take snack and watch some stupid things on TV while scrolling on your phone.

You are still tired, but you don’t want to take the risk to fall asleep again. You’re terrified to have this dream again. Every time the images came back in your brain, you try to hug Alexia’s pillow harder. It kind of work, but it has nothing to do with Alexia’s comfort.

You fall asleep after 8 o’clock, after your girlfriend told you that they are boarding and that she will be home soon.

You are still asleep when Alexia comes home. She smiles seeing you laying on the couch, cuddle against her pillow, in her clothes. You are watching YouTube now, from her account, and you choose the playlist where she puts all the games she finds interesting. Only putting her suitcase on the ground, she comes to sit next to you, softly stroking your hair.

“Alexia?” you mumble, opening your eyes with difficulty.

“Hi sleepy head”

Her smile is affectionate, and you get up on one elbow to rub your eyes and have a better look at her. Her hairs are down and she seems fine. She seems happy, maybe to see you? The plan was that she takes a taxi with Jana to come back home, Alexia didn’t want you to drive because some noises sometimes make you jump.

“How are you?” Alexia asks softly.

“Can I have a hug?”

She smiles and passes her arms around you to hug you. But you lay on the couch again, taking her with you on it. She giggles and you smile, forgetting for the first time your nightmare.

“I’m glad you’re here” you whisper after some minutes.

“I’m glad to be back to you too.”

You hum, turning a little to pass a lag around her knees and cuddle tighter against her. She’s stroking your back lovingly, sometimes kissing your head. You started to wonder how much mental pressure you are putting on her when she talks again.

“You remember Marta? From the media team?”

“I think I do” you answer, frowning. “Why?”

“She just left for her maternity leave, and she doesn’t know for now if she will come back.”

“Ok?”

You are still frowning when you look at your girlfriend, not understanding where she wants to go. I mean you are happy that people have baby and all. But what does it make a change for you?

It looks like Alexia’s idea was that you apply for the job. You try to escape that idea, not really happy about the idea of meeting tons of people who will know about your story and look at you with pity in their eyes. But Alexia assures you that it won’t happen, adding that you just can go for the interview without saying yes after.

Long story short, you are now sitting on your desk for your first day.

Your job is basically to find idea of activities to anime the games, a little more marketing than journalism to be honest. But it looks fun and like Alexia said before, when Marta will come back, you don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to.

********

“Hi, I’d like a meeting with the new media manager?”

A voice in front of you make you raise your head, even if you recognize it immediately. Alexia is smirking at you from the door of your office, looking like she just finishes her shower. Which she probably did given the time.

“I’m sorry, but you have to talk to my assistant first, she will give you my time schedule” you smirk back.

Alexia frown slightly, closing the door behind her before coming for you.

“You have an assistant?”

You know that frown and you roll your eyes while standing up to great her like she deserves it.

“Yes, I have” you answer, letting yourself go against her when she takes you in her arms.

She hums, her lips against your hair, trying to look discreetly in the open office by the window. The gesture makes you chuckle and you raise your head to have a better look at her.

“What? I was just looking to know if you knew her, that’s all.”

“Sure, mi Amor.”

She pouts and you kiss it better, just to see the smile she has right after. You weren’t really happy to start to work again to be honest, but you have to admit that it’s a good thing for you to keep your head busy with something. Alexia was right, once again.

“Are you ready to leave? I’m taking you home.”

“I am.”

You take your stuff with you, before letting Alexia passes her arm around your waist to take you with her. You don’t know if it’s only the jealousy talking right now, but you have to admit that she is way more openly affective with you since your accident. Not that you have a problem with it, obviously. But the way her gaze is scanning the room when you left after saying goodbye to your colleagues, it makes you think that there is at least a little part of jealousy in it.

Which is totally stupid, you only see her.

“You seems happier” Alexia says cautiously over her plate that night.

You look at her for some seconds before nodding. You are, but you are scared to mention it in case that it makes your nightmares coming back.

“I am. Thanks to you” you smile softly.

“Are you really? Or are you hiding something for me like when I was away for the game to Tenerife?”

You blush and almost chock on your tomato, but you somehow are able to keep some dignity. You don’t take the time to try to deny her statement though, you know that she knows. Of course she does. She reads you like an open book. Alexia has the decency to not point anything else, waiting patiently for your answer.

“I really am better. You were right, I really needed to get out from here even if it was difficult at first. It’s great to have something to do, not that cooking for you wasn’t entertaining. But going out… It’s great.”

She nods softly, without leaving your face with her eyes. You know immediately that there is something else in her mind, but you don’t push, letting her carry the conversation.

“Do you think I was too suffocating with you? Maybe if I…”

“No!” you cut her after some seconds of incredulity. “Alexia how could you…? Are you joking? You are the reason that I’m still here and mentally good. You are the reason that I keep fighting to be fine again. I couldn’t have done it without you. I forbid you to think of anything like that.”

“I’m sorry. It’s some insecurities and I shouldn’t have told you that” she frowns again, playing with her forks and some pasta left in her plate.

“Alexia, don’t please.”

She looks at you again when you stand up, just to come sit on her lap. She welcomes you by taking you close against her with her arms. You pass your arms around your neck, one of your fingers playing with the baby hair on her neck.

“You are so perfect to me. I don’t know if I’ll be able to thank you enough one day for it. You were always right and done nothing wrong all those days. A lot of people would have abandoned, but you are still here with me.”

“I’ll never abandon you” she mumbles right into your eyes.

You can see how much she means those worlds and you have to take all your strength not to start crying like a baby. You’re pretty sure that your eyes are shining from tears but you busy yourself by stroking her cheek tenderly.

“You said one time that my come back is a miracle, do you remember? Well, you are my miracle.” you add, after she nods.

She kisses you and the way she did makes your head turned. She only let you breath for several seconds when you need air, before kissing you again with even more intensity. You had sex again after some weeks of rehab from your part, but not like you did before your departure. And it’s hard to see Alexia restrain her gestures, scared as hell to hurt you. Tonight though, you feel like that maybe it will come back.

********

It came back.

You are laying on your bed, lovingly enveloped in your girlfriend’s arms. Her skin is so soft against yours, your face hiding in her neck. You are lull by Alexia’s deep and slow breathing and you are starting to wonder if she’s falling asleep when she talks quietly.

“How are you feeling?”

“Great. Safe. Warm.”

“Perfect” Alexia sighs softly, moving a little to be more comfortable on the mattress.

You look up at her, admiring the shape of her jaw, her perfect nose, her beautiful eyes, and her so kissable lips.

“What?” she asks when she sees you staring.

“Nothing” you giggle. “You’re just so beautiful.”

She rolls her eyes before closing them, tightening you harder against her. You don’t need anything than her body to keep you warm and you love it.

“Would you be angry if I stopped working there?”

The sudden question makes her open her eyes again to look at you. She seems to be thinking for several seconds before answering.

“Of course not. Why do you want to stop anyway? Is someone nasty with you?”

“Not at all” you deny, already imagine her hunting the person who would do that to you. “I was thinking that… maybe I could finish one of my book projects?”

“You mean one of your thousand amazing scenario who are desperately waiting on your computer?”

“Exactly that” you answer, rolling your eyes.

She teases you way to much about it already.

“If it’s what you want, of course I’ll support you. But what about going out to meet people?”

You see the worried already and you answer, kissing her cheek.

“I’ll go write into a Café or something. Maybe seeing people, crowd and streets will help me to get idea.”

********

That’s exactly what you did, after finishing your job with the media. The first days, you weren’t really effective, more focused on what’s going on around you and which story you want to choose. After some debate with yourself and help asking to your mother and Alexia, you choose to mix two stories and start writing again. It made you start from the beginning, but it’s maybe better like this.

You still get to your psychiatrist to your session twice a week, always a little more scared to go without Alexia. Your psychiatrist told both of you that it could be good for you to come without your girlfriend. Alexia accepted immediately, always being interested in everything that can make you feel better.

You always have a strange feeling without Alexia’s halo, and it’s only happened when you come here. You don’t have trouble to go grocery shopping without Alexia or go to the Café to write.

It’s particularly hard to come today, you talked to Alexia by the phone before your appointment to ease your stress. She seems to realize that something is wrong, because she talks a lot about her day. She only does that to change your mind, and you love her for that.

“Hello Y/N” your therapist greats you.

You great her back and start talking about your new occupation, your activities since the last time and the travel Alexia proposed to you last night. It was something you can’t stop to think about since she mentioned it, eager to go away for some days in the sun with the woman you love.

“Don’t you think it will be too soon?” the doctor asks, only looking at her notepad.

You are taken aback. You would never have thought that she can be thinking that it’s a bad idea. She never stops to tell you to go ahead and try new things since the beginning.

“Taking a plane, going to an airport, in a place that might remind you of your trauma? What would you do if you have one of your panic attacks there?”

You don’t know what to answer to that. Alexia mentioned Canary Islands and a private hotel with a private beach, which seems far away from the Middle East.

“No, I mean… I’m going better now. And I’ll be with Ale. Everything will be ok.”

She looks at you this time, raising an eyebrow. Her look is sharp, almost mean and you have trouble swallow your saliva. You feel like a schoolgirl getting bullied by her teacher.

“Don’t you think you already lean too much on the poor girl? Maybe she suggests the holidays to have some rest, are you sure she wants you to go with her?”

You don’t really remember the end of the appointment and you don’t know how you managed to find yourself in the Barcelona’s facilities. You can’t think straight anymore, it’s like this woman knew all your insecurities and tell you that you are right to have them.

What if she’s right? What if Alexia can’t stand your presence, your toxics dreams and mental health? You already knew that you weren’t good enough for her and that she deserved better. You can’t believe that you let her makes you believe that she can love you. How can she? How can anyone?

You were turning around to go home when you hear someone call your name.

“Y/N?”

You recognize Mariona through your tears, but you can’t say anything. She doesn’t seem to mind though, carefully taking your arm in her hand.

“What are you doing here? Are you looking for Alexia?”

You try to scream at her to let Alexia alone and not to get you to her, but you can’t. When you don’t say a word, Mariona decides to take you to Alexia. Luckily the Majorcan woman came late today and she knows exactly where to find your girlfriend.

You let Mariona drags you around, hearing her soothing voice without being able to understand what she’s saying. Sweets, encouraging words, for sur. You can’t figure out really what happens next, but after several minutes of walk, you hear Mariona calling your girlfriend’s name. And more seconds after, you are surrounded by her arms, her perfume, everything that is her.

Everything that you don’t deserve.

When Alexia realizes that she’s facing a wall and that you won’t say a word, she takes you home. You are like anesthetized at this point, letting her do what she wants with you. When you are laying on the bed you retake some reality and stare at Alexia who seems to be choosing clothes to put on you after taking a shower.

“I’m breaking up with you.”

The words were lifeless, but you see Alexia froze. She turns in your direction, with eyes wide and the most chocked face ever.

“What?”

“I’m breaking up with you” you repeat, looking at her straight in her eyes.

A silence pass and you see Alexia watching at you, probably waiting for you to say something else. Maybe to explain yourself, but you don’t say another word. Plus, the reasons are obvious, no?

“Are you- don’t you love me anymore?”

She seems broken. That doesn’t make any sense, she is supposed to be relieved, not sad. You don’t understand her reaction, so you shrug before answering.

“That’s not the point, Alexia. You are free. I’m giving you your liberty back.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Are you drunk? Did someone give you something to you?”

She seems angry now, almost shouting with her eyebrows frown. You frown too, because why the hell won’t she understand? You sit in the bed while she’s still standing in front of you.

“No! I just… Why won’t you…”

Why is your brain suddenly transformed in pudding?

You look at Alexia when she comes to you and takes your face between her hands. She does it with so much care that you want to cry again.

“Why don’t you let me break up with you?” you whisper.

“Because I love you. I told you; I’ll fight for us every day if I have to.”

There we are, you are crying again. But this time Alexia is here, she can take you against her, rock you will you cry and whispers sweets nothing in your ears. She waits for your sobbing to stop, holding you tightly. Only when you can breathe normally again, she speaks.

“What happened?” she asks softly.

You don’t know really where to start, so you just shake your head without answering anything. But she waits, again and again. So, after some minutes, you talk too.

“I just want you to be happy. I know you’ll be happier without me.”

“You are wrong.”

Her voice is gentle, but as the same time strong enough to let you know that you don’t have to try to deny it. It’s her truth and that’s enough.

“Well you need to take some time apart from me so it’s not –“

“Where the hell does that idea comes from?”

She’s lost. You were good when you end up your call some hours later. And then you appeared crying during her training, only to say her when you come home that you want to break up with her. But you frown again, lost too. And tired, to be honest.

“My therapist said that I’m leaning on you too much. And that’s way you wanted to go on holidays without me.”

You explain that like it’s the more logical thing in the world, but for Alexia it doesn’t make any sense. She starts to understand where it comes from however, even if she doesn’t understand why.

“I’m not going anywhere without you, what the point to have holidays if you’re not with me?” she answers, looking right into your eyes. “Did your therapist say other things?”

You nod and start to explain everything happened and everything she told you. The more you talk, the more Alexia seems to be furious. Her jaw is clenched, her eyes are literally throwing lightning and she so tense that you are really concerned that she can have a cramp somewhere. But when she talks to you again, her voice is infinitely soft.

“Nothing of that is true. I love you. I will do everything to help you to make you feel better. I’m not going to give up on you, Y/N. I’m not going to give up on us.”

You look at her, almost desperately. But she has the same gaze that she has when says things like this. Her eyes are soft, caring and so loving that you can’t do otherwise than believe her.

“I don’t feel like I’m better, Ale” you whisper. “I don’t think I will be one day.”

“You are. You are working, you are getting out, you are smiling again. It’s ok to have bad days, like everyone else. Yours are a little more complicated because you had to go through horrible things. But you have the right to not feel good or needing help a little more some days. And what she said was wrong.”

You are lost, honestly. Alexia can see that you are coming back at yourself again though. Like if you are waking up. You seem always a little desperate and she takes you carefully against her. You let her, sighing of relief when you find the comfort of her arms.

“What if she’s right and you haven’t realized for now?”

“She’s wrong. And she will know it.”

You don’t question what she was implying, too tired to realize what her words may imply. You let Alexia taking you in a bath and more generally taking care of you. You look at her through the mirror when she does your hair.

“When I get better, it will be me who will take care of you” you inform her.

She smiles and finish to undo a knot in your hair before answering, looking at you through the mirror too.

“Okay Cariño.”

She’s smiling but doesn’t seem to make fun of you. You relax, letting your shoulder go down a little bit. That’s mean that she really believes that you will be better.

********

Alexia keeps her promise, going to your therapist’s office in the early hours to talk to her. You don’t know what she told her, but now you don’t have to go to your appointments, and you even have a new psychiatrist, advised by someone from Alexia’s staff.

Rumor has it that Alexia’s shouts still resonate in the psychiatrist’s office.

You don’t know if it’s your breakdown of the change of therapist, but some days after this episode, you feel better than ever. You wake up with your head and your body feeling lighter and Alexia is surprised to see you coming in the kitchen when she’s taking her breakfast. Usually, you stay way longer in bed.

“Is everything alright?” she asks nervously.

You nod, rubbing your eyes before coming behind her to pass your arms around her waist.

“Just wanted to be with you a little bit before you leave.”

Alexia hums when you kiss her neck. You can feel a gaze studying you while you are making yourself coffee, before coming to sit next to her.

“Are you sure that you’re ok Cari?” she asks, almost shyly while you stole a strawberry from her bowl.

“I’m sure baby” you smile at her.

Alexia is looking at you suspiciously during several seconds. She red things about people being “high” before getting down and of course she is scared. But you seem really good today and she can’t help but smile when you kiss her cheek.

“Uhu” she said, taping her lips with expectation.

You giggle but kiss her anyway, smiling against her lips. You are still smiling when she strokes your cheek with her fingertips and when she puts her forehead against yours.

“I love you so much” she whispers before kissing you again.

“I love you more” you smiles.

Alexia makes no with her head and put a finger on your mouth when you want to talk again.

“Would you like to come with me to training today?”

You hesitate for several seconds before answering. It’s been a while since you came to see Alexia in training. You can’t remember who you saw some days before, only Mariona. But you hope that they weren’t a lot.

“You can say no if you don’t want to.” Alexia adds after seeing you hesitate.

“No, I want to come. But… Who were here, the other day? You know…”

“Only Mariona. And I’m sure that she doesn’t say anything to anyone.”

You are relieved to learn that, even if you don’t know how Alexia can know.

“Did you treat her?” you smirk.

“No” Alexia laughs. “I know the girl, she’s one of the most loyal, sweet and discreet that I’ve never met.”

She was right. Mariona didn’t told anyone about what happened and after several minutes you realize that Alexia was right once again. You hug the Mallorcan woman a little longer than Alexia’s other teammates when you met them, silently thanking her. She seems to understand because she smiles at you before taping your cheek affectionately.

And today, as you watch Alexia training and laughing on the pitch with the teammates that she considered like her family, you’re starting to have hope again. Alexia was right every time, so maybe she will be right this time again. You will be better.

#woso imagine #woso x reader #woso fanfics #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas

231 notes · View notes

f0point5 · 2 months ago

Note

literally anything with Max, Emilia, and Daniel please I’m begging after yesterday 🙏🙏🙏

No because this almost turned into a Singapore crack fic lol. But I saved it.

And yes I did listen to the song so that I could check this whole thing could happen within it’s time limit. But also this could so easily have been Tenerife sea but I Daniel-ed it up lol.

Anyway I hope you enjoy it!

✨Set in April 2024✨

I’ll drink what you think, and I’m high

It’s getting dark later now. It’s 7pm and the sun in only now setting over the mountainside, turning the clear sky all manner of gold and peach and baby blue. It’s the first good weather of the month, which is what gave you the idea of sitting out on the rooftop patio. Daniel just happened to call Max as you were mixing a Bellini, which is how he’d got roped into what turned into what you’d dubbed a “Wine and Whine” evening.

So there Max sits, listening to Daniel talk about grape yields while you fiddle with the stereo. Max interjects at the right moments, but mostly he’s watching you bent over in a tight Missoni dress, trying to connect your phone Bluetooth to the speakers.

That’s how good the dress looks, Max thinks to himself. I even remember the name of the shop.

“So I’m like mate, I don’t know shit about grapes, that’s what I pay you for,” Daniel explains now. “And he’s looking at me like I’ve fucked his grandma in front of him. But I’m right. I drive cars for a living and I don’t even like grapes, that’s his job,”

“Yeah, but what if-“

Max is cut off by the sound of your squeal. He looks across the patio to see you bathed in golden light, sporting a bright grin.

“Danny, it’s your song,” you declare, teetering toward the boys on your wedge heels.

“She’s so pissed,” Daniel says through a chuckle.

“I heard that,” you shoot back, holding a hand out to him. “Now, dance with me,”

The gentle strumming of a guitar gives way to an American accent with a somber tone.

Daniel rolls his eyes but gets to his feet, taking your hand and pulling you along the concrete to the middle of the patio.

The music is not Max’s taste, not something he understands, but it’s…warm.

That’s how he feels watching Daniel pull you close, starting to sway you in small circles around the patio. He thinks about how both you and he needed Daniel before you needed each other, how Daniel had been your friend when Max was too scared to be, and he’d been Max’s friend even when it must have been like salt in a wound.

Daniel looks down and says something to you that Max can’t hear. Whatever it is, it is has you rolling your eyes in the way you do when you’re trying not to tear up. He watches you nod in what seems like agreement before shrugging your shoulders.

In the next breath, Max hears your voice singing along above the music.

“We all know, you tiptoed,” you sing, “up to six foot, in grill the grid,”

This pulls a deep, throaty laugh and a “fuck you” from Daniel, his head thrown back so much that he pulls you forward with him.

You’re singing at each other now, bodies shaking through laughter. The sound of a harmonica pierces Max’s ears as Daniel twirls you under his arm, your eyes catching the light of the setting sun as you turn.

Fuck. You are so beautiful.

“Max, come take over,” Daniel calls, beckoning him with one hand. “I need another drink,”

Max gets up and goes over to your swaying form just as Daniel lets you go. He pats Max on the back as he passes, turning to look at you both before he slips through the patio door, out of sight due to the reflection in the glass.

Your glassy eyes and the heat of your skin make Max think you’re probably looking at two of him right now, but he doesn’t mind, as long as you’re looking at him. He takes hold of you, fighting a smile at the way you sink into him in a way you wouldn’t with Daniel. Your hand slides around his neck and his instinctively goes to rest on the curve of your hip, bringing you so close he can smell your perfume and Sauvignon blanc.

In the background, the music picks up, the southern drawl a little more lively even though the words are still morose.

“I don’t get why you guys like this song,” Max says, guiding you out and then under one of his arms so that your back his against his chest. “It’s about a funeral,”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s about a family,” you tell him, craning your neck to look at him over your shoulder.

Max nods, letting go of one your hands to spin you out and then back towards him. He catches you smiling at the effortless way he moves you around. He may not particularly like dancing but he’s been given three gifts in life. One is coordination. The second is control.

“It’s about the little things that stick with you about the people you love. The things about them that made you who you are,”

And the third is you.

He still doesn’t hear the song the way you do. He doesn’t see the world the way you do. But he knows he wants to listen to you explain the world to him for however long he’s in it.

“It’s about a funeral,” he says plainly, which only makes you shake your head.

“I love you, Max Verstappen.” Your words are as plain as his.

He wants to say it back. He even opens his mouth to try. But sometimes, like now, Max hates that word because it seems so wholly inadequate. He’s never been good with words anyway.

Instead, he kisses you, a kiss that tips you backwards, has you leaning into the hand on your back that holds you up. He can feel you smiling against his lips as he straightens.

When he pulls away, you follow him, placing one more peck on his lips before leaning forward to rest your chin on his shoulder as you continue to dance. Max notices then that the golden hues have left the sky, the colour now the same as the Japanese Cherry blossoms. He breathes in the scent of roses on your skin as he pulls you closer.

“What was he saying to you?” He asks quietly, his cheek moving against yours as he speaks.

“Who?” Your reply is lazy, almost a purr against his neck.

“Daniel. What did he say while you were dancing?”

Max doesn’t know how he can tell you smile at that, but he knows.

“Oh. Nothing,” you say. The music slows, and a woman’s voice joins the man’s against a single guitar. “He thinks we’re yuppies,”

#max verstappen x reader

86 notes · View notes

gadriezmannsgirl · 1 year ago

Text

Holidays and Canary Pools -P.G8

Esa foto de Pedri en la piscina ha rodado en mi cabeza desde que la vi🥴 Y here's a fic of it

Warnings: Contains a bit of suggestive content! Nothing too graphic, IT'S SAFE FOR EVERYONE TO READ!

Summary: Pedro + You + Sun + Family Time + Canary Islands = Vacation

You remember when you and Pedri choosed the house he was renting for vacations, you had gone to it a few weeks prior and you fell in love with the pool, the crystal clear water and the prettiest view of Tenerife ever.

But now you were having a hard time watching your shirtless boyfriend go around the whole place as if nothing, when all you wanted was to jump on him over and over again.

You reminded yourself of the fact his parents were there, his brother and girlfriend, his cousin and a few friends of them. Of course you two sneak a couple-time here and there but not like you would have wanted to.

And with the fact Pedro was building up muscles, he was looking gorgeous than ever.

When Adrián, Pedro's cousin suggested the first pool day after a week of being here, you all nodded and agreed to it quickly. And here you were...

Pedro was looking divine, pretty, gorgeous, words couldn't describe what you felt by only looking at him. And when he got shirtless, you chocked up on your drink, making Rosy, María (Fer's girlfriend), Antonella (Adrian's friend), Fernando, Fer and Pedro look at you confused, the last one worried about you.

"Se fue por el camino viejo" (It went in the old road) You said after composing yourself, coughing up a few times to cover the fact you drink went up to your nose. The named ones laughed lightly but Pedro, you saw Rosy was smirking at you.

Please, don't let her keep up with your thoughts about her son.

"Bonita, are you alright?" Pedro said kneeling down as you nod repeatedly

"Yes, don't worry, cariño" You cleared your throat and looked at him "I'm good" You leaned down to kiss his cheek "I'm good" He smiled softly feeling your lips on his cheek once again

"Wanna join us at the pool?" You shook your head softly watching how Adrián, Fer and their friends throw themselves on it

"Not yet, amor. Go and enjoy, wanna sunbathe for a bit" He rolled his eyes

"Don't you think you've done a lot of those lately?"

"Let her tan, Pedro" Rosy said softly as you stucked your tongue out towards him as he sticked his out too, making you laugh

"Sunbathe is one thing, Sunburn is another and I don't want her to get the second one, mom" Pedro said to his mother shaking his head as the older lady looked at him with a smile on "Let me put sunscreen on you, at least?" You smiled nodding and got into the lounge chair.

You got out of the sheer mesh beach pants you had on and were only left in your black two pieces bikini

"Creo que yo me puedo colocar bloqueador solar adelante" (I think I can put on sunscreen on myself in my front) Pedro shook his head

"Que yo te lo pongo todo" (I'll put it all) You smiled

"¿Puedo luego colocarte yo el bloqueador?" (After this, can I put the sunscreen on you?) He hums smiling

"Claro que si" (Of course)

He massaged your chest, neck, face, shoulders, arms, tummy and legs slowly with deep grabbings in certains parts and he still made it look innocent when you were being a whole mess thanks to him

"I think you did this just to touch me in front of everybody" You said when he was putting it on your back, you felt his laugh

"Un poco sí" (A little yes) He nods "But I truly take care of my girlfriend too so" You smile softly

"Claro que lo haces" (Of course you do) You say and then yelped a little when you felt a little smack on one of your ass cheeks, you turned around quickly "¡Pedro González López!" You hit his chest feeling his laugh "Your parents are there!"

"They know how I am with you around me" He kissed your lips "Que 'tas muy hermosa, mi vida" (You're beautiful) He smiled grabbing your hand that was on his chest "El traje de baño te queda espectacular... Se me hace imposible no mirarte y quererte hacer varias cositas" (The bikini looks gorgeous on you... It makes me impossible not looking at you and wanting to do several things to you) You blushed

Glad to know the feeling was mutual

"But that can be done in the night" You say

"I can't wait for tonight, then" You smile grabbing the sunscreen of his hands and pushing some into your hand

"Venga, we don't want any sunburns here" He kisses your lips quickly before giving you a full look of his broad and hard chest, you also did the same to him, slow and deep grabbing massage in his body in front and in his back too. "All done"

"¿Segura que no vienes?" (You sure you don't wanna come?) You smiled

"I'll join you guys later, you go" He smiled before kissing you once again and running towards the water, splashing the lads a bit as they tried to cover themselves up

"Can we join?" María says as you smile

"Please, do" You put on Pedri's sunglasses but before you could relax properly a plate of croquetas was pull besides your table and Rosy leaned down to whisper in your ear

"Tell Pedrito to control himself a bit" She smiled kissing your cheek "And you try to not let the drinks go into the wrong way again, please. Que nos preocupamos por ti, hija" (We worry for you) Your hands went to your face blushing and laughing

"Ay Díos mío, que pena" (Oh my gosh, what a shame)

"Nonono, que va" (Nonono, don't worrry) She shook her head "Don't be just tell him to keep it down a bit" You blushed hard

How the hell were you supposed to look again at Rosy in the eyes? You couldn't.

After a while of your little talk with Rosy, the girls and you got into the pool for a while, playing fight with Fer and María, Pedro and you winning a few times, until the sun was setting when you got out of it and drying yourself off a bit a few minutes later Pedro came out and sat next to you

"¿Qué estabas hablando con mamá?" (What did mom and you were talking about?) He said wipping the excess of water from his face

"That you should keep it in your pants!" You exclaimed softly as Pedro's face softly formed a smile "Don't laugh!" He nodded laughing

"I will" He said "It's funny"

"No, it isn't" You said shaking your head with a small smile on, you couldn't help it, it was funny but at the same time it wasn't

"But you're laughing"

"I'm not" He kissed the corner of your lips as you blushed

"Lovebirds, stop it!" Fernando said "Let's come in and have some dinner"

"Ahora tú padre piensa lo mismo" (Now, your dad thinks the same) Pedro laughs hugging you to him as he leaded the both of you inside.

During dinner, you handled all the jokes and comments made about how you and Pedro couldn't keep your hands off of each other and whilst you felt embarrassed from it, you loved the fact they considered you one more of the family. You have been with Pedro for two years and ever since first moment they had let you know that and you loved them as much as they loved you.

Now, fast forward bedtime you couldn't sleep. You didn't know why. Pedro had tried to help you out but you didn't allowed it seeing as it was enough teasing from his family that day, so when he was asleep you went outside and felt drown by the beauty of the moon reflecting into the water.

You undid your clothes once more being left in bra and panties and got into the, surprisingly, warm water enjoying the quiet and dark view of Tenerife at 1 in the morning

"Bonita, ¿qué pasa?" (Bonita, what's wrong?) You heard his raspy voice said as he looked at you confused

"Couldn't sleep"

"¿Y por eso vienes a la piscina a estas horas?" (And that's why you come to the pool at this time?) He asks

"I didn't wanted to wake you up and doing nothing around the house is boring"

"You know I can't sleep without you by my side" You smile before you saw him get out of his pijama pants and join you in the pool

"¿Qué haces?" (What are you doing?) You ask softly

"Acompaño a mi chica a ver la luna, hablo un rato y paso el tiempo con ella. ¿Tú?" (I accompany my girl to see the moon, talk for a while and spend time with her. You?) He whispered

"Falling in love with my gorgeous boyfriend" He smiled leaning down to kiss your lips, your hands around his neck and his hands grabbed the back of your thights to pull them around his waist. You kept on kissing for a little while until he separated from you enough to look at your face.

"You owe me something" He whispered as you smiled

"Your mom could catch us at any second"

"She's a heavy sleeper" His hand went down to your ass and gripped its flesh getting a breathy moan out of you "Let me help you out, please" His hands travelled down to your front "You looked divine in that bikini and a little bird told me you choked on your drink because of me"

"Such an ego, you have" He pressed your back to the cold tiles of the pool

"Ah, ¿Pero acaso es mentira?" (Ah, but is it a lie?) He smirked continuing with his trail down your legs and up

"You looked so good" You defend yourself as he laughs smirking

"Venga, let's tire you up"

°°° °°° °°° °°°

Taglist: @gaviypedrisbride @stuckinaf4nfiction @elijahslover @azzpenswrld

695 notes · View notes

pedripics · 11 months ago

Text

IBAI x PEDRI - January 2, 2024 (summary)

He’s doing okay but things are a bit tough at the moment

He spent Christmas at home in Tenerife with his family

They play 'Suika Game' a lot in the dressing room (but on the phone and not the PC because it's free there lol)

He laughed a lot with Piqué in the dressing room. Piqué didn't really like training sessions but he was very good in the matches

Have you ever looked at Pique and thought that if you wanted to, you could dribble past him 7 times? - "Yes (laughs)"

Ferran has supported him a lot and is always there for him

Ferran takes the shark mentality very seriously, so Pedri gave him some shark slippers and now Ferran wears them in the dressing room

He tries to help Gavi every day because he knows what it's like to be injured for a longer time and he's confident that he will come back in great condition

Pedri does pilates now after Puyol recommended it to him

Pedri has Aleix García in his Fantasy team (his brother is first, he is second)

He rarely uses Twitter, he uses Twitch and TikTok more

They are behind Xavi 100%

In his opinion, Neymar looks good with every hairstyle

Girona are playing very well and he thinks that they could win LaLiga

Jordi Alba and Piqué were always fighting but that's how they got on. They just liked to fight lmao

Vitor Roque is wonderful, he is always happy, whenever Pedri sees him he is smiling

He doesn't like press conferences at all because they are a bit disturbing as all the journalists stare at you while you just sit there

In the Premier League, they are able to spend 80 or 90 million for players which is unbelievable. In La Liga, academies are what makes the difference

They don't really talk about the Super League in the dressing room

Boca Juniors or River Plate? - He's only watched one game and Boca won, so Boca

For Pedri, Busquets is the best No. 6 in history

His favourite player is Iniesta (in case you somehow didn't know that yet)

His favourite XI in history: ter Stegen, Jordi Alba, Piqué, Ramos, Alves, Xavi, Iniesta, Busquets, Ronaldinho, Ronaldo (after being forced by Ibai), Messi and Luis Enrique as a Coach (he changed out Ronaldinho for Neymar later)

Luis Enrique doesn't have What's App. If you want to talk to him, you need to send him an SMS

He was nervous when scoring the decisive penalty against Real Betis because the goalkeeper was a giant

Hardest defeat: penalty shootout against Italy (Euros 2020)

He supported Argentina in the WC final (for Leo)

He would like Haaland to sign for Barça (in his words "as a replacement for Lewy because he won't play for us until he's 60") and he also really likes Julían Alvarez (agent Pedri 👀)

His first friend at Barça was Trincāo

A dream: to win the Champions League and the World Cup

Before games, he likes to listen to slow Spanish music (Julio Iglesias? - "Maybe (laughs)")

His favourite singer is Quevedo (everyone act surprised please)

Vitor is only 18 years old, you cannot ask him to be the new Pele, but he has a lot of confidence from the club

He normally always stops for fans but there are always the same 5-6 TikTokers in front of the training ground so he sometimes doesn't stop if it's just them

He is rewatching Prison Break at the moment, even though he's seen it two times already. The first season is the best one in his opinion

He used to watch anime but not anymore

Kounde has the confidence to wear anything

They should listen to the players more because the calendar is so tightly packed right now and there are too many injuries

He would like to score more goals

He found scoring goals strange when he was younger because he never knew how to celebrate and all he did was run and look stupid

Ibai breaks his computer mouse and engineer Pedri tells him to plug it out and in again (Pedri indeed managed to fix it)

Favourite place in Barcelona? - Camp Nou ❤️

Ibai and Pedri played 'Guess these 100 Players' and Pedri guessed 94/100 right (and Pedri realised he doesn't know enough South American players)

#pedri #pedri gonzalez #fc barcelona #fc barça #barça #*interview

250 notes · View notes

canirove · 1 month ago

Text

The invinsible princess | Chapter 7

“Like the title of that Beyoncé song said…”

Author's note: This is one of my favourite chapters, so I hope you like it as much as I do. And to the anon who sent me the loveliest message ever the other day... I'm still thinking about it, thank you very much 😭💜

Chapter 6 | Chapter 8

Masterlist

“I can't fucking feel my ass” I say while getting out of the camper van Pedri and I have rented for our road trip.

“Sofía!” he gasps. “Those aren't words for a lady like yourself!”

“Oh, I beg for your forgiveness, my lord. Please allow me to rephrase it… Blimey!” I gasp, covering my mouth like women did in old movies. “I can't feel my lower back after being sat for the past two hours!”

“Much better. Thank you, my lady” Pedri says, doing a little curtsey.

“My lord” I reply, doing the same before we both start laughing. Whoever sees us behaving like this at a petrol station, must think we are crazy. “Anyway, can you do me a favour before you start with that?” I ask him, nodding towards the van.

“Of course. What does the lady need?”

“I need to use the bathroom, but I don't want to go alone.”

“What?” Pedri laughs.

“Yeah, I just… What if I'm doing my business and someone comes in and catches me there? I don't want to go online and see that a photo of myself sitting on the toilet has gone viral.”

After my first and so far only viral photo, the one with Charles Leclerc a few years ago, I've become a bit less invisible than what I was used to. Most people still pay more attention to my sister Leonor, but Carlos has had to stop paparazzis from taking photos of me and my aunt leaving work together more than once.

“Ok, fine” Pedri sighs. “It is a bit weird to not have Carlos around, isn't it? He usually is the one who does these things.”

“It is, yes. But it was what we wanted, so” I shrug.

“I'm sure he still is keeping an eye on us somehow” Pedri says as we walk towards the back of the petrol station, where the bathroom is. “I can see him glued to his phone, checking the van’s GPS to make sure we are following the route we shared with him” he laughs. “He may have even set some microphones and cameras inside to make sure we are alive.”

“For his own sake, I hope he hasn't.”

“Because of what he may have heard last night, for example?” he smirks.

“If you mean your snoring, then yes. But I was talking about you singing while driving.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Let's just say that becoming a singer isn't a career path you should follow once you retire from football.”

“So rude, my lady. So rude… And we've made it.”

“Aren't you going inside?”

“What?” Pedri chuckles.

“Yeah… To make sure there is no one hiding or something.”

“Sofía, this petrol station isn't like the ones you see in American movies. Here they clean their bathrooms and there isn't a guy hiding behind a door ready to kidnap you and take you to his cabin in the woods.”

“Better safe than sorry” I shrug.

“Urgh, fine” he replies, rolling his eyes and walking into the bathroom. “It's empty, you can come in.”

“Did you check it properly?”

“Yes, I did. There is no one inside, and it is quite clean. Maybe not as much as those golden toilets you have at the palace where you can see your own reflection, but they are ok.”

“Idiot” I say, giving him a little push and making him laugh. “But thank you, Pedri.”

“Anything for you, my lady” he smiles.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“I think we'll have enough with these snacks until we… Sofía? What are you doing?”

“Have you ever used one of these?” I say, looking at the machines outside the petrol station’s shop.

“Yeah. Who hasn't?” Pedri chuckles. “Oh. Sorry. You…”

“As a kid we often saw them when we were on holidays, but my mum never allowed Leonor and I to buy anything from them. She said they were just a stupid way to waste your money on useless stuff.”

“I mean, she's not wrong. But we used to have one at the bar in Tenerife, and just seeing the kids’ faces when the ball comes out of the machine and they open it to see which surprise they've gotten makes it worth it.”

“I guess...”

“Here, take this.”

“Why are you giving me these coins?”

“They are the change I got from buying our snacks” he says, nodding towards the bag in his hand. “You can use them on the machines.”

“What?”

“You just told me that you've always wanted to give them a go, haven't you? Then do it, Sofía. You are an adult now, your mum won't scold you for doing it” he chuckles.

“I… I… Thank you, Pedri” I say before wrapping my arms around his neck and hugging him.

“That's ok” he smiles. “C'mon, let's see what they have.”

The first machine is a Pokémon one, and each ball has a different figurine inside it.

“What is that?”

“Pedri, this is Charizard!”

“I'm only familiar with Pikachu” he shrugs.

“You… seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“And then I'm the weird one.”

“You aren't weird, Sofía” he says, kissing my cheek before I put another coin on the next machine. This one has just little teddy bears made of rubber. Very ugly teddy bears. “That smile they painted on him is kind of creepy, isn't it?” Pedri says when I open the ball I got.

“A bit, yes” I laugh, moving to the next machine. This one has little racing cars, and he is definitely way more excited about it than me. “This one is for you” I say, giving him one of the coins.

“For me?”

“For you” I smile. “I know you are dying to do it and see which car you will get.”

“I actually am, yes” he smiles back.

“But wait, let me get my phone and film you. I have the feeling this is going to be the cutest thing ever.”

“Everything I do is cute, my lady” he winks before crouching down in front of the machine, looking like a kid on Christmas morning when he opens the ball and sees the car inside it. “Now it is my turn to film you” he says once he has calmed down.

“Me?”

“The last one has jewelry or something like that. And you like your jewels, my lady” he smirks.

“I do, yes” I reply, my hand instinctively moving to my necklace. To the banana charm, the S one, and the new addition: a P one he got me for my birthday last year.

“And? What is it?” Pedri asks me when I open the ball.

“I think… oh.”

“That actually is quite nice, isn't it? Let me help you put it on.”

“What?” I chuckle.

“I have to practice for when it's time for the real one” he smirks, taking the ring from my hand and putting the phone on his pocket. Because the surprise on that last ball had been a ring, one that didn't look that bad for just 1€. “There you go. Perfect.”

“Though not as perfect as you” I say, wrapping my arms around his neck once again. “Thank you very much for this, Pedri.”

“For putting a ring on your finger?”

“For everything. From checking the bathroom to see if there was a murderer lurking in the shadows, to buying me my favourite chocolate bar without me asking for it, and for letting me experience this and go home with a very cool ring. The real one is gonna have to be a really cool ring to be better than this one” I say with a teasing smile.

“It isn't gonna be an easy task, no. But I'll do my best. Because for you, my lady… For you I would do anything.”

“Aww, Pedri…” I say, trying to not start crying in the middle of a petrol station. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Sofía” he says before kissing me.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“Ok, what happened.”

“Uh?”

“Pedri, you've been dating my sister for years and you know I love you like a brother” Leonor says. “But this is the first time we are having lunch together just the two of us without Sofía.”

“Then it was time we did it, don't you think?” he shrugs, focusing on his food.

“Pedri…” Leonor sighs. “What happened? Is everything ok between you two?”

“Yeah.”

“Then?”

“Then nothing.”

“Pedro!” Leonor says, raising her voice.

“God, you just sounded like your mum when she gets mad with your dad” he chuckles.

“Oh, this is not me being mad. Me being mad is something you don't want to see, so you better tell me what the hell is going on.”

“I…” he gulps. “I want to propose to Sofía.”

“No!” Leonor gasps, making Pedri thank everything for being alone in a private area of the restaurant. Because if they had been surrounded by people, all eyes would be in them after how loud that gasp had been. “You are going to do it?”

“Yeah” he says, nervously playing with his fork.

“How? When? Where?”

“I don't know yet. I actually decided it this morning.”

“What?”

“Yeah” Pedri says again. “I had just left my therapist's office, and it hit me: I was ready. I am ready to ask Sofía to marry me and to deal with everything that will come once it is made oficial.”

“Wow” Leonor says. “But do you think she is ready for it too? To stop being the invisible princess like she always says? Because this engagement is gonna be talked about worldwide. The princess and the football player! The fanfic that becomes a reality!” she chuckles.

“Has she shown you the ring she got during our road trip this summer?”

“The plastic one she loves so much?”

“The very same. When I gave it to her I told her it was practice for when I put the real one on her finger” Pedri says. “And since then, we've been talking a lot more about getting married, about how it will be, what will change, discussed it with our therapist… And I think she also is ready, that we both are on the same page.”

“Then it is happening. It's happening!”

“Leonor, what are you…”

“What happened?” the queen says over the phone.

“Hello to you too, mum” Leonor replies, rolling her eyes.

“Hi, sorry. But what happened? Why are you calling me at lunch time?”

“Is dad with you?”

“Hello!” the king says. “Where are you, Leonor?”

“I'm in Barcelona, visiting Sofía.”

“Oh, is she there? Are you girls out together?” the king asks her.

“I'm out with someone, but not her. Pedri, say hello” she says, turning her phone so it faces him.

“I… Umm… Hello” he says with an awkward smile, hoping her parents can't see that he is blushing. Even though he has known them for years and shared many things with them, sometimes he still goes all shy when he remembers he is talking to the King and Queen of Spain.

“Oh, Pedri!” the queen says. “How are you? Everything ok?”

“Yes, perfect. Thank you for asking. And sorry for interrupting your lunch.”

“Oh, don't worry about that. What happened?”

“Uh?”

“Something must have happened for Leonor to call us and for you two to be having lunch together without Sofía” the queen says.

“Well… I… Umm” he mumbles.

“It's happening, mum” Leonor says, moving the phone so it is facing her again. “He's doing it!”

“He is doing what?” the king asks.

“He is going to ask Sofía to marry him!”

“No!” the queen gasps as loudly as Leonor earlier. Maybe even louder. “You better not be messing with us.”

“I’m not, mum. I swear. Pedri, tell them” she says, turning her phone again.

“I… Ummm… Yeah. It's true” he says. “I want to ask Sofía to marry me.”

“He's doing it! He is doing it!” the queen screams.

“I heard you, darling” the king chuckles.

“Our baby is getting married!”

“First she has to say yes” he chuckles again. “And I have to give Pedri my blessing too.”

“Oh, please” she says, rolling her eyes. “You don't need to do that. It is just a formality, not something you actually have to do, and we live in the 21st century, not the middle ages. Besides, we all know you love him like the son you never had. You are as happy as I am about this. Maybe even more.”

“I am, yes” he smiles. “And even if you don't need it, you have my blessing, Pedri.”

“Thank you, sir” he replies.

“Now, details” the queen says. “Have you chosen a ring? Do you know where you are going to propose? And when? Because we have a trip to South America coming soon and…”

“Mum, relax” Leonor chuckles.

“Sorry, I'm sorry. I am just so happy for them!”

“We can tell, darling” the king says. “But tell us, Pedri. Have you thought of anything?”

“I have not, no” he says. “I was hoping that you and Leonor could help me, because I don't know where to start. I mean, I have some ideas about where I could do it, but the ring? She likes jewellery so much and each piece she owns is so different that I don't know what she could like. And maybe there is like some tradition to follow? A ring to pass from one generation to another? I don't know.”

“I think I have an idea” the king says.

“You?” the queen says, arching an eyebrow.

“Yes, me. Has she ever told you about her favourite painting?”

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“I can't believe you managed to close an entire museum to celebrate our anniversary.”

“Perks of being your grandmother's favourite” Pedri winks. “And this is your museum too.”

“What?”

“Reina Sofía?”

“Pedri, this museum was named after my grandmother, not me. We may share the same name, but I've never been and never will be queen.”

“You are the queen of my heart, tho” he smirks.

“Oh… my God” I laugh, my voice echoing on the empty corridors. Or almost empty since I know Carlos is keeping an eye on us from somewhere.

“What? It is the truth” Pedri says before making me twirl and pulling me against his body. “Have I told you yet that you look beautiful tonight?”

“You have, yes” I say, wrapping my hands around his neck while he starts to slowly rock us from side to side.

We are dancing to no music in the middle of a museum, surronded by art and history eveywhere, and it is… It is the most romantic thing ever.

“Well, you look so beautiful that I have to say it many times so it is accurate.”

“Like me telling you that I love you many times per day and still not being enough to show how much I love you?”

“Exactly” he smiles before making me twirl again. “Should we continue with our tour?”

“I like it here.”

“But I don't like that guy in that painting. It's like he is judging us.”

“If he can read minds, he probably is judging me.”

“You? Why? What is that pretty head of yours thinking about?”

“This pretty head…” I say, moving closer so only he can hear me. “Is thinking about all the things she wants to do to you, and all the things she wants you to do to her once we are alone.”

“Oh… I see.”

“Yep” I smile. “Though that king should not judge me too much since history books say he had like ten lovers and more than twenty bastards besides the five kids with his wife.”

“Really?”

“I mean, the legitimate kids definitely were five, there are records of it. The lovers and the bastards depend on the historian you ask. But everyone agrees on him not being the most faithful of husbands. He was married to one of the most extraordinary women in our history, and he treated her like shit despite being the one who was keeping the kingdom from falling apart while he was hunting, partying and getting drunk with his friends.”

“You aren't his biggest fan, are you?” Pedri chuckles.

“I am not, no.”

“But you do like his wife.”

“She is one of my favourite historical figures” I smile. “There actually is a painting of her here at the museum that is one of my favourites. Do you want to see it?”

“Of course” he smiles back. “Lead the way, my lady.”

“My lord” I giggle when he takes my hand on his and kisses it.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“She was beautiful.”

“She was, wasn't she?” I say while Pedri and I look at the painting in front of us. “And this is just a painting, so you can imagine how striking she must have been in real life. But she was more than just a pretty face. She was one of the most intelligent women of her time, and like I told you, the country didn't go to hell thanks to her.”

“So she basically was like you, but you have a faithful husband” Pedri winks.

“Oh, shut up” I laugh, giving him a little push. “First of all, you aren't my husband.”

“Yet” he smirks.

“And second, I've done nothing compared to everything she did.”

“Don’t say that, Sofía. You are helping people daily, making them happy and giving them hope, and I still haven't heard anyone complaining about it. And I'm talking about the people that matter, not the trolls online.”

“Yeah, I guess…” I sigh.

“And if you don't believe me when I tell you that you are alike, just look at all the jewels she's wearing and the ones you are wearing right now. You are only missing the crown!”

“You know, I may like wearing so many things because of her” I chuckle.

“How so?”

“Even though I've always complained about my parents paying more attention to Leonor than me, there was a moment each month where I felt like that wasn't the case, and that was when my dad would bring me here to have something like a date just the two of us. We would visit a different part of the museum each time, but we would always come here and visit her, my dad always telling me something new about her. So I think I like jewellery so much because of all those hours I've spent looking at her and analysing every detail on this painting.”

“So like people say these days, you were influenced by her.”

“Exactly” I laugh.

“Do you have a favourite piece of jewellery she wears? Like one you wish you could have and wear every day if it was possible.”

“That ring” I say, pointing at it.

“Wow, that was fast” Pedri chuckles.

“I've been obsessed with it since the first time I saw it for some reason. But unlike other pieces like the crown or the earrings, that one went missing. Some say she asked to be buried with it since it was a gift from the love of her life. And no, that wasn't the king.”

“So it was like… an engagement ring?”

“Something like that, yes” I say. “It was a ring that symbolised the love she and that man she loved so much had. A true and pure love that would last forever.”

“Like ours, then” Pedri smiles, kissing my hand again.

“Like ours, yes” I smile back.

“One that we should also probably… seal, somehow.”

“What?”

“Sofía…” Pedri says, letting go of my hand to pick something that was hiding behind one of the benches on the room. A little box. A… wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait. Is that… Is he… “We always joke about me being the cheesy one in our relationship, but the truth is that when I have to actually be like that and put into words what I feel for you… What you make me feel… Well, I suck” he chuckles. “You actually are the one who has a way with words, the one who can properly express those feelings, not me. So since they say actions are louder than words, that's what I am going to do.”

“Pedri…” I whisper as he gets down on one knee. He's doing it. He is actually doing it, he… Holy shit.

“Sofía… my lady” he says with that smirk that he knows I love, the one I fell in love with the moment I first saw it years ago in Germany. “Would you marry me?”

“Pedri!” I gasp when I see the ring inside the little box. “Is that… is it…”

“We didn't desecrate any grave, don't worry” he chuckles. “This is a new ring, a copy of that one you love so much.”

“But I just told you about it! How did you…”

“Your dad” he smiles. “I didn't know which type of ring you would like because you like different styles, so I asked Leonor and your parents, and he mentioned this ring and this painting you've always been obsessed with.”

“So coming here tonight was my dad's idea?”

“That was all me, he just gave me the inspiration I needed. Going to museums has always been one of our favourite things to do together, this one has your name even if it wasn't named after you, it has your favourite painting of one of your favourite people, and the ring was inspired by it, so I thought it was the perfect place to ask you a question you haven't answered yet.”

“Uh?”

“I asked you a question, Sofía. Remember?”

“Oh, shit, sorry. Yes.”

“Yes…”

“Yes, I want to marry you, Pedri.”

“You do?”

“Of course I do!” I laugh.

“Great, cool… Cool” he chuckles, his hand shaking as he takes the ring from the little box and takes mine.

“You know how to do it, Pedri. You already did it once” I tease him, showing him the plastic ring on the other hand.

“I know. But this is the real deal, you know?”

“I know. And I love it.”

“Do you?” he says once the ring is on my finger, his thumb caressing my hand while still holding it.

“I do. I love it almost as much as I love you.”

“Almost?”

“Almost, yes. Because it is impossible to love anything more than I love you, Pedri.”

“I love you too, Sofía. Or should I say…” he says as he wraps one arm around my waist and leans me back like they do in movies. “Fiancée?”

“You should… fiancé” I smirk before he kisses me. “Did you hear that noise?” I whisper when we break apart.

“What?”

“There is something… Carlos?” I call.

“Sorry, ma'am.”

“Carlos, are you crying?”

“I… I am, ma'am” he says, wiping his tears with the sleeve of his jacket. “It's just… you are getting married.”

“I am, yes” I smile, showing him the ring.

“It's beautiful, ma'am. You look beautiful. Like, you should see your smile right now. It is the most beautiful smile I've ever seen.”

“Aww, Carlos” I say before hugging him and starting to cry too.

“I'm so happy for you, ma'am. For both of you” he says, awkwardly ending our embrace.

“Thank you, Carlos” Pedri smiles. “We wouldn't be here if it wasn't because of you, you know? If you hadn't allowed Sofía to leave the Euros party…”

“Yeah” he chuckles. “Though I almost ruined it all when I heard your friends talking and I thought you were only interested in her because of a bet.”

“I actually think that misunderstanding is the reason why we are here” I say.

“What?”

“I don't know if without it Pedri would have been brave enough to tell me that he had had a crush on me for years” I say while giving him a teasing smile, his cheeks turning bright red. “Him being so open and honest with me just after we had met, somehow made me trust him and see that he wasn't like the other guys I had dated. That there were no secret intentions. So thank you, Carlos. And we are sorry for everything you've had to see and deal with over the years.”

“It's ok, ma'am. Just doing my job” he smiles. “Would you like to see the photos I've taken?”

“Photos? What photos?”

“Carlos may have been our personal photographer and videographer during the night” Pedri says.

“What?”

“I wanted to remember tonight, and basically everyone in your family would kill me if there was no proof of what happened” he shrugs.

“That's… true, yes. Thank you” I say, kissing his cheek. “And thank you again, Carlos.”

“Ma'am” he replies, giving me his phone to check everything. From the sneaky photos he's taken of us smiling at each other throughout the museum, kissing or dancing together, to the video of Pedri getting on one knee and asking me to marry him. Because it happend, it was real.

Pedri and I are getting married.

#pedri #pedri x reader #pedri gonzalez x reader #pedri gonzalez #pedri fanfic #pedri gonzalez fanfic #pedri imagine #pedri gonzalez imagine #football fanfic #football imagine

57 notes · View notes

updownlately · 1 year ago

Text

‘cause all that you are (is all that i’ll ever need)

| alessia russo x reader | some angst and some fluff | 3.3k | inspo: kiss me by ed sheeran & tenerife sea by ed sheeran | a/n: so this req was a long time coming, thanks for your patience amigo! hope you like it! idk how to feel about this one but ima get this out for now and if i need to re-do it later then ill be more than happy to!

~~~

Late training sessions were definitely not on Alessia’s list of favourite things in the world, especially not when all she wanted to do was escape the rainy Manchester weather and cold. It was safe to say really, that if she could change any one thing about her football career, past, present, and future, she’d limit the number of evening practices, especially those on rainy days to near zero.

Being soaking wet after a practice, the number of times she had fallen no doubt a contributing factor, the chill in the air seemed to send a continuous shiver in her bones, one that not even a shower post-practice could abolish.

So albeit showered and freshened up, all the blonde really wanted to do at seven in the evening on a Tuesday was take a hot shower at home and curl up beside you; dinner, a movie, and unlimited cuddles the only things things on the cards for the night.

But that plan required many things, one of which included you being free, something you likely weren’t.

Caught up in all your coursework for your degree, you had recently been swamped with a never-ending to-do list, something which pained Alessia almost, if not more, as much as it pained you.

Entering your shared apartment, Alessia gently dropped her kit bag and paused for a brief second to try and decipher where you might be. Hearing nothing that would give any indication of your location, she kicked off her shoes before haphazardly placing them on the rack and heading in to find you.

With finals season upon you, you had been hiding away from Alessia to finish your work a lot more, conscious of how her mere presence distracted you, had you contemplating why you wanted to finish your degree this year when you could instead cuddle up with her on the couch and put on a show to watch.

However, the tiredness of the day was finally catching up to her and the Gunner wanted nothing more than to find you and drape herself over you, cuddles galore, her heaven on earth.

Quickly peering into the kitchen and then the dining area before checking the living room, Alessia wandered through the living space, not wanting to shout for you lest you be on a call of some sort.

Walking towards your office/makeshift study space, she started to take her wet hair out of its bun, hoping that she could get you to agree to plait it for her as you normally would.

Between rainy English weather and the nearly two years of you two dating, it had become a sort of ritual between the pair of you- countless nights of a dimly lit living room, a brush in your hands as you sat on the couch with the footballer on the floor between your legs, you working ever so carefully and gently to untangle and braid her wet hair into a somewhat manageable braid.

It had started when you had realized that Alessia would leave her soaked, post-shower hair in a messy bun until it would eventually dry eons later, making everything her head came in contact with during the meantime a damp mess.

After the fourth time you had to change out of a wet t-shirt post cuddling session, you had finally given up on trusting the striker to do her own hair, instead taking matters into your own hands.

Since then, it had become normal for the Englishwoman to find you after most practices or games, silently taking seat between your legs or in front of you with a towel, brush, and blow-dryer in hand.

So Alessia made a quick stop to your shared ensuite, grabbing the aforementioned items in a breeze before continuing on the remainder of her short walk to you office next door.

Well aware that you may be on one of your numerous zoom calls with a course mate or advisor of some sort, the blonde knocked gently before slowly turning the handle and peeking her head inside.

Eyes just barely adjusting to the dimly lit room, Alessia sighed, already being able to tell you had barely left your study space for a while, the countless dishes piled up on the table beside you a worrying sign.

Stepping in and choosing to make her presence known, the blonde walked over to where you were sat at your desk in the back corner of the room, eyes focused intently on the screen in front of you.

“Hi…”

Coming to stop right beside you, your girlfriend teetered from one foot to the other nervously, waiting for a reaction.

You barely looked up from your monitor as you hummed in response, a disastrous number of tabs open on the screen and the laptop beside you, mind nearly as scattered.

Wringing her hands, her voice came out soft, nearly a whisper, heart already tired from the long day she had.

“Could you please plait my hair when you get the chance?”

Had you been paying attention to the blonde one your left, you would’ve taken in the tiredness in her eyes, the defeated weight on her shoulders, and the nervousness thrumming in her body as she fiddled with the hairbrush in her hand.

But you weren’t.

Eyes not leaving the screen for a second as you took notes on your iPad without looking down, you inhaled sharply.

If you had known better, you wouldn’t have reacted as you did. Would’ve separated your frustration with your paper from your love for the striker.

You didn’t however.

Instead, you let your frustration seep through, a gruff exhale escaping you.

“Less I’m busy. Just do it yourself yeah?”

Not waiting for an answer, you continued with the task at hand, flipping between another website and copying and pasting text into your notes document.

Beside you, Alessia quickly shut her eyes, straightening her back in an effort not to become upset at your sharp answer.

She knew you were stressed, this degree something you had been working on tirelessly to achieve. She knew this frustration wasn’t aimed at you, more so at the tight deadline coming up, the need for perfection that you craved. So why did she feel like shit now?

Taking a deep breath, she figured it would be worth a shot to ask you about dinner, aware that you likely hadn’t eaten- your habit of hyper focusing a common obstacle when it came to taking care of yourself.

“Before I go, do you want anything in particular for supper? I was thinki-”

“Anything’s fine. I’ll eat later. I really need to finish this up.” Your voice cut in, not bothering to wait for her to finish.

Eyebrows furrowing at your interjection, Alessia’s shoulders deflated, well aware that any time spend together was likely off the table for the night. As if this night couldn’t possibly get worse.

Sighing near silently, the Arsenal forward turned on her heels, making her way out of the room quickly as to not disturb you any further.

It was only when she had fully made it out of the room, door shut firmly behind her, that Alessia let the weight of the day crash on her.

As a handful of silent tears of frustration came barrelling down her face, the striker made her way back into your shared bedroom, haphazardly throwing the items from her hands onto the bathroom counter before wiping away the tears and throwing her hair into a bun once more.

Deciding that tonight was not a night where the blonde wanted to be cooking, at least not anymore, not since you very likely wouldn’t be joining her, she reached for her phone, eyes scanning the numerous apps through her blurred vision before finding the desired delivery app.

Quickly ordering comfort food for herself and your usual order from the restaurant she had chosen (she wasn’t heartless, could never be towards you), the striker threw herself onto the bed, arms coming to wrap around her own midsection in a vain attempt to provide herself with some comfort.

And when the ordered food finally arrived, bag somehow soaked from the pouring weather, the Englishwoman knew that the universe was playing a cruel joke on her, maybe even getting her back for jumping on Leah when she had been soaked after practice earlier.

Clenching her jaw, Alessia quietly plated her food before taking a seat at the island, dim lights and the soft murmur of the world outside the only company for her on the lonesome night, the empty stool beside her mocking her as she ate, a pounding headache growing due to the bun she wore, food lukewarm, and heart alone.

What a lovely night…

~~~

You were proud of yourself.

It had taken nearly a week but here you were, essay nearly done, on the brink of submission a handful of days early, qualification for graduation just a few clicks away.

All that was left was to proofread it for the fourth time, you well aware that you were being nit-picky, the perfectionist in you making itself known.

But that could wait. That could most definitely wait. Because all you wanted to do right now, aching neck, tired eyes, and growling stomach in tow, was to relax with your girl for a bit, a well deserved reward should you say yourself.

Pushing yourself away from your desk, your eyes flickered over to top corner of your monitor, a place you tended not to look often in an attempt to not intimidate yourself with the passing minutes.

Now though? Now you wish you had looked at the clock earlier.

Cursing yourself for being so caught up in your own mind that you had tuned out the world most important to you, you hastily got up from your seat.

The bright digits glared at you as quickly started cleaning up your desk- 9:47 pm- much much later than you had anticipated.

Exiting out of now useless tabs and turning off what needed to be shut down, your quickly grabbed your mountain of dishes, precariously balancing them as you tucked your nearly dead phone into your pocket and scrambled towards the door.

Less couldn’t be asleep right? Not yet at least…surely?

You silently prayed that the blonde was still awake, the pattering of the rain outside and darkness filling the empty corners of the apartment as you made your way to the kitchen.

The silence in the apartment was eerily haunting, a reminder- no- an indication of just how selfish you had been.

Entering the threshold, your eyes fell on the sticky note left on the counter, space barely illuminated by the streetlights.

Gently placing your dishes in the sink, letting warm water run over them, you backtracked, picking up the yellow post-it and reading the message- once and then again, heart sinking at the unsaid words.

‘Supper’s in the fridge. Went to bed early.’

The lack of words told you everything you needed to know. You had fucked up.

No 'I love you', no 'I'll be waiting for you', none of that. Just eight direct words, saying everything that Alessia didn't voice.

Swallowing hard, you contemplated your options, wondering whether it would be worth the risk to potentially upset Alessia more than you already had.

It wasn’t a secret to you that the blonde hated late practices, especially on days like today, where there were double practices, afternoon and evening. Add the pouring rain that had brought you comfort the past few hours, hours that Less had likely passed around waiting for you, hair no doubt a mess, a headache likely from the cold, stuff you usually helped her prevent post-practices, you knew you had messed up.

In your blindside to free yourself up early, you had ignored the one you loved. Just fucking great.

Deciding then and there to make amends, you made your way to your shared bedroom, taking the gamble to see whether Alessia had fallen asleep or not, hoping you could rectify your earlier actions.

This time, it was your turn to nervously enter the room, turning the knob nervously and slowly stepping in.

In front of you lay the taller girl, frame looking small on the bed, her back facing you, the dark room doing nothing to help your uneasiness.

Stepping forward, you reached out, pulling up the covers on your side of the bed, you sliding in after.

Holding your breath, you strained to listen to Alessia’s breathing, trained in being able to identify whether the blonde was on the brink of sleep or not, years of being together aiding you immensely.

Finally exhaling when you realized the blonde was still awake, you took your chances.

Keeping your voice soft, you let it carry, the weight of your words hanging in the air.

“I know you’re still awake…”

You could feel the mattress move before she did, the blonde shuffling further to her own side of the bed, nearly falling off the edge with how much space she left in the middle.

“Less…”

Silence being your only response, you tried again.

“I’m sorry for being an ass.”

This time you heard a slight huff. Not the best response but a response in the least- a positive in your eye. You chose to continue, hoping you could dig yourself out of this hole.

“I’m sorry for being huge dickwad. You didn��t deserve me snapping at you like that.”

And as Alessia’s hoarse voice responded, your gut sank with guilt, jaw tensing.

“Just the snapping? I asked you about supper and whether you could take just a few- a few- minutes to plait my hair like always, and you got upset with me.”

“I know. I’m sorry, I really am. You were only trying to help and you were tired yourself and I was dumb.” Surging forward, you reached out tentatively, slowly placing your hand on Alessia’s shoulder, pulling her into you.

“You really were.”

Placing a kiss on the back of her head once she was close enough, you murmured against her scalp. “Can I make it up to you? Let me braid your hair?”

“That doesn’t excuse your behaviour…”

Nodding in agreeance, you let your arms wrap around the taller girl’s waist. “It doesn’t, but I’ll get there, I promise.”

Alessia sinking backwards into your grasp at your words gave you the answer you needed, you holding her for a few more minutes before quickly rising up and getting the items you needed.

Turning on a lamp as you returned, you settled behind the footballer, plugging in the hair drier and undoing the bird’s nest on your lover’s head.

Silently working, you meticulously dried the blonde’s hair enough that her pillow wouldn’t get any more soaked, teasing out the kinks and knots gently before braiding her hair loosely.

Finally pleased with your work, you set the comb and hair drier aside, pulling Alessia back against your front and wrapping her up in your hold, placing a gentle kiss on her shoulder and lingering for a second.

“I can’t promise I won’t be stupid again, but I can promise you that I’ll try my best to never do that again.”

“No more ignoring me no matter how busy you are alright? Just let me in your head…tell me your plans so that I’m not left here waiting for god knows how long, as you snap at me when I try to care…please?”

“I promise. Solemnly swear in fact.”

Feeling the blonde smile at your words, you let a grin take over your own face.

“Now, I know you already ate, but would you fancy joining me for dinner? It could be our own little date? You, me, a little Love Island, and ton of cuddles?”

And as Alessia turned in your hold, burying her face into the crook of your neck, you kissed the her crown, holding her just a tad bit tighter.

Only making a move to get up when your stomach grumbled loudly, you shot a sheepish smile to the angel in your arms before loosening your hold.

And as the pair of you exited the room, hand in hand, you made sure to grab the softest blanket you could, her comfort blanket, settling the striker on the couch before rushing into the kitchen to make yourself a plate of food, getting an extra helping, well aware that your girlfriend would munch with you.

Nearly sprinting back to the living room, food in hand, the pair of you got comfortable, the blonde resting her head on your shoulder, blanket wrapped around you both as the tv illuminated the living room, the rain now setting a comforting tone to the night.

Feeding the Gunner small bites as you ate your food, the two of you managed to finish off the plate quite quickly, setting it on the table before sinking together, a few more episodes, a handful of minute more spend cuddling.

Mindlessly tracing your fingers up her arm, you pulled the tired woman into you, body shuffling to lay across the couch, Alessia's head resting on your chest as the other girl whispered out little comments at every turn in the show.

It was only when you could finally feel the taller girl’s body growing heavier a bit more with each passing minute that you decided that it was a good time to head to bed.

Skimming your fingers up and down her spine, tracing the ridges of her back, you slowly, just barely, pulled Alessia out of her lethargic state, silently pulling her into a sitting position.

Moving to get up, you wrapped the blanket around her, ignoring her groans of protest at her own personal space heater walking away.

Convincing her you would only be a minute, you ran and put ur dishes away before coming back to usher a somewhat sleepy Less to your bedroom, the blonde slightly waking up a bit more at the movement.

Walking both yourself and your sleepy counterpart through brushing your teeth, you pulling silly faces randomly before splashing the taller girl with some water to tease her, you eventually managed to get the two of you back into bed, you on your back and the taller girl resting her head on your chest, sleepy yawns escaping her as she got comfortable once more.

Taking her now dry hair out of its braid, you loosely combed your fingers through it, nails scratching her scalp in a successful effort to soothe.

“Tell me about your day?” Your voice was quiet, just barely audible, not wanting to rouse the girl in your arms any further.

“Well my girlfriend was kind of an arse to me…”

Shaking your head as your chest rumbled with silent laughter, you gently hit Alessia’s shoulder.

“I mean it...I wanna listen dork.”

And as the blonde recited her day to you, you could feel her breathing get heavier, the tiredness finally catching up to her.

Placing a gentle kiss on top of her head, you murmured another quiet apology as Alessia’s voice died down, you tightening your hold, mentally vowing never to let yourself get consumed by school or work so immensely ever again.

Unbeknown to you, the striker was just barely awake, her whispers of ’never again’ making her conscious state known.

Agreeing, you repeated the words, whispering an I love you, the sentiment returned before Alessia’s breathing finally evened out, body completely relaxed in your hold. Finally letting yourself unwind, the tension from studying earlier totally seeping out of your body, you let a smile spread across your face.

Well aware this was all you really needed, you let the warmth spread through your body.

Here, your lover in your hold, silent breaths puffed against your neck, the weight of your love hanging comfortably in the air, you followed Alessia’s lead, letting sleep overcome you, everything that really mattered to you in this world, here, in your arms.

#i hope this was okay #not properly proof read- im sorry #fic req #catya #angst #fluff #my writing #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #alessia russo #woso fanfics #woso one shot #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso community #woso

535 notes · View notes

yeyinde · 2 years ago

Text

ode to a conversation stuck in your throat

Captain John Price x Reader

》 WORD COUNT: 12,7k

》 WARNINGS: 18+ | MATURE: allusions to smut but nothing graphic/explicit

》 TAGS: Gender-Neutral Reader. Angst. Mutual Pining. Idiots in Love (but in Romania). Fluff. Love and Romance described as death and decay and broken religious imagery. Y'know. The usual Yey tags.

》 NOTES: I recently got into Augury (just a fancy word for bird watching, innit??) so this feels more whimsical and nonsensical than usual. Good luck with this one, lads.

It's like clockwork.

A text comes—some variation of are you awake, or are you home? in that strange Price-esque way he manages, even through the stark face of a message (biting derision, Gaz calls it, adds: man can't pretend to be a little less angry even over text)—and then a phone call.

Always after midnight.

Devil's hour.

When your phone rings at half past three in the morning, hearing Price's gruff perfunctory greeting of "alrigh'?" bleeding through the phone, and right into your ear doesn't surprise you anymore.

(Not much does, really.)

These phone calls are a strange, almost paradoxical thing that both happens often enough not to be considered rare, and yet: it still seems outlandish enough each time it happens for you to ever really let yourself expect it. Odd. Price doesn't strike you as the type of man to need to rely on his friends—the seldom few he does have, you often joke (always a shade too close to the truth like most jokes are; the one that makes him dip his head in a nod of quiet acquiesce, and make you wonder if you went too far)—but he's never given you a reason for them.

Never answered why.

They just—

Happened.

(Over and over and over again—)

The brief conversation in the oddest hour of the morning started a new tradition. A routine. Expecting a phone call from Price at least once a week was now so commonplace, you almost felt empty when days had passed, and your phone never rang.

He can't sleep. Neither can you.

And so, he calls you.

It's not always about a mission. Most of the conversations that take place are about absolutely nothing. Everything, sometimes, when you pry apart the bones locked around your chest, and bare your insides to the warm cellphone clutched in your hand. To the voice on the other line.

A man you know—have known since you first stepped into his training ring, and into the orbit of Captain John Price—and barely understand at all.

You know everything about him—his name, his title, where he grew up, went to school, his favourite food, his least favourite drink, what he does after a mission; his greatest fear, his biggest worry, the insecurity that gnarls in his chest, and the weight of the world that sometimes feels like it might splinter his bones, grinding them into gun cotton—and nothing at all.

The reason why he called you all those months ago, invited you on a mission you had no real part to play in, and why he still does is a mystery.

(Loneliness, maybe.

Insomnia, you find, is more bearable when it's shared between two.)

But that was before.

The last phone call you got from Price had been nearly three months ago after you touched down in Heathrow following a botched mission in Tenerife.

You heard the murmurs about Shepherd, about Zyani that trickled through the mess hall (when there was no battle to be fought, they gossiped), and so his radio silence makes sense considering he was halfway across the globe for the bulk of it.

In the midst of it, though, you would find yourself staring blankly at your phone, screen black and void of any calls, and wonder if it had anything to do with your offer. With his swift rejection.

When it rings after an aching expanse of time, you can't place the gnarled tension in your chest. The uncomfortable feeling that blooms in your heart at the sight of his name flashing in neon blue.

Price seems almost surprised to hear your voice on the other line instead of the monotonous droll of your voicemail.

"Up for a trip?" He asked when you cleared the sleep from your throat, and rubbed blearily at your eyes. "Jus' me and you."

It feels like nothing at all had changed since he last called you with an offer to accompany him to Tenerife.

"Just like old times," you murmur, a touch distant. Hedging.

"Right," he says, words glueing to his throat. You hear the click when he clears it, and pretend you're only pulling the phone away from your ear to check the time.

Half past three. Of course. Of course.

"Got a proposition for you."

Typical Price: he gets right to the point.

There is no staying up talking about everything, nothing, and all the in between until well past five in the morning when your alarm sounds for your run. Or his for a shower before heading into headquarters at Hereford to reach a new class of hopefuls when he isn't saving the world with his infamous team.

The very same one he refuses to let you be a part of.

(Better on your own, he says.

You think you'd be better with him—

His team. Team. Not—)

The blooming heat under your cheeks is never acknowledged in the sanctity of your lonesome bedroom with his rough voice pitched low enough to squeeze through the little holes of your speaker. Tucked away to pine while still somehow making a fool of yourself.

You're only half listening when he murmurs about his proposition.

It's a simple mission, he tells you. The usual grab and go.

Usual, because only in this work could kidnapping bad people in foreign countries be considered normal. Routine.

(Legal, kind of.)

"It's in Romania," he murmurs, and the tinny sound of his voice through the old dial phone of the inn he's staying at between missions makes him sound lighter than he usually does. Airy. "I know you liked visiting the last time—"

It drags a snort from you. "Yeah, on holiday. Something about this whole ordeal tells me I won't be enjoying mici in Târgovişte much."

"Well. Consider this a pre-paid holiday. I'll do all the work, you just 'ave to sit there, and—"

"Look pretty?"

"—listen."

You hum. "I think I'm much better at looking pretty than I am at listening, John."

"Yeah," it's dry, derisive. "Don't I know it."

Silence lapses between you—intentional, of course. He's letting you think it over. Weigh the pros and cons of a free trip to Romania. With four hands and two heads you could clear it up before the allotted time frame, giving you those extra, precious few days to linger in the country.

Tying up loose ends is what will end up on the official report. Discouraging witnesses from coming forward with stacks of Euros stuffed deep in their pockets.

Making sure no stone has been left unturned—the Americans, in particular, like that one. They never ask questions when you wax about patriotism, and ensure there's no chance of calamity. They like their ends tied, and their witnesses happy.

It's all a cash business. More than enough money wired to an infant account under an preconstructed name. Passwords and identification handed to you in a sealed envelope. It's unlikely that anyone would ever track said witnesses down to discover the person given hush money was actually a nightclub in Mamaia or a fancy pub in Cluj.

Illegal, of course. Should you ever get caught, you'd be reprimanded. Punished. Made an example of.

(But who doesn't skim a bit from the top? Especially when the pile is given to you by the military.)

"Fine," you huff, and aim for some semblance of acquiescence in your tone despite knowing full well that you've yet to turn down these impromptu partnerships with him since they started two years ago.

Moldova. Egypt. Chad. Canada. The Philippines. Taiwan. Tenerife. Your odd partnership has taken you further across the world than the sedentary office job of pretending to make a difference ever did.

The place he said you were better suited for. You refuse to wonder what that means.

"Okay. I'll go. But I'm not doing anything at all except enjoying the Romanian countryside."

"Wouldn't expect any less from you."

You want to say, then why bring me at all? Why not take Gaz or Soap or Laswell? Why sideline me so blatantly only to keep asking for my help when it's never really needed? but the words are stuck in your throat. Trapped in their esophageal prison.

Instead, you say: "count me in then, I suppose," and wonder when you became such a coward.

"Mm. I should let you get some sleep, then."

You make a noncommittal noise in the back of your throat. It's been three months of nothing but unanswered texts that gradually faded into nothing by the third week. An island of uncertainty. Worry. Dread. Fear. Wondering what you did wrong, and coming, quite conclusively (and indignantly) to the conclusion that you didn't.

Hearing his voice again, tinny and always shades softer than you've ever heard him speak before, unearths the sarcophagus you laid your feelings inside; a sudden and abrupt disinterment of everything you tried hard to ignore. The desecration cracks the tomb wide open. The flood of everything you tried to bury blooms; the foetid sickness of your festering wants taste a little bit like regret, and even more like hope.

Helpless, your finger gnarl around the blossom of what laid bare, bones and rotted flesh, and the weight of it in your palm feels more comforting than ever before. Made more potent, you think, by the absence of him.

It's an unignorable truth that you missed him.

And so, you cling to the offering like it's a sacred trinket.

"How—," the words are rough, gritty, when they slip through the moulted dirt clogging your throat. Dredged up in the wake of the sudden excavation. You swallow hard when he makes a noise. Force yourself to claw through the humus. "How are you, John?"

You want to add something you know will make him huff, call you cheeky, something a little coquetry in the wake of your exhumation. Such would be your exequy, but the words are buried once more when the dirt shifts as he draws in a deep, staticky breath.

He's not usually a loquacious man in person, but something seems to crack open, shift, when it's well after midnight. A secret, a new side of him, shared only with you.

You don't expect him to respond. You hope, but you don't assume.

When he sucks in a breath, a staticky little noise that reverberates through the receiver, victory snakes across your vertebrae. Unwarranted and unearned, but the stinging reminder of it does little to stop it from nursing on the marrow of hope pullulating inside of you.

"Been better," he offers, and the muted shift of him relaxing into the starchy pillows cuts through the line. Settling, you think, for the beginning of your routine. "Didn't have much of a chance to call you. How've you been?"

"Been better," you echo, a wry twist of humour snaking across your lips when he offers a huff in response. "Lots to get caught up on, I suppose."

And you do.

You talk about nothing. Everything.

Your darkest secrets were spilled out in those phone calls at Devils Hour—fears, uncertainty, failures. This is no different. He tells you about Shepherd blinding them all with his dedication to the cause. About how he would have let Laswell rot to save his own arse, but knew, of course, that not letting Price and Gaz rescue her would have raised even more alarms.

They cornered an animal, he spits. One who led them around by the nose for years.

Bloody American Politicians, he grumbles.

No better than the bloody English, you snark back. At least they're honest about their motives when it all comes tumbling down around them, and don't hide it under layers of the blooded elite. Of status.

He mumbles to himself for a moment before begrudgingly conceding your point.

It buzzes in the static. A lapse in the midst of espionage tainted catch-up that makes your hindbrain tense for what he might say next.

He shifts, then, offers even softer than the hello he greeted you with:

"What about you? Get up to any trouble while I was gone?"

He listens to you bisect yourself in a midnight confessional, letting your rotted guts tumble out in deep lags of silence you wish weren't as comfortable as they are.

He talks, too.

Tells you about woes of nepotism, and the muppets they send him for basic training. The fleet of soldiers he doesn't want to carry on his back, but does anyway. The losses he couldn't prevent. The monsters he made.

"I wouldn't change anything," he always says, as if you don't know him by now. As if you need reminding of just how tar-coated his heart really is. "I'd do it all over again."

You say, "I know, John." And when you hear the hitch in his breath, you add: "you wouldn't be you if you did. I trust your judgement—no matter what."

Explicit trust. He runs from it.

He makes a noise in the back of his throat. It always sounds a little bit like a mourning toll.

"I… should let you get some sleep."

It's something he always says during your late night phone calls.

Par the routine, the same question claws through the mess of words unsaid in your oesophagus until it reaches the seam between your teeth and lips.

Why me, Price?

But every tradition has its rules.

You let him run, and wonder if he feels as cleansed as you do after baring your soul to someone who knows you better than most of your closest relatives, your friends.

(Or if the silence that lingers when you hang up feels just as oppressive and empty to him as it does to you.)

Wishful yearning.

Instead, you say: "try to get some sleep, John. I'll talk to you later."

And then, like the hypocrite you are, you lay awake and wonder why.

He meets you at Heathrow, and really—

It sometimes surprises you just how intimidating a man like Price is.

He glowers down at the phone in his too large hand, eyes downcast, and brows pinched by whatever is irritating him now—emojis, you later discover.

(Bloody things make no sense to me, he grumbles, shoulder knocking against yours when you make yourself comfortable on the plane.

You gently remind him he's barely even forty.)

Price is an indomitable man.

Tall. Broad shouldered. The heft of his bicep is actuated when he curls his hand around the strap of his duffle bag, muscles bulging. Flexing.

It's hard not to stare at him.

His shoulders roll back when you approach, eyes flickering up from unravelling the nuance of modern text messaging from a man who came out of the womb a fully fleshed adult with a mortgage.

The corners of his eyes relax from their narrow slits when recognition bleeds into ashlar blue. His mouth parts a little; the flash of nicotine stained teeth.

The furrow of his brow flexes like it wants to smooth itself out, but something passes across his face—unknowable, brief; the incipient markings of something that makes him look a little more at ease in the bustling confines of Heathrow (hell on earth you have both very quickly, and unanimously, acknowledged)—and it's pulled back together. Irritation, but not at you. Never at you.

(But if not at you, then who?

Why, you wonder, does he always look so cross in your presence?)

He clears his throat. The grumble of his voice, full and robust, and so different from the tinniness of a phone, nearly makes you jump when it glides across your ears, abrasive and raw. A rough growl.

(You wonder sometimes if the brassiness of his timbre is from choking back apoplectic snarls all day.)

"Took you long enough."

You huff. "London is a nightmare at this time of day, John. As if you could've gotten here any faster."

"You chose to live in it."

Another sigh falls from the split seam of your lips. "It's not that bad."

"London smells like shite."

"As if Liverpool smells any better," you volley back, watching the subtle shift in his expression fade from the pinched world wariness almost permanently etched into the lines of his face into something more relaxed. Agreeable. Or rather, as agreeable as Price could be in the middle of Heathrow, and surrounded by people.

He opens his mouth, then, as if to remind you of the sea-salted scent of Liverpool, briny and bitter. Smog and hardwork. Oil, gun cotton. The city smells like the working class. Blue collar. Hands gnarled from the factories, and stained permanently with grease.

A distinct thrum of pride, of home, rumbles through him with each new add-on to why Liverpool, in his opinion, is the best choice to call home.

(And London, he always adds, if only for another barb, another insult in your choice, always reeks of selfish ambition. The kind that rots your insides into something askance, and is deprived of decency.)

His biggest gripe with London, however—

"They never fuckin' smile."

You passively nod in agreement—you mostly get looks of outright suspicion when you smile at passers-by in central London, so: point to Price—and then undercut the small victory he gains with a mocking grin in his direction.

Price's nostrils flare when he catches the derisive bite of your lips curling over your teeth.

"You think you're smart, mm?"

"I'd rather hope so, considering."

"Bloody annoyin' is what you are, considerin'—"

His words are swallowed by some boarding announcement ringing shrill overhead. You pull away from him, and the mocking smile fades into some facsimile of genuinity when you watch him shake his head, put-out and already annoyed by whatever thought skimmed through his thoughts.

London always seems like a sore topic, but you've known him long enough that the edge in his voice is less severe and more mocking. There is a distaste for the city, but the reason has evaded you much like—

Well. Everything else.

You've thought about asking why nearly hundreds of times in the past, but that line of questioning has always been a terrifying endeavour. There is a locked door: a proverbial floodgate keeping all of the other why's at bay. Opening it now, in the middle of a crowded terminal, feels reckless. Stupid.

It's nearly four hours from here to Transilvania.

You think of all the insubstantial reasons he could offer, and find the idea of them all rather bitter. Anguishing. It sends a ripple of hurt through your chest, and the sting alone is enough to seal your lips.

Words stuck, once more, in the back of your throat.

Price says nothing when you quiet, eyes flickering between the throng of people rushing through the terminal, listless and impassive.

There is always a degree of separation between you and him whenever you meet in person, as if the personal, raw conversations whispered into the early hours of the morning are just some strange dream. A fugue wanting, unslaked and bothersome, that ripens inside your virgin sulci. A sickness that manifests in the fibrils of your desire, covetous and greedy; gnarled gyri breathes life into the dreams you reach for until the delineation between reality and fantasy wanes, fades to cinders.

So, you bite your tongue, letting the noxious words pollute, rot, inside their esophageal prison, and pretend the claw marks on the walls aren't from your own bloody hands.

You follow his lead, and he's always seemed so content not to speak of the vulnerability you whisper into his ear. The fear he rasps about at quarter to four.

Gone, then. It doesn't exist when you can see the lapis of his eyes listing toward you periodically, expression oscillating between a rendition of something that feels a little worrisome, and—

Tenerife.

That unnameable thing that broke through the gleaming sapphire when you whispered his name, and broke your own rules for the very first time.

(You'll call me anyways.

Does it bother you?

Never. Wished you called more—)

You turn away from him, from the weight in his gaze when it finds you. Worried, somehow, that a single look will be enough to ferret the secrets out of you.

A man in fatigues lingers in your periphery, standing awkwardly by the Starbucks entrance. He nods sharply when you catch his eye.

"Guess we're up," you murmur, smile fading into placid neutrality. Getting caught riling up Captain John Price won't win any favours back in the concrete vacuum of Hereford. "Ready, cap?"

If he notices your sudden distance, he says nothing about it. His eyes drop to the phone clutched in his hand, before he rolls his massive shoulders.

"Suppose so," he grumbles, slipping his phone into his pocket.

Out of sight.

Selfishly, you wonder who else he calls late at night, and find the burn of bitterness, jealousy to be some torturous form of retribution.

It burns like a knife to your gut. You wallow in it.

Price isn't a man known for his garrulity, and so, when he takes his seat on the plane, and immediately reaches for the files stuffed haphazardly into the zippered fold of his duffle bag, you take no real offence the undeniable abolishment of conversation.

You're used to it, really.

Silences that stretch on, culled by the hum of the engines cutting through the thin air some several hundred kilometres above sea level, are nothing novice.

In turn, you take to flipping through the worn, jaundiced pages of a book you packed away in your carry-on specifically for this. Whatever secrets lay nestled in the crease of his rumbled folders doesn't matter to you—not yet, anyway—and you're content to enjoy something that you can pretend to be immersed with for the four hours you'll be sharing the scant space that separates the two of you.

Pretending, of course, being the operative word.

Price is a breathing furnace. The seams of his tight jacket crackle with unbridled heat that wafts against your arm when you settle into the chair. There is no armrest allotted to you with his sinewy bulk taking up most of the aisle and middle seat, and you feel each exhale when his frame almost melts into your own.

Broad shouldered. Thick biceps. A tapered waist. Thighs quite nearly the width of a gnarled, hardened fir. It's hard to find space, privacy, with him bleeding out around you. It's hard to concentrate on anything that isn't the muted press of his covered flesh on yours, and, rather illicitly, the way it makes you feel.

It's a rush of singular emotions nearly indistinguishable from each other, but all leaving you feeling like a raw nerve scrapped from muscle, and dissected from bone. Flayed with just a touch.

The tremulous wake of them makes your body fight against the onslaught of the roaring deluge that rips through you. An amalgam of wishful anticipation, trepidation, and fear of being caught. Discovered. Having your dirty secrets, the one's you're not willing to share over a tea after midnight with a man who, despite knowing his greatest fear (the lives of his team over the stakes of everything, everyone, else), and his proudest accomplishment (getting the fuck outta Hereford while he still had the chance), galvanised out of you. Spilled into the open air.

It comes too close to the lowered inhibitions you felt in Tenerife to ever sit well in the churning pits of your stomach.

And so, you try to force some semblance of distance between your bodies despite there being none. The curved ledge of the plane window digs harshly into your forearm, but you still press into it more.

Welcoming the ache, almost.

It doesn't feel good, but it's a harsh reminder that the feelings pooling inside of your chest are wrong.

A part of you, then, almosts hopes that the pain will soon become an almost Pavlovian reminder whenever you think of Price, and of—

Everything.

Negative reinforcement.

(Price and you; the thought brings pain.)

He mistakes your tension for nerves, and drops his chin down when you keep wriggling about, struggling to find a modicum of distance between the weight of him pressing against you.

His expression is always oscillating between lour surliness and a pinch of frustration, and something in the middle of the two—glum, you think: stoic impassivity weighed down by heavy shadows—but the usual ire dims as the jet lurches down the runway. It's washed away in the tenebrous that leaks in from the empty interior of a military craft where it's just you and him and the pilots.

A world where the stench of London dissipates into the familiar filtered scent of recycled oxygen that wafts through the open vents. Sterile, almost. Void of the grime, the pungent smell of stale petrol on the wet pavement, the distinct scent of the tube—sweat, fungus; putrid and ripe with something mouldy; tobacco and marijuana—and old cigarettes.

(Smells like shite, he'd gripe if he knew you thought of it with fondness.)

When he looks at you, you have to force yourself to remember hierarchy, propriety. Decorum.

Distance. Reality.

It aches, but you push it down. Swallow the words until they leak back into their cage, glued against the soft tissue of your oesophagus, and force something neutral, unbothered in your countenance while pretending as if you weren't choking yourself to death.

"Alright?" He murmurs, words uttered low. Susurrus, almost. It's different from the phone calls where his voice is relaxed, muted; saturated in an ease, a warmth that lacks the usual snarl choked in the back of his throat. He talks with a degree of distance. Boxed into the role of unflinching, infallible leader even in this microcosm that bubbles between you.

Still. It makes the air in your lungs stutter all the same.

"Fine."

He hums, and the guttural vocalisation is adorned with the flat press of his disbelief. Price isn't the type to pry, though, and he takes your virginal lie with a mere shift of his eyebrows; a soft buoy of skepticism that is just scrutinising enough to let you flee if you so wish.

You do, and so, you take it. Offering him a tight smile that you know will never reach your eyes, or any semblance of believability, but it's the most you can manage over the drumroll of your heart (now making serious threats of breaking through your ribcage, and leaping out of the jet), and the shallow gasps of your breath, a desperate struggle to quench the flames billowing in your lungs.

He's so warm, you think, that he burns you. Fire spread from the heat of him, catching on the cindered embers lying in the soft fibrils of your being, and igniting you in a flameless smoulder.

Price nods once, and you're unsure if it's in a gentle acquiescence of your bold-faced lie, or your quick prevarication, but you find yourself mimicking it all the same.

Good, then. Settled.

But he leans down instead of returning to the urgent press of files and papers all neatly stacked in a manila folder, and you come undone at seams when the scent of him envelops you.

Crushed tobacco leaves, stale smoke, ambergris and vetiver.

The headiness of his smell smothers you, and makes your hindbrain tense at the familiar, enticing miasma that seeps into your lungs, and fills your sinuses until it washes everything out but the gun cotton, and leather he reeks of.

"Hmm, a bit early to start lying," he rasps, the words just as brittle as your crumbling resolve. "Ain't it?"

Your breath shudders out of your lungs. Caught, then. Called out. The idea of confessing everything to him, all at once, passes through, but it's immediately dismissed. Shoved back into whichever crevasse it slunk out of.

The fact that it even drifted through, sneaking past the tightly guarded prison it was kept in is enough to make you fluster.

As if to hold them in, you sink your teeth into your tongue to keep from speaking the words that still echo in your head, and offer nothing more than a simple shake of your head, and some facsimile of a wry smile tossed in his general direction.

He hums again, and the coo rumbles through his flesh and ripples across your skin. Electric shocks. Static buzz. The vibration of it shakes the doors of the mausoleum where everything is left to moulder, rot.

A plume of nicotine dusts across your nose when Price shifts in his seat, much too small for a man with such broad shoulders, and thick thighs, and when you breathe in the heady scent of it, your head spins.

"We're all entitled to our secrets," he murmurs. His hair scratches against the fabric when he turns his head, chin notching down to bore into the side of your face. It's all you'll offer him when the rattling at the doors of your tomb dislodges a piece of rotten wood; lignin crumbles to the floor around you in stripped, fleshy white. A hole big enough to sink your fist through.

"And that's fine, but—," his tone dips, timbre scorching through you when he speaks. The words are gritty, and coarse. They sink into your ears until the flesh is rubbed raw. The change in pitch makes you look up, wordlessly following the command that tangles around each vowel. Sharp, authoritative. This isn't John right now. It's Captain Price.

His pelagic eyes are hardened into firm, dense sapphire lined with unbreakable obsidian.

"But," he stresses the word again, brows arching high on his forehead until three, four, lines are carved into the pale skin. "Those secrets can't interfere with the mission, yeah?"

His stare is intense. Firm. Unyielding. He doesn't look away. Doesn't cower under the strange, too hot sensation that fills your head whenever you're forced to make eye contact for more than a few moments.

It occurs to you, then, when he holds your stare for three, flinching inhales, that the only reason he's saying this is because he knows. Maybe not everything, maybe not all of it. But he knows enough that you're acting strange. Odd. Not yourself.

Price sits back, and the loss of his intense stare boring into you, stripping you down to basal parts—raw and vulnerable—allows air to inflate your burning lungs. Oxygen bubbles and seeps into your bloodstream so quickly that you feel a little sick with it. Dizzy.

"We clear on that?"

His expression is guarded, pinched.

You swallow thickly against the deluge of emotions that run down your spine, and wonder what he knows. What he pieced together already. It makes your heart slam against the flesh and bone cage it's prisoned in.

His flat, phlegmatic expression seems to wobble. A frisson ripples, and splinters his reticent resolve, and he looks, in that moment, like the man who speaks to you late at night about his biggest worries, and fear. Touchable, reachable. It's a sharp contrast to the impenetrable man who stands at the top of the command post, and makes decisions of life and death. A stalwart leader made human.

You drink it in, trying to make sense of the softening of his gaze, the tremble of his moustache as his lips relax into an even line, but it's indecipherable. Unknowable. You struggle to piece the pensive, almost contemplative look together, but the gingerness in his expression snaps shut.

All at once, it's forced back, and pulled taut. The drawing of a bridge.

His lips flatten into a grim line. A divot forms between his brows. The tick in his jaw speaks of frustration, but—

Not at you. Never at you.

You can't make sense of the enigmatic distance in his eyes—a floating island in the middle of the open ocean. Separated by the turbulent sea.

Something changed between you. You feel the incipient shift trembling through your bones; a novice crack. The plates deep below the surface surge, and split; shattering into the other. The waters froth white as something begins to emerge from the depths.

A new landmass, maybe.

"Alright, then," he rasps, turning back back toward the files spread out on his lap. "Try to get some rest. We'll be jumpin' into the thick of it when we land."

You can see the hesitation in his eyes. The uncertainty in his mein. It's a sharp juxtaposition to how these strange missions usually unfold, where you both pour over documents, and leads, and have easy conversations between sharp, playful barbs, and impish quips to always devolve into some debate over something trivial.

The silence is stifling. Oppressive.

Tenerife, you think, when you drunkenly stumbled down the stairs, and into his arms, and—

Coldness. Frigid distance. He cut you off after that, and it was radio silence until last night when he called you.

You don't know what it all means, but Price is startlingly observant when it comes to you, and you wonder, with your heart thudding in your throat, just how much you gave away.

A snag in the middle of lush green. You tremble.

Into the thick of it, huh?

His words haunt you.

(But when don't they?)

The novel—a neo noir mystery disguised as a romance—does little to capture your attention. Threads of interest snag on the ends of the protagonist's steadfast determination to not to let crime run rampant in the city he's taken a reluctant appreciation for, and to rescue his penultimate damsel from the crumbling affair she's trapped in with a married man of the mafia, but it dwindles after the discovery of the red herring.

It sits, untouched, in your lap as you gaze out of the circular window. Plumes of thick, white clouds blanket the world below the plane, and look dense enough for you to almost believe you could stand on the curled peaks of the cumulonimbus. A mirage, maybe.

(Or wishful thinking: you've always enjoyed chasing the unattainable.)

The sky above is a midnight blue that fades into lighter shades of lazuli as curves around the earth.

A shade lighter, flecked with greens and golds and greys, and it might have looked just like his eyes.

(Chasing, always chasing.)

The shock of it makes your leg twitch as your muscle tense back into that familiar state of constant fight or flight that Price always seems to put you in. Stage fright. Fear of discovery.

Sometimes you wonder if it would be easier to just spit the words that have been coagulating in the back of your throat for years out now into the world, and let him run from them.

Flee, like Tenerife.

Does it bother you?

No, I wish you called my more—

—can't, love. Can't do that, you know I—

Dreams pop like rubber balloons around you. The snap of the recoil blisters your skin.

A lesson, then, that there are certain words that should never be uttered, or mentioned.

He drew a sharp delineation between you and him. A line in the sand. Uncrossable. Unspeakable.

Unignorable.

Your heart aches, but you know it'll soon pass. Soon. Soon—

"Ready?" He asks when the wheels of the plane kiss the solid ground with a jolt, and the single word feels more augury than you'd like.

It feels almost instinctual, then, to glance through the small window, eyes listing to the pale blue sky. Two chaffinches chase each other in the blooms of white, their plumage harsh against the idling clouds overhead.

"Sure," you say, and wonder if he'd asked the same thing when you touched down in Tenerife. It doesn't matter. You shake the thought from your head, and try not to linger on the birds.

Leave it for Agamemnon.

Despite his insistence to the contrary, it turns out to be the exact opposite of what was promised.

Your idyllic vacation to the Romanian countryside is forfeited for the cold interior of Brașov where the man you're after, Iulian Mitrea, is hidden somewhere in the near hour long commute from here to Sinaia.

Somewhere, of course, because no one is willing to tell you anything at all. From the moment you landed at Târgu Mureș Transylvania Airport, help from anyone within the country evaporated, dissolved. Mistrust was rampant between the soldiers here to help you on your hunt.

You couldn't blame them, really. Not when their orders to stall, delay, and interfere came directly from above.

It makes sense when you're trying to capture a well-known friend of several high ranking politicians worlds over.

The pinch in their brow as they say, we don't know where he is, despite confirming only an hour earlier that they did, in fact, know where he was speaks volumes to their reluctance to participate in this farce. It needles inside of you because despite the irritation of the delay, you get it.

If they help you catch him, their name will be in the report. People will talk to you. You get to go home with a wanted man nicely wrapped in a bow for Lady Justice, and they stay behind and face the ramifications of letting a man go who greases paws with men in power—politicians, businessmen, foreign diplomats.

So.

You get it. It doesn't make it any easier to swallow when you see them on the radio each time you get closer.

It'll be a wait and see mission until someone either relents enough to let you get a headstart, or the bigger people in power finish the behind the scenes negotiations to protect as many people as possible from the fallout.

Either way—

You're landlocked in a city that's never felt more hostile to you; stuck in stasis in the middle of a brutal winter.

The inn is nice, you suppose. Old architecture. Its age sings with each movement you make against the wood that is nearly three generations older than you. It's plumed a dusting of disuse that sneaks into the corners where it rots, and stinks of mildew.

But it feels unwelcoming each time you catch the eye of a soldier, a local police officer. The lady behind the counter of the front desk is oblivious to the tension bleeding between everyone, and offers toothy smiles whenever she catches you. Eager, you think, to talk to someone who doesn't respond in clipped tones.

You soak up the rapid Romanian, and try to remember the phrases you picked up—much to her amusement.

Her hand fixes itself permanently against her chest with each new pronunciation of the Romanian alphabet you pick up—breve, circumflex, S-comma, T-comma—and she seems eager to listen to prattle on in stilted Romanian with more appreciation than the men who are meant to be your partners.

They linger, listening in on each conversation you have with the woman. Combat every effort of your futile attempt to salvage some holiday from this mess.

They undermine Price at every junction. Cut his opinion down until it's shredded paper snowflakes on the icy cobblestone. A forgotten arts and craft project now mushy from the snow blanketing the world around you in an endless white prison.

It's easy, you think, to just give up.

But you know Price.

Despite their delays, and mutterings to each other every time a lead pops up only to quickly slip through your fingers, he doesn't falter. He won't. Not until this is seen through.

He'll fight to the bitter end.

(You think he just might prefer to do his fighting on the battlefield instead of dabbling in subterfuge.

So.

You do it for him.)

Your efforts amount to a burst vessle: a rumbling eruption spewing anger and tension at your feet like an angry volcano.

And with it, you feel the words you try to swallow down buoy to the surface.

This mission makes you feel like little more than some ornate polyptych, folded away for convenience sake, and unravelled in the privacy of his borrowed office.

It's there where Price poses questions, and piques at you for more information.

His tongue is too thick when he tries to speak the language echoed around you, unable to catch the proper slur on the t-commas and drag the breve out the way it should be spoken. It sounds somehow more French than it does Romanian, and you resolve to take the mantle of lacklustre translator for him, wondering whether he took your words as coming only for the holiday as sincerely as possible.

It makes a needle of fondness grow in the gyral folds of your beating heart. A sudden deluge of empathy, and affection that makes you idealistically moony-eyed at his penchant for keeping promises.

Still.

It's unneeded.

You take a proactive role in trying to find the man who keeps evading the grasping fingers of the law (however twisted it might be), and make it quickly known to him that you're here as a partner, at his behest, and not as some fancy tchotchke to be placed, indiscreetly, on the sidelines.

It's unlike him, though. And you wonder more about the potential ramifications of this mission each passing day that you're stuck in the stifling confines of some luxury inn where the men around you whisper furiously to prevent your success.

You ask him about it, and receive a piercing stare in response. A gruff, don't worry about it. This is my muck up, not yours.

It hardens your resolve.

All it takes is a few words whispered while rolling sarmale, and you manage to find a man in Brașov who might be hiding the person you're looking for.

Information that turns out to be more fruitful than anything else thus far.

You tuck it close to your chest. The man is landlocked and stuck, hidden in plain sight by the soldiers there to help you. He isn't going anywhere.

But you might be.

The lack of progress is noted by the people who requested your aid on this—the ones that must have conveniently forgotten that the person who kidnapped foreign dignitaries was also the man they had over for summer parties at their luxury estates in Dorobanți.

They dangle Price's visa over his head during a massive row after—yet another—delayed piece of information is forwarded to you by the local police. By the time it lands in your hands, on his desk, it's too late.

More blocks. More opportunities to catch the man squandered, lost to politics.

The schism between Price and them widens. A wide chasm, uncrossable.

You catch his eye, and wonder if you should share the secrets you keep, but you don't. Not yet, anyway. There's a mountain on his shoulders. A mess of politics that you know makes his blood boil.

You want to ease the burden. The tension.

But it doubles to a new height when one of the men jabs his finger in your direction, eyes blazing, and calls you his assistant.

"My what?" Price's words are eerily calm despite the gyre welling in blue. "What did you say?"

The man doesn't back down. Neither does Price.

It's his warmth by your side, unflinching, as he stands tall and guarded, leaking anger and ruin at the slight against you. A white night in red-hot anger.

You've fought your own battles, cutting your knuckles on cracked teeth until bone embedded itself into your cartilage like a macabre set of brass knuckles in jagged ivory. You throw punches like you're fighting for your life behind the screen of a computer that ticks away for eight hours, and pretend the emblem on your lapel doesn't weigh you down to the pavement below. Your own weight to carry.

And you don't need this, don't want it, and a little part of you wants to rebel, to throw your fists around like they're the white-hot slugs spat out of the barrel of a firearm, but it's tapered down when he seethes beside you.

His hands curl into fists before swinging up, latching onto the straps of his tactical vest. A defensive manoeuvre, you once thought, but now you know better.

Price isn't clinging to the woven fabric to keep himself steady, to ground himself. It's to keep those burly fists from sinking into the gullet of the first man who wanders too close to the rapacious maw of a starving beast.

Your eyes are fixed on the hairs dusted over his knuckles as he flexes and tightens his grip until they bleach white like dead coral, sharp bones threatening to break skin.

Those hands once pressed you tight to his front, holding you steady as you stumbled through the haze of want, and longing, and kept you steady as the boat rocked with the calm waters of the neverending sea.

(—wish you called more—

—don't know what you're sayin', love. What you're startin'. Gonna let you turn around, and pretend this never happened, mm?—

—but—)

They tightened then. Hard enough that the skin around your hip bones bulged between his thick fingers. Your flesh filling in his gaps. His eyes dropped there, fixed on the way you fit between him despite the pain that bloomed where his fingers dug deep.

(—jus'... Walk away, love—)

Tenerife feels like a dream. A wisping cloud of want dredged from the depths of your subconscious yearning.

But the ache in your side where his hands rested the night before kept you from casting away the words as drunken ramblings and masticated dreams.

Those hands whiten under the strain of holding himself back, and you recognise the colour as the same shade when he held you. Paperweight. Featherlight. You wonder, then, your eyes only for him as the world you've been invited into erupts into chaos and blame tinged with the palpable weight of unwelcomeness and claustrophobia when he hasn't been holding himself back—

"Talk about 'em that way on more time, and I'll stick your goddamn heads on a post for that slimy bastard you want to protect so fuckin' bad to see—"

—from you.

You find him near the window, gazing out at the snow-covered roof-tops of the sprawling village below.

He stands, his back angled toward you, with one hand curled around the crystalline glass, filled with three fingers of scotch—the perfect amount, he stresses, and gives credence to his sincerity with each winkle in his brow—and a lit cigar in the other.

Price brings the cigar up to his lips, eyes roaming across the smear of lights in the distance. You catch the spark when he inhales, the orange intensifying into an angry red.

It casts a halo of orange on his face, and the fire makes him look somehow older and younger than he really is. An timeless visage of a man who, hours earlier, was recklessly throwing himself into the very same fire he syphons from as it burns the tobacco in his stem.

The brief flash of red is complemented by the harsh dandelion-yellow from the illuminated city when it spills through the glass, frosted with condensation from the heat in the room, and the brutal chill kept at bay by a two inch glass panel.

He's a composition in contrast.

The only light inside the room is from the kindling fireplace, and the jaundiced lamp on the desk table, spilling over the documents you'd come to talk to him about. The dimly lit interior bathes his back in a clouded tenebrous, darkening the crevasses, divots, and the contoured folds of his body until they're shadowed in the gloam. It's perfectly juxtaposed to the highlights that catch in the warm golden glow of the sleepless city just below.

A perfect chiaroscuro, you think.

The sight of him, then, at peace—or as close to it as he can manage—steals the air in your lungs. The words on your lips.

The look on his face is pensive, yet coloured in a hue of consternation that seems to quiver through the dark pools of blue gazing back at him. A ripple of disquietude. A splash of rumination. It all coalesces into an unfathomable knot of emotions that bloom in the deep divot of his brow. Ones you can't even begin to unravel.

(But your fingers itch to try.)

There is something about him in absolute stasis—completely unguarded, and unburdened by the devastating world around him—that spools under your skin like a fever. A webbing nebula that weaves with the threads of venial sin until it tangles around you.

When it tightens, it feels like a noose.

This moment of privacy between him and the thoughts locked tight inside his head makes you feel a little bit like you're intruding on a moment not meant for your eyes. A sacred thing. A voyeuristic spectator.

You should leave. Let him have the sanctity of this moment to himself, where the pensive, introspective look etched into his brow is shared only with his reflection, and no one else.

An unwitting birefringence. A glance inside Pandora's box.

You try to tiptoe back in the direction you came from, a manila folder tucked under your arm, but the wood is worn. Aged. The floorboards creak when you press your heel into them, letting out a loud, jarring noise that seems to reverberate through the arched ceiling, and against the frosted glass that encompasses the vast majority of the eastern wall.

Loud enough, you think, to crack the class. His reverie.

Price makes a noise in the back of his throat when he turns to you, brows drawn tight in wordless displeasure at the intrusion. Recognition bleeds into ashlar blue. His shoulders ease when he sets his steeled gaze on your cringing form, one foot out the door, and the other fixed firmly in your mouth.

The way he relaxes when he finds it's just you melts some of the embarrassment away. The tension dissipates, sheds itself from his coiled muscles pulled taut from carrying the weight of everything on his broad back.

(The world, then, is tucked into the corner when he dropped it earlier.)

"Sorry," you murmur, hiding another wince. "I didn't realise you were—" Brooding. Another grimace. Your foot slides deeper into your mouth. "Uh—"

"It's fine," he says, his voice hoarse from the growling threats he made against the Romanian diplomats who insisted on your help only to shrug off everything he suggested.

He clears his throat before he speaks, taking the brief lull to drag his gaze down your form. Tendrils of something soft liquify the hardened edges of sapphire—a look you haven't seen on him since Tenerife—but it pauses at the folder you try, and fail, to discreetly tuck further into the crevasse of your body. Hiding it, futilely, from view.

Something sours across his face. The half melted azure firms into unbreakable obsidian.

"Business as usual, then?"

You huff. "Not if you don't want that."

Price inhales deeply at your words, and you know that he can't. He won't.

You mourn the loss of that soft, unfathomable look on his face when the only concern he had was the condescension from his breath hiding the view of Sinaia from his appreciative gaze.

A look full of something aching. A want, maybe; a need. Things you can't begin to connect to your stalwart captain.

But then you think, again, of Tenerife. When he caught you mid-stumble, hands heavy and hot on your flesh. The look on his face ages younger than the grey around his temple would lead you to believe.

"Careful," he murmured, eyes lighter somehow as he pulled you in closer to his side. "Can't go falling all over the place."

It was your quip of, "but you'll catch me, won't you?" that made him feel almost reachable when he turned away from you, the tips of his ears dusting a pretty pink.

"Jus' watch where you're goin'."

You think about it now—about the unfathomable distance between the stars.

Between you, and him.

(And then of broken walls you mend with your own hands.)

"Jus' bring it here," he mutters, moving toward the desk cluttered with everything he was trying to avoid. The desk you brought him back to. It pinches something sour inside of you. "I'll 'ave a look at it."

Price sets the glass down, and reaches for the crystal ashtray left near the edge of the table. When he drags it closer to the fish-shaped map of Romania, decorated with little red stickers of possible hideouts for the man you're supposed to be catching, you count four ends of a cigar in the mess of ashes, all smoked down to the stem.

Concern gnarls in your gut.

"Busy day for you, Captain?"

All he gives in a noncommittal grunt in response before eying the chair with a touch of wariness as if sitting down now will prevent him standing up again. It might, you think, tentatively taking stock of the neverending pages on the desk just waiting for him to tackle. A ceaseless maelstrom that tries to drag him down that endless abyss that leaves stress marks on his forehead, grey hairs around his temple, and grinds his bones down until marrow below is exposed to the rotten air.

He doesn't sit. A pointed gesture.

The heels of his palms rest on the edge of the table, and he leans forward over the papers strewn in his familiar organised chaos, and drops his head down between the bracket of his arms, locked at the elbows.

He's the very picture of exhaustion.

"I don't have anything good to share with you," you murmur, tone low and susurrus as if raising above an octave will shatter the fragile glass that houses the two of you from the brutal storm outside these four walls. "Mostly a complete repeat of what already happened—"

"Bullshit," he grinds the cuss out like the potency of his tenor will somehow strengthen it into a hex. "Fuckin' politics."

"Nothing we haven't dealt with before," you note, turning to lean against the desk. You mirror his pose in the reverse, fingers curling around the ledge. "It'll smooth out eventually."

He considers your words, lids sliding to half-mass. Lost in thought. In—

Something.

You're not privy to the war in his head. The battle he struggles through.

But you want to be.

You'd give anything to fight alongside him in this moment of quiet contemplation. To aid him in the pursuit of victory, and help ease the burden he carries on his broad shoulders. A weight that makes his heels dig deeper into the ground than any other man you've met. Gravity falls on him harder than the others, but he never folds. Never falters.

Something shifts when you tilt your head toward him, waiting. Watching.

Irritation drips down, polluting the cenote until it's a gyre grey. Clouded with the poison of choices that lay in front of him.

"Maybe," he settles on, rolling one shoulder to alleviate the burn in his tense muscles. "Would be easier if they'd just bloody listen—"

"They will."

His eyes flicker up to you, curling with something playful, you think. Or as close to mirth as the shadows in his brow will allow.

"You gonna make them?"

The tone of his voice—smoke cured, molasse thick—is blunt, but—

Baiting.

Loose tendrils of smoke weep from the end of his forgotten cigar, and curls in the air between you. You taste ash, and feel the burn of nicotine when you breathe in.

It does little to quell the spike of nerves gnarling in your chest; the itch under your skin.

Something brims in your pulse. A rapaciousness that seems to burn through your arteries until they're blistered from the heat. You lean back on the desk, knees locking until your legs are straight to alleviate the anxious knot growing in your stomach.

His gaze drops to your legs when your ankles cross, sliding up to the softness of your thighs now spread plush over the wood.

Another shift. Poisoned grey darkens into thick tar. Bog water. You wonder how long it would take for anyone to find you if you sunk below the thin film of pleats, swallowed whole by the fen.

Imprisoned in his clutch.

"For you? Anything—"

The words slip out before you can stop them.

His head jerks up. The roundness of his almond shaped eyes can only be derived from your slip-up, to your unintentional confessional between secondhand smoke, and borrowed nicotine.

A mistake, you think. An accident. A follie.

But the words are lodged under the syrup-y thick water that leaks down your throat.

You swallow again, but it feels like you're drowning.

An impasse. Brutal, and uncrossable. You wonder what he might say, what he might do, and try to ignore the ache in your chest, the bitter throb of anticipation as the lines in his brow deepen, darkening with the stains of his indecision.

That same wellpool of emotions buoys in ashlar blue when he stares at you, plain faced and—

A touch uncertain.

It's strange to see him so unsure, so hesitant.

Price isn't a man who falters in the face of anything. Who concedes, and surrenders.

His tenacity is what drew you to him. That staunch perseverance that you sometimes wish you could fill each hairline fracture in your soul with. To somehow syphon the staggering presence of him, indomitable and ferocious when he needs to be, into your marrow where it'll congeal and paint the walls of your bones with the same stalwart dedication to a singular gospel that he carries with ease.

He huffs, then, and the exhale reeks of stale cigarette butts in a damp ashtray.

"Don't know what you're getting yourself into, love—"

Something flickers across his face, and you wonder if he even meant to say it. Or if the endearment slipped out, oiled by the same elixir that covered your throat and coaxed something closer to the truth, to your hidden wants, out of the depths of your yearning.

It's unfathomable, though. The mere idea of it being drug from the same hidden well as yours itches between your ribs; a blossom of something featherlight. Hopeful.

When you look at him, eyes scouring the dividing lines between the face he shows the world—the one with a deeply furrowed brow and obsidian clotting in the crevasses of liquid sapphire; a stalwart sense of detachment, and pointed distance—and the one he shows you.

With you, though—

With you, he's always asymmetrical.

A singular brow notching up at something audacious you said; one side of his mouth lifted in a crooked grin. The flash of teeth when you murmur under your breath about the stuffy politicians you're meant to be saving.

Rusted picket fences. Faulty hinges. Open, lax. Void the usual symmetry that makes him Captain John Price; a stalwart presence on the battlefield, shoulders strong enough to lift the morale (and morality) of every soldier under his commands. Has to, you think, or he might implode, crumbling under the stifling weight of his utilitarian choices, and the actions guised under the moral grey dust of patriotism.

It clings to him. Scars shaped like canines: the teeth of an old, rotten dog. Nightmares in absenteeism.

He never tells you about them, ever; but you've gotten more than a handful of phone calls during devil's hour to know they haunt him just as much as they do you.

(And if you've taken to turning your ringer on as high as it will go—just in case—then that's a secret between you and midnight blue sheets.)

The look on his face now makes you think of that mission in Tenerife, when his fingers curled around your wrist after landing in Heathrow. Warm, flushed skin. Rough like a cat's tongue when it slid over your flesh.

He stopped you from leaving, eyes shaded in stagnant blue as the taxi idled in front of you.

"Could go for a coffee. Want to come?" He asked, and it was unlike him to stall, but the prospect of more time, and coffee, numbed you to it all.

You didn't give it much thought, but the words feel almost sibylline now. Hindsight, you think: that pesky little thing that makes you feel like Lleu, caught in the crosshairs of a feud between Arianrhod and Gwydion.

Over burnt, bitter beans and coffee flavoured water, he said: "don't get much sleep anymore."

"Our late night phone calls don't bore you to sleep?"

It was a pawkish barb not meant to be taken seriously, but Price, you find, is percipient when it comes to you.

"No, they don't." He shifted in his chair, eyes cutting toward the mid-morning haze dusting the streets of London in a fine periwinkle blue. He looked older, somehow, in the virginal rays of the dawning sun. The words that slipped out felt softer, subdued in a way that made you wonder if they were meant to be uttered at all. "I sleep much better after them, actually."

Price has a strange ability to leave you both speechless and full of words. Of things, mundane and inconsequential, that you long to spill out over the linoleum countertop.

More often than not, they're just naked, bare. Raw words not yet shaped or formed into any semblance of meaning, but ones you want to say, anyway. If only to keep the conversation going. To keep him around a moment longer.

(After all: if the conversation does end, he can't leave.)

But your lips are glued. Words stuck in the wet ashes that congeal in your throat.

Your eyes followed the breadcrumbs of his gaze, and found the quieted road of Liverpool Street staring back at you. Drenched in cobblestone grey, and smeared in industrial neon. An uninspiring visage of some secluded corner tucked away from the tourist trap of central London.

The near hour long drive from Heathrow to London for a cup of coffee is another mystery. Why he invited you where, of all places, isn't known to you.

He paid for the coffee, the taxi. Said nothing at all but walked you back to your flat in London, the place you stay after each mission brings you back to Heathrow. It's a near twenty-nine minute commute in the opposite direction.

Said no when you offered him a place to sleep for the night, and you tried not to let the bitter sting of rejection show while his fingers curled around the wooden frame of your front door, knuckles turning white from the strain of—

Hindsight, you think.

The shift in his gaze when his hand snared around your wrist. When he hailed a taxi for burnt coffee in the middle of a city that he couldn't stand—a place you'd heard many tirades about in the middle of the night, all leading back to the same reason for his staunch hatred of London: it's too bloody far from Liverpool. Too bloody far from him.

When he turned to look out the window to watch your reflections contrasted against drab, grey London.

Earlier, when he was gazing at the city below.

It clicks, then.

He wasn't staring out the window. He never was.

"Why didn't you come into my flat?" You ask, words thick. Heavy.

His nostrils flare. "What—?"

"That night in London, after Tenerife—I asked you to spend the night. Why didn't you—"

White knuckles. The look on his face was—

Pensive. Dusted with consternation. Just like—

Now. Then. All the moments in between.

Like many things in conjunction to this, it's probably your fault. An unignorable truism that sits under your skin like an itch you can't scratch no matter how viciously you claw at your dermis.

You could have asked, but it wouldn't have mattered.

The answer was staring at you this whole time.

Why he called you in the middle of the night. Why he never even bothered to entertain your application to join the 141. Why he looked so troubled when you invited him in. Why he kept you at arms length this whole time, but let you see the gnarled ruins of his soul in the middle of night.

The delineation of your relationship was drawn in the distance of a phone call at midnight, ones made not because he was lonely or bereft of comfort—

But because he could hang up before he said too much. Widen the gap with a press of his finger.

You can see him try to pull back again. To put a distance between you greater than this lonely hotel in the middle of Brașov to Orion's Belt.

Words—stay, don't, why—caught in your throat. They refuse to come out. A conversation trapped. One you can't start.

(You've always been better with actions than words.)

And so, you kiss him instead.

A cacoëthes.

It's less of a kiss and more of a messy punch to his mouth with your blistered lips.

Your trembling fingers curl into the straps of his tac-vest. For leverage, maybe; or to hide the quiver in your joints from his widening eyes.

His mouth parts, wry curls flutter when he inhales sharply. Words, you think, like: what're you doin'? or this is sexual harassment and I swear to god I'll sue—

You don't let him finish. Don't let him start, either.

You fall back on the desk, yanking on his straps. He jerks forward.

You meet, clumsily, in the middle. An awkward assemblage of limbs; bodies cut across each other like an unfinished T.

It's messy. More sealed lips glueing together than it ever could be considered a proper kiss.

There are moments leading up to this that, in hindsight, make everything seem almost inevitable. The look on his face. The ache in your chest. It blooms from the same vine; a want in spades. You almost weep when he groans against your mouth, teeth knocking together. You taste heme in the back of your throat, and nearly choke on it when his fingers curl under your jaw, holding you steady as he tries to devour you whole.

It sheds threads of kismet, and tastes a little of finality when you brush your lips against his again, meeting in the middle: a perfect equilibrium. Absolute congruence.

(Or, maybe, it's the thrill of his taste that shades everything else in a roseate veil; that swallows down the other moments, trials and tribulations that felt more gruelling than your training, and lets the others surge to the surface. Moments of heartache, and pain, and—

And it doesn't matter, you think, a touch delirious; not when you know what his hands feel like when they curl around your waist, when his fingers dig into your skin, and he pulls you closer.)

"Listen—" the word is mangled in his throat; charred from the fire that burns in his lungs. "You need to know what you're getting yourself into."

"You say that like I haven't been thinking about it for years, John."

It sobers him a bit. He pulls back until a thin strand of space sits between your wet lips and his moussed beard.

The implication in your words makes his eyes darken. Lids fluttering.

Want, palpable and thick, pulses in the charged atmosphere between you. A microcosm of your own design: a place carved from stone, ashlar, and shaded in the midnight blue of his eyes. A roseate gossamer falls, veiling you in that corusating haze that makes the world look prettier than it really is.

Shades of rose.

The breath he pulls in is tremulous.

When he speaks, it sounds like an orison. A plea. "That so?"

It's a weighted question. Benediction paints his throat, stains the words when they slip out.

"Kept me waiting for quite a while."

"Didn't think you were waiting." His hands sear your skin when they slide up your back. His forehead falls, resting against yours. "Not much to sit around and pine over, love."

It makes you scoff, a wet noise in the back of your throat. "You think I answer my phone in the middle of the night for just anyone?"

"No," he murmurs. His hand lifts, cups your cheek in the seat of his palm. "But I'm not jus' anyone, am I?"

"Nope. Your a walking contradiction on how—sometimes—nepotism isn't all bad—"

"Watch it."

"Or what, John?"

You're distinctly aware of the age-old idiom about playing with fire, but when he dips his chin, and narrows his eyes at you like that, you find you don't really care much about getting burned.

His nostrils flare, eyes dark, and hungry. A warring pelagic storm looms over ashlar. Gyre grey. Arsenic white. You want to stain the tips of your fingers in the liquid blooming in his gaze.

"Might need to teach you a lesson in respect."

"Might need to teach you not to keep someone waiting."

His mouth is searing it when it presses to yours.

"Touchè."

Price tastes of saltpetre.

Thick, ichorous. An heady elixir that sits heavy on your tongue, leaking down the back of your throat when you swallow.

A fine sheen of nicotine paints his teeth from the forgotten cigar burning in the ashtray on the table, and when you swipe your tongue across them, chasing the secondhand buzz, it feels anxiolytic. Your head is a slurried mess from it all, and the way he feels beneath you.

Hard edges, broad—massive.

His chest expands with each deep inhale. Shoulders tense with the effort of holding himself back. A fact, you find, is more intoxicating than the nicotine on your tongue, or the saltpetre blooming in your veins.

The width of his thighs make your muscles burn when you perch your knees on the cushion beside them, the stretch a deep burn that feels more arduous than a workout.

You're not supposed to be kissing your captain.

To be sat on his lap while his big hands roam your skin, sliding down the knobs of your spine, thumb pressing the grove of each one. Massaging your sides when you gasp into his mouth, a wet noise full of the burn in your joints, the want in your belly—an ache, a need for more. More. More—

It was meant to be professional.

At work, on the field, in the stuffy headquarters of the SAS building in Hereford, it's meant to be distant. Cold. And—

And not this.

Not spread open in his lap, one palm cupping the soft cheek of your ass and squeezing until the flesh bulges from between his splayed fingers. Not heaving his name out in a palpable supplication drenched in want. Need.

Needy.

"Look'it you," he'd rasped into your neck hours earlier, slick with sweat from your impromptu training lesson in the comfort of his office. "So fuckin' needy—"

And you were. Are.

"C'mon, cap," you gasped, nose pressed taut against his temple, tongue chasing the briny tang that saturated his hairline. "Give it to me—"

He did.

Over and over and over again. Bending you over hard wood of his desk until your face was full of reports and papers, missions and confidential files on things, and people you'd rather not think about while your captain was spreading you apart with his tongue, and three fingers, and—

It was too much. Not enough. A paradoxical realm where pleasure and pain melded into a single entity. It's veins coursed with a potent cocktail of everything you could easily become addicted to—oxytocin, dopamine, endorphins rich enough to make you dizzy for aeons when it saturated all those gullible receptors in your head—and when he touched your skin with his bare hands, you felt the prickle of it leaking into your bloodstream.

The rough husk of his voice rasping out his pleasure in your ear is an audible opiate; euphoria condensed into decibels. It rattles your synapses. Your bones. You quiver under his bulk, eager for more.

Aching for it, really. Want him so badly that it hurts.

Even after he'd taken his time to prepare you, made you cum from his mouth, his fingers, more times than the chemical slurry of your melting mind could ever try to keep up with, it isn't enough.

Wasn't.

His cock feeding into you, stretching you open around the thick of him, until the world around you was awash in pure bliss in the most beautiful shade of blue, wasn't enough.

"More," you gasped, nerves throbbing like a bruise. Bones battered, rusted from the force of him taking you over and over again. "More, John—please—"

He obliged each time. Sliding home until all you could feel was him pulsing inside of you. The heavy weight of his hips notched against your ass. The branding heat of his hands gripping your hip, fingers curling around your shoulder, as he held you steady for him.

(Over and over again—)

Price smells of tobacco when he leans in close. Damp ash. The wet end of a cigarette butt. Stale smoke. Mossy, loam. You breathe in the bitter scent of him until it floods your lungs, clotting in each fibril until it's heavy with the tarish resin that leaks from the end of burning cigar.

"Greedy fuckin' thing," he hissed in your ear, fingers delving into you, feeling his release squelch around him. "Ain't you?"

"Always," you huffed, struggling through the onslaught of your mind buzzing for one more, just one more hit, and your body screaming for respite. "Always for you, John—"

"Stubborn, mm?"

He didn't give you one more. John is attune to you in ways you'd never anticipated. He just—knows you. Can easily see through the desperation for victory clawing at your throat, sinking it's nails into the delicate skin of your jugular, and hissing rapacious demands that rattle through your vocal chords.

When he meets the apogee of your mettle, he pulls back. Edging away from the battered fold of your limits once he brings it to a new precipice, a new level.

Price pulled you against him when your fawn-legs quiver, knees threatening to buckle, and tucked you against his chest, a protective embrace while he murmured words of gratitude, admiration, into your crown.

That was hours ago, and now—

The hunger rears. Your want is a perfect personification of greed, lust, pride, gluttony all coalescing into a molten desire that spools together, knotting tight against your chest where it tightens in a vice. A pretty bow of your searing need for the man whispering heavenly words of ardour into your damp skin.

"Price—"

He stops the whine with a nip of teeth against your jugular. "Come on, now," he bares the flat of them on your skin, pinching soft tissue between his incisors. "Rest a bit, love. Jus' wanna hold you, yeah? Jus' like this."

He leaks benzene, arsenic, and formaldehyde when he murmurs your name into the sticky column of your throat.

(And when he whispers it so softly, reedy benediction dipped the brush of his blunt affection, how could you ever deny him anything?)

Your arms thread around his nape, wrists locking together behind him.

The ticking of the clock on the wall is just another reminder of how little time you have, and yet—

"Stay," he murmurs against your jaw, whiskers scratching your chin.

Jet-lag. Exhaustion. Wishful thinking.

Whatever the reason might be, you pry your lips apart and choke out the words that have rattling inside your head from the moment you felt his chest bloom beneath your palms, and knew—without any doubt or uncertainty—that you would follow this man to hell and back if it meant you stand inches away from him for the rest of your meagre existence.

A tortuous whim. An exquisitely agonising proposition.

But you've always been rather smitten with poems that break your heart into pieces. Ones where you leave a little part of yourself between the lines that eviscerate your pericardium until you taste heme in the back of your throat.

Price reminds you of those poems. Ones that blugeons into you with a force so heavy and full, it feels as if it was written just for you. A pain so robust and brutal, that you're sure the lines in Times New Roman were first etched into your bones before they were spilled across the stark white page in black ink. Rotten blood between the pages of your barren soul.

Your fingers run through the mess on his crown, slick with sweat from earlier, and you nod, mind wandering down that path that leads to closed doors, a locked mausoleum, and with your bruised knuckles, broken nails, and bent fingers, you pry it open.

Finally, finally—

The words claw up your throat, grasping at the stretch of freedom within reach, and you—

Let them go.

"Wouldn't go anywhere without you."

(Not ever again.)

#this feels somewhat complete but it's been bumming about in my drafts for ages now and it's about time it left the nest #sorry for all the bird imagery i found a pair of binoculars in my shed and suddenly i think i'm Attus Navius #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #captain price x reader #john price #captain john price #captain price #goddd i hate tagging stuff #can i just not???#like if u wanna read it come check out my blog but i am sick to death of these goddamn tags

771 notes · View notes

lucy90712 · 2 months ago

Note

Hi 🦋

Could I request a headcanon for Gavi and Pedri? You can also add someone if you want to!

The moment they realise that reader is the one for them? And maybe even telling the reader that <3

Gavi

Gavi realises you were the one for him in the stupidest way. He always thought it would be a really special moment like he looked at you and realised you were the most beautiful person in the entire world or he just felt so much love for you it was overwhelming. That's not how it happened though but actually the moment he realised was much more fitting for your relationship and how you two are with each other. Really Gavi knew deep down that you were the one for him way before the moment came that it hit him but he wasn't ready to think about your relationship in that way at the time which is why it takes him some time to realise it.

The day it happened you two hadn't been doing anything you'd just had a chill day at home together catching up on little jobs that needed doing around the house that has slipped through the cracks with how busy you both were. You'd spent all day doing things together so when the evening comes around you both naturally drift towards the kitchen together to make dinner. You teach Gavi how to make his favourite dinner from scratch and he helps you make it the best thing he's ever tasted. After dinner you watch a movie together with snacks and drinks which halfway through the movie Gavi goes to refill but because it's dark in the room he stubs his toe on the coffee table right in front of the sofa. The first thing you do is laugh before you realise that's not the way you should react and you start asking if he's ok while stifling your laughter.

For some reason you laughing while asking if he was ok is what made him realise that you were exactly who he was meant to spend the rest of the way his life with. That is exactly how he would react if someone he was close to did what he did because he knows if he's close to someone you can joke about silly things like that. To him the fact that you felt comfortable enough to let your inner thoughts take over made him realise you were special. You still cared about him but you didn't feel like you had to act a certain way around him which made him happy and that's what made it hit him that you were special. He wants the person he chooses the spend his life with the feel like they can be themselves at all times and he knows that you are that person know even if he had to stub his toe to realise it.

Pedri

Pedri never thought that he'd find the one for him when he entered into his first serious relationship with you. He didn't think he wanted a serious relationship at his age until he met you so really it should've been obvious that you were someone special but he didn't let himself think about that for a while. It took him a long time before he started thinking about how much he really loved you but once he did it didn't take too long for him to confront the fact he was in love with you. He knew he was in love with you for a while before he realised that you were the one for him as he didn't know what that would feel like until he let himself feel it.

For the second year running you joined Pedri in Tenerife over summer which has been so nice as you've both spent most of your days out in the sun just enjoying each other's company. You have also spent time with his family including a family get together where more of his extended family will be some of whom you haven't met yet. To start with you weren't sure if you should go as it's supposed to be for the family to all see each other but Pedri told you that you were more than welcome and his parents insisted that you were part of the family. As soon as you get there you fit in straight away and everyone loves you within minutes. This is no real surprise to Pedri but it still warms his heart to see you getting along with all of his family. He makes sure to stay by your side for most of the day just incase you get uncomfortable or need a break but at some point he gets dragged away from you. When he's finally free to get back to you he sees you happily sat with a group of his family members smiling and freely talking to them.

Seeing that makes him feel a sense of overwhelming love for you which he's felt many times before. As the day goes on that feeling only gets stronger and it hits him like a ton of bricks that the things he's feeling are because you are the one for him. He knows that he's never going to feel those feelings for anyone else as he doesn't think it's possible to love anyone more than he loves you. He also doesn't want to love anyone the way he loves you which is how he knows that you are the one. The feeling scares him a little but he knows that if he's going to explore these feelings with anyone he wants to do it with you just like he does with everything else in life.

#gavi x reader #gavi imagines #gavi imagine #gavi #pedri x reader #pedri imagine #pedri #football imagine

90 notes · View notes

taranthese · 1 year ago

Text

HOT SUMMER NIGHTS, MID JULY !

⋆ ★ pairing: pedri x messi!oc

⋆ ★ synopsis: they're relationship is private . . . not a secret

⋆ ★ author's note: my spanish is oh so very limited so some words were translated using google translate! and my first ever social media fic... faceclaim is maddie francesca!

@MADEIRAMESSI

📍tenerife islands

liked by katrinefogtfriis, garnacho7, and 19,210 others

MADEIRAMESSI tenerife tu tienes mi corazon! ( tenerife you have my heart! )

view all 242 comments

USER use me as a messi is the goat button >>>>

USER the way she's so gorgeous

USER tell messi to come back to barça to win the ucl!!!!!!!

MIKKYKIEMENEY bonitaaaa

→ graciasss, mi amor 🤍

USER does she have a boyfriend

USER @madeiramessi with a guy???? my heart is broken 💔

USER doesn't pedri live in tenerife.....

USER she's out of everyone's league y'all, she's MESSI'S DAUGHTER

USER do you guys see g*rnacho in her likes...

LEOMESSI mis hija hermosa ♡

→ graciasss, papaitooo !!!

@EIRASDOS

📍everywhere

liked by P_888 and 62 others

EIRASDOS life lately (no my dad does not condone violence)

P_888 mi nina hermosa ( my beautiful girl )

→ te amo pepiiiii ♡

LEOMESSI la foto ultima? ( the last photo? )

→ hihihi

G4VIR4 WHAT THE HELL 🔥🔥🔥

→ 17 year old behaviour smh

→ G4VIR4 yo soy 18....

→ same thing

@MADEIRAMESSI and @PEDRI

📍tenerife islands

liked by forblaugrana, frenkiedejong, and 2,843,191 others

PEDRI 🤍 @madeiramessi

MADEIRAMESSI mi corazon

→ bonita

USER okay can we give the biggest apology to @pedriskinnyjeans on twt ✊🏻✊🏻✊🏻✊🏻

FCBARCELONA barça youngsters ❤️‍🔥

PABLOGAVI por fin

→ MADEIRAMESSI lo siento pablo 😝

USER never thought THE madeira messi would end up with pedri...

USER it couple 4evaaaaaa... siri play young and beautiful by lana del rey

LEOMESSI mis hija y mis hijo

→ MADEIRAMESSI gracias papaitoo

→ USER messi calling pedri his son???? IM DONE

USER she could do so much better

⋆ ★ author's note: thank you so much for reading! i don't really feel madeira messi's story is done... might use her for more pedri x oc storiessss <;3

#ivy's works #pedri x reader #pedri imagine #pedri drabble #football imagines #football x reader #football imagine #barcelona #pedri gonzalez x reader #pedri smut #social media imagine #fcbarcelona imagine #pedri gonzalez imagine #pedri blurb #pedri angst

620 notes · View notes

loviingpedri · 1 year ago

Text

Did You Know I Loved You?

prompt: pedri never forgot you

warnings: cursing, grammar issues. all pictures used are not owned by me. not proofread.

word count: 1735

angst, some fluff

dedicated to all my pedri girlies <3

pedri and you were inseparable. from the day you walked into his parents' restaurant, the air suddenly changed. the town seemed to sparkle in tenerife when you two were exploring the island.

"let's play football," pedri slowly kicked the ball to you.

"it's so hot outside though," you groaned at the thought of kicking a ball in the burning sun.

"pleaseee, i wanna practice just for a little bit." you knew you couldn't say no to him. the decision ended up leaving you playing with him until the moon smiled at the duo.

little did you know, the moon never smiled and the sun never glistened after that day.

———————————————————————

“so what? you’re just gonna leave?” you shouted at pedri in disbelief.

“i can do what i want. you can’t control my decisions for the rest of my life,” he sighed and sat down to control his thoughts. “you knew this was gonna happen. i need to grow my career. i wanted to be in a work environment which i enjoyed. just don’t be so self-centered right now.”

“im self-centered? i didn’t even get a warning you would leave to this big city. you knew for weeks. fer knew for weeks. you said i was your family pedro, and family doesn’t hide things from each other.” the yelling echoed through the house. it was a situation that would never be fixed.

“i cant just tell my best friend that i’m leaving in 2 weeks. it would ruin everything. if you knew, you would’ve changed my mind and i wouldn’t be successful for anything.”

“pedro gonzalez, think for one fucking second. you kept a secret that could’ve changed everything. the moments we had together could’ve been more important than anything. i just needed one warning and this wouldn’t be happening. i don’t give a shit that you want to continue your passion. all i always wanted was for us to be happy.” it took everything in your power to not leave the house after you completely lashed out on him.

you knew deep down you didn’t want him to go because he was your first love. he was your first kiss, first friend, and first person to even talk to you in tenerife. you didn’t know who he was gonna see. you sure did not want him to talk to rich girls blinged out with their designer bags. you were scared shitless of how life would be without him. he was the only person who knew everything about you and what you should do in anxious situations.

then, the tears came. would he visit you? would he ever speak to you? would he write or text you? would you ever see him again? will there be time for the two of you to be together again.

“why are you crying? come on, its not that big of a deal.” he huffed loudly, shaking his head in stress that this was not the way this was suppose to happen.

“pedri, you are leaving to the city. i dont even know if i’ll ever get into contact with you anymore. you’ll have new friends, new people to worry about, and probably gonna knock someone up while you’re at it. can’t you just let me process this for one second.” and that’s when you made a mistake. doubting pedri was never a good idea. especially about the people he loved. especially when it came from the person who he loves the most.

pedri got up and looked at you for one last time. unexpectedly, he walked out the door without a word. you sat there in tears, debating to chase him or just let him go. the sobs fully came out.

———————————————————————

2 years had passed since he left. everyday, he thought about you. “what would y/n do? what would y/n say?” he questioned his decisions by following your mindset everyday. he begged his brother to tell how you were doing. never a word budged from fer since the huge fallout spread throughout the city.

tenerife was never the same. since both lost communication, it felt like the island itself was hopeless.

you, continued to push yourself through school. showing everyone that you would do well without him was your motivation. you’ve worked so hard to prove yourself to people that you had a job offer in barcelona.

of course, you accepted the job. people were upset that their beautiful youngin was finally moving on in life. moving into your modern apartment was like a fever dream. you’ve had your doubts, but it was definitely worth it. everyday, there would be news of pedri. pedri, barcelona’s best midfielder. pedri, one of the best young players in the world. pedri, the guy who gets every spanish girl all over him. hell, a video of him was going viral for taking a girl’s number and putting it into his pocket. obviously, it was implied that he would never have a single thought about you. fuck, it was stupid to even try to reach out for him.

after sitting in your living room while trying to find something to entertain yourself that wasn’t pedri related, you decided to go out for once. there seemed so much to do in the city instead of being lazy at home. walking for ages in the wind, you finally found a small cafe to rest. ordering your latte and sitting down, your thoughts were interrupted by a boy.

“excuse me, are you y/n?” said a boy that was not too much younger than you.

“yes i am,” you nodded your head slowly before taking a slow sip. it was a little awkward considering he looked at you in shock.

“i’m sorry. i’m pablo gavi. or known as gavi. you’re the person on pedri’s lock screen. he always talks about you during practice. holy shit, i never thought i would meet you. are you visiting him?”

what the fuck just happened. pedri still remembers me? why am i his lock screen? why does he talk about me? what does he say? for a moment, you sat there trying to understand what he said. gavi, confused on why you’re frozen in time, waved his hand in front of your face to make sure you’re okay.

“oh no, i’m not visiting. pedri and i don’t really talk anymore,” you shook your head and forced a little smile. only to ease the tension of gavi’s then saddened look.

“that’s weird. he talks about you like you’re his girlfriend or something. i thought you were doing long distance,” he shrugged his shoulders. “maybe you should visit camp nou. i think he’ll be happy to see you.”

quickly, you rejected his offer. “oh no, we exactly didn’t end off our friendship in the best terms. i think it’s better if we just don’t see each other again.”

“i insist. i’ll give you my number and i’ll text you all the details.” he took his arm giving you his phone. you bowed your head in defeat and put your phone number in.

unfortunately, everyone’s eyes had been on you and gavi.

———————————————————————

the next morning, your phone was blown up in notifications. your best friend constantly texting you on how you’re viral on twitter. paparazzi snapped pictures of your interaction with gavi.

“fuck.” you mumbled before groaning in defeat. you knew you had faced defeat in keeping a low-profile.

gavi, you knew, was for sure fucked. if pedri had seen the pictures, he was definitely getting beat up.

during practice, gavi kept his best to avoid his best friend. when pedri came up to him, he quickly turned pale.

“what’s wrong with you? you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” pedri patted him on his back with a small laugh. gavi sighed in relief. he’s glad to have all his teeth and no black eye before the game.

“yeah, i’m fine.” and that’s when everything wasn’t. balde came up to him, rubbing his head and patting him.

“so, who’s the new girl? it’s all over the internet and not a word from you.” fuck you balde was the first thought that came to gavi’s head. gavi’s head was pounding. he didnt know what to say, how to react, or what to do.

“wow gavi. what other secrets are you keeping from us. let me see the picture balde.” pedri laughed even harder from the thought of gavi even approaching a girl. at that moment, gavi had to remind himself that he wasn’t 9 anymore. he couldn’t just simply run and cry his way out of this. luckily, balde only showed pedri the picture from the window. when you were facing towards him and could only see him offering his phone. gavi’s blood started to circulate again and his heart rate slowed.

“i cant really see her face, but she looks so familiar to me.” well no shit jackass. that was the girl you’ve been in love with since second grade. in fact, she’s sitting on the side waiting for you.

———————————————————————

your heart was about to jump out in any second. you sat there for two hours for them to be finished with training. each time pedri walked towards your direction, your nerves would start running around. luckily, he didnt see you a single time.

gavi texted you from the locker room that he was coming towards your direction. you never expected this to be happening. you were debating to run away, but your feet forced you to stay. you knew your mind was fighting to hate him, yet your heart convinced you to see him. even if it was the last time. finally, you heard footsteps coming.

pedri was wiping the sweat off his face. he came to a full stop. he thought he was hallucinating. he thought it was a dream. he stared at you for which felt like minutes. admiring your facial features, you sat there frozen. it was harder to read his facial expressions now. did he want you to leave? did he want you there? why isn’t he saying anything?

what felt like years, he started walking towards you. again, your nerves were still jumping. eventually, he made his way in front of you. suddenly, he smiled.

“holy shit you’re beautiful.” the state of confusion turned into love with one simple kiss. your lips connecting made the world happier. the air cleared. the atmosphere was different.

it felt peaceful.

———————————————————————

author’s note: hi everyone! i’m so glad you enjoyed my first story let’s be tourists. this is my second time i’m writing on tumblr, so im still getting use to it. i will be taking requests once i figure out how to set it up. please let me know if you have any suggestions on what i could improve on. thank you for all of the support !!! <3

#pedri gonzalez #pedri #pedri x reader #pedri imagine #fc barcelona #pedri x you #pedri x y/n #pedri gonzalez imagine #pedri gonzalez x reader #pedri gonzalez x you #pedri fanfic #pedri angst

520 notes · View notes

chrzzboo · 10 months ago

Note

One of lando Norris and he is dating pedri sister

I wouldn’t want it any other way

Summary: After going to the Grand Prix in Barcelona with your brothers, a lot of things happen. Meeting your future boyfriend is one of them.

Pedri sister reader x Lando Norris

Note: thank you for your request anon! I tried my best, and accidentally wrote more than I intended to 🤪 I hope you guys enjoy this one and don’t be a silent reader! Love chrzzboo 🫶

Y/N’S POV

It was a very beautiful day in Barcelona I was visiting my older brothers Pedri and Fernando. I normally live with my parents in Tenerife but because I had a break from uni I decided to visit my dear brothers. I always had a special bond with both my brothers especially with Pedri since he’s only a year older than me. I was sat in front of the tv watching some Netflix when Pedri came to me and started talking. “Yo hermana I’ve got three tickets for the Barcelona’s Grand Prix this weekend, do you want to come with me and Fer?”. I looked at him confused, I did know about F1 and even knew a few drivers but didn’t really bother to watch every race so I was confused to why he asked me if he knew that I wasn’t really interested in it. “An F1 race? Since when do you like formula one?”. He looked at me annoyed. "Since they’ve invited me and they were kind enough to send me two extra tickets so you better come. Also mom and dad wouldn’t appreciate me leaving you all alone at home”. I started laughing imagining my parents beating up Pedri and Fer. “Alright I will come with you guys because I know you can’t live without me.” Pedri scoffed. “Now don’t get too confident hermana.” “With you as my brother I could never” I said laughing and pushing him over, running away from him. “Is that how you treat your older brother niñita?” He shouted running after me.

TIME SKIP

It was the day of the Grand Prix, although I didn’t know what to expect I was still very excited. We were currently in the car on the way to the Grand Prix, Pedri was driving and Fer sat next to him and I was sitting in the back. I was jamming to the music in the car when Fer turned to me and started talking.”Listen hermana, Grand Prix’s are often very busy so it’s important that we stick together because that place is way too big and easy to get lost in.” I rolled my eyes at my brother. “Fer are you serious? How old do you think I am? I can perfectly keep up with you guys. And besides that what if I get lost? It’s not like we don’t have phones?” Now it was Fernando’s turn to roll his eyes at me. “It might not be a big deal to you but to us it is. If mama heard that we’ve lost you she would go livid.” “Alright alright I promise I will stay close”. Both my brothers nodded at my words and we continued jamming to the music in the car until we’ve reached our destination.

We arrived a bit later than we were supposed to since it was so busy, Fer wasn’t lying when he said that this place can be very crowded. I was looking around and walking close to my brothers. I didn’t expect this place to be so cool honestly. I might visit these races more often. There are many pros to have an older brother who’s famous but there are also a lot of cons. Like right now, my brother was taking many pictures with people and also doing interviews. I was waiting for him to finish, already getting bored. Fer went to the toilet so I was alone waiting for Pedri. I was just scrolling on my phone when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turn around and frowned at the girl standing in front of me, I’ve never seen her before. “Hey you’re y/n right? Pedri’s little sister?” Ooh now I understood what she wanted. Well you see being the little sister of a pro athlete means that their fans will also know their family. “Hey yeah that’s me!” I replied enthusiastically. I didn’t realise but 10 minutes past, I had a lovely conversation with this girl but she had to leave. Looking around I started panicking since I couldn’t find my brothers anymore. They suddenly disappeared, I grabbed my phone planning on calling them but I cursed under my breath since my phone died. “Shit man, I should’ve brought my power bank.” I took matters in my own hands and started walking around the paddock looking for my brothers.

Like I mentioned before, this place is huge it feels like it’s never ending. Still looking around for my brothers, I wasn’t really paying attention to my surroundings in front of me since I was looking to the left side. That probably wasn’t a good idea because all of a sudden I bumped into a hard chest sending me straight to the ground eating shit. “I’m so sorry miss, are you alright?” Asked a manly voice, I looked at the person and I could see a pretty handsome brunette staring down at me reaching his hand out for me to hold. I grabbed his hand embarrassed by the fall I just made. “I’m alright, I’m so sorry I wasn’t really paying attention.” I told him. He chuckled looking in my eyes, just then I realised that he had very beautiful coloured eyes. “Don’t worry! It was my fault as well I was kinda distracted it wasn’t my intention to send you to the ground.” I laughed at him already liking his attitude. “Well yeah that was kinda embarrassing. But thanks for helping me, I’m looking for my brothers but ended up eating dirt instead.” He laughed at me still looking at me with those beautiful eyes. “Really are you lost?” “Yeah I kinda am, I’ve never been here before. I was waiting for my brothers and in the meantime a girl came up to me and started talking but when we finished our conversation I couldn’t find them anymore.” He looked at me with a confused expression. “You’ve never been here before? In the way of never visited the Barcelona GP or just to a F1 race in general?” I looked at him weird, what has that got to do with me losing my brothers? “Euhm I’ve never been to a F1 race at all, so I’m not really familiar with this.” He looked at me with a relieved expression? “So you don’t know who I’m?” I looked at him confused before answering.”Should I know who you are?” He chuckled at my response. “No don’t worry about it but you said that you’ve lost your brothers right? Have you tried calling them?” “No because my phone died that’s the main reason why I’m looking around here like a kid who’ve lost their parents.” I said with a laugh. He laughed as well. “Well miss if you give me your name I would gladly give you my phone so you can call them.” I forwarded my hand to him introducing myself to the handsome stranger. “I’m y/n, nice to meet you mister?” He took my hand and shook it, introducing himself as well. “Beautiful name for a beautiful girl, it’s nice to meet you my name is Lando.” Ngl that actually made me blush, so I quickly looked away from him but I could hear him slightly chuckle. He handed me his phone so I could call my probably worried brothers.

LANDO’S POV

After giving this beautiful girl my phone I started thinking. How come she doesn’t know me when there are literally pictures of me displayed all over the paddock. But honestly I was kinda relieved since I thought that I had bumped in a crazy fan earlier. Her not knowing who I am gave me the opportunity to kinda mess with her and also to feel like a normal person for once. Those thoughts were quickly interrupted by her giving me my phone back. “Here you go Lando, thank you so much for letting me use your phone I would’ve been doomed if it wasn’t for you! My brothers are at the restaurant at the entrance so I’m going over there.” I smiled at her happy face. “That’s no problem y/n, but do you know we’re the restaurant is because I don’t want you to get lost again.” She laughed at me not taking my words serious. “Don’t worry I remembered where it was located since I could smell the amazing pastries they had there earlier” she adds with an adorable laugh. “Alright pretty girl, hope to see you around.” After bidding her goodbye I couldn’t help but curse at myself for not asking her number or something, but before I could even look for her she was gone.

BACK TO Y/N

I couldn’t help but be a bit disappointed because I actually liked talking to Lando he seemed nice. Shaking those thoughts off I had better things to do and that was to find my brothers and hoping that they wouldn’t be mad at me. Finally reaching the restaurant, I could see my brothers standing near the entrance waiting for me. I called their names and soon both of them came running to me. “Y/n dios mío, we thought we lost you forever for a second.” Was heard from Fer. “Yeah we already started digging our own graves because non of us would’ve had the balls to tell mama.” Pedri says earning a laugh from all of us. “Alright you guys are so dramatic and this time it wasn’t even my fault that I got lost, you guys just disappeared.” Both of them looked at each other with guilty eyes and turned to me with a small smile. “Yeah alright this one was on us, but if you won’t tell mama we will buy you your favourite pastries.” “All of them?” I add with a smirk. Both my brothers rolled their eyes but agreed.

After we watched the race we were headed to the garages of some drivers since Pedri wanted to talk to them. I had to admit I did like watching the race, there was so much happening. The adrenaline, the speed, the loud engines it was just simply addicting. Arriving at the garages both my brothers headed to talk to some drivers but not without warning me to stay close to them and not wander off. I looked around me and noticed that each garage had their own colours. For example Ferrari had red, Mercedes had black and McLaren had orange more like a papaya colour. But wait a second, looking back at the McLaren garage I could see a familiar face. It was that Lando guy from earlier. Shocked I took a few steps closer to look at the poster better. 'Lando Norris driver for McLaren' it stated. So you're meant to tell me that I've talked to one of the drivers earlier? That's actually insane. I quickly returned to my brothers and let those thoughts sink in.

It’s been 10 minutes since my brothers were talking to the drivers with the names Verstappen and Pérez what I’ve learned after standing there for such a long time. I was starting to get thirsty because we’ve walked all day long plus it was so hot in Barcelona today. I looked around me and spotted a vending machine. I tapped Fer on his shoulder to gain his attention, soon he turned to me with a confused face. “I’m thirsty can I walk over there and get a drink from the machine.” Fer looked over to the vending machine seeing that it wasn’t too far and could still see me. “Alright, but only get your drink and come back we wouldn’t want the same events from earlier to happen again.” He added with a stern voice. “Okey sir, don’t worry I will be back in no time.” After getting his permission I started walking to the vending machine, I needed some money so as I was walking I started searching for some change in my purse. Unaware of my surroundings I again bumped into someone. But that’s when I heard the same voice again. “Second time we bumped into each other it’s really destiny at this point.” It was Lando, this time he was dressed in his racing attire still a bit sweaty from the race earlier. “Well it’s nice seeing you again Lando.” He smiled at me before talking again. “You haven’t lost your brothers again have you?” He laughed at me. I groaned at his response. “Listen that only happened once and that wasn’t even my fault. Also my brothers are over there talking to some drivers." I pointed at them so Lando could see them. Lando turned to me a bit shocked. “Wait your brother is Pedri, the football player?” I looked at him amused. “Yeah that’s him.” “Why didn’t you mention that earlier?” He asked still looking at Pedri. “Well mister Norris, you didn’t mention that you were a driver either.” I said with a smirk. He laughed. “You’ve got me there, I guess we both had our secrets.” I smiled agreeing to his words. “Hey y/n listen it was very nice talking to you, I really enjoyed our conversation. But I have to go, do you mind doing me the honour of giving me your phone number?”. I couldn’t believe my ears at first, did he really ask me for my number? Wait let’s get this straight a F1 driver wants my number? Yeah mental. I quickly composed myself so I wouldn’t make a fool out of myself. “Yeah sure give me your phone so I can type it in!” After exchanging our numbers we both separated our ways.

That was 6 months ago, me and Lando have been dating for 2 months now. Ever since we’ve exchanged numbers back then, we had been talking non stop. We would secretly meet up but it ended up with him visiting me most of the time since I still had uni. Our relationship was pretty much a secret, the only people that knew about it were some of his friends on the paddock, his best friend Max and his parents. For me the only people who knew were my parents and best friend. My brothers don’t know, I don’t what to tell them because I know how they would freak out since they’re very protective over me especially Pedri. Pedri can be very dramatic about this, so that’s why I decided to keep it from them but just for now.

I was currently visiting Lando in Monaco since I had a break from uni. I came with him to the paddock to keep him company since he’s been whining all morning long for me to come with him. I have been here for two weeks now I have to leave in two days to return home. I didn’t want to leave actually, I had a great time here in Monaco spending time with my boyfriend. My thoughts were quickly interrupted by a hand on my thigh. “Baby are you alright? You’ve been quiet ever since we woke up today.” I looked at him and could see the concern in his eyes. “Yeah I’m alright amor don’t worry about it.” I tried convincing him but if there was one thing Lando was good at it would be that he could read me like an open book. He scooted closer to me lifting me up slightly and seating me on his lap. He had both his arms secured around my waist and he kissed my shoulder lightly. “Babe you know damn well that I know when you’re lying. Now tell me what’s really going on, I’m your boyfriend I would do anything to make those worries of yours disappear.” He added with a chaste kiss on my cheek. I smiled at him slightly feeling better. “I’m just worried you know. I don’t want to return home tomorrow without you. The long distance has been killing me lately and now that we’ve spent two weeks together really made realise that I don’t want to be apart from you.” He looked at me with sad eyes. “I know love, I had an amazing time with you and I’m also not ready to let it go. But we’ve talked about this remember? You’re almost done with uni and then we can finally live together.” His words made me happier but there was still one thing that was bothering me. “You’re right but we still haven’t told my brothers, it just feels like I have a huge weight on my shoulders. I love them but I’m scared that they wouldn’t approve of our relationship.” Lando was quiet for a few seconds before speaking again. “Babe listen what if I came with you back home. You told me that your brothers will be there as well. We can’t keep postponing this. Think about it, it’s not fair towards your brothers as well you know.” He was right, I couldn’t keep this secret from them any longer. I want to be able to go out with Lando freely without having to worry about anything. I looked at him. “You’re right babe, we should do it.” Lando was so happy to hear that, he jumped up nearly dropping me to the ground but he quickly caught me. “Babe that’s amazing, I will sort out a private jet immediately. You just have to call your parents and let them know." He grabbed my face with his large hands and kissed me passionately. I couldn’t help but smile into the kiss excited but also nervous about telling the news to my brothers.

Me and Lando were currently seated in his private jet. I was so nervous, probably more nervous than Lando. I kept bouncing my leg up and down from the stress but Lando noticed it and held my thigh in place. “Babe calm down, you’re more nervous than me.” He said laughing and pecking my nose. “I’m sorry amor I can’t help it, I just hope my brothers won’t make a drama out of it especially Pedri.” I said looking down sadly imagining the worst scenario to happen. Lando tilted my chin with his fingers so I could look at him. “Hey hey baby don’t talk like that. Everything will go well alright? I know it’s a tough situation but your brothers only want to protect you but regardless of what happens today we both know that our love is stronger than anything else right?” His words made me feel lighter and so much better but I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Why are you laughing babe?” Lando looked at me confused especially after his little speech. I pecked his nose before answering. “Your words were beautiful babe but I would’ve never expected the Lando Norris to become such a sap for me.” I said laughing. Lando started whining. “C’mon babe way to ruin my perfect speech, now I’m cringing from myself.” He said hiding his face in my neck. “Alright I’m sorry my big baby I appreciate everything you do for me.” I said kissing him meaning everything I just said. “Look at who’s the sap now.” “Lando shut up before I wipe that smirk of your face.” Lando didn’t stop there. “And what if I don’t.” He said with a smirk. “Alright then you can pleasure yourself alone then tonight.” I said closing my eyes ready to take a nap leaving a whining Lando next to me.

We just landed not too long ago, me and Lando were currently sitting in the uber on the way to my parents house. The entire car journey I couldn’t help but overthink but Lando was quick to reassure me. We arrived and took our luggage out of the car and thanked the driver. This was it, this was the moment that could determine the rest of my relationship. Lando sensed my uneasiness and took my hand in his hand and gave it a light squeeze as a sign of reassurance. I rung the bell and soon my parents opened the door. “Hola hija mía, te extrañé mucho.” (Hello my daughter, I’ve missed you so much.)Was heard from my mother before she pulled me into a hug. “Mama I was only gone for two weeks.” I laughed at her dramatic antics. Soon both my parents greeted Lando. They had met him before and they were fond of him, treating him like their own son. That’s what I loved about it. Soon we made our way to my room, placing our luggage down. We both got refreshed and headed downstairs for dinner. Me and Lando sat down next to each other when I couldn’t help but ask my mother about my brothers. “Mama, where are Fer and Pedri? Weren’t they supposed to be here?” My mother turned to me and answered me. “I sent them out to get some stuff so they will be here soon." Not even 20 seconds later we could hear the bell. This was it, this was the moment I was dreading for so long. Lando sensed that I was nervous so he rubbed my thigh softly as reassurance. Soon I could hear the loud voices of my brothers coming closer. I stood up from my seat and so did Lando. “Hola Fer y Pedri, how are you guys?” I asked hugging them both. “Hola hermana we’re doing good.” Was heard from Pedri but before they could talk further I started talking. “I would like you guys to meet my boyfriend Lando.” They both fell silent for a bit before pushing me aside and going over to my boyfriend. The next thing really caught me off guard and so did it to my parents. “Dios mío, you’re Lando Norris!” “Fer our sister is dating a F1 driver!” Wait a second both my brothers were fangirling over my boyfriend? Is this what I was scared for all this time?. “Y/n why haven’t you told us that you were dating Lando Norris.” Before I could reply Fer interrupted me again. “Never mind I don’t even care anymore, Lando do you have any paddock passes for your next race for us?” “Can we have a test drive in your car once?” My boyfriend stood there not knowing what was going on. “Dios mío, leave the poor guy alone. He’s here as your sister’s boyfriend and not as the race driver. Now both of you sit down." They immediately listened to my mother’s words. It was safe to say that my brothers wouldn’t stop bothering my boyfriend with their silly questions but I couldn’t help but be happier since they’ve approved of our relationship.

Later in the evening, me and Lando were sitting together cuddled up on the coach enjoying each other’s presence. “You know I was actually surprised by your brothers’s reactions.” Lando said laughing. “Yeah you’re not alone I’ve never seen them react like that.” I said laughing. “But regardless of that I couldn’t be happier about it.” Lando smiles pecking my temple. “I told you everything will fall into place.” I smiled at him, both leaning in for a kiss but before our lips could even touch a pillow hit our faces. “You might be Lando Norris but I still don’t want any PDA in front of me.” “PEDRO ARE YOU SERIOUS?!” Before I could even hit that idiot back he was already gone leaving my boyfriend laughing his butt off at what just happened. Looking around me I realised one thing: I wouldn’t want it any other way.

The end.

#lando norris x reader #lando imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagine #lando norris insta au #lando x reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 fluff #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 x female reader #lando fluff

185 notes · View notes