#I've done the same thing before but i was so proud of her for taking the impossible task and finding a practical solution to it

[aflockofravens]

I literally gasped outloud when I realized Maomao's long con with the red manicures.

I can't wait for next week. GET HIS ASS, MAOMAO

[ceesimz]

Wings (part one)

You return to the Norway National Team. (autistic!reader)

Reverie fics here! I've put a lot of time and care into this one as I wanted it to feel absolutely right because it's been a plot point since the very first few paragraphs of the original reverie story. So, I really hope I've done it right and done it justice and that you all believe it fits too🙃 (and a p.s. thank you to @pickledwoso for coming up with some perfect ideas for me to work with and keeping me sane whilst writing, v v v grateful <3)

“Ingrid, I have something to tell you.”

It felt right to tell her the decision you’d come to only a few hours before, in a cable car somewhere in Norway; the decision you never thought you would be able to make again. A decision you knew Ingrid had hoped to hear for years.

“Okay.” Ingrid said sceptically, dragging out the ‘y’ at the end as she did so.

You held the phone away from your ear for a second, taking a deep breath and pinching the bridge of your nose. 

Bringing up the idea to Alexia had been one thing. Telling Ingrid about your intentions was another. It made it… real. Very real. And the words felt alien on your tongue, you sort of felt like they didn't belong to you. But, as Alexia and your family had encouraged you to the highest degree, welcoming and respecting and celebrating your decision with open arms, they did belong to you.

“I…” That deep inhale came right back out. Your mouth was dry and when there was a lump in your throat that prevented you from speaking clearly, your voice trembled and cracked with nearly every syllable in your next words. “I think I might try to… come back to the national team.”

For Ingrid, who was some hundred miles away in the same country, that might have been the last thing on earth she thought you would say in that moment. Not because she didn’t believe in you, of course not. That couldn’t be further from the truth. 

“You are serious!?” The dark-haired woman exclaimed, almost leaping out of her chair where she sat at the dinner table with her family. Her brother rolled his eyes, used to her theatrics, meanwhile her parents glanced up at her with an anticipatory look.

Ingrid had been thinking about your situation with the national team for quite a while. She was certain that, at this point of your life, she could put her hand on her heart and say you would flourish if you went back. But you never spoke about it, so she never spoke about it, because it was a line she didn’t want to cross as it could have been catastrophic if she did. You had spent months thinking about your decision to leave all those years ago, you were a shadow of yourself as you struggled with the hectic nature of the career you’d delved into once the popularity of the women’s side grew, as well as the unkind and unfair treatment of the staff at the time. You almost didn’t come out the other side of it. 

Your best friend had had a front row seat to how beautiful your life had turned out after your move to Barcelona. And this, well… she knew it would make your self-esteem, your confidence, your faith in yourself, it’d all sky-rocket. She didn’t have the words to express how utterly proud she was of you; it consumed her whenever she saw you smile, laugh, joke around with your teammates without overthinking everything or just going mute to prevent the possibility of an ounce of embarrassment. Whenever a tough situation came your way, you took your time to figure out the best way to get through it, and faced it head-on. You’d taken these last few years to discover yourself, to find out what you needed, what you were best at, and who you wanted in your life. There wasn’t a more perfect time to take advantage of all those lessons learnt, and tackle the one final thing that weighed on your mind.

“I think I might be.” 

The squeal you were met with was deafening. However, despite how the pitch of it almost made your ears bleed, it overwhelmed you with relief. It didn’t matter that your fellow Norwegian hadn’t actually said anything yet, because that reaction spoke volumes. Literally.

“I am speechless.” Were the words she finally did land on. There was some hushed speaking in the background before you heard her excuse herself, followed by the sound of quick and heavy footsteps until it sounded like she slumped back onto her bed with a dreamy sigh. “You are joining the national team again.”

“Might, Ingrid. I might.” You corrected her, cautious that she was getting ahead of herself. Then, she had the audacity to click her tongue like it was you in the wrong. “There needs to be a lot of thinking going into it. I can’t just do it on a whim. I need to plan, and talk about it, maybe meet with the staff, I need to see what support they can give to me and h-”

“Okay, okay. I know this. Just let me be excited for a moment, let yourself be excited.” You could hear the smile on her face as she spoke, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t ease your anxiety a little. “We can plan it all another time, not right now. Be happy for yourself, this is a big milestone.” 

Alexia, who had stepped out the room a little while ago to give the two of you some privacy, walked back in at that moment when you let out another deep breath, trying to will away the pit of nausea in your stomach. She expected you to be done on the phone now considering it had been a bit of time, however she was none the wiser to the twenty minutes of hesitation you had at pressing the call button. The door closed softly behind her and she leaned back against it, waiting and giving you the space you needed. 

Honestly, having her there as you talked with Ingrid was comforting. Much more comforting than you thought. You weren’t sure why that was and when your opinion about such a situation had changed; normally these were situations where you did need to be on your own. It was a subtle change, it happened without you knowing, but it was a pretty big one. Having Alexia there helped to remind you that you could do this. 

“It is.” You placated quietly, tracing your finger along the scratches and dents in the wooden desk that’d been in your bedroom since you were a teenager. “I am excited. Just very worried, and… stuff.”

“I am so proud of you.” Ingrid rushed out suddenly, and there was quite a significant amount of emotion in her voice then. “So proud. I- oh my god.”

“What?” You said, somewhat concerned at the slight shock she seemed to be experiencing. It was all explained when, no less than a second later, Ingrid bursted out into full-on sobs. “Ingrid, are you okay?”

“Yes! I’m okay.” She blubbered, to which you turned to Alexia with a slightly amused glance until you felt tears brewing as well. “Just proud. So proud. I can’t even say how proud.”

“Alright, alright. I get it.” You mumbled shyly whilst she continued to cry. It was all very… dramatic. But it also couldn’t have gone any better than it did. 

“When we get back to Barcelona, I’m gonna come see you and I’m gonna hug the life out of you, okay?” Ingrid said sternly, and it was that determination of hers that made your first tear fall. “And then we’re going to make a plan together. We’ll get whoever we need. Me, you, Ale, maybe Caro or Esmee or Frido, whoever you need. We’ll sort things out and make sure you get to do this how you want, how you need. I promise.”

“Okay.” You nodded though she couldn’t see you. Another tear fell, and you realised you felt way too many things then to be able to express what you wanted. It was a flaw you loathed, but a flaw other people accepted. So you learned to accept it too. “I love you, Ingrid.” 

“I love you too. I know you don’t like phone calls so I’m going to let you go, but just in case you didn’t know already, I am really proud of you for this.” You let out a huff of amusement and smiled at her. “Please text me whenever you need to about it, no matter when or what it is. Anything you need, snuppa. Always. I’ll see you soon.”

You thanked her, bid her goodbye, hung up, let your phone fall to your lap, and covered your face with your hands. Alexia waited a minute or two, trying to gauge your feelings, a frown on her face at the sporadic sniffles that came from you. She cautiously took a few steps closer as you leaned forward and took your hands away, resting your arms on the desk and your chin atop them.

“Ingrid is really happy about it.” You murmured, breaths stuttering as you told her. Alexia smiled and came to stand beside you, going to put a hand on your back before hesitating, and opting for the back of your chair instead.

“That’s good.” She hummed, to which you nodded. “Are you?”

“Yeah.” 

Her smile doubled in size and she moved behind you, her arms wrapping around you and her hands landing on top of yours, her chin on your shoulder as she pressed her lips against your cheek.

“You should be. You should be so proud. We’ve all got you through this, I love you.”

You would never tire of hearing that.

—

Ingrid really wasn't lying when she said she'd hug the life out of you next time you were together. In fact that might have been an understatement. 

At your favourite café, the one you had your first date and were soon to plan your biggest personal milestone at, you were nearly hugged to death by the person that'd watched you grow and had helped you get to this point. Alexia laughed quietly from her chair at the surprise on your face, clearly having underestimated the truth in Ingrid's promise. But then the three of you sat down together, Ingrid across from you with Alexia beside you, and delved straight into it. They didn't hover on the novelty of the decision, knowing too much attention on it might cause you to shut down and close off about it. 

You spent almost two hours with them, making a plan and discussing what accommodations and support you would need to make sure things went as well as possible. An initial list was written, and once you had spent some time thinking about it and finalising everything, then you'd tell the staff at the Norway National Team that you intended to return. Your target was the February international break, but you hadn't written off the possibility that might be too soon. Ingrid and Alexia did well to remind you that it didn't matter when you went back. All that mattered was that you felt you were in a place that you wanted to go back. That was enough of an achievement in itself.

Some days you woke up determined that you could do it, it’d be a breeze, and nothing could dim your excitement. Other times, you were wracked with anxiety. So much so, it was hard to think clearly about it, which is where Alexia and Ingrid came in. Any time you got too overwhelmed at the fucking gigantic obstacle that stood before you, they brought you right back to reality. They gently eased your concerns, offering solutions and words of wisdom and comfort and rationality, to the point you wondered why you’d gotten so worked up in the first place. That happened countless times over breakfast at the café, and you got through it with the end result being a plan to get you back where you belonged.

“I think this is a good starting place now, no?” Alexia smiled over at you and Ingrid whilst you put the lid on your pen and slumped back in your chair, inhaling deeply.

The list was fairly long, featuring things like you getting to choose who you room with or even maybe rooming on your own (though you were sure you’d most likely want to be Ingrid for some peace of mind), making sure there was no pressure to participate in anything you didn’t want to do social wise, being able to drop out of camp at any point should you need to, having the final say in if you want to play in the matches or not, and a number of other things too. It was a good starting place, you were satisfied with the things the three of you had brainstormed so far. Though, it hadn’t done a thing to ease your overall anxiety. Sure, these things might help, but it’s still a terrifying thing to go through with.

After all, what if the staff there just say… no? To your requests? You can ask for help but you can't choose how people decide to help you, which makes such a crucial step so petrifying to approach. Especially when they had no qualms in doing so in the past, and it was probably why you never wanted to tell anyone at Frankfurt about your disability.

You’re an adult, you don’t need these things.

It’s unfair if we make these accommodations just for you and nobody else.

You’re being ridiculous and unnecessary, you have nothing to be so anxious about. 

If you can't handle it, maybe you don't belong here.

Those were the kind of things they said to you back then and they still echoed around your mind anytime you thought about asking for support from anyone. What people don’t understand is that they have a much longer lasting impact than most realise. For the people saying them, they’re just a momentary thing, they’ll forget they said them an hour after the conversation ends. That’s not the reality for you. Hours, days, weeks, months, years after, their words will continue to taunt you and mock you, adding fuel to the fire of the malicious thoughts your brain musters up whenever you’re struggling.

The fact that your entire experience anywhere in the world lies in the hands of the reactions and opinions of other people, both in terms of support and general behaviour, is… there’s no words to describe the fear it induces. A large portion of the world won’t ever need to even worry about having to go through that, yet they’re the ones controlling the puppet strings. It’s very ironic, and unfair.

“It is. Anything else?” Ingrid asked you gently, to which you shook your head. Your face communicated differently, like you still had a million and one things on your mind, which didn’t surprise either of them. “What are you thinking? Anything for right now or shall we finish up?”

The two of them gave you your space to think as you decided whether to voice these fears or not. They’d heard them a hundred times, Ingrid especially, but you still had them anytime you did something new and it would always be this way. 

Your mouth opened and closed a couple times as the last remnants of hesitation slipped away, before you took a sip of your water and spoke afterwards.

“There is so much that’s out of my control.” You began, talking almost in a whisper as the weight of your fear prevented you from speaking any louder. Like, if your voice was half a decibel higher, the staff at the national team all the way in Norway would come storming into the cafe with pitchforks at the ready. “I tried for years to advocate for what I need and they hardly gave me anything. They could just do the same again.”

Alexia knew that was something Ingrid would have to answer to; not only because it was the team Ingrid played for as well, but also because… she’d had to fight for things at Spain camp too, everyone knew that, and everyone knew that things didn’t go well and still weren’t going well. So, instead of floundering to find the right words she didn’t have, she reached out to put her hand on your knee. Within a second, your hand slipped under hers, and she squeezed it instantly to offer some more comfort. You glanced at her and just one look at her face, at her soft smile that spoke volumes of her confidence in you and her eyes that were so loving and free of judgement, it grounded you. How was that possible?

“The staff that are there now aren’t the same as who were there in the past. There has been a lot of reshuffling over the years to try and make it a better place for everybody and I’m certain that it is much better. I would never lie or sugarcoat that, I mean it absolutely.” Ingrid answered honestly, and you could tell by the seriousness in her face that she did mean it absolutely. You looked at Alexia again for a moment, feeling extra secure in the response to your question when she nodded, even if she had no idea whether Ingrid was telling the truth or not. “The only person that is still there is Heidi, who you-”

“She does the best kjøttkaker med potetmos!” 

At the mention of the one person that still worked for the national team, your face and mood lit up. Ingrid grinned and nodded, whilst Alexia chuckled softly with a shake of her head. Even in the time you’d been with her, which was years after you last played for Norway, Alexia had heard all about Heidi’s, one of the chefs hired by the team, excellent cooking, especially for one of your favourite safe foods from back home. 

…surely, in only a few years, she hadn’t lost her talent?

“She’ll be so happy to see you again, kjære.” That reminded you of another worry you had.

“What about everyone else?” You mumbled sheepishly, insecurity clear in your tone that had your girlfriend frowning beside you. 

“Trust me, they will all welcome you back with open arms. Please don’t doubt that for a second.” Ingrid said firmly, ensuring she didn’t leave any room for you to still fear such a thing. 

It was understandable, of course it was. Both Ingrid and Alexia knew why you would be worried – in situations like that, the people you’re surrounded by could make or break your experience entirely. Regardless, it still killed them to hear you sound so uncertain if your return would be well received, and it hurt them even more that they couldn’t swear on their lives that it would, because it was just an unknown where the only way to tackle it was… by going through it. 

If they could change the world to make it a better experience just for you, no matter the cost for their own livelihoods, they would do it in a heartbeat. They didn’t believe it was fair you had to live with these anxieties all the time, but if they could help by at least being there for you, then they would settle for that.

“Don’t forget that you aren’t doing this alone, engel.” Alexia chipped in softly as her hand squeezed yours once more. “You will have Ingrid there, Caro, Frida, Maren. There will be some you haven’t met or spent much time with and it’s normal to be worried about meeting them, but you won’t have to do that alone. You’ll have people there that love you. And I will only be a phone call away, for anything.” 

These were all things that, when you were in the right mindset to think rationally, you knew. The anxiety that’s experienced with autism is a hard thing to describe, it’s different to a general anxiety disorder. Anxiety from an autistic perspective doesn’t involve just the fear of the unknown, it’s the chaos and the unpredictability of what is known. You know there’s people out there that hate you because of how your brain works, they could be next to you and you wouldn’t know until you do something that ‘provokes’ a reaction from. You know there’s people out there that believe you’re weak, that you’re worth less than the average human because of some minor things you can’t do, that are waiting for you to trip up so they can make a laughing stock of you. You know there’s people out there that are looking for an excuse to use your disorder against you. And there’s almost nothing you can do about it.

Nothing, but live your life how you want to. So that’s what you’ll do.

“Okay. I think that might be it for now.” You decided as, by that point, you were a little overwhelmed and in need of some time to process everything that had been discussed and planned. The two of them nodded, but they didn’t say anything. Ingrid especially just… looked at you. Very peculiarly. “What’s that face for?”

“Nothing.” She shrugged, though it was very clear she was fighting off a rather large grin. Then, it hit you what she was thinking and dying to do.

“Don’t say i-”

“I’m just so proud of you.” She beamed, and it was a miracle she didn’t start running laps of the café judging by the excitement on her face. You groaned and rolled your eyes, covering your face with your hands as Alexia laughed and put an arm around your shoulder to pull you into her side. 

“I’m so proud of you too.” The blonde murmured, her lips grazing your temple in a soft kiss that had Ingrid rolling her eyes at the hopeless state of you both. 

“We’re done. Home time.” You told them, shy and a little embarrassed under their constant praise, standing abruptly in your chair. They laughed, not at all offended because it was so you, and stood up too.

The three of you tucked your chairs in, you folded up the piece of paper your list was on, slipped it into your pocket, then suddenly found yourself in the centre of a group hug.

“Gruppeklem!” Ingrid called out a tad too loud for the small café you were in, though you didn’t find yourself caring. As they wrapped their arms around you and embraced you tightly, literally surrounding you with their love, you realised you couldn’t care less about the people around you when these two were by your side at all times. 

Despite how well the planning had gone, the topic was still on your mind for the rest of the day – a day which was relaxed, with no plans, to allow you the time to come down from your stresses and process the onslaught of information you’d taken in over breakfast.

Luckily, you had the perfect solution to all your problems that evening.

A combination of two of your favourite love languages: physical touch and quality time. However, it wasn’t quality time in the normal sense, rather for people like you, it was more commonly called parallel play. Being in the same space as Alexia whilst you both did your own individual things, in your own worlds, was something you adored and wouldn't ever be able to describe why. And you both were in your own worlds; you playing a video game on the TV whilst Alexia had her nose stuck in whatever true crime book she’d chosen that week. 

The midfielder was lay back against the sofa cushions as you sat against the arm of it, your legs across her lap and her hand on your thigh trailing her fingers absentmindedly, the only time she stopped being when she turned a page. Dinner had been and gone, it was late evening by that point, and a good forty minutes had passed since you last exchanged even just a word with each other. Because it wasn’t necessary.

On the other hand, Alexia knew that your mind was going a million miles per hour, she swore she could almost hear it. Instead of disturbing you, she let you be, like always. You would come to her if you needed it, which was exactly what you did. Even though you knew you were probably getting a bit repetitive at this point, sometimes you just needed a single reminder to put you at ease.

When you paused your game, Alexia noticed, but she didn’t react. You seemed hesitant to speak, though she knew you would eventually, so she didn’t push. You were almost certain you didn’t love anything else in the world more than how well Alexia knew you.

“You seriously think I can do this?” You whispered. 

In an instant, her book was closed and her attention was on you. Her now free hand reached out for yours, her head dropped back against the cushions, and she gazed at you with a smile that revealed her answer before she even spoke. 

“I have never been more confident in anything in my life, than I am in you right now.” 

Well, what more could you ever need?

“That’s a bold statement, Ale.” You teased her lightly, a hint of a smile on your face with some pink cheeks that Alexia swore was her favourite sight in the world. 

“It is one I believe in and you should too.” The look she fixed you with was a mix of sternness and softness, but it did little to settle you much. With a sarcastic roll of her eyes, she gently pushed your legs off of her and shuffled closer to sit on the edge of the couch, putting her hands on either of your cheeks. She kissed your forehead, a featherlight brush of her lips that caught you off guard with the pure tenderness of it, before she gave you that same look from a moment ago. “Stop thinking for tonight, okay? It’s not doing you any favours, so stop. Give yourself a rest. What can I do to help?” 

You shrugged, not giving yourself a second to consider it because you didn’t want to ask for anymore from her. Until she raised her eyebrow at you, a light scolding that made you laugh quietly.

“Can’t we just… lay here, together? You help without even having to do anything.” You sounded incredibly shy as you answered her, she couldn’t help but grin in turn. Though, secretly, that was an admission that she was sure she would remember forever; it was all she could wish for. 

So for the rest of the evening, that’s exactly what you both did. Alexia instructed that you lay on top of her with your head on her chest, which you were more than happy to comply with, and she resumed her story as you put on a show on the TV. One hand held her book whilst the other slid under your shirt, splaying out on your back and soothingly tracing shapes with her fingernails up and down. Then, the two of you retired to bed later on, and you woke up the next morning without feeling like an elephant was seated right upon your heart. God only knows where you would be without Alexia.

—

February came around much sooner than you anticipated, which meant it was time to leave. You decided a few weeks before that this was the right time to go, and with some back and forth meetings with the necessary staff, your accommodation requests had been met. Without any hesitation or argument or frustration. It went… oddly smooth.

The meetings and video calls were not good for your heart due to the anxiety they caused, but Alexia was there by your side when she could and you got through them all like they were nothing. Most importantly, you stood your ground. If someone suggested something else or wasn’t sure if it could be done, you hardly flinched, and assertively told them exactly what it was you were asking for. It was kind of hard not to be distracted during them when Alexia would grin like a proud maniac off camera every time you advocated for yourself.

And fortunately for you, by some miracle, the day you both had to leave her flight was later than yours, so you managed to spend the morning together where she helped to make sure you were absolutely ready to go, both in the sense of packing and how you were feeling mentally. You’d never reach a perfect state of mind about going, you were still an anxious wreck, but it was more nerves than anything else. You were prepared, you were ready, you wanted to do this and you were going to do it. Not only that, you were going to try your damned hardest to make sure it went well. 

When you received the call that you were officially part of the lineup for the next camp, and when you saw your name in the call-up announcement, it was an unmatchable feeling. Sure, you already knew that you were going to be part of it considering it was all you thought about for weeks, but having your name down with your teammates, old and new, there were no words to describe it. 

You were minding your business when the email came through, in the physio room after training for Barça when your phone went off with the notification. With no idea what it could be, you opened it, only to gasp so intensely you could have actually created a blackhole in the room for a second. Where in the past you would have kept that moment to yourself, you couldn’t help but turn to Esmee on the bed beside you and show her it. Her reaction was somewhat like yours, just a little less oxygen-stealing and a bit more reserved. She hardly had time to give you a hug before you were darting out the room and beelining straight for the locker room.

In the midst of your rushing, you nearly knocked over three different members of staff, all of which received flustered apologies from the culprit, you, who was already rounding the corner and out of sight. You hadn’t ever run so fast in your life outside of a football pitch, and you then gave each teammate the fright of their lives by how utterly loud the door slammed open. But it was worth it to see you so consumed by joy, it was written all over your face the minute you walked in. You didn’t exactly mean to announce the news to everyone in there, you only intended to tell Alexia and Ingrid what had happened, but in your excitement you sort of forgot to keep your voice at a minimum. That meant that one second, everybody was quiet and intrigued at what had caused such a reaction, and the next they were all surrounding you with their pride and their congratulatory words when you burst out the news. 

You knew the time would come at any point after you had your last call with them, yet it still took you by surprise. It was one of the best feelings you ever had. And for once, the anxiety didn’t completely overboard you, you were on cloud-nine and your mind let you. 

Until you actually had to leave, and the moment you were stood by the door with your suitcase, heart racing unbearably fast as you said goodbye to Alexia, it all came flying straight back. 

You were, on paper, back where you belonged. But you had to actually get there first, which was a challenge in itself because it felt like the second you stepped out the door and closed it behind you, there really was no going back.

Though, you had to do it eventually as no amount of stalling with minutes spent in Alexia’s embrace was going to hold off the inevitable. It’s just that… two weeks apart from her sounded really unappealing. This international break felt different than the rest – whereas beforehand you would stay in Barcelona as Alexia went to Madrid or whatever country she was playing in for Spain, this time you were obviously heading to Norway. You were grateful that both games for you were played at home, but god you were going to miss her during the break more than you ever had when you’d been apart.

With a sickening amount of reluctance, you eventually did manage to drag yourself away from her and down to the car where both Ingrid and the driver had been waiting a bit longer than they’d hoped for you.

Then, a couple hours later, you were in Norway.

“I can’t believe I’m actually here.” You breathed out shakily as you and Ingrid stood before the hotel the team had booked in Oslo.

“You are actually here.” Ingrid beamed beside you, her arm linked through yours and nudging you out of excitement.

First order of business was finding your room, that was easy. But after that, there was a whole team dinner. Hell.

“I think I might be sick.” You swallowed nervously as the woman beside you laughed and shook her head.

“We’ve got this! Are you ready to go in?”

“‘Ready to go in,’ she asks.” You scoffed, though you contradicted yourself with how you headed towards the entrance. Ingrid tried her best to control her excitement, but she was very self-aware at the fact she probably looked somewhat in pain due to the intense smile she was holding off. Thankfully for her pride, however, you stopped in your tracks just outside the doors to go in, and in turn she frowned a little. You glanced at her, then the doors, and back at her again. “You’ll stick with me always?”

There was only one suitable reply from Ingrid.

“Like glue, søster.”

If there was anyone that stuck to their word, it was her. And it was that final push that gave you an ounce of confidence that was enough to go inside. 

Luckily, the two of you were some of the first to arrive, and the others that also had were already up in their rooms, which made your first order of business just that bit easier. Introductions could be saved for later, at dinner.

A whole team dinner. Where the whole team would be. The team you hadn’t seen in years, or hadn’t even met. The team that could either love you or hate you for not representing your country once in the last few years. The team where each person would do anything for the crest on their jerseys, the names on their backs, and the anthem that played before each match.

What on earth had you done.

“Ingrid, I don’t know if I can do this.” You fretted a little later in your room after spending some time there, unpacking and overthinking, before you were due down for dinner. Time had gone far too fast for your liking. 

Ingrid had a hand on the door handle as you stood behind her, shaking with nerves and sick to the pit of your stomach. Even forgetting what felt like your inability to socialise and greet people in that moment, you probably wouldn’t even be able to stomach a forkful of food during the meal either. It was merely a recipe for disaster.

“You can, I believe in you. I’ll be there the whole time, alright? You know that. Once you get there and get sat down, we’ll be okay.” She reassured you. 

God knows how many times she’d uttered those words or similar over her life, yet she had no qualms doing it then and probably forever. It never failed to amaze you how much patience this woman had.

At that, you followed her out the room and down to the hotel restaurant with a feigned confidence that you wore like armour. If you told yourself you belonged, maybe you would start to believe it. So that’s what you did; you walked in, head held high and a calm expression on your face that you hoped worked as a good disguise for the absolute reactor meltdown happening inside your mind. Alarms going off, red lights flashing, system on overdrive, workers in hazmat suits running riot like headless chickens, buzzers beepi-

“Is this table okay?”

It was one of the ones at the back of the room, a little bit away from the front where Gemma, the manager, would stand with the rest of her staff to welcome everyone back. 

Oh fuck. Would she welcome you back and make a big deal out if it?

“Kjære?” Right.

“Sorry, yes, here is fine. We’re the first ones here?” You asked, looking around at the sparse room apart from the cooking staff setting up off to one side.

“Looks like it.” 

Over the next ten minutes or so, your teammates slowly began to trail in. Each one came over after spotting Ingrid first, until they spotted you. And every time, their faces lit up immeasurably more when they realised who they'd bumped into. 

They were happy to see you. Or at least they seemed it, you weren't a mind reader so could only take their kindness at face value. One by one, they took their time to catch up with you or to properly introduce themselves, bright smiles on their faces and their tones welcoming. Maren and Ada gave you a huge hug, Caro wandered over with a quietly proud look in her eye, Frida immediately took a seat beside Ingrid and delved the three of you into conversation. Karina, Teri, and Celin filled the rest of the table after greeting you, followed by a couple others coming over before finding their seats within the room.

And as simple as that, the hardest part was over.

Did your hands tremble like a magnitude 8.0 earthquake? Yes. Did the amount of strangers in the room terrify you? Undoubtedly. But did you make it through regardless? Of course you did.

You were capable of so much more than your anxious mindset gave you credit for. It was cruel and it was evil, the tricks it’d play on you to make these sorts of things seem much more daunting then they were, but some things would never change and the terror that filled you in the anticipation and the build up to a nerve-wracking occasion was certainly one of them. 

You’d built the situation up in your head so much that when you got through the ‘scariest’ part, you didn’t exactly know what to do with yourself or where to go next. All your focus had been on meeting everyone again, when it was over, it all felt very… anticlimactic. T’was a little humbling.

“You coming to get dinner? There’s someone there waiting for you.” Ingrid grinned slyly. Apparently you were so deep in your daydreams you’d missed how everyone had left to go collect their meals. That was a habit you could never shake off. 

You stood and trailed behind the dark-haired woman, queueing up along with the team and slowly padding your way to the front. You heard her gasp before you saw her.

“Look who's back!” Heidi. God was it such a relieving sight to see someone you knew, someone that worked for the national team that didn't resent you when you asked for what you needed like they all did in the past. It was refreshing, relieving, and the exact perfect reminder that it wasn’t all doom and gloom, if at all.

The older woman didn’t hesitate in rounding the corner of the buffet setup to engulf you in a bear hug that felt comforting, like a warm welcome back. 

“It’s so good to see you again.” You told her, only for her to squeeze you harder, almost forcing the oxygen out of your lungs with the sheer strength of it.

“You don’t say!” She let out a hearty laugh, and despite the years that had passed, not a single thing about her had changed.

Her hair, silver-streaked and woven into the neatest plait on earth, was hardly tucked away under the net she wore and the cool colour of it did nothing to distract away from the warmth her demeanor oozed, nor did the ice blue of her eyes. She was the picture of what living a true, kind life could lead to; one could only hope to age as well as her. Wrinkles dotted her face, though they weren’t from age alone, they were from decades of time well spent, laughing and smiling with people she truly valued, people like you. People whose lives she made a hell of a lot better by being who she was. 

There was something about her that, upon first meeting, made you feel at ease, like you had at least one person who understood you in an environment where most didn’t. And years later, you still felt that way and more in her company. Even just her presence gave you a spark of hope, which would sound strange to some, but she was the type of person that restored one’s faith in humanity. The talented chef had stories for centuries, and somehow each had a different life lesson that left every listener dwelling on it in awe the rest of the night. She’d lived through some hardships, many more difficult than most could grasp, yet there was no bitterness in her. 

Only when someone dared to mention retirement to her. 

“You will never understand how happy I am that you are here.” After she let you go from her embrace, her weathered hands cupped your cheeks with a delicateness only someone like her possessed. They trembled the tiniest bit as her thumbs ran along your cheekbones, gazing up at you in wonder, as if you joining the national team again was like the second coming of Christ.

“Took me some time but nevermind.” You smiled shyly, only for her to tut at you with a stern eyebrow raise and a shake of her head. 

“None of that. I have something for you.” Before you could stop her, tell her there was no need, she was rounding the counter and ducking down to grab something from the hot cupboard. She stood up straight, in her arms a silver food platter. And when she took the lid off to reveal a steaming hot meal, there was only one thing it could be. “Your favourite!”

It wasn’t on the menu, not at all, yet she went out of her way to make it anyway. No matter how small a gesture it may seem to others, it meant the world to you. Heidi didn’t have to do that, she didn’t have to treat you like her own blood, but it was just in her nature to be that kind of person. It turned your whole day around. 

“Heidi!” You exclaimed, looking at the dish with an ecstatic expression. Single-handedly, she had just solved your food concerns for that evening, because the offer of a safe food cooked by the best that made it was simply no match for whatever tricks your anxiety tried to pull on you. “I can’t believe you! Thank you!”

“I also will make your favourite breakfast tomorrow too, the best vafler in the land.” The wise lady grinned coyly with a wink. “Think of it as a welcome back, to get you settled in, okay? I’m proud of you for coming back, now go sit yourself down before you miss the briefing. Come find me afterwards for a catchup.” 

Speechless. You were utterly speechless at her kindness. Every time you saw her again, she seemed to one-up herself without fail. 

Internally, Ingrid marvelled at the smile on your face as you sat back down with your food and took a photo of it to show it off to Alexia, before immediately digging into it. It was like night and day, what that one act of kindness had done, because suddenly you weren’t stuck in your head overthinking everything, and instead were just happy to be there. You hardly even flinched at the small message Gemma gave in her briefing at your return, you simply smiled and forgot about it when she moved on to the next topic. 

Some things were so simple and easy and small, yet somehow always made the biggest differences. If more people understood that, how far a little kindness could go, God only knows what the world could look like not just for people like yourself but for everyone. For now, however, you were happy to settle for some incredible kjøttkaker med potetmos and the warm, bubbly feeling in your chest at the fact you were surrounded in your life by people that adored you so wholeheartedly, they’d even get excited at a fairly bland meal whilst they were hundreds of miles away in a completely different country. 

Alexia decided to refrain from telling you about the teasing she got as a result of checking her phone every minute in the hopes of a text from you, and the gigantic smile with a pink tinge to her cheeks she adorned whenever she did get a message. That was information you would never let her live down.

—

With little fanfare and fuss, the first training session the next day was… fine. It was good. It was different from Barcelona and Frankfurt, every team’s training was wildly different, but you found your groove fairly quick. Some of your teammates and staff even went so far to say it was like you never left, you adjusted that well. Which felt like the highest compliment you could receive, and it was, considering the way it never left your mind for the rest of the day.

What came with your list of amendments and accommodation was the freedom you had to choose how your days went, aside from the football related activities. So once training finished and the cool down in the gym, where you were left alone from anyone you knew previously with a bunch of the players you’d newly met, went off without a hitch and the tactics discussion for the upcoming game came and went, you had the rest of the day to do whatever you wanted. 

Initially, you floundered at the overwhelming prospect of plans thrown around by the people you and Ingrid hung around with, as well as others piling in their suggestions, so heading back to your room for a little while seemed like your best bet for the time being. 

In your mind, as you sat on the edge of your bed, every idea someone had was an opportunity to try and fit in socially with the team. Slotting in well on the football side was good, best case scenario really and all you could ask for, but feeling like you belonged as a person and not just a player would be the cherry on the cake. So you thought through each suggestion, approaching them like they were tactical styles for a game and trying to guess which one would end in the best result for you, your hands tapping endlessly on your knees as you stared out the window in front of you. 

Going out with Celin, Teri, and Karina could be fun, but they were a loud bunch. You were notoriously shy around people you didn’t know, you didn’t want to bring the mood down by being with them. So you could tag along with Caro and Guro and Sophie and a few others, though again apart from Caro you didn’t know them all that well. With people you don’t know, you can’t prepare for hanging with them, which opens up a world of awkwardness. There was Maren who wanted to catch up with you, Frida wondered if you and Ingrid wanted to go to a cafe she liked in the area, there were so many possibilities yet you had no idea where to start. It felt like you had too much to do with too little time, even though it was only the first full day.

Ingrid kept an eye on you from afar, ensuring you didn’t work yourself up too much, until that exact thing happened and you stood abruptly with a groan.

“What’s bothering you?” She prodded gently, dropping her phone to the bed and fixing you with a reassuring look.

“I don’t know what to do the rest of the day.” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose as Ingrid smiled. She stayed silent, giving you space to think. A moment later, you collected your thoughts and tried your best to construct them. “I just don't know. There's so many choices, I didn't know what was on the agenda for today so I couldn't really think in advance. I also don't want to drag you away from whatever you want to do, so that ma-”

“You know by now that I don't care about that. And if I ever did, if there was something that I was unbelievably desperate to do, I would tell you. But there isn't. I love spending time with you, that'll never change, you're my best friend. So, talk it through with me. Do your thinking out loud, it'll help rather than keeping it all stuck in there and overwhelming you.” Her interruption was stern but with good intentions, a minor warning that ticked all the right boxes.

“Okay.” You nodded, took a deep breath, and sat on the end of her bed, facing her with your legs crossed. “I want to get to know everyone if I can. I want to fit in as a person, not just a player. But I don’t know where, or who, to start with. Everyone is so welcoming and I didn’t really expect that, and now I don’t want to disappoint anyone by not seeing them today.”

“We have two weeks here, remember? We don’t have to do everything possible in Oslo today. Take it easy for today, do what feels right, what you want to do and not what you think everyone else wants you to.” 

You considered it for a moment. Then decided that actually made a lot of sense.

“Getting coffee with Frida sounds good.” You stated sheepishly. You’d made a big thing out of nothing, once again. Though, you didn’t spend too long dwelling on that because to the people that mattered, they couldn’t care less about it. In a good way, that is.

“It does. So that’s what we’ll do.”

And that’s what you did. 

An hour after your momentary blip, you were out walking the chilly but sunny streets of the capital. You hadn’t been there in a long time, so spending your first day refamiliarising yourself with the city with Frida and Ingrid was a good way to ease into the next fortnight. The young blonde midfielder was great company, and honestly you were glad to finally have the opportunity to get to know her more. Ingrid had sung her praises plenty of times, so to be with her now as well as the dark-haired defender as a buffer was perfect. 

The whole afternoon was perfect. The three of you spent hours, dipping in and out of different trinket shops and cafes, whilst conversation flowed easily throughout. Most importantly, you didn’t feel the need to mask much, and that was always the best sign of a budding friendship for you. So when you trudged back to your room, bidding Frida a goodbye as you went your separate ways with Ingrid, you felt you’d had a pretty successful first day. Really, it couldn’t have gone any better if you tried. 

There was just one niggle in the back of your mind as you slipped your shoes off and slumped down onto your bed; it was only the first day, and already you missed Alexia a million times more than you thought. You would have done anything to be able to have her waiting for you in the hotel room, ready to welcome you back with open arms and endless reminders of how proud she was. But no, she was in a different country, doing her own thing with her own team on her own schedule, and there was no getting around that. You took a glance at your phone to see it void of notifications from her, just to top it all off. 

As a result, despite the day you’d had, you were left feeling pretty flat. 

Unfortunately, when you got stuck spiralling, your mind was your own worst enemy. You took your longing for her as a sign that you possibly relied on her too much. Without giving it much thought, you decided that had to change. She didn’t need you nagging her, constantly talking about yourself and how your day went when she had to pull her team and its dividedness together. Distancing yourself from her was for the better, for her sake, or so you thought.

Not much could get past Alexia, however.

“Hi!” The Spaniard said down the phone the second you picked up a couple hours later, after dinner when you were just about to get into bed. Then she cleared her throat, trying to quell her unbridled excitement. “Hola, engel. How was your day?”

“It was good. Nothing… nothing much.” The first red flag of the phone call.

“Oh, really? Your first day training with Norway again was nothing?” She teased lightly, not quite catching the gist of your plan. 

“Yeah, it was.”

There was an awkward silence as Alexia frowned in confusion where she waited in the elevator for it to reach her floor. She'd ran from the dinner hall the moment she could get away, just to talk to you. She was expecting an upbeat version of you, not the one she got.

“Are you okay?” She murmured. All she got in response was a half-assed hum.

Ingrid, who was gathering her things from her suitcase to have a shower, couldn't help but eavesdrop. She knew exactly what you were doing, hell, she'd been on the receiving end of it a number of times in the early days of knowing you. 

Other people's opinions terrified you, and one sub-topic of that was how scared you were of people thinking you were incapable of doing anything on your own. Incapable of being your own person, of not depending on anyone, of needing your hand held through every little life event. And as someone that hadn't ever been in such a serious relationship before, and had also been called childish and other insults a million times for apparently ‘lacking’ independence, the line between missing someone and being too clingy was blurred for you. Consequently, you did what you did best: avoiding situations that made your chest ache and your mind spiral.

Except that was hard to do when you were doing it in front of two people that knew you best.

“Are you sure you're o-”

“Yes, I'm sure, Alexia.”

Alexia thought she might have been sick, it was so far from how she pictured the day ending. When she called you, she swore she could almost hear you relaying your day with a shy excitement to your voice before you'd even picked up the phone. As it turned out, things couldn't have been further from the truth.

On the other hand, the outsider in all this rolled her eyes. When emotions weren't tied into a situation, it was actually pretty easy to see the real picture.

With absolutely zero hesitation, Ingrid dropped her things on her bed and marched over to you. She could vaguely hear Alexia fumbling a response that you weren't paying a single bit of mind to, but before the midfielder could finish, the phone was snatched from your hands and put on speaker.

“Ingrid! What the hell are you do-”

“Alexia, please don't be discouraged by her. She's panicking because she misses you. And she's worrying because she's never had anyone to miss before, she doesn't want you to think of her as clingy or anything. When we both know she's not clingy, she's in love. So, be her girlfriend, tell her you love her, and get her to tell you how successful her day was. Thank you.”

Just like that, she handed the phone back to you and headed into the bathroom, the lock clicking behind her.

For a few seconds, the line was silent between you and your girlfriend. You were frozen in place where you lay, whilst Alexia had her hand on the handle of her hotel room, a small, amused smile beginning to make its way onto her face at the strange turn of events. Although it upset her to hear what you were really thinking, it was fixable, with only a few words of reassurance. And it just so happened to be that expressing how much she adored you was one of her favourite things to do.

“Is that true?” She asked, finally stepping into her room and leaning back against the door as it shut. There was another pause, until you scoffed lightly, and Alexia broke out into a grin.

“...Maybe.” 

Some soft laughter down the phone had you groaning and slapping a hand over your face, whilst the culprit of your embarrassment slumped down on her bed and kept the grin on her face.

“Why would you think that, engel? I told you before you left that I want to hear from you, always, whenever you want. I have my phone notifications at full volume so I don't miss any of your calls or texts.” The blonde recalled the teasing she'd received the night before after Laia called her out for her attachment to her phone, the same teasing she was adamant she wouldn't tell you about. Well, she'd do just about anything to make you feel better. “Everybody keeps teasing me for being on my phone so much, apparently I don't leave it alone.”

“Apparently?” You joked, a small smile growing at the chuckle she replied with.

“Sí. How do you know I'm not checking the weather all the time? You know I hate the rain.”

“No, you just miss me too much.” You weren't wrong there.

“I do, and it's normal for you to miss me too much too. There is no such thing as too much, amor. You're not clingy. I want you to tell me everything, I wish I could talk to you all day every day, I wish I could be there in the cold with you. So please, tell me everything. Even all the boring things. Nothing is boring or too much with you, because it is you. Do you understand?” She spoke earnestly, not an ounce of judgement or mockery in her tone. She spoke with every intention of getting you to believe her, and you fell for it everytime, it was impossible not to.

“I have never missed anyone as much as I miss you right now.” 

It was an admission you weren't expecting to voice but one you believed with every fibre of your being. It came out quietly and shyly, because you were sharing a certain truth that scared you. Alexia didn't scare you, that couldn't be further from reality. But sometimes when you thought about it, when you thought about how she was the first person in the world you showed every single part of yourself to, it terrified you of what she could do with all that. You hadn't done that before, ever. 

Then she walked into your life, strolling over to you on your first day at Barcelona with an ease to her that gave you butterflies, and all of a sudden half your life was merged with someone else's. You'd spent years building up a wall between your heart and the rest of the world, something you didn't have much of a choice in if you wanted to protect your sanity and will to live. Someone was on the other side of that wall now, had your heart in the palm of their hands, and whilst that was the scariest thing you'd ever done, more than rejoining the national team, when you stepped back and remembered who it was, there wasn't a thing about it you would change. 

The back and forth of fear and serenity was tiring, but it was happening less and less. This time, however, you knew it wouldn't happen again when-

“I feel the same way.” She stated definitively, leaving zero room for you to disbelieve her. “I would do anything to be there to watch you play in a Norway jersey with my own eyes. If I wasn't one more thing away from being kicked off the national team then I'd be there for you, of course I would. I really would give anything to be there in person.”

“Really?” You mumbled sheepishly.

“Yes! Yes I would. Without a doubt. I know it scares you that you feel like this, it scares me too. But nothing truly good ever comes without it being at least a little terrifying. Like now, you’re in Norway, playing for your country. It was the scariest thing you’d ever done but you’re there now and in only a couple days you’ll be out on the pitch, doing what you’ve wanted to do for the last few years. It’s always worth it in the end, no?” The last sentence was said with a knowing, soft intonation behind it. 

To hear she felt the same was surprising. She was Alexia Putellas, someone that never appeared to show a bit of weakness or fear in anything she did. There was you, who could barely stomach the thought of going to a farmer’s market on a busy day. None of that mattered when you were on the phone with that very ‘fearless’ woman, who was openly admitting that the things she felt scared her, though she knew it was worth it. That you were worth it. 

“I had no idea you felt the same way.” Again, she let out a little laugh, a sound that made your heart skip a beat even if that was an incredibly cliche thing to say. You were quickly learning that love actually was quite cliche, and you weren’t the slightest bit mad at it. As someone that never had anyone to experience the cliches with, you wanted to experience all of them, no matter how sickly sweet.

“This is why we talk about things, engel. It’s just me. You know I will never judge you for anything you say to me.” 

“I know that.” You told her. Then you went quiet for a few moments, because something that you’d realised a couple months back suddenly made itself known, and in a second it felt like it became a life or death matter to tell the very person it concerned. “Ale, you’re my safe person.”

The woman in question didn’t know what that meant. It still made her blush nevertheless, and she lay in bed with a redness to her cheeks and a coy smile on her face like a lovesick teenager. 

“What does that mean?” 

It was your turn to blush as you turned to momentarily hide your face in your pillow even though she couldn’t see you. You weren’t embarrassed as such to tell her such a thing, but in your world it was a pretty big title to give someone. Hell, it was the biggest.

Like you had your safe foods, safe routine, safe places, Alexia was the encyclopedia for all that, as well as your best friend and someone you didn’t need to mask around and someone you were madly in love with. If telling her that didn’t scare her off, you might just have to start believing that she did in fact want to spend the rest of her life with you. 

However… that didn’t seem like such a shocking thing to you anymore. Maybe in her books, it was a year too late to start thinking that for yourself. But it was new for you, unheard of actually. It brought you immeasurable amounts of comfort, contentment, and pride. It was one of the first notable steps of progress you could recognise within yourself that you felt deserving of, and that was sure to give way to a world of possibilities for your confidence. 

She definitely was your safe person, there was no denying that, and you didn’t want to deny it. You didn’t want your insecurities in the way anymore. Ale loved you and that feeling was unrivalled; you couldn’t wait for a lifetime of it.

“It means… I love you. More than anyone or anything. It means that being with you is the greatest comfort of my life and nothing could compare to it.” You started, and Alexia swore she could feel herself growing emotional. “You make the world seem quieter and feel safer. You make me feel like I can do anything because I have you, whether that’s when you’re beside me or just on the phone. I’m more myself around you than any other person on the planet and I’ve never experienced that before. Even better, you love me like that. You love me. The true me. Not the masked version where everything people normally don’t like about me is hidden. You love me even when I don’t love myself and that makes me feel safe. Because in that I feel valued, adored, all those kinds of things and the security that gives me is something I've never had before. Now, I… don't know what I would do without it. I certainly wouldn't be here right now.”

Coincidentally, to Alexia, it was also the biggest compliment she could ever receive. All that you said, was all she could ever dream of hearing and achieving. There was a rush of emotions she felt as a result of your short ramble, too fast for her to identify anything so soon, but there were two outliers that she’d be able to recognise no matter what; love, and pride. God, she felt so much pride towards you and towards herself, because you had gotten yourself where you were then, and because she was the exact person she wanted to be in her relationship. The worries and doubts she had at the start with you couldn’t be further away, there was no world they could exist in when you were saying such unimaginable things to her. Fortunately, she didn’t have to imagine them, they were the truth. They were the reality of the dynamic of your relationship. 

Neither of you could ever ask for anything more – from each other, from the world, from your lives. Everything you needed was within each other.

“I will always try to be that person for you, engel. There is nobody else I would rather be.”

That was a pretty big statement in itself. 

She didn’t care for being a footballer, for being Alexia Putellas. All she cared for was being your girlfriend, your safe person, the best version of those two she could be. The rest were just bonuses to her now. The gravity of what she just said wasn’t lost on you, it was perhaps the greatest verbal demonstration of her love she had ever given. You were pretty sure your life peaked in that moment.

“So, stop making me cry and tell me how your day went.” Alexia said, and you heard her sniffle quietly afterwards. You laughed, and she laughed too, both nearly delirious with the affection you had for each other. “I only have so long before Irene comes back and she is not seeing me like this. Hurry. I want to hear it all.” 

At her request, you spent the next half hour relaying the events of your day, whilst Alexia lay there on her back, staring up at the ceiling, a hopeless and proud smile on her face and a hand over her heart, trying to calm the fluttery feeling in her chest that only increased with every bit of good news you revealed. She would simply never be able to vocalise how proud she was, the short five letter word simply wasn’t enough for her.

But with a miserable amount of reluctance, there came a time where you had to hang up for the night. And as silly as it may seem, going from talking to her, albeit on the phone, and having the comfort of her again, only to hang up and have nothing but an empty bed was a downer. Thankfully though, you did still have the woman that led you to have that conversation with you.

After you dropped your phone to the bed with a grumpy sigh, you looked to your left where Ingrid was on her bed, earphones in on her laptop. It seemed you were filled to the brim with adoration that night, because you got up and went to join her. You slumped down beside the dark-haired woman and rested your head on her shoulder, though opted out of speaking. This, Ingrid knew, was a silent way of saying thank you for her intervention earlier. She smiled slyly, leaning her head down on top of yours.

“I did it for you, you know. Not to be against you or aggravate you. There was no way I was letting you sit there and prevent yourself from letting her be there for you just because you were too worried and caught up in your own head. She loves you, she wants to be there for you. You love her, so allow her to be there for you, alright?” You smiled and nodded, though it quickly turned into a fairly dramatic frown at the mention of the woman you’d just had to say goodbye to.

“I miss her.”

In another country’s capital, a certain Spaniard was in the exact same position. She hadn’t moved from where she was when she was on the phone to you, and the smile on her face hadn’t shifted either. Just her luck that Irene walked into the sight, and Alexia had no choice but to sit up, slide one of her hotel slippers off her foot, and lightly launch it at the defender, who laughed at her for the dramatic Romeo and Juliet-esque scene she stepped into. 

When Alexia went to sleep that night, her cheeks aching from the sheer amount of time she spent smiling, it was to the sounds of her brainstorming of all the ways she could show off her pride when she had you back in Barcelona. 

But before then, you had a game to think about.

—

Part Two

[flemingology]

“i might hate you, but i couldn’t bare the thought of you spending christmas alone” for leah williamson

christmas confessions ─ leah williamson x reader

part of my christmas series. full masterlist here!

in which: your christmas plans are interrupted by the british weather conditions, leading to some unexpected confessions from your arsenal vice-captain

warnings: none

wc: 3.7k

A snowstorm. Of all things that could go wrong, a snowstorm was the one that seemed to put a hold on your Christmas plans.

Recently having transferred from Lyon to Arsenal, you'd gotten your head down and focussed on your football. Normally, you'd go home every couple weeks just to be back with your family, but with your recent move you wanted to make sure you secured your spot in the starting eleven. You worked relentlessly hard for weeks on end, not allowing yourself a break, and you were proud of yourself. Really, really proud. Your football journey hadn't been the nicest one yet – your academy years littered with injuries and setbacks, you were over the moon to have finally settled in Arsenal's starting eleven. But you were starting to feel the effects of your hard work, and you started feeling like you needed some time away. To be with your friends and family back home.

Finally, though, the winter break arrived. You had wrapped up the final training session of the calendar year a couple days ago, and you were now set to go home. A couple days, just the last week of the year, before you'd go back to England. A short flight, setting to depart at 3pm, arriving at a little before 5. Your parents would pick you up from the airport and you'd go for dinner, have a drink, before all going back to your childhood home and just enjoying each other's company. But that was without taking England's horrendous winter weather into accord.

It had been horrible the whole week. Freezing cold, snow and rain all throughout the week – it had already caused you a bunch of trouble in trying to get to the grounds in time, but you completely forgot that air traffic could also be affected by the weather. So here you were, in Heathrow, staring at the departure screen as flight after flight got cancelled. Not delayed, not moved, cancelled.

Left stranded, you called the first person you always went to when struggling, needing to rant about the situation.

—

Alessia was spending her Wednesday afternoon the same way she had done for the past 2 years since making her move to Arsenal; getting coffee and a pastry with Leah. The two blondes had grown closer since Alessia made the move to London, their friendship no longer held back by the distance between Manchester and the British capital.

It was nice, their little routine. Football training that day or not, they'd find themselves in a different coffee shop every week to try out their blends, or in Leah's case, their hot chocolate or tea. They would talk about anything and everything, catching each other up on whatever hadn't been said yet at the Arsenal training grounds.

The pair were happily chatting away over a coffee and a mint tea as Alessia's ringtone went off. The striker checked the caller ID and excused herself to Leah, answering the call. She knew you were meant to be on your flight right now, so for you to be calling there must be something wrong. "Y/n? Aren't you supposed to be-"

"Less, my flight got cancelled! The weather has gotten too bad in the past couple hours and everything's been cancelled. I've asked whether it can be rescheduled, but there's nothing free anymore this week. The next available flight was January 2nd, which is a joke! I don't know what I'm supposed to do right now, my family have been preparing for me to come over for the past couple days and I don't want to disappoint them. I just, I don't know-"

"Hey, hey, y/n, take a breath, it's okay." Alessia tried to calm you down, sensing your nerves through the phone. She shot Leah a look, who was sporting a confused frown. "The situation is out of your hands, love. You can't do anything about it. I know it sucks." Alessia heard you sigh on the other end of the call, probably feeling quite defeated over the whole situation. "I know you've been looking forward to seeing your family. As soon as everything's cleared again, we'll get you on the first plane to Germany. I promise you that. Football be damned."

You chuckled on the other end of the call, and Alessia was glad you managed to muster up a small smile. "Yeah, I guess. Thanks, Less." "Don't mention it. I'm here for you, you know that. Do you need me to come pick you up from the airport?" Alessia knew you packed quite heavily and it was going to be a chore to get all of your stuff into a taxi. "No, that's fine. I think I'm gonna sit down and have a coffee here, calm down a bit, and then call a cab. I'll be fine."

Alessia reluctantly agreed, only after having you promise that you'd call her if you needed her help, or if anything went wrong. She finished up the phone call a couple moments later and put her phone back into her pocket with a deep sigh. "She's gutted."

Leah cocked her eyebrows and let the silence linger a little longer, taking a sip from her hot chocolate. "You don't have to pretend with me, you know?" Alessia added. Confusion shot across the defender's face at her words. "What do you mean by that?" The younger girl chuckled and shook her head slightly. "Leah, I know why you're distant with her. But you don't have to be that way when she's not around, god she's at Heathrow Airport of all places. You can let your guard down."

Leah took a deep breath and set her cup down, visibly struggling with how to proceed with the conversation. "I don't know, Less. I just feel like if I don't talk about it, it'll go away. I know I'm being unreasonable, but I'm just protecting myself. I don't want to go through all that hassle again. Last time I dated someone in the work field, it didn't work out. I don't wanna put myself through that again."

"Who's talking about dating, Leah? I know you like her. I'm not saying you have to voice that, but you could at least be civil with the girl. She's overthinking it like mad. She asks me all the time whether she did something wrong. And she's nervous about it, seen as you're the vice-captain at Arsenal too. She thinks you don't like her and is scared she's gonna lose her spot on the team because of that. All I'm asking of you is a little human decency, to treat her like you treat other people."

Leah looked down and started fidgeting with the rings around her fingers. "Yeah, I don't know, maybe." Alessia put her hand on Leah's causing the defender to look up. "It's okay. Just don't be a dick, okay? It's not because you don't have one that you have to be one."

—

When you arrived home a couple hours later that day, suitcases still packed in the corner of the living room, sprawled out over your couch, her caller ID was the last one you'd expected to pop up on your screen.

Leah Williamson.

You sighed deeply and rubbed your hands down your face, not feeling like dealing with whatever your Arsenal teammate wanted to scold you about now. She was probably rewatching a game and felt the need to lecture you about all the things you did wrong, and you weren't in the mood for that. You were her defensive partner after all, and you knew damn well she had high standards, not only for herself but also for others, but it was the winter break after all. Tactics be damned.

You let the call run out, breathing a sigh of relief and settled back into the couch, impatiently waiting for sleep to take over to rid you of your foul mood. Not on Leah's watch, though. No more than a couple seconds had passed before you ringtone sounded through the living room again. Wanting to get it over with so you could get some rest, you decided to pick up.

"What's the deal, Williamson? I'd like to enjoy my break, if I'm allowed? You can lecture me all you want when we're back at the club." You knew you were being curt, maybe slightly unreasonable, but your heightened emotions combined with how the defender had treated you ever since you joined Arsenal made you snap.

"Hey, hey, chill, I'm not calling to lecture you, y/n. God, do you think I'm some fucking loser who does nothing but think about football on their break?"

You didn't like the way this conversation was going, despite only having spoken a couple sentences to one another. You sat up and rubbed a hand down the side of your neck, closing your eyes as you slowly inhaled and exhaled – trying to calm yourself.

"Sorry. My mistake. Why are you calling?"

You heard shuffling on the other end of the phone, the rustling of what sounded like a jacket and shoes being taken off. Of course. Coffee with Less. She probably overheard your conversation with her earlier.

"I was just with Less," she started. Bingo. "and I heard about your cancelled flight. I'm sorry, I know you were looking forward to seeing your family."

You weren't quite used to this sentiment coming from Leah, the England captain having barely said a civil word to you ever since you joined her childhood club. It's not like you didn't speak, it's just that she made it seem like a chore every time she had to string a conversation together with you on the receiving end. Short, blunt, curt, sometimes outright disrespectful. You'd learned to accept that not everybody was always going to like you, but the least you'd expect from people was some basic human decency – something you thought Leah lacked sometimes.

You audibly sighed. "Yeah, it's crap. But I'll be fine. Now that you got that over with, what's the real reason?"

You heard a quiet snicker coming from the other end of the call, struggling to see what was so funny about your conversation. "There's no... other reason, y/n. I just wanted to call and check in. You know, defensive partner and all, just calling to make sure you're not drowning in self-pity."

You could hear the smile that tugged at her lips as she spoke out those final couple words. "Well, thanks, I guess? Thanks for checking in. Have a good rest of your night, Leah." You lowered the phone and were about to end the call, wanting nothing more than to fall back in the cosy bundle of pillows and blankets you'd set up for yourself.

"Oi, wait! I wasn't done!" You grumbled something incoherently under your breath before bringing the phone back to your ear. "I'm listening."

"This is gonna sound really weird, I know, but just let me speak. I was wondering if, if maybe you, you know-" A couple moments of silence followed and you were about to speak up, but Leah interrupted those plans. "If, you know, if you were free to come spend Christmas Eve with me?"

You frowned, taking a moment to gather your thoughts. Leah Williamson, Arsenal teammate, who to your best knowledge absolutely despised you, is inviting you for Christmas Eve? A joke.

"Uhm, I guess, well-" You didn't get much further than that before the blonde's voice interrupted you. "Look, I know how it sounds. You're probably thinking I'm just doing this out of pity and sympathy, you know captain things and all that, but that's not it. I don't have plans, yours have been cancelled, let's spend it together."

If you weren't so caught up in your own thoughts, you would've noticed the slight waver in Leah's voice. She was beyond nervous on the other side of the phone. You'd never said this much to each other in such a short space of time, let alone the contents of what was being discussed. You'd never willingly been in the same room. If not for bonding nights, you'd probably never see Leah outside of the Arsenal training grounds.

You didn't get it, though. You'd spent countless nights wracking your brain as to why Leah would treat you like she did. But you blanked every single time. It gnawed on you. You wanted her to respect you, to acknowledge you, to treat you like she treated others. But she made that seem like the worst thing in the world. Unimaginable, even.

"So?" Leah's voice broke up your train of thoughts and you scrambled together a response without really thinking about what you were saying. "Uhm, sure. I guess. Yeah. Just text me the logistics and I'll be there." You didn't really feel like going, but you also didn't want to give Leah more reason to not speak to you. And in all honesty, you wanted the conversation to be over so you could finally get some sleep.

"Oh! Okay! Yeah, okay, that's great. Thanks. Okay. I'll text you. You text me too, okay? I'll see you then."

Your own goodbyes got interrupted by the tone of the call ending, a confused frown etched on your face at how nervous Leah had suddenly seemed. Not wanting to give it much more thought, you turned off your phone's ringer and threw it on the coffee table, finally drowning yourself in a very well-deserved sleep.

—

Tuesday night, December 24th. 5:23pm. Approximately one hour left until you had to be at Leah's. Of all people, Leah's. When you caught Alessia up about the plans the two of you had made, she reacted slightly suspicious. So much so that you thought she had a hand in it, but she quickly reassured you that was not at all the case. Still, she didn't seem surprised. If anything, she thought it was good. An opportunity for the two of you to just start all over again.

You couldn't lie, that sounded good to you too. You wanted to be friends with Leah, but you also wouldn't just forget how she treated you during your first couple months at Arsenal. That's not something you could forgive and forget through a pity invitation to spend Christmas Eve together.

Yet, you found yourself struggling to find something to wear. You wanted to dress nice, but not too nice, because you're just two friends spending the holidays together. Not lovers, not dating, god, probably not even friends. Teammates? Acquaintances, maybe. At best.

You finally settled on a light green dress. It complimented your body just right, accentuating your curves in all the right places but not too tight. You put on some light make-up and finished off your outfit with some accessories. You checked your appearance about twelve times in your full-body mirror in the living room, 'just to be sure', before eventually grabbing your car keys off the kitchen counter and exiting your apartment block. You debated walking to Leah's, it was a 10-minute walk tops, but that felt like putting too much trust in your pencil heels.

3 quick knocks on the door and a couple seconds later, you were met with a version of your defensive counterpart you'd never seen before. She was dressed in a pair of black slack pants, paired with a white button-up shirt. She had left the top two buttons open, offering a perfect view of the delicate golden necklace gracing her tanned skin. Definitely self-tanner, though, because God forbid the United Kingdom gets a sliver of sun anywhere past September – but you spare her the red cheeks by not pointing it out. Her hair was loose, falling graciously on her shoulders, a welcome change from the bun or ponytail she always had it in during training or games.

"Hey," you muttered, once you realized neither of you had said a word since Leah opened her front door. Unbeknownst to you, while you were eyeing her up, Leah also let her eyes glide over your figure, taking in your appearance. She thought you looked good. Really good. Too good for her own good. That good that she'd probably struggle to not mention it every 5 minutes, when conversation obviously dies down for the 30th time that evening. Because what does she talk about for hours with someone she always pretended to dislike?

Turns out, there's a lot to talk about. Uncomfortable silences? You two don't know those. And while it's been good, it's been comfortable and easy, you still felt quite apprehensive about the whole ordeal. And you could tell by Leah's body language that she was feeling similar to you. Conversation had been flowing easily, but it felt like you were just scratching the surface. Like there was something underneath that needed to be addressed, but neither of you felt like digging deep enough to be able to bring it up. If anything, you thought, that's Leah's job. After all, she was the one to invite you to spend Christmas Eve together after she spent months making you feel like she despised you.

And that's what she did. Eventually. After lots of coaxing and promises that you wouldn't be mad and you understood – you were quite mad and you definitely didn't understand – Leah finally mustered up the courage to talk to you about the past months.

She opened up about everything. How she'd been excited when she learned about your move to the club, at first. But when you came to visit the training grounds on your first day, that sentiment completely changed. Leah had always found you quite attractive, but that wasn't something that had to be dealt with seen as you were across the North Sea and not someone she had to deal with in her day-to-day life. So, even though nothing had been explored between the two of you, not even a single conversation strung together, she already started closing herself off.

She told you about how she kicked herself for it day after day, that she realized damn well how bad she was treating you. She knew that you didn't know where it came from, and that hurt her even more. She didn't want to hurt you, didn't want to treat you any less good than she did with the rest of her teammates, but she just couldn't let her guard down around you. Not with the way you looked, the way you carried yourself on and off the pitch, the way you worked so tirelessly to be the best version of yourself day after day after day. She admired you, really. But she didn't allow herself to feel that. To acknowledge that. To acknowledge you.

"I know it sounds stupid. Trust me, I know. You don't know how many nights I've laid awake just thinking about how poorly I was treating you. But I just couldn't bring myself to not do it. Because that would mean I'd eventually snap and just... tell you everything I've just told you."

You slowly nodded, not trusting your voice just yet after having just been quiet for what has been the best part of 20 minutes. You let her come to you, let her talk until she felt like she said it all, because you knew if you interrupted her she'd maybe forget things.

"And, for the record, I don't want anything in return from you. God, no, I just thought you deserved to know. And no, I didn't invite you out of pity tonight. I just saw an opportunity open up when I learned about your cancelled flight and I knew I had to take it. I couldn't let it go any longer and I needed to tell you. So hence, the invitation. I just hope I didn't ruin the rest of our night now, by confessing all of this."

You chuckled, slightly shaking your head before repositioning yourself a little on Leah's couch. You ran a hand through your hair and breathed out a shaky exhale, locking eyes with Leah as you looked back up at her.

"You're ridiculous, Leah. Honestly, I get it, I think, but treating me like that for this reason, is ridiculous. And I know you know it, but that doesn't mean that I can't tell you too, because-" Leah tried to interrupt you, probably to apologize again, but you held up your hand to signal that you weren't done speaking yet.

"Because, you made me feel like shit, Le. You made me feel like I wasn't worthy of that starting spot at Arsenal, despite knowing damn well that I was doing good in our backline. You made me feel like I didn't belong in the squad, like I did something wrong, like I did something to upset you. It was so conflicting, and it stressed me out. Real bad. It's not a nice feeling when your vice-captain doesn't like you. Or, rather, when you feel like your vice-captain doesn't like you. I know now that that wasn't the case, but that doesn't fix your case."

Leah looked down, fidgeting with her ring-clad fingers. You continued. "Look, Leah, it sucked. But now at least I know what was behind it. And I don't wanna keep being mad at you. Because truthfully, I want to be closer to you, closer with you. I wanna be treated like you treat other people, okay? We can explore whatever needs to be explored later, but first I just want us to be civil with each other."

The blonde defender looked up at you, hastily nodding when she realized you were waiting for some kind of response. "Yeah, yeah, god, yeah, that would be nice." She slightly stumbled over her words, trying to form coherent thoughts in a mind that was running at a 100 miles an hour. You scooted a little closer to her, closing a bit of the space that was between the both of you on the couch and slowly moved your hand closer to hers, that was laying dormant in her lap.

You searched her eyes for any uncertainty, concern, and then softly laid your hand on top of hers, giving it a slight squeeze. "Thank you for opening up," you said softly. "It means a lot to me. I know how you are with feelings." Leah twisted her hand and intertwined your fingers. "Thank you for listening. And thank you for giving me another chance. I promise I'll be better. Better for you."

"I know you will."

[rosenclaws]

Erased || Logan Howlett x Reader

summary: You are a powerful mutant with powers you hated. They ruined your life and it led you down paths you weren't proud of. Things changed and now you lived happily with Logan. Until your past seems to come back to ruin everything

warnings: angst. traumatic childhood, brief mentions of torture.

wc: 2.7k

Link to part 2

a/n: Hi guys, so this is kind of the you get hurt and he goes feral fic but i've combined it with this other wip i had laying around. I talked a lot about wanting more angst and tw death (my grandmother passed last night) so ive been in this weird state of sadness that i'm repressing. Either way i wrote a fic so there's that lol. I will def have a part 2 btw so don't worry.

Sometimes when you close your eyes you can remember your childhood. What it was like before your, gift, appeared and ruined everything. How your family loved you, how your friends welcomed you, how the world didn’t hate you. Everything was perfect.

Until the day it appeared. All you did was touch her arm. That’s all you did. An argument with your mother, silence, and then you touched her arm to try and apologize and next thing you knew she was asking who you were. Yelling at you to get out of her house. You cried not understanding what was happening.

She looked at you with nothing but confusion. Not even a hint of recognition. Then your father came home and you ran into his arms. Afraid and distraught when he pushed you off him. The same look in his eyes. Who are you? They threw you out, threatened to call the cops. They left you all alone, afraid, and confused.

It didn’t take long for you to understand. A mutant. You had heard of mutants but never thought you could be one. A mutant with a powerful ability. Memory manipulation. You could alter memories, dive into someone's deepest fears, their secrets, and even erase anything from heads. In a single moment their whole lives could be changed. It was a dangerous power and you wanted nothing to do with it.

For years you lived on the road. Keeping yourself moving, stealing when you needed to. Never getting too attached to one place, to anyone. You were alone.

Then one day some people found you. Dressed in stupid costumes. Still they took you in. Gave you a home, fed you, trained you. You grew up there. From teen to adult. Charles was kind and you don't think you could ever repay him for all that he's done. Your powers were strong but he taught you to control your emotions.

Still you tried to stay a safe distance away from people. Not just physically but emotionally. The nightmares of your parents haunt you everyday. They're nice. All of them are. The kids loved you and you enjoyed the mansion.

Still when the team invited you out you declined, when the kids wanted to crowd you during dinner you politely excused yourself to your office. You didn't go to parties, you didn't celebrate the holidays with them. You were just you, a nice, safe distance away from them. Then your world got flipped upside down.

The day Logan rolled into the mansion. He was mean and angry. He had that "I don't like being around people" kind of vibe but he stuck around. Ended up becoming more apart of the team than he wanted. And he liked it.

Logan was the first one to really break down your walls. Just like everyone else you stayed away from him. Smiling and greeting him but never going past that. Maybe that's what drew him to you. You were a mystery who smelled like vanilla. It was your perfume. He would try to flirt but he got nowhere. Eventually he gave up the flirting but his interest stayed. He find ways to talk to you, getting bits and pieces of information from you.

You quickly learned he was just like you in some ways. Guarded, a past life that you don't want to talk about, loners. Somehow in all of it, as he stayed at the mansion and grew to become part of this family, he wormed his way into your heart too. Just too loners who found out that being alone together is better than being lonely.

As time passed, your relationship with Logan evolved into something you never imagined you would experience. Love. You never let yourself feel this way, too afraid that you would do the same thing to them. That you would get close, build this connection, make these memories, only for it all to come crashing down with just a single touch. These memories are precious to you. Every single one of them.

You remember the day your feelings were revealed. Both of you desperate, afraid of what they meant, but neither of you could lose each other. It was the cure. Some company had found a way to suppress the gene. The moment you heard about it you were intrigued. Your mutation wasn't fun. It didn't let you control the weather or turn things to ice. You couldn't touch people. Just like rouge you were at risk for destroying someone's whole life.

Even with the years of lessons you weren't fully in control. You never let yourself try. Logan could see it in your eyes. The confrontation wasn't pretty.

It was anger at first, wondering how you could even consider that. Then it was anger from you, years of pent up feelings releasing all at once. The fighting turned into a deep confession. An intimate moment between the two of you. He cared for you in a way that scared the shit out of him. He couldn't say the words yet but he felt them. You felt the same way but just like Logan. Something was holding you back from saying those three words.

Still you showed your love to each other in other ways. You always let him know how much you cared for him. The words died on your tongue but he knew. You hope he did.

Logan bought you a necklace. Didn't make a big deal of it but you could see the blush on his face. Tossing you the box and mumbling something about him seeing it and thinking of you. It was gorgeous. Just a simple heart necklace with two sparkling stones. One for him and one for you.

Even if you couldn't touch he wanted apart of him to be with you. It was perfect. Everything was perfect. You had Logan. You had the team, the mansion. For once you felt like your life was falling into place.

Apparently the universe didn't like that. Charles had called the team in for an important mission. You weren't on the team due to your own choosing so when Logan came back to bed he started to talk.

"Yeah some rogue mutants. Bunch of assholes who enjoy torturing humans." He grumbled as he threw his jacket on. Fixing his hair in the mirror as you sit on the bed. You're doing everything you can to stay calm, to not set off Logan's super senses.

"Some guy named Mack is their leader. Guess he's got some illusion powers or something." Logan says it all like its nothing. To him it is nothing. Just another mission. To you though, it's the beginning of the end.

"Don't know who in their right mind would do shit like that. Just a bunch of low life idiots." He spits. You wince at his harsh tone. He notices your silence and glances over at you. You're practically frozen in place. An unreadable look in your eyes.

"You alright?" Logan moves to touch your arm but you jerk it away.

"Yeah sorry, just had another nightmare last night." You lie. Logan looks at you strangely before sitting on the bed. His hand intertwining with your gloved one.

"Though I told you to wake me up." You snort and roll your eyes playfully. "And I told you the same thing." You counter. He smirks, you have him there. Part of why you go so well together.

"I'll wake you next time, I promise." There's a loud knock at the door and Logan grumbles.

"Promised some dumb kids I'd take them to the mall. Storm promised me a six pack of beer." After saying goodbye you let your smile fall.

This couldn't be happening. You thought you were finally safe, this was years ago. How could they still be around. Before Charles had found you, you were involved with this group. You weren't proud if it but you were hungry and afraid and they found you. Mutants just like you. They weren't afraid of you. In fact they were in awe of you, something you had never felt before.

You fell into their group, participating in the horrible things they'd do. You never did anything yourself. You were clean up crew. Wiping memories of anyone who saw something they weren't supposed to. Still, you enabled it all. When you finally left, it wasn't easy. You had tried to erase their memories but for some reason they could block you. You got away but they swore one day they'd come back for you. You were one of them forever now. No one would understand, no one would forgive you. You were a monster just like them.

Your mind runs a mile a minute. Thinking of everyone in the mansion. The team. Storm, Jean, Scott, Rouge...everyone.

Logan, oh god Logan.

Would he understand? He would have to. He's just like you. He did things in his past. He was violent, angry, a survivor. He never claimed to be a hero. But that doubt swirls in your mind. Fear overtakes any rational thought. You know what you have to do.

This was your fight, not theirs. You could stop them, you needed to finish what you started. Grabbing your wrinkled old backpack you stuff clothes, money, and any essentials inside of it. You had to move quick before any of the mind readers got a hint of what you were thinking.

Especially Charles. You barely had time to think about this but the fear was creeping into your mind. Poisoning it. It's better this way. It's safer this way. They've done so much for you that you owe it to them to help. You're protecting them. All of them. Logan included.

You held on tightly to the necklace he had given you. Tucking it in your shirt as you leave the room. You smiled as you walked through the halls. Saying hello to those who passed by. By the time you were at the front doors you felt a pull to keep you here.

Deep down you didn't want to leave. Of course you didn't. But you overcome the pull and walk through the doors. Refusing to look back as the mansion grows smaller in the distance. You walked for hours. Your feet aching as you finally reached some rinky dink motel. The room is depressing but for now it's home. Curling up on the bed you bury your face in the pillow.

Your heart longing for Logan. You're scared, so scared. A part of you wants to go back and find him. Tell him everything and ask for help. But then you remember what he said. How would he react knowing that you were one of them? Would he forgive you or would he turn his back on you just like Mack always said?

You barely get a moment to think before there's a loud knock at the door. Hand slamming impatiently against it. You quietly get up and look through the peephole. You cover your mouth to hide your shocked gasp. Logan. How the hell did he find you?

"I know you're in there." Oh he's angry. You open the door and Logan steps through.

"What the fuck were you thinking?!" His voice booms through the room.

"I come home to a ransacked room, I thought you were in danger. Only to be told that you ran away." He growls. He's clenching his fists tightly. How could you do this to him?

"How did you find me?" You demand as you slowly sink back towards your bag.

"Why did you leave? What's going on!" Logan is confused, lashing out on you because he just doesn't understand. Things were going great. You loved him and he loved you so why would you just run away. Away from the mansion, away from him. Did you not trust him anymore? Why?

"You wouldn't understand." You try to move past him but he grabs your shoulders and pressing you against the wall.

His claws coming out to pin you to it. The sharp adamantium knicks the chain around your neck, breaking it in two. The necklace falls to the ground but neither of you notice.

"Try me." The anger is slowly fading as he silently begs you to talk. To let him in.

"I'm sorry Logan, but I can't."

"Why not? What are you running from? I can help. Let me help." He begs. Please don't leave him. Please. He can do something. He can heal like crazy, he can track, he's fast, he's got fucking metal claws. He can help.

"You can't help me with this Logan. This is for your own good." You try to stay strong but looking into those gorgeous eyes of his was about to make you break.

"This is my fight and mine alone." He scoffs and lets go of you and starts to pace.

"Bullshit. This is our fight now. That's the deal. I lo-" He sighs and pulls you close. "Its you and me. Together." You gently trace his jaw with your gloved hands.

Tears glossing over your eyes as it takes everything in power to stay strong. To not fall into his arms. He's protected himself his whole life and you can't be the one to put him in more danger. He's a hero, he's your hero but tonight he's the love of your life and you need to protect him. Even if it feels like ripping out your own heart.

"Logan..." You say softly. He looks at you with those pretty eyes and you cup his face.

Slowly your lips brush against his. It's just a hint at first. Then it's everything at once. He smashes his lips to yours. Kissing you with a passion and need that you've dreamed off. This is your first kiss after all. It's everything you ever wanted. To feel his lips on yours. Skin to skin. You'll treasure this moment forever.

He's so wrapped up in the kiss that he doesn't notice you take your hand away. Taking off your gloves and move your hands to the side of his head. Hovering over his temples. He pulls away, breathing heavily as he leans in and kisses you again.

"I love you Logan, I love you so much." You say with tears falling down your cheeks. He realizes too late, a flash of fear as you press your hands to his face.

"No!" He roars but its too late.

Like he's in a trance he stands there. You cry as you erase every memory he has of you. He won't remember you, he won't know why he's here or how he got here. You know that you won't have long before someone else finds you and you'll erase their memory too. It's for the best. It's for his own good. His eyes flutter close as he falls to the floor. You catch his head, lowering him gently to the ground. A pillow placed under it. You can't stay, he'll wake any moment. But you have a few seconds. You lean down and place a kiss on his forehead.

"I love you Logan Howlett." You whisper gently.

You take one last look at him before grabbing your bag and running out the door. Each step apart from him is like a knife in your chest. You tell yourself this what needed to happen. You'd rather lose Logan like this than watching him suffer because of you. This way he can be happy, he can move on.

You did this for him. All of it for him.

-

Logan wakes to a pounding in his head. Confusion washes over him as he takes in his surroundings. Where the fuck is he? He doesn't remember how he got here, why he came here. He stands up and looks around the room.

"What the hell?" He mumbles to himself.

Was this a prank or something? He cracks his neck and looks around. The room is mostly empty but a small glimmer catches his eyes. He walks over and sees six holes in the wall that match his claws.

Leaning down he picks up a necklace. A heart with two stones. He winces as a sharp pain shoots through his head. He stands up and slips the necklace in his pocket, something telling him to keep it close. He feels a pain in his chest. Not physical pain but something else. Maybe he finally got drunk. Drank enough to finally fuck him up.

All he knows is that he needs to get back to the mansion. As he leaves stops for a second. He shakes his head and continues on, hopping back on his motorcycle. For a second there he swears he caught a whiff of vanilla.

Must be his imagination.

[archivegyu]

masterlist

timing has never been our thing

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

The practice room lights had long since dimmed to that late-night fluorescent glow that made everything feel slightly unreal. Seungcheol rolled his shoulders, feeling the satisfying pop of tension releasing after hours of choreography. The room was quieter now, most of the members having filtered out one by one as midnight approached. Only Mingyu remained, sprawled across the floor with his long limbs stretched out like a starfish, chest rising and falling as he stared at the ceiling.

Seungcheol's phone buzzed on the bench where he'd left it.

kkuma's other human

[10:43 PM] Cheol: I'll be late again. Save me some dinner if you can?

[10:59 PM] Her: Already done. It's in the blue container. Don't forget to reheat properly this time.

[11:00 PM] Her: Kkuma misses you. She keeps sitting by the door.

[11:01 PM] Her: I think I do too.

Seungcheol's thumb hovered over that last message. The casual confession stole his breath, not because it was unexpected, but because it was so honest. So simple. The way she'd always been with him, even when he couldn't find the courage to be the same.

He typed out three different responses before deleting them all.

[11:07 PM] Cheol: Will be home soon :))

"You're smiling at your phone again," Mingyu observed, not bothering to lift his head from the floor. "It's painful to watch."

Seungcheol slipped the device into his pocket. "I'm just tired."

"That's not what tired looks like. That's what whipped looks like," Mingyu said, finally sitting up with a groan. "You're texting her, aren't you?"

Seungcheol didn't answer, just turned to gather his things from the bench. The silence was answer enough.

"You know," Mingyu continued, "I could literally feel you thinking about going home all day. Like, mid-practice, your eyes would drift to the clock. You weren't even trying to hide it."

"I was focused" Seungcheol protested weakly.

"Yeah, on getting back to her."

There was no heat in Mingyu's words, just a knowing smile as he stood and stretched, joints popping. "You hungry? I think that chicken place around the corner is still open."

Seungcheol hesitated, fingers playing with the strap of his bag. He thought of the blue container waiting in the refrigerator, of Kkuma at the door, of her waiting up despite how late it was. But another text lit up his screen.

[11:10 PM] Her: Don't rush. I'm working on my project anyway. Just come home in one piece.

"Yeah," he said finally, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Let's go."

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The night air was cool and thick with the scent of rain that hadn't quite fallen yet. Mingyu drove with the windows cracked, one hand loose on the steering wheel while the other occasionally reached for the fries balanced on the dashboard. They'd ordered too much food: fried chicken and fries and side dishes that spilled out of paper bags, but neither seemed to mind as they pulled into an empty parking lot overlooking the city.

Seoul sprawled below them, a constellation of lights blurring together through the slight fog. Seungcheol took a bite of chicken, savoring the spice as his eyes drifted over the skyline.

"She made dinner," he said quietly, almost to himself.

Mingyu glanced at him. "And you're here eating gas station chicken with me instead?"

"She said not to rush," Seungcheol defended, though his voice lacked conviction. "She's working on her project."

"Right," Mingyu nodded, taking a long sip of his drink. "The one about architectural innovation or whatever, yeah? She's been obsessed with it."

Seungcheol's lips quirked into a proud smile. "She's brilliant. Everyone in her program thinks so."

"And you think so most of all."

"I've always thought so," Seungcheol admitted. Then, after a beat: "I feel like I've watched her grow up. From the kid who'd share her lunch to the woman who's going to design buildings that change the way people live."

Mingyu hummed, thoughtful. "You should've seen her face when you nailed that high note in practice today. She was looking at you like you hung the stars."

Seungcheol's hands slowed, a fry halfway to his mouth. "She came to practice?"

"Yeah, for like an hour. Said she had a break between classes. She sat in the back." Mingyu frowned, turning to face him. "You didn't see her?"

"No," Seungcheol murmured, feeling his chest tighten. "I didn't."

He set the food down, suddenly less hungry. There was a moment of silence between them, broken only by the distant sounds of the city and the occasional rustle of paper bags.

"You ever feel like you missed your chance before you even had one?" Seungcheol asked suddenly, staring out the window.

Mingyu stopped mid-bite. "What do you mean?"

"With her," Seungcheol clarified, his voice lower now. "You ever think about how long I've known her? How many years of my life she's been there? And I still haven't..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"Haven't told her," Mingyu finished for him.

"Yeah."

"Why not?"

Seungcheol's laugh was hollow. "Timing. It's always been terrible timing." He leaned back in his seat, eyes fixed on the ceiling of the car. "She was with someone. Then I was. Then life got in the way. And now that we're both free... I'm scared it's too late. That maybe I waited too long."

Mingyu's usual playful expression had faded, replaced by something more serious. "If it's real," he said slowly, "maybe timing's just an excuse."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with truth. Seungcheol felt them settle in his chest, uncomfortable but necessary.

"I'd rather stay close than risk it all," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know if she sees me the same way. But if I say something and she doesn't... I lose her. I lose all of it. I'd rather hurt quietly than break us."

Mingyu was quiet for a long moment, his eyes focused on the windshield where drops of rain had started to appear.

"You think keeping quiet keeps her close," he said eventually. "But hyung... some things are already changing, even if you stay silent."

Seungcheol turned to look at him, feeling something cold slip down his spine. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Mingyu said carefully, "that study abroad program she's thinking about. The one in Barcelona for next semester. You ever wonder why she hasn't talked to you about it yet?"

The world seemed to tilt slightly on its axis. "Study abroad?"

"Shit," Mingyu breathed, closing his eyes briefly. "You didn't know."

"No," Seungcheol said, his voice suddenly dry. "I didn't."

"She probably hasn't decided yet," Mingyu rushed to add. "But Joshua said she was looking into this prestigious architectural program. Something about studying under some famous architect and getting international perspective for her thesis project."

Seungcheol swallowed hard, feeling like the air had been knocked from his lungs. "Barcelona is... far."

"Yeah," Mingyu agreed softly. "It is."

The rain fell harder now, drumming against the roof of the car in a steady rhythm that matched the pounding in Seungcheol's chest. He thought of the apartment they shared, of the blue container in the refrigerator, of Kkuma waiting by the door. Of her saying she missed him through a text message because it was easier than saying it out loud.

Just like it had always been easier for him to love her in silence than to risk everything on words.

"I have to go home," he said suddenly, reaching for his bag. "I should be there."

Mingyu didn't argue, just started the car and pulled back onto the road. The drive back to the apartment was quiet, rain streaking the windows and blurring the city lights into smudges of color.

"You know," Mingyu said as they pulled up to the curb, "sometimes I think about what would happen if you just told her. No perfect timing, no grand gestures. Just... the truth. What's the worst that could happen?"

"She could leave," Seungcheol said, hand already on the door handle.

"Or she could stay," Mingyu countered. "She could choose you. She could already be choosing you every day, but you're too afraid to see it."

Seungcheol stepped out into the rain, the cool drops a relief against his heated skin. He leaned down to look at Mingyu one last time.

"I'll think about it," he promised.

Mingyu nodded, his expression gentle. "Good. Because I think she's been waiting for you to catch up for a while now."

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The apartment was quiet when he unlocked the door, slipping off his shoes in the entryway. The lights were dimmed, casting a warm glow over the space. Kkuma didn't come running this time, which meant she was either asleep or—

"Hey," her voice came from the living room, soft and slightly raspy, like she'd been dozing. "You're back."

Seungcheol crossed the room and found her curled up on the couch, her laptop balanced on her knees and Kkuma snuggled against her side. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, glasses perched low on her nose, and she wore one of his hoodies: the old gray one he thought he'd lost months ago.

The sight of her made his heart ache.

"I'm back," he said simply, setting his bag down.

She smiled, that small, tired smile that always felt like it was just for him. "How was practice?"

"Long," he said, moving to sit beside her. "How's the project?"

"Long," she echoed, closing her laptop and setting it aside. "But I think I'm finally getting somewhere. The review board seemed impressed with the preliminary sketches."

He nodded, watching as she stretched her arms above her head, the too-long sleeves of his hoodie falling back to expose her wrists. "That's good. You've been working hard."

"Not as hard as you," she said, turning to face him fully. "You look exhausted."

"I'm fine."

"Liar," she accused gently, reaching out to brush a strand of damp hair from his forehead. "You're pushing too hard again."

The casual touch made his breath catch, but he managed a small smile. "Says the woman who fell asleep at her desk three times this week."

"That's different," she protested, though her eyes crinkled with a smile. "I'm a student. I'm supposed to be sleep-deprived and caffeinated."

"And I'm an idol. I'm supposed to be practiced and prepared."

She rolled her eyes, but her expression softened. "Did you eat? I saved you some dinner."

"I did, with Mingyu. But I'll have yours for lunch tomorrow."

She nodded, seemingly satisfied with that answer. They fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that had always been easy between them. Seungcheol watched as she absentmindedly stroked Kkuma's fur, her eyes drifting to the window where rain still pattered against the glass.

"Mingyu mentioned something," he said before he could stop himself. "About Barcelona."

Her hand stilled on Kkuma's back. She didn't look at him right away, and in that hesitation, Seungcheol felt his heart sink.

"It's just a possibility," she finally said, her voice careful. "Nothing's decided."

"But you're considering it."

She sighed, finally meeting his gaze. "Of course I am. It's a good opportunity for my thesis. The kind that could really set me apart when I graduate."

"When were you going to tell me?"

"Soon," she said quietly. "I was waiting for the right time."

"The right time," he repeated, a bitter taste in his mouth. "Timing has never been our thing, has it?"

She looked at him then, really looked at him, with an expression he couldn't quite read. "What do you mean?"

Seungcheol felt the weight of all the words he'd never said pressing down on him. All the moments he'd let slip away because the timing wasn't perfect. All the chances he'd missed because he was too afraid to take them.

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head. "Forget it. It's late."

She reached out, her hand finding his wrist. "Seungcheol."

The sound of his name on her lips had always been his undoing. He looked down at where her fingers wrapped around his wrist, right where his pulse was racing.

"If you don't want me to go," she said slowly, "just say it."

He swallowed hard. "It's not that simple."

"It could be," she pressed. "Just tell me why you want me to stay."

The moment stretched between them, fragile and vital. Seungcheol felt himself at the edge of something enormous, something terrifying and beautiful all at once. He thought of Mingyu's words: Sometimes I think about what would happen if you just told her.

But years of habit were hard to break. Years of keeping his feelings locked safely away, where they couldn't hurt either of them. Where they couldn't change what they had.

"I want you to be happy," he said finally, his voice low. "Even if that's in Barcelona."

Her hand slipped from his wrist, and he immediately missed the warmth. "Right," she said, her voice just a touch too even. "Of course."

She stood then, gathering her laptop and nudging Kkuma gently to the side. "I should get some sleep. Early class tomorrow."

"Yeah," he agreed, watching as she moved away from him. "Goodnight."

She paused at the edge of the living room, turning back to look at him. For a moment, he thought she might say something else, might push him further. But instead, she just offered a small smile.

"Goodnight, Cheol."

He watched her disappear down the hallway, listened to the soft click of her bedroom door. Only then did he let his head fall into his hands, a ragged breath escaping him.

Timing has never been our thing.

But as he sat there in the quiet apartment, rain still falling outside, he wondered if maybe timing had nothing to do with it at all. Maybe it was just him, always standing still while the world moved around him. Always waiting for the perfect moment that would never come.

Maybe some things were worth the risk of imperfect timing.

Maybe she was.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Seungcheol's phone buzzed on the coffee table, startling him out of his thoughts. He reached for it, expecting a message from one of the members, but instead found her name lighting up the screen.

[12:34 AM] Her: If you asked me to stay, I would.

He stared at the message, heart hammering against his ribs. His fingers trembled slightly as he typed out a response.

[12:35 AM] Cheol: Why?

The three dots appeared immediately, then disappeared. Appeared again. Disappeared. He waited, holding his breath.

[12:38 AM] Her: You know why.

And maybe, finally, he did.

[ssa-dado]

Aaron's Speech

Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader Genre: whump, prepare your tissues kind of whump. hurt to comfort? what's comfort anyways? Summary: Aaron was certain he knew what love was - until Haley died. He loves you. But he still loves her, too. Warnings: clear signs of deep depression, PTSD, trauma, self-neglet, survivor's guilt, grief, mentions of 5×01 and 5×09 Please please please do not interact with this fic if you struggle with any of these. Word Count: 3.9k Dado's Corner: I... I don't know. It's a lot. Grab your tissues. This might be the most heart-wrenching thing I've ever written… and honestly, I’m a little scared of my own brain for managing to hallucinate this. I went back and forth on whether to post it because it just felt too much... :)))) I ended up adding a little extra at the end (something fluffy & domestic) just to take the edge off. But it’s still bittersweet. More bitter than sweet.

masterlist(s)

Plato wrote, "I mean to propose that each of us in turn, going left to right, shall make a speech in honor of Love."

Aaron wasn’t sure how to make sense of the fact that the very job that had stripped him down to nothing was also the reason he could still touch you like this.

That the same job that had taken… her, that had nearly taken his son - was also the reason he could still slip under the covers with you and lose himself just enough to relieve the stress of your days.

It wasn’t intimacy, not really.

Not in the way it was meant to be.

It was a release, a fleeting reprieve from the thoughts that never stopped, from the memories that threatened to drown him if he let them sit too long.

Sometimes, it was rough - driven by nothing but the desperate need to feel something, anything. Other times, it was slower, gentler.

But one thing never changed - he always kept his shirt on.

A week ago, it had been long sleeves. The scars were only on his torso, but for a long time, that hadn’t mattered. He had fought the urge to cover everything, to disappear beneath the fabric.

He felt dirty. He was dirty.

Didn’t want to see them. Didn’t want you to see them.

The only times you had were when he had no choice - when he was too weak, too drained to tend to them himself.

Then came the day he finally found the courage to face his reflection in the mirror. When he told you he could handle it now - that he had to - you hadn’t argued. You had only pressed a soft kiss to his lips before watching him disappear into the bathroom. You didn’t say a word. You trusted him. Had to trust him.

And when he came back, you kissed him again.

You still did. Every time.

Even today.

It had become a ritual – an ineffable I’m proud of you, a way to be close without needing to be there physically. Because even if you weren’t, your mind always went there.

You hoped he applied the medication carefully.

Hoped that, in tending to himself, he showed the same meticulous care he gave to you - the way he would sit you in a warm bath, wash your hair, run his hands over your skin with a gentleness so at odds with how he treated himself.

He gave you devotion. You wished he gave himself even half of it.

You hoped that every time you heard the water running, it was only to sterilize his hands - that he wasn’t standing over the sink, letting the antiseptic swirl down the drain, just enough to make it seem used, just enough to fool you. You knew he wasn’t stupid.

You had been more cautious ever since the day he caught you in the bathroom, turning the bottle over in your hands, checking for dents, for any proof that he was actually using it.

He hadn’t been angry. He understood. It wasn’t about distrust - not really.

If the roles were reversed, he knew he would have done the same.

…No, actually, he didn’t even need to imagine reversing them. He had checked. More than once. Because he wasn’t sure if he trusted himself anymore.

Because ever since he started tending to them on his own, he never let you see his scars again.

Maybe some subconscious part of him feared that if you did, you wouldn’t want him anymore.

Or maybe because he didn’t want to remind you - of what had happened to him, of the fear in your eyes, of the way your hands had trembled the first time they traced the edges of his pain.

Or maybe it wasn’t even about you.

Maybe he was afraid that if you saw them again, your mind would go back to the past, to the before, to all the things he lost…

…And, inevitably, to her.

Haley was only a problem because he made her one.

She was never a threat to you. You had never felt the need to compete with her because you understood something he probably never would: that a heart as vast as his had room for both of you.

That was simply part of loving him - even before everything that happened, even when they were just divorced - loving him meant sharing space in his heart with Haley.

And that was enough. More than enough. You never needed or wanted all of it.

He was the one who couldn’t reconcile it.

One true love.

It had been carved into him as a child, a belief so deeply rooted that no amount of logic could ever fully undo it. Sure, he could scoff at it now, call it outdated, tell himself he was too rational to believe in something so absolute.

But some lies told to us as children settle too deep to simply unlearn, and for Aaron, it was this: that love - true love - could only happen once.

And he hated that it had been her.

Not because he regretted loving her, but because it made him feel as though loving you somehow diminished that first love - or worse, that it made you her replacement.

You weren’t.

You were nothing like her. You were only you.

And yet, both of you had looked at him with the same kind of eyes - the kind that saw too much, worried too much.

And sometimes, despite himself, he wondered if that was why he fell in love with you.

Because of those eyes. To keep those eyes in his life.

But just as quickly as the thought came, so did the guilt. Not just because it wasn’t true, but because his mind had dared to go there at all.

…But if it had gone there, it meant some part of him believed it.

And he hated that.

Hated overanalyzing it.

Hated the way his own mind twisted something simple, something pure, into something that needed justification.

Hated that he had to dissect his love for you just to convince himself it was real, when he already knew it was.

Because it was real.

He hadn’t fallen in love with you because of anything you shared with her - he had fallen for you because of everything that made you you. Maybe he had even fallen harder once he realized that.

If Reid could see inside his head, he would have some scientific explanation for all of this. Something about neurochemistry.

He would tell him that guilt was irrational, that love was nothing more than a biological process designed to make humans bond, reproduce, and survive.

But that was what he hated most.

Not the surviving part. Not just the thought of contributing to the same human species that had created the kind of monsters he locked away every day.

Though, on the worst nights… maybe that too.

What he hated was the idea that it all boiled down to a few chemical formulas, a handful of C’s and O’s arranged on a page. That somewhere out there, a person could take one look at the sequence and know him, know the core of who he was.

Bullshit. That couldn't be possible.

Not when he wasn’t even sure he had a core anymore.

What was there to read?

Aaron had spent a lifetime believing love was what the poets described - the grand, the eternal, the tragic. Yet only… after everything that happened… had he begun to understand what they truly meant.

The Greek tragedies, the sonnets - some resonated so deeply now they ached, others felt so hollow he wondered how he’d ever admired them… how he had ever believed love could be so naïve.

Maybe, in the end, a few chemical bonds and molecular chains would have been simpler. Maybe they would have told him more about himself than poetry ever could.

How simple it was - that the tears he left on your skin, warm against your sternum as he pressed his face into you, could be reduced by science to nothing more than water and salt.

As if that could explain why he was crying.

As if it could account for the guilt gnawing at him, the shame of being allowed to break against you while your own tears slipped down your cheeks, unseen, as you stared at the ceiling.

As if it could break down the only closeness he could offer now - the desperate act of syncing his unsteady breaths to yours.

He just wanted to be your rock again.

Maybe science had a way to explain the guilt - the shame of falling apart in your arms, of letting you hold him, pull him closer, your fingers threading through strands of hair that hadn’t been this long in three years.

And then, the moment your hands unconsciously drifted too low - past the nape of his neck, following the path they once knew so well, tracing the lines of his back-

It wasn’t you touching him anymore.

But it was you. You were safe. You were here.

And still, his body jerked up.

It wasn’t fair.

No matter how much he wanted to surrender to your touch again, no matter how much he wished he could unlearn the fear, his body still braced for a blade instead of your hands.

Maybe science had a way to explain why.

Maybe it could name the way his body had learned to fear something it once - and still - craved more than anything.

Maybe there was a chemical formula that could define the way you both whispered "sorry" at the same time whenever it happened.

Maybe there was an equation, an angle, a perfect placement for the carbon bonds that could explain why, after flinching, after failing, he reached for your wrist. Why he brought it to his lips, pressed a kiss to the thundering pulse beneath your skin.

The skin was thinner there.

Maybe, if he kissed deep enough, his apology would sink into your bloodstream, carried by the oxygen in your blood, traveling through your veins until it reached your heart - so you’d know.

That he loved you.

He loved you, he loved you, he loved you.

And he needed you.

Needed your hands back on every inch of his skin - even on the places his mind dragged him back to, bleeding out on the carpet of his own living space, where he was assault-

“Aaron.”

“Hmm.”

“I want hot chocolate.” You shifted, sitting up on the bed, stretching your arms above your head. “And I need your help cutting the chocolate. Come on.”

Nothing still.

So you reached over, patted his head, ruffling his hair. “You know I never get the pieces small enough… get up.”

You didn’t even like chocolate that much.

But he did.

Aaron Hotchner, with his unreadable expressions and haunted eyes, had the biggest sweet tooth you had ever known.

It was one of the first things you noticed about him - the way he’d sneak sugar into his coffee when he thought no one was looking, the way he never turned down dessert, the way he’d order an extra pastry under the guise of “Jack will like this” when Jack wasn’t even there.

Hot chocolate was easy.

Because cutting chocolate into tiny, even pieces was something his hands could still do.

The day he finally handled a knife again without flinching, you had seized every possible excuse to make him keep doing it - to ease him back into muscle memory, to give his hands something to focus on. Just like now.

Him, and all of his ghosts, disappearing into the rhythm of slicing through a bar of fondant chocolate.

"See? When you cut it this small, the chocolate doesn’t fray. How do you do that?" You leaned in, watching him work. “Wait, was this your specialty back in SWAT?”

Nothing. Again.

God forbid anyone joke about his very secretive time in an all-men squad of alpha males, big guns, tactical gear, night vision-

“You want me to show you?”

You nodded.

You expected him to explain from where he stood, maybe demonstrate with another piece - but you hadn't expected him to step behind you. Once, maybe, but not now.

And yet, here he was.

Did not expect to feel his warmth again - his body against yours, his chest flush to your back, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear, his huge hands slipping over yours, guiding them to the handle of the knife.

"It’s in the pressure," he said, curling his fingers around yours, adjusting your grip. "Too much, and it crumbles. Too little, and it slips. You want the blade to do the work."

Damn. It was so intimate, so familiar-

God, this felt like… like one of your first dates. Back when he was still - no.

You swallowed, pushed the thought away, and focused. Followed his movement, feeling the blade glide through the chocolate beneath your fingertips - clean, effortless - perfect.

Just like his.

"There," he murmured. "Like that." And then, a kiss to your hair. "You did good."

So did he. God, he did. And you were so proud of him.

So you picked up one of the pieces he had helped you cut, rolling it between your fingers before holding it out to him.

"Quality check."

You had never fought back tears so hard as when you felt it - the smallest huff of breath against your hair. A sound, barely there, but unmistakable.

The closest thing to a laugh you'd heard from him all day.

You would cut all the chocolate in the world if it meant hearing that sound again.

And maybe you would - because he could have easily taken the piece from your hand himself.

But he didn’t.

Instead, his lips ghosted over your fingertips, his tongue dragging over your skin far too slowly as he caught the chocolate - before his teeth closed down, just sharp enough to be obnoxious.

That stupid bite.

Familiar.

The same bite that always made you swat him away, roll your eyes, mutter his name in exasperation.

The same bite that caught your fingertips every single time you offered him one of your fries, because Aaron Hotchner - who pretended to be far too above it - always ordered a salad as a side, only to spend the whole meal subtly eyeing your plate.

He would never ask for one, of course. God forbid.

So you always caved, sighing as you picked up a fry and held it out toward him, fully intending to place it onto his plate like a normal person.

But he never let you.

Instead, he would catch your fingers midair, biting down - not hard, but enough to make you yelp, enough to make your head snap toward him, enough to make you curse his name loud enough that the people at the next table would turn to look.

And then - as if he hadn’t just eaten out of your damn fingers in public – he’d sit back, napkin in hand, dabbing the corner of his mouth.

“Shh,” he’d say. “We’re at a fancy place. Can’t you see there are no prices on your menu?”

Condescending. Smirking. Like he wasn’t the one causing all the drama.

The same insufferable piece of shit he had always been.

And maybe that’s why you didn’t swat him away this time.

Maybe that’s why you just stood there, breath caught in your throat, only managing to turn around and stare at the glimpse of a ghost you hadn’t expected to see.

You knew it was temporary, just a matter of time before the weight settled back over him. But still- still, for a moment, you just watched.

His kitchen was now so quiet you could hear the crisp snap of chocolate between his teeth, the exaggerated hum of approval he always did just to startle you, always holding eye contact, watching – waiting - like your reaction was more satisfying than the chocolate itself.

“What?” he asked, furrowing his brows.

Under the yellow glow of the kitchen lights, his eyes looked lighter - a softer brown, warm in a way you hadn’t seen in far too long. You could see the few flecks of green – a similar shade of the untouched, steamed bitter greens he always left on his plate at fancy restaurants.

Could you even tell him?

Could you say that, for just a second, he wasn’t trapped in his own head, and that alone made you want to cry?

Of course not.

So you just shook your head, swallowing the lump in your throat.

"Nothing," you murmured, turning back to the counter. "Just…. don't think you're getting more if you're gonna keep biting me."

“Then maybe you should stop feeding me like a child.” He huffed, leaned against the counter next to you, unbothered… almost – smug?

Hotchner humor. This must be Christmas.

"Oh, forgive me, Your Royal Highness, how would you prefer to be fed?"

"Well, if I had to suggest something…" he drawled, gaze dropping to your lips, "you could be more creative with it."

No way. You couldn’t believe it.

"Creative?"

He nodded. "Mhm."

No way.

You picked up half a piece of chocolate, pressed it between your lips - hesitated.

Maybe this was too much. Maybe the moment would crack, fragile as it was. Maybe you’d gone too far, been too reckless.

But still, you held his gaze, tilting your head ever so slightly, offering.

And waiting.

Before you even realized it, his lips were on yours, closing over the other half of the chocolate, pressing just enough to steal more than you had offered.

Asshole.

But God, did he take his time.

His tongue flickered over the chocolate, then back over you – unhurried - before he finally pulled away, his breath still so close you could almost taste the cocoa all over again. Wow.

“…Creative enough?” you managed.

Aaron slowly ran his tongue over his half-brown bottom lip. "It’s a start."

…A start.

Maybe it was. It felt like one.

Also because Aaron stayed close, studying your face, searching for something in your eyes.

If he found what he was looking for, he didn’t say. He just looked at you a moment longer and gave you one last smile.

A goodbye - not to you, but to your eyes, because in that moment, they looked too much like hers.

And maybe a part of him had always been waiting for this moment - when he could finally look into that gaze, your gaze, and know without hesitation that it wasn’t hers. That it had never been.

So he let go of the thought.

He reached past you, plucking another piece of chocolate from the cutting board and popping it into his mouth like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn’t just left something behind.

"You should finish cutting the rest," he said, unfazed by your exasperated "Aaron."

"Me?"

"You did well enough." He nodded, though you knew him well enough to catch the hint of teasing in his voice. "Besides, I should get the milk on the stove…. can’t have you burning it again."

You scoffed. "That was one time, and only because your stove is way too strong."

"You say that every time you cook here… which, if I’m counting correctly, is once a week."

"You’re exaggerating," you muttered, but you still reached for the knife, rolling your eyes as you started chopping again.

Silence.

Silence until Aaron turned toward you as he poured the milk into the pot.

"…Thank you for what you’re doing for me. I don’t say it enough… not out loud."

You glanced up, smiling. "It’s all you, Aaron. I’m not doing anything."

“Bullshit.” He turned, eyeing the cutting board. “You’re cutting the chocolate.”

Before you could respond, he reached over and plucked a piece from the pile, popping it into his mouth.

"Really?" you deadpanned.

He stole another.

"This one was uneven," he said, completely straight-faced.

And then another.

"Do you even want hot chocolate, or are you just here to rob me blind?"

Aaron smirked - and for once, it would have been so damn nice to just enjoy seeing his dimples - if only he hadn’t, completely unrepentantly, reached for yet another piece.

You swatted his hand before he could grab it. "Oh my God, you really are just here to rob me blind."

Defeated, Aaron turned back to the stove, deciding it was safer to keep his hands occupied. He stirred the milk with far more focus than necessary... so much so that you half-wondered if he was trying to churn it into cream.

Maybe if he just kept moving, he could resist the temptation of another impromptu quality check… hopefully.

Or maybe, it wasn’t about the chocolate at all.

"Do you really think you’re not doing anything?" he asked. His eyes were still on the pot, but the way he had slowed his stirring - no longer overcompensating, no longer distrac-

"You are," he continued, looking at you. "You’re here. You stayed. And that’s… that’s more than I knew how to ask for."

"You can ask, you know," you murmured. "You need to say the words, Aaron."

Someone else had told him the exact same words once.

And still, he hadn’t learned how to listen.

Maybe he never would.

Maybe it was just the way he was - stubborn in his silence, in his inability to believe he was allowed to need something, someone.

But still, he cared.

He cared in the way he stole more chocolate than he should have - not just because of his sweet tooth, but because he knew you didn’t like it that much. Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

Because he didn’t want the taste to overpower, didn’t want to make it too rich when he knew you’d only take a few sips before pushing your cup toward him, like you always did.

He cared in the way he let the chocolate sit on the stove just a little longer, thickening the way you preferred it.

In the way he never stopped you, even when you added far more cinnamon than he would have chosen for himself.

In the way he didn’t say a word.

Maybe he should. He needed to say the words. Maybe just start with some.

And so his grip tightened around the mug, the heat pressing into his palms, seeping into his skin.

He could feel it, the warmth.

He had never noticed before how much he liked the way it settled in his fingers, how it grounded him, how it made him feel… alive.

Like he was rediscovering - all over again - that if he held on too long, it would burn.

And it did.

Science might explain it as heat conduction - the transfer of thermal energy from the liquid to the ceramic, from the ceramic to his skin, exciting the molecules in his nerve endings until they fired signals to his brain, warning him of the impending risk of tissue damage.

A perfectly rational, biological response.

But not everything he felt could be charted in nerve endings and synapses, reduced to chemical reactions or evolutionary instinct.

Some things defied explanation.

“I love you.”

“Love you too, Aaron.”

Good luck to the scientists trying to reduce that to a handful of chemical bonds and neural pathways.

Maybe they could try.

They’d still get it wrong.

Ineffable.

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @oxforce ; @percysley ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

Phi's Corner: I’m sorry if this made you cry… as an apology, I’m sending each of you a piece of focaccia... let me know if you want it with or without olives.

[itsalwaysteatimeinwonderland]

Dream of You (Spike x Y/N)

Requested: YES! Requested by @wtv-my-current-hyperfixation

TW: Smut. so much smut.

Word Count: 3k

Masterlist

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Giggles and breathy laughter fills the room. Shared glances and touches of desire. You laid in Spike's arms satiated and content. Your body marked and sore. Nights like this were things if novellas and steamy dreams. Spike caressed your hair as he whispered how proud he was of how well you took him. You blushed and smiled. You wanted this to be forever. You wanted it to be real. You reach for his skin, but it's gone. You're left alone, again in your own bed.

You wake up aroused and moist, again. These dreams are a nightly recurrence, something of routine. Your desire for your dear friend Spike was getting out of hand. You wanted him not just on but inside you. However, you would be mortified if he found out. 

You get out of bed and go straight for a shower. On a lazier day you would play with yourself to meet some of those needs. Today you were in a hurry. It was your nightly date-ish with Spike. You would sit around his crypt and watch tv. You wanted to make sure you ran all your errands before nightfall.

Most of the day is spent running around town, getting things for tonight. You were sure to get all of Spike's favorites, including a couple of blood bags from the butcher. Before heading to the cemetery you decide to pop into The Magic Shop.

"I just need bone powder and it'll be done" Willow commented to Buffy. 

"I'd rather not grind out demon bones." Buffy responded. 

"No, silly. It's on the top shelf to your left."

Willow continued making her spell. She worked diligently to make sure all the ingredients and words were correct. 

"Hello, peeps. What it do?" Y/n walks into the store. 

The scoobies greet y/n as she walks up to Willow. 

"What are you up to?" Y/n asks Willow directly.

"Oh, a truth spell!"

"Who are we truthing?"

"Spike."

"Spike!" Your voice gets a pitch higher.

"Yep. Buffy thinks he's being dishonest, and she needs information from him."

"Don't you need his hair for that?"

Willow pulls out a small vial with blondish hair. "Got it." She grins. 

You look nervous but say nothing. You feel out of place, but you stay. You make sure to be helpful and calm. You didn't know why Spike being under a truth spell made you uncomfortable. You mulled over the ethics of what your friends were doing but instead you came up with an idea. If Willow casts the spell while you were with Spike you could ask him how he feels about you. You're quick to gather yourself and head out with a quick goodbye. 

You basically skip all the way to Spike's crypt.

As you enter the crypt you hear Spike running around downstairs. He hears the door and runs up to the main floor. 

"Don't close that door!" He yells

It was too late; you had shut the door. Spike looks frustrated. He sighs in exasperation. 

"What?" You ask.

"I've been trapped in here for 2 days the bloody door is stuck and only opens from the outside."

"Oh... uh oh." It dawns on you that you're now trapped with Spike. You feel giddy but scared. How long will it take for someone to bust in through that door. Worst, now you can't question Spike while he's under the truth spell. If he says he feels the same shenanigans can ensue, but if he says no than you're trapped here with your shame. 

You wring your hands nervously. Spike walks up to you unsure if to shake you or hug you. He notices the care basket you made for them.

"What's this?" He points to the basket. 

"Well, the plan was for us to watch trash tv and eat junk food. I even brought baggies of blood for you. But I guess our plan is to survive." You take a long look at the door. 

Spike palms his face in frustration. Of course, his planned "date" night with you would be ruined. Suddenly he perks up. If the door is shut for now that means you would have to stay with him, share his space... share his bed. 

He takes you by the hand and leads you to the couch he found in the dumpster. 

"Let's make the most of it." He grins. 

You nod and sit back. You spent the night watching tv and eating. It was 2am and your eyes were drooping. Spike noticed and turned off the tv. 

"You can take the bed." He mumbled as he walked you down to his room.

You're suddenly awake. His bed. You can share it. Wait... are you even ready for that intimacy. You risk it. 

"We can share. I trust you" you say cheeks burning red. 

Spike is chipper but downplays it. He assents and lets you lay down. 

"I'll be down in a bit." Spike tucks you in and scurries back to the couch.

You find it hard to fall asleep. Your heartbeat in your ears. You were sharing your crush's bed, and you were stuck with him. What is this a Wattpad story? Eventually, your eyes close and you're off to dreamland. 

Soft touches and passionate gazes. Bodies intertwined in lust and love. You breathe hard finding your sanity as Spike thrusts into you at a steady pace. Your eyes are rolled back into your head. Chest down, ass up, you were at his mercy. He grabs your hair keeping you in place. Your moans are lewd and loud. You feel yourself closer to the edge, closer to release. His hand finds your swollen bud and plays with it in circles. It makes you see stars. You're climbing, soaring, so close to your release. 

"Y/n"

You can’t speak.

"Y/n!" 

You awake in a startle. Your eyes adjust to see Spike over you. You pull the covers up to your chest as your brain adjusts and remembers where you're at. 

"Are you okay?" Spike asks

"Y- yes... why?" 

"You were mumblin' in your sleep. At some point you were yellin'. "

You blush ferociously. "Did I say anything?"

"Nah, love. I couldn’t make it out. 

You sigh in relief. He looks at you confused. 

"It was probably a bad dream" you mumble. You turn around and pretend to go back to sleep to avoid further questions. 

It's 4pm and you and Spike are wide awake and bored. You try to open the door to no luck. 

"Stop, pet. I already tried."

You sigh and turn to him. "What now?"

Spike walks to the couch and turns on the tv again. You give up, not knowing what to do, and sit by him. 

"Do you have any friends?" You ask

"No. Partners in crime, yes. Friends, no."

"Do you get bored of being a vampire?"

"No. I kill, I shag, and I sleep."

"Do you -" you're cut off

"Wha is this, 20 questions?" He turns to you annoyed. 

"I’m bored. Let's play a card game."

Spike obliges. He finds a deck of cards and you spent the next several hours playing cards in silence.

"I’m bored again." It was 8pm. 

"Let me ask you questions then." Spike grinned. 

You nodded, nervously. 

"Who was your first kiss?"

"Robert in third grade. Sloppy kisser."

"Cheeky."

"Who was your first love?"

"Jason in college. A real gentleman. Before you ask, we broke up because he developed a coke addiction."

"A real gentleman, indeed."

"Who's your last love?" Spike leaned in expectantly. 

You chuckled, nervous. "What? No question on who I lost my virginity to?" You tried to change the subject.

"It ain' Xander, is it?"

"I’m tired. More questions tomorrow, okay?"

Before he could respond you book it to Spike’s room. You lay down and close your eyes real tight in the hopes that Spike didn't trail after you. 

Dim lights and rustling. The scent of sex in the air. You're laid out, open and exposed. Spike is nowhere in sight. You feel slight pressure on your clit. You gasp as it increases. You look down to see a head of blonde hair. Your eyes widen as you notice what was happening. Spike's tongue played with your folds. He lavished your insides with his mouth. Your breath labored as you grabbed the sheets of the bed for dear life. He made sure to take his time. To memorize every crevice and nook you had to offer. He became drunk with your scent, your taste. You moaned his name like a Gregorian chant while he worshipped you. You felt your lower abdomen tighten as he lapped at your slit, rolling circles around it. You knew he would give you the best orgasm of your life and you were ready for it. You begged him for release. He prayed your juices would wash over his mouth so he could memorize your taste. You feel unstable, as if someone is shaking the bed. The movements becomes more prominent.

You wake up, groggy, disoriented. Spike, again staring down at you. 

"Love, are you okay? You were repeating my name over and over again."

"Um... I had a nightmare... about you...?"

"What about me?"

"Uhhh... You were being attacked... by a uh... demon! And I was scared for you." 

Spike is confused but takes your explanation as true. 

"What time is it?" You try to change the subject. 

"5pm."

You jump out of bed. "We gotta get out of here." You say for your sanity. 

Back at the Magic Shop Willow was ready to do her truth spell. All her ingredients in place and determination in her mind. Sadly, she had taken an extra ingredient in with all the others, a strand of your hair. As Willow works on the, unbeknownst to her, ruined spell Buffy beelined it to Spike's crypt. 

Back at the crypt only arguing can be heard. 

"You're acting weird." Spike accused.

"I’m just tired of being here!"

"So, you're tired o' me?"

"I didn't say that." You turn to him, exhausted and embarrassed. 

Pounding comes from the outside of the crypt. Buffy kicks down the door and goes straight for Spike. You're left standing there. 

"Where's the next big bad?" Buffy questioned Spike. 

"I already told you; I don't know." Spike looks helpless.

"You're lying. Why is the spell not working" Buffy shakes Spike. 

"What spell?" Spike asks.

"A truth spell for you." You chime in without your consent. 

Both Spike and Buffy look at you. Spike was surprised and Buffy annoyed. You were confused at your own statement. You didn't intend to tell the truth. 

Buffy punches Spike a couple of times before questioning him again. When she didn't get an answer, she dropped him and walked away furious. 

You just stand there until you remember your fight with Spike. You had to get out of there. 

"Oh, no you don't" Spike grabs your forearms. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I've been having sexual dreams about you." You blurt out before you can stop yourself. Your free hand flies to your mouth. You mentally reprimand yourself. 

Spike takes in what you said. A grin painted on his face.

"You don't say, love. Out of curiosity, what are we doing in these sexual dreams" He leans in. 

Your eyes widen and your mouth starts moving. You tell him about the lewd and lustful acts you have dreamed about. You confess to waking up wet and pent up. You put yourself out there in display for him to ravage the carnage of your secrets. 

Spike's face hurts from smiling so wide. 

"Now tell me, why would you have these dreams about us?"

You try to bite your tongue but it's too late, "Cause I’m in love with you."

Spike wastes no time claiming your mouth. He memorizes how you taste, how soft your lips are, the way you closed your eyes to kiss him. 

"Ler me show you what I can really do." He whispers against your lips. 

He picks you up bridal style and walks you down to his bedroom. With care he places you on his bed. He climbs on top of you, kissing you as he settles between your legs. 

Impatient, you start tugging at his clothes trying to get them off. 

"Easy. All in its due time." He says. 

He trails kisses down you jaw to your neck, nipping on his way down. Carefully, he removes your shirt and your bra. You resist the urge to cover yourself from his prying eyes. His gaze is lustful, like a predator eyeing his prey. 

His mouth makes a path between you neck all the way to your breast. With great care he places his mouth on your left nipple, giving it the attention it deserved. With his right hand he massaged your right breast. All synchronous so as to stimulate you and prepare you for what’s coming next. He alternated between breasts, sending little jolts of pleasure through your body. 

With little haste he made his way to your abdomen and found his way to his prize. He nestled himself between your legs inhaling your scent. Without much wait he dived in, lapping at your folds, twisting his tongue on your clit, memorizing your taste. 

You gripped the bed sheets as hard as you could. Your back arching, reaching for him. Your body was alive and electric. He didn't slow down his assault, giving you no space for a deep breath. You moan and beg. You're at odds with yourself. You need release but want to savor the moment.

Spike is observant of the rise and fall of your chest. He tracks your moans and whimpers as he plays with speed and pressure. He has never been this hungry. He decided that he wants to have you wash over him. He wants your release. He inserts two fingers in you while still lapping at your clit. He chases your orgasm with his nimble hands and expert tongue. You swear that your soul is being exorcised out of your body as you crash and spill all over with your release. You're a whimpering, shaking mess. You gasp for air as you slowly land back in your body. 

As you look down you see Spike, still between your legs, grinning. Pleased but not satisfied, yet. You make a move to stand up, but he's on you faster than you can speak. He claims your mouth, inviting you to taste yourself on his lips. You're drunk on your own taste on his tongue. 

As you passionately make out, Spike makes quick work of his clothes. He's ready to claim you. You're giddy and pliant. 

"Are you gonna be a good girl for me?" He asks.

You nod, unable to form a single word. 

When he finally releases his erection from his pants you're surprised. How are you going to take all of him? He's so big and hard. Spike can read the uncertainty in your face. He cups your cheek gently and places his forehead against yours. 

"It'll be alright. If it's too much just tap me on the arm and I'll stop."

You nod again, determined. 

He teases your entrance and clit by rubbing the head of his cock back and forth. Slowly entering you every now and then but then retreating from your entrance, so as to prepare you for his size. Your whimpers fill the room. You want him so much. He can tell you're getting impatient, so he aligns himself and slowly enters you. He stays still, letting you acclimate to his size. Your breath is labored, you're almost delirious with pleasure. You can't believe this is happening. 

He slowly moves, rocking back and forth, giving you a rhythm to hold on to. You moan in tandem. Your eyes brimming in tears from the pleasure. 

"Look at you, taking me so well." Spike praises you. 

You give a lustful smile, too lost to register his words. 

He picks up the pace. Thrusting in and out, in and out. Giving you what you asked for. Giving you heaven on earth. You beg for him to go deeper. You needed him completely. Spike chuckles and thrusts harder. His movements are rough and long, giving you a chance to feel every vein and curvature on his cock. You push up against him with your hips, meeting his every thrust. He looks down at you, drunk on sex, admiring how beautiful you look out of breath and disheveled. 

He feels your legs shaking. He can tell you're close. 

"Are you gonna come for me, love? I want to hear you say my name. Remember who’s taking you.”

You can barely nod as you chase your orgasm, focusing on his movements. Taking him all into you. Memorizing how he feels and how he makes you feel. 

Your body ceases and you gasp as your orgasm crashes over you, like a tidal wave. Your veins are full of electricity. You’re seeing stars. You hold onto him while you repeat his name, over ad over again. Music to his ears. Spike holds you, never stopping his fierce thrusts. He wants you to remember who is claiming you.

"Good girl" he litters your face with kisses as you work to regain your breath. 

Spike never slows down, chasing his own high. Seeing you spent and tired knowing that he caused it makes him inch closer. He continues to thrust in you, sending aftershock ripples into you as he finds his own release. He fills you to the brim with his seed. He makes you his. 

You both stay connected. Breathing heavy. Satiated and in awe. He eventually pulls out of you with a little shiver. He lays down by your side pulling you close to him. You're both silly with pleasure, spent and happy. 

"Wow." Was all you could say.

"There's more where that came from. Rest up, because we have a lot of catching up to do."

You giggle, giddy for what your future with Spike holds. To think, all of these restless nights craving him and all you had to do was confess your love. You knew once the sun rises you’ll be tired and sore. Something that you’re looking forward to.

[rogueddie]

It takes Steve an embarassingly long moment to realise that the spray isn't doing anything. He tries shaking it… nothing. He even checks by spraying it on his hand, shaking it again. Nothing.

He tries listening as he shakes it again and, though he's sure there's some product still left inside, nothing will come out.

He reluctantly throws it in the little trash can, just next to the toilet door. He doesn't bother rooting through the draws or cabinets either; he'd used the last of his emergency powder kit yesterday. There's nothing left.

He huffs, folding his arms, glaring at his reflection. Specifically at the very overgrown, bright blond roots of his hair.

It brings up the same anxiety he's been having for the past month. It's taken him a long time to save up for his usual hairdressers. He hadn't thought it would take so long but, with the kids and now Robin and Eddie, it shouldn't be that surprising.

Robin often pays a good chunk for things too, often paying him gas money, but it's usually him paying for everything. And now that he's paying rent in his own little appartment? He's not often left with that much at the end of the month.

He's starting to think it's not worth the trip. But he isn't going to start using box dye or anything cheap. He's spent a long time taking care of his hair, spent just as long struggling to find the right products too.

He doesn't even care that the kids and Robin mock him for it, he has great hair and, screw it, he's proud. He's not going to damage it by getting bad hair dye.

He's already booked his next hairdresser appointment for the next day, already saved up gas money too. He might as well ask for bleach instead, go back to his natural color and save himself from anymore days with overgrown roots.

He almost regrets the idea when he gets to work.

"Holy shit, you're a natural blond?" Robins grin looks almost painful with how wide it is. She's a little too excited for his comfort. "I don't know how I didn't guess before. This explains so much. How have you kept this hidden for so long? It's so light!"

"Don't you have work to do?" He bats her hand away when she, again, reaches for his hair.

"Not anymore. Why do you dye it? How did it grow out so much? When did you start hiding it? Did someone pressure you into it? They didn't make fun of you, did they? Because I will hunt them down and-"

"No one made me dye it or bullied me into it," he huffs. He can feel his attempt at a cool demeaner soften with how quickly she jumps to his defense. "I just... I never liked it. I don't think it suits me. Brunettes are cute."

"Are you dyeing it again?"

"Probably not. The hairdresser I go to isn't exactly cheap."

"You can get box dye at-"

"I'm not using box dye."

"It's not that bad, and if you really hate the blond-"

Steve swats at her when she reaches for his hair again. With a heavy sigh, he braces himself for the shift full of questions and jokes of 'betrayal'.

Like he suspected, they don't get much work done.

When Eddie comes in, towards the end of their shift, Steve is almost relieved.

"Stop bullying him without me," Eddie complains.

"Thank you," Steve says, whilst Robin boos. "What is it tonight? Movie night with Wayne or some of the kids?"

But Eddie is frozen, staring at his hair.

"I think he's broken," Robin says after a pause.

"You're blond?" Eddie blinks. "When did you go blond?"

"Always have been," Steve shrugs. "Just... not dyeing it anymore."

"Oh."

Steve and Robin stare at him. They share a glance after a moment.

"You here for a movie?" Steve asks.

"What? Me? No, I- just stopping by. And you're... yeah. I'm gonna- I've got to go. Wayne is waiting and... you know. Bye."

He turns around and practically runs out the store. His wheels squeal a little as he drives out, most likely breaking the speed limit.

"Did he just..." Robin starts, trailing off with a frown.

"Unbelievable," Steve shakes his head. "Just when I give up, he realizes that he likes me too! What the hell, Bob. Is he only into blonds or something?"

[banquetwriter]

Johnnie xfem reader whos being really whiney and loud during sex. like he has to cover her mouth with his hand but he finds it really cute and hot at the same time

୨୧ proud ୨୧

pairing: Johnnie Guilbert ♡︎ Reader

warnings: ୭̥⋆*｡ smut with tiny plot, hand over mouth, being loud, hooking up at a party

summary: ʚ your just so loud and it inflates Johnnie ego ʚ

Words: 1172

An: I'm back on my writing and i hope this lives up to your expectations :((

It's no secret thing that Johnnie isn't the most confident person alive. But god whenever he is with you feels like he must be the best person to walk this earth. Your constant praise of him. Your encouraging words regarding his music career sounded better to him than any Melody he could come up with.

But one thing, in particular, made him feel like he was on top of the world, that one thing was fucking you. Johnnie ALWAYS jokes about not getting bitches or being scared of women but in reality he was a sweet and funny guy.

And you fell hard and fast for him. It also helped that he was one of the hottest people you had ever seen. So finally a little into your situation you took it to the next level. Both were nervous and excited beyond words.

Johnnie's hands slowly started to make their way down your clothes body as his lips never left yours. When he puts his delicate hand on you at first you let out a mini gasp. He initially retracted his hand but you instantly put it back on you. He thought maybe his hand was too cold or something but he pressed on.

His hand slowly slid down as you pulled away slightly, you held up your head indicating he should continue on the delicate skin of your neck. He took a shaky breath in.

As embarrassing as it was, it had been a little while since he had done this. He tried to push those insecure muddled thoughts out of his head as he dipped down. As soon as he touched your skin with his lips you gasped again.

You had become so sensitive, your skin red hot but with goose bumps littering your skin. He joined his other hand on your body delicately rubbing up and down. He was basically on top of you.

And any insecure thought Johnnie was thinking at this moment was not necessary as you were so turned on you felt primal. Letting every small whine and gasp as Johnnie got more confident sucking, kissing, and nipping at your skin.

You decided that you simply couldn't wait anymore and you gently pushed him away, he cocked his head in confusion, worried he messed up somehow.

Oh, it was so the opposite. You sat up starting to undo your top and bra. “Take off your shirt,” you whispered breathlessly. He barely had time to nod before ripping the buttons off of his own garment. You discarded the fabric with ease as your bodies collided once more.

His cold necklaces mixed with your hot skin right between your breasts. It was a devilish feeling causing you to mewl out. Johnnie had been surprised at how much noise you were making and he hadn't even done much.

He chose not to think too hard about it and started to slide his hands up and down your bare torso, pointedly avoiding your breasts and teasing you. You whined as his thumb barely scraped the bottom of your breasts.

“You like that? I think that's the most noise I've heard you make tonight,” he said a lick of condescension in his tone. “Shut up and fuck me,” you begged, and suddenly all confidence in Johnnie's body left, and he froze.

He stared into your eyes trying to figure out if this was real or not. “Johnnie. I need you,” you whispered this time, slowly lifting your head up to meet his. His breath increased and in the second he was on you he was off.

Shimmed down the bed of this random house at this random party. He pulled his pants off at lightning speed. You fumbled with your bottoms but Johnnie was waiting no time with a request like yours. He bent down to grab hold of yours and the borderline ripped them off in a stroke of luck.

Neither Johnnie nor you acknowledge how he Hulked your clothes off of you but instead, he spread your legs apart and eagerly traced the inside of your thighs and just outside the place you needed it most. “Mm fuck please,” you begged as his boney finger traced upwards.

He took that as a sign to start. He bent down hovering over your most precious and exposed place. He started giving you small kisses which only drove your need more. “Johnnie,” you whined, almost bucking your hips into his face.

He couldn't help the grin that plastered on his face. You wanted him so bad it drove HIM crazy. Those little whines you seem to not be able to control only made him harder.

He took your desperation as consent and dipped his tongue into your precious spot causing another beautiful moan. He continued to go in and out of you which only made those moans louder and more frequent.

He reaches particularly deep inside you and your back arches off the bed. “Mm, Johnnie I need you.” you almost yell. He slowly pulls his tongue out of you, wiping his mouth off.

You whine at the loss of contact. “I know. I know,” he whispers, grabbing your hip with his left hand. He taps the inside of your thigh with his right hand. “Open up baby,” he says, grabbing his rock-hard cock. He lines up against your entrance and slowly pushes in.

You throw your head back in euphoria. “Oh god.” you moan gripping the sheets as he pulls out and pushes back in. Once he finds a comfortable rhythm he sneaks up next to you and starts to kiss right under your ear.

This was because he could feel the noises you made with your throat and hear them. Fuck you were so beautiful. He presses a particularly deep spot as you help out, pressing all of your body into his causing him to feel the pull in his power belly.

“Shhhh,” he whispers against your skin, making no effort to quiet you. As he starts to near the end he plunges his hands into your breasts massaging and tugging.

Unfortunately (or fortunately) you were just being too loud. His hand shakes up from your breasts and up your neck reaching your mouth and clamping down. His rings slightly pinched your slips but the pain added to the euphoria.

He approached his end and started snapping his hips against yours. Your fingernails scratched his tattooed back as he pounded into you. Every moan and help only reached his hand as your walls fluttered around him a wave of pleasure seizing your body.

Your beautiful body constricting around him brought him to the end of his pleasure as his legs shook. His white cum filling you up.

After a moment he moved his hand. He held your eye contact with a smirk as you bashfully stared back. “Someone really likes me huh? You are this loud for everyone else?” he asks, planting a kiss on your cheek before pulling out.

“Shut up.” you whisper feeling blood rush to your cheeks.

[v-eee]

── jungkook x you

scenario: you and Jungkook used to be best friend until new female staff came into his workplace, Jieun. He has introduced you to her. Jungkook starts getting busy with his work and often cancel the usual food hunting night with you because he needs to work overtime with Jieun. You know Jieun doesn't like you because she has come to your cafe a few times and told you to stop texting Jungkook during his work hour. when you told him about that, he didn't believe you. Starting that day your friendship is not like it used to be.

— (vi)

(v)

You and Jungkook finally met up at a quiet café you both used to frequent. The moment you walked in and saw him waiting at a table, he stood up, giving you that same warm smile you hadn’t seen in weeks.

"Y/N," he greeted, "It’s so good to see you."

"Hey...," you said casually as you slid into the seat across from him.

"How was the trip?" he asked.

"It was good," you said, keeping your tone light.

Jungkook smiled then glancing down at the table as if he had more to say but wasn’t sure how to say it.

You noticed his hesitation, but instead of addressing it, you decided to lighten the mood. Pulling out a neatly wrapped package from your bag, you placed it in front of him with a grin.

"Happy belated birthday," you said with a smile.

Jungkook stared at the box, wide-eyed. "Wait, you got me something?"

"Of course I did. Just because I wasn't there doesn’t mean I forgot," you teased lightly. "Go ahead, open it."

When he opened the box, his eyes widened in shock. Inside was the camera lens he had been talking about for months.

"Y/N… this is—this is the lens I wanted," he stammered, lifting it out of the box like it was made of gold. "How did you even—"

"Of course I remembered," you said proudly, crossing your arms with a playful smirk. "I’m the best of the best friends, after all."

Jungkook looked at you, still stunned. "I can’t believe you got this for me. I didn’t even think you were paying attention when I mentioned it."

"Please..." you said, rolling your eyes. You've been ranting about this lens forever. I figured it was about time you had it." You waved it off like it was no big deal.

Jungkook laughed, but his expression softened as he set the lens down and looked at you. "Y/N… I've got to say, I'm sorry. For everything. The group chat, the way I didn't believe you about Jieun...I screwed up. And the fact that you still went out of your way to do something like this for me…"

You held up a hand, cutting him off. "Jungkook, seriously...it's fine. I’m not mad about it, okay? I didn’t take it to heart."

"But I feel like I—"

"Jungkook," you said firmly but with a small smile, "I mean it. Let’s not dwell on the past. What’s done is done. We're good, okay?"

He looks at you as if trying to read your mind.

"Don't look at me like that," you glare at him. "Now, come on. Show me what that fancy lens can do!"

The rest of the afternoon felt easy, like a weight had been lifted. You laughed, shared stories, and teased him like old times. As you left the café that evening, you felt proud of yourself. You’d faced Jungkook, given him his gift, and managed to keep things light and casual.

— — —

Your friendship with Jungkook back to like the old times.

You received an invitation to a formal dance ball hosted by your old college friends. You need to bring a plus one.

You used to go with Jungkook, so he assumed you’d take him. He hates ballroom dance, but it's fun to dance with you.\

"So, what time are we going?” Jungkook asked casually, leaning against the counter at your café.

You blinked at him. “What?”

"The ball," he said with a grin. "Obviously, I'm stuck with you."

You laughed. "Uh… actually, I'm going with Joon."

Jungkook's smile faltered. "Joon? Our Joon?"

"Yep," you said, nodding with a chuckle. "He’s never been to one before, so I thought it'd be fun."

“Oh… cool,” Jungkook said, forcing a smirk. "Yeah, he must be excited."

But it didn't excite him. Since when did you take someone else to events like this?

[v1rtualsalvat10n]

𓆩♡𓆪 for the first time

― luigi thinks of you in his cell. that's it that's the fic.

notes :: thank you for all the support to show my appreciation i would like to throw a rusty screwdriver into your hearts i love u guys!!

The thing they don't tell you about prison is that it's really cold.

No, seriously. It's really fucking cold, even here in NYC where it's already cold to begin with - it's like you're in the back of a deep freezer in a shitty jumpsuit, because you kind of are. It's cold enough that I have to curl up into a ball on my "bed", knees to my chest in order to try and stay warm.

And because I have nothing to do, I find myself staring at the white, emotionless wall, and doing that sort of thing is kind of a surefire way to get your mind to wander. One of the tried and true methods, if you will.

It's lonely here. Sure, the inmates like me, they're nice, but I mean... I'm not really in the mood to socialize with anyone. This whole ordeal has sucked the energy out of me. I've been being thrown around the country for days, ever since they found me.

I don't even want to think about what's happening outside of this place, either. I'm sure people have lots of thoughts and things to say about what I did.

I wonder if she saw it.

The news, I mean. Of course she saw it, who didn't? I bet her and all my old classmates and friends are probably talking about it, about me, what I'd done - right now. Trying to pick apart my motive, maybe grieving about the life I'd thrown away. Guess I had a lot ahead of me.

Can't help but wonder what she's thinking. I wonder if she's disappointed in me. Or maybe proud. Why am I thinking so much about what she thinks of me? It was one fling, from ages ago, I can't even remember when... at one of countless parties, and yet I still see how she looked underneath me so clearly.

It wasn't really just a fling. I talked to her about it - about how the system was falling apart (if it was ever together to begin with) and I felt the need to put all this privilege I'd been granted to good use. How I felt like I had to do something. She told me about herself, too, how she'd been fucked over time and time again and how she knew countless others who felt the same way.

Actually, yeah, we spent a lot of time together, thinking back on it. She'd come over on those cold winter nights I remember so fondly and we'd keep warm together, whatever way we could find. She was kind of... below me, I guess. Lower class. Not that I cared that much, though. Didn't make her any less of a lover.

And then I went radio silent. Then I figured out exactly what that thing I had to do was, and I put all my effort towards it. I didn't have time for love anymore. I had to take the chance I'd been given and fix things.

So I started leaving her on seen, stopped answering my door, even when she'd yell that she knew I was there, stopped showing up at the places I'd loved before, I stopped everything. Dropped off the map and left nothing but a ghost in my place.

She probably hates me.

I'd like to think that maybe this brings her solace... that maybe the idea that "it wasn't because you did something wrong" made her feel better, but I doubt it does.

When I get out of here, if I even do, she'll probably have forgotten all about me, because everybody forgets. I'll be old news by the time that day comes, and everything we did, everything we wanted to do - would just be a hazy memory.

I still remember seeing her for the first time. I remember the way her eyes pierced through my soul, and I remember how it made me feel inside.

I wonder if she remembers that too.

[mintedwitcher]

I spent the last two days catching up on all the episodes of 911 that I've missed, and I need to say a few things. actually, a lot of things. this got long so I'm putting it under a cut.

8b is significantly better overall than 8a. the storylines, the pacing, the character interactions. it is significantly better in this half of the season. that being said:

I have mixed feelings about Eddie's SL. on the one hand, I'm proud of him for finally making a good parenting decision (putting his son first). on the other, I hate how it felt like he was essentially rewarded for the bare minimum. I also hate how he treated Buck, but that's a sidenote.

I didn't like Maddie's kidnapping arc. I hate that they made the villain a cheap, bad example of DID, when it would've been far more interesting for her to be entirely neurotypical. people with mental illness are more likely to be the victims of violent crime than the perpetrators of it, and this plot felt like a slap in the face to anyone with mental health concerns, especially with the addition of Maddie talking a man into suicide (even though it didn't really happen), and then slapping the suicide hotline on the end credits like that was going to do anything. I'm not even actively suicidal and Maddie's speech to the "kidnapper" was triggering as all hell for me. I can't imagine how much worse it was for people who are still fighting that battle. I do like that they didn't just let Maddie brush it all off like nothing happened, however I do think she still should've faced actual consequences for what she said on the phone. In season 2, Gloria got fired just for hanging up on people. Maddie talked a caller into killing himself. That should've had consequences.

Athena, for once, I have no complaints about. her storylines felt more grounded in reality in 8b, and there was significantly less of the 'vigilante cop' angle, which I'm definitely happy about. (I don't know or care what happened in the Dr Odyssey crossover, so I can't speak on that.) I liked her having a rookie, AND I like that the rookie faced consequences in-universe for what he did. I wish that was more common, but I'm still glad it happened, and I'm looking forward to s9 bringing in a new (hopefully better) rookie for Athena to train.

Ravi, no notes, he was amazing in every episode.

now for the Big One: Bobby.

I loved this arc. it felt real and serious in a way that 911 frankly hasn't been lately. Bobby dedicating himself to saving his team is so entirely in character. it's what he's always done, ever since we were first introduced to Bobby Nash. he has always and will always put his team and his family before himself, every single time, because the one time he didn't, he lost everything. this is a man who knows the agony of loss, the pain of guilt, and who will do whatever it takes to protect others from feeling the same thing. the fact that his death is an act of personal sacrifice - letting Chim take the antiviral, keeping silent about his own infection - is the only way he could possibly go out.

(I've seen a lot of theories about him still being alive, but I have to disagree, vehemently. this is not a sci-fi show, this is not Supernatural. characters who die in 911 stay dead, even if the memory of them doesn't.)

showcasing Athena and Chim's grief in the funeral episode was an amazing choice. mirroring Athena's grief with Leah, mirroring both women's denial, it was a fantastic narrative decision, and it works so well. Leah couldn't let go of Micah, Athena couldn't let go of Bobby. they were both prolonging and delaying their grief, and they were only finally able to put down that weight when they accepted that their loved ones were truly gone. when they accepted the permanence of it.

and Chimney - the guy who stays level-headed, the guy who doesn't get angry, not really, not often - being the one full of rage at Bobby's death was so important. grief is painful, and the unfairness of it is infuriating. and for Chim to be the one to express that, I think, was the best choice they could've made. it would've been too easy to give anger to Eddie, or Buck, but giving it to Chim felt more real. because yeah, out of all of them, Chim has arguably the most reason to be angry. Bobby lied to him, to all of them, and while it did save Chim's life, it still hurts, because what if... you know? what if there was another way, what if there was a way to buy time, what if there was something he could do. Chim is a paramedic, his entire life revolves around healing people, keeping them alive. watching Bobby go out like that would've felt like a failing on Chim's part, like he didn't do enough, like he wasn't good enough. so yeah, Chim being angry was the perfect choice.

I'm looking forward to seeing how the grief is handled for Ravi, Hen, Eddie, and Buck in the next two episodes. if they keep the same tempo as this one, I'm guessing we'll get to focus on two mains per ep, with some scenes to show how the others are coping in the meantime.

I saw someone on here theorise that the show is essentially using the characters to personify the stages of grief, so it's definitely going to be interesting to see who takes which role in the next two episodes. I feel like Ravi and Eddie are both going to be 'bargaining' - they both feel a measure of personal responsibility, as if they could've 'done more', we saw glimpses of it already in e16. I think Hen will be 'acceptance'. she went back to work a week early to be there for her team.

and so that leaves 'depression' for Buck, which I think is very accurate. he's holding on for now, for everyone else, but I think the more he pushes it down, the worse it's going to be, and the more numb he's going to become. out of everyone in the 118, Buck takes their losses the hardest. he cares so much, and with so much of himself, that he just can't help it. he feels every single loss like a personal one, and this might be the most personal loss he's ever endured. Bobby was like a father to him, and he was the one who had to watch, who had to relay the news, who had to walk away and let Bobby die. that is going to break him, I think.

I can't wait to see how it goes down for the next two episodes. I've been saying for months that 911 needs to shake things up if they want to stay afloat, and the only options for Bobby going forward were always going to be death or retirement. I'm sad that he's gone, and I'll miss Bobby all the time going forward, but I am so excited to see what new storylines can come from this change.

I know not everyone is going to agree with me, so I'm asking now, if you want to add your opinions here, go ahead, but be civil about it. I'm not looking for discourse. any hate will be deleted and blocked on sight. my asks are currently open if anyone wants to discuss the show there.

[staybabblingbaby]

Soulmate Garden AU (Prologue) a2 d4

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Growing up, you knew Soulmates weren't all that they cracked up to be. So when, on your 18th birthday, your skin is painted with a garden of flower buds, you resolve to hide it from everyone. Who had ever heard of someone with 8 soulmates, anyway?

Or; Reader has 8 soulmates and no issue avoiding all of them. It's up to SKZ to show her that while every soulbond might not be made of fairy tales, theirs certainly could be.

Word Count: 1,308

Notes: I don't like this. It's not. Bad. It's decent writing. I just don't like doing world building this way. But I'm flying by the seat of my pants and everybody need to know the base information before we're all lost as hell. Also! Prologue + Ch 1 are the longest single piece of writing I've ever done. SG lives in my brain rent free. These are also the most polished pieces on the archive, because I have a tendency to reread smthn to get back into writing it after I put it down, and these are long so they got put down a BUNCH. So. Enjoy?

Dividers by @saradika

Warnings: Fighting Parents, She/Her Reader

Leave me comments or questions or anything! Love hearing from folks <3

Masterlist <3 | Next Part

On your 18th birthday, you wake with a garden wrapped around your torso.

You analyze the unbroken ring of vivid greenery in the mirror, tracing the lengths of stems and branches with your eyes. They wind lovingly around your curves, looping all the way up your ribcage and sloping back down around your sides. It takes some maneuvering, a handheld mirror, and your phone’s camera to get a good look at your back, but your soulmark continues in the same manner all the way around.

Perhaps even worse on your back, you think, as you eye one tree that rises all the way up your spine, stopping just below the nape of your neck. The branches spread out in long, willowy tendrils along your shoulders, pale and droopy frond-like buds dripping down the expanse of your back.

You count eight types of flower bud in your explorations, noting that they’re the only things really in focus on your mark, despite the image being connected through all sorts of greenery. The implications of that make your jaw clench, and you turn around to hastily pull on a long t-shirt with shaking hands.

You study yourself in the mirror again after, lifting the bottom of your shirt to various degrees at different spots. You eventually make your choice and nod to yourself. You continue your morning routine as usual with the addition of a rapid heartbeat and unsteady breathing.

When you emerge from your room, mostly ready for the day, you’re met with the expectant gazes of your family.

Feeling sort of nauseous and like you’d rather refuse entirely, you shyly lift the part of your shirt you’d rehearsed earlier. You reveal a part of your mark on your right side. Just a small section of green, almost bush-like, from your hip to just above your waist. It trials off underneath your shirt, but not in a way where you’d think there was anything but more bushy green.

Your family celebrates for you. Your mom hugs you tightly, your father crows about how his baby girl deserved all that and more, and your sister shakes your shoulder with excited glee. They’re so proud of you for having such a large and vivid soulmark, your parents happily bragging about the small but colorful ouroboros on each of their thumbs and how they just knew their kids would be just like them.

You exchange a look with your sister when your parents somehow start an argument in the middle of their cheers for you. About something they had been enthusiastically agreeing upon moments prior, no less.

You push your sister out to your car with promises of breakfast fast food, the inevitable daily screaming match already beginning as she steps out the door. You follow her once you've left a note by your mom’s purse and take your usual food money allowance from her wallet. She wouldn’t notice until well after she’d stormed out of the house again, you knew.

Your soulmark celebrations are halted there, since you decline to show anyone at school your fresh mark. After all, while your family had just seen a bush with little droopy purple and fuzzy white flower buds, what you’d shown them was two very separate flowers on a backdrop of green.

The thing was, it wasn’t like you hated your soulmark. That’s not why you hid it, why it caused you so much anxiety. You adored your soulmark, in fact. As the years go by, there are many nights you spend feeling cradled by the comfort of being so ensconced in love that evidence of it literally always surrounded you.

Nights when tear tracks stained your face, and you could almost feel the tree branches on your back warm as if holding you.

Nights where everything seems pointless, interrupted by tall stems seeming to tickle just beneath your breast, a sound like twinkling laughter ringing in your ears.

Nights when the yelling in your house reaches a crescendo and you spiral into panic, wondering if tonight was the night someone went too far, brought out of the oceanic tides of fear only by counting little white buds across your tummy.

So yes. You love your mark. It’s just that you had no intention of ever sharing it with the world, and even less intention of seeking out the eight individuals behind those precious symbols of love.

See, you knew a thing or two about soulmates. You spent quite a while researching them when you were younger, trying to find a reason why soulmates like your parents could fight so viciously.

Turns out, while ‘love’ was the common interpretation of soulmates, all they really were was ‘destined’.

You can see this truth in action in your parents nearly every day. Always yelling, always fighting, always resentful. And yet, neither of them ever thinks to leave. It’s almost like they’re connected by the world’s strongest rubber band, constantly springing back together no matter how hard they pull apart from each other.

But even rubber bands can snap, and you don’t really want to be around when this one does.

Your parents had married, you know from your mom’s drunken ramblings one evening when you were twelve, because their families had expected them to. Their friends had expected them to. Even their coworkers had expected them to. After all, they were soulmates, and with such vivid marks at that! Surely they’d fall deeply in love, have a million babies, and live happily ever after.

You wish the reality had been that kind.

In your opinion, your parent’s ‘destined’ relationship with each other was one of enemies. Enemies with benefits maybe, but definitely not people who should live under one roof and raise children together.

But the public theory is that the bigger and brighter the mark, the bigger and deeper the love. And so your parents got married, and you were born. Lovely, really.

A research rabbit hole when you were fifteen had informed you that not only was this public theory not fact, but that it was entirely unprovable. Given that every normal relationship was different, it was only a given that every soulmate relationship would be different too. The most science could prove was that more vivid marks tended towards more intense feelings.

So yeah, no matter how much you loved your marks, you weren’t going to trust the relationship it promised you. You considered yourself the type to learn by example.

Besides your unwillingness to seek out your soulmates, your situation was also just plain weird. It wasn’t like clusters of soulmates were unheard of, rare as they may be. It was just that they were usually threesomes or foursomes, the largest on record being a whopping six person soul-cluster from South Africa. And you may be bad at math, but you’re fairly sure that having eight marks meant you were part of a nine person cluster.

You didn’t really want to be the latest study on the limits of soulmate bonds. So, you turned to what you knew, and started hiding.

Your closet filled with long camisoles of every color and pattern imaginable, and your sock drawer was quickly loaded with waterproof privacy wraps and rolls upon rolls of concealment tape matched to your skin tone. No one questions you, simply figuring you private with your marks.

It gets to the point where you wear your flimsy shields around the house, too. The only time you really get to see your marks is late at night when you’re drifting off to sleep, and early in the mornings when you’re getting dressed.

You live your life like this, flinching when your parents fight, barely acknowledging your soul marks, and pretending that everything is just fine to your little sister.

And then, freshly graduated and twenty-two, you move clear across the country. 

Perma Tag List: @mbioooo0000

[badwritinghabit]

Hello and Goodbye (part 1) | Chef Luca x fem!Reader

Next Chapter

Authors Note: I got a notification today telling me it is the one year anniversary since I started this blog (!!!) so I decided to celebrate by writing something I've had on my mind since I watched season 3 of The Bear. It was a fun writing exercise! It was done in one day so there has been even less editing than usual but I hope y'all still enjoy it. I'm tempted to make a part 2 that is the smut (and/or fluff) that would follow so let me know if you are interested in that!

Warnings: Some making out and references to past sexual encounters. Still not appropriate for minors. References to injuries from working in a restaurant.

Word count: 2,439

Summary: You attend the funeral for Ever and run into Luca. You shared a night together years ago, before he moved away and now that you are back in the same city you find yourselves drawn to each other again. (Coworkers to friends to more?)

You take a breath, calming yourself as you stand outside Ever the day of the funeral. Chef Andrea Terry is a dear friend and mentor. You are happy for her and this new chapter of her life. And you’re excited to see her again, to celebrate with her. It is the rest of the guests that make you nervous. One guest in particular. 

Luca.

You had worked with Luca only briefly, he was already on his way out when you started at Ever. You’d been eager and ready for the challenge when you started. And he’d been kind. It was only the second professional kitchen you’d worked in since culinary school. The first had been harder, the head chef an angry, bitter sort that took out his frustration on the kitchen staff, and as the prep cook you took a lot of the heat. 

At Ever, you started as a line chef under Luca as the sous chef. You learned a lot from Luca. More than that, he had become your friend.

You remember the nights he’d come sit with the rest of the cooks on their smoke breaks. Leg pressed against your own as you shared a makeshift seat– pallets from ingredients dropped off earlier in the day, overturned buckets, whatever you could find. Luca would seek you out during service too. He would offer advice but more than that, he’d walk by and tease you, say something to lighten the mood, pull you back to earth when you were getting overwhelmed. You were so focused on improving your skills, keeping your head down and getting your work done. Somehow Luca seemed to know when you were stuck in your head. His companionship helped you grow without completely burning out. The month you spent working together brought you close, fast. He learned all about your life, your interests, your family. And you learned all about him. 

You walk into the restaurant, wrapping the shawl around your shoulders a little tighter. As you walk through the front hall of Ever, your eyes land on the board of photos from the restaurant’s history. The one that draws your eyes first is one of you, Luca, and Andrea standing around the first dish you had created for the menu. Luca’s face was turned towards you while you beamed at the camera, proud of your accomplishment. A soft smile lights your face at the memory. 

“You came,” you hear Chef Andrea’s voice a second before you feel her arms around you. You lean into her, pressing a kiss to her cheek as she does the same in response. 

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you respond with a smile. “I was just looking at the old pictures.”

“I remember this one,” she points to the same one you were looking at. “I loved that dish. The preparation of the cherries. I knew you’d go on to do big things.” Her kind smile makes you flush in embarrassment. And pride. You bump your shoulder into hers as you both look over the board. “Luca and you always did stick close together,” she says thoughtfully. She points to a few of the photos in particular. After a moment, “He arrived just a few minutes ago.” 

You hum in response, hoping to sound uninterested. Her knowing grin lets you know you failed. 

“Come on, join the party.” She pulls you into the dining room, squeezing your shoulders before she steps away. 

You look around the room, searching through the guests. Your eyes are immediately drawn to Luca, standing to the side and eagerly talking to another Chicago chef that you think you recognize. The other chef seems to be getting a little irritated at Luca’s questioning and you can’t help but smile. Luca had always been a bit of a nerd about cooking, always asking questions, wanting to learn more. You always found it charming but could see that this other chef didn’t agree.

Luca looks almost exactly the same as you remember him. Unbearably handsome. He’s dressed up today for the funeral and something about his all black outfit, his slicked back hair brings back memories of his last day at Ever. His going away party had led to a few too many drinks. You stayed the latest, helping clean up his living room, dancing to the music still pumping from his speakers. One second you were giggling at him about something he said and the next his lips were warm against yours, his hands gripping your hips. The next morning you woke tangled in his sheets and his arms. He was leaving the country, you knew it couldn’t last. And yet you’d buried your face in his chest and held him tighter anyways. 

You blink away the memory, embarrassed as you realize Luca is now meeting your gaze. You smile at him and look away before you can see his reaction, trying to find another friendly face in the crowd. 

You spot Sydney, a chef you’d gotten to know recently. You step towards her only to notice that she is sitting with Carmen, another chef you worked with at Ever. You smile at them both as you join them at the table. “Is this seat open?” you ask. Syd grins and stands to give you a hug. Carmen watches with an awkward shift of his feet as you pull away from Syd, clearly considering whether he should do the same. You put him out of his misery by pulling him into a quick hug as well. 

“It’s good seeing you both!” you say as you sit down. “I went to your restaurant the other day. It’s really extraordinary.”

Sydney waves off your compliments, and your conversation flows easily. The whole table of chefs sharing stories and joking.

You feel him before you see him. His hand grips the back of your chair as he slides into the seat next to you. He says your name and you turn to look at him. His hand slides from the back of the chair to your shoulder. You tense underneath him, his hand warm against the skin only partially covered by the strap of your dress. 

“Luca. Hey,” his name comes out too soft, your face already heating under his gaze. You smile at him before looking back at Sydney who is giving you a questioning look, raising her eyebrows. 

You scrunch your nose in reply as you grab the glass in front of you and take a big drink, steadying yourself. Luca greets the others at the table but quickly turns back to you as the conversation goes on. 

“I was hoping to see you here,” he says. Your eyes are on his hand, holding his champagne flute as he sets it back on the table. Now you’re thinking about his hands on you, the slow unzipping of your dress, fingers dexterously unclasping your bra. You clear your throat.

“I’m living in Chicago again, it wasn’t much of a trip for me. I’m a little surprised you made the trek,” you respond.

“I had heard that. That you were back here.” He pauses. “I had to say goodbye to Ever. There’s a lot of good memories here.” You feel a tingle down your back. It feels directed at you, his comment. But he has always had that power; to make it feel like you are the only other person in the room. 

“You’re right. A lot of good memories,” you reply with a smile.

He leans towards you a little closer. "You're beautiful," he says, voice low in your ear. Your cheeks warm. He pulls away a little and says, voice lighter as if to soften his statement, "I like your dress."

Before you can think of a response, Andrea stands up and gives a toast to the guests, her friends, and the restaurant. By the end, you feel tears in your eyes and blink them away, embarrassed. It is the end of an era, after all. It feels big. And final. You take in a breath as you feel Luca squeeze your hand gently in his own. You twine your fingers together and squeeze back. The moment has distracted you and the tears dry up. 

As the meal concludes, you follow Luca into the kitchen and hop up on your old station. Sitting on the stainless steel table feels nostalgic. He leans against the table by your side and pours more champagne in your glass. Going on three glasses of champagne has settled your nerves and you and Luca are laughing as you talk about the last few years. You ask about Copenhagen, about his time training with Marcus, the pastry chef at The Bear. He asks about your time in Chicago. 

You take a drink and set your glass down next to you. “Do you remember when I sliced my hand open at this station?” you ask, legs swinging slowly. You hold your palm out in front of you. “I think that was the worst cut I’ve ever given myself. I can still see the scar.”

“Of course I remember. It wouldn’t stop bleeding and you just kept wrapping it up in gauze and plasters instead of going to the emergency room.” He shakes his head and reaches over to hold your hand between his, thumb softly tracing the line of scarred tissue on your hand. He steps away from the bench so he can stand directly in front of you. You watch as he lifts your hand and presses a soft kiss in the middle of your palm. Your heart skips a beat as he looks up from your palm and into your eyes. 

“I missed you,” you admit, softly, his hands tightening around your own. 

“I missed you too.” His voice is heavy as he leans closer to you. He reaches out with one of his hands and brushes your hair away from your face, palm warm against your cheek. So gentle. Your eyes close as he leans closer. 

You hear Syd’s voice echo from the hall, “After party at my place! Just down the block.”

You open your eyes to see that Luca has pulled away a little. After a moment he asks, “Should we go to the afterparty?” You nod but don’t move to get up.

Syd walks in and you are still a little too close to not raise suspicion. “After party,” she says, pointing her thumb behind her. 

“We’ll follow you!” you respond, sliding down from the table, Luca holding your hand until you have time to steady yourself on your feet. 

Syd shoots you a smile before walking back the way she came. 

“We should get back to this later though,” you say, biting your lip as he grins back at you. 

He wraps his arm around your shoulder and leads you out, following your group of friends to Syd’s apartment. 

---------------

It’s a fun– if not strange, little party. Some friends of Syd’s bring a keg, you eat cheap frozen pizzas prepared by one of your favorite chefs in the whole world. You dance with Syd and Luca and Andrea, and at one point Richie, the boisterous front of house from The Bear. The night is a blur of laughter and music. 

After a song ends, you head to the kitchen to get some water, sliding past Andrea who is slathering jam over Eggo waffles fresh out of the toaster. Luca follows a second later and you both sneak out the side door onto the back stairwell behind the house. As you step into the chilled air, you shiver. You turn back to face Luca and find him only a step away. His hand grips hot against your hip, urging you to move closer. Without thinking, you reach up and wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug, your cheek against his chest. The music follows you outside, and Luca sways gently with you in his arms. You press yourself closer. 

He’s humming along, the sound reverberating through his chest. You remind yourself that he lives in Copenhagen. That he is just here for Ever. But even if it is just for one night, you want to make the most of it.

You pull away slightly and he loosens his hold. Before he can get too far, you press yourself up on your toes and he responds immediately. His lips press against yours soft at first, and then firm. You open your mouth for him and everything changes. 

His hands grip you tight, pulling you against his chest. He swallows your quiet whine of surprise as the kiss turns passionate. Every part of you is on fire. It’s better even then you remember. His rich, smoky scent makes you a little dizzy. You’re caught up in him. You gasp for breath as he pulls away. But it only lasts a second and then he is lifting you onto the railing, pressing himself against you fully. You feel the hard muscles of his arms as they hold you to him. You’re at a similar height now but he is standing between your legs, your skirt hiked up to your thighs. Your hand lowers from his shoulders to his chest, feeling the heat of his skin through the soft fabric. You grip the cloth and pull him even closer, goosebumps raise on your arms as you feel him groan into your mouth. Then his hands are everywhere, sliding from your hip to your thigh. His hand is hot against the bare skin cool in the night air. His other hand is tangling in your hair, tilting your face so he can kiss you exactly as he wants. 

He pulls back again after there is a loud clanging inside. Someone shouts something but it is followed by laughter. You catch your breath as you look at him. Some of your lip gloss is still on his lips. You can’t help but smile, reaching up to rub the shimmer off for him. He smiles against your thumb. 

“I’m going to be in Chicago for a few months,” he says, watching for your reaction. 

“Months?” 

He nods and suddenly it all feels different. You thought this couldn’t be more than one night. But he was staying for months. You realize you should say something but words escape you. “That’s good,” you blurt out. 

He smirks but you can see his cheeks turning pink. “Good, huh?”

You nod and pull his shirt to get him to stand closer to you again. “Really good.” 

He leans down and presses another kiss to your lips. “Really good,” he agrees.

[goldenwilliamson]

winners and losers | leah williamson

pairing: leah williamson x reader

summary: bit of an angsty one where leah and matildas!reader play against each other in an england v aus friendly (based on that one in april this year) where england lose. leah blames herself. reader takes on sam kerr's position lol. the goals and the game is based on this game if interested

word count: 2.5k

When you found out that a friendly had been scheduled between Australia and England, you and Leah had initially felt excited. It wouldn't be the first time you two had come up against each other in your national teams, and it sure wouldn't be the last. Something about playing against each other lit a fire in your belly. It made you both want to be performing at your highest level, almost showing off to the other about how well you can play for your country.

You had also recently been made the captain of the Matildas, something that made Leah immensely proud.

"I can't believe we get to do a coin toss together," you had told Leah when you first found out about the Australia v England game.

"That's what you're most looking forward to? The coin toss?" Your girlfriend laughed at you.

"I've never done one with you before!" You defend yourself.

"You're a bit cute you know?" Leah poked fun at you.

"I'm also looking forward to seeing you in your England kit with the armband on," you said.

"Mm, do you have a thing for captains or something?" Leah said.

"I do when it's you," you told her, which made her laugh.

"Well I for one can't wait to see you as captain, baby," she kissed you as she said this.

—

People often asked about how you deal with playing against your girlfriend, and you always said the same thing: "In football there's got to be a winner and a loser, and we both know that."

You and Leah were well equipped to deal with losses and to support each other no matter the outcome. You were professionals, and you loved each other enough to not let the result of a 90 minute game impact your relationship.

The day rolled around that the Matildas would be playing the Lionesses, and you and Leah hadn't seen each other for a few days while you were both in camp. You exchanged a few texts in the morning, wishing each other luck, and promising to see each other when the game was over.

It was an important game for the Matildas. The Lionesses had been on a winning streak since Sarina Wiegman became their manager, making them one of the toughest teams to beat in the world. The Matildas were also trying to strengthen the depth of their side, bringing in younger players in the lead up to the World Cup. It was going to be a difficult game, and they knew it.

As kick off approached you felt the electricity of walking into the stadium alongside England players at a home game. Even though the crowd wasn't there for you team, you still felt the excitement as you walked out side by side with Leah as the captains. You went through the pre-match process of the anthems and then the coin-toss and exchange of the pennants with Leah. She had already adopted her stern game face. You looked in her eyes, feeling slightly disconnected from her, knowing the stakes were so high for your team.

Before you split to get in position you and Leah shook hands and before you stepped away she pulled you close so she could speak into you ear.

"Looking good captain," she said, stepping out of her professionalism for a moment, finally smirking and letting her serious exterior relax. You laughed for a second, having been caught off guard.

"Are you trying to throw me off?" You say playfully and she shrugs her shoulders innocently before patting your cheek and running off to her spot in the back line.

You smile as you move to your space on the pitch as the striker. Then the ref blew the whistle and the game was underway.

Australia held up well against the strength of the Lionesses, maintaining possession and creating some chances. But it was in the last quarter of the first half when things started to fall into place. Clare Hunt sends the ball forward and you can see that it's going to fall in a prime position for you. As Australia's leading goal scorer you knew what had to be done, and you started to run for it. Leah saw what was happening and began to run too, racing you to the ball.

Leah knew that you only needed one shot and you would put the ball in, and with the mounting pressure she attempted to header the ball back towards Mary, but incidentally ended up planting the ball right at your feet. You heard her wince as you saw the opportunity for the goal open up right in front of you.

Even though you knew it was a major blunder on Leah's behalf, you seized the moment, you chipped the ball over Mary with ease and watched as it hit the back of the net.

As you turned around to celebrate you caught one quick look at the disappointment on your girlfriends face before you were surrounded by your teammates. It was an important goal in an important match. You knew that the goal was gifted to you by Leah, and she would no doubt be regretting it for the rest of the game, but you couldn't have let that opportunity go.

At half time Tony assured you all that you could come out of this match on top. You were up 1 point against an undefeated team, and now you just had to maintain the ground that you've already covered.

The second half continued with little luck for England who seemed unable to get a strong shot on target. But on your side, another chance opened up in the 67th minute. You were running out on the right when the ball came to you, and glancing into the box you saw some yellow jerseys and sent the ball in. Charli Grant found it and sent it into the net, giving Australia a 2 point lead as you entered the final leg of the game.

At this point excitement was bubbling, and you and your team were fired up, knowing it was all about holding onto the lead now. And as the game drew to a close, you had managed to do so. At the final whistle the result was 2-0 to Australia.

You and your team celebrated, knowing this win was a massive achievement, especially in the lead up to the World Cup. Your teammates praised you for your goal and for your assist in the second goal. As you started to shake hands with the England players, many of whom you had a great relationship, you struggled to find your girlfriend.

You scanned the blue jerseys and saw she was almost on the other side of the pitch to you, speaking to Georgia and looking like she was giving herself a hard time. Warily, you jogged over.

"Hey," you said tentatively, and Leah hardly even looked at you.

"Good work mate," Georgia said, giving you a hug,

"Thanks G, you too," you said, beginning to feel awkward as Leah remained quiet.

"You alright?" You looked at your girlfriend with concern and she shook her head. You tried to touch her shoulder reassuringly, but she slinked away from you.

"I need a minute," Leah said bluntly, leaving you to stand with Georgia, feeling useless, unable to console your upset girlfriend.

"Did you get a word out of her?" You ask Georgia.

"Yeah, she'll be alright. I think she just feels guilty about that giving away that ball to you," Georgia explains. Of course, you think. You knew in the moment that her mistake would weigh on her, but you didn't expect it to be this bad.

"Yeah, okay. Well I'll give her some space I guess," you tell Georgia.

"That might be a good idea for now," Georgia affirms, patting you on the back.

You make your way back towards your teammates, shaking your head, feeling the pride of your win being overshadowed by Leah's disappointment in herself. The team circles up and Tony gives the team the praise they deserve, but your eyes wander around the pitch, watching Leah. You see her talk to her team mates, gesturing frustratedly, looking like she is taking the responsibility for their loss.

Before all the England players make their way off the pitch you decide you have to talk to her before you get on the bus back to your hotel, not wanting to leave her in a bad way. You jog over to her and grab hold of her wrist.

"Lee," you say as you she turns to face you.

She sighs, "Look I'm just in my head. I'll get out of there soon, but I just need some space, okay?"

Your heart breaks slightly, but you let go of her arm and say you understand.

With practiced ease she takes your hands in hers and kisses your knuckles, "I'm proud of you," she clarifies, "I'm just annoyed with myself."

"Alright," you take a deep breath, "Call me when you're feeling up to it."

She nods and leaves you standing alone as she follows her teammates back to the change room. Steph Catley notices you by yourself, having watch the interaction between you and Leah and she heads your way.

"Come on superstar," she hugs you from behind, "She'll be okay."

"Thanks Stephy," you smile, feeling glad to have players around who knew both you and Leah so well.

On the bus on the way back to the hotel, you put your headphones on as you mindlessly scroll through instagram, seeing all the posts about the game you just played.

A clip of your goal appears and you watch it a couple of times before clicking into the comments.

Williamson suddenly forgets how to defend when it's her missus

Such bad defending you'd think they planned it

Leah was hoping she could give her girlfriend a goal and England would still win... bad luck girls

Leah Williamson, the Matildas 12th player tonight

First Lionesses loss because Williamson was too distracted by Y/L/N

You cringe as your read them and quickly swipe out of the criticism of Leah. You rub your face with your hands, feeling upset that Leah will no doubt be reading all this too.

You take your headphones off and turn to Steph, who had sat next to you on the bus trip.

"Should I at least send Leah a text?" You ask her.

"I don't think it would hurt," Steph shrugs.

"I've just been reading the worst comments about her defending, and I feel like it's my fault," you explain.

"Y/N, it's not your fault. This is your job and it's Leah's job too. Obviously it's a shock to lose for the first time in a while, and she'll be carrying the weight of the loss because of one little mistake she made, but in the grand scheme of things it's nothing new, it's just football. She'll realise that," Steph says.

"Yeah, okay. Thanks Steph," you say, squeezing her thigh gratefully.

You pull your phone back out and open your messages to Leah and begin typing:

I'm sorry you're carrying the weight of this loss Leah. I know it doesn't feel good, and I hate that I played a part in you feeling this way. I know it's easier said than done but don't let one mistake make you doubt yourself. You're an immensely talented player, a wonderful captain, and the best partner I could ask for. I'm here for you when you need me. Love you xxx

You send it off without a second thought and allow your head to rest against the window of the bus until you arrive back at the hotel. You check your phone once you get to your room, but still there's no response from Leah. Switching your phone off, you set it down and decide to go to sleep, hoping Leah might get back to you throughout the night.

—

In the morning you check your phone and there is still no reply from Leah. You groan into your pillow, hating to not be on good terms with your girlfriend. You pull yourself out of bed and pack your things up before heading downstairs to say goodbye to all the girls flying back to their clubs.

You organise an Uber back to your apartment in North London, unsure about whether or not Leah would be there already. When you open the door you can hear the sounds of footsteps upstairs in your bedroom and you feel yourself tense up slightly.

You shut the front door behind you set your bags down. You glance into the kitchen as you start to walk upstairs and see a bouquet of flowers still wrapped up in paper laying on the counter, which is reassuring. If Leah was mad there's no way she would've stopped for flowers on the way home.

When you walk into your bedroom you find Leah hanging up clothes in the wardrobe. She turns and faces you with a nervous face.

"Hey," she says, setting down the shirt in her hands on the bed.

"How are you feeling?" You ask.

"Like the worst girlfriend in the world," she sinks into the end of the bed now and you move to sit down on the bed with her, tucking your feet up onto the mattress.

"I don't think you could do anything that would make you worthy of that title," you assure her.

"I don't know, I think being so selfish that you don't congratulate your girlfriend on winning a game is pretty shit."

"Leah, you weren't being selfish. You were disappointed and that's okay, losing sucks, especially when you've had as much success as you have."

"I was disappointed, but I shouldn't have acted like it was your fault, because it wasn't. I'm sorry for not talking to you, I promise I wanted to spend time with you after the game, but I chose to be a sook instead," Leah says and you laugh lightly.

"Poor Georgia had to mediate when you stormed off," you laugh.

"God, I was being proper stroppy," Leah scoffs.

"Well I'm glad you're feeling better now," you tell her, leaning in and finally getting the chance to kiss your girlfriend for the first time in days.

"Much better, and I'm sorry again," she says.

"It's alright. I'm used to Williamson tantrums, but usually I'm not on the receiving end," you say.

"And I promise you never will be again," she says, kissing you again.

"You're welcome for the goal by the way," Leah manages to make a joke of the situation, assuring you that all was fine.

"Yeah thanks, we needed that win," you laugh.

"Cheeky," Leah groans as she tackles you onto the mattress, seemingly ready to make up for her bad mood in another way.

[shinehalley]

I think between the most common misinterpretations of Pride and Prejudice that irritates me the most i can say the one at the top is when they say that the story is about a woman fixing a complicated guy and this becomes references in terrible romances. I've heard this so many times and as a person who grew up with the 2005 film and reads the book at least once a year I need to get it off my chest.

Starting off, Darcy is not a "complicated man". He's not a bad guy who takes out his traumas on other people, he's not a guy who's waiting to be saved by a woman who "silences his demons" and even less a guy who mistreats the women he's with. Darcy is actually a rich man with rude manners and some class prejudices. The point is that Darcy is a man with moral convictions and feelings that make him a good man despite these aspects. His rude manners are a reflection of his class prejudice, but they do not dictate how he treats people for whom he has feelings of affection. The way he would be able to move the world for those he cares about and seek the closest thing to what is considered justice in the temporal context of the story reinforces the goodness of his character. This is even more evident in the comparison that is made between him and Wickeham, where one is unpleasant but good and the other is pleasant but a cheat.

And what Elizabeth does is far from correcting him. Darcy doesn't realize how his class prejudice affects the way he communicates with people and the view he has of himself because everyone always justifies his arrogance as fair because of his wealth. So he believes that Elizabeth admires him when, in reality, she despises him for these characteristics. And what she does is just say it to his face, something no one has done before, and that's it. This is Elizabeth's contribution to any development of Darcy, to say how arrogant and prejudiced he is. It is Darcy himself who reflects on her words and realizes that she is right and that he is not being as fair as he thought he was. He realizes his own prejudice and realizes his own arrogance and of his own free will decides to change because he wants to be a better and more pleasant person.

It could be said that it was fate that put him and Elizabeth in each other's path and made her realize, now with more pleasant manners without prejudices obscuring her actions, what a good man Darcy is and become enchanted by him. But if they hadn't met again, Darcy would still take on this challenge of re-educating himself and being a better person and Elizabeth would still continue to think of him as an arrogant man in whom she feels no interest.

The other issue is that Elizabeth is not perfect. She has her own prejudices that are overcome throughout the book thanks to her coexistence with Darcy and not because of Darcy. The fact that she lives with both Darcy and Wickeham at the same time is what makes her understand how unfair she was in her first impression and how foolish she was in being guided by that to define the characters of both. Kindness and amability are not synonymous with integrity and she learns this the hard way. It's a lesson that if she hadn't learned through her time with Darcy, she would have learned it in some other way because life has things like that.

Finally, they were essential in each other's lives because of the teachings they left to reflect on their actions in relation to the world and not because they depend on each other. Both are confronted with their prejudices and realize that they were not fair and try to change for better people regardless of whether they are together or not. Their meeting after realizing their errors in judgment is purely accidental. They don't change for each other, they change for themselves, because they realize how proud they were and want to be more fair, and after that they end up being placed back in each other's lives by chance. That's what makes them such an interesting couple and makes us wish we had what they have.

Reducing the story of Darcy and Elizabeth to an asshole man who is fixed up by a woman is a mistake so grotesque that it is noticeable that it could only have been said by a person who has never seen the story or seen it with their ass.