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mattsundaes · 6 months ago

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OVERRATED // matsukawa issei x f!reader

You’re convinced that getting fingered is overrated. Your roommate shows you otherwise, since you’ve clearly never been with someone who knows what they’re doing.

2.6k — 18+, roommates to lovers, fingering, mattsun and those goddamn hands

A woman sits in a dark booth in the back corner of a restaurant, lower lip tucked between her teeth, fingers digging into the edges of her seat as she tries not to make it obvious that the man beside her has his hand up her skirt.

“There’s no way it feels that good for her,” you scoff, arms crossed, eyes narrowed as you stare judgmentally at the television screen.

Matsukawa looks from you, to the movie, and back again. “Getting fingered?”

Your eyes flit over to where your roommate’s sitting on the opposite end of the couch, one brow raised as he lifts a can of soda to his lips.

The woman on the television screen moans.

(This isn’t porn, for the record.)

“Yeah? I mean this is like, false advertising.”

Matsukawa blinks. “I literally do not think I’ve ever met a girl who doesn’t enjoy being fingered.”

A sudden surge of heat licks at the back of your neck at his words, and you force your attention back to the screen. “And just how many girls have you—actually, you know what. Nevermind. Don’t answer that.”

He lets out a quiet huff of a laugh, and the two of you are silent for another five minutes or so before he speaks up again.

“So you’ve never had an orgasm just from being fingered then.”

Matsukawa says it bluntly, plainly, like he’s completely unbothered by the prospect of casually discussing sex with you on your couch on a Friday night.

“Nope,” you shake your head, popping the ‘P’ for emphasis.

He’s not looking at you when he replies, “That’s a shame.”

—

Your phone lights up with a notification for a text message from Matsukawa on Sunday morning while you’re still in bed. You’re pretty sure he left the apartment early to get breakfast with Hanamaki, and he’s yet to return.

Mattsun: can you text makki and tell him you think getting fingered is overrated Mattsun: he doesn’t believe me >>: …. >>: so like >>: sometimes makki can just maybe not know things Mattsun: you spent twenty minutes last week telling both of us about your last date who couldn’t get it up Mattsun: in detail Mattsun: with a donut and >>: OKAY YEAH YEAH Mattsun: :)

Collapsing back against your pillows, you groan before opening your text thread with Hanamaki.

>>: getting fingered is overrated, makki Hanamaki: wow he wasn’t kidding Hanamaki: wild >>: now can you make sure he brings me home a coffee Hanamaki: k Hanamaki: u act like he would ever forget something u asked for >>: what’s that supposed to mean Hanamaki: also though Hanamaki: when are u guys going to fuck

You drop your phone on the mattress, looking around the room as if Hanamaki himself is sitting in the corner snickering at you.

>>: i’m sorry what >>: who >>: how did we get here Hanamaki: at least ask HIM to finger u Hanamaki: because this shit is DEpressing >>: i’m blocking your number Hanamaki: u’ve seen his hands right >>: bye Hanamaki: cool i’ll email u xo

Groaning, you bury your face under the covers.

—

“I had an idea. A really dumb idea, actually. It’s kind of Makki’s fault, but—“

Matsukawa looks up from where he’s pouring a glass of water, brows furrowing.

“—and honestly just feel free to say no and forget this ever happened—“

He blinks, putting down the cup and leaning against the counter, crossing his arms as he waits for you to fumble through this never ending lead up to a question that’s been eating at the back of your mind all week.

“Can you uh…could you maybe…”

Matsukawa moves a little closer to you, leaning in, as if his proximity is going to help encourage you to drag the rest of the words from where they’re clinging to the backs of your teeth.

“CouldyoufingermeinaplatonicwaysoIcanfigureoutifI’mjustbrokenorsomething.”

You say it all in a single breath.

Matsukawa chokes.

“You think you’re the problem?” he asks, taken aback.

“I mean, yeah? If it’s supposed to feel good, and it doesn’t for me, then maybe I—“

“Go put on something that makes you feel sexy,” he interrupts you calmly.

Your heart lurches in your chest. “What? Right now!?” you squeak.

Matsukawa walks over to the kitchen sink, glancing back at you over his shoulder as he slowly presses down the pump on the foaming soap and thoroughly washes his hands.

You’re not sure how or why that sight alone already leaves your throat dry.

He nods. “Put on whatever makes you feel good. It doesn’t matter what it looks like. We’re not going anywhere. And then go in my bedroom, lay down in my bed, and text me when you’re ready.”

Fifteen minutes later, you find yourself on your stomach in Matsukawa’s bed, legs idly kicking in the air to expel the nervous energy simmering in your gut.

And while it was borderline mortifying trying to pick out something “sexy” to wear before tiptoeing into his bedroom, you realize why he said it now as you hit send on a message that simply reads “Ready.”

Because now that you’re lying here in a short, pleated skirt that’s lived in the back of your closet for years, thigh high socks, a delicate, lacy bralette that you’ve yet to find a reason to wear, and a thong with a little pink bow nestled just above your ass—

Now that you’re wrapped up in the familiar scent of Matsukawa’s body wash in a way that’s far more intimate than stealing his clothes or falling asleep on his shoulder on the couch—

Now that you know he’s seconds away from seeing you like this in his bed, from slipping his fingers beneath your skirt—

Well, you can already feel it—the slick, sticky arousal soaking its way into your panties.

“Wow,” Matsukawa murmurs as he walks in, striding over to the foot of the bed. “Nice socks.”

You go to roll over, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious, and he shakes his head. “No, stay like that.”

Turning back onto your stomach, you push your phone aside, hugging one of his pillows to your face—though you almost regret it when you subsequently end up burying your nose in the warm and admittedly dizzying scent of him once more. Meanwhile, you feel the mattress dip as he climbs atop it.

“If at any point you want me to stop, let me know, okay?”

You nod, and he slowly starts to run his hands up the backs of your thighs, stopping just shy of the hem of your skirt.

“Didn’t you wear this to that costume party at Oikawa’s a few years ago?”

The first and only time you wore it, given how its meager length leaves almost nothing to the imagination.

“Yeah,” you laugh, though it’s a little weak, given the way he’s now rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs against the inside of your thighs.

Unintentionally, you spread your legs somewhat for him at the sensation, toes curling. He chuckles quietly.

Matsukawa’s fingers finally slide up your skirt, his large hands resting on either of your ass cheeks. You try to fight the sudden urge to arch your spine into his touch.

“Is this still okay?”

You nod, and he squeezes.

A moan slips out past your lips before you can stop it.

“Oh,” you breathe out, fingers grasping his silky dark green sheets for purchase as he begins to massage the globes of your ass.

“Does that feel good?” he asks.

He squeezes a little harder, and there’s a euphoric release of tension that seeps through your muscles.

“So good,” you mumble, face pressed sideways against his pillow. Which you may or may not have drooled on.

Cool air licks and settles against your backside as Matsukawa grasps your skirt and pushes it out of the way. Your thong tightens against your skin with tension for a moment, snapping back lightly once he lets it go.

Sliding his palm down the center of your ass, he brings his hand back to your thighs and stretches his fingers outward, effectively spreading your legs further. You inhale, toes pressing down into the mattress at the foot of the bed.

“Oh, do you want me to take these off?” he pauses, idly toying with the string of your thong.

And while it would certainly be easier, there’s something about the evidence of your arousal soaking into the material, something about the way the lace tugs against your skin—

You shake your head.

“Good, the bow is cute.”

He runs a finger over the delicate piece of ribbon, and you’re thankful he can’t see the embarrassing way you swallow in response.

“Is flattery a part of the process?” you ask.

You can almost hear the grin on his face as he slowly feathers a finger against the wet spot on your panties and replies, “Is it not working?”

“You’re terrible,” you laugh, despite the shiver that runs through you.

“Save your breath.”

You turn slightly to look back at him, brows furrowed. “For wha—“

Your words are cut off by the moan that crawls up your throat without warning as the pad of Matsukawa’s middle finger suddenly slides down the length of your creamy slit.

It catches you off guard, how good that little bit of contact feels. How sensitive you are for him. How—

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re wet,” he murmurs, one digit now circling around the rim of your puffy, fluttering entrance while another long finger draws through your folds once more.

He’s hardly doing anything, and it already sounds obscene.

Your chest burns, and your heart thunders in your chest as you find yourself arching your ass up off of the bed. The skirt flops back down over your backside in the process, and Matsukawa’s quick to push it back out of the way, his large hand pressing into the small of your back.

The pillow case grows more damp against your cheek as you quietly pant against it.

“Matsukawa,” you whine, hips pressing backward again as he ghosts a finger over your swollen clit before dragging two digits back through your folds. Your cunt aches.

“You have to tell me if you don’t like how it feels, okay?”

He runs his thumb across your dripping hole.

“Matsukawa,” you gasp again, one hand tightly grasping the top edge of the mattress.

“Just tell me to stop, and I will,” he promises, slipping the tip of a finger into your entrance. Barely past the fingernail.

“Issei, please,” you nearly sob, spreading your legs even further for him. “Don’t—don’t stop.”

He lets out a noisy, rough exhale. One that’s a stark contrast to his easy, syrupy tone.

But you can hardly hear it as he slides his finger into your cunt, not stopping until he’s at the last knuckle.

You can hardly hear it over the desperate, needy moan that he drags out of you on one finger alone.

Matsukawa takes his time exploring your tight inner walls, alternating between pumping his finger in and out while you keen for him and keeping it lodged inside as he curls and strokes your wet channel.

It’s never felt like this.

Not with anyone.

Not even with your own fingers.

But this—

It feels like you’re burning from the inside out, like your nerves are on the verge of going up in flames.

It’s just one long, deft finger sliding in and out of the eager, needy grip of your pussy. Your tight, soaking wet pussy that’s nowhere near full enough yet still pulsing and dripping with pleasure all the same.

It’s just a single finger, and yet your voice is going hoarse from the moans tumbling from your lips, the repeated whimpers of Matsukawa’s name as your sticky arousal slides down the palm of his hand.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he rasps, voice a little rougher than it was before.

“I’m probably making a mess all over your bed,” you mutter against the pillow.

“Good,” you swear you hear him breathe out before he asks, “Still overrated?” His free hand slides beneath the waistband of your thong, wrapping around your hip bone.

“It’s never, I’ve never—“ you gasp.

“Because you sleep with guys who do it for themselves, who see it as a necessity to getting their dick inside of you,” Matsukawa replies in a calm tone that’s a stark contrast to the way you’re unravelling beneath him. “I just want you to feel good. This isn’t about me.”

And you’ve also never been fingered like this—face down, prone. With your pebbled nipples rubbing against your lace bralette and a too-short skirt rucked up around your waist. In a sopping wet thong that keeps rubbing against your clit every time Matsukawa nudges it out of the way, with thigh high socks that continue to slip down lower and lower as you writhe in pleasure against the mattress.

You’ve never been fingered by Matsukawa Issei. Your roommate and your best friend who’s a little too handsome for his own good. Who you’ve had more wet dreams about than you can count.

Matsukawa Issei and his stupidly long, dexterous fingers. Two of which are now stuffed in your tight hole, massaging your inner walls while you drool on his pillow like it’s his cock that’s stuffed inside of you instead.

Matsukawa Issei, who’s somehow on the verge of making you forget every dick you’ve ever had inside of you by fucking you with his fingers and his fingers alone.

“Don’t flatter me that much yet, not till I make you come,” he murmurs, stroking your throbbing clit.

And oh—you fucking said that last bit out loud.

Not that you can bring yourself to care when the coil of heat in your gut is wrapped so tight you can hardly breathe. Every muscle in your body tenses under the liquid pleasure that sears its way down your spine with a bite that has you trembling, sheets slipping beneath the feeble grasp of your shaking hands.

You end up pushing yourself onto your knees as Matsukawa purposely slows his pace, like he’s not ready for you to come yet. Like he wants to edge you until the whole goddamn mattress is soaked.

“Issei,” you whimper in a small, breathless voice that you can hardly believe is your own.

And suddenly you find yourself being tugged backwards into his lap, your legs spread, your back to his chest. You barely have time to marvel over the feeling of his hard cock pressing into your ass through his pants, not when his lips ghost against the shell of your ear before he rests his chin against your shoulder.

Matsukawa slides his fingers back inside of you, and you moan at the angle, at the way his mouth ends up tucked into the crook of your neck when you roll your hips into his touch. His lips are hot against your skin as he traces the column of your neck, cunt squelching wetly while your pussy greedily takes in the stretch of his digits over and over.

And then he presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your pulse point, biting and sucking at the sensitive spot while your cunt throbs, as you shake with a full-body shiver, as the damn of pleasure inside of you snaps and overflows with an orgasm that leaves tears in your eyes as you sob his name.

Matsukawa tilts your chin and finds your mouth with his, claiming your lips in a messy, spit-soaked kiss as you ride out your climax.

It’s only once you stop shuddering in pleasure that you remember how hard he felt beneath you, and you go to slip a hand between your bodies—

“It’s okay,” he exhales, sounding just as out of breath as you feel.

“You don’t want me to—“ You try not to sound as disappointed as you feel over his sudden rejection.

His eyes go a little wide. “No, no. No, it’s that. I just…uh…I already…”

You blink at him. “I didn’t think that was actually a thing that happens.”

Did he really just come in his—

Matsukawa rubs the back of his neck, biting his bottom lip. “It’s never happened to me before, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh?”

For some reason, you feel more than a little smug at these words.

“First time for everything I guess,” he grins.

“Overrated?” you ask coyly, warmth swelling in your chest.

Matsukawa shakes his head, lips brushing against yours when he leans in and murmurs against your mouth, “Definitely not.”

#matsukawa issei x reader #matsukawa issei #mattsun x reader #mattsun #haikyuu #dee writes

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miedei · 6 months ago

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terrible profilers

(aka the team meets early seasons!spence's not-so-secret girlfriend)

a/n: this came to me in my dream last night and i cannot get over it, pls send asks/requests and tell me what you thought! (look at '#mystery girl!au' on my blog to see more musings about them <3)

cw: USE OF Y/N IM SORRY reader has she/her pronouns, the team is nosy, reader is a phd student, my niche personal headcanons of how i think spencer would text, probably more tech inaccuracies

wc: 3.5k

part one | part three | mlist

(reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )

The moment Spencer walks into the bullpen, he knows something’s up. Garcia never replied to the text he’d sent on Friday night, and he’d hoped she was just busy on their first weekend off in a while, but it’s clear there’s more. Clutching the strap of his satchel, he walks to his desk, observing the strange tension blanketing the room.

For one, Hotch and Gideon are in the bullpen, standing in the corner speaking in hushed tones. Weird. They usually go to one of their offices to talk, and either way, they usually are stuck in their offices until lunchtime when they don’t have cases.

Another thing. JJ and Penelope are standing around Elle’s desk, which isn’t out of the ordinary, but they’ve swivelled around to stare at Spencer like he’s an alien (which they do on occasion, but Spencer is pretty sure he hasn’t been strange yet. He just walked in!).

Derek is sitting on Elle’s desk, leaning over to huddle with the three girls, but he’s frozen with his mouth open, like he just shut up for some reason.

“Uh… Good morning.” Spencer furrows his brows, but tries to shrug it off, more interested in the smell of coffee emanating from the kitchenette. Setting down his bag, he quickly busies himself with pouring his signature overly-sweet (according to you) coffee.

It’s like his movements snap a thread that has been holding his colleagues together, and they suddenly start bustling around the bullpen again. Derek sidles up beside him as he’s stirring in sugar, and Spencer braces himself for some Morgan-esque prod. But what he says has Spencer confused.

“Kid. You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Ok, something is going on. Spencer has worked with Derek since he was 22, and they’ve fallen into a very comfortable dynamic ever since. But neither of them have ever felt the need to reassure the other of their closeness.

“What’s up, Morgan? No jabs today?”

Derek stiffens, like he’s been caught in a lie, and scrambles to reply.

“Well… We- Um, Garcia worried about you on Friday. What was up with you leaving so suddenly?”

Spencer has to bite back a smile, memories of you, coming to O’ Keefe’s just to see him, flooding into his mind. But he answers as smoothly as possible, still turned away from Derek as he elaborates.

“Oh, I felt a bit sick. It was probably the drinking and travelling back and forth from the more arid parts of the country that did it. Did you know, travelling between warmer and colder climates makes you more susceptible to contracting viruses because it strains your immune and musculoskeletal systems, causing the feedback loop of homeostasis to-” Derek puts a hand on his arm, and Spencer quiets.

“Okay, okay, pretty boy, I get it.”

With that, he walks off, and Spencer is left at the kitchenette, stirring his coffee, confused. It’s not like it was a lie, he was feeling nauseous in the bar, so you insisted that you go home. He recovered that same night over a cup of tea, Metropolis on the television, and you cuddled up on the couch next to him.

When he walks back to his desk, mug in hand, he calls out to JJ, still standing by Elle’s desk.

“JJ, no cases today? …JJ?” The blonde is looking at him, but his words seem to fly right over her head, until Elle pokes her shoulder.

“Oh! No, the cases I’m being called about are still pending, we’re probably not leaving on anything until tomorrow.” Spencer smiles softly, glad to have at least one more night sleeping at home this week. Because of his reverie, he doesn’t notice the way JJ, Penelope and Elle are staring at him, befuddled expressions on their faces.

The day continues to be a little weird, much to Spencer’s chagrin. Around 1pm, Gideon emerges from his office again. This, already, is out of the blue. Gideon only leaves his office an average of 3.78 times a day, mainly to go to Hotch’s office, or to go home. This time, however, Gideon marches to Spencer’s desk.

Gideon comes to a stop next to Spencer’s desk chair, and it’s all he can do to muster a blank face and look into his mentor’s eyes.

“Hey, Gideon. What’s… What’s going on?”

The older man sighs wearily, looking down his nose at Spencer, looking uncannily like Spencer’s highschool Calculus teacher when she got irritated at him for being a ‘13 year old know-it-all’.

“Spencer. You weren’t sick on Friday, were you?” What is happening? Spencer doesn’t lie, he’s never told Gideon something untrue, so this is incredibly out of the blue.

“Huh? No, what’s wrong? I felt nauseous, which could’ve technically been a symptom for an inner ear problem, inflammatory bowel disease, gastroenteritis…” Spencer continues to rattle off a list of things he could have had, not noticing the uncharacteristically soft, paternal gaze that Gideon has trained on him.

“...and even a brain tumour, but it was probably because I drank more than I usually do. Why do you think that’s not true?” Spencer finishes his little speech, looking up at Gideon with a confused expression. There’s nothing else the older man can do but sigh, patting his shoulder softly.

“Okay, Reid. Glad you’re feeling better now.” With that, the experienced profiler walks away, not bothering to reply to Spencer’s continued questioning:

“Gideon! What’s wrong? Why are you-” Gideon’s office door slams shut.

Unfortunately, Spencer cannot ignore the rest of the signs, spending the rest of the day in a state of coiled anxiety. Something is going on, but he can’t get anyone to tell him.

Derek and Elle are constantly glancing over at him, unreadable expressions on their faces. Penelope keeps finding excuses to go to Spencer’s desk, and even if Spencer wasn’t a profiler, he’d be able to see the words bubbling up in her throat, but she never says anything.

JJ doesn’t come talk to him at all, which is strange. Instead, she shoots him knowing looks whenever she’s in the bullpen, sending Spencer into a spiral every time she doesn’t say anything about why they’re all acting weird.

He’s even caught Hotch and Gideon peeking through the blinds over their office windows to look at Spencer, with the analytical looks they get when they’re observing a crime scene on their faces. It’s driving Spencer crazy, and he has to tell someone.

You’re leaving your desk when your phone buzzes.

SPENCE <3: Hi. I looked normal when I left the house, right?

Your brow furrows at the text. Normally Spencer isn’t a fan of texting while he’s at work, and you’d told him multiple times how handsome he looked when he left the apartment this morning. He’s wearing his striped white button down and the purple tie you bought him for his birthday last year, he looks pretty. And you made sure to tell him so.

YOU: hi <3

YOU: no spence you look pretty i told you this morning didnt i?

SPENCE <3: You did, thank you. Everyone’s acting weird at work, and I can’t think of what it could be.

YOU: maybe its something with a case?

SPENCE <3: They would tell me if it was that, right?

YOU: ur right

YOU: if you cant think of it with that big beautiful brain its probably something to do with them

There’s a solid minute of silence before he texts you back, and you grin to yourself as you walk through the halls. You can see the flush growing over his face in your mind’s eye, the way he does every time you pay him a cheesy compliment.

SPENCE <3: I guess so. They won’t tell me anything about it, which is strange.

You frown a little, imagining his frustration at being out of the loop. Spencer has expressed his love for his coworkers to you many times, but he’s also told you about his struggles feeling like the ‘baby’ of the office, and the way it makes him feel isolated at times. Racking your brain to think of a way to cheer him up, you check the time on your watch (the twin of which is settled on Spencer’s wrist).

YOU: its nearly 6

YOU: if i leave my building now i can make it to your office in 30mins

YOU: i can pick you up and we could get thai for dinner

YOU: ?

The reply is instantaneous, and you smile, looking forward to seeing him earlier than you’d expected today.

SPENCE <3: That sounds great. I’m finishing up here but text me when you’re in the lobby and I’ll come down.

SPENCE <3: I need to go, I’ve been texting you from the bathroom.

SPENCE <3: See you soon :-)

The last half hour of Spencer’s workday flies by, unlike the way the clock had crawled previously. He finishes up the consults he was working on for the day, and begins packing up the moment the clock hits 18:27.

Derek and Elle are still sneaking glances at him, but Spencer couldn’t care less at this point. As he closes the flap of his satchel, his phone buzzes in his breast pocket. He can’t help but whip out his phone immediately, missing the bewildered looks that pass between his fellow profilers as he smiles down at the screen.

Y/N L/N: in the lobby now!

Y/N L/N: i forgot how fancy it is here i feel underdressed

He doesn’t bother replying, instead opting to leave the bullpen through the glass doors, nodding at Derek and Elle, and pressing the elevator button immediately. He’s so engrossed in his thoughts as he stares at the closed doors, that he realises far too late what’s happening behind him.

He can hear the sounds of shuffling feet, a squeak of surprise (Penelope), hissed insult (Elle to Derek), and a firm clearing of a throat (Hotch). After sighing rather petulantly, Spencer turns on his heels to find the entire BAU team standing there, faces just as confusing as they’ve been all day.

“I’d ask you what’s wrong, but none of you gave me an answer the last 23 times I asked, so.”

There’s a beat of silence, before Hotch, of all people, says, “Reid, we need to… ask you something. About last Friday.” That’s strange. Spencer cocks his head in confusion.

“What about it? I already told Morgan and Gideon, I was feeling sick, but it turns out it was just that I’d just drank more than I was used to.”

Penelope looks like she’s about to burst, and finally, she blurts it out, voice slightly shrill. “Reid! Who is she?”

“Who is who?”

Derek butts in, a hand on Penelope’s shoulder. “Kid, that girl. The girl you were… close to, on Friday. At the bar?” Oh. That’s what they’re talking about?

“That was Y/N. My girlfriend. Are you mad I didn’t introduce you guys? I thought you were all busy.”

Spencer sees six sets of jaws drop. There’s more silence, before JJ croaks out, “Girlfriend?”

It’s a bit of a sight, to be honest. Penelope has clutched on to Derek, and Derek on to Elle. JJ looks gobsmacked, eyes bulging out of their sockets. Even Hotch and Gideon look the most shocked Spencer has ever seen them. But why?

“Uh, yeah. She came to see me because we’d had plans before we decided to go out. Then when she found out I felt sick we went home.”

Gideon looks a little green, and when no one makes a sound, Hotch speaks, his normally stoic voice coming out a little shaky. “Reid, we didn't- We didn’t know you were seeing anybody.”

What? Now they’re being even weirder. Spencer can hear the elevator doors open behind him, but he doesn’t bother. This is something he has to get to the bottom of.

“How did you not know? I’m sure I’ve mentioned having plans with her multiple times. Elle, I told you about the time I went to the movies in New York with her, when we were on that case.” Elle looks more shocked, if that’s possible, but doesn’t say a word.

“Garcia, I asked you to help me find florists that have Gibraltar campions in Vegas that one time.” Penelope jolts, muttering under her breath about ‘idiot geniuses and their mothers’.

“Gideon, I asked you for advice on how to ask her out!” Gideon stiffens, remembering the time Spencer had asked him about his ex-wife. Was that Spencer asking for advice?

“I ran into you, JJ and Morgan, when I was with her, don’t you remember? She was in the aisle over” Derek distinctly remembers a time at the bookstore, they’d seen Spencer, but not noticed anyone with him. JJ shamefully recalls being too busy making fun of Spencer’s heart-studded tie to look around.

Spencer looks bewildered, eyes bouncing between the different members of his team.

“Hotch, I literally told you about her! When I added her to my emergency contacts?” At this, Hotch pales. A year ago, Spencer had come to him with a request to change his 1st emergency contact from his mother to a Y/N L/N. How he never registered that this was a girlfriend, Hotch would never know, but he stares fixedly at his shoes as he contemplates quitting his job as a profiler.

Spencer looks at them, mystified. How did they not know? It’s not like he was ever hiding you! Of course, Spencer wanted to keep you to himself, so he didn’t talk about you that much, but they were profilers. He assumed they’d known, and just didn't want to embarrass him.

His phone buzzes three times, and he pulls it out to see more texts from you.

Y/N L/N: spence are you coming

Y/N L/N: a guy in a suit is eyeing me weird

Y/N L/N: he knows i dont belong come save me

A happy sigh leaves him, before he remembers the people standing in front of him, still gobsmacked. He scrubs a hand down his face wearily, and mutters slowly, as if he’s not sure if he wants to do this.

“She’s downstairs right now, we were going to take the metro home together. Do you… Do you guys want to meet her?” Penelope brightens up, and the rest of the team seem in higher spirits, despite their continued disappointment in themselves. Warily, Spencer opens the elevator door with a press of a button, and they all file in obediently.

“Please don’t be weird.”

“My good doctor, I would never!” He eyes Garcia with a fearful expression, but presses the ground floor button anyway. As the doors close, a strangled shout leaves JJ’s mouth.

“Wait, you live together?”

You are sitting on a bench inside the lobby of the FBI Headquarters. No matter how many times you drop Spencer off or pick him up, this will always be surreal to you. And, right now, it’s not just surreal, it’s a little scary.

A real Danny Ocean type guy is sitting on a bench across the room, talking on the phone and eyeing you. Clearly, you don’t exactly look like an agent, you know that. Dressed in the uniform of a PhD student, jeans and an oversized Doctor Who t-shirt (Spencer’s), you know that you look out of place.

You’re just hoping Spencer walks out of the elevator before you get escorted out on suspicions that you’re a spy or something.

Like some deity has heard your words, you look up at the ding of the elevator to see Spencer… and a whole gaggle of people behind him, slapping at his shoulders and barraging him with questions. He looks harried, a line between his pretty eyes.

The line disappears, though, when he locks eyes with you. His eyes light up, and his steps grow in length, before he's left his entourage behind, at least for a couple of seconds.

He uses this time to explain to you: “Hi, hello, I'm so glad you're here and I need to tell you something-” As if on instinct, your hands come up to rest on his upper arms, thumbs moving in circles soothingly as he continues to ramble, only catching the tail end of his sentence.

“-and well, they didn't know about you somehow? Which is crazy to me because you know I don't hide you so I don't know where they got that from but either way they were acting crazy, so I suggested they come meet you, and…” The group of people you now recognize to be the BAU have caught up to him, eyes darting between your face and Spencer's. His shoulders slump, and the agitated look returns, if a little less intense.

“Well, here they are.” He motions to the group behind him. “These are my coworkers, Jennifer Jareau, Elle Greenaway, Penelope Garcia, Aaron Hotchner, Jason Gideon, and Derek Morgan. Guys, this is my girlfriend, Y/N.”

Rising on your toes to see over his shoulder, you wave with a smile, eyes zeroing in on Penelope Garcia, who looks like she's vibrating from excitement, shouldering past Spencer to hold both of your hands.

“Hi! It's so good to meet you! I'd say I've heard a lot about you, but you know that's a lie, we didn't realize you existed until 10 minutes ago, but oh my god! You're here! You're so pretty- Spencer, she's so pretty!” She's practically bouncing up and down, causing Spencer to laugh sheepishly.

“Yeah, Garcia, I know that.” The next few minutes are a barrage of introductions and handshakes, all so brief that you can only get quick first impressions of them all.

Penelope is incredibly kind, not letting go of your hands until Spencer pries her off of you, telling you that you have to come out on girl's night with us, exactly like Spencer described her.

Elle is nearly intimidatingly cool, giving you a handshake and a smile, mentioning that she likes your eyeliner.

Aaron (Hotch? You're not sure how to refer to him) is nowhere near as stoic and intimidating as Spencer makes him out to be, breaking into a smile as he introduces himself, and grinning even wider when you congratulate him and his wife on their newborn child.

JJ is the sweetest. You've heard a lot about Spencer's best friend, and she lives up to expectations, squeezing you into a chaste hug with warm words.

Gideon is a little terrifying. He gives you a handshake, quirking the side of his lips in what you assume to be a smile, but saying very little beyond an introduction. You know how highly Spencer thinks of him, and hope he will warm up to you (Spencer is over the moon that he smiled, and informs you later that Gideon loved you).

Derek is exactly how you expected him to be. Somehow, he makes you feel wholly comfortable after a single comment, and promises to regale you with all the Spencer stories you'd want (you see him punch Spencer in the arm, grinning and saying he approved).

Spencer pulls you away from them as quick as he can, citing your dinner plans as an excuse. He slings an arm around your waist, leading you out the door as you wave over your shoulder.

“It was great to meet you guys! We should go out to dinner or something!” You hear mixed shouts of agreement from behind you, before the doors shut and it's just you and Spencer, on the sidewalk outside the building.

It's butterfly-inducing, the way you can see the tension leave his shoulders when he turns to look down at you, brown eyes shining.

“I'm sorry that was so last-minute, I know they can be… a lot.” You giggle at the weariness in his tone, resting your forearms on his shoulders.

“They were really nice, Spence. I'm glad to finally meet them. They didn't know who I was?” He sighs, hands tightening slightly on your waist.

“I don't know what goes on with them half the time. I've told them things about you so many times, but they were just being dense, I suppose. They saw us on Friday, at O’ Keefe’s, and they had no idea I was seeing someone!” He bends to rest his forehead in the crook of your neck with a sigh. As if on instinct, your hands come up to play with his hair.

“I guess they would have found it a little strange that you acted like nothing had changed, huh? Is that why they were being weird today?” He grumbles unintelligible words into your skin, before raising his head to look at you.

“I guess… You know I wasn't hiding you, right? I really thought they knew about you,” The earnestness on his face makes you want to implode, his thumbs rubbing minutely on your waist. Speaking would pop the bubble you've found yourselves in, so you find the best next option for you to show him your assertion.

Your hands roam up his neck to cup either side of his jaw, and slow, slow, slowly, you rise to your toes and kiss him.

Suddenly, Spencer's not worried anymore.

#divas send me an ask and tell me what you thought!!!!#requests are welcome!!#reader is so self-indulgently me in this miniseries #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fic #posted from my phone bc im at the airport tell me if there are any formatting mistakes pls #mystery girl!au

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xo100 · 9 months ago

Text

Coming home - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary/request: by anon; ‘y/n drunk in a club and calling lando to pick her up 🙈 him being patient and gentle 🫶🏼 thank you!!!’

*:･ﾟ Word count: 2214

୨ৎ

It had been a quiet evening for Lando Norris. The kind of evening he loved, where the house was filled with the gentle hum of the TV, and the warmth of home comforted him after a long day. He’d spent most of his time winding down, his thoughts often drifting to his girlfriend, who had texted him earlier in the day, saying she’d be out with friends tonight.

“You have fun,” he had told her with a smile before she left, his hands gently resting on her hips as he gave her a kiss goodbye.

She never went out too often—mostly a homebody unlike him—so he had encouraged her to enjoy herself, to have a night of fun and laughter, with drinks if she felt like it. He knew she didn’t really drink much, maybe a cocktail here or there, but nothing excessive. She had always been mindful, careful, but tonight seemed a little different.

It was around midnight when Lando's phone buzzed.

At first, he didn’t think much of it. He figured it would be one of those casual updates, maybe a quick check-in to let him know she was alright. But when he glanced at the screen, the sight of her name at the top of the message thread made him pause, and the message itself made him frown slightly in confusion.

“I’msogldmkgoig,” the text read. He blinked, squinting at the screen.

Lando tilted his head, trying to decipher the meaning of the garbled message. Was she typing in some kind of code? Then it hit him—a small smile tugged at his lips. She was drunk. Really drunk.

Shaking his head with a soft chuckle, he swiped open his phone, his thumbs moving quickly over the screen.

“Hey, you okay? Need me to pick you up?”

It took a minute or two for a response to come in, and when it did, it was no clearer than the first.

“nnoOOO immmmperf!!! ssssgood igot this!!! 😊😊😊”

Lando laughed under his breath, a fond smile settling on his face. He could just imagine her sitting at a table with her friends, holding her phone up way too close to her face, squinting at the keyboard as she tried to string a sentence together. She always got flustered when her texts came out wrong, even more so when she had a bit too much to drink.

He tried calling her, but it rang for a moment before she declined it. Another message popped up.

“ssorryyyyy busyy having fun witt gurls!! 🎉🍹”

Lando raised an eyebrow. He knew her friends, and he had no doubt they were looking after her, but it was clear she was teetering on the edge of tipsy and downright hammered.

A part of him wanted to laugh at the situation, but the protective part of him nudged forward. He’d rather her be home and safe than out and struggling to figure out how to text properly.

After sending her another message asking if she needed help, he waited, watching the dots of her typing bubble appear and disappear before another string of incomprehensible words filled the chat.

Then, finally, she called him.

Her name flashed across the screen, and Lando answered quickly.

“Hiiiii,” she sang into the phone, her voice bright but undeniably slurred.

“Hey, love,” Lando said softly, leaning back on the couch, the smile in his voice impossible to miss. “You doing okay over there?”

There was a brief pause on the other end, a bit of shuffling and background noise as her friends laughed and chatted around her. “Mmmm, I think soooo,” she said, dragging out the words. “But Landoooo, guess what?”

“What?” Lando humored her, knowing she probably had no idea where this conversation was going.

“I miss youuuu,” she said with a giggle, her voice softening with an endearing whine. “Like, really, really miss you.”

Lando’s heart did a little flip, warmth spreading in his chest. “I miss you too,” he replied, his voice dropping into that gentle, affectionate tone he used whenever they were being sweet with each other. “How about I come pick you up, hmm? I think it’s time to get you home.”

There was another pause, and he could hear the muffled sound of her friends in the background again, likely checking in on her. Then she whispered into the phone, as if telling him the world’s biggest secret, “Okay… but don’t tell anyone… I’m a little drunk.”

Lando chuckled, shaking his head fondly. “You don’t say.”

“But I’m not… that drunk,” she continued, her words tumbling over each other. “Just… a little.”

“Sure, babe,” Lando said playfully, standing up from the couch and grabbing his keys. “I’ll be there in a bit, alright? Stay with your friends. I’m on my way.”

“‘Kayyy,” she sighed, clearly relieved. “Lando?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re the best,” she whispered, her voice filled with a drunken sincerity that made Lando’s chest tighten in the best way.

He grinned, shaking his head again as he headed out the door. “You’re not too bad yourself, love.”

The drive to the bar wasn’t long. Lando had been there with her and her friends before, and he knew the route by heart. As he pulled up, his eyes immediately scanned the front of the building, and sure enough, he spotted her standing with a few of her friends near the curb, her posture relaxed but a little wobbly. She was laughing at something one of them had said, her phone clutched in one hand, her jacket loosely draped over her shoulders.

Lando parked and stepped out of the car, his eyes softening as they landed on her. She looked up and saw him, her face lighting up in a way that made his heart skip. She immediately broke into a wide, tipsy grin, her eyes sparkling as she waved enthusiastically.

“Landooo!” she called, drawing out his name in that adorable, exaggerated way she always did when she was happy to see him.

He chuckled, making his way over to her, his hands slipping into his pockets as he approached. “Hey, you,” he greeted, his voice warm and teasing.

She stumbled slightly as she moved toward him, but he was quick to catch her, his hands gently wrapping around her waist to steady her. “Careful, love,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.

Her arms looped around his neck as she looked up at him, her eyes a little glassy but full of affection. “You came,” she said, her voice softer now, as if the reality of him being there had just hit her.

“Of course I did,” he replied, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “I wasn’t gonna leave you here drunk and texting me gibberish all night.”

She giggled, her cheeks flushing. “I wasn’t texting gibberish!”

Lando raised an eyebrow, pulling out his phone and holding up her messages for her to see. “You sure about that?”

She squinted at the screen, her face scrunching up in concentration before she groaned, burying her face in his chest. “Okay, maybe a little gibberish,” she mumbled.

He laughed softly, wrapping his arms around her a little tighter. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

She let out a dramatic sigh, looking up at him with wide, playful eyes. “But I was having funnn,” she whined, though the smile tugging at her lips told him she was more than happy to go with him.

“I’m sure you were,” Lando said with a smirk. “But you’ll have more fun when you’re not regretting all those drinks tomorrow.”

She pouted up at him for a moment before her expression softened, her hand coming up to gently cup his cheek. “You’re so good to me,” she whispered, her voice carrying that drunken tenderness again.

Lando’s heart melted at her words, and he leaned down to kiss her softly, his lips brushing against hers with all the love and patience in the world. “Only because you’re worth it,” he murmured against her lips before pulling back slightly. “Come on, let’s get you in the car.”

The drive home was quiet, her head resting against the window as the streetlights flickered by. Every now and then, she’d glance over at him, her eyes soft and full of affection. He’d catch her staring and smile, reaching over to squeeze her hand gently, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in soothing circles.

“You’re really cute, you know that?” she said suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lando laughed softly. “Am I?”

“Mhm,” she hummed, her eyes drifting shut as she leaned back into the seat. “Really, really cute.”

He shook his head, the fondness in his chest swelling as he stole a glance at her. “You’re something else.”

By the time they got home, she was half-asleep, her body heavy with the exhaustion that always seemed to follow a night of drinking. Lando parked the car and got out, walking over to her side and opening the door. She stirred slightly, her eyes blinking open as he reached out a hand to help her up.

“You okay to walk?” he asked gently.

She nodded, though her movements were slow and sleepy. He wrapped an arm around her waist, guiding her out of the car as she leaned into him for support. Her head rested against his shoulder, and a small, content sigh escaped her lips as they made their way toward the house.

Lando unlocked the door and led her inside, his grip gentle but firm. She stumbled a little on her way through the doorway, giggling at her own clumsiness.

“You’re like my knight in shining armor,” she slurred playfully, looking up at him with a soft smile as they stood in the entryway. “Except you drive a McLaren instead of a horse.”

Lando chuckled, rolling his eyes in amusement. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She nodded, her head resting back on his shoulder as they made their way down the hallway to their bedroom. “It’s totally a compliment,” she mumbled, her voice getting quieter with each word. “You’re perfect.”

They reached the bed, and Lando helped her sit down, carefully slipping off her shoes. “Alright, love,” he said softly, “let's get you into something more comfortable.”

She whined in protest, her arms going limp as she dramatically fell back onto the bed, her legs still dangling off the edge. “But I’m already sooo comfy,” she groaned.

Lando smirked, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous,” he muttered affectionately as he knelt down to take her shoes off. Then he stood, heading to the closet to grab one of his oversized hoodies—one she always liked to wear—and brought it back to her.

With a bit of gentle coaxing, he helped her change out of her clothes, into the soft hoodie that smelled faintly of him. She sighed in contentment, snuggling into the fabric as soon as it was on.

“There you go,” he whispered, brushing her hair back from her face. “All cozy.”

She smiled sleepily at him, her eyes half-lidded as she gazed up at him. “Lando?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

The words came out soft and vulnerable, almost like a confession. Even though she was drunk, there was a deep sincerity in her voice that made his heart ache in the best way. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead before resting his own forehead against hers.

“I love you too” he murmured, his voice filled with all the affection he’d been holding onto since the moment she had called him. “So much.”

She smiled, her eyes fluttering closed as she snuggled deeper into the blankets. “You’re the best boyfriend ever,” she mumbled, her words slurring together as sleep started to claim her.

Lando stayed there for a moment, just watching her, his heart swelling with warmth. He could see the way her breathing slowed, her body relaxing completely as she drifted off to sleep. Even in her drunken state, she was still the girl he adored—the one who made him laugh, who always knew how to make him smile, and who filled his life with more joy than he ever thought possible.

He stood up slowly, making sure she was tucked in before he changed into his own clothes for the night. Sliding into bed next to her, he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. She instinctively moved toward him, her body curling into his as she sighed in contentment.

Lando pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, his fingers gently brushing through her hair as he whispered, “Goodnight, love.”

And as she slept peacefully in his arms, he couldn’t help but smile, his heart full. Because nights like this—where he could be there for her, take care of her, and remind her just how much he loved her—were the ones that made everything worth it.

She might have been a little too drunk tonight, but to Lando, she was perfect in every way. And as they lay there, tangled together in the quiet comfort of their home, he knew he wouldn’t trade a single moment of it for the world.

୨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; Hey anon! I hope you enjoyed it and that this was what you had in mind! If not let me know so I can change things! Enjoy it, love! I’m also currently working on part 3 of baking cookies, coming online soon!

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purplereina11 · 20 days ago

Text

Part 2

You spent your childhood drifting through foster homes, with nothing but a worn photo of two little girls and a note on the back: Your sisters, Alexia and Alba. You never imagined that at 25, after starting a new job, you'd meet them, through your boss who was your sister's girlfriend.

Word count: 11k

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The office is still when you arrive, early sunlight filtering through the blinds, casting soft gold stripes across the floor. You set your bag down, plug in your laptop, and sit for a moment in the silence just breathing.

You’re not sure what today will bring, you’re halfway through replying to an email when you hear the click of the front door.

Olga’s balancing two coffees and a paper bag from that little place she knows you love but never ask for. She glances at you, eyes scanning your face for something she’s clearly already read in your posture. She sets everything down at your desk before heading to her own without a word.

You blink at the coffee then the croissant and spot the note under the napkin.

Eat. I know you probably haven’t yet. — O x

Your throat tightens, she’s typing already, a headphone in one ear, hair still a little damp from the shower, clearly focused on her task, but she glances at you just once over the rim of her screen, a soft kind of check-in that doesn’t require words.

You tear off a bit of croissant, begin to chew. “Thanks.”

She doesn’t look up, just murmurs, “You don’t have to thank me.” A beat passes. “You look rested.”

You smile a little. “I laughed a lot last night.”

That gets her attention, she looks up, really looks at you. There’s warmth there but more than that, a calm relief “With them?” she asks and you simply nod. Olga’s mouth curves into a quiet smile. “Good.”

You take a sip of coffee. Then ask, “You okay?”

She pauses before answering, “I am now.” Olga smiles softly. “I like when you laugh,” she says, like it’s not a big deal, like it hasn’t just quietly set your whole morning aglow.

You look down, cheeks warm. “I like when you don’t pretend to be scary.”

She laughs under her breath. “I’m terrifying, don’t ruin the brand.”

You laugh too and just like that, everything’s a little easier.

There’s so much behind that, and you both know it but neither of you push. You both work, emails, graphics, campaign planning it's ordinary, comforting and through it all, there’s a thread of something stronger than routine. A kind of bond forged in chaos and kept alive by every moment like this.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

Wednesday mornings always carry a certain energy. Alexia’s energy.

She arrives like a breeze that leaves the door open behind her, a reusable cup in one hand and her gym bag slung over one shoulder. She’s already halfway into a story about training before she even rounds the corner into the main office. “—and then Mapi slipped, blamed the floor, but literally no one else had fallen all morning,” she grins. “She’s going to be unbearable about it all week.”

Olga’s smile is soft, automatic. “Tell her I said to be careful. I’m not designing another injury post.”

Alexia chuckles, then her eyes find you. “Hey, you.” She gives you that now familiar smile, something warm, tentative, like a thread trying to strengthen itself between two people still learning how to be.

“Hey,” you manage your voice doesn’t match hers, not quite. You’re smiling, but your hands twist your pen a little tighter than they need to.

Alexia drops into one of the spare chairs near Olga’s desk, bouncing slightly with excitement. “So, mamá’s doing dinner Friday. Proper dinner tablecloth and all and no one’s allowed to cancel, I’ve decided.”

Olga smiles again, but it flickers. She’s looking at you now. You nod faintly. “That’s… nice.”

“Yeah,” Alexia says brightly. “It’ll be all of us. You, me, Alba, Mamá. Maybe even a little cava if we behave.”

You laugh softly, but it’s quiet, your eyes drop to your notebook. Olga catches it. Sees the way your shoulders don’t quite settle, the nervous twitch at the corner of your mouth. So she jumps in ever so gently.

“Y/N,” she says, casually, like she’s only just remembered. “Didn’t you say you had plans with Patri that night?”

Your head snaps up, eyes flicking to her. Olga’s face is calm and neutral, but her eyes are soft and searching. You pause long enough that Alexia notices. She looks between the two of you, something cautious knitting behind her eyes. "Erm..." You swallow. “I… might. I don’t know yet.”

Alexia’s smile falters just a fraction. “Oh. Okay. Well, if you can make it, it would be… good.”

There’s so much in her voice that you can’t carry today. You nod. “I’ll let you know?”

Alexia nods too, just once. “Yeah. Sure.”

She rises again with that same energy she walked in with, but it doesn’t quite bounce the same. She kisses Olga on the lips, waves to you, and disappears in a rustle of fabric and keys. In the silence you let out a breath you hadn’t meant to hold, Olga doesn’t look at you right away. She starts typing, deliberate, before saying gently, “You don’t have to go if it’s too much.”

You nod, then shake your head. “I want to.” She looks at you, turning her chair to face you, “I’m just scared.”

Olga’s voice is soft. “I know.” She's up from her chair mug in hand, you go back to work, but not before she reaches over just briefly as she passes and gives your wrist the gentlest squeeze.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

Patri’s cart has only three things in it, and you’ve already done two laps of the supermarket. “I swear we passed the tortillas like five times,” you mumble, toeing along behind her as she backtracks, again.

“That’s because I wasn’t sure if I wanted soft or crunchy,” she says, barely glancing at you over her shoulder, then adds with a grin, “And now I’m sure I want both.”

You shake your head, watching her compare packets like she’s making a life-altering decision.

The cart squeaks when you push it after she abandoned it in the middle of the aisle. She doesn’t notice, or maybe she does and has no regard for anyone else to engrossed in her tortilla choosing.

You trail her into the next aisle, a row of cereals on one side and a wall of jams and spreads on the other. You lean your elbows on the cart, watching her scan labels. “I’m supposed to go to dinner with them Friday.”

She turns halfway, a box of oats in her hand. “Your sisters?”

You nod. “Alexia invited me like it’s the most normal thing in the world.” You pause. “It probably is.”

Patri doesn’t say anything right away. Just gives you a soft look and sets the oats into the cart like they’re breakable. “You going?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. I want to.”

“You don’t sound like you want to.”

“I do. I just—” You blow out a breath and push the cart forward a little. “It feels like if I sit at that table, I’m saying yes to something I’m not sure I know how to be part of.”

Patri turns, leaning on the handle in front of you, her expression gentle. “You’re not saying yes to knowing how to do it. You’re just saying yes to trying.” You meet her eyes, uncertain, she smiles, softer now. “That’s all they’re asking of you.”

You blink fast and look down. “I’m scared I won’t be what they want me to be.”

Patri steps closer, brushing your hand with hers. “Maybe try being what you want to be. Let them figure the rest out.” You nod slowly, the weight of it still heavy but less suffocating in her presence. She pulls you forward by the cart, just enough to make you walk again. “Now help me pick salsa. I’ve been burned before.”

You smirk. “You mean that time you cried over a medium?”

She gasps. “It lied to me!”

You laugh and somehow the aisle feels a little lighter, like maybe you’re already figuring out how to do this. You cuddle up beside her, "What about extra mild for the sensitive midfielder?"

"You're pushing your luck"

You tap her ass as you move away back to the cart, "You love it"

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

Your phone buzzes on the kitchen counter, screen lighting up as you close the fridge door with your foot. You almost ignore it, assuming it’s Patri asking if you want to come over after training, but it isn’t.

The notification makes you stop.

New Group: Hermanitas 💜

You stare at the name for a second before opening it and there’s a wave of messages already waiting.

Alexia: i was talking to alba earlier 💬

Alexia: we were thinking…

Alexia: if it helps you feel more comfortable maybe you could bring Patri to dinner? and i’ll bring Olga too?

Alba: only if it’s not weird tho

Alba: like if it makes it worse then ignore us 😅

Alexia: but also you know

Alexia: less pressure maybe

Alexia: more wine

Alexia: more distractions

Alexia: less weird staring from our mamá 👀

Your hand rests on the counter, reading the messages once, then again. You know what Alexia’s doing. You can feel it in every word the careful way she’s reaching, the way she’s making it about options and comfort and not forcing anything. It’s not subtle, but it’s kind, even if it's clearly been orchestrated by Olga.

You thumb out a reply before you can think too much:

You: i think that sounds… actually really nice, thank you 🫂

Alba: ok but like

Alba: not weird couple stuff in front of me

Alba: i’m still adjusting 😭

Alba: I now know how Alexia felt with me

Alexia: you’re the worst

You: 😂 no promises

You surprise yourself… you're not dreading dinner. You’re looking forward to it, even if it is just a little bit.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

Patri’s apartment is a mess of hair tools, half-dried laundry, and open drawers by the time you settle in front of her mirror again. She stands behind you, toothbrush in her mouth, watching you fuss with your hair for the fourth time. “You look fine,” she says, the words muffled through foam.

You glance at her reflection. “You’re saying that while you’re foaming like a rabid dog. I can’t take you seriously.”

She smirks, rolls her eyes, and disappears back into the bathroom. You breathe out, reaching for your earring the second one shakes in your hand. You're not even sure why you’re this nervous, it’s not your first dinner with them, but it’s the first where you’re walking into a place that didn't feel neutral ground. You’re walking in with Patri, with someone who knows you, there's something terrifying about being known by two different parts of your life at once.

Patri returns a moment later, drying her hands, already dressed loose black trousers, simple white tee, chain necklace. No fuss, just her, effortlessly cool, your comfort zone. She steps up behind you again and rests her hands on your shoulders, you meet her eyes in the mirror.

“You okay?” she asks, quieter now.

You nod. Then shrug. “Mostly. Just… don’t want to mess it up.”

She leans in, presses her lips to your cheek. “You won’t.” You turn your face just a little, catching her mouth halfway, and kiss her back, slow and gentle. She smiles into it, “Besides,” she murmurs, lips brushing yours, “if anyone’s going to embarrass you, it’s definitely going to be me.”

You laugh. “I don’t doubt it.”

She grins and grabs your jacket from the bed, holding it up for you. “Come on then, baby sister. Let’s go meet the wolves.”

You narrow your eyes as you slip your arms in. “Don’t call them that. They’re already protective enough.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” she winks.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The house smells like garlic and roasted peppers. There’s music playing low from a speaker in the kitchen, and Alba’s already poured a glass of wine you’re not sure you’re ready for.

You and Patri arrive five minutes early, but somehow the house is already loud with conversation and laughter. Olga greets you first with a soft smile and a one-armed hug. She’s calm tonight, tucked close to Alexia like always, her presence grounding. Alexia, on the other hand, has her game face on smirk locked in place, eyes full of mischief.

She sees Patri step in behind you, and with all the dramatic flair of a footballer taking the pitch, she plants her feet, throws her shoulders back, and juts out her chest. “So,” she says, voice teasing, “you’re the girl dating my little sister.”

Patri just rolls her eyes, already used to her long-time teammate’s antics. “Do I need to give a what are my intentions speech before or after dinner?” she fires back.

Alexia lets out a laugh and drapes her arm around Olga, grinning. “Just know if you break her heart, you’re benched for life.”

Alba mutters from the kitchen, “I said I’d do worse.”

You make a strangled noise in your throat. “You’re all terrifying.”

“We’re family,” Olga says sweetly. “It’s basically the same thing.”

Everyone laughs even you and somehow that breaks the tension enough for the dinner to feel real. You sit beside Patri who, despite herself, leans her shoulder into yours once the food’s been passed around. Alexia takes the opposite end of the table, but you catch her watching you sometimes not suspiciously, not protectively, just curiously.

Patri reaches for your hand under the table once you squeeze back, “You okay?” she whispers, leaning close.

You nod. “Actually… yeah.”

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

Plates are nearly clean, and a third bottle of wine has been opened. The room is buzzing with a warmth not just from the alcohol, but from the laughter, the low music, the way things feel possible tonight.

Alba leans back in her chair, eyeing you over the rim of her glass, “So…” she begins, drawing out the word like she’s testing the water. “You and Patri.”

You feel your cheeks warm before she even asks anything else. Patri quirks a brow and gives her a mock warning look. “Don’t start.”

Alba ignores it completely. “No, seriously. I’m just curious. Like, how did that even happen? You’re so quiet, and Patri’s…” She waves a vague hand. “...Patri.”

Patri pretends to be offended. “What does that mean?”

“Loud,” Alexia offers from across the table, grinning.

“Fearless,” Eli adds, smiling into her wine.

“Annoying,” Alba finishes, smirking as she looks back to you.

You laugh softly, your fingers brushing against Patri’s on your lap beneath the table. “We met in a bar, actually.”

Alba’s eyes widen. “Seriously?”

Patri nods, shrugging casually. “She spilled her drink on me.”

You cringe. “It was one drink.”

“She was so awkward about it I had to buy her a replacement.” Patri nudges your shoulder. “I didn’t even know your name, but you blushed so hard I thought your face would combust.”

Olga grins. “That tracks.”

Alexia sips her wine. “Did you know who she was?”

You shake your head. “No. I mean, I knew the name Patri Guijarro because a friend of mine goes your games, but not her face. Not in the moment though, I was too busy apologising to death.”

Alba laughs, then tilts her head, suddenly more sincere. “So… is it serious?”

You look at Patri, Patri looks at you and she’s the one who says it. “Yeah. It is.”

The table goes quiet for a moment, but not tense just still Alba smiles then, a bit softer. “Good. Because if you hurt her, I will absolutely ruin your life.”

Everyone laughs even Patri, even Alexia, even you but there's a weight to it too. A sincerity beneath the humour. You glance at Alba. “I don't doubt that.”

Alba meets your eyes and nods. “Yeah. I can tell.”

Alexia’s talking football with Olga at the other end who looks bored to death, and clearly she’s only half-listening, her eyes flicking over to your side of the table every so often.

Patri’s watching you, her cheek propped on her knuckles, eyes soft and full. Then she says it, casual but laced with a kind of wonder, "It’s funny, you know… I saw you every week in that bar for weeks and couldn’t build up the courage to speak to you."

You turn to her, a smile already pulling at your lips, the kind that happens without trying the kind only she gets from you. "I know," you say softly, amused. "Your friend Salma told me. Weeks before I spilled that drink on you."

Patri’s eyes widen. "Wait — what?"

You laugh and lean in a little, like it’s a secret meant just for her, "Salma told me you’d been coming in just to see if I was there… but that you didn’t have the guts to talk to me." You lick your lip, "We had a bet going"

"A bet?" Patri sat up

You nodded, "How long it would take you to make a move, I won"

"How much?"

"100 euro"

Patri nodded seemingly impressed, "Nice"

"I bought that jacket of mine you think I haven't noticed you've stole"

"Can we rewind" Olga waves her hand about, "Patri, you were nervous of Y/N?"

Alba snorts into her wine. Alexia, clearly now fully listening, makes a loud, mock gasp. "Patri Guijarro, nervous?!"

Patri groans, sliding down in her chair as she mutters, "I’m never going to live this down."

You nudge her knee with yours, still grinning. "Hey, at least I spilled a drink on the right girl."

Olga, watching the way you look at each other, murmurs just loud enough, “You really did.”

Patri smiles like she doesn’t quite know what to do with herself. You can tell by the way her fingers brush yours again featherlight, like a question she's already sure of the answer to.

Alba looks between you two, then sighs dramatically. "Gross. I want it. But gross."

Alexia raises her glass. "To nice jackets, accidents, and overly dramatic footballers."

You raise yours, laughing, the glasses clink.

You notice Eli had made her exit part way through the conversation, as you moved through the home after excusing yourself, the laughter softened into background noise, the sound of wine being poured replaced by the scrape of cutlery being cleared and stacked. You slip into the kitchen without really thinking about it, drawn by the clink of plates and the low hum of the tap running.

Eli’s at the sink, alone, she doesn’t look up when you step in but you see the way her shoulders tense, the slight hesitation in her hands as she rinses a dish and places it gently in the rack.

You hover for a moment, "Do you want some help?"

She glances sideways, caught off guard, but nods, "If you don’t mind drying."

You grab a clean towel and take your place beside her. The silence is thick but not heavy, just careful. You dry slowly, matching her pace.

"Dinner was really good," you say. "The potatoes especially. Who made them?"

Eli lets out a quiet, almost embarrassed laugh. "That was me. It’s Alexia’s favorite. She always insists I make them whenever we do family dinners."

You smile, placing a plate down gently. "I get it. They were incredible. Comfort food."

She nods, focusing on the next dish. "She used to help me peel them when she was little. Always ended up with more potato on the floor than in the pot."

You glance at her hands older now, but steady. You wonder if they were the same hands that once buttoned your baby clothes, even for just a few short moments. You want to ask her everything. Why she didn’t try to keep you. Why she never tried to find you. Why it feels like she’s afraid to look directly at you now, but you don’t. "I do that too. Fidget when I’m anxious. You were doing it at the table your hands, they kind of… circle each other." She pauses and looks at you. "I thought it was something I picked up at the children’s home. But now I wonder if it’s just... you."

Her eyes shine not quite tears, not yet, but there's weight behind them. Emotion pressed down, for now. She swallows, "You noticed that?"

You nod, "I notice a lot of things. Especially things that feel familiar."

She doesn’t say anything for a moment, just places the mug down, steadies herself, "Thank you for helping."

"Anytime," you say and mean it.

"Would you, would you maybe be open to us spending time together, just you and I?"

You nod, "I would"

Eli nods just the once, "Ok" You don't plan anything with her in that moment but its seems it was enough for her in that moment.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The night air is cooler than you expected, brushing against your skin as you and Patri walk side by side, hands almost but not quite touching. She’s quiet, too quiet, you glance over at her a few times, but she keeps her eyes ahead, jaw tight, her pace just a bit too quick for it to be casual.

Finally, you say it. "You okay?"

She stops, not dramatically, just stops.

You turn to face her, brows furrowing, the quiet suddenly louder between you. "What’s going on?"

She shifts her weight, runs a hand through her hair, "Alexia and Alba talked to me."

You freeze. "Okay...?"

She looks at you now, finally but her expression is unreadable. "About us. About… how we haven’t slept together."

Your stomach drops, "What—how did that even—"

"You told them," she cuts in. "You told them something private. Something personal. About me. About us."

"It wasn’t like that," you say quickly, voice shaky. "It just came up. They were being, sisters. Asking questions. I didn’t mean to—"

"But you did," she says, voice rising. "You’ve known them five fucking minutes and you're already telling them things that are really fucking personal?!"

Your eyes sting, you take a step back, "It wasn’t malicious. I was just… trying to connect. Everything’s moving so fast and I—"

She laughs once, bitter and breathless. "Yeah, well, I feel like an idiot now. Standing here, finding out from your sisters that you’re apparently frustrated with how slow I’ve been.

You wince. "That’s not what I said. Patri, I care about you. I wasn’t complaining—"

"You embarrassed me." Her voice breaks a little. Not loud. Just raw. "You made me feel small." Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out, she shakes her head. "I thought I was being respectful. Thought I was giving you space. Turns out I was just giving you something to joke about with your new family. She's my friend man, I've known her years, she's my fucking captain!"

You feel the tears hit before you even realise they’re falling. "That’s not fair," you whisper. "You’re twisting this. I didn’t mock you. I’ve never mocked you."

But Patri is already turning away, "I need to go."

"Patri—" She doesn’t look back. You’re left standing under a flickering streetlight, your breath catching in your throat, the sound of her footsteps fading fast into the dark.

You don’t know how long you’ve been walking not really. The air stings your face now, dried tear tracks tight against your skin, footsteps slow and aimless.

You’re still trying to catch your breath when headlights glide up behind you, soft and golden. A car slows and a window rolls down.

"Hey!" It’s Alexia, her voice is too casual, too cheerful like she doesn’t know the world just came crashing down on top of you. You glance over. She’s in the driver’s seat, Olga sits beside her in the front, and Alba peers out from the backseat, concern etched into all their faces. "Thought Patri was walking you home?" Alexia calls.

You stop walking, you feel everything in your body lock into place, your jaw, your spine, your fists. "She was" You give them a look turn and start walking again.

You heard her car start up again and she pulled back along side you, "Y/N Stop, talk to-"

"Are you serious right now?" you snap, your voice slicing through the night. "You thought this was a good time for a chat?"

Alexia blinks. "Wait, what—"

"Of course you thought it was fine!" you yell. "Because everything is always fine for you, isn’t it? You get to be the golden girl the football star, the daughter Eli kept, the sister everyone loves."

Olga opens her mouth like she might say something, but one glance from you silences her.

"You and your whole perfect family keep blowing my life apart. You just waltz in like I should be grateful. Like I should fall to my knees because I finally have a family who want me now that I’m not an inconvenience anymore."

You see Alba flinch in the back seat, her eyes wide, but you’re not done. You take a shaking breath, stepping closer to the window, to Alexia.

"Do you even know what it’s like to spend your whole life wondering why no one came back for you? To look in the mirror and not know a single damn thing about who you are?"

Alexia looks dumbfounded, "What have I done?"

“Don’t play dumb,” you snap, your voice rising fast. “You told her what I said. About us not sleeping together. That was private, Alexia. That was between me you and Alba.”

You shake your head, stepping closer.

“You embarrassed her. You humiliated me. And for what? A laugh? Some bonding moment with your actual sister at our expense?”

She opens her mouth guilt written all over her face but you’re not interested in apologies.

“How am I supposed to trust you after that? You don’t get it, do you?” you say, eyes blazing. “I’ve never had people. Never had someone to protect my secrets, my heart and I let you in. I let all of you in and in five minutes, you’ve already broken something that meant something to me.”

No one says a word, even Alba who usually has something snarky or sharp on hand is silent. Olga’s lips part, but you look at her, and she falls quiet too.

“You and your perfect, shiny family come crashing into my life like you’re doing me a favour,” you go on, voice cracking now. “Like you saving me from loneliness excuses the fact that I was abandoned in the first place.”

You suck in a breath, barely holding it together.

“Do you even understand what it’s like to grow up not knowing why you weren’t wanted? To find out years later that the people you needed weren’t dead, or missing they were just living their lives without you? Cast aside, not spoken of again like you didn't matter”

Alexia flinches and then you deliver the final blow.

“I wish I never found out you were my sister because the reality of knowing you is worse than not.”

You see her shoulders drop, like the air’s been pulled out of her, Olga’s hand subtly reaches for hers, grounding her but you’re already walking.

Toward the alley just ahead dark, narrow, the kind of space a car couldn’t follow through.

“Y/N—” Alexia calls behind you, voice softer now, please in her tone, but you don’t stop.

“Just leave me alone.” And then you’re gone.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The locker room hums with pre-training chatter. Boots clatter against tile, lockers slam, and the familiar sounds of music and laughter bounce off the walls. Alexia sits on the bench, tugging her boots on, her mind only half in the room. Her phone buzzes against the metal beside her, she glances down at the screen.

Olga 💬 Incoming Call

She frowns and quickly answers. "Hey, what’s up?"

Olga’s voice is tight. "Has Y/N texted you? Called? Anything?"

Alexia straightens. "No. Why?"

"She didn’t show up to work this morning," Olga says, voice quiet but tense. "I figured maybe she needed space, after… everything last night, but she’s not answering her phone. I’ve text, called and getting nothing."

That gets Alexia’s full attention, she stands, moving toward the corner of the locker room for privacy. "You’re serious?"

"Dead serious," Olga says. "I’ve never known her to just… not show. And after how upset she was"

Alexia bites her lip, eyes scanning the room instinctively. She spots Patri sitting on the far bench, quietly tying her laces, her shoulders a little stiffer than usual. "I’ll ask Patri," Alexia says quickly, she lowers the phone slightly and steps over. "Hey," she says gently. Patri looks up, wary, "Have you heard from Y/N today? Olga says she’s missing work and not answering."

Patri’s expression doesn’t change much, but something flickers behind her eyes. She shakes her head. "No. Haven’t spoken to her."

Alexia waits, but it’s clear she won’t say more. "You sure?"

Patri doesn’t flinch, but she’s quiet, measured, "Yeah. I'm sure."

Alexia nods slowly, uneasy. She steps back toward the corner and lifts the phone again. "Nothing to Patri either," she tells Olga. "She’s not getting involved, though. I think they argued."

Olga sighs through the line. "I should’ve gone after her last night. I should’ve made her come in the car. She looked… broken."

Alexia closes her eyes. "She told me she wished she’d never found out I was her sister."

There’s a pause, "We need to find her, Ale. I'm worried."

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The sun has dropped behind a massive rain cloud by the time training finishes, casting a golden haze over the city.

Alexia’s untying her boots when she hears Patri behind her “Heard from Y/N?”

Alexia turns, heart lurching with the same dread that hasn’t left her chest all day. She shakes her head. “No. Nothing. I keep checking my phone, Olga's been sat outside her apartment door all afternoon waiting for her to come home with Alba”

Patri nods slowly. Then quietly, without ego or drama, “I know where she’ll be.”

Alexia’s brows pull together. “Where?”

“Come on. I’ll take you,” Patri says. “We can grab dumb and dumber on the way.”

The car is silent as it snakes through the city. Patri’s at the wheel, Alexia riding shotgun, and Olga and Alba sit in the back, Olga clutching her bag like it’s holding her together.

No one really speaks. The weight of it all, the fear, the guilt, the silence between people who care too much and said too little fills the space.

They pull up outside the aquarium. The lights inside still glow faintly as the storm draws in, and it’s quiet, save for the gentle sound of the sea nearby.

Olga leans forward from the back seat. “Why here?”

Patri shuts off the engine. “She comes here when she’s overwhelmed. Told me once that the jellyfish calm her down. She used to sneak into the computer room after hours at the children’s home. She'd watch videos of them, said the water made her feel like she wasn’t trapped anymore.”

Alexia’s heart twists, of course she’d run to the sea when everything on land felt too heavy.

Inside, the space is quiet just the soft hum of filtered water and the rhythmic pulse of ocean light refracted through glass.

They walk slowly. Past reef tanks and luminous tunnels. It’s Olga who spots you first.

You’re seated on the floor in front of the jellyfish exhibit. Legs crossed, arms hugged around your knees, face illuminated in shifting blue light. The world has been too loud, too confusing and here, it's just water, movement, breath.

You don’t hear their footsteps at first, but something in the air shifts that makes you look over your shoulder, Alexia is already walking toward you.

She doesn’t say a word, doesn’t ask if she can, she simply lowers herself to the floor beside you, close but not touching.

You're both quietly watching the tank, then she says softly, eyes on the jellyfish “Papa liked the jellyfish too.”

You blink. She doesn’t look at you.

“He used to bring us here when we were little. Me and Alba. He said they looked like they were dreaming, like they floated between worlds.”

Her voice wavers a little. Still calm, but deep with memory.

“After he died… I couldn’t see a jellyfish without thinking of him”

You say nothing, but your shoulders relax just a fraction, your fingers uncurl slightly on your knee Alexia finally turns her head toward you.

“I’m sorry.”

You glance at her. She holds your gaze now.

“I shouldn’t have told Patri what you said. That was yours and I shouldn't have brought that up with her, it was out of line, I want to treat you as what you are, my sister, but I need to remember how overwhelming it is for you, I don't know how to make this ok”

A long pause, then, you murmur, “Neither do I.”

Alexia breathes in slowly as she nodded, her voice is quieter still, “But I want to try. If you'll let me.”

You barely register there was someone behind you until she speaks, “Can I�� have a minute with her?” Patri asks, glancing briefly at Alexia, who nods and quietly gets up, giving you space.

You’re not sure why, but your stomach twists as Patri kneels in front of you slowly, like you might shatter if she moves too quickly. Gently and without asking she reaches for your wrists. You flinch, pulling back sharply. “I didn’t do anything.”

Your voice is more defensive than you meant it to be more ashamed that she needed to check. Patri exhales, sitting back on her heels. She doesn’t say anything right away, just watches you. Not accusing, not angry just worried. “Okay,” she says softly. “Okay. I just… had to check.”

You wrap your arms around yourself and look away. You feel small again, like every bad part of you is suddenly visible, impossible to hide. “You should go,” you whisper.

She blinks. “What?”

You look at her then, voice cracking just enough to betray what’s underneath. “You should go. You deserve better than this than me.”

Patri frowns, confused, hurt. “Y/N—”

“You do,” you cut in, firmer this time. “You deserve someone better. Someone more… I don’t know. Attractive. Confident. Normal. Not this boring, broken mess.”

The silence that follows is painful, but Patri doesn’t storm off. She doesn’t argue or try to fix you with some perfect line. She just swallows, eyes glistening slightly, and whispers, “You don’t get to decide what I deserve.”

You can’t look at her, you stare at your hands. The sting of your words still hanging between you both.

Then, more quietly, she says, “Can I ask you something?” You nod, not looking at her, “Did it really bother you that much… that we haven’t had sex?”

You pause, then shrug, not because you don’t care, but because you don’t know how to explain it not properly. Patri waits. She always gives you space like that, but this time, she deserves an answer. “It’s not you,” you say quietly. “I know it’s not you.”

She turns toward you slightly. You can feel her attention on you, even as you keep your eyes on the shifting water.

“It’s me. It’s how I see myself. How I feel in my own skin.” You take a breath, then another. You hate the sound of your voice when it’s this vulnerable. “I know you’re being respectful and I love that about you, I do, but sometimes it makes me feel like… like somethings wrong with me, like I’m not good enough. Not sexy enough. Like you’re waiting for something better to come along.”

You finally turn your head to look at her, your voice barely a whisper:

“I want to feel wanted too.” There’s a long, deep quiet, "you didn't always make me feel like that"

Then Patri shifts a little closer, her eyes gentle but burning with conviction.

“You have no idea how wanted you are,” she says. “You think I’m holding back because I don’t want you?” She shakes her head. “I’m holding back because I do. So much it scares me.”

You blink fast. Her hand reaches for yours slowly, letting you be the one to close the space. You do.

“Don’t ever think for a second it’s because I don’t want you. I do. All of you. Exactly as you are.”

You lower your head placing with the laces on your shoes to keep you busy, then, Patri speaks again, her voice low but honest.

“I haven’t… initiated anything because when we do spend the night together…”

She hesitates, not out of shame, but to be careful with her words.

“…you wouldn't even get changed in front of me.”

You feel your cheeks burn, gaze dropping again. She’s not being cruel it’s not judgment. Just truth.

“So I figured…” she continues softly, “…maybe you weren’t confident in yourself yet and I didn’t want to push you or make you feel like you had to do anything just because I wanted to.” She swallows “I wanted you to want it and the only way I’d really know that… is if you were the one who started it.”

You nod slowly, the sting behind your eyes returning again, "You were right to be mad" You raise your eyes, "But I don't want you to forgive me because you think something happened to me, you need to go be mad"

"Y/N" She watches you stare back into the tank for a moment, before getting to her feet and leaving you behind.

"Well?" Olga asks

Patri sighed, "I think she just broke up with me"

"What?"

Patri shrugs holding her car keys to Alexia, "I'll walk home, take care of her make sure she gets home ok" and just like that the best thing you'd had in years walked right by you like you weren't even there.

The jellyfish glowing and silence holding the weight of everything said and unsaid clogs your mind, until the faint echo of footsteps draws your attention. You glance over as Alexia, Olga, and Alba approach slowly, uncertainly, as if afraid to disturb something fragile.

No one speaks at first, they just stand there, the soft glow of the tank casting bluish light over all of you, reflecting in eyes that still hold exhaustion and unsaid things.

Then, Alba breaks the silence. "They're funny-looking little things, aren't they?"

She squints at the jellyfish drifting behind the glass, her voice casual, even light, but you can hear the intent beneath it she's trying. You blink at her, then turn your gaze to the tank again.

"They don’t even have brains," she adds, frowning. "Just… float around bumping into stuff, somehow still alive."

"Sounds familiar," you murmur, standing up and leaving them behind, you know they're following you, but you've always been good at switching people off to you.

You move slowly toward the massive shark tank, the water dark and swirling with sleek shapes gliding silently through it.

Olga stops beside you, her eyes wide with awe. “I never realised sharks were so... graceful,” she says, watching the shadows move.

You smile softly, stepping closer to the glass. “They’re incredible creatures,” you begin, your voice steady and sure now. “Most people think they’re just mindless killers, but sharks have been around for over 400 million years. They’re apex predators, but they play a vital role in keeping the ocean’s ecosystem balanced.”

Olga leans in, clearly impressed, “Wow, I had no idea. You really know your stuff.”

You shrug, a little shy but pleased. “I’ve always been fascinated by them, their senses, how they detect electrical signals in the water, their social behaviours. It’s like they have this whole world we barely understand.”

Olga's gaze lingers on you for a moment longer, her smile soft, "You broke up with Patri?"

"I don't want to talk about it"

"Ok" Olga nodded, "Do you want us to take you home?"

"Only if you drive and I can sit in the front"

You caught the smile Olga tried to hide, you were aware how childish you sounded but she didn't need to find it funny.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The market buzzes around you the sounds of bargaining, the rustle of paper bags, the scent of spices and fresh herbs hanging in the warm air. You spot Eli before she sees you, carefully choosing tomatoes with the same quiet intensity you’ve seen in the mirror when you’re trying to steady yourself.

You walk up slowly, offering a soft, “Hi.”

She looks over seemingly genuinely pleased to see you, “Mi niña,” she says gently, setting down a tomato and reaching out to give your arm a squeeze. “I’m glad you came.”

You fall into step beside her, letting the noise of the market fill the silences between you. It’s not awkward just tentative, like you’re both learning a rhythm neither of you ever expected to need.

A few stalls in, while she’s weighing peaches, Eli glances at you “Alexia told me what happened,” she says quietly. “About what she and Alba said to Patri.”

You swallow, suddenly fascinated by the uneven cobblestones beneath your shoes. “I didn’t mean to hurt Alexia's feelings,” you murmur.

“I know you didn’t.” Eli’s voice is steady but carries that tired weight, the one that lingers after sleepless nights. “And I want to say this to you, they were wrong for telling her. That was your story, your trust you put in them and they didn’t protect it, they want you to be their sister but they need to act like one towards you to.”

You blink at her, taken aback by the unexpected validation. She picks through some herbs as she speaks, almost absentmindedly.

“It's a hard situation, we're all trying to learn and navigate through something we have no idea how to deal with.”

You nod, throat tight Eli gives your hand a gentle squeeze.

"It just needs some communication and boundary setting I think"

The conversation dips back into quiet as you both drift toward a stall selling fresh pastries. Eli eyes a tray of cinnamon-coated ensaimadas, then glances at you with a little conspiratorial smirk.

“They say the calories don’t count if you’re with company,” she says.

You chuckle. “Who says that?”

“Me. Just now.” She shrugs like she’s daring the universe to disagree.

You both laugh, and it’s real light, unforced. A moment you never imagined having with her, and yet here it is, folded in between fruit stalls and spice jars.

Eli hands you a warm pastry and takes one for herself, nodding toward a bench shaded by a canvas awning. You both sit, elbows brushing, the market humming around you like background music.

After a beat, Eli speaks again, softer this time, “I want you to know something.” You glance sideways at her, she doesn’t look at you yet just picks gently at a bit of sugar on her pastry. “I’m not trying to be the mami I gave up the right to be. I know I don’t get to come back into your life and just… pick up where we didn’t even start.”

You look at her then properly. She finally turns to meet your gaze.

“I just want to get to know you, as you, not the baby I lost. Not the girl I couldn’t raise. Just… the person you are now.”

Your chest tightens, but not painfully more like something protective inside you loosening, just a little.

She adds, quietly, “I want to be your friend. If you'll let me.”

You nod, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “I’d like that,” you say. “I think I would really like that.”

She smiles this time with her whole face, eyes shining just a little and two strangers who were never meant to be strangers sit and share sweet pastries in the quiet. After you finish your pastries, Eli doesn’t rush to stand, instead, she stretches her legs a little, brushing crumbs from her lap.

“Do you like flowers?” she asks casually.

You blink, then nod. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t know a lot about them, but… yeah.”

She smiles and tilts her head toward a nearby corner where a small flower stall is almost bursting with colour. “Come on then.”

You follow her, and she walks with purpose not fast, but steady, as though she knows this exact route by heart. When she reaches the stall, she speaks easily with the older man running it, switching from warm Catalan to Spanish as needed. It’s clear she comes here often.

She gestures to a cluster of sunflowers. “These were your father’s favourite,” she says, almost casually but you notice the tremor in her voice.

You glance over, heart quietly thudding. “He had good taste.”

She chuckles softly. “He really did.” Then she looks at you, eyes soft. “You have his eyes, not the colour, in the way they move. Always watching people, thinking.” You feel yourself blush faintly and look away, unsure how to respond. She buys a small bunch sunflowers and white carnations and pays before you can even consider offering, “Come on,” she says gently. “There’s a little bench up by the fountain I used to take the girls to after shopping.”

You follow her again, the bouquet tucked gently under her arm, and as you both sit again, Eli pulls out a little plastic water bottle from her bag and carefully places the flowers inside.

You watch her quietly, something twisting deep in your chest. A strange feeling. Not pain exactly just the ache of unfamiliar comfort.

After a beat, you ask, softly without looking at her, “Do you miss him?”

She doesn’t hesitate. “Every day.”

You pause. “Me too. And I didn’t even know him.”

There’s silence. But it’s full rich and sad and okay, eventually, she reaches over and gently touches your hand. “I’m proud of the woman you’ve become,” she says, voice trembling slightly. “Even if I had no part in making you her.”

You don’t cry not exactly, but the tears sting a little, and when she opens her arms, you don’t even hesitate.

You lean into her and, it feels like maybe something broken got stitched back together, even just a little.

After the fountain, after the tears, and after your arms had finally let go of each other, Eli tilted her head and smiled at you gently.

“We should do something completely superficial now,” she said, swiping at her cheek with a tissue and handing you one too. “Let’s go buy something neither of us needs.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the suggestion. “Clothes?” you ask, half-laughing.

“Clothes,” she confirms, already rising and adjusting the bouquet in her bag like it’s simply a companion now.

You both end up walking to a quieter side street, tucked away from the usual tourist mess, into a little boutique that’s airy and bright and smells like lavender and fresh linen. It’s the kind of place you wouldn’t usually step into too polished, too elegant, but Eli seems at home, offering a polite wave to the woman behind the counter, who beams at her like they’re old friends.

“You really know everyone, don’t you?” you say under your breath.

“It’s a gift,” she replies, grinning.

She doesn’t rush you. Instead, she browses lightly, then subtly starts holding things up against you. A pale green sundress. A deep blue blouse. A soft cream cardigan.

You roll your eyes but secretly it’s nice, someone seeing you like this.

“What about this?” she says eventually, holding up a long wrap dress, black with little embroidered constellations scattered across it.

You pause. “It’s pretty.”

“It’s you,” she says simply, then adds with a little wink, “And it would drive Patri mad.”

You flush, laughing. “Okay, now it’s weird you're trying to dress me up for a woman didn't show any interest in me like that”

“I’m observant and I have daughters who gossip like they’re paid to do it.”

You turned back to the mirror to look at yourself in the mirror as you held the dress against you, "Then you probably heard me and her are over because of it"

"I heard. Surprisingly from Olga, not like her to gossip," Eli adjusts the fabric on your dress fussing like any mother would making sure you were holding up correctly, "It's a shame"

You hold your eyes in the mirror on her, "Is it?"

She hums, "I saw the way she looked at you, she cared for you"

"She didn't fancy me, she didn't want to-"

"Sex is not everything my dear, you want to find a woman who is your best friend who makes you laugh without trying because if you marry a dull woman who is great in bed, its not going to be great when you're bed bound with them and unable to" She stopped fiddling, "And you can have a lot of fun before you get to that part teaching them how to do it with your best friend"

You genuinely laughed, "Since you put it that way"

"Plus since my daughters love to gossip with there friends in my ear shot, from what i've heard, you wouldn't need to teach Patri a thing"

"Oh really?"

Eli nodded with a hum, "Really"

Eventually, you try on a few more things. She waits just outside the curtain, tossing in little comments now and then that are actually kind

When you finally step out in the constellation dress, she stills.

Her face shifts proud and quiet and a little sad all at once, “You look beautiful,” she says, not trying to oversell it. Just honest.

"You sure?"

She nods, "It's a little long but I can hem that no problem"

You look at yourself in the mirror. It's been a long time since you agreed. “Okay,” you say softly. “Let’s get it.”

As you change back, she pays for it, despite your protests, and when you step back out, she hands you the paper bag with a little smile.

“Everyone deserves to feel lovely in something once in a while. You especially.”

You leave the shop arm in arm, the sun warming the cobblestones, the weight in your chest just a little lighter.

You don’t talk about the past anymore that afternoon. Instead, you get iced coffees, walk back to her home, and people-watch. You tease her about how nosy she is. She tells you you’re too guarded.

You don’t correct her.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The door creaks as you push it open with your hip, a to go caffeine free coffee in one hand and the weight of a not quite healed argument still clinging to your shoulders. The office is quiet, too early for the usual hum of conversation or clatter of keys, but as you turn the corner, that hush is cut by the unmistakable sound of Olga’s sigh echoing dramatically through the space.

You glance up to find her seated at her desk, legs swinging slightly, head tilted back like she’s been trapped in the worst kind of purgatory, early morning admin with nothing to entertain her.

Beside her, slumped far less dramatically, is Alexia. One foot propped on a chair, hair tied in a messy low bun, her face is unreadable as she scrolls idly through something on her phone. She doesn’t even look up.

Your eyes linger on her a second too long before you catch yourself.

“Morning,” you say cordial but clipped.

Olga perks up immediately, flashing you a grin that feels about five percent mischief and ninety five percent cautious optimism. “There she is. Look at you, up early, looking fresh,”

You don’t answer that. You just give a polite smile, one corner of your mouth barely twitching up, and move past them to your desk.

Alexia finally looks over, her gaze lingers. She opens her mouth like she might say something but then shuts it again.

You pull out your chair, setting down your bag, then your drink, then the stack of papers you’d been meaning to sort through since last week. You focus on that, not on how still Alexia has gone, not on how the silence between you stretches taut like a wire.

“You two still not talking?” Olga asks with a huff, clearly talking to you but looking at Alexia.

You don’t respond, Alexia does, her tone dry. “Apparently not.”

You look up at that, sharp, eyes meeting hers, she doesn’t flinch, she never does. “It’s not about talking,” you say simply. “It’s about trusting.”

Alexia’s mouth tugs into something like a grimace, but she doesn’t push it further. Olga watches you both like a spectator at a tennis match, sensing she’s stepped into the tension without a helmet.

“Right. Cool. Love this vibe,” she mutters, sliding off her chair. “Think I’m gonna go make a very strong coffee and pretend this office isn’t emotionally suffocating.”

She wanders off, muttering under her breath, you and Alexia are left in the silence. You shuffle some papers, she crosses her arms and still she doesn't say she's sorry. You don’t ask her to and maybe that’s what’s worse than yelling. The not knowing if the bridge will be rebuilt or just left to rot quietly, unspoken between you.

The tension in the office doesn’t fade as the morning drags on. If anything, it lingers. You keep your head down, earbuds in, pretending to focus on an old training report that doesn’t need reviewing. But every so often, your eyes flick across the office, watching Alexia pacing back and forth like a caged animal.

She’s been restless since you got here, more than usual, it would be comical, her muttering under her breath, grumbling about the chair being too low, the air conditioning being too cold, and her phone battery mysteriously disappearing even though she’d definitely charged it last night, if it wasn’t so deeply, pointedly irritating.

Olga clearly thinks so. “Ale,” Olga finally groans from her chair, chin on her folded arms on the desk, “if you sigh one more time, I swear to god I’m going to glue your mouth shut with glue.”

Alexia, perched by the window with her injured ankle propped up on a small chair, whips her head around. “I’m just bored, okay? I’m meant to be training. This sitting around doing nothing shit is torture.”

“Oh, I hadn’t noticed.” Olga drags out the sarcasm like it physically pains her not to be dramatic. “You’ve only rearranged the pens on my desk three times.”

You fight the small smile that tugs at the corner of your mouth. You don’t want to find this funny, you don’t want to enjoy anything about Alexia right now, but her pout is so real and so unintentionally childish that you can’t help it.

Alexia glares at Olga, then sighs, again, deliberately and leans back in the chair like she’s being punished.

“I just feel useless,” she mutters. “Everyone’s training, everyone’s doing something, and I’m… sitting here. Waiting to heal.”

That flicker of guilt stings in your chest. You know the feeling stalled, stuck, waiting for something inside you to stop aching. Olga speaks “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before deciding to take on a five a side match against literal children.”

“They were talking shit,” Alexia mumbles defensively.

“They were nine, Alexia.” That earns a short, begrudging chuckle even from you, there’s a pause and then Olga, not bothering to lower her voice, says, “You know, this would all be more tolerable if you weren’t also in your feelings about the whole Y/N thing.”

You freeze, Alexia doesn’t, she just exhales sharply and glares at Olga. “Can you not?”

“What? It’s the truth.” Olga props herself up on one elbow, expression flattened with that all too familiar tone of blunt affection. “You’re moping. It’s annoying and Y/N is literally right there trying to work while you do it.”

You don’t look up, you click something at random on your screen ad you hear Alexia shift. “I’m not moping,” she says too quickly.

“You are and you screwed up and I know you know that and I know you want to fix it, but you don’t know how to do that without being defensive or emotionally constipated.”

You finally glance up, just in time to catch Alexia looking completely murderous, but she doesn’t deny it.

Olga shrugs. “Look, I’m team you two work it out. I am, but either do something about it or stop because I swear to god if you reorganise those pens one more time, I’m going to scream.” You stifle a laugh behind your hand, Alexia throws a stress ball at her, it bounces off Olga’s head with a dull thud. “You throw like you injured your arm not your ankle,” she mutters, catching it lazily.

Alexia doesn’t respond. You keep your eyes on the screen even though you’ve reread the same sentence four times and absorbed none of it.

Then, finally, she moves tentative steps with her good leg, crutch under one arm as she hobbles the short distance across the office toward you.

Olga mutters something under her breath probably a sarcastic prayer or warning but neither of you acknowledge it.

Alexia stops just short of your desk, eyes soft but cautious. Like someone approaching a skittish animal. Like she knows one wrong word and you’ll bolt. “Can I talk to you for a sec?” she asks, voice quiet.

You don't look up right away, you feel her hesitate, but she doesn't walk away. She waits, like Patri used to, but less sure of herself. You sigh when she doesn't give up, close your laptop lid, and glance up expression blank, but not cold.

She shifts her weight awkwardly, adjusting the crutch. “I know you’re still upset with me,” she says, with no forced emotion. “And I deserve that. I do.”

You stare at her a beat longer than necessary. Then finally, you exhale and softly, almost without thinking you ask, “How long are you out for?”

It’s not forgiveness, but it’s not nothing either. Alexia blinks at you, surprised. Then her shoulders loosen a bit. “Three weeks, maybe four. Depends how it heals. Sprained it playing five-a-side with the neighbours' kids,” she adds, half-smiling, a little self-deprecating.

You hum, barely amused. “Heard they were nine.”

“One of them did a roulette nutmeg and called me abuela. I panicked.” You don’t laugh, but the corner of your mouth twitches, she notices but she doesn’t push. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” she says quietly, no speech, no excuse, just that. “What I said to Patri… it wasn’t mine to share. I know that now.”

You nod. Just once. It's small, but it's acknowledgment, “You didn’t mean to hurt me,” you say, your voice calm but not warm.

Alexia shakes her head, eyes a little sad. “No, but I did.”

That hangs between you both for a second, it isn’t a full olive branch accepted but you didn’t break it either and that’s something.

“So…” she starts, way too casual for someone who knows she’s about to prod at something delicate. “You and Patri. Still broken up?”

You keep your gaze forward, flipping aimlessly through your paperwork, even though nothing on it matters. “Yeah. Seems it”

She nods like she expected that. Then, “Because you didn’t have sex?”

You close your eyes for a second, then nod slowly and you were still not looking at her.

Alexia doesn’t miss a beat, “Why did you not just sleep with her then?”

You blink and blink again, then turn to her with the slow, painful precision of someone trying not to yell in a hospital zone. “Oh wow, Alexia,” you say, voice dry as desert air, “that never occurred to me at all.”

She has the decency to wince a little but doesn’t back off. Classic Putellas. “I just meant—”

“What? That I should’ve sucked it up and gone for it? Pretended I’m not completely terrified every time someone sees me without clothes on?”

She pauses and you keep going, not angry exactly, just exposed.

“I didn’t not sleep with her because I just didn't feel like it. I didn’t because I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror, Alexia. I didn’t because I was scared she’d look at me and change her mind”

Alexia is quiet now. The kind of quiet that means she’s finally listening instead of trying to fix it with a one-liner and a shrug.

You sigh, shaking your head, rubbing at your temple. “I didn’t need someone to sleep with me. I needed someone to make me feel like I could be seen and still be wanted. She barely showed she wanted me clothed so you can only imagine how I thought she would be when I wasn't”

There’s a beat and then, gently quiet in a way she rarely is, “She did want you. She does want you.”

Alexia stares at you like she’s genuinely baffled, her brow furrowed in that intense, earnest way she reserves for both Champions League finals and your emotional wellbeing.

“You’re beautiful,” she says, like it’s fact, like it's obvious, like it physically pains her that you don’t agree. “Why do you not see that?”

You blink at her, deadpan, then gesture vaguely at her elevated leg, wrapped in ice, her sock rolled halfway down and a grimace still lingering from earlier. “You have an ankle,” you reply, dry as ever. “Why don’t you just use it?”

Her mouth opens slightly, stunned into silence for a second before she bursts into a begrudging laugh, head dropping back against the wall behind her. “Okay, fine,” she mutters, smiling despite herself. “Point taken.”

You allow yourself the smallest smirk before glancing back at your notes, the moment settling between you, you look up just in time to see Alexia limping over, dragging the chair beside your desk.

She plops down beside you with a sigh, resting her ankle on another chair, and then fixes you with a look that already makes you brace yourself. “Okay,” she says, “this is going to be an awkward conversation, considering you're my little sister…”

You immediately groan, putting your pen down. “Do we have to”

“Let me finish,” she insists, holding up a hand like she’s the adult in this sibling dynamic, which somehow makes it worse. You cringe, already regretting whatever impulse let her get within ten feet of you, “Patri thought you were sexy.”

You squeeze your eyes shut like it’ll block out her voice. “Stop it.”

“No, no, listen, before we even knew who you were, she used to go on about you all the time. Always bragging about how attractive you were. Like, stupid obsessed.”

You peek at her, horrified, “Are you done?”

“Not even close,” she says brightly. “She showed you off like a proud dog mami, Y/N. I mean, full-on ‘look at her, isn’t she perfect’ vibes. She’d find any excuse to bring you up and not just about your face either, which, yes, she liked, weirdly.”

You groan again, sinking into your seat.

“She loved that you were funny when you let yourself be. Said you had this dry, clever kind of humour that made her feel like she had to earn your laugh.”

There’s a silence then, not heavy, but not nothing either.

Alexia shrugs, “I’m just saying, it was never about you not being enough. If anything, I think she thought you were too good for her"

You don’t say anything for a second, then, quieter, “She still left.”

Alexia nods, softer now, “Yeah, but maybe she was just doing what you asked her to do”

You glance down at your hands, the silence stretches a little further this time, then Alexia clears her throat and leans back.

“Okay, I’m done being the emotionally available big sister. This ankle is killing me and I’m bored again.”

You huff out a small laugh despite yourself. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m the best,” she corrects, kicking her good foot up onto your desk. “And I deserve snacks for this emotional labour.”

You slide a granola bar across the desk toward her without looking. “Take it and never speak again.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, grinning.

Alexia starts absently fiddling with your pens, spinning one between her fingers before clicking it three times in rapid succession like she’s testing the exact frequency that will break your brain. Then she lines them up not straight, of course, but just off enough to trigger every urge you have to fix them.

You stare at her, “Can you not?”

She grins, “I’m stimulating the creative environment.”

You reach out and unceremoniously shove her foot off your desk, “Stimulate a job. Somewhere else.”

"Can we stop saying stimulate" Olga muttered as she shuddered at the word

She dramatically recoils like you’ve just committed a war crime. “Violence against the injured? Disgusting.”

You glare. “It’s no wonder Alba’s always angry. Growing up with you? I’d be furious every day of my life to.”

Alexia smirks, unfazed. “She is and she still texts me first every time she needs to vent. That’s the power of charm.”

You roll your eyes and start fixing your pens back into their proper place, muttering under your breath. “More like the power of shared trauma.”

“Tomato, tomahto,” she sings, now tapping out a rhythm on the edge of your desk with another pen like a toddler who’s discovered percussion.

You shoot her a look that promises death, “You’re lucky you’re injured.”

“I know,” she grins. “It’s the only thing keeping me interesting this week.” You sigh, long suffering, and reach for your headphones the only line of defence you still have. “I’ll tell Alba you said she’s angry, by the way.”

“I said always angry, not just angry. There’s a difference.”

She laughs like she’s won something, and somehow, you suspect she kind of has.

#alexia x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas fanfic #woso fanfics #alexia putellas #woso #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas imagine #woso imagine #alexia putellas x y/n #alexia putellas one shot #fcb femeni

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rollingeevee · 4 months ago

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Hello @dawn-sky-collective! I apologize, it wouldn’t let me write a reply to your ask so I took a pic and tagged you instead. Hope that’s ok ^^;

I have not answered this yet, so let’s get into it!

Shadow Milk has things all over the Spire for his darling to do. One thing he is really good at when it comes to a darling is providing them with ways to stimulate themselves. There’s all kinds of tools to engage oneself in creativity, such as art supplies to be used for various mediums; journals and writing materials, canvases and paints, sketchpads, needle and thread, sewing machines, and more. There are dolls and puppets in your room to allow for games and plays. Cards, board games, and other such manners to entertain oneself occupy your room and the spaces you’re allowed. There’s also like- a ton of books, seeing as he was formerly known as the Fount of Knowledge before his corruption. While lies are spread all throughout the non-fiction books, the fiction ones, meant more for enjoyment than education, remain untouched. There’s also the many creatures who lurk around the Spire, some of which take a liking to you, unaware that they should fear their Master’s jealousy.

Mystic Flour’s darling I can see making a hobby of gardening and possibly cooking. Taking care of a lovely array of plants around your Beast’s domain, marveling at their beauty as you cultivate them. Cloud Haetae also loves it when you join them in the kitchens to make buns and other treats. Speaking of Cloud Haetae, they love to play with you, if you allow them.

Burning Spice primarily entertains himself through destruction and fighting, so that’s unfortunately the most his darling can find to do. If you’re lucky, you might find a scroll or two for reading, but that’s about it. Your best bet is to ask the Wild Spices to spar with and help train you (something the Great Destroyer does allow).

Eternal Sugar’s darling likely occupies themself with cooking, cleaning, and, of course, napping. Your Beast loves the food you make and often insists you cook everyday for her and yourself.

Silent Salt’s darling is another incredibly lucky one when it comes to this. Their darling practically wants for naught, as the Beast offers them just about anything they ask for. If they don’t have it, they get it. Books, games, art supplies, musical instruments, you name it. If you want it, it’s provided for you.

When it comes to what darlings are allowed to keep from their previous life, most things are actually allowed. Clothing, hobbies, trinkets, memorabilia. At least… as long as it is on your person. If these things are at home and your Beast is not the jealous type, you might be lucky enough for them to send a minion to fetch the things you wish to have from your home for you. Silent Salt is the best when it comes to this, since, as stated before, their darling wants for naught. The primary thing you are no longer allowed is, of course, your freedom.

#Eevee Answers #Beast Bites #cookie run kingdom x reader #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom #yandere #yandere x reader #shadow milk cookie x reader #shadow milk x reader #mystic flour cookie x reader #mystic flour x reader #burning spice x reader #burning spice cookie x reader #eternal sugar x reader #eternal sugar cookie x reader #silent salt x reader #silent salt cookie x reader

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niki-phoria · 3 months ago

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so, i always need you / 숨이 가쁜 내겐 그대뿐이죠

gestures of affection from svt vocal team !!

YOON JEONGHAN’S fingers brush dance against your side before he rests his hand against your waist, curling into the fabric of your shirt. you pause, silently allowing him to step even closer.

jeonghan’s hand slips beneath the hem of your shirt to ghost against your stomach as he pulls you into a tight hug. goosebumps arise along your skin in their wake. his arms snake around your sides and you lean back, meeting his chest.

“is everything okay?” you ask. you turn slightly, glancing at him over your shoulder. stray strands of his hair tickle against the exposed skin on your neck. you chuckle softly at the feeling.

“yeah,” jeonghan says quietly. there’s a slight sluggishness to his voice, betraying the little amounts of sleep he allows himself to get. a quiet sigh escapes him when he leans his head against your shoulder, resting more of his weight against you. “just missed you.”

the morning sun streams in through your cracked blinds, casting light into your apartment. you drum your fingertips against your ceramic mug as you take absentminded sips of warm coffee. HONG JOSHUA sits in the seat beside you, nursing his own drink as you enjoy the momentary silence.

“when does practice end today?” you ask, careful not to disturb the atmosphere too much.

“not too late,” joshua replies. he sighs softly, leaning back in his chair as he stretches. “i should be home before dinner.”

you hum in acknowledgement when he stands, retreating to your bedroom to fetch the gym bag he always brings to practice. joshua shrugs it over his shoulder before he leans down, pressing a chaste kiss against your cheek before he leaves. you only catch a glimpse of joshua’s bright smile and flushed cheeks as he hurries away. “don’t miss me too much,” he calls over his shoulder. “i love you!”

LEE JIHOON’S hand occasionally brushes against your own as you walk side by side. the sun has slowly begun to dip below the horizon, taking its warmth and light with it. cherry blossoms line the edges of seokchon lake. spring comes with warming temperatures and freshly blooming flowers. a slight chill blows through the air, sending shivers down your spine.

goosebumps arise against the exposed skin of your arms; your t-shirt is too thin in the lowering night temperatures. shivers race down your spine as you wrap your arms around yourself in an attempt to warm up.

“here,” jihoon says as he drapes his jacket over your shoulders. you immediately relax slightly, grateful for the extra layer. heat floods both of your faces.

he smiles softly when you glance at him with wide eyes, chuckling beneath his breath. “won’t you get cold too?”

“no,” jihoon says. he shakes his head softly, instead reaching over to gently take your hand into his own. “i’m perfectly fine.”

“hi baby,” LEE SEOKMIN smiles brightly when you answer the facetime call. it had quickly become part of your routine for him to call every day without care of what time zone he was currently in. he reaches over to turn a nearby lamp on. golden light illuminates his features, contrasting against the silver moonlight in the night sky. “i missed you.”

“you don’t have to call me everyday, you know.” you say quietly. even on your phone screen, you can see his still-unstyled bed hair. the sight makes you chuckle beneath your breath, though seokmin doesn’t mention it. “it’s four in the morning in ontario.”

he chuckles sheepishly. seokmin brushes a hand through his hair, not bothering to hide his flushed face. “but it’s just in time for dinner in seoul.”

you stifle a laugh as you quietly prop your phone up on your kitchen table. “you’re impossible.”

“but you love it.” seokmin smiles fondly. “now, tell me about your day.”

BOO SEUNGKWAN twirls the thin thread between his fingers as he anxiously awaits your arrival. he holds a small bouquet in his hands, filled with various roses and lilies. their stems have all been trimmed and twisted before finally being wrapped in a thin layer of plastic wrap.

he startles slightly when the front door of your apartment swings open. “i’m home!” you call out, quietly locking the door behind you.

he scampers to his feet, quickly making his way towards you. seungkwan smiles brightly when he holds out the bouquet for you to take. it’s filled with pastel flowers - a variety of light yellow and baby blue. a faint blush decorates his cheeks, tinting the skin a soft shade of light pink. “i got you flowers.”

“seungkwan,” you gasp. you tentatively reach out, taking the flowers into your hands. “you didn’t have to.”

“but i wanted to,” seungkwan says. he leans in, pressing a soft kiss against your forehead. “you deserve it.”

notes: please leave feedback if you enjoyed, gn reader but written with male reader in mind, 150-160 words each, opened reqs again !! feel free to send any ideas :)) this idea was inspired by this post by @wonryllis and this prompt list by @novelbear !! title from ssventeen - to you

if you liked this fic, please comment, reblog, or leave feedback !! and if you want to support me, check out my seventeen masterlist <33

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parkerslatte · 1 year ago

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Right Where He Belongs

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: mentions of a difficult pregnancy. mentions of death.

Summary: Y/N and Azriel were in love, and they still were even when Azriel was bound to Velaris for fifty years. When he goes to visit Y/N after so many years, he runs into a male who looks an awful lot like him.

Requested: yes. based off this request.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

“I need to get home,” Azriel muttered, pressing kisses down the side of Y/N’s neck.

Y/N giggled. “You said that nearly an hour ago.”

“I know,” Azriel groaned, nuzzling his head into the crook of her neck.

Y/N smiled and gently pulled Azriel’s head away so she could look him in the eyes. “My love, I will see you in a few days. Surely you cannot miss me too much.”

Azriel gently cupped Y/N’s face. “I miss you whenever I’m apart from you.”

Y/N kissed Azriel on the tip of his nose. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Azriel said before surging forward to connect their lips.

Almost instantly, Y/N melted. She always did whenever Azriel kissed her. Every thought seemed to fade from her head until she was only consumed by Azriel. Her fingers threaded into his soft hair, gently scratching at his scalp. Azriel hummed in delight.

Reluctantly, Y/N pulled away. “As much as I am enjoying my time with you, I do need to get to work soon. And so do you.”

Y/N pulled her body from Azriel’s and threw the sheets from her bare body and stepped into the cool air. From the bed Azriel watched her, nothing but pure love in his hazel eyes. He propped himself up on his elbows and shuffled up the bed until he could rest comfortably against the headboard, his wings slumped comfortably.

Feeling eyes upon her, Y/N turned around to face Azriel. “What?” she asked, failing to keep a smile from her face.

“Nothing,” Azriel shrugged.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “No, you were clearly thinking of something.”

Azriel shrugged once more. “All I was thinking is that you are beautiful. It’s nothing you don’t know already.”

“Stop trying to coax me back into bed, Az,” Y/N said and picked up Azriel’s clothes from where they were laying on the floor.

Azriel caught them before shuffling out of the bed himself. While Y/N changed into her clothes quickly, Azriel changed slowly delaying his return back to Velaris. Once Azriel was fully dressed, he sat down on the edge of the bed and simply watched as Y/N styled her hair in the mirror.

Y/N could see him looking at her in the mirror and she couldn’t help but smile. “I can feel you staring.”

“I’ve already told you, it’s because you are beautiful,” Azriel answered.

“You’ve already said that,” Y/N said, turning around with her hands on her hips.

“I’m only stating the truth,” Azriel replied.

Y/N walked over to him and as soon as she was in touching distance, Azriel wrapped his arms around her as she settled on his lap.

“I need to go,” Azriel said miserably.

“I know,” Y/N said, brushing a strand of hair away. “But you will see me in a few days.”

Azriel huffed. “But that is too long. Why can’t you come to Velaris with me?”

“I still work for Thesean, Azriel,” Y/N said. “Just because I have been given more freedom over the past few months does not mean I can skip out on my duties when it calls for it.”

Y/N stood from Azriel’s lap and pulled him up with her. “Now as much as I hate to kick you out, I do have to get to work soon.”

Azriel sighed. “So do I.”

Y/N dragged Azriel to the door of her apartment. “I know that if I don’t push you out, you will not leave.”

Azriel chuckled. “You know me too well.”

“Better than I know myself,” Y/N replied and opened the front door. “I will see you in a few days, Azriel.

The shadowsinger stepped through the threshold. “No kiss?”

Y/N huffed out a laugh and pulled Azriel close for a kiss. Everything within her told her to pull him back inside and take him to bed and never let him leave. But she didn’t do that. The moment her lips pressed against Azriel’s, Y/N was pulling away once more. “I will see you in a few days, my love,” Y/N said, slowly closing the door.

“I love you too,” Azriel said, a playful smile on his lips.

Y/N blew him a quick kiss and closed the door in Azriel’s face. Though she felt a wave of regret washing over her as she stepped away. Y/N quickly shrugged it off and went back to the mirror to sort her hair out. A few days. She would see Azriel in a few days.

If only Y/N knew how wrong she was, she would have let Azriel remain in bed with her just a little longer.

***

50 Years Later

The moment after Azriel reunited with Rhys, he immediately winnowed to the Dawn Court. For fifty years he had yearned for Isla. There had been no way to contact her or send word, he was bound in Velaris with no way of communicating. That last time he had seen her, she had pushed him out of the door. Azriel wished he refrained only a little longer. He wished he would have coaxed her back into bed. Perhaps he would have spent these past fifty years wrapped in her embrace instead of sleeping in a cold bed, devoid of her warmth and scent.

As soon as Azriel appeared in the Dawn Court he walked the route he remembered like the back of his hand. He would never forget it. Despite Y/N spending more time in the Night Court than Azriel did in Dawn, he still memorised every route possible to her apartment. An apartment he wasn’t even sure if she still lived in anymore.

In the distance, Azriel could see the familiar building. He smiled to himself and quickened his pace. Azriel’s eyes were fixed on the building in the distance so he didn’t notice the figure stepping out in front of him until it was too late. Azriel stumbled back and maintained his balance but the figure was not so lucky.

Azriel’s hand shot out to catch them but the attempt was futile as they went tumbling to the floor.

“Watch where you’re walking,” the figure spoke, obviously annoyed.

Azriel scoffed. “I should be telling you the same thing.”

The figure slowly stood to their feet and Azriel took the opportunity to look at them. The moment he did he felt his heart stop.

It was as if Azriel was looking into a mirror. The male had the same hair as him, although styled differently. His eyes were the same shade of hazel as Azriel’s were, even the male’s dark lashes were the same. What Azriel picked up on most was the large illyrian wings tucked into the male’s back. Azriel’s mouth opened and closed. The male standing before him was related to him, there was no doubt about that.

As Azriel’s eyes surveyed the male again, he noticed something familiar– very familiar. The male’s mouth didn’t match up with his at all. It was the perfect replica of the love of his life, even down to the slight scowl upon it.

Azriel’s hands shook as the realisation dawned upon him. The male standing before him was related to him. And he was definitely his son.

“I need to go…” Azriel mumbled before speeding off in the opposite direction of Y/N’s apartment.

His heart beat so fast as his vision blurred. Azriel had a son. Not just a son. A son who was grown up. A son who had grown up without Azriel.

There was an area surrounded by trees where Azriel hid himself from any onlookers. As soon as he was out of sight of everyone, he finally allowed the tears to fall. He had a son. Azriel had a child. Not being able to support his weight anymore, Azriel slumped onto the grass.

Many thoughts swum through Azriel’s head. All of them of Y/N. She must have been pregnant before he was bound to Velaris. She must have sent so many letters that he wouldn’t have received. She must have thought he found out and left. More tears sprung to Azriel’s eyes.

For fifty years, all Azriel had dreamed of was the day he would one day get to hold Y/N in his arms once again. Feel her touch. Hear her voice. Now, perhaps, he never would. If she thought he left her to have a child on her own. Let her go through birthing him alone–

Azriel suddenly stilled as dread filled his body. He had wings. His son had wings. Y/N’s body was not fit to carry an Illyrian child. There was a possibility that she was not alive at all.

A scream of anguish left Azriel as the realisation dawned upon him. All those hopes and dreams about reuniting with Y/N. Asking her to marry him. All of those hopes and dreams were shattered in an instant.

Azriel let his wings slump to the floor, not having the energy to lift them up. He clawed at his chest feeling his heart shatter as the thought that the love of his life may not possibly be alive.

“Azriel?” A familiar voice spoke softly.

Azriel’s head snapped up from where he was staring at the grass to look at the source of the voice. His tears blurred his vision but he shakily rose to his feet.

“Y/N?” Azriel whispered.

He blinked the tears away and Y/N’s beautiful face came into focus. Wasting no time, Azriel rushed forward, as did Y/N. As soon as their bodies collided Azriel wrapped his arms around her as they sank down to the floor.

“You’re really here,” Y/N whispered, emotion clouding her voice.

“I’m here,” Azriel replied, his fingers threading in her hair as he cradled her head against him. “I’m here.”

“I sent so many letters,” Y/N cried.

“I didn’t receive any,” Azriel explained. “I couldn’t receive any.”

“I missed you so much,” Y/N mumbled. “I never should have sent you out that day. We should have never left that bed. It’s my fault.”

“Hey, nothing was your fault,” Azriel said softly. “There was nothing we could do.”

Y/N continued to cry into Azriel’s shoulder as they held one another. Her scent was the same and it felt as if Azriel had never been apart from her. Holding her felt just like that last day they spent together.

As her cries subsided, Y/N pulled away from Azriel to look at him. “There is so much I need to tell you.”

“I believe I already met one of the things we need to talk about,” Azriel said, taking Y/N’s hands in his and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

Despite the tears, Y/N let out a breathy chuckle. “He came to me acting like he had seen a ghost.”

Azriel’s eyes stung as he thought about the male he had met not even ten minutes ago. “What is his name?”

“Forrest,” Y/N replied. “His name is Forrest.”

Azriel nodded and looked down at their joined hands. “He’s grown up.”

Y/N nodded sadly. “I found out I was pregnant only the day after I kicked you out. It was too early to pick up on a shift in scent but I just knew.”

“That was the day I was bound to Velaris,” Azriel said sadly.

“It was, I tried all I could to contact you but it was impossible,” Y/N said. “At first I thought you had received the letters and left me.”

“I would never do that in a million years,” Azriel said. “Y/N, please believe me when I say that if I had found a way to come to you, I would have.”

Y/N cupped Azriel’s cheeks, wiping away the fallen tears. “I know you would have. After not receiving a response from you, I tried to contact Mor, then Cassian and finally Amren. When I did not get a reply from anyone, I knew that there was something stopping you.”

“When I saw Forrest, and saw his wings,” Azriel began, fighting back the tears, “I thought something could have happened to you. Your body is not built to carry a child with wings.”

Y/N trailed her hand from Azriel’s face to link her fingers with hers. The feeling of holding Isla’s hand again sent shivers down Azriel’s spine.

“I won’t lie to you and say the pregnancy was easy because it wasn’t. I was so scared the entire time,” Y/N explained. “But despite how frightened I was, I live in the Dawn Court, a place with the best healers Prythian has ever seen. The recovery was tough and painful but it was worth it in the end just to hold Forrest in my arms, a beautiful boy who looked just like you.”

Through his tears, Azriel smiled, thinking back to the boy he had run into. A life he helped create.

“And Forrest,” Azriel said, “was he okay after he was born.”

Y/N sighed. “His wings were damaged during his birth, the healers did all they could for him. A lot of visits to multiple healers. He can fly but only very short distances or it hurts him. Forrest always tells me it is not a big deal but every single time he flies he is always in an extreme amount of pain after.” Y/N chuckled. “But he has your stubbornness. No matter how many times I tell him to take breaks and work on the programme his main healer had put him on, he still decides to go out on long flights. He says it makes him feel closer to his dad.”

“What?” Azriel said in disbelief.

“Did you really think I haven’t told Forrest anything about you for the past fifty years?” Y/N said, squeezing Azriel’s hands. “Even though he had never met you personally, he loves you. Admires you. He has only just begun asking recently, but he has wanted to meet you for so long. I never told him the full truth, mainly because I didn’t know the full truth and because I know that if I did, he would try anything to get to you. He has your determination too. He is your son through and through, Azriel.”

Azriel looked down at his hand linked with Y/N’s. “I have missed so much of his life. How can I ever be a good father to him? I don’t know a single thing about being a father.”

“And you think I know anything about being a mother?” Y/N replied, a smile pulling at her lips. “I have been one for fifty years and I am sure I am still figuring out things as I go.”

“Will he want to meet me?” Azriel asked.

“He would want nothing more,” Y/N said. “But can I be selfish for a moment, I am sure Forrest will understand.”

Azriel nodded, pulling Y/N closer to him.

“I just want to be with you for a few moments longer,” Y/N said. “It has been so long since you have held me in your arms.”

Azriel smiled at Y/N. “I love you so much.”

The smile that lit up Y/N’s face was the one that haunted Azriel’s dreams and nightmares. But she was real, Y/N was real and Azriel held her tightly to him, afraid that he would wake up in his cold bed.

“It has been a long time since you have told me that.”

Y/N surged forward once and pressed her lips against Azriel’s. Azriel simply melted into her, knowing that it was real. Y/N was real and he was never letting her go again.

***

“Forrest,” Y/N said, pushing open the door to her apartment. “I have someone with me you have been wanting to meet.”

Azriel stepped in the room behind Y/N. The apartment was different, there were different decorations and furniture but it was still all familiar to Azriel. He noticed the small gifts he had given her over the course of their relationship in obvious spots around the room. Azriel smiled.

As Azriel stepped further into Y/N’s apartment his eyes fell upon his son standing still in the centre of the room.

“Forrest. This is your father, Azriel,” Y/N said.

Azriel took a deep breath and took a step forward. “I bumped into you just outside,” Azriel said somewhat awkwardly. “I am sorry about that.”

Forrest didn’t respond as he took a few steps closer to Azriel. From this distance, Azriel could see clearly just how much Forrest looked like him but Azriel could also notice all of Y/N’s features in his appearance, all of the features he loved so much.

“It is good to finally meet you,” Azriel said, feeling far too formal.

Forrest still didn’t respond as he took a final step closer to Azriel, his face not giving away any emotion. Azriel noticed that Forrest wasn’t too much shorter than Azriel himself but the shadowsinger couldn’t help but feel intimidated under his son’s stare.

“I thought that maybe, you and I could–”

Azriel was cut off by Forrest hugging Azriel tightly. Azriel’s body remained rigid until he could feel Forrest’s body begin to shake as he cried. Almost instantly, Azriel’s arms wrapped around Forrest as he tried to calm his son.

“It’s good to meet you, dad,” Forrest mumbled.

Azriel’s grip only tightened on Forrest as he felt his own tears well in his eyes. He was holding onto his son and the love of his life was standing just behind him. Despite his tears, Azriel smiled. He was right where he needed to be.

#acotar #acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fluff #azriel angst

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cllightning81 · 6 months ago

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Comfort [LN4]

Summary: Lando comes home after some races and just seeks comfort within your arms (including some little extras)

Paring: Lando Norris x Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Based on THIS request

Masterlist Lando Norris Masterlist Want be included in my tag list? Click HERE

You knew that Lando had been struggling over the past few races, but he wouldn’t ask for help. That’s just who Lando was; he wanted to do everything by himself that was just him. The drivers championship was heating up, and Lando was struggling mentally. He’d deleted all his social media from his phone and just told his team what he wanted posted.

His friendship with Max wasn’t challenging away from race weekends, but during race weekend, you could slowly see how they weren’t talking to each other.

You hadn’t been able to join Lando in person this weekend. You’d wanted to due to the championship but prior commitments. Lando understood, but as you watched the race weekend from either your office or from the comfort of your and Lando’s shared home, you could see how his posture and facial expressions showed how he was feeling.

Your facetimes and texts with Lando felt different. It was like you were talking to Lando when you started dating, and he was all shy again. You weren’t exactly sure when Lando was due home, so when you were laying in bed scrolling through TikTok, you were surprised to hear the lock on the door turning.

Sitting up in bed, you could hear Lando sneaking in. I'm definitely sure it was Lando due to the massive thud from his bag landing on the floor before he started sneaking about again. As you sat your phone down on the bedside table, you were ready to get out of bed when Lando walked into the bedroom

“I thought you were sleeping” He whispered, his hoodie getting thrown in the washing pile that you’d left at the door of the en-suite. He continued getting undressed as you answered

“Sleeping? Don’t you know my sleep schedule?” You joked, and he shrugged, walking into the en-suite

“That’s true” He laughed a little as you pushed the covers away from your body, watching him brush his teeth

“Have a good flight home?” You asked, and he shrugged

“Wasn’t bad. Osc and I played monopoly. He lost obviously” He replied, walking over to the bed. Climbing on the bed nudging your legs open with his hands. You just watched him, letting him find a comfortable place to lay down.

He decided to lay his body between your legs, his feet dangling off the end of the bed after refusing to buy a new bed so that his feet wouldn’t do that. His head rested on your stomach as he looked up at you with those doe eyes that he seemed to always have at home at the moment.

Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, one hand rubbing comforting circles on his back as the other hand threaded through his newly cut mullet playing with his hair at the same time

“Want to talk about it?” You asked quietly, nothing wanting to push him to talk about something that he wasn’t comfortable talking about.

“This whole papaya rules shit is so fucking annoying. Like why can’t we just fight it. Like I obviously understand Hungary. Osc led the whole race and we spoke about it after the race, understood it and I get that I was a bit of an ass because I was annoyed. Then there’s so many idiot fans who think they know better about the fight with Max and the championship fight. I just want it to fucking end” He complained as you nodded along. You sighed just wishing you could take the pressure off his shoulders

“I’m sorry my love. Is there anything I can do to make it better?” You asked gently and he shook his head

“Just cuddle with me?” He asked and you nodded, leaning down to press a kiss to his head. Lando pulled himself up a little to press his lips to your own.

“I forgot to do that when I got in” He hummed, pressing his lips to your own before settling back in his previous position. You smiled playing with his hair

“Have you had anything in date to eat?” You asked and he nodded

“Osc and I stopped for some food before driving back” You nodded with a small smile

“Good, I’m glad” You smiled, pulling the duvet over Lando resting it on his shoulders. During the winter break you could see Lando’s shoulder’s relax, his smile had returned and overall it seemed that your boyfriend was back to normal and you couldn’t be happier

As you sat on the boat with some other friends around you couldn’t help but smile as you watched Lando interact with his friends. Walking back over you handed Lando his drink before his hand wrapped around your waist sitting you on his lap. Your head resting between his jaw and shoulder as you breathed in his scent, your hand resting on the other side of his face. What you hadn’t realised was Max and Pietra had started taking pictures of the two of you with Lando’s smile bigger than it had been in a while. “I love you” You whispered, allowing his smile to grow even wider even if it hadn’t been possible. “I love you too” He smiled.

Later at dinner you’d noticed a change in Lando’s demeanour and you frowned looking over, scotting closer to him

“Are you okay love?” You asked quietly wanting his friends to hear the conversation

“Yeah, it’s really just hit me how much I love you and how much you’ve done for me” He whispered and you pouted a little pulling him into your body as your hand rested on his jaw. His eyes squeezed shut as his other hand rested on your back

“I’m never going anywhere. You’re stuck with me for life” You smiled pressing a kiss to his jaw line, the closest body part to your lips.

“Marry me?” He whispered, pulling back only slightly to look at you

Coming Soon

Tag List

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firingstars · 20 days ago

Text

in this life | ch. 2

bucky barnes x female reader

summary: "There's only one God, doll, and He's gonna bring me back to you." "I don't need God," you told him, fresh tears brimming over your eyes. "I just need you."

warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, wall sex, clothed sex, fingering, its a quickie, reincarnation trope, language, mentions of financial instability, memories are written with italicizes, no use of y/n, angst, yearning, longing, everyone's alive no one is dead because i said so, alternating pov's

word count: 4.2k

a/n: btw i guess i have an obsession with making peter parker the reader's friend but i promise peter is happy in this fic and mj is also your best friend and ned is also mentioned as well-- you work with mj at the diner LOLLL

previous chapter | next chapter

“Sergeant B̴̜̟̬̿͐ä̸̲̯̳͛̔r̵͉̆n̷͔̯̏̿ẽ̷̥̅͂s̸̠̣̹̒͒,” you read the order, forcing a smile on your face. “107th infantry. Sounds kinda important. Like you’ll be in the front lines.”

“Something like that,” he mutters, fussing with the belt around his waist. You let out a breath, re-reading the words on the ink smudged letter once more.

You already memorized each letter on this small piece of paper. To you, this letter signified the end of your entire world.

“How do I look, pretty girl?” he asked, turning to face you. He takes the letter from your hands once again, tucking it away into his breast pocket where you can’t reach it. You’ve been spending every waking moment of your time ingraining the orders into your mind like it was a death sentence. To you, it is. He’s trying to make you forget about it.

You give him a hum of approval, letting your eyes roam all over his figure. As much as you hate the reason why he’s wearing the uniform, you can’t deny that he looks incredibly handsome in it. He had gotten it tailored to fit him, so it’s perfectly fitting his body in all the right places. Maybe it’s something about seeing a man in a work uniform, in the same way that you swoon when he wears a suit for special occasions.

“Like you’re about to head into war,” you replied with a snort.

“Probably because I am,” he said with a shake of his head. There’s a smile somewhere on his face. You can hear it. You don’t answer him though. You’re a bit busy undressing him with your eyes. Tearing off the uniform into scrapes of thread that you could reuse for something else would be nice. Pushing his naked body into the bed would be even better. Maybe you would keep his dog tags around his neck, just so you could use it to pull him down onto you.

Fingers are placed under your chin, and you’re forced to look up at him, to meet the eyes that you can’t see.

“We don’t have time for whatever you’re thinking of, doll. We have to go meet S̶͔̄͑t̸̙̜̏e̷̲͎̠̅̂v̴͚̤̱̐ḭ̶̊́̕e̴̦̥͖̋ for the Stark Expo,” he said, his voice dropping dangerously low with that deep husk that makes a shiver run down your spine.

“Wasn’t thinking of anything,” you told him, feigning innocence with a sweet smile.

“Really? A shame, I thought we were thinking of the same thing,” he sighed, releasing his hold on your chin. You raise an eyebrow at him, tilting your head.

“What would that be?” you said, looking up at him from your lashes.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he whispered, his voice soft and teasing.

“It’s an order, Sergeant. From your direct supervisor,” you said, watching as his shoulders shake slightly with a chuckle. “I suggest you hurry up and act before you piss me off and make us late.”

“Can’t be disobeying my first order, now can I?” he grinned, reaching for the sleeves of your dress.

“Maybe you could,” you hummed, already making work of undoing the belt around his waist before getting to the buttons of his blazer. “Maybe you could get dishonorably discharged, get sent home back to me.”

“Don’t make me laugh, doll,” he murmured, pressing his lips to your neck.

“Worth a shot,” you sighed into him, carefully pushing his blazer off his shoulders. He allowed you to, and you made sure to gently drape it over the couch in a way that it wouldn’t wrinkle.

“Can’t fully get undressed, pretty,” he muttered, gathering the skirt of your dress in one hand to get it out of the way to allow his other hand to reach beneath it. You let out a soft gasp as his fingers started to play with your clit over the fabric of your undergarments.You grabbed onto his arms for stability, resting your forehead on his shoulder. “We gotta be fast.”

“Fast– why aren’t you inside me yet then, Sergeant?” you moaned, eyes fluttering shut as he stuck a knee between your legs to spread them more. His fingers shifted, moving the fabric of your underwear to the side so he could slip his fingers right into your aching pussy.

“You’re naughty,” he clicked his tongue. “Already dripping. Is it the uniform?”

“No,” you quickly responded. A lie, one that he caught, and answered by curling his fingers in you the way that he knew would make you tremble.

You moaned into his shoulder, and he hummed happily in response, his fingers speeding up the work. They massaged within you quickly, performing in ways that only he knew you liked. The ways that he only was allowed to touch you– ways that he could only have you. You were a goner, clenching around his fingers, trembling against his body.

“I got you. You’re doing so well. So good for me,” he whispered the praise in your ear. “Cum for me, pretty girl. Cum for me, then I’ll stuff you full of my cock. Sounds good?”

You nodded frantically, unable to produce the words to answer him. You were so close, right at the edge of the cliff– and he pressed the heel of his palm to your clit. You were undone just like that. A moaning, shaking mess. His other arm wrapped around your waist to hold you upright against him as you trembled in his arms, his fingers slowing but never stopping as you came on them.

When the shaking subsided, you were being lifted up, legs being wrapped around his waist. You felt your back against the wall, and you lifted your head to look at him– only to throw your head back against the wall with a moan as he slipped inside you without warning.

“B̷̺̝̤̉ṵ̷̓̑͑c̷̠̆̈́̒̋k̸̢̖̰͚͔̾͐̐̒͌,” you gasp, holding onto his shoulders for dear life as his hips piston in and out of you quickly. He was so pretty like this– still in his military dress uniform. He was slightly unkempt now, his dress pants pushed below his waist so he could bury his cock in you without restraint.

“Yeah, doll?” he whispered, burying his face in your neck, breathing heavily. His heart was beating as fast as yours. You could feel him– feel how hard he was inside of you. His cock was twitching and jumping in reaction to every pulse of your already sensitive walls, and you were going to cum again soon.

“It– it’s too much,” you stammered, digging your nails through his shirt and into his skin. “Baby, slow down–”

“No can do,” he grunted, snapping his hips into you even harder. “We gotta be fast, sweetheart. You… you said it yourself. We gotta go.”

You whine in response, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You really couldn’t take it anymore. He hadn’t given you much time to come down from your previous release before he had set a punishing pace with his cock, and you were done for with him so close to you.

With one more specific thrust, one more moan that hit your ears, you were cumming around him, clamping hard on his dick and tensing against his body. Your lover cursed, holding you tighter to him as he came in you with one last thrust, filling you with his own release.

He pressed kisses all over your face, murmuring praises in between each one. He held onto your legs as he carried you to the bathroom, only separating your body from his when he had you seated on the sink counter. You both moaned one last time as he slipped out of you.

Your lover grabbed a washcloth, and began to clean up the mess in between your legs, then himself, then made work to make both of you look presentable again before checking the time on his wrist.

“Looks like we’re gonna be late, doll,” he chuckled.

You wake with a deep sigh, throwing your arm over your eyes as you try to calm down your thundering heartbeat. More often than not these days, you were having wet dreams of this soldier man. You couldn’t even tell anyone you were lusting over a soldier from the 40s that was about to head off into war.

The digital clock on your night stand lets you know you woke up a couple hours earlier than you needed to for your lecture. You could risk it by going back to sleep. You only entertain the idea for a couple more seconds before you force yourself out of bed and into the shower to clean the sticky mess between your legs.

You have a neuroscience exam coming up in a few days and a psychology exam later that day, but you can’t study as much as you want to. With both your dreams harassing you with details that you haven’t even experienced in real life, along with the crippling fear of drowning in student debt, you’re stuck working late nights at the diner down the street from your university.

Honestly, you want to wrap your hands around your throat for doing this to yourself. The only reason you chose this field of study– Traumatic Memory Rehabilitation Science– is because of the doctors that let you down as a teenager. There has to be something wrong with you. You were convinced there had to be. Something that you missed in your developmental stages of life that’s causing all of these dreams.

That was the selfish reason, at least.

The selfless version that you told others was simply the fact that you lived in New York and there were more than several times a year when the city became a breeding ground for trauma and heartache. You could help people while helping yourself. And get good money doing it, too.

Money.

You don’t even want to look at your bank account, and you ignore the way your stomach growls. It was the beginning of the month, and you already paid the rent. At the very least, you wouldn’t have to worry about that expense for another thirty days. If things really got tough, you could dip into your savings and treat yourself to a nice meal. You decided to refrain. You could charm the line cook into giving you a free dish later on when you clocked in for your shift.

Which is exactly what you attempt to do after you put your uniform on. Thankfully, he’s a big softie and you get a warm plate of mashed potatoes and a lesser grade cut of steak, but beggars can't be choosers and meat is meat.

“Table in your section– two customers,” your coworker and one of your closest friends, MJ, called from the front.

“Coming,” you responded, forcing another few mouthfuls down your throat before washing it all away with two gulps of water.

“Heads up,” MJ said as she handed you menus and a mint, “they’re kinda hot.”

“I’m telling Peter you said that,” you scoffed at her. She grinned at you as she watched you pop the mint in your mouth and tuck the menus under your arm before grabbing a couple of waters to bring to the table.

You wanted to shoot MJ in the foot the second your table came into view. You did everything in your power to stop yourself from tripping over your feet and spilling the waters in your hands. Your customers weren’t just kinda hot. They were the embodiment of desire and sex and all things sinful.

Steve Rogers was sitting at your table, with James Buchanan Barnes in front of him.

Oh, shit.

“Good evening, boys,” you said, placing their glasses on the table along with the menus. You tell them your name, “I’ll be your server tonight. Can I get you something other to drink than water?”

Both men are staring at you like you have two heads. You’d be lying if it wasn’t unnerving. Did you smell like steak? Was your eyeliner smudged? Maybe you had a loop in your hair and they were staring at it, wondering if it was the polite thing to do to tell you about it. Either way, it was making your heart pound in your chest with anxiety the longer they didn’t speak. Usually customers wouldn’t bother you like this, but this was different. These were two war heroes and current superheroes.

“Should I give you two a few more minutes?” you finally speak once more, taking a deep breath as you do.

It’s Steve who snaps out of it, and clears his throat. “No, sorry. Lost in thought– um. Water is good. Thank you. We might need a few minutes to decide what we’ll order though.”

“No worries at all. I’ll come back in a few to check up on you. Call for me if you decide earlier,” you said, releasing the breath. Thank God.

Steve gives you a grateful smile, and nods once. You glance over to his partner sitting across from him, your gaze lingering on him for longer than you would like to admit.

You’ve read about both men in your history classes. You’ve had tests and quizzes on them for as long as you could remember. You recall having a field trip to the museum to see the memorial structure that was made for the two of them when you were in high school, and you remember when Captain America first emerged from the ice. You also remember when the Winter Soldier was all over the news, and how everyone online was torn into sides over the fact that he got a pardon.

Yet, you realize that you don’t think any of the pictures you’ve seen in your textbooks, in the museums, or on the news could do his face any justice. He looks tired, which is a given based on the information that you know about him, but it doesn’t hide how pretty he looks. Stormy, steel blue eyes that stared into yours without wavering. A short beard growing on his face from not shaving for a couple days. Hair that stopped above his shoulders, but looked well taken care of and maintained. He was also bigger than you remembered. He’s full of muscle and memories, all from the years of time that he’s spent fighting.

You pause at the thought.

Bigger than you remembered?

What the hell were you thinking of? This was the first time you’ve ever seen this man in person, first time that he’s ever been within arm's length to you. There’s nothing to remember here.

You give him a smile, and tear your gaze away from his, ignoring the tug in your chest as you do. You need another drink of water. Or a shot. Something to get you through the next hour or two that these guys will be in your section.

You lock eyes with MJ briefly, and she raises her eyebrows at you in amusement. You glare at her in response as the front door opens, signaling that another patron has walked in.

Thankfully, the dinner rush starts to pile in not too long after. You don’t have the time to contemplate what just happened when you locked eyes with the soldier. You were even more grateful that both men seemed to pull themselves together out of whatever stupor they were in, and ordered without another awkward pause between the two of you.

You raced around the diner like this, checking up on them briefly to make sure they didn’t need anything else, made sure their food was cooked properly and tasted good, and kept refilling their waters when you noticed their glasses were running low. You would be damned if Captain America had to ask you for a refill on water.

When Steve finally caught your attention to ask for the check, you decided to make an executive decision.

“On the house,” you said, waving a hand like it was nothing.

“What?” Steve asked, pausing in grabbing his wallet from his pocket.

You gave him a shrug. “For your service. Back then and now. I grew up on stories from my grandfather saying that you saved him from an enemy bunker during the war. He loved the two of you,” you confessed, shaking your head at the memory before looking at them again. “And for your service now. I don’t love that the city I grew up in is always being attacked, but it’s nice to know that you guys are around to put everything back together.”

Both men stare at you, and you think you’ve said too much. You feel a little embarrassed, gushing over your childhood superheroes like this. So, you clear your throat and give them another small, sheepish smile.

“I hope you two have a great night,” you said. “Take your time, too. No rush to get out the door.”

You quickly leave their table before they can protest your decision for a free meal. Your paycheck will take the hit, but you feel good about it at least.

Both men linger in the diner for a little while longer before they decide to pick themselves up and leave. Once they’re gone and out the door, you start to clear the dishes from their table. Then, you freeze. A fat stack of cash is sitting underneath one of the plates, next to a napkin with writing. You pick up the napkin, your hands trembling as you read the words over and over again.

Thanks for the meal, doll. - Sergeant

You carried the money back home in your purse, clutching the accessory like you were holding some sort of bomb. You were still trembling that night when you counted every single bill, only to realize that each bill was a pretty Benjamin staring straight at you.

You ended up googling how much money Avengers made because there was no way that they just walked away from your table after paying your entire tuition for the year. Or rather– was it just Bucky? Barnes was a Sergeant, you knew that. The napkin that you had carefully placed on your nightstand was only from him.

Your mind was still reeling, and you didn’t touch the money for a week. You couldn’t. You kept your eyes and ears open more than usual, looking around every single corner, and perking up at every single patron that walked through the doors of the diner. Maybe Bucky would return, and you could confront him. Tell him to take back the money, that it was too damn much for you to just accept.

But when the first bill came in your mailbox, and you looked at your checking account, your mind only wandered back to the cash you had carefully hidden away behind your dresser. You’d become paranoid at this point, thinking that everyone knew how much money you were harboring. Of course, ten grand really wasn’t that much in the grand scheme of things. Still, it was more than enough to keep you comfortable for a while.

You sighed and went down to your university’s finance department, ready to pay off a bill for the semester.

“Hm? It’s already been taken care of.”

You’re about to throw up.

“What?” you breathe, mind racing. “What do you mean it’s been taken care of?”

“You were accepted for one of the Stark Foundation’s scholarships,” the receptionist said, typing away at her computer. “Pretty impressive, if you tell me. Tony Stark has been pretty selective in who he chooses for that scholarship. Just keep your grades up, and the rest of your schooling is paid for. If you graduate with enough honors and recognition, I’m sure that he’ll take you in for an internship for the research you’re conducting.”

You didn’t know what to say. Reality didn’t feel real anymore. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought you were dreaming at this moment, but there was no way that you could have been– he wasn’t here. All your dreams included him.

“Oh, and the scholarship includes a meal plan,” the receptionist said, taking a brochure out from her drawer. “For the university’s cafeterias.”

Your university had the best damn food you’d ever tried, but the issue was that it was too expensive without a meal plan to pay for it. You’d had it once, twice, when you were desperate enough between classes and on the brink of starvation. Your next planned time to go there was before you graduated and left the campus behind.

“Congratulations on your scholarship,” the receptionist smiled at you, and you could tell it was genuine. However, she looked behind you towards the line of other students waiting to pay their bills. “Is there anything else that I can help you with today?”

“No. Sorry– um. I didn’t apply for any scholarship,” you quickly said, snapping back into your body after the brief metaphysical journey you went through in your head. “I have the regular grants given to me by the state and some other smaller scholarships that I qualified for, but I wasn’t qualified for Stark Foundation.”

“Stark Foundation is always looking for bright young minds to push the world forward in these tough times. You must’ve caught his eye with a couple of your essays or papers that you published this year.”

You shook your head. No. You knew that it wasn’t enough because you researched it. You applied for every damn scholarship under the sun, and you didn’t meet all of Tony Stark’s requirements. He was looking for engineers. You were studying towards mental health and memory reconstruction and trauma rehabilitation.

“What– what’s the exact name of the scholarship?” you stuttered, still confused.

The receptionist let out a little sigh, visibly more annoyed now. She clicked a few more buttons on her mouse, looking at her computer screen before glancing back at you.

“It looks like you have received the Anthony E. Stark Foundation Legacy Scholarship of Distinguished Scholars and Scientific Excellence award.”

You have never even heard of such a damn thing before.

You leave the administration office, feeling more confused than before. None of this makes sense. Your entire world had been knocked off balance in just one week, but nothing was technically wrong. Was this luck of the draw?

You pull your phone out of your pocket, immediately calling Peter. It rang once, twice, and he picked up on the third time.

“Hey!” he greeted you, sounding extremely chipper. “What’s up?”

“Since when does Tony Stark give out scholarships to people that don’t apply for it– people that don’t even qualify for it?” you asked him.

“Huh? Mr. Stark? Uh… From what I know, and I’m just an intern– the scholarships are a real grueling process. He only grants them to the students that he wants to work with in the future, but there’s a bunch of different meetings and lots of processes that the person has to go through to even secure the scholarship,” Peter answered.

“Is that what you went through?” you demanded.

“Well, you know about my… special circumstances,” he said slowly, and you let out a breath. “And so does Mr. Stark.”

“Right. Of course. Sorry, Peter,” you murmured.

“Are you okay? You sound a bit off,” he said, and you could hear the worry in his voice.

“I’m fine,” you said, a bit too fast to sound convincing. “Um– is MJ working later tonight? If so, I’ll see her at the diner.”

“Oh, yeah. Me and Ned will stop by for dinner, too,” he replied, and you were thankful he accepted the topic change.

“Cool. Cool,” you whispered, then cleared your throat. “I gotta go now, but I’ll see you later.”

You didn’t wait for your friend’s response before hanging up the phone. Your mind was still reeling at the cards dealt to you. You had a scholarship. You had a meal plan to feed you when you were on campus.

Your feet froze in place as the situation dawned upon you.

Steve and Bucky did something. If it wasn’t Peter, then it had to be them. You don’t know why this is tugging at your chest, or why you have such a strong feeling, but you just know that the two of them had something to do with this. They had to. It started off with the money that Bucky left you on your table. Both of them had direct connections to Iron Man, and you don’t think it would be that difficult for them to figure out who the hell you were by just seeing your face and hearing your name once.

Was this the positive karma coming back to you just for giving them one free meal? Did both men feel the need to repay you after showing them some basic respect for the work they’ve done for the city– for the world?

You try to ignore a deeper feeling inside of you. They looked at you like they knew you. Like they had history with you, and were making up for lost time in their own way. It was a silly, strange feeling, but all at the same time– you felt that you knew them. That they did this, that they have had to do this.

You didn’t even realize you were crying until you saw the soft splatters of tears on the concrete at your feet. You let out a soft laugh, touching your face.

It wasn’t tears of happiness. Strangely enough, you felt empty.

next chapter

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silens-oro · 2 months ago

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Well Enough Alone: Part IX

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Andrew "Pope" Cody x f!Reader (nicknamed Hawk) Prologue Cut the Loss (companion piece) Part I Part II Chicken Hawk (companion piece) Part III Part IV Trespassing (companion piece) Part V Part VI Slowly We Unfurl (companion piece) Hold on to the Thread (companion piece) But I'll Always Remember (pre-WEA companion piece)

Masterlist Pope Cody Playlist GirlDad!Pope Baby AU Masterlist

General Synopsis: Everything comes to a head. Word Count: 5.9k Content Warning: typical animal kingdom warnings, heavy angst, mention of miscarriage, murder, Baz & Hawk straight up beefin'. AN: Don't ask me how I wrote this entire thing today because I do not have an answer for you. Here's a lil Friday treat since you all have been so kind. Also, "treat" is used very loosely here because this one is going to hurt 🤭 please comment & reblog :)

Pope didn’t come home at all that night and Hawk didn’t wait up for him. She set an alarm before falling asleep in the vast emptiness of her bed so she could wake up with enough time to make Lena some breakfast before school, and then promptly passed out at 4:30 that morning. Pope usually handled anything early in the morning since he was up anyway, but in his on and off absence the last couple of weeks, Hawk took the reins just like she did this morning. She fell back into the routine she had with J when he was Lena’s age, and she came to the realization that she truly missed those years.

Nicky helped carry Lena out to the car for Hawk since her ribs were still giving her trouble, and Lena only cracked her eyes open for a moment when Hawk was buckling her into the backseat.

“I get to go with you and Uncle Pope tonight?” Her tiny voice mumbled out.

“Of course you do, sweetpea.” Hawk replied sweetly. “I’m so sorry you had to go through this tonight. To make up for it, how about some pancakes in the morning before school? I’ll even do some with chocolate chips. Sound good?”

“With the smiley faces?”

“Absolutely. Can’t have chocolate chip pancakes without smiley faces. That’s just not right.” Hawk joked with a grin. Lena sleepily smiled back and nodded, her eyes fluttering closed as she lost the uphill battle with the sandman. Hawk gently closed the door before meeting Pope at the driver's side with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Thank you for coming to get her.”

“You know me –someone calls my phone and I answer.”

“Hawk-”

“-It’s just weird how you answered J’s call, but I haven’t been able to get a hold of you all day, Pope.” Hawk was exhausted, mentally and physically and he could see it. Hawk’s eyes burned and her body ached, and that headache she tried to hold off was barreling its way forward behind her eyes every time she blinked. “Apparently you didn’t learn the last time -I’m not doing this again, Andy. I’m tired. I’m exhausted. I’m in pain. This family is driving me up the fucking wall and I can’t worry about when you’ll turn up again when you decide to fall off the face of the fucking Earth while also worrying about Lena.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t need an apology, Pope. I just need you to be present. I have no idea what the hell Baz is doing, but Lena could’ve been killed tonight for his negligence –do you understand that? And he’s bringing Lucy here after Smurf is suddenly arrested?” Hawk shook her head, looking around the trashed driveway. “Something isn’t adding up with any of this, Pope. I don’t know what Baz did to get her locked up, but you, Deran, and Craig need to be careful. He’s never been trustworthy. I know you love him like a brother, but my gut has never been wrong. I may not always listen to it, but it is never wrong. I need you to trust me on that.” He nodded, looking past her through the windshield to Lena’s sleeping figure that was slumped over in the backseat. “Smurf is a lot of things, but she isn’t stupid. We both know that. She does stupid things, but she’s calculated. She didn’t want Lucy in this family’s business for a reason.” Pope stepped forward, hesitating before pulling Hawk to him in a hug. He kissed the crown of her head and her arms draped themselves loosely around his waist. God, he needed her. Her touch, her warmth, her love. Everything about her, he would take and take and take until she refused to give.

Selfish

Selfish, his brain chanted.

“I’ll be home later, after I’m done dealing with this.” He spoke softly into her ear as he let his head fall into the crook of her neck. His lips found their home just behind her ear and he felt her breathe against him.

“Yeah.” Hawk sighed with a subtle shake of her head as she pulled away from Pope before turning to get in the driver’s seat. Pope thought back to the gun he held in his hands right before J called him, and how ready he was to end everything at that lifeguard stand on the beach. All he could think about was Cath, about the conversation he had with that detective, about the fact that she didn’t flip on them. He thought about how he was the source of Hawk’s problems as of late, whether she knew they stemmed from him or not. He ended one woman’s life that he cared about, and was actively ruining another’s that he loved.

And Lena…all of her problems, present and future, were because of a choice he made.

“Hawk,” Pope called out to her, his voice cracking as he looked at her with an infinite sadness that penetrated her heart. He cleared his throat when she held the door open, waiting for him to continue. “I love you. Both of you. Let me know when you get home, alright? So I know you’re safe.” Hawk nodded, albeit reluctantly.

Pope's behavior was off, way more off than his usual scale of what he dealt with -what she was used to. This Pope…this Pope was desolate, starved, trapped. He was drowning in a way she couldn’t recognize nor comprehend, but he refused to let her in for any kind of solace. She knew he needed it, but how can you save someone who didn’t think they deserved to breathe in the first place?

“I love you, too, Andy.” Hawk whispered. “Don’t stay out too late.”

Hawk recalled a conversation she had with Pope about kids of their own, and her chest tightened as she thought about doing all of this while pregnant. The stress alone would probably make her miscarry, and she had to bite her lip to stop from outwardly crying as she mixed the batter for the pancakes she promised Lena. The idea of bringing an infant into this dynamic -a dynamic that was only eroding by the day, made a deep rooted dread pool in the pit of her stomach because while she didn’t deserve to deal with the mess that was happening, and a baby sure as hell didn’t either.

The sound of the front door opening and closing with a click broke Hawk out of her thoughts. She took a deep, shuddering breath as she puttered around the kitchen to keep herself busy. Pope didn’t know what to say to Hawk as he approached the noise coming from the kitchen. He didn’t know what there was to say.

“Can you wake Lena up? I’m about to start some pancakes.” Hawk didn’t look at him as she turned the stove on, grabbing a pan from the drawer underneath the stove.

“J has power of attorney over Smurf’s assets.” Pope muttered as he stood out of Hawk’s way. He saw her brows scrunch together as she ladled small dollops of batter onto the griddle pan. She let them cook for a few moments, letting them start to bubble on top before she added chocolate chips in a smiley face design. “Do you know anything about that?” Pope’s tone wasn’t accusatory. He didn’t think she’d keep something like that from him, but he still had to ask.

And it still irked Hawk that he did.

“Why would I know anything about that? Why would I know anything about Smurf’s business?” She snapped at him, spatula in hand as she turned to face him.

“Baz framed her for killing Javi.” Hawk scoffed, flipping the pancakes over.

“Didn’t she?” Hawk asked sarcastically as she put the pancakes on a plate before adding more batter to the griddle. That whole situation was another mess. Hawk told Pope to let her know when it was done, and she let it rest after that. No questions, no explanations. Done was done.

“Smurf paid Javi’s own guy to do it so she wouldn’t be tied to it. Baz knew where the body was, and tied her to the scene by planting all the evidence and called it in.”

“What did I tell you? What did I tell you.” Hawk said with a shake of her head. “Were any of your brothers in on it?”

“No,” Pope sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. "And neither was J."

“Can’t say I’m surprised he finally bit Smurf in the ass. The whole ‘snake eating itself’ thing -can't say it isn't jingling my jimmies. She was smart to move things over to J before Baz knew what was coming. I’m guessing it happened when you guys pulled your little coup against her because God forbid her darling boys not follow her word as scripture. I’m more surprised that Baz didn’t think he’d be punished for it. Lord knows she’s done worse to you guys for less. I’m sure Baz had a very stable reaction to that news when he found out.”

“He’s pissed, and it put a target on J’s back.” Hawk hummed in response.

“How do you feel about it?”

“I think she was right to take Baz off of the accounts. She’s not just punishing Baz -she’s punishing all of us. She knows J isn’t going to let go of anything without her saying so while she’s locked up. He wanted to sell everything and split it.”

"And you don't?"

"No. If he's lucky, she stays in there until she's dead. But Baz isn't lucky."

"No he is not." Hawk added her two cents. “Baz shouldn’t have crossed mommy dearest.” She said with a shrug. “If J signed those papers, then he’s well aware of the consequences that may pop up -and I’m sure Smurf told him as much. If he thinks he can handle doing the shit you guys do, then I can’t stop him.” Hawk plated the first set of little pancakes along with some cut strawberries for Lena. “Now can you please wake Lena up before her food gets cold?” Pope was thrown by her nonchalance, especially towards J. He watched her move around the kitchen for a moment, but did as she asked, trying to not rock the boat that was slowly taking on water once again.

A couple days had passed and Pope was still tiptoeing around Hawk. She wasn’t unwelcoming or rude, but she let him know loud and clear that she was frustrated with him. She didn’t let it show while Lena was in the room with them, but when it was just the two of them, it was abundantly clear.

Pope wanted to touch her, to hold her, to be held by her. He knew she was still having nightmares, that she wasn’t sleeping at night like she used to. He saw it on her face day in and day out that she was struggling, but she wouldn’t talk to him about it because she felt like she couldn’t talk to him about it. He was emotionally unavailable as of recent and she felt like she was adrift out at sea without so much as a goddamn paddle.

Hawk would busy herself at the shop when she wasn’t with Lena. That was the place she haunted when she would have normally been home because there was nothing there for her while Pope was MIA and Lena was with Baz or at school. Making arrangements and bouquets, re-potting houseplants and getting plants ready in the greenhouse to move up front to the storefront kept her mind and hands busy in a way she desperately craved as an escape from reality.

She’d have to catch herself on days she leaned a little too hard into being mean -not just to Pope either. This funk Hawk had been in was pushing her into a decline she was starting to see for herself and she didn’t like it for a single second, but there was only so much a person could bend before they broke. She gave, and gave, and gave, and gave, but sometimes it felt good to not give -not because she couldn’t, but because she didn’t want to.

Hawk knew she needed to speak with someone about all of this -a therapist preferably, but how could she frame the mess that was her life without giving the real context of what it was?

Pope and Hawk dropped off Lena that morning at school, then headed to Smurf’s. Hawk didn’t have a good feeling about whatever they were going to walk into with this family meeting, but Pope asked her to be there. He knew she didn’t want any involvement in the politics of the family, and she hadn’t been part of a family meeting since Pope got arrested, but he had seen first hand what was going on with Baz -that he was up to something- and he needed her there with him.

Now as she sat on the red sofa in the den next to Pope (purposefully not thinking about what she had seen happen on the cushion she occupied during that house party), his hand rested on her thigh, she would’ve rather not been involved at all. Her eyes caught J’s and she nodded to let him know that she knew. He gave a nod back, his eyes meeting Baz’s when he stepped between them.

“What’s she doing here?” Baz motioned to Nicky.

“Weird question." Hawk spoke up before J could answer. "What’s she doing here?” Hawk gestured to Lucy with an incredulous laugh, who only looked at Hawk with a smug tilt to her lips. Hawk only grew more irritable as the days passed and she had no tolerance for whatever Baz was about to pull.

“I asked her to be here.” Baz replied simply.

“Interesting.” Hawk said, keeping her eyes on Lucy.

“I invited Hawk. I’m sure J invited Nicky.” Pope shrugged as he spoke.

“I did.” J confirmed, silently thanking Pope for speaking up.

“Fine.” Baz paced the den between Hawk and J. “Smurf gave J her power of attorney, so now J controls all the properties, the investments, the bank accounts, this house, the titles to our cars, everything. Everything that we earned that she stole from us.” Hawk’s eyes glanced at Pope, but he was watching J. “She gave it to J because she doesn’t trust us-”

“-She doesn’t trust you.” J spoke up, his words clear. Hawk felt pride when he looked Baz directly in the eye as he spoke without a single stutter. Hawk didn’t miss the look Baz shot at him as he tried to continue to manipulate the situation back in his favor. He was trying to turn the brothers against J, Hawk realized.

“Didn’t trust us to keep it safe for her. She thinks it’s all hers, not ours. What do you plan on doing with it, J? Hm? Everything that we earned —sweated over, bled for— hmm? Planning on selling it, like we all wanna do?”

“Like you want to do.” J corrected Baz. Hawk could see the veins in Baz’s neck starting to bulge with every push back that J gave him, and that his brothers weren’t stepping in didn't help either. Everyone was curious to see how this was going to play out. For all of Deran and Craig's flaws, they weren’t completely stupid -Deran least of all. He could see the forest through the trees, and Hawk could see that he was miffed that Baz didn’t include any of them on this. And if Deran wasn’t on board, then neither was Craig because where one went, the other inevitably followed.

“Oh, is it just me? Am I the only one who wants to sell it?” Baz circled the room. “Pope? Deran? Craig?” Hawk couldn’t stop the snort that escaped her, as hard as she tried. Pope’s hand squeezed her thigh in warning, but the second Baz spun to confront Hawk, she placed a hand on Pope’s flexing forearm.

“Something funny?” Baz directed his irritation to Hawk.

“I mean, yeah.” Hawk outwardly chuckled this time, not holding it in. “I’m laughing because you really thought you out-manipulated the master of manipulation, Baz.” Hawk crossed her arms over her chest as she sat back, her grin never faltering because she knew it would make him unravel. “Smurf will always be five steps ahead of you because she knows you think you’re smarter than you actually are. This dog and pony show-” She motioned with her hand, “-will only get you so far when you’re not looking at the whole picture. Even I know that.” Baz’s eyes turned into slits as he glared at Hawk.

“Were you in on this with them?” Hawk shook her head, her grin fracturing the facade he put up because she knew exactly what to do to get a rise out of him and it seemed that J had picked up on it too in her absence.

“I didn’t need to be. And I also don’t need to be a goddamn genius to know that Smurf is like a roach. Unless you take her out for good, you’ll never ever get a leg up on her." She held her hands up, "But what do I know?”

“You think you’re so goddamn smart, huh?” She shrugged, leaning into Pope’s side as she crossed her legs.

“I’d say I’m smart enough to not put my bloody feet in a piranha tank, yeah, but some people just don’t learn their lesson when it comes to getting bit, do they Baz?” Pope squeezed her leg again, but he still didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to speak for her or defend her honor, they all knew that. She always held her own when she needed to when it came to the boys of this family -it was Smurf who made her shrink back down to size.

“Well you keep finding yourself back in this fucking house, Hawk, so I’d have to agree with you.” Baz spat. He was fuming and everyone in the room could see it. Hawk leaned forward, still smiling at him knowingly.

“Whether I’m inside of this house or not, my life doesn't start or end because of Smurf, Baz. You, as you've just learned, can’t say the same.” Hawk felt Pope pull her back into his side and she let him.

“Why didn’t you tell us about what you were planning to do with Smurf?” Craig broke through their bickering. Hawk was right -they were upset he didn’t include them, but it went deeper than that. If Baz was holding out on something as important as this, then he’d hold out on other things too -that's what it all came down to with them.

“I didn’t think you were strong enough to go through with it.” Baz tried to sound like he cared, that he did it for their own good, but that bit had been thrown out the window. Deran scoffed.

“Strong enough? Screw you, Baz.” He spoke up, picking at the label of the beer bottle he was holding. Hawk could see Baz’s hackles rise as he continued to get pushback from around the room when he was expecting everyone to fall in line.

“Yeah, strong enough.” Hawk couldn’t help but feel vindicated as Baz started to bicker with Deran and Craig. Her knowing look when she caught J’s eyes gave him a boost of confidence that he’d hold onto. “Little Deran running away every time mommy hurts his feelings.” Baz taunted.

“Careful, Baz. Pissing off the only people who were in your corner might not be the way out of this.” Hawk teased, enjoying the show. Lucy watched her with understanding in her eyes as she realized that Hawk had more power with this family than she initially realized. Especially if she had Pope in her corner.

“Enough.” Pope muttered into Hawk’s ear. Her hand met his and she gave the top of it a squeeze.

“And you,” Baz motioned to Craig, still going on his tirade. “Smurf looks at you sideways and you snort ten grand up your nose.”

“Where’s the rest of what I helped you steal from that storage unit?” J spoke up again, pushing Baz further into the proverbial corner. Bingo, Hawk thought with a brow raised. Her eyes darted from J to Baz, with her interest piqued.

This also got the attention of Pope, Deran, and Craig.

Baz you stupid, stupid bastard, she thought.

“It’s safe, don’t worry about it.” Baz tried to play it off, but J wasn't going to let him get away with what he was trying to do.

“But what was in those safes, huh? There were five of them.” Pope, Craig, and Deran were not aware of the other safes and that was very clear on their faces. Oh, J was good, Hawk thought.

“What, you think I’m holding out on you?” Baz scoffed, challenging J to continue. J could feel Hawk’s eyes on him, egging him to keep pushing. J was smart, Hawk already knew this, but he seemed to have picked up the manipulation tactics that Baz thought he had.

“Yeah, I do.” That accusation, especially because it was said in front of everyone, was enough to push Baz over the edge. Baz knew he had lost what little support he had in the room, and if there was one thing he wouldn’t tolerate, it was being outsmarted by a kid.

“Who the hell do you think you are, you little shit,” Baz pushed J and J stood up to confront Baz face to face.

“She didn’t trust you, but she trusted me. And was she wrong? She’s in prison because of you, Baz!” Baz scoffed, then immediately went to hit J. Hawk flew off the sofa, but was quickly wrangled by Pope wrapping his arm around her waist. Her legs were fully off the ground, kicking as he pulled her down onto his lap with a grunt, his other arm caged around hers to keep them down at her sides so she didn’t start swinging.

If Pope let Hawk loose, he knew she’d kill Baz with her bare hands.

“Keep your hands off of him!” Hawk spat at Baz while Deran and Craig got in the middle of J and Baz. “Let go of me!” She shouted back at Pope, but his muscular arms didn’t sway from their purpose.

“Calm down. Now.” He growled in Hawk’s ear. Once Baz was pulled away from J, she settled down in his hold. “Enough!” His voice broke the fight up as everyone caught their breaths. Hawk pushed her way off of Pope and went to check on J as he sat back where he was originally, shouldering Baz on her way over.

“Enough!” Pope repeated as he stood up, eyeing Baz, then landing on Hawk. He walked straight past her and out of the den shaking his head. Hawk touched the top of J’s head before following after Pope.

He stalked through the house and out the front door with Hawk trailing behind him.

“I didn’t ask you to come so you could stir the pot.” Pope fished the keys to his truck out of his pocket, pressing the unlock button as he turned to face Hawk.

“Then why did you ask me to come?” She asked, arms wide.

“Because I knew she’d be here.” Pope’s face held frustration, redness creeping up his neck and over the points of his ears. “Whatever he’s doing, she’s behind it.”

“Well yeah, anyone with two functioning eyeballs can see that much.” Pope just stared at Hawk, his jaw clenching in irritation before he just shook his head and climbed into the truck. Hawk took a deep breath before walking to the passenger side and hoisting herself up.

Hawk awoke the next morning to Pope standing in front of the bedroom slider, naked as the day he was born as he watched the ocean in the early morning hours. He turned to glance over his shoulder when he heard the rustling of the comforter, but turned back when he saw Hawk had no intention of getting out of bed just yet.

“Come back to bed,” She beckoned him, scooting over and lifting the covers so he could slide in front of her. It was an invitation he didn’t think he’d get from her, not after the way he’d acted recently. Still, she was trying. Pope sighed, and his feet were moving before he realized it. He climbed into the bed, rolling over so his back was to Hawk. She wrapped her arm over his torso and his hand grabbed hers. He loved to be held, and she loved to hold him. This was comfort. Their legs tangled together and Hawk laid tender kisses on his neck and shoulder, connecting each freckle together as she went.

“We’re both struggling right now, but we’ll work through it. We always do.” Poe’s eyes clenched shut as Hawk spoke. He bit his lip to stop any sound from coming out as she continued to kiss his bare skin. God, Hawk didn’t know how wrong she was.

The buzzing of Pope’s phone from his bedside table woke the couple up later that morning. They had rotators over to Pope’s side at some point in the morning and Pope was now spooning Hawk. She groaned as he reached over her to pick up the phone, pushing her face into his pillow so she could get a few more minutes of sleep. She could hear the automated call of an inmate that she was all too familiar with and assumed it was Smurf calling.

Hawk felt Pope tense behind her, his words mumbled as he spoke. He ended the call without a goodbye and got out of bed in a hurry.

“What happened?” He went into the closet and threw clothes on. Hawk hopped out of bed, throwing on a t-shirt and a pair of discarded shorts -forgoing a bra or underwear so she didn’t lose track of him as he moved from room to room. “Andy!” All Pope could do was try to get himself out of this house and away from Hawk.

Baz knows, Pope. His entire world was about to crash around him after he heard those three words from Smurf, and he wanted to be as far away from Hawk and this house as he could be so he didn’t leave the mental scars behind that he knew would result in what was about to happen.

“What the hell is going on with you lately?” Pope ignored Hawk’s question, sidestepping her to go back into their bedroom. She followed closely behind him as he went into the closet again, rifling through a duffle bag that he kept on the top shelf in the back of the closet, before he pulled out a pistol. “What the fuck is that and why is it in my house, Andrew?!” Hawk pulled Pope’s shoulder, twisting him around to look at her. His eyes were freaked out, scared, but he kept his mouth clamped shut.

“Don’t do that.” Hawk shook her head. “You promised me you’d talk to me when something happened! What did Smurf say to you?” Pope swallowed, opening and closing his mouth a few times before he got any words out.

“This isn’t something I can talk to you about.” Pope ground out, pushing past Hawk to exit the bedroom. “I need you to trust me on this.”

“All I do is trust you, Andy!” She followed once more, jogging to catch up with him. “If something’s wrong, I need to know!”

“You don’t get it! You will never speak to me again, Hawk. You’ll never look at me again. You’ll never touch me again.” He pushed his feet into his boots, tying the laces quickly, before he grabbed the keys to his truck. He tried to shut the front door between them, but Hawk’s reach was quicker. She ran out of the house barefoot to stop him from leaving.

“Andrew!” He shook his head when Hawk threw herself between him and the door to the truck. “Stop!” She screamed as she put her hands up to his chest, pushing him away from the pickup. His sunglasses were forgotten inside and Hawk saw the absolute anguish and agony that stormed within his eyes as he looked down at her, mouth trembling as he barely held himself together. Her hands cupped his face sternly, not letting him escape without having to physically pry her off.

“I’ve done something.” His chest was heaving and Hawk could see his foundation crumbling before her. “I’ve done something so unforgivable that I don’t even deserve to breathe the same air as you. And now I’m facing the consequences of it -as I should.”

“You’re scaring me.”

“You were always better off without me. Always. I wanted you so bad, Hawk, more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life, but I didn’t want to ruin you. You have to understand that.” His voice was thick with unshed tears and raw emotion that he had been holding back for god knows how long.

“That’s not true. You’re not ruining me-” Hawk reassured him, her voice shaking as she pulled his forehead down to hers. She felt him tremble, losing control of himself in her grasp.

“It is true!” He shouted through clenched teeth. Hawk flinched, but didn’t retreat from him. “Everything I touch turns to poison, Hawk. Everything. You’re not an exception because I was born bad and will always be bad.”

“Stop!” Her eyes looked into his as he tried to pull himself away, but her grasp on him was unrelenting. Her nails left little crescent shapes in his cheek and he only pushed himself further into them because he needed the physical pain to keep him present. “Look at me! You need to tell me what the fuck is happening, Andy. What did you do?” He shook his head, eyes clenched shut.

“I have no right to ask you for anything, Hawk, but if something happens to me-”

“-Andy-”

“-if something happens to me,” He spoke louder, “-will you look after Lena?” His breathing was labored and Hawk feared he was going to pass out if he kept this up.

“Pope-”

“Please!” He shouted again, eyes shifting manically. “Please, I need to hear you say it, Hawk. Will you look after her if something happens to me? We’re all she has…”

“Of-of course I will. You know I will. What is going to happen to you?!” The sound of a vehicle pulling into the driveway broke Pope and Hawk apart. Pope physically shoved her towards the front door, her feet stumbling over each other from the force of it. Hawk looked at Pope like he struck her. Pope never put his hands on her like that and Hawk was almost about to fight back when he turned to her.

“Go inside now!” Pope demanded. “No matter what you hear out here, you don’t open the door, do you understand me?” He was scared, for her or himself she couldn’t tell, but his eyes begged her to not argue and to just listen. “I love you.” His voice cracked. “I’ve always loved you, Hawk. Always.”

“Andy-”

“Get inside. Now.” His voice boomed just as Baz hastily parked his Jeep and jumped out, leaving the door wide open with his sights on Pope, gun pulled out and pointed at him. “Now, Hawk!” Hawk felt like she was going to throw up. Her fight or flight instincts kicked in, but she didn’t know what they were telling her to do. Pope turned his back to Hawk, facing Baz head on.

“Go inside, Hawk!” Baz yelled at her, his dark eyes were clouded with anger and destruction. His gun was at the ready with the intent to kill and Hawk stupidly took slow steps back down the walkway towards Baz and Pope.

“Baz, put it down.” Her voice shook as she held a hand out.

“Did you know?” Baz yelled at her, his eyes narrowed, but never taken off of Pope.

“She doesn’t know.” Pope whispered, shaking his head. “Go inside, Hawk, please.” He begged, looking over his shoulder desperately. Hawk saw the shine of tears that lined his cheek, the red of his bloodshot eye that was visible to her, the way his jaw trembled. “We’ll do this, but not in front of her, Baz. Please.”

“Put the gun down, Baz!” Hawk begged, trying to diffuse the situation.

“He killed Cathy, Hawk.” It felt like the air was knocked out of Hawk. Her jaw fell as she looked between Baz and Pope. Her brain and her heart denied what Baz was saying, but with every second that passed that Pope didn’t deny the accusation, her eyes settled on Pope’s back in horror.

“She didn’t suffer.” Hawk collapsed onto the raised stone barrier that lined her walkway when Pope spoke. She knew Cath was dead, in her heart of hearts she knew she was, but Hawk didn’t think it was because of Pope. She wouldn’t put it past Smurf, but Pope? Her Pope? “We thought she was…talking to the cops.” He explained weakly.

No, no, no, no, Hawk’s ears rang. No, no, no, no-

This man who she knew her whole life, who she let into her home, into her heart and her life -who she would’ve defended to the death in a heartbeat- had betrayed her.

He betrayed Catherine.

He betrayed Baz.

He betrayed Lena.

The pieces of this fucked up puzzle were starting to fall into place as memory after memory punched its way to the forefront of Hawk’s mind. From Pope’s disappearances early on, to pushing her away, to his sudden attachment to Lena. His detachment the last couple of weeks came to mind, and Hawk’s heart shattered as she put the timeline together.

“Pope-” A devastating sound broke free from Hawk, her brain shorting out as it tried to process what was happening. Pope’s chin was tucked into his chest, his eyes clenched shut.

“Cathy didn’t deserve any of this. I cared about her. You knew that and you still took her from me.” Hawk’s heart clenched as she listened even though her mind was telling her, screaming at her to go inside. She had no idea that Pope and Cath were involved in any capacity, but there were long spans of time where she wasn’t present in any of their lives. This happened to be one of them. “You took Cath to punish Smurf because Smurf didn’t want you to have Lucy, but you punished me too! You would’ve taken Hawk if she gave you the time of day because that’s what you do. You never thought about me!” Pope shouted, voice raw. “Not one of you ever thought about me!” Pope turned, pointing to Hawk, “Except for her.” Hawk’s head shook in disbelief, tears cascading down her cheeks.

“Smurf said she was talking to the cops,” Pope sobbed, turning back to Baz. Any fight he had left in him vacated his body in that moment. His confession had taken the weight of the universe off of his shoulders and for the first time in a very long time, he was ready to pay for what he did. “-but she wasn’t. Smurf said she was, but Cath didn’t say anything to them!”

Hawk’s encounter with the cops who came by her shop rammed into the front of her mind like a head on collision. Had Smurf caught wind of that, would she be in the same boat as Cath? Hawk brought a trembling hand over her mouth.

For the first time since Hawk met Pope, she felt fear when she looked at him -at what he was capable of. If Smurf told him back then to get rid of her because she was a danger to them, would he? Hawk didn’t think he’d do it now -not after everything they’ve been through, but back then…her stomach clenched and bile climbed up her throat.

“So do it.” Pope begged Baz. “I want you to do it. Please.” He had given up entirely, the immense amount of guilt he harbored had eaten away at the structure that held him together as a person and he was just done. “Please. I’ve lost everything already.” He whispered. Hawk couldn’t take it anymore. She lifted herself up and stumbled her way to the front door in a daze, chest heaving as she tried to breathe through the agony that wrenched itself around her chest and squeezed. She didn’t make a sound as she shut the door behind her, twisting the deadbolt behind her and sliding down the door on the inside, sobbing for Cath with everything she had.

I'm starting a Baz is a Bastard club if anyone wants to join.

#pope cody #pope cody fic #andrew pope cody #Andrew Pope Cody fic #animal kingdom #animal kingdom fanfiction #animal kingdom fanfic #animal kingdom tnt #animal kingdom imagine #shawn hatosy #well enough alone universe #angst

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loveharlow · 18 days ago

Note

can u write a fic with jealous!jj ur blurb was soooo good

⋯ ♡ᵎ 💬 : idk why i had this idea and i just thought it was so jj, not really a part two to the first jealous!jj blurb because they're together in this one

swearing (probably), jealous!jj, sexual innuendoes

You were sprawled across JJ's bed, phone in hand, a soft smile playing on your lips as your thumbs flew across the screen. Beside you, JJ was engrossed in his game, controller clutched tight. The only sounds filling the room were the simulated gunfire and his shouts at John B and Pope.

Once the current round ended, he glanced over, catching the gentle glow of your phone illuminating your face. He loved seeing you happy and smiling, but curiosity gnawed at him.

"...Who's got you all giggly?" he teased, though there was a hint of something else in his voice—something a little offended, shaky, and uncertain.

You glanced up at him for a moment before looking back down. "Oh, just Liam, the foreign exchange student," you replied casually. "He was confused about the group project, but I explained it to him. Now he's telling me about his family back home."

Liam. The name had been popping up in your conversations more frequently lately. He was the new kid at school, and you, being you, had naturally gravitated toward making him feel welcome, especially when you realized he was struggling to catch up. He was nice, a little awkward, and definitely harmless. But JJ didn't know that.

A silence stretched between you. You could feel JJ's gaze on you, heavier now. When you finally looked up, he wasn't starting another game. He'd even muted his mic. He was just watching you, a slight frown creasing his brow.

"Has he made any other friends,like... besides you?" he asked, scratching his head. "You two talk a lot..."

You chuckled softly, setting your phone down. "I mean, I would hope so. I see him talking to other people sometimes." Sitting up, you crossed your legs and scooted closer to your boyfriend, running your fingers through his hair. "What's up, J? Why do you look like that?"

He sighed, setting the controller down beside him. "Nothin', it's just… every day it's 'Liam this, Liam that.' And you get all smiley, and it's like I become invisible to you..."

There it was. The subtle, adorable jealousy. It wasn't an accusation, just a quiet confession of his own insecurity. JJ Maybank, the fearless Pogue, a little bit possessive over you. It made your heart ache in the best way.

But it also made you frown. The last thing you'd ever want was to be a source of any kind of pain for JJ.

So, an idea sparked in your mind. Picking up your phone, you went to your conversation with Liam, scrolling all the way to the top as JJ stared, confused. Once you got to the very first message, you held the phone out in JJ's direction. "Read it," you urged, pushing the phone further toward him.

"I—I don't need to go through your phone, baby—"

"I know," you said simply. "I want you to."

A silence fell between you two. JJ trusted you, and you trusted him. He didn't want to feel like he was pressuring you or doubting you. But despite that, he took the phone from you, eyes scanning the messages.

They were harmless—introducing yourself, talking about meeting with the rest of the group for the project, answering his questions. It was nothing concerning.

But one thing did catch JJ's attention.

His name, mentioned multiple times throughout the text thread at random points.

You Hey Liam, you doing okay? I noticed you weren't talking that much today.

Liam Yes, I'm alright. Just a bit homesick. Thank you for asking.

You Oh, that sucks, I'm so sorry. Do you want to talk about it?

Liam No, no, that's okay. I don't want to bother you.

You It's okay, you're not. I'm watching my boyfriend fix his bike, so better to distract myself before I try to jump his bones lmao

Liam Oh, you have a boyfriend? How long?

You I didn't tell you? That's odd, he's all I talk about lol. But his name's JJ, you've probably seen him around. We've been together for a little over 2 years.

Liam That's nice. It makes me miss mon amour back home in France. She sends me pictures and things everyday, but it's not the same... [1 Attachment] This is her, her name is Cami.

You Aw, she's beautiful! Hey, I'm pretty sure there's a program that help foreign exchange students reconnect with their families. They'll fly them out to you, I think, but there's probably some kind of criteria. I'll send you the link, though.

Liam Really? Dieu vous bénisse, Y/N!!

Something in JJ's heart swelled. He never truly doubted you or suspected anything, but seeing the way you talked about him—just because you wanted to talk about him—made him feel impossibly loved. You loved him, and you never failed to make sure everyone around you knew it.

You weren't all smiley because you were talking to Liam. You were all smiley because you were talking about him.

Dropping the phone on the mattress, JJ's hands took hold of your face and brought you in for a kiss, kissing you like he'd never have the chance to do it again. Lips slipped against one another, tongues dipping in between as you struggled to breathe.

When he finally pulled back, he had the dizziest grin on his face.

"I love you, munchkin."

You rolled your eyes, pushing him by the shoulder despite the sheepish smile on your face. "Stop calling me that," you scoffed, picking the device back up. "Come here," you urged, waving JJ over.

He obeyed, scooting close enough across the mattress so you could go behind him, slinging your arms over his shoulders, the phone in front of both of you as JJ tried to figure out what you were doing.

"Look at the camera, genius," you laughed, one hand gripping his chin and turning his face to look at the camera. You dipped down, placing a wet kiss against his cheek as he laughed, his face turning a dangerous shade of red just as the camera clicked. "There," you smiled, arms still over JJ's shoulders as he watched you send the picture to Liam, typing out a message underneath.

You [1 Attachment] This is JJ, my boyfriend I was telling you about.

"...You didn't have to do that," JJ said, though his heart was beating outside of his chest, one of his hands resting on your arm.

"I know," you smiled once more, planting a kiss to the side of his temple. "I wanted to. Whatever I can do to make you worry less."

JJ smiled to himself as he watched Liam's response come through.

Liam Ohhh, that guy? I was wondering why he'd glare at me when I passed him in the halls. I guess I know now lol. You two are cute. Tell him I said hey!

"See?" you told JJ, holding the phone up. "There's nothing to worry about." You assured, throwing the phone back on the bed as JJ turned to look at you. "I love you, Maybank. And if it makes you feel better, I have no problem talking to him less."

"...Thank you," JJ said softly, brushing your hair behind your ear.

"That's what I'm here for," you smiled brightly, pecking him on the lips. "Now, go back to the lobby! It's me and you time now, only us," you piped up, unwinding your arms from his shoulders and leaning half of your frame off the mattress to get your Nintendo Switch that had fallen off the bed.

With your ass in the air, JJ took the opportunity to squeeze it — you immediately popped back up and swatted his hand away. "Stop that, unless you plan on doing something about the problem it always causes," you glared playfully at him.

"Hey, you know I'm always up for it."

You scoffed, powering on the device in your hands. "I'm aware, hornball," you smiled, leaning back against his pillows. "You can turn me every way but loose after we run 2v2s with Pope and John B. We have to redeem ourselves from last time," you declared. "Invite me, blondie."

JJ Maybank Taglist in replies!

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading. follow & turn on post notifs for @theharlowpost for writing exclusive updates!

©loveharlow

#req. ♥︎#jj obx #jj outer banks #jj x reader #jj #jj maybank x you #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank drabble #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x female reader #jj maybank x fem!reader #jj mayback x reader #jj mayback imagine

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deadprince05 · 16 days ago

Text

Declaration of love. Blue Lock

How did you start dating the character, what was his confession like?

Characters: Yoichi Isagi, Ryusei Shidou, Rin Itoshi, Sae Itoshi, Reo Mikage, Seishiro Nagi, Michael Kaiser

Yoichi Isagi

Isagi didn’t like surprises. His life, like football, was built on calculations—if you do A, B follows, then inevitably C arrives. But you burst into this well-oiled system like a ball flying on an unpredictable trajectory. At first, he tried to ignore it. You often sat together in the café near the stadium, where he usually analyzed matches. Your laughter—too loud for the quiet morning—your questions about football, naive but not annoying—Isagi enjoyed explaining everything to you. Then he began noticing strange things: how his gaze found you in the crowd on the stands, even though he came to watch the game, not the spectators; how after talking to you, his passes landed more precisely, his shots sharper—as if some invisible thread connected his play to your presence.

The confession came unexpectedly, after an especially grueling practice. You were waiting for him at the exit, as you often did lately, with a bottle of cold water. He took it, your fingers briefly touched, and suddenly he said:

"I don’t understand you." His voice sounded hoarse, nothing like during tactical discussions.

"I’m trying to figure out why you do all this, trying to predict what you’ll do next—but I don’t know your next move. It’s..." He fell silent, gripping the bottle until the plastic crackled. "It’s driving me crazy."

You wanted to reply, but he already pulled you close, and in his embrace, there was nothing of the calculating footballer—only the trembling of a man acting without tactics for the first time in his life.

Later, walking you home, his fingers carefully laced with yours, as if testing whether this was real. And the next morning, he appeared under your window with two cups of coffee—one black, like he always drank, the other with your favorite additions, which he’d memorized without even realizing when. No explanations. No calculations. Just because his feet brought him here on their own, defying all rules and schemes.

Ryusei Shidou

Shidou Ryusei never asked – he took. Soccer balls, victories, girls' attention – everything fell at his feet by itself, all it took was a snap of his fingers. But you... You made him work for you. It all started with a defiant look you threw at him across the bar, while his admirers swarmed around him, and you calmly finished your cocktail, clearly unimpressed by his signature smirk. It got to him. He approached, leaning his hands on the counter on both sides of you, blocking out everything around. "Either you're very brave, or very stupid," he hissed, baring his teeth. You just raised an eyebrow, "Or maybe I'm just not impressed by cheap tricks." His eyes flared with dangerous fire – the same one that usually appeared right before he sent the ball into the net from an impossible angle. Shidou hated losing, especially at what he considered himself the best. For three weeks, he pursued you with the persistence of a madman: showed up at your workplace with gifts (which you returned), bombarded you with voice messages (you sent them to block), and ambushed you after practice (only to get your icy glare). Everything changed on a rainy evening, when you saw the real him – not the star of "Blue Lock," but an exhausted guy sitting under the pouring rain on an empty stadium after a disastrous match. "Go away," he growled when you stepped closer, but you stayed. Silently sat beside him, ignoring the rain, handed him your umbrella – that same one with the ridiculous panda print he'd laughed at a week ago. Shidou examined it, then suddenly grabbed your chin: "You... You're messing with me on purpose, aren't you?" His lips burned yours before you could answer. The kiss was rough, desperate, without a hint of his usual theatrics – as if he'd finally taken off his mask. "You're mine," he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. "Only mine. Understood?" His voice held a question, not an order. For the first time in his life, the king was waiting for your decision. And when you reached for him again for another kiss, he chuckled faintly – not his usual showy laugh, but a quiet, happy one that no one but you had ever heard – before kissing you again, this time tenderly.

Rin Itoshi

You had always been by his side. At first—just a shadow on the edge of his world, then—an inseparable part of his cold, calculated life. Rin wasn’t the type to bare his soul; his emotions hid behind an icy gaze and sharp words, but you saw the other side of him. You noticed the slight curl of his lips when he saw you, how his eyes lingered on your retreating figure when you parted ways, how once, when you fell, he abruptly stopped training and ran to you, how his hands clenched into fists when you laughed with someone else. You remained just friends, but one evening changed everything. After a hard-fought victory in the competition, everyone had left, but you stayed behind in the empty hall, staring at the ceiling. And then he appeared—Rin, silent as always. "Celebrating your victory alone?" His voice was emotionless. You smiled without looking at him: "And what, are you stalking me?" Silence. Then footsteps. He sat beside you, not touching you, but close—so close you could feel the warmth of his body. "I don’t care," he lied. You turned—and saw his fingers nervously gripping the cuffs of his sweater. His eyes, usually so cold, now burned with fear. "Rin...?" He stood abruptly, as if ready to flee, but instead... turned to you and simply met your gaze. "I hate this," he whispered, looking away. "I hate that you make me feel this way." In that moment, you understood—Rin was forcing himself past his own walls. His confession wasn’t in words, but in the tremor of his hands, in how he couldn’t run even if he wanted to. You reached out and grabbed his wrist. "And I hate that you pretend you don’t care." His breath caught. And then, for the first time, *the ice cracked*—he pulled you to him so tightly, as if afraid you’d vanish if he let go. "You..." His voice was hoarse, broken. "You’re the only one who sees the real me. I love you, even if it’s stupid." You laughed softly—because only Rin Itoshi could confess his love while calling it stupid. But his kiss, no longer hesitant, swallowed your laughter. You held him tight and kissed him back, letting him know—these feelings were mutual.

Sae Itoshi

You were an *inconvenient variable* in his life. Sae Itoshi didn’t believe in love—or, more accurately, saw no purpose in it. Emotions disrupted focus, and relationships distracted from football, but you... you *constantly* threw off his calculations. At first, he simply noticed what set you apart: you didn’t pester him with stupid questions, didn’t flirt like some of his fans. You silently watched his games, occasionally making sharp remarks that made him pause for a second. It irritated him. But then came something far more dangerous—habit. He caught himself searching for you in the crowd after matches, memorizing the way your face looked when you disagreed with him. Over time, he noticed you’d stopped coming to his games as often, started spending more time with some guy—matching outfits, casual touches, the kind of closeness that couldn’t be faked. It shouldn’t have mattered to him. But it did, and that tension coiled tighter every time he saw you together. The breaking point came on a rainy day. You were walking past the training field where he was drilling shots when the downpour hit. You yelped, arms uselessly shielding your head—and Sae turned just in time to see it. "Idiot," he muttered, shrugging off his jacket. He draped it over your shoulders but didn’t step back. Rain streaked down his face as you mumbled about meeting someone, already moving to return it—until his fingers locked around your wrist. "You..." His voice was strange, almost uncertain. "You’re disrupting my peace." You froze. "I don’t understand what’s happening to me. It’s inefficient... It’s in the way." His eyes darkened with something like frustration, like grief. "When you’re not there. When I see you with him—" He cut himself off, jaw clenched. You reached up, brushing rain from his cheek: "Sae... are you jealous?" He flinched, as if struck. "Don’t be ridiculous," he hissed—but his arms were already pulling you against him, crushing you to his chest. "Just... shut up." His face buried in your shoulder like he couldn’t bear to let go. You were stunned, but your heart burned. The truth? You’d loved him for ages, too terrified to show it, convinced he’d reject you. That "other guy" was just your brother visiting from abroad—your feelings for Sae had never wavered, only buried themselves deeper. "I’m sorry, but I can’t stay quiet anymore." Your voice wavered as you hugged him back. "I... I like you. There’s never been anyone else. But I was scared—scared I wasn’t enough for you." Sae stiffened. Pulling back just enough to search your face, disbelief flickered—then softened into something tender. His hands slid to cradle your jaw, foreheads tilting together until your lips met under the rain. He never said it back. Not then. But the way he kissed you—desperate, relieved—told you everything.

Reo Mikage

Every morning, Reo waited for you at the school gates, casually leaning against the fence, with two juice boxes in his hands (one for you). Every time, he secretly watched you from afar, even if he was going the other way. And when other girls, blushing, blocked his path with confessions, he only smiled politely and said: "Sorry, I'm already taken." But you didn’t understand that he meant you. That day was ordinary—you were sitting on the school roof, sharing lunch, when Reo suddenly fell silent. You looked up and saw him gripping his sandwich so hard that the mayonnaise squeezed out onto his fingers. — Those idiots from the soccer club again... — he muttered, looking down where a group of guys had surrounded you the day before. You laughed: — Reo, I don’t even remember their faces. He turned sharply to you, and something new flashed in his eyes—something uneasy. — But I remember. I remember everyone who looks at you for too long. Silence. Your heart skipped a beat. You laughed off the situation, but after that, Reo became… strange. He touched your hand more often, as if by accident, but his hand was burning. He got angry when you were late but immediately softened as soon as you apologized. And once, when you sneezed, he took off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders, saying: "Don’t you dare get sick." But the strangest thing happened after the match. Reo won, and a crowd of fangirls rushed toward him. You stepped aside, but suddenly, you felt a strong grip on your wrist. He pulled you out of the crowd, pressed you against the wall, and whispered: — Why are you leaving? You see—I’m only looking for you. One day, he invited you to the roof at night. The moon, the silence, and Reo, nervously fidgeting with his sweater. "I… don’t know how to confess beautifully," he began. "But your smile is burned into my memory, I think about you too often, I want to see you happy." You felt warmth spreading through your chest. "I don’t want anyone’s feelings but yours. So…" – He took a step forward, and his forehead touched yours. "Be only mine. Please." You saw him clench his teeth, ready for any answer—even rejection. But you didn’t make him wait. "Reo," you whispered, feeling your lips stretch into a smile. "I’ve only ever looked at you." His eyes widened, and for a second, he froze, as if not believing his ears, then he pulled you toward him **so sharply that you gasped, his arms wrapping around your waist, pressing you close, and his lips touched yours. It wasn’t a gentle kiss—it was greedy, full of relief. His fingers tangled in your hair, and you gripped his sweater to keep from losing your balance because your knees were buckling. When you finally pulled apart, he pressed his forehead to yours, his breathing uneven. "I… won’t let you change your mind," he said it like a warning, but his voice held vulnerability. You smiled and touched his lips: "And I don’t plan to."

Seishiro Nagi

You always noticed how Seishiro Nagi avoids unnecessary movements—whether it's training, talking, or even going to the cafeteria. Anything requiring effort seemed like a waste of energy to him. But you… you were the exception. At first, he didn’t even understand what was happening. You were just there —quietly, unobtrusively. Bringing him water after matches when he lay breathless on the grass. Accidentally leaving his favorite energy drink on the locker room bench (even though he never told anyone which one he preferred). And once, when he dozed off in class, you draped your blazer over his shoulders—and didn’t even wake him, unlike everyone else. One day after practice, you stayed behind to help collect the balls. Nagi, who usually bolted to the showers first, suddenly lingered—sitting in the stands, lazily watching. "Hey… aren’t you tired?" His voice sounded unexpectedly loud in the empty gym. You were surprised but just shrugged: "No more than you." He froze. Then laughed. "Wanna grab a bite with me?" he muttered, already turning away as if hoping you hadn’t heard. You headed to a café, the sky gray, soon giving way to rain. You turned to Nagi to ask something but saw how lost in thought he was—rare for him. Then he stopped and looked at you. You stepped closer, asking what was wrong, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he took your hand and pressed it to his chest. Through his soaked shirt, you felt the frantic beat of his heart. "See? This… is because of you. I don’t like it." —But he didn’t let go of your hand. You laughed: "Do you want it to stop?" He frowned as if your question was stupid. "No. Just hard to get used to." Then you reached for him, wiping the rain from his cheek with your fingers. He closed his eyes, finally relaxing —as if all he wanted was to stand here, in the rain, feeling your touch. Maybe Nagi never said outright that he loves you, but you understood—even without words.

Michael Kaiser

You were always there—quiet but persistent. Unlike others, you didn’t shower him with admiration or try to exploit his fame. You simply stayed by his side, and that infuriated Kaiser the most. He was used to people being tools: some for achieving glory, others for entertainment. But you... you didn’t fit into that scheme. "Why are you here?" he once snapped when you sat silently beside him after practice. "I like being here," you answered simply. He gritted his teeth. "Liar. Always lying." That’s what he thought of you. But you didn’t leave. You came back, again and again. One day, after a brutal match, Kaiser collapsed onto the bench, fists clenched. That day, he lost to his rival—he, the imperator, had made a mistake. "Get up," you said, handing him water. "The game isn’t over yet." His head jerked up: "Did you even watch? I fucked up." "I did. But you don’t give up." He froze. No one had ever said that to him—everyone only expected victories. Kaiser began noticing things. How his eyes searched for you. How it irritated him when others talked to you, even though he called it weakness. But then, one day, when you didn’t show up to practice (you’d just overslept), he lost it. Texted. Called. Even stormed out of training to check if you were okay. "You—" He grabbed your shoulders when he saw you in the hallway, his voice cracking. "You scared me." You smiled: "Since when does Kaiser fear anything?" He recoiled like he’d been burned and walked away as if nothing happened. You kept attending his practices, both pretending nothing had changed. Kaiser stood gripping the ball, ignoring you, while you sat in the stands—until he suddenly spoke. "Why are you still here?" he asked, not turning around. "Because I want to be with you." "You’re stupid. I use people. I don’t know how to..." His fists tightened. "Love." You walked down, closing the distance between you. "Who said you have to know how?" And then, he broke. "I—" His voice faltered, trembling. "I don’t want to lose you." You took his hand. "Then don’t." And for the first time in his life, the imperator realized weakness wasn’t defeat. Then he kissed you—greedily, desperately, as if afraid you’d vanish.

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