#then ends up collecting some of the rest of the league ……..

[concretejunglefm]

𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒… 03

Summary: When you were convinced to visit a male strip club, you didn’t anticipate that the guy you locked eyes with on stage and who subsequently pulled you up for a routine, would turn out to be the same guy whose roommate advert you’d be responding to less than 24 hours later.

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader, (slight) Jesse Cash x reader.

CW: two idiots in love, reader ogling Noah like he's a piece of meat, Noah in his short shorts.

WC: 5.5k.

AN: Alright, so I’m not sure how many parts this will have. All I know is that this is for fun I hope you enjoy Noah being a lovable himbo.

Dividers: silent-stories.

Fic Masterlist

With a heaving sigh, you throw yourself onto the couch and lean back, resting your head against a cushion you’d moved to the armrest. It was back to the drawing board after yet another failed date, scrolling through the now limited options. If it wasn’t some cheesy line in their bio that put you off, it was the fact they were either clearly out of your league—or out of your radius.

“No, no, no,” you repeat, swiping past a firefighter, a guy who looked like he could be a fighter—or maybe a trainer—some ‘voice actor,’ a real actor, a guy wearing a mask to obscure his face with his whole ass titties out, dubbing himself as being from Arcadia (whatever that meant), a guy who looked like a potential contender… only for you to double-check his profile and see you weren’t his type (read: not a man), and then a young woman about your age with long hair, tattoos, and incredibly pretty, that made you pause until you saw the picture of her with a friend who was clearly far from just a friend.

“I wonder how long before they realize they’re in love with each other,” you mumble to yourself with a sigh.

The final profile—someone who looked potentially like a priest, is what makes you roll your eyes and give up altogether, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to ease the tension headache building behind your eyes.

It’s useless, and you’re making no progress in moving on from your crush on Noah. In fact, you swear it’s only getting worse, especially when you catch him flaunting around in those short shorts while shaking his protein shake.

What man’s ass jiggles while he’s shaking his arms???

You’d like to think the dates hadn’t been all that terrible—except they had.

First, there was Sam: the influencer who insisted on taking selfies or recording everything for their TikTok page, even going as far as wanting to move tables because “the lighting looks better over there.” They spent the entire date talking about themselves, never once asking about you, and rattled off their stats like it was a business pitch—ending with, “Obviously, I get better numbers than you do from streaming.”

Then there was Darren, the magician. He actually caught your attention at first, until he performed his best trick yet: a disappearing act… right as the bill arrived. Asshole.

After that came Lyle, a guy completely obsessed with crypto. He decided to give you a full breakdown of everything from blockchain to Bitcoin, proudly showcasing his NFT collection like a parent showing off baby photos.

Your last ditch effort had been with an older woman, Gillian, and while the date had started out great, it was her sly comment—“What do you plan to do with your life? Streaming isn’t exactly a real job, is it?”—that made your mommy issues flare up, a little too close for comfort.

While you’re scrolling through your phone, a large tattooed hand suddenly reaches down from above and snatches it right out of your fingers.

“Noah!” you huff, pushing yourself upright as he starts scrolling through the options on your screen.

“Wow, these are the dudes you’ve got coming up?” He tuts like he’s personally offended, shaking his head. “This won’t do. You need a better selection pool.”

“Well, that’s the only one I have. Now can I have my phone back?”

He ignores your request entirely and turns, heading into the kitchen. You push yourself up from the couch to follow after him.

“Noah!”

“And this is your profile?” he scoffs. “You need to liven it up a little. Maybe a few better pictures—we can get Bryan to take some real photographic shots!”

“I’m not using Bryan to take pictures for a dumb dating app.”

“Why not? These do nothing to compliment you.” He pauses and turns to gesture down at you in your shorts and oversized T-shirt, making your cheeks warm at the implied compliment.

“Uhh… thanks?” you mutter. For a second, you swear his eyes rake over you a little too long, lingering, but then he’s back to studying the screen like your love life is a group project.

“Where are the guys?” you ask, glancing around.

As if on cue, the sound of music blares to life from the backyard, followed by the low hum of voices and laughter. That answers your question, and Noah simply points in the direction of the backdoor, eyes still locked on your screen like he’s the one whose dating profile is currently under scrutiny.

Following him outside, he offers your phone back, and just as you step out, Jolly calls over to you from the bench he’s currently sitting on, a dumbbell in one hand that he’s steadily lifting into bicep curls.

“Hey! How’d the last date go?”

“Terrible.” You screw up your face, lifting a hand to block out the sun. “It was like being on a date with my mom—probably would’ve been cheaper, too.”

“Hot,” Folio chimes in.

There’s a chorus of disgusted groans and “gross” comments thrown his way before he quickly backtracks.

“I mean me going on a date with her mom. That sounds hot.”

Suddenly, there’s a shift from disgust to agreement, a few thoughtful hums, and now it’s your turn to be disgusted. You roll your eyes and move beneath the shade provided by the neighbor’s overhanging tree.

It doesn’t take long for your eyes to wander, settling on Noah, who must’ve had breakaway pants on earlier, because now he’s wearing nothing but a tight tank top, showcasing the multitude of tattoos trailing along his arms, throat, and peeking out from his chest and back, paired with a set of tight short shorts that leave very little to the imagination as he starts squatting.

While the guys have their workout circuit going, you’re just standing there, watching until Folio creeps up beside you and whispers, “You’re drooling.”

Naturally, he catches you—staring, ogling, literally drooling. You can never escape him and his keen eye. You roll your eyes, but he just smirks and saunters over to Noah.

“Come here, buddy. Use me as support to get deeper.”

There’s a cheeky grin on Folio’s face—he knows exactly what he’s doing, because the next moment, Noah’s gripping onto him and suddenly squatting lower, whole ass practically out, and your mouth goes dry.

“I’m gonna… cool down,” you mumble—more of a poor excuse than anything—as you march straight to the pool’s edge and throw yourself in.

It happens quicker than you have time to process. Suddenly, you’re being scooped up by a pair of strong arms and pulled out of the water, Noah surfacing right after, tossing his head and hair back like some majestic mermaid.

“What the—?” you gasp, shaking your head as you cling to him while he carries you over to the edge of the pool.

“You haven’t paid this month’s rent yet,” he explains.

Your brow furrows. “Excuse me?”

“You haven’t paid the rent,” he repeats casually, “so you lose your pool privileges until then. Don’t worry, I’ll set up the paddling pool for you.”

You scoff, completely unable to believe what you’re hearing, as Noah lifts you from the water and sets you on the pool’s edge.

“And you’re gonna jump in and drag me out every time I get in there?” you ask, a little bewildered.

Noah stands back slightly, nodding as he runs his fingers through his wet hair. “If I have to, yeah.”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter under your breath.

“Oooh, someone forgot to pay their rent. Naughty, naughty,” Folio taunts.

“Fuck you,” you snap, half laughing, and splash water in his direction, only for him to dodge, jumping away with a high pitched laugh.

“It’s just until you pay up,” Noah says so politely, despite how matter of fact it sounds. As he climbs up and out of the pool, you almost have to avert your gaze—his now wet shorts have become so skin tight they leave nothing to the imagination.

Size, shape, cut or uncut—you can suddenly make out everything with how tightly they cling to him. All it does is feed the beast you’ve been trying to quell, adding to the ever growing catalog of fantasies rolling around in your mind like some twisted choose your own adventure.

“But I’m not paid until the tenth of the month!” you call after him as he walks past, heading toward the heart shaped paddling pool. He drags it a little further from its usual spot and retrieves the hose to start filling it up, clearly trying to make his point.

“Then you’ll be without privileges for ten days. You know the rules,” he shrugs.

When you hear someone snickering, you look over and catch Jolly doing his best to hide his amused expression beneath the brim of his cap.

“Jolly!” you sigh.

He just shrugs, raising his hands like he’s Switzerland. “Don’t look at me—we’ve all been there.”

With an exaggerated huff, you push yourself to your feet and stomp over to the half filled paddling pool. Still fully clothed and dripping, you step inside and plop down with crossed arms and legs, making your point.

“See? It’s not that bad, right?” Noah looks down at you with that same wide grin and soft eyes.

The expression makes you crack a little, because while his ‘rules’ sound utterly ridiculous, he’s being too reasonably adorable for you to even argue with him.

Later that night, while you’re mid stream, you catch a faint knock on the door and glance over, calling out, “Come in.”

Across the screen, several remarks light up in chat along the same lines—‘surprise guest?’, but thanks to your setup, the identity remains a mystery.

Still, the smile that crosses your face is the undeniable giveaway.

“I’ll be right back, guys,” you call into the mic, pulling off your headphones. You quickly bring up your paused stream screensaver before turning in your chair toward Noah, who stands in the doorway to your room looking like a sad puppy.

“I thought you’d want some snacks,” he offers quietly, holding up one of his premium bags of chips.

“Oh? I thought I’d lost my privileges,” you tease, and that makes a slight grin break across Noah’s face. He relaxes a little, clearly gauging that you aren’t too offended by what happened earlier.

“Well, I can always sneak you some. Just don’t tell the guys I let you off easy,” he says, stepping into the room and settling on the edge of your bed, close to you.

“They might start to think you’re playing favorites,” you murmur, gently nudging your knee against his as you turn to face him more. You feel yourself flush a little at the thought—though you swear you catch the faintest blush at the tips of Noah’s ears.

“Well, you are prettier than Jolly. Maybe not Davis, though.”

“I’ll take that,” you laugh, reaching for the bag of chips he opens and offers. You pop a couple into your mouth as he glances toward your paused screen.

“What are you playing?” he asks, nodding toward your computer.

“Would you believe… Animal Crossing?”

“No way!” His face lights up with excitement, and you shuffle back a bit as he moves closer.

“I wanna play!”

“Wait, you like Animal Crossing?”

He quirks a brow at you as he stands. “The jock villagers are literally my dudes.”

That makes you laugh, because of course they are. Out of all the personality types, that would be the one he’s drawn to.

“Here!” You lean over, pulling your spare chair into place and patting the seat for him. You hand him your second controller. “Are you okay with streaming?” you ask, ready to switch the stream back on.

“I’m your favorite guest, aren’t I?” he teases, flashing a wide grin.

You just nod with a quiet, “Sure,” and switch the stream back on, offering him your spare headset—complete with matching cat ears.

“Well, I guess we do have a special guest tonight.”

That sets the chat off in a frenzy, messages spamming across the screen as Noah eagerly begins creating his character to join your island.

“What are you doing?” you ask, narrowing your eyes as you watch him.

“Moving in,” he replies, not missing a beat.

You scoff and shake your head. “Making yourself right at home already.”

“Like you haven’t,” he teases, glancing over at you, his tongue peeking out briefly—revealing a glint of something silver, before he turns his attention back to the screen.

You’re left momentarily dumbfounded, your stomach doing flips. The butterflies you thought had long since fluttered away now back.

Coming to the club has become a regular occurrence for you, especially on nights when you’re not streaming. Mostly, it’s for the company, because the moment all the guys are out of the house, it feels a little too quiet and frankly, a little too lonely.

When you first moved in, you never imagined you’d actually end up enjoying having multiple guys shouting around you—working out, blasting music, watching movies, wrestling in the pool. The chaos that always seems to ensue somehow became part of the charm, and eventually, all that noise just faded into the background—comforting, familiar, a soundtrack to their constant presence.

Taking your usual seat at the bar, you pull out your laptop with the intention of finishing off a handful of video concepts for upcoming streams. On top of that, you’ve still got side uploads you haven’t even started to piece together. Realistically, you could look into hiring someone to help with editing, but you’re a perfectionist, and your income, while steady enough to sustain yourself, still doesn’t justify bringing someone else in.

“I’ll have a bottle of water,” you say to the unfamiliar voice that asks for your order. When you glance up from your screen, you clock someone who isn’t Matt placing a bottle of water down on the bar beside you.

“Where’s Matt?” you ask the new guy behind the bar, who—unlike Matt—is dressed in a more uniform like style: a collared shirt, black pants, and even a matching black button-up vest. There’s a distinct curl to his hair, and each time he lifts his tattooed hand to card his fingers through it, you watch the strands spring to life before flipping back into place.

“Not here,” he answers quickly, glancing up at you briefly. “Am I not good enough?”

That makes you pause. For a second, you almost assume you’ve offended him, until you catch the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“No, just… you’re new,” you say, and he nods, showing off a little as he tosses a bottle for his next customer before smoothly pouring their drink.

“Jesse,” he introduces himself, setting the bottle down and sliding the drink across the bar. He wipes his hands on a nearby rag before offering one to you. You give your name in return.

“You a friend of the guys?” you ask, gesturing toward the stage, already alive with the four male dancers.

He makes a slight face before breaking into a grin. “Yeah. We all go way back. Used to be roommates with Noah and Jolly once upon a time.”

“Oh?” Your brow quirks. “Had to get out the nest and spread your wings?”

He pauses, glancing at you with a slightly raised brow. “That, and someone moved in and stole my room.”

“Ouch.” You lift a hand to your chest in mock offense. “Whoever would do such a thing?”

That sends you both into a quiet, shared laugh.

Watching him struggle was becoming painful. Between the influx of customers and his terrible attempts at tricks with the bottles and drinks, you decided to save him from drowning any further. Shutting down your laptop, you hop off your stool and walk around to the back of the bar—only for Jesse to catch sight of you with a curious eye and a quick, “Wait, whoa, what are you doing back here? You can’t be back here!”

“I’m saving your ass,” you declare, turning to a nearby customer and taking their order before effortlessly starting to make their drinks.

“So you’ve bartended before?” Jesse asks, pausing just to watch how seamlessly you go about mixing the combination of drinks being requested.

“Back in college,” you shrug, giving him a brief glance.

“You went to college?” It comes out more surprised than he probably intended, and you gasp dramatically, reaching over as though to kick him.

“Yes, computer engineering, actually.”

“Oh, so you were one of those pretty nerds.”

“Who said anything about was?” you quip, flashing him a quick wink before turning back to the customer and offering them their drinks.

“What about you?” you ask in the brief reprieve between customers, your eyes skimming along his tattooed forearms, exposed by the way he’s rolled up his sleeves halfway.

All of the boys seem to share a similar style of tattoos—something you can’t help but notice, but his look good on him. Just like Noah’s, they suit him in a way that feels intentional, like a pretty canvas you couldn’t imagine being bare now that you’ve seen it like this.

“What about me?”

“Was bartending always the dream?” you tease, and he chuckles, shaking his head.

“Oh, no. I did English Lit.”

“Oh?!”

“With plans of being the next great American author,” he explains.

“You need a degree for that?” you tease again, biting your lower lip to hold back your laughter.

“Yeah, I guess not,” he sighs, leaning against the bar as he laughs quietly. “And you need a computer engineering degree for what you do?”

“Streaming?” You quirk a brow slightly. “I didn’t want to make it too easy on myself and do something entirely relevant to my degree.”

Your tone drips with sarcasm, but Jesse picks up on it instantly. Before long, the two of you are batting jokes back and forth with ease, the night slipping by in a blur—only breaking the spell when Noah approaches the bar.

“Want a ride home?” he asks, sweat still dripping down his collarbone and tattooed neck, glitter smudged across his face.

“Yes!” you bounce up from behind the bar, already moving to gather your laptop. “But you really need to learn to hose off before you leave work. I’m tired of glitter in the shower.”

You point at him, but Noah just raises a brow, flashing a cheeky grin.

“And lose an excuse to have you help me? That seems unfair to you,” he teases.

Behind you, Jesse mutters under his breath, “Don’t miss that.”

You shake your head with a quiet laugh, waving at Jesse. “Thanks,” he says, as you cross over to Noah, your laptop bag slung over your shoulder. Your free hand finds the small of his back, guiding him toward the door.

“How’d you do tonight?” you ask, stepping into the cool night air, watching how a light breeze lifts a few overgrown strands of his hair. Even in the moonlight—smeared eyeliner, glitter, and all—he’s pretty.

“Not bad. A bachelorette party was asking about private shows.” He pulls a slip of paper from his pocket and shows you a number.

You raise a brow. “And I want this because…?”

“They thought you were our booking agent or something. I don’t know—maybe you could be.” He shrugs as you reach the car. He pops the trunk, tossing his bag in, then opens the passenger door for you.

“You want me as your booking agent?” you scoff, not sure if you heard him right.

“For events and stuff outside the club? Sure, why not?”

“Because I’ve never been an agent in my life?”

“You stream. You’re basically your own PR team. You make your own content, handle your own promotions, moderate your own chat most of the time, and you edit everything yourself.” Noah starts listing things off like a checklist. “You’re a one man band. Why not use those skills for something else?”

“Oh yeah? And you’ll use your skills?”

“If you insist.” He smirks, and before you can respond, he starts to gyrate his hips the same way he does on stage, laughing as he dances toward you.

Naturally, you can’t help but burst out laughing. “You keep up the good dance moves, babygirl, and I’ll take care of you,” you tease, reaching out to give him a playful smack on the ass as you climb into the car and he brings a hand to his forehead while closing the door, dramatically pretending to faint over your charming words.

It’s Noah who starts it.

You’d been happily watching Dirty Dancing alone in what you thought was an empty house—until he wandered in, claimed it was his favorite movie, started singing along, and now he’s sliding off the couch onto the floor, stretching out just like Patrick Swayze on screen, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“How do you call your loverboy?” he sings, playing it up like the natural performer he is.

You’re quick to fall into step, shifting to the edge of your seat, lifting your hand to beckon him with one curled finger as you sing back, “Come ‘ere, loverboy!”

The two of you go back and forth, perfectly in sync with the movie. Noah begins to crawl toward you, slow and dramatic, after easing onto his knees, and you slide off the couch to meet him on the floor, mirroring his movements as you both crawl toward one another.

When the scene shifts, Noah mimics playing air guitar, bent backward on his knees in a way that shows off the flexibility you’ve seen so often on stage. You would’ve taken the moment to admire him—his form, the way he moves, the ease in his body, but you’re too caught up in the rhythm of your shared performance.

Then comes your daring touch. As he straightens up and moves toward you, your hands find his upper arms, fingers pressing lightly into the warm flex of muscle. His nose brushes yours, breath warm against your lips. He’s close—so close you expect him to pull away, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he leans in closer, hands settling at your waist. The only time he breaks contact is to mimic the choreography on screen—his head dipping toward your stomach, your hands cradling the sides of his neck to guide him upward again, until he’s pressed against your chest.

His hips sway with the music, his hands on your hips, guiding them as you rise to your feet together, until he finally lifts his head just enough to look down at you.

Even as the scene continues to play, the music fading into a soft lull in the background of the scene, it’s the words that follow that catch your attention—You’re the one.

They stand out like a spotlight, echoing in your head as you gaze up at him. It makes your heart pound, because you can’t help but feel like maybe he is. Or maybe it’s all in your head—wishful thinking, misreading something that isn’t really there, but he still hasn’t pulled away.

His hands slide around to your lower back, gently tugging you closer, your bodies swaying, almost grinding, to the slow, sensual rhythm. The movement mirrors the dancing he does in the club, deliberate and intimate, full of unspoken promise.

“You’re a pretty good dancer,” he murmurs.

That pulls a quiet laugh from you as you turn your head slightly, avoiding his gaze. “Compared to you? I don’t think so.”

“No, I mean it. You should come on stage sometime at the club. I could teach you a few moves.”

You want to ask if he’s teasing, but you know better. When it comes to dancing, to his work, he never jokes. He’s proud of what he does.

Your arms hang loosely around his shoulders, fingers gliding up into the back of his hair. You look up at him, and nod. “Yeah, okay.”

You’re close enough now to feel the heat of his breath ghosting over your lips. Close enough that if one of you moved even an inch—

Then the back door slams. The sound startles you both, making you spring apart. You quickly busy yourself, flopping back onto the couch and fixing your eyes on the movie—pretending nothing just happened.

Jolly and Davis’s voices filter through the house, followed by the sound of Folio and Nick entering. As Folio peers into the living room, he catches sight of the movie playing on the TV.

“Ah man, he hasn’t tried to get you to do the lift yet, has he?” he asks.

You quirk a brow, glancing between Noah—now seated back near you—and Folio.

“He’s obsessed with trying to get one of us to do that lift. Watch out, or you’ll be next.” He points at you as if issuing a warning, before disappearing into the kitchen just as Jolly announces the food is ready.

Noah practically vaults over the back of the couch, promising to return with your plate, but all you can focus on is the pounding in your chest—the lingering effect of just how close the two of you had been.

Your thoughts drift, dangerously, to the idea of recreating that iconic lift scene, and you realize, more than ever, that you desperately need a distraction from him.

It’s in the local coffee shop that you spot a familiar face—Jesse, leaning back in his chair, a book in one hand and a coffee in the other. Narrowing your gaze as you draw closer, you tilt your head to read the title of the book, saying it aloud to catch his attention.

“Lolita, really?” You raise a brow—part amused, part curious—your lips tugging into something resembling the former.

“Are you really judging the taste of an English lit grad?” Jesse replies, lowering his book and peeking up at you from behind it.

“Hm, depends on your take, I suppose,” you shrug, swaying a little on the spot.

“Probably not something most people would agree with.” He shifts forward, setting his book on the table and gesturing for you to sit. You slide into the chair opposite him.

“So that means it’s pretentious,” you tease.

He scrunches his nose and raises a hand, holding his forefinger and thumb an inch apart. “Maybe a teeny bit.”

You laugh and lean back, taking a sip of your iced coffee. “So, where’s your laptop? Aren’t all aspiring authors supposed to sit in coffee shops with their laptops, looking all tortured and artistic or something?”

“Well, usually yes, but not today. I’m here because I’m supposed to be meeting a date.”

“Oh?” Your brow furrows, and you reach into your pocket, pulling out your phone to glance at the time. It’s not that you feel like you’re interrupting, but the coincidence is just a little too perfect.

“That’s… interesting. I had a blind date a friend set me up on. I was supposed to meet him about five minutes ago.”

“Is that so?” Jesse leans back in his chair, brow raised and a sly smirk curling at his lips—like he’s already pieced the whole thing together.

“Could you give me a second?” you quickly excuse yourself, slipping outside as you hit ‘call’ on Troy’s number. Naturally, he answers within a couple of rings, his voice too bright, too vibrant, clearly aware of what he’s doing.

“How’s the date?”

“Why did you set me up with Jesse?” you hiss down the phone, not bothering to hide your annoyance as you walk further away from the coffee shop to prevent Jesse from witnessing your meltdown.

“Because I saw the way you two have been flirting behind the bar and—”

“That wasn’t flirting,” you interrupt, correcting him with a huff.

“Oh, please. A guy who challenges you in both wit and intellect? You were about ready to eat him alive on the spot.”

You huff again, momentarily silenced by the fact that he’s not wrong. You admittedly have a type, intellectual sparring is your version of foreplay, and Jesse definitely lit that fire beneath you when you helped him behind the bar.

“So, me and Matt spoke—”

“And how are you and Matt?” There’s a snipe in your tone, not hiding what you’re insinuating: that you’re not the only one nursing a crush on someone in the club. Only in your case, it might be two someones.

“I’m still playing hard to get, thank you very much.”

You roll your eyes and audibly growl as Troy returns to his train of thought.

“As I was saying—we spoke and decided you two were a perfect match, so we set you up.”

“And you don’t think setting me up with the friend of the guy I have a crush on and live with was a bad idea?”

He grumbles something about not always having the brains to go with his beauty, and you roll your eyes again.

“It’s either this, or you get desperate and go back out with some other Tinder knucklehead. So either suck it up and tell that big, beautiful himbo with the jiggly ass and too little shorts how you feel… or go on a couple dates with Jesse just to get him out of your system.”

“So, Noah’s always been like that, huh?” you ask.

“Oh, the whole ‘taking away privileges and replacing them’ thing? Yeah, he’s a bit of an ass for that,” Jesse chuckles, your hands just brushing as you walk side by side.

“I’ve gotta ask,” he continues. “Do you like him? Noah, I mean. It’s just… I’ve never been on a date where the sole focus has been multiple questions about my friend slash ex roommate.”

You feel your cheeks warm and drop your head, staring at the ground like it might help deflect what he’s insinuating. “It’s complicated.”

“I get it.”

You peek up at him, brow raised slightly, urging him to go on.

“I’m not insecure or anything. I know he’s a charmer—there’s a reason he has a Facebook support group. Which I’m pretty sure Folio moderates,” he adds with a wry look.

You snort, brow furrowing to match his. “It’s just a stupid crush,” you say with a shrug, brushing it off.

Jesse raises his hands in a lighthearted defense as the two of you come to a stop at the end of your driveway.

“I’m not judging, but I like you. I had fun, and if you decide you want a second date—one where Noah isn’t the sole topic of conversation—I’d love to take you out on one.”

You worry your lip between your teeth, nibbling over the thought of a second date with Jesse, and just how much you’d unintentionally—or maybe subconsciously, brought Noah up tonight.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Jesse says, slipping his hands into his pockets with a casual shrug. His tone is almost nonchalant, but there’s something about his posture, the restraint in his expression, that suggests he’s holding himself back. “Figure out where your head’s at… and call me.”

He pulls one hand from his pocket, gently lifting it to your chin, tilting your head toward him. Then he leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek. It doesn’t feel entirely platonic, but it’s not quite romantic either—something soft, in-between. It stirs a flicker of warmth, but nothing like the heat Noah ignites just by being near you, and that realization leaves you heavy with guilt.

“Thanks, Jesse,” you whisper.

He steps away, and for a moment, you pause—watching him walk off. You catch him glancing back. Your eyes meet, lingering just a second too long, before you both turn and disappear your separate ways.

When you come in, the house is still full, but quieter now, with everyone scattered around the living room, watching a movie.

“Where have you been?” Folio calls over, brow raised with a teasing grin.

You just roll your eyes and sigh, plopping down on the couch beside Noah. He shifts, just enough to make room for you, and as you melt against his side out of habit and comfort, his arm wraps loosely around you.

This has become a common theme between the two of you—light touches, quiet closeness—somewhere between casual affection and what you’d consider flirting, though you weren’t sure if he thought of it that way. Still, you always seemed to gravitate toward each other—like now.

“My friend set me up on a blind date,” you mutter, waving a hand to brush it off as unimportant.

Noah shifts beside you, glancing down. “Good?”

There’s something in his eyes that looks hopeful, but not in the sense that he wants it to have gone well. Maybe the opposite, and the thought catches in your throat, echoing the words Jesse had said just moments ago.

“No. It was… just okay. Probably not gonna happen again.” You shake your head.

You feel the way Noah relaxes beside you before he dips his head, gently nestling it against the crown of yours.

On screen, George is telling Mary, “You want the moon? I’ll throw a lasso around it and pull it down.”

And for a moment, you swear you hear Noah mumble the words softly against your hair—something quiet and almost instinctive. It sends a warm, fuzzy flutter through your chest. You already knew he was a hopeless romantic, but that doesn’t stop it from making you fall just a little bit more.

tagged: @fadingangelwisp @deathblacksmoke  @geminigirlfromfinland @fuck1ng-queen @xxkittenkissesxx @lacy1986 @ami--gami @floodflameschosen @dominuslunae @tosoundlessdarkistare @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @lonelydragonlady @th4t-em0-k1d @amelia-acero @dollieomens  @sitkowski @athenexe @trvshdxddy @collapsedglasshouses @overmydeadbodysblog @xmads-omensx @ajordan2020 @astronoids @courta13 @oobleoob @bluehairpunklol @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @swissy23 @i-love-the-smell-of-your-blood @kenjipepsi1 @birdie-in-arcadia @blackcherrywhiskey @saythatuwill @concretenoah @death-ofpeace-ofmind @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @blade-dressed-in-red @limerinseme @lilgarbitch @pipidoll @heyyoplayer @iconic-taurus @flowery-mess @jesuisunchaton @bloody-spades @bluestdai @respectfulrebel @dravenskye

[randomminty]

Caitlin…..

[hoe4hotchner]

the team meeting aaron's lawyer!wife who's personality is similar to his + she's the best in her field

Langston & Bell | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Lawyer wife!reader | WC: 1.2k | CW: Not really anything except for a little law jargon and mentions of a case the BAU is working on.

A/N: My brain hurts from looking up law terminology, and I'm not even sure if I used all the words correctly

The glass doors of Langston & Bell opened as Hotch led the rest of his team inside. The air felt heavy—as they entered—from the scent of freshly brewed coffee and a faint lemony aroma.

The firm itself was one of the most prestigious ones in all of Virginia, and its reputation suited it. Everything about the space was designed to impress—shining marble floors in the lobby, towering bookshelves filled with thick leather-bound volumes of law books and journals, and abstract art that screamed of a space aimed to do business with rich and pretentious people.

Emily glanced around, clearly trying to process how they’d ended up here. “Langston & Bell?” she muttered under her breath. “Isn’t this place out of our league?”

“They’re not dealing with criminal justice,” Spencer pointed out. “They specialize in corporate litigation and high-profile estate law. The firm is known for taking on cases that require absolute discretion.” Emily tried her best not to roll her eyes at Spencer's outburst of knowledge but failed.

Hotch didn’t respond, he kept his pace steady as he approached the front desk. His usual stone-faced demeanor was on full display, his features—although set not completely in a frown—were unreadable. He seemed unbothered by the hushed stares they received from the staff as they had entered with their badges held out in front of them.

The receptionist, a young woman with a straight posture and a sharp smile, greeted them. “Good afternoon. How may I assist you?”

Hotch stepped forward, his voice even. “We’re with the FBI. We’re looking for the attorney who handled the probate case for Samuel Larkin.”

The receptionist’s fingers danced quickly over her keyboard, her expression unchanged. “That would be Attorney Hotchner.”

Dead silence.

Emily blinked. “I’m sorry, did you say Hotchner?”

“Yes,” the receptionist replied, unfazed, almost on the brink of annoyance. “Would you like me to see if she’s available?”

“She,” Morgan echoed, his brows furrowing a little as his gaze flipped from the receptionist to Hotch.

Before anyone could recover from their shock, the sound of sharp heal clicks echoed through the lobby.

“Aaron,” came a clear voice from behind. “If this is your idea of surprising me, I’ll admit it’s more creative than flowers. But I have a deposition in thirty minutes.”

The team turned as one, their collective gazes landing on the woman who had just entered the room. You were dressed in a tailored navy suit that emphasized your poised demeanor. Your expression was both curious and faintly amused as your eyes locked on Hotch.

“Counselor,” he greeted smoothly, his tone carrying a subtle warmth that the team rarely heard.

“Counselor?” Rossi asked, a slow grin forming as his gaze flicked between you and Hotch.

Your lips quirked up in a small smile as you approached, your heels clicking against the marble with each step. “I assume this is your team?”

“It is,” Hotch confirmed.

You turned your attention to the group, giving them a brief once-over with an expression that wasn’t unkind but clearly measured. “Well, where are my manners? I’m Y/N Hotchner, senior litigation partner here at Langston & Bell. And yes, I can see the wheels turning in all your heads.”

Morgan crossed his arms, already grinning. “Oh, I’ve got a lot of questions right now.”

You raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Feel free to ask them, Agent Morgan. I’ve been cross-examined by some of the sharpest minds in the country—I’m sure I can handle you.”

JJ stepped forward, clearly trying to keep her surprise in check. “Wait, you’re married?”

You tilted your head toward Hotch, your expression softening just a fraction. “You didn’t tell them?”

“It never came up,” Hotch replied with a shrug, though the faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes didn’t escape you.

You shook your head, exhaling a soft laugh. “Aaron’s great at compartmentalizing, isn’t he? Well, to officially answer your question—yes, I’m his wife. And judging by your expressions, this is news to you.”

“Big news,” Emily muttered, still processing.

Hotch cleared his throat, subtly redirecting the conversation. “We need access to the probate records for Samuel Larkin. Anything that might help us build our case.”

Your demeanor shifted instantly, professionalism overtaking the playful edge. “Aaron, you know I can’t just hand over client information without a court order.”

“We’re only asking for publicly available records,” he clarified.

You studied him for a moment, a silent exchange passing between you. Then you turned to your assistant, who stood nearby. “Jane, pull the Larkin docket and bring me all publicly filed documents. Annotate them if you have time, and leave them on my desk before your shift ends.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jane replied, already moving toward the elevator.

“You always find a way around the rules,” Hotch said, his voice was low but carrying a note of fondness.

“And you love that about me,” you shot back with a wink, your eyes glinting with mischief.

Morgan leaned closer to Emily, his voice just loud enough for her to hear. “I don’t know what’s more surprising—the fact that he’s married, the fact that she's a lawyer, or the fact that she might be scarier than him.”

Although Jane hadn't gone through the records yet, she sent you a digital copy as soon as she had found them. You walked the team through them with ease. Every legal term you used was calculated, giving away as little about your client as you could, while still helping your husband and his team. You made sure to translate every dense legal jargon into actionable insights every time you saw one of their faces pull an expression.

“Here,” you said, pointing to a transaction on the financial statement. “These wire transfers are from an offshore account linked to Larkin. It’s not evidence of criminal activity, but it raises enough red flags to warrant further investigation.” If Larkin found out you had helped the feds, you could be in big trouble, you thought as you revealed the account.

Spencer leaned in, his eyes lighting up with understanding. “If we trace the accounts, we might uncover a connection to our unsub.”

“Precisely,” you replied, offering him a small nod of approval.

By the time the team wrapped up, they had everything they needed to move forward. As they gathered their materials, you leaned against the edge of the table, folding your arms as you looked at Hotch.

“Dinner at seven?” you asked, your voice softer, the edge of professionalism giving way to something more personal.

“Seven,” he confirmed, his tone lighter than usual.

You smiled, leaning in just enough to lower your voice. “Try not to scare anyone off before then, okay?”

“No promises,” he replied, his lips twitching upward in the faintest of smiles.

As the team exited the building, Morgan shook his head in disbelief. “She is definitely scarier than Hotch”

Emily grinned. “I think I like her better.”

“I like her too,” Rossi added with a chuckle.

Hotch walked ahead, the faint smile still playing on his lips, but he didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. The team had seen enough to know he’d married his perfect match—an equal who could still challenge him enough to keep him on his toes.

[ravensuperr]

DPx DC Prompt-Alternate Dimension Shenanigans

So instead of the usual Casper High field trip trope in the Danny Phantom fandom, imagine this time it’s Damian Wayne’s class that ends up stuck in the Infinite Realms.

Here’s how it plays out:

Damian’s class is on the way back from an overnight field trip to Washington, D.C. Everything's fine—until they stop at a rest area. The bus driver goes off to handle his business, comes back, and they get back on the road.

Then… a portal opens out of nowhere.

They don’t even have time to react. The bus gets pulled in. When they try to turn around, the portal’s already gone.

Enter: Danny Phantom.

He’s just gotten back from visiting either Pandora (weekly chat) or Frostbite (med checkup) when he stumbles on a confused group of teens, their teacher, and a parked bus in the middle of the Infinite Realms.

He blinks.

Mr. Carter (the teacher): “Our driver stopped at a rest stop—standard procedure. Then this portal opened up out of nowhere. We couldn’t stop in time. It just… sucked us in. When we tried to turn around, it was gone.”

Danny: “Ah. Natural portal. Those usually happen to planes, not buses… though, now that I think about it, ground traffic’s not unheard of. Shouldn’t have said that out loud.”

Damian (irritated): “Where exactly are we?”

Danny: “You’re in the Infinite Realm.”

Camila (raising an eyebrow): “So… another dimension?”

Zane (grinning): “Wait, does this count for my bingo card? ‘Accidentally ending up in another dimension’ was my free square.”

Priya: “Are we in space? Or some alien planet?”

Danny: “Nope. Think bigger.”

He gestures to the eerie green sky swirling above them.

Danny: “The Infinite Realm is like... glue. The glue that holds everything together. Every timeline, every dimension, every kind of power—magic, science, tech—they all touch the Infinite Realm. This place connects them all.”

Emily (deadpan): “Freaky. Multiversal glue vibes.”

Suddenly, one of the students blurts out:

Mason: “How did you die?”

The whole class turns to stare.

Mason (shrugging): “Come on—tell me you’re not curious too.”

Danny (calmly): “Okay, so, it’s super rude to ask a ghost how they died unless you’re family or really close. It’s kinda taboo.”

Leo: “Fine, then… who’s your favorite Justice League member?”

Danny (without missing a beat): “Martian Manhunter.”

Zane: “Why?”

Danny: “Because I wanted to be an astronaut when I grew up… and I love space.”

Damian (pinching the bridge of his nose): “Does anyone have a question that’ll help us get home?”

Nina (class rep): “Yeah—how are you getting us back?”

Danny: “There’s a powerful artifact that can return you to your dimension. I just need to make sure none of you wander off or tick off any local ghosts. Not all of them are thrilled to see humans here.”

Camila: “So you can take us back to Gotham?”

Danny: “Sure. Where exactly is that in the U.S.?”

Class (in unison): “…Are you serious?”

Danny: “I know it’s where Batman and his birds live. I just don’t know where it is on a map. Also, I failed geography. And I’m dead.”

Emily: “New Jersey. Gotham’s in New Jersey.”

Danny: “Cool. Everyone back on the bus. First stop: Pandora.”

Priya: “Wait—Pandora? As in Pandora’s Box?”

Danny: “Yep. She’s real. She’s super protective of it. Someone stole it once—I helped her get it back. She’s chill now. I’m going to ask her if you can hang out in her realm while I talk to two people: Frostbite and Clockwork. I need to make sure I don’t accidentally drop you off in the wrong Gotham.”

Zane: “There’s a wrong Gotham?!”

Danny: “This place touches every timeline. You don’t think there’s a version of Gotham where Batman is a vampire or something? Multiverse roulette isn’t fun.”

Class (collectively): “Yeah. No more questions.”

Camila (genuinely): “Wait—we don’t even know your name. We feel kinda rude calling you Ghost Boy.”

Danny (blinks): “Oh. Right. Just call me Phantom.”

Damian (dryly): “Just Phantom? Not your real name?”

Danny: “Not telling you that. That’s basically the same as asking how I died. Still rude.”

Mason: “If I die, can I change my name?”

Danny: “Yeah. You can go by whatever name you want. You’re dead. There are no rules.”

Leo: “What if someone’s, like, gay or bi or trans? Does that matter?”

Danny: “Dude, we’re dead. We’ve got Pride flags engraved into dimension gates. Trans? Cool. Bi? Great. Ace? Valid. Nobody cares. You’re free to be whoever you are.”

Priya: “Okay but… what if someone was transitioning when they died?”

Danny: “Then the gender they identified as is the one they get. Period. No exceptions.”

Zane: “...So it’s like actual equality?”

Danny: “Yeah. Ghost society’s not perfect, but nobody here’s getting judged for who they are. You’ll probably see two ghost guys kissing before lunchtime.”

Mason: “Wait. Have you met Death?”

Danny: “Twice.”

Class: “…What?”

Danny: “Yeah. They go by Jeff.”

Class (blinking): “Jeff?”

Danny: “Says it sounds like Death. Duh.”

Damian (deadpan, to himself): “I need a week off school. Maybe two.”

Damian (out loud): “What about things like Time? Dreams? Are they ghosts, too?”

Danny (nodding): “They’re called never-born ghosts. They weren’t alive and then dead—they exist because of human concepts. Like Time? His name’s Clockwork. Depending on your religion, you’ve probably heard of him under a different name. Same ghost. Different culture.”

[quandledlngle69]

heyy, i read some of your past ness fics and theyre so good😫 so i thought id ask if ur open to writing another one !!

y/n is cunt asf, like that girl and ness is whipppedd for her. she comes to watch ness at a match or practice and she kind of babies him / congratulates him in a loving but condescending way (if that makes any sense help), and the rest of bastard pokes fun at him for it. in one way or another, y/n ends up leading him away from the rest of the team and they start freaking it, and when they come out together, its very much visible

srry this is highkey overly specific, so go as much off topic / a stray with it if you must lol

hi hi anon, tried to make it as close as possible, sorry for the delayed response bc i actually loved this ask and was supposed to drop this like two weeks ago but i didn't know what to do with the ending ughh

⸻ アレクシス ネス ALEXIS NESS.

CW; mention of smut, implied sex, reader and ness sneak off to do freaky shit in the closet, the team catches ness in the aftermath, hickeys, crack, reader is implied to be fem, swearing. w.c; 1.0k.

everyone knows ness is dating you.

bastard münchen, the press, the pr managers, the whole damn world knows alexis ness is dating you.

you were mostly indifferent to the huge spotlight you put yourself in when ness became your boyfriend. the most interviewer's and journalists snatched from your personal life was that you were a shopaholic, your fashion sense was better than bastard münchen's stylist team, and that you loved ness.

or more like... ness adored you.

ah–a newbie reporter will always make the mistake of mentioning you in any context, because once he starts rambling, he doesn't stop. kaiser always has to drag ness away from the mics, directed yelling and flashing lights before another half an hour is spent talking about how flawless your makeup is.

and now here you were, just off in the stands, wearing the signature bastard münchen jersey with ness's number painted yellow on the back. you looked like a doll, clapping your hands in excitement as the german team won another match, ness having snagged an assist in the last goal.

you're the first to congratulate him after his team, almost pouncing on him as he's grabbing his water bottle.

"you were so good out there baby! i was waiting f'you to like... mess up, but you didn't! not even once, m'so proud of you." your voice was condescending cheerful while squishing and pinching his cheeks. ness lips curve into a sheepish smile, his flushed face not lost on you or anyone as he mumbles his gratitude.

he can already hear the low murmur of snickering from his teammates, as they always seemed entertained by the view of you babying ness to humiliation. you eventually let go of him as the athletes get ready to depart back to their locker rooms, and that's when chaos ensues.

the second the team's out of public scrutiny, ness is being shaken like a saltshaker by raichi. isagi, kaiser, and hiori are rather loudly teasing ness about your overly affectionate personality; and yukimiya's laughing at igarashi as the monk has another questioning breakdown about how ness managed to bag someone of your league.

this is how it's gonna be for the next hour, ness thinks, internally groaning as he goes to collect his duffle bag. his teammates attention are on their super victory rather than him, to his relief.

his thoughts are halted when he sees something once still, shift in his peripheral vision. the door to the locker room cracks open ever so slightly, only a slit in the door. you're standing there, a sweet smile on your face, one he knows all too well. you bat your lashes at him in such a provocative way, a bolt of heat strikes right through him. he freezes, panic flashing in his features, because you're not supposed to be back here, what if someone caught you?

his mulberry eyes instantly flicker down to your glossy lips as they part, only a single word mouthed.

"c'mere."

his legs didn't hesitate, picking up on their own, looking back at his teammates for a final time to confirm no prying eyes were on him, before slipping out the door. there was a small click of the lock as it shut, virtually inaudible to any of the other ears in the room.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

your face scrunched at the incoming light from the corridor as your foot tapped the door open.

being in a dark supply closet for half an hour to immediate harsh fluorescent light really does numbers on the eyes. hearing no footsteps, you bravely peek your head out, straining your neck to make sure there's not a soul in the corridor.

you almost flinch as you feel something warm and big press against your back, sighing adequately as you feel a face settle in the crook of your nose.

"alexis," you whisper, and you get a low hum in response. "coast is clear."

you don't wait another second before pulling him by the front of his shirt, the closet door left ajar.

only once you step into the light do you see the aftermath of getting carried away–you made the grave mistake of forgetting how pigmented your lip gloss was. you had completely peppered his face with kisses, each leaving their own unique lipstick stain. patterns of lip marks littered from his cheek down to his neck. the bite mark on his jugular was still indented, leftover saliva shining in the light. the light suck marks you expected to bloom later, seemed as though they were getting darker by the minute.

"what's wrong, schatz?"

his voice snaps you out of your trance, dazed but a little sharper at the look on your face.

"nothing–it's nothing." you attempt to rub the lip marks, but they only smear terribly, and you curse under your breath.

suddenly, a pack of voices merged from the end of the hall, still muffled by the distance. yours and ness heads whip towards the sound in sync. there was about a split second before someone rounded the corner. and before you could even think of what to do, ness had already pushed you out of a fire exit door.

you were safe, but you couldn't say the same for ness....

"hey! ness–WHAT THE FUCK?!!!"

ness winced, the sound of raichi's hollering echoed sharply in the long hallway. he turned his head slowly to find half of the team paused in shock. queue silence so tense you could cut it with a steak knife. he couldn't even slyly lie his way out of this one, he was caught red handed and completely in the open.

his swollen lips opened to give some half–assed excuse and rush off, but his words were caught in his throat when a hand fisted the back collar of his shirt, pulling him through the door behind him. all he felt was a sudden rush of wind from the outside, until you pushed him forward in a rushed manner, uncontrollably giggling to yourself as you told him in a hushed whisper to run, trialing close behind him as you both picked up the pace.

he cracked a smile to himself as you dragged him by the hand, around tight corners and alleyways. he's glad you didn't notice the absolute love–sick look he was giving you, or you would have teased him.

he wouldn't mind getting caught or in trouble, but only if you were by his side.

Quandaledlngle69 © 2025

[luvvyouforever]

to be known - scott miller (twisters) x reader

synopsis: scott can't grapple with the fact that you've ended your tornado chasing fling with him. content: fluff, angst, argument, scott's an asshole duh, mentions of smut but nothing detailed, drinking/bar environment author's note: niche character time yayyyyy

the past year has been nothing but record outbreaks of tornadoes across the alley. for a month, you've been jumping back and forth between oklahoma, kansas, nebraska, and arkansas, chasing the storms that you had spent your life studying, understanding, learning, loving. your family hated what you did, going out and researching these things on your own, collecting enough data to begin your doctoral study on them. but each time you pulled into gas stations and motels collected with your little community of chasers, you felt at home.

of course, you liked some groups more than others. it was natural. tyler owens and his tornado wranglers were rather tolerable, using their money towards supporting broken towns and families. that group out of florida who drove around some rigged subaru were friendly, offering you to sit with them at dinner. then there were the tourists from england who were way out of their league, but kept to themselves mostly.

and then there was storm par. the corporatized storm chasers who collected data not to understand the weather phenomenons that so often wrecked southern america, but to profit from them. to sell land to their millionaire investors. to use their highly advanced equipment to take advantage of vulnerable people.

you ran into them more often than not, much to your dismay. you sat a reasonable distance from the tornadoes, jotting down notes from the bed of your truck about the striations of clouds and the conditions of the sky that led to the dark funnels forming. and then, four storm par vehicles would speed by, nearly sending your truck toppling each time, kicking up red dust on you.

assholes was what they were. especially scott miller, their co-leader next to javi who was essentially his exact opposite.

at the beginning, he looked at you with a smug confidence painted on his face, gum snapping in his mouth annoyingly. he thought your research would never get off the ground. when you came back the next year with a fully funded program in your belt, he shut up, but still watched you from afar with a look on his face you hated.

and then one night, something changed. it was like a tornado. perfect conditions that all equaled to something explosive. life-changing. it was a bottle of wine that had been sitting in your fridge that made you release the grip your hatred for him had on you. it was heavy winds outside the motel that drug every chaser out to their balconies. it was you looking over to see him in the room next door. it was the seltzer javi convinced him to have with him at a bar. it was the way his eyes glanced down your figure in nothing but a university t-shirt and shorts. it was the way his biceps looked in some god damned muscle tank top.

you still hate him, rest assured. but he was so good, you couldn't only see him once. you saw him throughout the rest of the year when your motels lined up.

it's a simple transaction between the two of you. he gives a faint knock on your door, leans against the frame, and gives you this stupid smirk that has your thighs clenching together. and then he crowds you onto the bed, fucks you till you're shaking and he's spent, then he leaves with little more than a goodbye. it was that easy. or, it was supposed to be that easy.

you caught yourself at the tail end of last tornado season thinking about him more. and when you drove from oklahoma to your hometown, all you could think about was him. he's been plaguing you since then. months have gone by where you've thought him at night time, hands working yourself to a half-assed finish, disappointed that it wasn't his skilled precision doing it.

this time, you knew you had to end it. you had to stop things with him. he was an asshole. he made it abundantly clear that what he wanted from you was a casual fuck. he wasn't a relationship man. he was too married to work to worry about commitment. but if he fucked you and kissed you like he always did, you worried you wouldn't let him leave so easy every night.

and that's an embarassing, scary thought.

luckily for you, storm par got a late start this season. they hadn't arrived until weeks into the season. you overheard one of their members in the gas station grumbling about scott putting off going, claiming it was a budget thing, a prototype thing, a timing thing. it made you wonder, if just for a fleeting moment, that he was putting off seeing you again.

the first day you saw him was in the field. what seemed to be an ef3 was forming in the farmlands of enid and everyone rushed out, hoping to catch a glance at the large funnel forming in the sky. you parked your truck about a mile from the path, watching with calculations already forming in your mind about the wind speed and the duration. dopplers beeped on a computer next to you, but you didn't bother to look at them.

and then, like it was something out of your nightmares, scott's truck pulled up next to you in a rush. he and another member jumped out, funny goggles on their face and white polos getting blown with the red dust of the road. you watched with disinterest as they pulled out their machines and locked them into the ground.

and then, as the tornado chugged along the road, scott looked back and connected your eyes. your stomach dropped. he got a haircut, that was for sure. and had his arms grown in the last year?

he didn't bother to greet you, but instead turned around, watching as the funnel slowly dissipated, turning into nothing but a few extra gusts of wind. with a slam of his hand against the trunk of the car, he hoisted the par into the back on his own. it was a view almost sinful.

he, nor his partner, said anything as they got back into the car. he did, however, give you a final glance before he drove off. it said something, you were certain. but you didn't have time to question it as he drove off too fast and too reckless.

that night, you heard the familiar sound of his knuckles hitting your motel door. you took a breath, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you debated even answering it. how he had even figured out this was your door, you'll never know. you tried to disconnect from his smirk, tried to forget about how good he made you feel. how he had shown up in your daydreams and fantasies since seeing him last.

you had made the decision to call it weeks ago. but seeing him made that action a lot harder. he knocked again and this time, you got up from the bed.

"hello?" you asked as you pulled the door open. he stood away from the door, eyes roaming the expanse of motel rooms all booked with sleeping chasers. he turned around at the sound of your voice and you could've swore his lips almost turned upwards in something more akin to a smile. like he was glad you answered.

"can i come in?" he asked, his deep voice sounding almost unfamiliar in your ears.

you didn't answer him, but opened the door wider, allowing him entry into your room. he was wearing some worn t-shirt from a sports team you didn't recognize and sweatpants. gray ones. his hair was still damp, like he had just gotten out of the shower and the smell of his body wash flooded your nose. it was masculine, warm, hot.

ending this would be a lot harder than you thought.

"you got a late start this season," you said, attempting to break the thick tension in the room.

he turned to look at you, eyes half-darkening. he popped his gum in the back of his mouth. you knew it was cinnamon from the scent alone. "yeah," he answered simply. "had to wait on some new prototypes. better ones."

you nodded, pursing your lips a little. you glanced around your room awkwardly, bouncing on the balls of your feet. you could feel his eyes roaming your body clad in pajamas. you were sure he could smell the floral scent coming from your shower.

your feet were planted, bolted to the rug, unable to move while the weight of your next words played over and over in your head. you watched with bated breath as he stepped closer and you knew you had to do it soon. like now. now. now. now.

just as he lifted his arm to brush your hair back from your shoulders, you spoke up. "i can't do this anymore," you said.

he backed up, looking at your eyes with confusion lacing his expression. his eyebrows knitted together and he stopped chewing his gum. "what do you mean?"

you shook your head at his question. "i mean i can't do this anymore. meet up with you. these flings. these one-night stands. i don't want it anymore."

his feet took him back a few steps, creating healthy distance between the two of you. "okay," he said, dragging out the last syllable. "are you gonna give a reason why?"

you shrugged, unable to give him the real answer. the answer of "yeah, i've been thinking about you and your stupid muscles and stupid attitude and stupid lips and stupid body and i worry that if i keep fucking you, i'm going to want to be your girlfriend and get heart broken when that's not what you want from me." you opted instead for, "i just don't like hook ups. it was fun, but it's not me."

he nodded and you could've swore there was some kind of disappoint that flashed across his eyes. maybe you imagined it, you weren't sure. "that's fine," he said deadpan. he started to leave and wrapped his large hand around the doorknob. he pulled, then looked back to you. "see you out tomorrow." then he walked out and shut the door behind him.

you practically deflated as he left, feeling that well-known lump rise in the back of your throat. you thought it wouldn't affect you like this. but then some cruel thing in your mind reminded you that you'd never feel his touch again, or his lips on yours again. you wonder if you would rather have him in some superficial, heart-clencing way, or never have him again.

you think it might be the first. it's too late now.

when scott goes back to his own room, he slams the door a little too loud, surely waking up the person next door. it came out of nowhere. just hours ago he had seen you in the field, your hair blowing in your face, eyes locked on the threatening clouds high in the sky. he admired your lack of fear and it was a thought that kept recurring in his head since he last saw you.

and yes, there were problems with the prototypes. and riggs was on his ass about getting the data right this time or else he'd pull several hundred thousand from the budget. scott had to deal with that, all while grappling with the fact that he'd be seeing you again and that was scarier than the ef5 tornadoes promised for tornado alley this year.

he felt so stupid for letting himself develop feelings for you. he was usually so disconnected. he could separate his life from his flings. every hookup he's ever had has been passionate, but done once he left the house. with you, it was different.

with you, he had to push himself to leave your bed. he had to push your floral scent out of his head. he had to remind himself that this was supposed to be a casual thing and that you shouldn't like each other.

and then you appeared in his thoughts when he jerked off and realized he was done for. he just hadn't gathered the courage to end it like you did.

he fell back on his scratchy, uncomfortable motel bed, hands on either side of his head in distress. why was he so torn up about this? it shouldn't matter.

he turned off the bedside lamp and pulled the comforter over his lower half. he shut his eyes, desperate to forget about the night and especially forget about you. but every time he got close to sleep, he was plagued with images of your smile in the gas station or your focused gaze out on the road. he thought about how good you were and how awful he was for what he was doing.

scott miller was screwed and he knew it too. he didn't sleep much that night.

some random chaser out of texas invited you out to a bar with her friends the next night. was your moping truly that noticeable? you said yes, of course you did. you needed scott out of your head. really, you needed him miles away in the distance, but until the season ended, he'd only be a short drive from you every day.

you hadn't bothered with really trying to dress well, considering it was just some local dive bar filled with tourists. what you wanted was some drinks, a little socialization, and go home.

you'd only been there for thirty minutes, only one shirley temple in deep, when javi and two other storm par members came in. a minute later, scott came in, clearly disinterested by the environment javi no doubt drug him into. you were really positive at the moment that the world had it out for you. you really hated storm par.

you also hated just how good he looked tonight. having really only seen him in his work clothes or pajamas, you felt as though you unlocked a new facet of scott miller. he was in some jeans on top of boots. instead of a storm par polo, he put on a t-shirt with some beer logo on it and it carved him out perfectly. heads turned as they walked in and you knew eyes were on him.

just as the group found some booth in the corner, scott looked up and for a second, your eyes met. your breath hitched and you turned around immediately, desperate for another drink from the bartender.

over on the side of the bar, scott's heart thumped in his chest, both from the loud country music coming from a jukebox and from seeing you at the bar. you looked effortless. you caught attention. you took sips from your drink with the soft lips he thought about kissing last night. jesus, he needed this season to be done with.

the whole day, he was distracted. he couldn't call out orders or focus on the data they were out there to get. he replayed last night in his head. all he could feel were your hands on his body. he hadn't known, until that moment, that this was what he wanted. he wanted you.

he wanted you and your passion. you and your witty remarks. you and your specific diner orders. you and your sweet snacks and energy drinks. you with your clipboards and computers in the bed of your truck. he wanted you and everything that came with that. javi noticed he was distracted, maybe a little sad, and thought it was a good idea to go out. it was a good idea, sure. he could have found someone else to flirt with a little at the bar, but now you're here and his heart is on the floor.

"man, you've been looking like a kicked puppy all day," javi said, bumping into his side. "which is saying something since you always got this superman stoic look."

scott glanced sideways at him, shaking his head. "i'm fine," he said, though his curt tone said a little more. javi, ever observant, followed scott's previous gaze to the bar where you sat, the bartender looking at you with a smile as he handed you another mixed drink.

"hmm," javi hummed. "don't you want a beer?"

scott glanced back at the bar, then to his partner next to him. "you getting them?" he asked.

javi shook his head and scott could see gears connecting together in his head, slowly turning. "no, can you? you know, my back just hurts so bad from hitting that ditch with the truck today."

scott sat there frozen, unwilling to head to the bar.

"unless, there's a reason you don't want to head to the bar."

scott looked at javi, his eyes widening just a fraction. he got it. he knew he did. "jesus, javi, don't you stop worrying about other people?" he asked, that same mean tone he usually carried slipping through. javi didn't take it personally, though, just leaned in more to scott so their conversation was quieter.

"she's a good girl," he said. "what's going on with that?"

scott stood up quickly, adjusting his shirt in the process. "nothing," he said. "i'll get the damn drinks." his large frame pushed through the crowds of people till he reached the bar. unfortunately for him, the only spot free was just a few stools down from you. he could smell your perfume, hear the ice in your drink clinking around. in some other world where things were easier and he wasn't so complicated, he'd go up and confess everything and head home with you.

in this world, though, he stood there quietly, trying so hard not to look in your direction.

you were trying to as well, focusing on the cherry in your drink that kept swirling around with your straw. scott, in his casual clothes and gelled hair, stood just a few feet from you and you couldn't give him that look that told him to come to your room later. you'd never get that again. you took a sip of your drink as scott ordered a couple beers for his group.

as he left, your eyes betrayed your mind and you watched him. he looked back, feeling eyes on him and he paused. he stood for a second, looking at you, and then walked away.

"jesus," you whispered, putting your head in your hands. with a wave of your hand, you called the bartender over and paid your tab quickly. you stood from the bar and headed outside, desperate for some air to clear your thoughts.

several minutes passed of deep breaths and watching the night sky. clouds formed and very distantly, thunder clapped. you knew tomorrow would be a busy day and that you should head home, but something kept your feet planted on the ground.

you knew what it was when the door to the bar swung open suddenly and you could've laughed when you saw scott walk out, rubbing a hand down his face like he was just as frustrated as you. when he turned around, he laughed, he really did.

instead of going back inside, he leaned against the wall across the door, keeping a far distance from you. the two of you played a stupid game of looking up, then looking down, then looking up.

unable to tolerate it anymore, you pushed yourself from the wall and went to head to your truck parked down the way, but then a firm hand wrapped around your wrist and you looked back, connecting eyes with scott.

"yes?" you asked, ripping your wrist from his grasp.

"i-uh," he started to say something, but stopped. "i'm sorry."

you looked at him shocked, as if you thought he'd never been capable of saying the words sorry. like he was too self conceited to do so. his jaw clenched and he took a short breath in and out.

"what is it, scott?" you asked, tired of his glances and looks. you thought in that moment that maybe you'd make it a point to never go to the same storms and locations storm par was. maybe you'd find tornadoes further north. maybe you could change your research purpose and find something new. just to be able to leave the grip he had on you.

"what are you doing tonight?" he tried. his voice was as casual as he could make it, as if he didn't want to convey through his voice the hope that you'd come back to him and forget your words. that he would be what you want.

you shrugged, finding his words out of character. "i don't know," you said honestly. "go to sleep. get an early start for tomorrow."

he nodded, glancing down at the ground. before you, scott would never act this way. he wouldn't be shy or unconfident or a beat around the bush kind of guy. he'd ask if you wanted to come back to his room still. he'd put on that smug smirk and his muscles would flex a little and he'd brush hair from your face with gentle, but firm hands. you changed him and god, he hated it.

"i'm gonna go," you told him, stepping away with an attempt at resolve.

"wait!" he said before thinking about it. he winced at your quick turn around, at the frustration clear on your face.

"what is it, scott?" you asked, biting down on your lip hard to keep from a tear slipping down your cheek at the way he looked at you then. you wondered what was going through his head. you noticed the break in his rough exterior and breathed out. "are you gonna say something or-"

"jesus," he breathed out, wiping a hand down his face roughly. he took strong steps towards you, his face set strong. "are you oblivious?"

you looked at him in shock, offense written on your face as clear as day. "excuse me? just because i broke it off doesn't give you a reason to be an asshole to me again."

"that's not--i'm sorry. okay? i didn't mean to say that," he said, hands reached out as if that would placate anything. "this is just fucking hard for me."

"what's hard, scott?" you ask.

his blue eyes bore into you and you were sure that a minute longer, you'd have a hole straight through your chest. "this! this is hard. talking to you. being around you. trying to be honest with you because i haven't felt this way for anyone else, yeah? so just bear with me for a damn second."

your heart dropped straight through your body and you were sure that if you looked on the ground, it'd be beating there, quicker than the winds you'd been dealing with for the past weeks.

"i don't know why you called this off," he started. "but i don't like it. i've been thinking about this and about you since last year. you keep making your way into my thoughts and i keep trying to push you out, but then i see you on the side of the road and i short circuit and i forget everything i'm here for. i don't want this to end."

"scott, i told you that i don't want to hookup anymore. i don't like it. i don't want that with you."

"then what do you want?" he asked, hands wrapping around yours that were hanging lazily by your side. "what can i do?"

"scott, just stop. this isn't what we need-"

"i know what i need. i need you," he said, voice breathy and frustrated. his jaw tightened and his eyes were practically unblinking. his chest rose and fell quickly. if you looked close enough, you could see the faintest shake in his fingers. he might've been scared in that moment.

"you don't know what i need. you don't need me, scott."

"i know you. i know you like sweet tea in the diner and you like it extra sweet with sweet-n-low packets. i know you keep cough medicine in your hotel room because the dust makes you sick every year. i know you watch sitcoms on bad storm days that shake you too much. i know you're scared your grant might lose funding if you don't get good results this year. i know you like hotels with balconies so you can read at sunrise before going out. i know that lightning scares you. i know you hate storm par and everything we do. i know you hate our polos and our stupid trucks and sometimes me."

he took a big breath, as if he had just torn out his heart straight from his chest and placed it in your hands.

"i don't hate you," you whispered, your voice heavy and full of emotion. "do you really notice that much about me?

he nodded. "you're all i've been able to look at and think about for the past year."

you smiled a little, just the corners of your mouth tugging upwards. instead of fighting back the lump in your throat, you let your eyes water and one tear slipped down your cheek. you wiped it quickly and sniffed, looking up at scott with a kind of renewed sense of love. "i didn't want to end anything," you confessed. "i was...i was having feelings for you. i never wanted you to leave when you came over. i wanted to wake up next to you. i wanted to see outside of all this. but i thought you'd never want that. so i ended it before i got hurt."

he let out a dry chuckle. "yeah, i used to not want that. but god, you just had to come in and change everything, huh?"

you smiled at that, copying his small chuckle. you breathed out, glancing to the side, then back to his bright blue eyes. "i do hate storm par. you're right. and i hate those polos. and your stupid trucks."

"i'll make sure we don't kick up any more dust in your way, okay? and i'll switch to the t-shirt more."

you nodded. "and you'll spend the night with me? not run off?"

"i don't think i ever want to leave your side again," he said, the grip he had on your hands tightening. "let me drive you back to the motel?"

you eagerly nodded, giving him a wide smile that he actually returned. his eyes roamed over you, not with the lust they used to, but with adoration, with the knowledge that you wanted this too. he moved one of his hands down to interlace your fingers together and he led you over to the stupid storm par truck to take you back home. to that motel with scratchy sheets where he could show you the things he'd been dreaming about for months.

you'd come get your truck in the morning, but for now, you could only focus on scott's firm grip on your hand, even as he drove. things felt a lot easier now. you glanced sideways at scott to see a permanent, small smile on his lips and you copied it with your own.

[wlwsoccerfics]

Fussy Baby Bean(StephCatleyXBabyReader)

A/N: Made some slight changes. Hope you still like it. Will probably write more like this If you enjoy Stephx Baby r.

Summary: you get sick and all you want is your Mommy.

Steph, your Mommy , had gotten your bags ready for the flight to Munich. They would play against FC Bayern there in a Champions League Game.

You started to become a bit fussy. Lying on your blanket in the livingroom. Looking onto the ceiling. Making noises that made it clear you weren't happy with the situation.

"i know little Angel, i know! Mommy is gonna pick you up in a few!" Your Mommy told you. You kicked your legs as a response. Not Happy at all.

Finally your Mommy kept her promise and picked you up. You cuddled up to her and she noticed you were running a bit of a high Temperature. It wasn't a fever yet though. Your mommy decided to keep an eye on that for now and not give you medication right away.

Your auntie Beth picked you and your Mommy up with Kyra and you went to the Training grounds together cause the Team would Drive to the Airport together. Your auntie Beth wanted to hold you so your Mommy could put your bags in the bus but you were having none of it. Usually you loved being cuddled and held by everyone but right now all you wanted was your Mommy. So you started crying and that turned into a coughing fit.

"hey little bee it's okay! Your Mommy is gonna be right back, you can even see her from here." Your auntie Beth said. You even had dropped your stuffed mice which you usually were attached to.

"poor girl is getting sick!" Your auntie Kyra stated. She gently took your tiny hand which did calm you down a bit but you still were crying a little. Alessia and Leah walked over, followed by Lia, Katie & Caitlin.

"someone is unhappy!" Leah said softly and gave one of your tiny legs a gentle stroke.

"she is getting sick!" Your Mommy told them as she walked back over. Taking you back into her arms.

"poor little one!" Lia said softly.

"hopefully she can get some rest on the flight! Cause she looks like she needs it!" Alessia answered.

"If you need a break from holding her let us know, you are traveling with all of her aunties after all!" Caitlin told your Mommy.

"Caitlin is right! We are here for the two of you!" Katie let your Mommy know.

You soon loaded the Bus and you were asleep on your mommys chest. Snoring cutely. Drooling a little bit om your mommys Hoodie. Not that she minded. She was just glad that you were okay. Or at least getting some rest cause you let out some heartbreaking little noises cause your nose was getting stuffy.

"poor Angel." Beth whispered out. Looking down at you. She was sitting next to your Mommy.

"i know right?! I hate seeing her like that. My poor little Love!" Your Mommy replied. Kissing your head carefully.

You thankfully managed to stay asleep when you reached the Airport and got into the plane. You even stayed asleep through half of the flight before you woke up. You had a tight grip on your mommys Shirt cause you were hungry. So she was nursing you, after that she was showing you a picture book for Babys. It had different Things like a ball, Car, Scooter, a Teddy and something like that in there.

When you reached the Airport your Mommy was collecting your things, Lia offered to hold you. So your Mommy had handed you over to her. You started making some little grumpy noises. All you wanted was for your Mommy to hold you. No one else. Just your Mommy.

"shh it's okay, little one! Your Mommy is right there." Lia whispered out. Gently rocking you. You only calmed down a little when Kyra started stroking your back. Humming softly to you. She really was great with you.

As soon as your Mommy had you in her arms again you fully stopped fussing and it seemed like at least your high temperature was back down again. So that was good. No fever.

You reached the Hotel in Munich. You and your Mommy were rooming with your auntie Beth. She gave you a quick bath with the help of your auntie, which you really enjoyed. Well as long as your Mommy was washing the handful of Hair you had. The comfort of her Touch was very calming.

"you like water, don't you?" Your Mommy told you. Which resulted in you smiling at her.

"the little one is giving me Baby fever! That's dangerous!" Beth said half jokingly.

"she really is cute. I am lucky to be her Mommy!" Your Mommy answered.

"you really are lucky. But so is she! You are an amazing Mommy!" Your auntie Beth said to your Mommy and you would have agreed if you would have been able to talk.

"thanks for saying that! means alot!" Steph left your auntie know.

They went to dinner afterwards in the Hotel Cafeteria. You were back to sleep in your mommys arms again. Which only was the case cause your Mommy was the one holding you. Cause others have tried and were shut down by you crying your little heart out. Which made the cough you had worse.

After Dinner your Mommy wanted to take a shower so your auntie Leah offered to hold you, which was going quite well cause you were asleep but when you woke up and noticed your auntie Leah was the one holding you and you didn't see your Mommy you gave it your all and started screaming so loudly and with so much force that you turned red. So your Mommy made sure to be quick.

"hey, hey it's okay! It's all good! I got you!" Your auntie Leah answered. Walking around with you while she was gently rocking you.

"usually she loves all the attention! So she must feel really sick." Beth stated and looked quite sad.

"yeah. It sucks! I feel bad for Baby Bean!" Leah admitted. Your Mommy was freshly showered and dressed when she scooped you back in her arms.

"thank you Guys! I am so sorry she is fussy with you!" She told them.

"it's all good!Little one obviously isn't feeling her best!" Auntie Leah said softly.

You ended up sleeping through the night, on top of your mommy. The next morning was an early practice and the Game against FC Bayern would be that night. You felt so much better then and enjoyed the attention from everyone. Letting all of the girls hold you again. You weren't fussy at all anymore.

[insanescriptist]

Flip the Table

Casually eavesdropping on what should be highly secure frequencies, Jason sipped his beer in a sleezy saloon style sports bar somewhere on the Vegas strip, nominally watching college(?) football; he's a hockey fan because baseball's boring as shit to watch and he's never got the appeal about American football. Football to the rest of the world was at least worth watching for the drama. Something had the Justice League in a tizzy and Zatanna -the one who normally covered Vegas when it came to the costumed crazies- was off world; Jason didn't have the details exactly but it sounded like Zatanna was dealing with some magical planar stuff and was not expected back for at least six more days. Assuming all went well.

So like any reasonable person who's going away for a time, she turned on her home security, had the alerts wired over to a friend -in this case Justice League Dark- gave a list of what was needed to be done and when -the pick up my mail and mow my lawn equivalants- went on her trip, trusting that the JLD were watching over her city and it wouldn't be on fire when she got back.

Such glorious hope.

And thus something happened so when Jason pulled into Vegas proper to investigate a desperate -read last hope- lead on a missing person's case, Jason happened to spy one of the lesser members of the JLD losing their shit in the sky. And so in a moment of civic duty, Jason started spying on them.

Magic was not something anyone trained by the Bat really ever got comfortable about, but chances were magic bullshit was going to intervene in his case. Justice League shit spilled over everything, all the time. Ghost cultists tripping Zatanna's necromancy alarms or whatever they were, was not Jason's business. Not unless the presumed cultists -those that had survived- had the person he was looking for.

No, he was looking at a missing person's case and his lead was 1. cold and 2. a longshot and 3. in a city full of tourists and catering staff, where "seen anything unusual lately" could be "there was this trio of tourists arguing how sex with your best friend doesn't count as cheating," or "someone having a meltdown over the delayed shipping of organic blueberries to the hotel," or "Sarah Maria got murdered a couple weeks ago on the job, but I haven't seen any notice about her funeral stuff on her social media, why yes, I do know she's dead, oh, she's dead and I'm an idiot for expecting someone dead to post on their socials their funeral deets."

Point was, he could look and ask all he wanted, beat feet for days, but the chances of this lead panning out were basically so minuscule that Jason could treat this more as a hobby case while on vacation. He still did his due diligence, asked the staff a few questions, called the guests on the same floor during the time period of their stay about how they found their stay, ran into the dead end of shitty business practices -they recorded over their own records every two weeks- and so unless Jason got the ability to do magic and do a "point me!" spell, the case would turn cold. It sucked when it happened but sometimes the evidence wasn't there. Or wasn't noticed or was destroyed before it could be collected. Sometimes people just didn't remember shit until three weeks later, which with some follow up digging gave him the lead to the hotel. Which got him nothing after that.

As Jason Todd didn't gain an innate ability to do magic that he was aware of that actually counted as magic bullshit magic instead of a couple cantrips, all he could do was get a beer and some food in a Vegas style Texas saloon bar. Which not his first choice, but it was full enough no one really paid attention to anyone. Technically a sport's bar but also very much was not. It was also busy enough that Jason ended up getting asked if someone could set with him at his table -which real Jason said hell no to, but cover Jason did agree to-

Oh. Meta. Jason realized quickly. Oh no, he's hot.

His hair is on fire!

How did the server miss that? Most metas don't casually out themselves like that! Too many people willing to target them for whatever power.

That hair was flaming, tied back in a low tail; Jason blinked and the hair flickered color, looked like normal hair -black- and then back to white fire, then black fire, some tv static abomination of color, white hair and then black hair. Another blink and it appeared to be black flames for hair and yeah, Jason closed his eyes. Pointedly ignored the hair thing. If the meta asked, Jason was judging him for the stupid little goatee.

The rest of the meta was built along the same lines as Jason himself, tall, broad and built. Packed with muscle, which was something to make note of; metas usually were more durable and could hit harder, so Jason casually made note to not get hit if a fight broke out.

Which it might, or probably would.

That's just how Jason's luck ran. To shit.

Said meta also ordered food and a beer, didn't even get asked for ID -unfair bias- and judging by the sound, turned in the seat to look at the American football screen that Jason had been ignoring. His hair had at least settled to black flames instead of the glitchy hair.

Of course as this was Vegas, people gambled on outcomes of games too. Which is how Jason learned the meta was rich enough to blow a couple grand -not expensive in the world of supers- but more than what the average person would be comfortable betting.

There were better ways to piss away money than gambling on sports. Like on over priced burgers and onion rings with an order of mozzerella sticks. The burger was good, admittedly Jason's had better and then some party of guys was yelling at the ref on a screen. And yup, that's some altercation with another table but the barman broke it up with a couple of words.

His tablemate muttered something about the ref having made the right call if one of the players wanted to continue a career professionally and Jason used that as social leverage to get a name -Dan, no last name given- and a bit more in-depth explanation on what stakes were going on; he's a hockey guy, not a football guy.

Some time later, Dan had caught him up on the football drama -nothing compared to the hockey drama- and conversation had drifted significantly from sports, lightly touched on family -Dan had siblings he shared little about other than they existed, which fair, they could also be metas and at risk- much like Jason did -he had siblings that existed, no further details- and parents weren't mentioned. Instead a lot of engineering talk, a slide into ethics -Dan's opinion on killing super villains was very much that some people needed Ended- and some small talk about how Dan's high school English teacher cursed in classical book titles.

Soon the easy joy of potential friendship ended when his phone rang; that was the Batman ringtone and Jason felt no guilt hanging up on him. And again. And again.

Then Dick rang and nope. He was not dealing with their shit. Dick would just sweeten up whatever shit B wanted to shovel.

And then Oracle's ringtone rang. Oh, now that was serious. Justice League shit spilling into his life again. No fucking doubt about it.

"Uh-huh, so what's up? Because I gotta say, I am a couple drinks in and the whole bar is waiting for one of the football teams to fumble or foul up their next play so they can throw down."

"Jay-" She started because much like Bruce, she would rather go straight into the mission, and Jason absolutely had wrong-footed her. Because instead of making excuses to leave, Jason had absolutely stayed. So now she had to rephrase things on the fly because who knows who might be listening in. "Hey, it's on the news that the Justice League is showing up in Vegas; something about investigating something magical showing up."

"Uh-huh, that's not a surprise. There was some magic ninny flying in a panic earlier. I decided it wasn't my business."

"I hadn't heard that," -bullshit, she just hadn't double-checked that herself yet- "but what I did hear that some cult might have succeeded in bringing something over."

"Uh-huh. Well, no one's praying to Cthulu yet, there's been no troublemaking beyond the usual human malice and nothing's on fire."

"We were just concer-" And Jason hung up on Oracle.

He'd pay for that later, but petty was satisfying now.

"Sounded important."

"Was bullshit."

"So an entity summoned by a cult that tripped a bunch of magicians into a tizzy-"

Yeah, those sharp ears were not for show. Enhanced hearing check. "That's a bunch of incompetents panicking." Time for his good guess to hit or miss. "You're not going to decide to destroy Vegas, are you?"

"Done it before, doing it again seems pointlessly petty." Statements Jason wasn't going to prod further right now.

"And what if Wisconson University loses?"

"Might flip the table." Dan shrugged.

"More beer?" Jason asked.

"Sure."

[lazycats-stuff]

damian wayne x gn! mall goth reader who comes off a little intimidating because of their style n taste in music but end up being really sweet n the whole batfam ends up adoring reader

if not thats a okay!! sorry that i kinda didnt go into much description…

Okay, I have no idea what mall goth even is so to google it is. And don't worry with the lack of description I can conjure something up. And this GIF was the only one that was nice.

Summary: (Y/N) has a peculiar style and that puts the rest of the fam off. But soon they love him more than Damian.

Warnings: some goth stereotypes, mentions of self harm, but no one is doing it, it's in the context of stereotypes,

" Beloved, you don't have to meet them if you don't want to. We can cancel, " Damian said, worried about his partner. Why? Well, (Y/N) has a peculiar style known as Mall Goth and Damian found it really interesting, but people often think that goths are affiliated with Satanism or that they... Harm themselves to put it mildly. Or that they use drugs.

That they can't be happy, that they are all just cold and collected. (Y/N) once told Damian about someone asking if they are a vampire. While Damian wanted to laugh at that, but at the same time it was beyond stupid. Vampires aren't real, first and foremost. Secondly, why would someone say that? Like why?

Damian knew (Y/N) and (Y/N) is a happy person. Positive. Not affiliated with Satanism or Satan. They don't harm themselves or use any drugs. And no, they aren't a vampire. (Y/N) is a normal person who simply loves to express themselves via gothic style. Is that wrong? Absolutely not.

Does that mean that people can make fun of them? Absolutely not.

Damian wouldn't stand for that. He never did.

Because (Y/N) is an adorable soul, a gentle one at that and Damian loved that about them. Damian would often say that they were adorable and it was something that never failed to make (Y/N) blush. So of course, Damian weaponized that to make sure his beloved feels loved. And safe to say, he loves to see (Y/N) flustered. And (Y/N) tried fighting it, but Damian was charming when he needed to be.

And more often than not, Damian followed (Y/N) to the Hot Topic or Spencer's. Damian was always interested in his interests and often curious about those stores, since he was never in those stores... Safe to say, nothing can surprise him. Even though he was raised in the League of Assassins and nothing should surprise him. But Spencer's and Hot Topic did.

But everything for his beloved. And more often than not, Damian acted like a security guard for (Y/N), making sure that no one tried anything. (Y/N) deserves to express themselves in the manner that they want to and not being picked on. Bring goth isn't illegal. It's a subculture. A nice one at that.

Because many of them are nice people. And not Satanists.

The meeting of Damian's family came soon enough and he was nervous. His family wouldn't hate his partner, but (Y/N)'s style might put them all off. Bruce would always want his kids to be happy in their relationships. And if (Y/N) seems cold, Bruce might not like them. And since (Y/N) isn't cold and Damian knows it...

Safe to say, he's never been so nervous in his life. And' he's been trained by his infamous grandfather.

He didn't want (Y/N) to get rid from their gothic style and be something that they aren't and pretend to be something conventional. And besides, it's better for Bruce to know right away. It's better to be genuine and honest, especially in front of Batman. Although (Y/N) doesn't know about his... Night job. Safe to say, it's going to be nerve wrecking.

And Damian has never felt so nervous in his life. He picked (Y/N) up and drove him to the manor, nervous beyond belief. He shouldn't be nervous. He never felt so nervous anyway. Why is he feeling so damn nervous? Is this what fear feels like? Anxiety even? (Y/N) took Damian's into theirs and squeezed. They were parked in the car in front of the manor, trying to gather up the courage to get going.

" I don't know why, but I'm nervous beyond belief, " Damian confessed and (Y/N) nodded, feeling the same.

" I'm scared beyond belief. I don't want them to not like me because of the way I dress, " (Y/N) gave their own confession and Damian sighed, rubbing his forehead with his free hand.

" I've never felt so nervous in my life. Probably the only time I felt so was when I confessed my feelings to you. "

(Y/N) chuckled and nodded, remembering how Damian was nervous beyond belief when he has confessed. Damian huffed when he heard the huff.

" It's not funny. It was embarrassing to be so nervous when confessing. "

" But it showed you had feelings. And it meant that you have some really hard feelings for me. Which is nice. But... The more we worry, the worse it'll go. " (Y/N) turned their head to look at Damian who nodded.

" I agree beloved. But just be yourself. Don't try to be something you are not. Be yourself. They'll love you for it. " Damian leaned closer to his partner and kissed their cheek. (Y/N) smiled at that, squeezing back Damian's hand tightly.

" Are you ready beloved? "

" Ready as I'll ever be. " (Y/N) kissed Damian and Damian smiled into the kiss.

Both pulled back after a few seconds, still smiling. Damian cupped (Y/N)'s face, kissing their forehead.

" Now beloved, lets go. And I promise you, they'll love you. "

(Y/N) nodded and opened the car door, stepping out. Damian followed soon and walked next to (Y/N). (Y/N) rang the doorbell, waiting for someone to open up. And yes, Damian did warn them about (Y/N) being goth before this meeting.

Alfred opened the door, smiling at the two. " Ah, there is the person who captured your heart master Damian. I'm Alfred, nice to meet you. " Alfred extended his hand to (Y/N), who shook it with a tight grip.

" Nice to meet you, I'm (Y/N). "

" Please, come in you two, the rest are waiting in the dining room, already sitting since they are always hungry. " Alfred led them both to the dining room, where they were all sitting down at the table. They all turned to (Y/N) and Damian, eyes observing and analyzing (Y/N). Bruce stood up to shake hands with them and the rest followed.

(Y/N) smiled as hands were shook and soon they were all sitting down again.

" Damian, I didn't know you were into goths. " Jason lifted his cup of water, making Damian's eye twitch.

" Watch is Todd. "

" No violence at the table or threats of the violence, " Alfred and Bruce interjected at the same time and (Y/N) chuckled at that.

" So... How did you two meet? " Tim started, trying to ease the tension between his brothers.

" We met in a bookstore. I was looking for some mystery books, he gave recommendations and then later, went to get coffee. And then we exchanged numbers because we saw that we had good taste in books, " (Y/N) explained, giving them a short version.

" Oh yeah, he came home quite happy. We couldn't figure out why. " Dick poured himself some water and Damian glared at Dick. His brothers need to stop it.

" Really? " (Y/N) asked, turning to look at Damian, who seemingly decided to glare at Dick, rather than (Y/N).

" Yes, but we couldn't figure out why. And when he started going out more often, we thought he made a friend. We were close enough, " Dick added and (Y/N) smirked, Damian seemingly looked anywhere but at his partner.

" So (Y/N), " Bruce got into the conversation, " What do you do? Any hobbies? Interests? "

" I like to volunteer at the animal shelter, trying to not adopt anymore black cats. I already have two. Also working part time at my local bookstore to have some money during my college years, " Y/N) explained and Bruce nodded, impressed with it. He liked the sound of that.

A hardworking and loves animals? Damian's soulmate.

" Oh. And what do you study in college? " Bruce asked, curious about it.

" I study history. My dream would be to teach in a school one day. "

Bruce nodded. He himself liked history and to teach in a school? In this day and age? More than impressive.

" That is a noble thing. Especially in this day and age, and in Gotham as well, " Dick jumped in, Tim nodding in agreement.

" I would rather die than teach in a school. Absolutely not. Good luck, " Tim said and (Y/N) chuckled.

" I know, but I would really want that. I'm really interested in that. "

Bruce glanced and Damian, nodding at him subtly. He approved of (Y/N) so far and if (Y/N) and Damian ever tied the knot, Bruce would be the happy. (Y/N) saw Damian for him. Not the rich connections and doors that his last name can open, but for Damian.

The other brothers shared the same sentiment. (Y/N) is the one and only for Damian. And they are going to give Damian the if you hurt him talk.

[wendichester]

ꔛ. a soul for a dime 𓂃˖ ࣪ masterlist ⭒ chapter one ⭒ next part

It was supposed to be a simple case. A three-day job. In and out. A few dead veterans, strange markings, probably a demon. But nothing about this town sits right, and the deeper they dig, the darker it gets. Dean’s distracted. Sam can feel it in his gut. Something old is watching. Something hungry. And it’s already started collecting. Secrets don’t stay buried, love doesn’t change fate, and time is running out. 

「 𝒜 𝒯𝓇𝒶𝒾𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝐵𝓁𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐵𝑜𝓃𝑒 」

in this chapter... sam and dean arrive in elderspring, a quiet town that seems forgotten to the rest of the world. a series of ritualistic murders. they're in for a ride.

wordcount. 2334 type. mysterious, eerie vibes going on

warnings. descriptions of murder and mutilation (off-page but detailed), ritualistic imagery and sigils, mild language, creepy small-town atmosphere, themes of trauma and death (military-related), subtle horror elements.

notes. i am actually nervous scheduling this because !!! it's a story i've been thinking about for so god damn long and now it's coming out and i really hope you guys like it. all feedback is welcomed. a chapter per week, every sunday. don't miss it 'cause otherwise i'll miss u (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)

The Impala cuts through the thick morning fog like a blade, engine low and growling as if it knew they were heading somewhere they shouldn’t. Elderspring wasn’t marked on most maps, and maybe that was for the best.

Tucked away between dense pine woods and hills that rolled like the bones of sleeping giants, the town looked quiet—too quiet. The kind of quiet that sat in your chest like a weight. Houses slumped behind overgrown yards, mailboxes crooked, paint curling from porches. Even the gas station they had passed looked abandoned, a single rusting pump swaying gently in the breeze like it was trying to whisper them away. 

Dean drums his fingers against the steering wheel, eyes squinting against the low-hanging gray. “Hell of a welcome party,” he mutters.

Sam doesn’t answer right away. He’s leaning against the passenger door, nose buried in a thick stack of lore and crime scene printouts, brow furrowed so deep it looks like it might crack. Every so often, he glances out the window, as if expecting something to jump out of the trees. 

Dean noticed. Of course, he noticed. But instead of saying Hey man, you okay?, he settled for a classic. 

“Let me guess—you’ve got that special Sam tingle? Something’s off?” He should read the room. Keep his mouth shut. He decides on the complete opposite. “Ominous vibe? Demonic aura with a twist of lime for dear ol’ Sammy?”

Sam shoots him a look. “Dean, this isn’t funny. Three dead veterans. All carved up, bodies mutilated like ritual sacrifices. You saw the photos. That lost one—his heart was missing.” 

Dean shrugged, one hand still on the wheel. “Yeah. I’m thinking demon. Low-level, showing off for Hell’s big leagues. Probably feeding off trauma or something nasty like that.”

“You always think it’s a demon.” 

“Because it usually is,” Dean says, turning onto the cracked asphalt road that leads to the town center. “Look, we’ll find some sulfur, toss around holy water, stab the bastard, and be back on the road by Friday. Easy case.” 

Sam goes quiet again, but it wasn’t the fine, I’ll drop it kind of quiet. It was that I’m calculating something deeply disturbing silence that always ended with a very emotional aura and lots of brooding.

Dean sighs, softer this time. “Okay, spill. What’s got your hair standing on end?” 

Sam flips a page. “It’s the symbols. Bobby’s been digging through every type of grimoire, and some of the carvings match pre-Christian war sigils. Some don’t match anything. Not demons. Not witches. Not anything we’ve ever seen.” 

“Well, that’s comforting,” Dean mutters. An uneasy silence falls over them, one that Dean isn’t sure he should cover with turning up the volume or trying to pick more at his brother’s uneasy brain. He eventually decides on the latter. “Okay, so… we’ve got mutilated vets and unknown sigils. Wanna tell me what’s not demon-y about that?”

Sam shakes his head. Groans lightly. “I don’t know. That’s the problem. I can’t shake the feeling that this is bigger than it looks.”

Dean doesn’t say anything right away. The Impala continues to cruise slowly into the center of Elderspring, where a faded diner sat like a relic from the 60s, its neon sign flickering out a barely-there COFF_E. A few dusty pickup trucks were parked along the curb, and a breeze kicked up the smell of pine, damp earth, and something faintly metallic. 

Dean finally speaks, his voice low. “Look. We do the rounds, talk to the sheriff, and poke through the files. If this is something big, we’ll know soon enough.” 

“And if it’s not?” 

Dean gives him a sideways smirk. “Then I get pie and we get outta here. Easy. Out by Friday.” 

Sam rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. Instead, he looks out the window again. Trees loom tall beyond the diner, their branches skeletal against the overcast sky. A black bird sat perched on a telephone wire, watching.

Dean kills the engine. The silence that follows is deafening. 

“You buying breakfast?” he asks. 

Sam blinks out of his thoughts. “You’re the one who wanted pie.” 

Dean grins. “That’s dessert. I’m talking some pancakes, a side of pig. Real breakfast, Sammy.” 

He doesn’t wait for a response. Instead, Dean steps out of the Impala like he owns the place, shoulders loose, face unreadable but already scanning—first the diner windows, then the rooftops, and finally Sam, who’s still got his lore goggles on.

“Let’s pretend for five minutes that you’re not possessed by the spirit of a librarian,” Dean mutters, slamming the car door shut. “You might even enjoy your eggs.”

Sam follows him up the steps, muttering something about cholesterol and decapitated corpses, but Dean isn’t listening anymore.

The bell above the door jingles as they walk in.

It’s warm inside—way too warm. The kind of warmth that sticks to the back of your neck and makes you feel like someone’s watching. It contrasts drastically with the January air that looms outside. 

The diner is all linoleum and chrome, red vinyl booths cracked at the seams, a jukebox in the corner that probably hasn’t worked since Nirvana topped the charts. A couple of locals nurse mugs at the counter, heads low. No one looks up.

And then she turns around.

She’s behind the counter, half-hidden by the coffee machine, a pencil tucked behind one ear and a notepad in her hand. Honey brown hair pulled into a loose ponytail. Big eyes, lashes for days. That pretty kind of tired that says she hasn’t had a full night’s sleep in years, but still managed to put on mascara and lip gloss this morning.

Dean’s mouth quirks before she even says a word.

She walks over with practiced ease, hips swaying just enough to be natural, not enough to be trying. Her voice is warm when she speaks.

Her name tag reads Livie.

“Morning, gentleman. Coffee?”

Dean smiles. “That depends. Is it fresh, or does it double as motor oil?”

The waitress smiles. “Depends. You want it to taste good or wake you up?”

Dean lets out a quiet laugh, eyes following her a little too closely as she pours. “I like you already.”

Sam clears his throat—loudly.

Dean waves him off like a gnat.

Olivia finishes pouring, filling up the mugs in front of them. “Menu’s a little outdated, but the cook still knows what he’s doing. Mostly. I recommend the pancakes. And, uh… don’t ask about the sausage.”

Dean grins, eyes roaming the diner. “Sounds exotic. I’ll take the pancakes, extra bacon. And make it quick—we’re on official business.”

She glances at Sam. “And for you?”

Sam lifts his gaze from his folder, surprised. “Um… eggs over easy, and black coffee. Please.”

She nods, jotting it down. Dean smiles, pleased that his brother did get the eggs despite the cholesterol. But before he can quip at him, the girl turns on her wheels once more to face them.

“Official business?”

Dean’s eyebrow quirks. “Yeah. Federal Bureau of—everything.” He winks, leaning back. “Big fans of paperwork and federal-issued badges.”

Sam clears his throat, his frown deepening by the second, following the urge to smack his brother across the head. “We’re actually here investigating a series of homicides. Low-profile. Just following leads.”

The waitress’s lips lift in a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Gotcha. Well, the sheriff’s office is two blocks down if you need backup. And, uh, welcome to Elderspring, Agents.”

Dean reaches into his jacket. “What gave us away?” He tucks his hand away before Sam can stop him—no real badges, but they’re good at the charade.

“Clean clothes. No local accent. And you’re not scared to look people in the eye.”

That lands heavier than it should. Sam stiffens slightly, catching her tone—but she’s already walking off, ponytail bouncing, calling their order back to the kitchen like she didn’t just drop the most ominous comment in waitress history.

Dean watches her go, still half-smiling. “Well, damn.”

Sam shoots him a flat look over his coffee. “Dean.” It’s that tone again. The one he always uses to scold his older brother.

Dean leans back in the booth, arms stretched across the top like a man settling into temptation. “What? I’m just appreciating the local talent.”

“She said you weren’t scared to look people in the eye,” Sam mutters. “Normal people don’t say stuff like that.”

Dean shrugs, still watching the counter. “Yeah, well. Maybe this place just breeds spooky waitresses. It’s the vibe.”

But even he doesn’t fully believe that. Something about her doesn’t match the rest of this town. She’s not worn down like the buildings, not dulled at the edges like everyone else. She’s sharp. Awake, in a way Dean can’t explain.

For now, though, he just knows he wants to see her smile again. Or the sway of her hips. Any would be fine.

Their plates hit their table ten minutes later. Olivia returns with a smile on her lips—practiced, but easy, nonetheless. She sets their plates down with care—Sam’s eggs perfectly intact, Dean’s pancakes stacked like a carbohydrate monument to the American dream.

“Now, Agent, I do promise you,” Her gaze meets Dean’s, teasing smile in place. “Pancakes’ll change your life.” 

Dean leans back with a grin that could power a small city. “Sweetheart, you already did.” 

She laughs. Not the polite, tight-lipped kind you give to a stranger at a gas station, but something warmer, more alive. It’s quick, unguarded. Dean looks like he might frame the sound and hang it in the Impala.

Sam sighs into his coffee like he’s been personally wronged by the entire interaction.

Olivia lingers at the edge of the booth, resting one hand on her hip. She’s clearly in no rush, and neither are they. Outside, the town continues to press in around them—silent, stale, strange. But in here, it feels almost normal.

Almost.

“So,” Sam starts, careful, like he’s testing if it’s safe to walk on ice. “Has the town always been this quiet?”

Olivia tilts her head a little, ponytail swaying. “Depends on what you mean by quiet.”

He glances out the window, watching a single truck roll slowly down the street. “No tourists. Barely any locals. Kind of feels like it’s… holding its breath.”

She considers that for a second, then shrugs. “Elderspring’s always been the kind of place that minds its business. People don’t come here for excitement.”

Dean cuts in, fork already halfway to his mouth. “Unless they’re after life-altering pancakes.”

She gives him a look, then turns back to Sam. “The sheriff’s your best bet if you’re looking for answers. He’s not big on chit-chat, though you didn’t hear this from me.”

“We heard he’s been keeping things under wraps,” Sam says, watching her closely. “Doesn’t want attention from the outside.”

Her eyes flicker, just for a breath. “Can’t really blame him. Folks around here spook easily. Rumors spread faster than fires in August.”

There’s something in her voice—not fear, not quite—but awareness. She’s saying something without saying it, and Sam hears it clear as day. She knows. Maybe not everything, but something.

Dean’s already pushing his plate aside, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, hands folded like a man about to make a confession—or a pass.

“So if, hypothetically, we wanted to hear more things we didn’t hear from you,” he says, eyes twinkling, “what’s the best way to reach you?”

Olivia raises one brow, amused. She pulls a pen from behind her ear and scribbles something on the back of their receipt. “Try not to call after midnight,” she says, sliding it across the table. “I’ve got a sacred relationship with my pillow.”

Dean takes it like it’s gold-plated. “Duly noted.”

Before Sam can fire off a sarcastic remark, she’s already turning away, ponytail bouncing as she approaches a new table of locals.

Dean’s still watching her go when Sam mutters, “You do realize we’re here for a case, right?”

Dean grins, tucking the note into his inner jacket pocket like it’s a love letter. “What, I can’t enjoy the scenery?”

“She’s not part of the tour.”

“Says you.” He stretches like a cat, arms draped over the back of the booth. “I’m just blending in with the locals. Doing fieldwork.”

Sam groans. “Just don’t get distracted.”

“I’m not distracted.” He stands, tosses some cash on the table. “I’m extremely focused. Hyper-aware. Sharpened by potential romance and perfectly cooked bacon.”

Outside, the sky is even grayer than before. The kind of overcast that makes everything feel like it's holding its breath. The breeze carries a mix of pine needles, damp concrete, and something faintly metallic.

Dean stuffs his hands into his pockets, practically skipping down the steps of the diner.

“So, what now?” Sam asks, glancing at the sheriff’s office two blocks down.

The building is squat and unimpressive, tucked between a shuttered barber shop and a thrift store with mannequins faded from decades of sun. A single cruiser sits parked out front, empty. No one comes or goes. The blinds are drawn.

Dean’s grin falters, just slightly.

“We go knock on doors,” he says, voice low again. “Start with the sheriff, see what he’s hiding. Town this small? Someone knows something.”

Sam nods, tightening his grip on the folder under his arm. “Assuming he even lets us in.”

Dean shrugs. “We’ve got fake badges, real charm, and a trail of bodies. We’ll get in.”

They cross the street side by side, boots hitting pavement in quiet sync. Elderspring watches them pass—silent windows, drawn curtains, porch swings swaying with no one in them. It’s the kind of place that looks like it remembers being alive, but somewhere along the line just… stopped trying.

They don’t speak as they approach the sheriff’s door. The air feels thicker somehow, like they’re pushing through something invisible.

Dean reaches for the handle.

“Easy job,” he mutters, half to himself. “In and out.”

Sam doesn’t answer.

Because he knows better.

And deep down, Dean does too.

─ ⊹ ⊱ next part ⊰ ⊹ ─

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all works ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[lushrue]

hockeyteam!141 x figureskater!reader pt 3

thank you all a million times over for all your love on this series! comment to be added to the taglist and send some asks my way if you have a scenario that you wanna see these characters in, i eat it up!!

cw: drinking

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9

price stood at the center of the face-off circle, his stick resting on his knees as he sized up his opponent. it was the third period and the score was tied 2-2. price’s team was on the power play after the visiting team had received a two minute minor for slashing. figured, he thought. they’d been playing dirty all night; the ref just finally saw fit to call them on it. it was two minutes where they had the upper hand, two minutes to take advantage of their strength in numbers. he adjusted his stick in his grip, looking over his shoulder to make sure gaz and soap were in position before turning his attention back to the face off. he inhaled, and on the exhale, the sound of rubber smacking the ice hit his ears.

price gained control, taking the puck down the ice into the opposing team’s zone. he glanced to his left, meeting soap’s eyes before making a pass. soap received it, the puck smacking off his stick as he took up position on his side of the ice. a defenseman skated towards him, poised to try for a steal. but soap was ready. he made quick eye contact with gaz, sending the puck sliding his way. gaz took advantage of the fact that no one was on his ass, taking it and skating ever closer to the opposing goal. price was lined up, ready to go. it was the perfect position for a slapshot straight over the goal line. the goalie wasn’t watching his right flank, still preoccupied with gaz skating towards him. perfect. gaz made the pass, simon smacked the opposing defenseman into the boards to stop his approach, and price swung. the puck slid over the line before the goalie even knew what happened, setting the buzzer blaring.

through it all, you were watching in the stands. their coordination on the ice was enough to show you why they were first line, why laswell trusted them more than anyone else to get the game started on the right foot and to end it just as smoothly. you were one of the first on your feet after the goal, shouting and clapping. soap skated past price, giving him a congratulatory knock on the helmet as gaz held up his glove for a fist bump. simon gave price a thump on the back, skating behind him as they returned to the bench. “good shot, cap,” he shouted over the music, stepping off the ice as the second line stepped in to relieve them.

you smiled and waved as soap turned to meet your eyes. you’d taken to sitting right behind the bench, making your presence known to them rather than blending into the crowd like you’d done before. soap winked before nudging kyle, who tapped simon’s helmet, who elbowed price. soon, all four sets of eyes were on you. you blushed under the weight of their collective gazes, but managed to collect yourself enough to give them two thumbs up. price chuckled, nodding his head in thanks at your gesture. soap tugged his helmet off, the sweat making the longer strands of his mohawk stick to his forehead. “come out with us after tha game!” he called, his voice slightly muffled by the plexiglass. you didn’t even hesitate. “yeah, ‘course i will!”

…

it was a handy victory after that, simon managing to eke out a goal of his own before the game was over. this win would move them up in the league rankings, signal to everyone else that they’re a force to be reckoned with. with an ever-rotating roster of fresh blood, rebuilding years were bound to happen. but now they were on the rebound, and it felt better than any vice they indulged in. 

that wasn’t going to stop them tonight, though. the four of them stepped out of the locker room to find you waiting, your coat draped over your arms. your eyes were glued on your phone, a familiar crutch to pass the time. the moment you heard soap and gaz’s jovial chatter, your head snapped up, meeting the eyes of your victorious men. you flashed them a smile and a little wave, closing the distance between all of you. “that was a really good game tonight,” you said sincerely, your eyes flicking between the four of them. it wasn’t just a win for one of them, it was a win for all of them. you wanted to make sure they all felt properly congratulated.

“thanks, dove,” price replied, a smile of his own threatening to show through. usually, his mind was racing with thoughts of how they could improve, what they could’ve done better. but not tonight. tonight was for celebrating, and he wasn’t going to let his overactive mind get in the way of that. gaz chimed in, putting his hand on price’s shoulder. “well, it helped havin’ our good luck charm in the stands. didn’t it, cap?” his pointed glance settled on you as price chuckled, your cheeks flushing a pretty shade of pink. their good luck charm. how about that? “good point, kyle,” price said. the weight of their eyes boring into you threatened to overwhelm you, like the tide overtaking the shore.

thankfully, johnny’s scottish brogue broke the tension. “did’ja see my assist in the second period, bonnie?” he asked, shouldering past gaz to be closer to you. you couldn’t help but laugh a little, nodding at him as you clutched your coat a little closer to your body. “yeah, i did,” you reply. you also hadn’t missed the way he skated with more gusto after that, knowing that you’d seen him. “it was impressive. you all work so well together out there.” simon finally made his presence known, shifting on his feet beside price. “yeah, we’ve worked really hard to get ourselves there,” he said, sounding proud of the progress they'd made as a team. you notice kyle and johnny exchange a glance, but you can’t quite read it. there’s something there under the surface, something that goes beyond the game.

before you can spare it a second thought, price places his hand on your shoulder, guiding you out the doors of the ice rink. “c’mon, dove. we’ll take my truck.”

…

it’s around your third mixed drink that you start to get a little more comfortable.

they’ve paid for the last two rounds for you, indulging whatever fruity concoction you find yourself craving. they took you to the one good bar for miles where the air was free of stale cigarette smoke and depression. the five of them weren’t the rowdiest table by far, but they were holding their own. the boys carried on their own conversations in the background, chattering loudly about the game. as you sip at your vodka cranberry, your attention is on kyle’s phone screen as he swipes through pictures of his family. “and tha’s my brother, steven. he’s got a wife and kid. haven’t seen ‘im in a while, they live kinda far.” soap nudges him, causing his phone to nearly tumble into his pint of guinness. “don’ bore the poor lass,” he says, his words already starting to slur a little. johnny was drinking whiskey, which hit a little harder than the beers that his teammates were nursing. no wonder he was on his way to being three sheets to the wind.

you blush and shake your head, giving kyle a reassuring glance. “it’s not boring, i promise. i like getting to know you all. it’s what friends do, right?” friends. you hadn’t stopped to think about it before, but you supposed you’d fully entered friend territory with all of them. you’d come to watch them play multiple times now, and they’d come and watched you skate. not only that, they’d stayed for both your programs and stuck around when the final rankings were posted. mere acquaintances didn’t do that. 

your words seemed to strike some chord in each of them as the hum of their side conversations abruptly stopped. you caught price smirk over the rim of his glass as he took a swig of his drink, his posture confident with his shoulders back and chest forward. johnny looked at you like you’d hung the moon and stars just for him, but only for a moment. kyle’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly, like he hadn’t expected you to perceive them as friends. and simon, as usual, was hard to read, but you were getting there. there was a tightness in his expression that spelled unease to you. you faltered, opening your mouth to backtrack before price waved a hand to cut you off.

“nah, the bird’s right, johnny. guess we should know some things about each other if we’re gonna be friends.” his smirk remained, his eyes now fixed on you. maybe it was the alcohol talking, but you could swear you saw a glint of hunger in his eyes. you swallowed, desperate to ignore the electric thrill that struck your core. “why don’t you start us off, love? we wanna know more ‘bout ya,” he said, leaning back against the booth seating and staring you down expectantly. you clear your throat and take another long drink from your glass. you’d need some liquid courage for all this.

“well, i’ve been skating since i was little. i’ve loved it for as long as i can remember.” the memories brought a smile to your face. you recalled sitting in front of the television set, cross-legged as you watched the figure skaters dance on the ice in your ballerina dress. your dad sat next to you, telling you that that could be you someday. you certainly hadn’t competed in any olympics, but you were proud of the level you’d achieved. johnny chuckled, his hand coming to rest on your thigh. it sent a bloom of warmth through you and your cheeks flushed crimson. “somethin’ besides the ice, bonnie,” he said playfully. “we wanna know you, not the skater.”

you composed yourself quickly after being startled at his touch, settling into the casual display of affection. glances were once again exchanged, but this time, it was price and simon. “umm…my favorite color’s green,” you said, looking between johnny and kyle for approval, to see if this was what they wanted. when you got a nod in reply, you decided to continue. you told them about your favorite foods, family vacations, the artists that were on heavy rotation in your car radio. they seemed to hang on your every word, letting the aura of you seep into their bones so they’d never forget it.

the more you drank, the more you talked. so price kept the drinks flowing.

…

kyle drove you home in price’s truck, your swaying body sandwiched between ghost and soap. johnny had an arm around your shoulders to keep you steady and simon had his hand on your arm for comfort. you’d been drunker in your life, but you certainly had a good thing going. all this contact from attractive men was only fueling the fire, butterflies stirring in your belly that weren’t born of alcohol. you muttered things you knew you wouldn't remember in the morning, something about how warm their bodies were and how good they looked in their pads and gear. they were gentlemen, of course. their touches remained innocent as they walked you to your door and made sure you got in safely, staying until they heard the lock click. they had to be satisfied that you were secure for the night.

as the four of them piled back in the truck and headed back down the road, it was simon who broke the silence first. “we gotta have her, yeah?” he said, his voice a rumble that harmonized with the engine. kyle and johnny didn’t respond, looking to their captain for a response. ultimately, he made the final call. price hummed, his head falling back against the headrest of the passenger seat.

“yeah, think we do.”

taglist: @cadotoast @jupiternighties @hxnneydew

[minnnoru]

The Trojans thought they had seen everything on an Exy court. They had played against the best teams in the league, pushed through brutal matches, and faced off against some of the most aggressive players in the sport. But nothing, not even their grueling matches against the Foxes, prepared them for the sight of Jean Moreau and Kevin Day going head-to-head.

It was supposed to be a friendly scrimmage, a lighthearted practice to keep everyone sharp before the upcoming game. Kevin had suggested it—just a one-on-one against Jean to warm up while the rest of the team stretched. No one objected; after all, they were both world-class players and watching them play was always a learning experience.

Then the match started.

It took all of ten seconds for the Trojans to realize something was very, very wrong.

There was nothing friendly about the way Jean and Kevin moved. The moment the whistle blew, their posture shifted, their bodies settling into an instinctive rhythm honed by years under the Ravens’ banner. It was a style none of them had seen in some time—because no one played like this unless they had learned the game the way Jean and Kevin had.

Jean lunged for the ball and Kevin slammed into him with the force of someone who had forgotten this wasn’t a league match. Jean barely reacted, twisting his body mid-air to land with practiced ease, his racquet cutting the air in a defensive arc that forced Kevin back. There was no hesitation, no holding back, no concern for bruises or injuries. Only sharp footwork, sharp elbows, and sharper focus.

“Are they—are they actually trying to kill each other?” Cat whispered.

“No,” Jeremy said, though he didn’t sound convinced. “I think this is just… how they play?”

The Trojans watched horrified as Jean and Kevin tore across the court. Their movements were seamless, their aggression unmatched. Kevin pushed too hard, Jean shoved right back. Kevin pivoted, Jean countered. Jean scored, Kevin ripped the ball from his possession on the next play. There was no trash talk, no taunting. Just raw, unfiltered skill honed in the most cutthroat environment in the sport.

And they were having the time of their lives.

Jean was grinning. Actually grinning. Kevin was breathing hard, eyes alight with the kind of excitement no one ever saw outside of official matches. They weren’t teammates or opponents. They were two people who had grown up in the same fire, who understood each other’s play in a way no one else could.

The game ended only when the coach blew the whistle, looking somewhere between exasperated and vaguely concerned. Jean and Kevin stilled, their heavy breathing the only sound in the sudden silence. Then Jean smirked and tossed the ball at Kevin’s chest.

“Getting slow, Day.”

Kevin caught it easily, scowling. “You wish.”

The Trojans just gaped at them.

Jeremy sighed, rubbing his face. “We need to have a serious conversation about what ‘friendly’ means to you two.”

Jean just rolled his eyes, already reaching for his water bottle. “It was friendly.”

Jeremy gestured at the court, which looked like a war zone. “That was not friendly.”

Jean and Kevin exchanged a look, then shrugged in unison.

“It was friendly for us.”

The Trojans collectively groaned.

It wasn’t the last time Jean and Kevin would have a ‘friendly’ scrimmage, but from that moment on, the Trojans made sure to clear the court whenever they did.

[waldau]

congrats on your new milestone!! i really enjoy reading your work♡ could i please request mingyu+'we're in completely different leagues'+'i'm not sober enough to talk about this'

just the two of us — kim mingyu | 7,009 words | hurt/comfort, fluff

i typed up a mammoth sized story (to me, at least) because i had so many thoughts. behold my longest fic ever written, patiently beta-read by the wonderful @tomodachiii. thank you for your help, tomo! ily <3 and thank you, anon, for your request!

gender neutral reader. warnings: reader has massive self-doubt, gets drunk halfway through the story.

“the next time i even think of going on a date, just take my phone and force me to go out on a walk. reconnect with nature. touch some grass, maybe,” you say, kicking your feet against mingyu’s cupboard from where you’re sat on his counter.

“did you have a bad date i wasn’t aware of? was it the guy with the blue streaks?” mingyu asks, pushing the bowl of cake batter towards you. he never shies away from reminding you of the repercussions of having raw dough — that too in excruciating detail. salmonella. e. coli. things he could skip but doesn’t, just because he likes annoying you.

he lets it slide this time. you’re allowed just one big spoon, and the next time you’ll see the rest of it is when it’s baked and topped off with handmade frosting. courtesy of kim mingyu. your best friend as well as part-time chef.

“…no.”

“don’t lie to me,” he says, tilting his head. “you wouldn’t have brought it up otherwise.”

“ugh. it’s just that…every time i even think of going out on a date, i have to reset my expectations. because men can’t clear the bar, no matter how low it is.”

you take a nibble from the spoon, and it tastes so damn good. it’s crazy how mingyu manages to find time to make new recipes and perfect them despite being a world-famous model that’s modelled for almost every major fashion house. you’ve lost count of how many magazines he’s been on.

it started out as a joke when you complained about all the magazines for his first ever gig having sold out. he’d taken it upon himself to get you a very special, signed copy that you have on display with the rest of the books in your glass bookcase. just the one, though. the rest of them are all piled up under your coffee table, much to mingyu’s chagrin. at least they’re in chronological order. and you’re making sure they’re not collecting dust.

that first edition is pretty much the only thing mingyu ever teases you about, tattered as it is, and on display for whoever comes to visit you. but you’d never get rid of it, not even for a new copy. it’s a milestone mingyu deserves to be celebrated for.

“does it taste good?” he asks with a small smile and a nervous smile. as if you’d have anything except praises to heap on him. this isn’t even the first time you wonder if he’d talk like this to you if you were together — endless smiles and warm cuddles under the covers and conversations about the most random things and stolen hoodies because you’re actually dating, and not just you being a guilty friend whose imagination runs a bit wild sometimes.

he does all of those with you. but he just doesn’t like you the way you like him.

how would he be, when he’s the kim mingyu? he has his fans falling to their feet if he so much as posts a picture of his hand. he’s the most charming human being you know. he’s tall not just because of his genes but also because of all the love he holds for everyone he knows.

you’re another moon that gets to orbit in the path of the admirable planet that he is.

sometimes you don’t even know how you managed to remain friends with him after university ended. the two of you started off as being part of the same friend group, having a few shared classes and some interests that kept the two of you together apart from your friends. by the time you graduated, both of you knew enough about each other to be able to hang out without needing your mutual friends. and it was hardly your fault that you felt drawn to how warm mingyu was, how easy it was to talk to him, and how happy you felt just by being around him.

so when it came to the topic of finding a place to live, the two of you decided it would be better for you to be roommates than find a complete stranger to share a living space with, and you went from friends to best friends soon after that.

mingyu’s always been your support system for whatever you’ve wanted to do, encouraging you to do what you wanted, regardless of how it would turn out or what others would think of it. in the same way, it wasn’t anything when you encouraged him to try out a modelling gig he’d signed up for and was unsure of how he’d fare.

long story short, the shoot was a pretty good success, and soon enough he got multiple gigs, managed to earn enough money to move into a bigger house, and even offered to pay your part of the rent because he wanted you to live with him — something that made you smack him.

you no longer live together now, mainly because of mingyu’s insistence on not wanting to disturb your sleep and your daily routine with all the schedules that keep him flying over the world. you did miss the breakfast he’d make for the two you every morning, and you’d managed to work out a compromise where mingyu became your personal chef on saturdays just so he’d have some time to spend with you.

it’s far from the worst arrangement in the world, and moments like these — him putting icing on your nose — make you realize how lucky you are to have him. you generally watch movies together, or he teaches you recipes, or he listens to you talk about your life, reciprocating with his own stories. things haven’t changed that much, even though you don’t live together anymore.

but part of you wishes things did change. that mingyu would, just once, look at you the way you look at him. it’s a wonder he hasn’t once caught you staring at him, because you’ve done that more times than you can count. but you can’t help it, because he just so happens to be your whole world.

but how long is this utopia going to last for? when is he going to realize you’re just plain old you, and that maybe he’s suited for more glamorous company? people who can probably pronounce the names of all his fashion houses correctly, people he models with, people that can hang off his arm and look like they belong there? not people who like wearing shorts and an old shirt as pyjamas and have bouts of self-doubt strong enough to crush entire mountains?

“…is it that good? you zoned out a bit there,” mingyu says, snapping his fingers in front of your eyes.

you blink out of your daydreams. it’s not even his fault that you’re so head over heels for him, although it kind of is. no one asked him to be so good looking and polite and so damn lovely that it became easy to imagine a future with him. just like lee youngji can imagine having a future with hong jisoo because he opened a carton of milk for her, you wonder how you haven’t yet succumbed to those thoughts when mingyu is such a big part of your life. you wonder at what point you knew you were fucked.

maybe it was when you and mingyu became friends, although you’ll never know for sure.

“no.”

“are you sure?”

“your ego doesn’t need to get any bigger,” you quip, finishing off the rest of your spoon.

he just laughs. “good to know. let’s just wait for an hour till it finishes baking, okay?” he hands you a baking sheet to line the pan with. you work in silence as he fiddles with the knobs on the oven, ladling out the batter into the pan and sticking it inside once the oven’s warmed up enough.

“want to do something while it bakes? watch a movie?”

“i was thinking we could go for a walk,” mingyu says, taking off his apron. he looks ridiculous, a hulking six foot two man wearing an apron that’s comically small for him, but he takes kitchen etiquette very safely. he hangs it up on the hook behind the door. “the weather’s good, and i don’t think i’ve been out for a walk in a while.”

“what about all those texts you sent me about missing bobpul? i wonder what your fans would’ve thought of that.”

“you’re not supposed to bring that up,” he whines, and you can’t help the giggle that makes its way to your face. he’s a grown man. and he’s the most adorable one you know. “that was a moment of weakness.”

“and you trusted me with it.”

“because i trust you.”

“i…fine,” you sigh, because what can you really say to that? “it’s cute, that’s all.”

mingyu wiggles his eyebrows. “you think i’m cute?”

“i swear—”

“kidding!” he walks you out of the kitchen, hands on your shoulders, and you love it as much as you wish he didn’t do it. “we’ll be back within the hour. the cake should be ready by then.”

he hands you one of his hoodies that’s lying on the sofa before you head out. you look up at him when he presses the fabric into your hands.

“it’s cold,” he explains, but it’s muffled by the messy way he’s pulling his hoodie over his head.

“and i can deal with the cold just fine.”

“no, you’re going to stick your cold toes on my legs when we sit down to eat, and i’m not going to bear that. even if you’re my best friend.”

and no matter what excuse you make to avoid wearing mingyu’s clothes, it’s never enough. he has to see you bundled up to make sure you’re not going to freeze in front of him, although that’s a tad bit dramatic. this is one of his newer hoodies, and you can tell by the way it doesn’t smell like him just yet. maybe it’s a good thing. maybe you can stop thinking about him like that. one step at a time.

“some best friend you are,” you mumble, wearing your shoes. you look up and mingyu’s frowning at you. not the usual way; there’s a tiny frown that would’ve been imperceptible if you didn’t know him the way you do, but you’re not going to ask what’s up. he tells you things if they’re really bothering him, so you’re going to let him let you know in his own time.

he wasn’t wrong. it really is windy. you’re glad he made you wear the hoodie. you pull the sweater paws over your palms, loving the way your palms instantly become warm. mingyu flips the hood over your head and you’re about to thank him for it before he draws the strings together and ends up blacking out your vision. he finds it funny for about two seconds till you stumble blindly and end up jostling him in the stomach.

he's still wincing when you undo the strings, and you can’t help but laugh. “sorry, gyu.”

“are you, though?”

“…no.”

“thought so.”

“was it my fault?”

“no,” he says, and smiles, and you feel your heart flutter again. “not your fault.” it’s so pretty. even his smile’s so pretty. you love his canines, his little fangs that he feels weird about sometimes. if it were up to you, you’d do anything to make him love them just as much as you did, even if that something were kissing.

whoa. not again. not when he’s with you.

“so, about failed dates,” he says, looking at you. “are you actually looking for something, or do you just…go on them to pass your time?”

mingyu does this thing where he can read you to filth without even trying. it’s like he knows what’s running in your mind, or at least has the vaguest idea of it, and he says things that are basically truths you don’t want to admit to yourself out of fear of not knowing what to do about them.

“why does it matter?” you ask, a bit defensive.

he frowns. again, that little frown. you wish you could remove it. “because there’s so many other things you could be doing to spend time instead of creeping yourself out every time you go on a date. and you don’t need to keep getting yourself hurt like that if it isn’t leading to anything.”

“are you dating someone?”

mingyu pffts. “what, i can’t have advice for you without being in a relationship?”

“no,” you say immediately, backtracking. of course he can. “sorry. i know you didn’t mean anything by it, but…”

“but?”

“i just wish i—”

you’re cut off by the sudden bark of a dog. you look around to find the source of the sound only to see a dog running around in circles with its leash in its mouth. it looks adorable.

“hey, buddy,” you say, crouching down in front of it. it looks up at you and barks. a happy little yip! before it continues running along in circles.

“are you lost?” mingyu asks softly, crouching down next to you. he reaches out a hand to pet its head, and the puppy leans into his touch completely. it looks familiar for some reason.

“do you have any idea whose dog this is?” mingyu asks. you shake your head. maybe you’ve seen a dog like this, not the dog itself, but you’re really not sure. he’s in the process of searching the dog’s collar, but someone yelling in the distance makes him pause. he gets up and tugs the dog by its collar. it has the name tag jamie inscribed on it.

the person yelling out for jamie is none other than one of your neighbours. you know her well. as well as you can for someone you don’t interact much with. not if you can help it.

she’s the kind of neighbour that always pokes her nose into matters that don’t bother her, the neighbour that outright shows she’s not interested in something if it doesn’t get her anything. the two times you tried to initiate a conversation with her as you waited for the elevator to reach your floor are a stark reminder of the fact that she’s not the kind of person you’d ever be friends with. you don’t know what you’ve done to rub her the wrong way, but she doesn’t look like she’ll even give you a chance.

you watch as mingyu hands over the dog to her, and once she’s done making sure jamie’s okay, she looks him up and down.

you don’t blame her. you’d do the same, a bit more subtly, but it does sting to see the way she’s probably the kind of person he should be hanging out with.

“thanks for finding jamie,” she says, all smiles. she really doesn’t need to be smiling that much.

“no worries,” mingyu says with a smile of his own. “and it wasn’t me who found jamie, by the way. it was them.” he points to you with a jerk of his thumb. you smile at her, but feel icy inside when she looks you up ad down.

“oh. are they your…” she trails off with a smile on her face that screams no fucking way. you suddenly wish you could just run back to your apartment and leave the two of them down here.

“partner? you think so?”

“just…you two look like opposites, that’s all. sometimes opposites don’t attract, but you never know. life’s funny sometimes.” she simpers a little, and your hands ball up into fists by your side.

what you don’t expect is for mingyu to throw his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into himself. “yes, actually,” he says, leaning into you in a way that most definitely exaggerates your height difference. “you could call them my better half. and don’t they look good in this hoodie? it’s mine, by the way,” he says, and you can recognize the smile on his face — it’s a fake one, the corporate one he adopts when he’s in a situation he doesn’t like.

his words keep buzzing in your mind as you walk past your neighbour and back upstairs to your apartment. he’d said you were a couple so easily, even though you were not. better half? really? the way he’d leaned into you so easily, the fact that he told her it was his hoodie. it’s…weird. and too much for you.

you don’t speak much as you help mingyu remove the cake from the oven, getting it ready for frosting. he manages to get an indignant sound when he manages to get some on your cheek this time, but the rest of the evening is spent thinking about the interaction you had.

is it really so unbelievable for people to imagine the two of you together?

“hey,” he says, bumping your side with his. except he miscalculates his strength (or does it on purpose) and ends up making you stumble a few steps away from him. you don’t even have it in you to be mad when you see the giggle on his face. “you good?”

“yes. sorry,” you say, opening the refrigerator to take out the food mingyu had made last night. he cooks enough to feed a family of four even though you’re the only one that lives at your place, so it’s useful for when you don’t feel like cooking.

“who was she?” mingyu asks, setting down the plates on the table. “a friend?”

you shudder at the thought of her being your friend. “a neighbour. she lives in the flat down mine. she’s not really the kind of person i’d be friends with, but jamie’s cute. i keep seeing him around sometimes.”

“hmm.” you get the smell of reheated noodles as mingyu works at the stove. “she was…weird.”

“that’s an understatement.”

“is she always like that?”

“rude?”

“yeah. that’s not something you’d say to a couple you see, even if you don’t like them.”

“she certainly doesn’t seem to care,” you say, a bit more forceful than necessary, setting down two glasses as well.

“well, i think we’d make a cute couple,” mingyu says, a little smile on his face as he reaches out to ruffle your hair.

you swear your heart dies a little right then and there. you stare at him unblinkingly. “do you ever hear the stuff that comes out of your mouth?” you ask, regaining your bearings and filling the glasses with water.

“sorry,” mingyu says, sheepishly. “i just don’t like the idea of anyone talking like that. especially with you. especially when you’ve done nothing to deserve it.”

your heart warms at that. “thank you, gyu,” you say, reaching out to squeeze his arm. bad idea. you’d forgotten how much he’s been working out recently, and how big he is. “i’m glad i could one-up her this time.”

“just call me the next time you want to do it again.”

“yeah, sure.”

the rest of the night is spent watching this show that’s been on your watchlist for a while, and you don’t mind if mingyu conks out in the middle of it.

sure enough, you hear his soft snores after you finish your dessert, and you turn to see this big man that’s also your best friend craning his neck on the sofa as he tries to keep himself in the blanket that’s certainly not big enough for the two of you.

sometimes you wonder if he’d cuddle with you to save space and keep himself warm, and this also happens to be one of those times. You get up and reposition him as gently as you can, so that his back doesn’t hurt in the morning. His nose twitches when you rest a hand on his hair, wishing him a silent goodnight.

It's not the first time you wish you could kiss him, dangerous as that thought is.

you can’t stop thinking about the interaction you had a few days ago. sure, your neighbour isn’t someone whose behaviour you’d count on to matter, but was she right when she said she can’t see two people like you together? people as opposite to each other as you and mingyu?

sure, you’re not the usual kind of crowd he hangs out with, but is it so bad to imagine something between the two of you? was that just the sign to stop thinking about mingyu, get over him and resign yourself to a life without love?

as much as you complain about going on dates, there’s something that’s your fault too — you look for mingyu everywhere. none of the men you’ve gone on dates with are mingyu, and that’s the crux of the problem. none of them smile the way he does, none of them give you their jacket when you’re feeling cold, and it’s unfair for you to expect them to understand everything about you.

you can’t have mingyu, and you’re going to have to learn to accept that.

Which is why you’re at this party with your friend seungkwan. it’s not your usual scene — you’d much rather be curled up in bed with a book and some takeout, or cleaning your bookshelf while listening to music on the television — but you’re not complaining. seungkwan was right. you need to let go once in a while, just enjoy yourself before you inevitably spend weeks together keeping to yourself, immersed in your work.

“dance with me!” seungkwan yells out to you over the din of the crowd.

“i can’t dance! not like you!”

“that hardly matters! let’s have some fun, come on!”

seungkwan is nothing if not persistent. finishing off the last of the drink, you let him lead you out onto the dance floor. he rests his hands on your shoulders as he sways you to the music. it’s fast paced and something you’d be caught doing in the privacy of your own house, your own little concert, and for once you don’t care about the fact that people can see you. you’re lost in your own little world with seungkwan, and more importantly, you’re happy. the stress of whatever the fuck happened last week between you and mingyu, with him calling himself your boyfriend without knowing how down bad you are for him, is pushed to the back of your mind as the beat changes. seungkwan starts clapping to the rhythm, making you realize you’re dancing by yourself.

you’re not half bad at this. a little under confident, sure, but not bad. you could try making this a monthly thing and having fun with it.

eventually you end up too exhausted to dance to another song, and seungkwan guides you to a seat, your shoes in his hand as he asks you to catch your breath and wait for a while more till he finishes dancing with some other people.

you’ve ordered a basic drink for yourself when someone slides in next to you. you don’t pay them much attention, focusing on relaxing a bit and finishing your drink, but you have to turn around and look at them when you can actually feel their eyes piercing into your side and— boy, is he a sight for sore eyes.

he looks boyishly handsome, completely in place in this club as he watches you with his chin resting in his hand, eyes glinting in the light of the fixture above the two of you. he’s pretty, and just as handsome, and his eyes are the loveliest shade of brown you’ve ever seen.

“saw you dancing out there,” he says, his words a bit of a drawl, and accented. “you were pretty good.”

“you don’t need to lie if you’re trying to flirt,” you jest, finishing your drink.

“i’m not in the habit of lying,” he says, smiling at you. “you looked like you were having fun.”

“i…was, actually,” you say. he’s still smiling, looking at you like he’s searching for something in your eyes. you feel warm. gosh.

“can i get you another drink?”

“no, thank you, actually. i need my head to remain intact if i want to get home in one piece.”

“suit yourself,” he nods, and asks the bartender for the same drink you had. the bar is in hell, but you’re impressed he backed off immediately. you watch as he makes quick work of his drink.

“so, you come here often?” he asks, wiping the back of his mouth.

“not really. my friend dragged me out tonight because he felt i needed a break from my life.”

“just a friend?” he asks, eyes following your line of vision to see seungkwan still dancing with some strangers, looking like he’s having fun.

“why, you interested?”

“depends on who you’re talking about.”

“him?”

“cute, but no.”

“me.”

“maybe.”

you trace the ring of condensation your drink’s left on the table. “but i’m not looking for anything, honestly. i’ve sworn off dating for a while.”

“that’s fine. we could just…talk.”

you look up at the man. you don’t know if this is his way of trying to get you to go home with him, but it’s the most genuine someone’s been. “you never told me your name, by the way.”

“me? vernon. nice to meet you.”

you give him your name in return, and like the way it rolls off his tongue.

“so…can i ask why you’ve sworn off dating?”

seungkwan’s still going to take a while, going by the previous times you’ve been here, and vernon definitely seems interested in talking to you.

“you ever…had a crush on your best friend?”

vernon winces — an actual wince, like he’s seen something terrible, and it makes you laugh. “yeah…once. it sucks.”

“exactly.”

“you’re trying to get over them?”

“trying being the keyword, yes.”

“then how are you trying to get over them if you’re not into dating?”

you sigh. vernon’s a perceptive one. “trying to think of other people even if i don’t necessarily go home with them. just anything to get my mind off him.”

“anything? how bored would you be if i started talking about why i think star wars is excessive but also misunderstood?”

you don’t find vernon boring, in fact. you find yourself drawn to him speaking, the way his eyes light up and his hands get a life of their own as he lists out every single point in aid of his stance, and encourages you to contribute to the conversation. it feels like he’s an old friend, and not someone you met hardly an hour ago. it’s fun.

“…so maybe we could go out to watch that movie? it’s coming out next week.”

“go out?”

“as friends, of course. i’m not looking to take someone home, either. if anything, i came here to keep my friends company, but…i think i lost them in the crowd.”

you look around, and seungkwan’s sitting at a table surrounded by a bunch of girls, and it makes you grin. he doesn’t need you sticking with him anymore.

“you were saying?”

“does next week work—”

“it doesn’t,” says a new voice. a familiar voice. there’s two hands on your shoulders, a familiar weight. “we’re hanging out at my place next week.”

“mingyu!” you exclaim, pulling him out from behind you. “don’t scare me like that.”

“sorry,” he says, not sounding the least bit sorry. “you have no idea how much time i spent searching for you only to find you hidden here.”

“why were you looking for me? how did you know i was here?”

he looks at you like you asked him something stupid. “because it’s late, and because seungkwan’s most definitely not driving you home.” ah. seungkwan must have asked mingyu to pick you up, given that he was your ride here.

“well,” you say, directing him towards your conversational partner. “this is vernon. my new friend.”

“hi,” he says, curt, and you frown. mingyu’s generally nicer.

“hey,” vernon says coolly. then he turns back to you. “can you give me your number? i’ll text you about it later, when you’re free. think i’ll search for them now.”

you hand vernon your own phone, given he’s had less drinks than you have, and it hardly takes a minute for him to enter his details before he saves his number and claps your shoulder, wishing you and mingyu a good night.

you find mingyu watching vernon making his way through the crowd. “so, who was that?”

“new friend. vernon. like i said.”

“a new friend? seriously? he just asked for your number.”

“so? he wasn’t hitting on me or anything. he just asked me so we could go see this movie we’ve been wanting to watch.”

mingyu’s eyebrows rise. “a movie? together? doesn’t that sound like…a date?”

you frown. “two friends can go watch movies, mingyu. don’t we do that all the time?”

“Yeah, but that’s because you know me. he’s just some random guy you met today. at a club.”

either mingyu’s being obtuse, or you’re not thinking correctly. “are you saying i don’t know how to read people’s intentions?”

“you’re drunk,” he says bluntly, taking off his jacket and wrapping it around your shoulders. “you don’t know what he wants.”

something about his tone makes you angry. he wasn’t even here the whole evening. “as if you do. you didn’t speak to him at all, mingyu. you don’t even know what we talked about.”

“didn’t you say you wanted to stop going out on dates?”

the coldness in his voice makes you freeze. you’ve never heard him sound so hostile, not with you. “what do you mean?”

“why did i have to find out from seungkwan that you were out here at this club just a week after you asked me to make you touch grass if you so much as thought of a date?”

“but it wasn’t a date!” you exclaim, feeling more and more annoyed. to your horror, you feel tears stinging the corners of your eyes. “are you saying i’m—”

“you’re drunk. you don’t know what you want. did you seriously expect to make friends at the club of all places?”

this isn’t your mingyu. he’d never judge you the way he’s doing right now. you take his jacket and throw it on the counter, turning around and marching out. you’ll call a cab to take you to your place. you don’t need him dropping you home.

“hey,” mingyu calls out, jogging towards you, jacket in his hand. “it’s cold. take this, please?”

“i don’t care about what you have to say,” you sniff, wrapping your hands around yourself. “don’t talk to me.”

“listen, you can be angry with me all you want, but just take my jacket. i don’t want you freezing out here when you don’t need to be.”

“maybe you should’ve thought of that before saying all that shit to me,” you spit. “why do you want to talk to me now? just insult me some more, why don’t you?”

mingyu huffs, but says nothing. he just looks at you.

“come with me.”

“where?”

“to my car.”

“why should i?”

“i won’t leave you here by yourself. i want to make sure you’re safe. let me drop you home and you can be mad at me all you want. please.”

“what, your night’s going to be a waste unless i come with you?”

“no,” he says quietly, and it makes you pause. mingyu is anything but quiet. “It’s never a waste. but it’ll just put my mind at ease if i know you’re safe, okay?”

you see the logic in his words, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. “fine,” you say, taking his jacket from him and slipping it on.

“thank you,” he says, opening the passenger door for you.

the drive to your place is quiet. you can tell mingyu wants to say something, start a conversation, but you keep your eyes resolutely fixed ahead.

“come on,” he says, unbuckling his seat belt and getting out when you reach your building. you follow him upstairs to your apartment. he unlocks the door for you and makes way for you to step inside first.

“do you need water? food? anything i can get?” he asks, taking off his shoes.

you turn around to look at him. he’s big, as always, but for once it feels like he’s taking up all the space in your apartment.

“i’m not that drunk,” you say finally.

he stands up straight to look at you. “but—”

“yes, i had some drinks, but i know my limit. i had my last one just before i started talking to vernon. i hate that you thought i wasn’t capable of making my own decisions.”

he swallows. “i didn’t mean to undermine—”

“but you did! and you don’t know how terrible it feels. i’m not a baby, gyu. i know what i want and what i’m doing. i’m hurt. and,” you say, taking in a deep breath, “if you really want to know something, know this — we’re in completely different leagues.”

mingyu frowns. “what do you mean?”

“i—” there’s so much you mean. you can’t possibly recount all the thoughts you’ve had about feeling inadequate, all the nights you’ve spent wondering how long it’ll be before he realizes you’re not as cool as you should be. “i’m not sober enough to talk about this.”

“you just said you weren’t that drunk.”

“this is my home,” you say, a bit harsher than needed. “you got me here safe, and that’s all you wanted to do. this is me being mad at you, so if you respect me, you’re going to let me sleep. okay? goodnight, mingyu.”

“goodnight,” he says, and you hate how small his voice sounds. “sleep well.”

and you do sleep well. well enough that you sleep through your alarm, and wake up almost when it’s ten. at least it’s a saturday, so you’re not freaking out as you brush your teeth. you have some work to do today. and hanging out with mingyu is on the agenda as well, but you’re not sure if you’re keen on going through with it, especially after what happened last night.

if you were delusional, which you’re most definitely not, you’d say that mingyu had been jealous that you and vernon had exchanged numbers in front of him. except there’s no reason for him to be jealous. like he reminded you, you’re not looking for any relationships. there’s no one he has to compete with, so to speak.

so why was he that upset last night? and what about the things he’d said to you?

you’ve had fights before, fights that ended up with both of you not wanting to speak to each other, but this was different. he’d never been angry like this.

you’re the one who’s upset, you realize, as you walk to the kitchen to fix yourself some breakfast. you’re going to talk it out with mingyu once your head is clearer, and you’re going to see what he has to say for himself.

except mingyu’s already here. you can smell the delicious scent of tteokbokki wafting through the room. mingyu’s set out two plates, two glasses — the usual. you’re feeling woefully under dressed in front of him in your pyjamas, despite the fact that he’s seen you like this multiple times before.

“morning,” he says. his voice is hesitant. It’s never hesitant.

“hi. morning.”

“slept well?”

“yeah, better than…what exactly are you doing here?”

“cooking you breakfast,” he says, waving his spatula around.

“i can see that. i meant here. in my place. didn’t you go back home after dropping me off?”

“no. i felt too tired to drive back home, so i decided to crash out on your couch. and i’m making you breakfast now. isn’t that a win-win?”

you can see one win, but you’re not sure what the other is. you take a seat at the table and pour yourself a glass of water, wearily trying to assess the situation. mingyu had pretty much scolded you last night. like a parent who didn’t trust you to make the right choices despite having free will. and now he’s cooking you breakfast like last night just didn’t happen.

“can i ask you something?” mingyu says, pushing a plate of tteokbokki towards you along with a pair of chopsticks.

“don’t think i can stop you, can i?”

mingyu huffs. “hey. if you’re upset with me, just say no.”

“what is it?”

“what did you mean by yourself being out of my league?”

you set your chopsticks down. “you’re serious? you’re really asking me that?”

he frowns. “yes.”

“mingyu, you called yourself my boyfriend a week back. your…better half.”

“that was to make your neighbour leave. she was being weird.”

“sure. and then we went back to life like nothing had even happened.”

“because…it hadn’t? i thought we talked it out that night itself? what happened now?”

“i don’t think you understand how that made me feel. especially when you said—” you say, voice trembling. “you called yourself my boyfriend last week. like it’s something you throw around naturally. and last night you acted all…weird, as if i wasn’t allowed to have a normal conversation with someone who wasn’t you. why are you so confusing?”

“would you hear me out if i said i had a reason?”

“you’d better have a damn good reason.”

mingyu sets down his glass and looks at you. “i’m sorry for everything i said yesterday. i truly am. i didn’t mean any of it. i was just…jealous.”

that catches your attention. “jealous? of?”

“that guy. vernon. you seemed like you were having a good time talking to him and i thought about how if you got together you’d probably leave our relationship behind because you liked him so much.”

“whoa. slow down. i told you i wasn’t looking—”

“you weren’t. i know that. but the way you looked at him made me feel something.”

“what?”

“i’m saying…” mingyu takes in a deep breath, and focuses on something past your shoulder. not meeting your eyes. “i’m saying i like you.”

you blink. “i’m sorry?”

“i like you, and i was jealous because you seemed to be having so much fun talking to him. if you have to know, there’s no guy who possibly deserves you. i’m not saying i do, either, but i’ll try my best to be the guy you deserve.”

it’s still too early in the day for this. “stop joking, mingyu. i don’t want to go through it again. just—”

“i’m not!” he exclaims, coming over to your side of the table. “thinking i could be with anyone i wanted is a bold thing to say. how do you think i feel every time i go out for company dinners but all i want to do is spend time with you? have you as my plus one every time?”

your heart’s fluttering very fast. you feel almost breathless. “i wouldn’t even look that good by your side.”

“says you. have you ever seen yourself?”

“i have, actually, and i look—”

“so gorgeous,” mingyu cuts you off, eyes twinkling as he says so. as though he’d been holding onto it for so long and finally found the right time to release it. “you look exactly like the person i want to spend every single day of my life with.”

you almost expect cameras to pop up out of nowhere and film your reaction to what he’s just said. “the…rest of your life? you do know that’s…a long time, right?”

“i do. and i’ve already spent four years with you. eight, if you’re counting the time before we became best friends.”

it’s everything you’ve ever wanted to hear. what he’s offering is so close to you, just an arm’s length away, but you can’t convince yourself to reach out for it. you hide your face in your hands. “gyu…”

“i’m serious,” he says, gently peeling your hands from your face. his hands are so warm as he holds yours, and his boba eyes are so close to yours. he’s adorable. “give me one chance?”

“what if we…mess this up? what if you realize i’m not that fun to hang out with every single day?”

“what if you realize everything you're thinking is wrong? what if you realize there’s no way i’m going to let things go wrong, especially when it comes to you?”

you don’t know what to say. you don’t know what the future holds in store, and you have no answers to your questions just like you don’t have answers to his.

“i know you think…not so greatly of yourself sometimes,” mingyu says, squeezing your hands. “and i want to be here to tell you that everything you think in that regard is wrong. i like you because you’re you. why do you think you’re the only one who’s been my best friend for so long? you’re the only one i can be myself around completely. tell me you know that.”

“i…didn’t know that.”

“then i clearly didn’t do a very good job at being your best friend. maybe i can fix that now.”

now. now that mingyu likes you. now that you have the chance to see your relationship blossom into something more.

“you’re not even going to ask me if i like you?”

a slow blush spreads across mingyu’s face. “shit, sorry. um, do you…like me?”

“of course i like you, gyu,” you smile, feeling giddy at the way he gets redder.

“good. can i, um, be your boyfriend, then? would you like that?”

“you’re not taking me out on a date first?”

mingyu’s eyes shine and he leans in till his nose is inches away from yours. “hi,” he whispers, and you actually whimper when his lips brush yours the slightest bit. embarrassing. mingyu doesn’t seem to mind, though.

“g-good morning, gyu.”

“the best, actually. even better if you let me take you out on a date today.”

taglist: @bookyeom @wootify @strnsvt @cloudycaramel @thepoopdokyeomtouched

@minnieminshi @nonononranghaee @hrts4hanniehae @viewvuu @bewoyewo

[deadhands69]

A New End: Reassurance

Tomura Shigaraki x Reader

Spoilers: Shie Hassaikai Raid (some divergence from canon) This series contains: gn/afab reader, angst, canon typical violence, cussing, eventual smut

previous - this is part 4 - next

[series masterlist]

|\/\/\| reassurance |/\/\/|

Hours.

It's been hours since you sat in this dingy open dining/living room which is now serving as a meeting space and there's no end in sight. The peeling finish on the table chips off easily under your fingernails as you try to maintain any ability to pay attention. It’s hard when you’re all so tired. You especially.

Between grief, bad sleeping conditions, and constant overwhelming dreams you haven’t had much rest lately. The wind blowing through the cracks between the boarded up window pane whistled into your ear all night. When you finally did fall asleep, your dreams were nauseatingly realistic. A little girl with big red eyes and long grey hair has haunted your dreams. Much like the plague doctor from before, but a lot cuter and less malevolent. She looks remarkably familiar too. You made a mental note to ask Shigaraki if he has a little sister, but there hasn’t been a right time to ask yet. 

“Who else has something?” Shigaraki asks but no one answers. You've all given your ideas on how to handle the Shie Hassaikai situation but it's no use: none of your plans are perfect. They can't be, you have almost no information to go on without someone contacting them for more. Even then, they might be lying. 

You glance back at Shigaraki’s face. The exhaustion has settled itself deeply into all of his features. He looks frustrated too, but there's something else under it. In the months you've spent with the league, you've never seen him quite like this. His posture is always bad, but today he's practically melting into the chair. Eyes downcast, barely looking up for anything. It's like a tiny streak of hopelessness cracked through him when his sensei was defeated and only grew with the following events. 

Magne’s death. Compresses arm. The fact that this week you've switched from sleeping in a cold damp warehouse to an abandoned house on the border of the industrial area, which is also cold and damp all the time. Shigaraki isn't oblivious to the toll this puts on you all, both physically and mentally.

He carries the guilt of all of it while still needing to make the final call on bigger decisions. 

Some days it hits harder than others, today happens to be one of those days. This didn't need to be a meeting-worthy topic, but he made it that way in what you can only assume is stress about making the wrong choice again.

Through it all, he still has the same weird charm you've gotten to know by now. You just wish you could do something to help. 

His face falls at the lack of response. One of his hands scratches the side of his face while the other fidgets in his lap. Everything in you wants to touch him, hold him, tell him it's okay but when your hand reaches towards his wrist under the table you stop short. Fingers shaking, you will yourself to make contact. Give him a reassuring squeeze. Anything, really. 

His skin is so close to yours that you can feel the warmth of him but you can't bring yourself to make the move. Your quirk doesn't even activate; even future vision knows you don't have it in you. 

“Let's just take a break and come back to it,” he grumbles. There's a collective groan, you've taken a few breaks today and everyone wants to just be done with it already. There can't possibly be any more reasonable ideas than what you've already gone over. None that any of you would suggest, at least.

The others stand to leave and Shigaraki shuffles out to the hallway behind them. You stand slowly, pulling your hand from where it's been frozen under the table. 

‘I-” he mumbles under his breath, gesturing you into the hall. “I need your help.”

Quietly, he explains his plan to you. It’s basically the same plan everyone else had but with him actually going to their headquarters which felt like too big of an ask for anyone but him to bring it up. 

Even if he’s only coming to you in desperation after countless mistakes that could have prevented if he listened earlier, some part of you is giddy that he's finally directly including you in the planning process. You try your best to suppress the feeling so you can pay attention but it's difficult. In the end, your quirk kicks in. Visions of him coming home complaining surround you. He looks so grouchy that it's almost funny. You stifle a laugh to answer him.

“Yeah, that should be okay. We don't know what they have planned so we can't make any promises yet, but you'll at least be safe to meet with him. We can't make any decisions until then.” You leave out the part where he comes back unhappy, you'd rather not live through it twice. 

Shigaraki nods slightly in acknowledgement then turns away without saying a word, which you're used to by now. 

“Hey, Mimic? It's Shigaraki,” he projects louder into the phone. You hear his voice trail off as he walks down the hall, “we're willing to side with you depending on the conditions…”

A week passes and he's gone to meet them at their headquarters. The others are on edge, but you feel fine about it. So far, he hasn't strayed from whatever he was going to do since your last premonition so you know he'll return safely. 

At least, you’re pretty sure.

Out of everyone in the group, your visions of Shigaraki have become a pretty consistent occurrence. Even your quirk couldn’t have called your less than sociable boss being the person you become closest with, but you can’t help it. Especially not after he basically told you he wishes he could have a different life with you. Although, you’re still not sure if you’re interpreting that correctly - he could just mean it in a platonic sense. In any case, one sentence seems to have given the part of your brain that likes to stare at him when he’s not looking and gets butterflies when he so much as acknowledges you enough validation to keep it up. 

The heater kicks in for the first time today, you curl up near the vent with Toga to make the most of it before any warmth escapes through the broken windows. At least this hideout has electricity, even if you do have to conserve it to not draw attention.

The two of you joke about the place, talking about the dated furniture and curtains. Coming up with ideas to make it more ridiculous or sometimes just habitable, depending on the day. Once you even followed through and tried to move some of the construction debris from the room, but when the looming threat of tetanus became too realistic, you stopped. In any case, talking about it is a fun escape from the life you’re living.

Shigaraki’s footsteps pound up the stairs until he’s at the door. You hear him struggle to get the jammed handle to work for a moment before jumping up and helping so he doesn’t decay it.

As expected, he's in a mood. 

“Why didn't you warn me about that?” he groans, passing you at the door and moving into the kitchen. It's a small space so it only takes you a few steps to follow him. 

“It doesn't work that way,” you say, while he fills a cracked glass with water. “How would I have known what happens if you don't tell me things? I just saw that you made it home in one piece.” Sure you could have told him more, but you didn't know what the future would turn to if he knew and getting him back safely seems like the best scenario you have.

“So, what happened?” you pry a bit further. 

“I don't want to talk about it now,” he mutters, refilling the water glass.

“That's fine. I won't make you. But, if you want to know more next time, you'll have to communicate better than that.”

He makes a weird face and leaves, but the information seems to sink in. Over the next week, he’s much more open with you. Not only about league plans, like when he asked you to okay sending Toga and Twice to the Yakuza for a bit, but random life occurrences as well. It’s like he isn’t sure where the line between relevant and not is so he’s overcompensating. You don’t mind though, it gives you an excuse to talk to him more often.

Shigaraki stands at the counter, staring at the coffee maker. Every few minutes, he gives it a bump as if that will speed the process somehow. It’s an otherwise quiet morning, with Toga and Twice being away, Dabi off recruiting somewhere, and Kurogiri on a mission of his own.

“Is it supposed to take this long?” he asks. Because you knew where the filter, water, and coffee grounds go he now assumes you are the resident expert in the subject.

“Yeah, that’s how long it always takes.”

“Oh,” he replies shortly before taking a seat in one of the rickety chairs next to you.

“I think I’m going to shower today,” he says definitively. It takes a surprising amount of self-restraint to not ask if he needs help with that. You know you could play it off as a joke when he says no but knowing him, he’d take it as an insult and assume you don’t think he can bathe on his own.

“...is that okay?” he asks, making you realize he’s doing the oversharing-to-see-if- it-triggers-your-quirk thing again. 

“Yeah,” you nearly laugh, “it should be fine. No one will have any issues with you showering.” For a moment, you let your mind slip back to the thought of it. Being in a cramped space with him, the way the water would trickle down his neck to places you’ve never seen. The water pressure here is shit and the hot water heater only provides a good ten minutes of warmth if you’re lucky, but the thought still amuses you.

He eyes you suspiciously, searching for whatever he knows you aren’t saying. You’ve never been so glad his quirk isn't mind reading.

Later that day, Toga texts to let you know that the heroes have arrived on some sort of mission at the Shie Hassaiki headquarters. There are a lot of them, she says, but that should work out in their favor. Their current plans are to ride the wave of chaos and see what they can make it out with. No warning signals go off for you so you text her to go for it and you’ll keep in touch. 

Of course, this is the moment Shigaraki chose to take a shower so you yell the gist of it through the door at him. He gets frustrated at the muffled sounds, poking his still sudsy (and very annoyed) head out the door and having you give him the rest of the details before disappearing again. The sound of the shower resumes and you head back to your makeshift bedroom space.

Settling onto your sleeping mat, you sit back to enjoy the faint display of premonitions from the constant changes in direction and plans Toga and Twice are going through. It’s almost like watching a movie. Then you see her, but only for a flash. The little girl from your dream walking up the stairs and into the hideout.

Wait, go back! Your hands smash into the keyboard as fast as you can type.

The girl was there. Wherever you were about to go. 

There’s no response, but you know they saw your message because soon enough she’s back in your vision again, this time more opaque. 

It’s radio silence on their end for a while, without any change in the future. Waiting like this has always been stressful but now, at least people listen to you. You just have to trust that they’ll keep on the same track and make it out. A little while later, the texts come flooding in.

We have the little girl and Chisaki is in custody

They’re preparing him to be moved soon

Success!

It was a disaster!

Twice clearly got ahold of Toga’s phone, but you're glad for the update. You jump up to relay the message to the others who are waiting for the next steps.

Upon entering the living room, you find Shigaraki making Compress, Spinner, and Dabi compete in a Mariocart Tournament to see who’s driving later. A few days ago, they’d stolen the keys to a truck from one of the nearby warehouses for the occasion. You’re not sure how Mariocart makes someone qualified to drive but that doesn’t seem to matter to the rest of them. Given that Dabi seems more interested in the ceiling tiles and Compress has managed to get Princess Peach stuck in every corner in the course, it's pretty easy to guess who is going to win. 

You offer to drive, having an actual driver’s license, but Shigaraki declines, stating that your quirk won't fit this mission if anything goes wrong. Of course you fight him on that, knowing that your quirk is a better fit for being on the front lines than he gives you credit for but he won't budge.

So, you stay. 

“Don't pout,” he growls, laying with his feet over the armrest of a recliner across the room from you. “Your quirk is too important for me to put you in unnecessary danger. We can handle it.”

“What, and ours aren't?” Dabi glares at him from the floor in front of the couch. He's still not paying attention to the game. 

“It's different. Your quirk is important for lighting cops on fire.”

Dabi's mouth has been cracked from the moment he dropped the question, ready to fire off an insult. He seems sufficiently happy with the response though so he drops it. As expected, Spinner pulls Waluigi across the finish line and wins by a long shot. 

“Time to go,” says Shigaraki, ushering everyone out of the room, “Toga will call with an update and we can intercept Chisaki there.” Spinner looks on the fence about the whole idea but Dabi and Compress are excited, both immediately jumping into the truck. 

Shigaraki hangs back for a moment, looking questioningly in your direction. The way his eyes meet yours send flutters through your body. He can sense there’s something he’s supposed to do here, some missing interaction with you before he leaves.

“It’ll be fine,” you reassure him, “this will work.” Without noticing, your hands found their way around his wrists. He glances down at the touch, but doesn’t move to pull away. You feel his pulse quicken against the pads of your fingers, as he looks up back up at your face. 

“Come on, we’ve gotta go!” yells Spinner from the driver’s seat.

“I-” he hesitates, “I’ll keep you updated.” He slips out of your grasp, climbing up to the roof of the truck as Spinner lurches down the street and out of sight.

The group texts you with updates here and there, mostly Shigaraki. 

getting close

we see the truck

going in

And, finally, it’s done.

You breathe a massive sigh of relief when they’ve picked up Twice, Toga, and the little girl who you now know as Eri and are on their way back. Everything went to plan, for the most part, without anyone making any catastrophic changes. Dropping onto the outdated couch, you let yourself sink into the cushions. Closing your eyes to rest. 

Within the hour, everyone is piling in through the front door and celebrating. You’re not sure where the food and drinks came from but you’re almost certain Compress had something to do with it. You join them, happy to eat real food and feed off the excitement of the room. Eri is settled into the same bedroom space as Toga, she seems relieved to be here which makes you a little sad. Twice made her a bed and other basic necessities but it’s still a boarded up, musty old house with a bunch of strangers. Compress and Dabi are taking shots together and laughing about something that happened earlier. You talked to Spinner for a while before Eri came in, now he’s teaching her to play Animal Crossing on his switch. It's cute. Shigaraki is nowhere to be seen, you hope he isn’t avoiding you after earlier. 

As if you’d summoned him with your thoughts alone, he texts you.

meet me at the building two doors down 

you know the one

Curiously, you grab your jacket and slip out the door. No one notices, they’re all too busy cheering on Eri as she catches her first fish. 

The late-September air hits your face, feeling almost refreshing. It’s been over a week since you’ve had a chance to explore the surrounding buildings, most of your free time has been eaten up by league planning. It’ll be nice to get out for a bit, even if your heart is nearly pounding out of your chest at the thought of whatever you’re walking into. You really hope this is a fun lets-get-out-of-the-house type evening and not a don’t-ever-touch-me-again conversation but it’s been a long day already and your quirk is down to a mere flicker. 

Passing through the door and down a corridor you found last week, you see Shigaraki’s dusty blue hair glow in the moonlight. He’s standing near a wall in what used to be the main room of the old warehouse, surrounded by broken concrete and bent rebar from the collapsed roof. With only the full moon to illuminate the space, you tiptoe through the path the two of you previously forged until you’re standing right in front of him. The light hits his features softly. For the first time in a long time, he doesn’t look upset.

“I thought this would be a better celebration,” he says, fingernails digging into his neck. Stepping forward, you pull his hand away. Your grip on his wrist lingers. Even in the dim lighting, you can see his cheeks turning pink. His eyes meet yours before his gaze flicks down to your mouth and back up.  

A dizzying amount of visions surround you, but you pay them no mind as your lips crash into his. To your surprise, he kisses you back with even more passion. Pressing his rough lips into yours like he’s never wanted anything more in his life. You drop his wrist, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and sliding your fingers into his hair. He sighs into your touch. His hands wrap around you, a few fingers carefully peeled back. Turning slightly, he presses you back into the wall, hands sliding to the concrete behind you as you feel the weight of him against your chest. Giving his hair a gentle tug, your tongue meets his as he gasps. He returns the movement, his soft tongue a fun contrast from his chapped lips.

With every breath, the smell of him fills your lungs. He smells faintly of the cheap soap you’ve all been sharing at the hideout and a subtle scent between autumn leaves and rain that’s reminiscent of his quirk. Everything about him surrounds you and nothing else matters. 

Time stands still while the two of you spend the rest of the evening intertwined in the wreckage.

next chapter - a new end masterlist - bnha masterlist

Taglist: @tomuratoucher @aryuunachigiri @shigarakislaughter @foxyboy0

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Fear is a Dangerous Thing (Part 10)

A friend edited this for me because my brain is so mushy today but I haven't checked their work. Let me know if you find anything wrong.

TW: Torture, child abuse, descriptions of violence, panic attacks

Previous | Masterpost

Tim led the way to the meeting hall and opened the door to the meeting room where a bunch of the core members of the JL were already sitting. “Right, thank you for coming,” Tim started as Nightwing ushered the rest of them into the room, leading them to four empty chairs that were probably supposed to be for the teens and Nightwing. Instead the rest of the Teen Titans stood in the back and Hyena and Phantasm were sat between Hood and Nightwing. The collected members of the JL made various sounds of shock and anger at the sight of them, (Constantine looked green around the gills).

Robin completely ignored all of them and carried on as if nothing was wrong. “I’ve recently become aware of a troubling conspiracy that the Justice League must not be aware of.”

“Robin, what are they doing here?” Batman growled, watching Hyena and Hood warily.

“Phantasm is the newest member to Teen Titans, and both she and Hyena have been directly harmed by this conspiracy, so I invited them both to be here,” Robin said calmly. “Besides, though I independently verified all of it, the majority of my information originally came from Hyena. So if you have any questions at the end they’d probably be best directed to him.” Batman opened his mouth again and Robin raised his voice slightly, “Hold your questions till after the presentation please,” Robin chided before he switched to the next slide and carried on as if nothing had happened.

The presentation contained just about everything they needed to know, about the anti-ecto acts and the entire group of people that they targeted including a few members of the JL if the GIW ever got brave enough. It included that they had been experimenting on sentient and sapient beings and killed multiple people, that they were affiliated with the government and had plans for weapons of mass destruction specifically targeting these beings, and that they had taken over a small town and instilled a complete media blackout.

In other words they were unethical and illegal and the fact that the JL had allowed it to happen was nearly unforgivable.

“That concludes my presentation,” Robin announced, “If there are any-”

“Before you wrap up I have some… supplemental material. Because it’s one thing to hear about it and another thing to see it. I want you to see it,” Hyena interrupted with venom in his voice as he got up. Robin looked confused but he surrendered the projector remote to Hyena and allowed him to plug in his USB. Before he started it Hyena went back to his seat and glanced at Phantasm, hesitating for a moment.

“Little Star, would you mind leaving the room? Or coming here. I don’t want you to see this,” Danny said softly and Phantasm looked at him, judging his expression for a moment before she nodded and slid out of her chair and onto his lap. She had regressed just a little after everything, acting younger and more subservient for lack of a better word. She allied allowed  him to cup the back of her neck and hide her face against his shoulder before he started clicking through the images.

The first one was a picture of him as Phantom with Sam, Tucker, and Jazz, then the death certificates of everyone in the photo besides him. Next was a picture of Phantom when he’d first been captured by the GIW, crying, collared and gagged, looking at the person behind the camera with a pleading expression and obvious fear. There were many more after that, all bloody. They had kept a proper muzzle on him the entire time so he couldn’t scream, so his face was hidden somewhat. They showed him with his arms cut open or even off, his chest cut open and broken apart so you could see all his organs, his throat dissected and the skin pinned apart, and many worse things.

With each picture the life faded from his eyes, he was still alive in all of them but the fear, and pain, and any possible hope died in his eyes as he dissociated from the situation over years. Then there was a collection of other images, Ellie strapped to a table, destabilizing, then in the tube. Vlad’s intake photo collared and bound, then his autopsy. Ember with her arm cut off and screaming. Finally a somewhat blurry photo Danny had taken himself after his escape of the makeshift stitches and bulging wound, he had to just shove a few organs back in after all, the blood, pus, and ectoplasm leaking out of it. Someone gagged, Danny didn’t look to see who.

“In that first photo I had just turned 16, the GIW took me soon after that, killing everyone who tried to protect me from them. They kept me for two years, you just saw what they did, and the results. The GIW may seem inept, and they often are, but they are also sadistic and ruthless. They do real harm. Phantasm and I are the only people still alive to testify about it, and only then because I’m functionally immortal and she destabilized before they could get far.”

Once he finished he turned off the projector and let Ellie up and off of his lap, allowing her to slip back into her seat as he got up to grab his USB. The room was silent for a long moment, everyone's expressions ranging from furious, to heartbroken, to dissociated. Martian Manhunter, Wonder Woman, and Zatana in particular looked like they would like to tear the entire organization apart with their bare hands right now!

Jason felt a bit sick. He really would have liked a warning that Danny was going to do that because, even though he had seen the scars, it was a very different thing to see the wounds themselves. They were just as extensive as he had feared. At least now he understood why Danny had had so many panic attacks this week, if he’d been setting that up in the background it was half a wonder he hadn’t had more!

“What do you mean you're functionally immortal?” Batman demanded.

“They’re threatening the Infinite Realms?” Constantine squeaked.

“How have we let them get away with this!” Lamented Martian Manhunter.

All three nearly at the same time, it was an explosion of sound as a few others spoke as well, or tried to respond. Jason wrapped an arm around Danny’s shoulder, feeling him shaking a little bit, that had been very brave of him and Jason did think it would have the effect Danny wanted, but this explosion of emotion had to get out of the way.

One of the louder voices in the room though, was Superman, and Jason did not like what he was saying.

“Are the people of the Infinite Realms a threat?” Superman asked Constantine. “Should we have weapons to defend ourselves against them?”

Which, honestly, were fair questions but now was Not the time! Jason was sure the people from the Infinite Realms could be a threat but they hadn’t been and they had a very good reason to defend themselves. These were sentient people, would he be asking the same questions about a new species of mer? But he had already known Superman could be surprisingly intolerant for someone with his reputation.

“If we need to defend ourselves against the Realms we’re already fucked!” Constantine nearly shouted at Superman. “We should be dealing with this and be very grateful that they don’t have a king to organize them against us right now!”

“That could just make them more dangerous! If there’s no leader that we can make a treaty with then how can we trust them?” Superman argued.

“You don’t have to trust someone to know what the GIW is wrong!” Manhunter accused furiously.

“That’s not what I’m saying, of course it’s wrong,” Superman tried to placate, but it wasn’t working on Manhunter, and it wasn’t working on Danny either.

Jason and Ellie clocked it first, that the temperature in the room had been steadily dropping and was now almost ten degrees cooler than it had been at the start of the meeting. When Jason glanced over with concern he saw Hyena sitting perfectly still, his chest heaving in short shallow breaths and his eyes fixed on Superman, swirling with a very dangerous shade of green. Jason stood abruptly, slamming his hands down on the table in front of Hyena, startling him enough that his building rage turned sharply into fear and he flinched back, knocking over his chair.

"What-" Someone asked indignantly into the sudden silence as Danny backed up quickly till he hit the wall, curling in on himself.

"Everyone who doesn't know our faces, out!" Jason ordered abruptly.

"You can't just-"

"He's having a panic attack and you're making it worse! You know how dangerous panic can be in someone with powers! OUT!" He ordered and, begrudgingly but swiftly, he was obeyed and the heroes filed out of the room. The only ones left were Batman, Nightwing, Robin, and Phantasm. Jason ignored all of them.

He took off his helmet as he approached Danny quickly and crouched in front where he was curled on the floor, eyes unfocused. Jason unlatched Danny’s muzzle and took off one of his gloves, hearing a gasp behind him as he slapped Danny with an open palm, cupped for more sound than sting, enough to bring him back to the here and now. He grabbed Danny's face and forced him to look towards Jason.

"Look at me Cub," He cajoled, but Danny didn't hear, still reeling and panting. "Look at me!" Jason ordered this time and Danny obeyed, focusing on him finally. "What do you need?"

"Hold me," Danny gasped.

"Hold you or Hold You?" Jason asked.

"Hold Me," Danny hissed as he practically threw himself at Jason who braced himself and grabbed Danny quickly. He dragged them both up and spun Danny around, getting a hold on both of his wrists with opposite hands and wrapping Danny's own arms around his waist like a makeshift straight-jacket.

Jason stepped back into a fighting stand pulling Danny with him so he was off balance, and leaned back, bracing himself and keeping his head out of range as Danny thrashed and snarled in his grip, getting out his energy without trying to get away.

Jason didn't know how long it went on, but he knew his shoulders were sore by the time Danny went limp again in his hold, finally breathing properly again.

"Okay?" Jason asked sternly.

"Ya, okay. Thank you," Danny responded, meek and tired. Finally aware of what was going on around them he looked at the others in the room, and winced a little when he saw the worry and fear on Ellie’s face. Tim and Dick look worried too, Batman… Danny couldn’t tell what he was feeling. “Sorry about that guys, I’m okay now,” Danny said as Jason let him go slowly, easing him back into supporting his own weight.

Ellie rushed to hug  him and Danny hugged back, pressing his face into her hair. Dick approached more slowly, avoiding sudden movements that might freak Danny out again. “Are you sure you’re okay? That was… a lot. I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through.”

“That shouldn’t have happened-” Batman started, and Jason had no idea how he was planning to end that sentence because Danny didn’t let him.

“Well it did, you can’t save everyone, and now it’s too late. I’m never going to be what I was before they broke me,” He said, blunt and honest, Jason winced.

“Are you alright to bring the JL back in? They’ll have questions. If not it’s alright, Hood can take you home and we can handle the rest,” Robin told Danny.

“If you do stay I’ll make sure they behave themselves,” Nightwing put in with a grim set to his jaw.

Now Danny could read Batman’s expression, he looked startled. He hadn’t known Nightwing and Robin had gotten so close to Hood and Hyena behind his back. Danny wondered if he was more likely to question their judgment or his own in the face of this revelation.

“No, I can stay. I want to stay,” Danny insisted. He had been worked up already, and then upset by what Superman was saying, especially since he already didn’t have a particularly high opinion of the big blue boy scout since his treatment of Kon. “As long as they all don’t yell over each other like that again, too much noise,” Danny said, shaking his head.

 Danny slowly eased Ellie out of his arms, guiding her back to the table so he could slump back in his own chair. He dropped his face into his hands and took a few deep breath, Jason could practically see him counting to ground himself. Quietly he approached and scooped up their masks again, putting his helmet back on before gently nudging Danny’s arm and putting the muzzle down in front of him.

“Agreed. They shouldn’t have behaved that way in front of outsiders to begin with. I’ll talk to them." He started to leave before pausing and looking between Hyena and Phantasm. "It was brave of you to come to us about this. If there is any protection the two of you need to make sure that you do not face consequences from these people, we will gladly provide it.” Batman said and swept out of the room.

Danny lifted his head and saw the mask, giving Jason a little smile before he put it back on, doing the buckle up behind his head again and making sure it was secure on his face. He was as ready as he was going to be to face the rest of the JL again. At least Batman seemed to hate him less than he did before he knew a bit more of Danny’s backstory and exactly why he was like this. He thought that was fair, he didn’t think that anyone could remain sane after everything he had been through.

There was a knock on the door and Nightwing opened it, the rest of the assembled JL members filed back in, more quiet and calm now. They took their seats again, Superman looked a little sheepish, Kon paused to squeeze both Phantasm and Hyena’s shoulders, Danny patted his hand lightly giving him a grateful look. He’d like to have a better bond with Kon, all of the Teen Titan team really, but Kon in particular, he deserved a better support network with such shitty progenitors.

“He’s telling the truth,” Constantine cut in before the ruffled feathers around the table could progress to fighting again. “We do not want to mess with those fuckers, being beneath their notice, and letting them keep that tyrant king of theirs locked up, is the best that we can hope for there."

“We’re sorry our response wasn’t ideal,” Wonder Woman told Hyena diplomatically. “It was a shock, but that’s no excuse for making this harder on you. It was brave of both of you,” She praised.

“Thank you,” Hyena said, leaning back in his seat, his hands still pressed flat against the table. “I want to make it clear that the people of the infinite realms are a threat. It contains every afterlife, demons and gods and various other ancient and powerful beings. Violence is a culture and a language. However, most of us have very little interest in the living and the mortal. Despite being without a monarch there are rules about interacting with the living worlds, humans don’t exactly put up an entertaining fight anyway, a bit boring all around,

“All of this to say, if you don’t antagonize the Infinite Realms the Vast majority of its inhabitants will continue to happily ignore you, and if you do antagonize them you will lose.” The declaration held no doubt at all”

Hyena inclined his head towards Constantine in a subtle gesture of gratitude for the backup. “With that in mind if you ever have to deal with something from the Infinite Realms, call me. I’m from this world but I’m of the Infinite Realms as well, as long as Hood agrees, I will help.”  

“As long as Hood agrees?” Batman questioned, his gaze sharp. Next to him Constantine hissed and moved to elbow him before apparently thinking better of it.

“Yes. You know this Batman,” Hyena chided him, rolling his eyes at the super hero. “I am… potentially stronger than any one individual here, but I answer to him. You need my help, ask him.”

“If you want a demonstration I’m sure he’d be happy to provide. Just not where there’s anyone to get caught in the crossfire,” Jason put in smugly. “Right Hyena?”

“Oh absolutely,” Danny agreed with an unnervingly feral cackle. “I can survive in space, maybe Big Blue and I can give the moon a few more craters! Wait, no, probably better not use the moon we might knock it out of orbit. Mmmm Neptune?”

“Maybe some other time!” Constantine squeaked before anyone could make the mistake of taking a Realms creature up on his offer to fight.

“Too bad,” Hyena sighed leaning back in his seat, his mask hiding his pout. “I haven’t really gotten to let loose in ages.”

“We’ve gotten off topic,” Martian Manhunter said. Jason bit back a laugh at how quickly Danny subsided after being chided by his favourite hero. “What are we going to do about the GIW?”

[gunnerfc]

First Times | Leah Williamson x USWNT!Reader

Inspired by “First Times” by Ed Sheeran, perhaps solely because of the line about “Wembley” lol

Collection of different firsts with Leah

WC: 1543

Warnings: none! Just fluff (with little angst in the 'first fight')

First meeting

Playing England was always a tough match, both teams always wanting to prove something. During the pre-match warm-ups, your eyes kept drifting toward a certain English defender. If you had been caught, you would have said it was because you wanted to understand how she defended since you were a forward, but that would have been a lie. You were distracted by Leah’s beauty, her confidence going in for tackles, and the way it all seemed effortless for her. You didn’t know it then that Leah knew you were staring, but under your subtle watch, Leah could sense herself blushing, feeling nervous even though it hardly showed. 

The two of you went head-to-head a lot during the match, it seemed that every time you were close to getting a shot off on goal, Leah was there to prevent the goal. It was during a corner for the US when Leah first spoke to you. You had felt a hand on your back as you were waiting for the corner to be taken, though you didn’t think anything of it until you heard her make a joke about your pre-match studying failing. Leah had caught you off guard as the ball soared right over your head as you made no attempt to head the ball towards to goal.

The match had ended in a zero-zero draw and as players from both teams shook hands, you and Leah purposely gave a quick handshake to others as you passed on your way towards each other. Leah had an annoying smirk on her face as you stuck out your hand, ready to say “good game.” She beat you to it though, saying something along the lines of “we should do it again sometime.”

First kiss

After the international break, you both went back to your clubs, Leah to England and you to Spain. During the club season, the two of you kept in contact, texting and calling each day just to talk to one another. With the Champions League underway and a trip to England to play Chelsea, you two had planned a date for when you had an off day in London. The training for the game had been harsher than the rest, determined to end the English club’s hopes of making it further in the competition. By the time you had free time rolled around, you were bursting with excitement to see Leah in person again.

Leah had conceived you to let her plan the whole date under the guise of “being your official tour guide” even though you had told her this was not your first time in London. The date started in a café, Leah insisting on showing you her favorite place to get a quick bite. Leah showed you around London, making sure to show you both the normal tourist spots as well as the spots only locals would know about. The date lasted well into the night but eventually had to come to an end as you needed to get back to the team’s hotel before curfew.

Leah made sure to walk you back to your room, both of you enjoying the silence between you as you both stood outside your door, not wanting the date to end. As you opened your mouth to tell the blonde goodnight, she broke the silence first with “can I kiss you?” You felt your skin heat up, knowing Leah could see the blush coating your face. You nodded with a small smile and waited for her to close the gap between the two of you. You swore it felt like the kisses in the movies where the characters feel fireworks as Leah’s lips connected with yours. You were the first to pull away, not wanting to go any further on the first date. You both mumbled a quiet “goodnight” with big smiles before parting ways for the night.

Saying 'I love you' for the first time

Dating Leah for the past few months had been some of the best months of your life, despite the distance between the two of you. It was currently the off-season for both of you and you had planned to spend a large part of your time in London with Leah to make up for the time spent apart. The two of you worked well together and getting able to spend some much-needed quality time together, only made you more confident in the fact that you loved Leah, even if you hadn't explicitly told her.

You and the blonde defender had spent the day shopping for some little gifts for your family, walking around London holding hands, not caring about anything but the other. After making it back to Leah’s later that night, the two of you decided to spend the rest of the night on the couch watching random movies, content with just sitting with each other. Sometime during the fifth movie of the night, you could sense Leah’s breath even out, her exhaustion from being out all day catching up to her. You watched as her chest rose and fell, overcome with love for the defender. You made an effort to brush a piece of her hair back behind her ear, mumbling “i love you” not thinking she would have heard you. But as you watch her face turn a light shade of red, you knew she was not as asleep as you thought. Before you could get anything out, Leah sleepily replied with “i love you too” before rearranging her body to rest her head on your shoulder.

First fight

Up until recently, your relationship with Leah was running smoothly, with no big disagreements or misunderstandings. However, with the stress of the season staring back soon, Leah was entirely preoccupied with making sure she was as fit as she could be. This came at the expense of her slightly neglecting your relationship. You knew to give her space, you understood the stress as your season in Barcelona was about to begin as well, but you still made an effort to send her a quick message throughout the day to let her know you were thinking of her, even if you knew she wouldn't respond. 

The season was well into the swing of things and the communication between you and your girlfriend was nowhere near where it used to be and it was starting to put a strain on things. It wasn’t until a particularly bad game with Arsenal that your girlfriend truly sensed something was wrong. She hadn't played her best and refused to acknowledge that it was because of what was going on between the two of you. You had called her after you knew she had made it home, having watched the game and seeing your normally confident, fearless girlfriend miss one too many tackles and allowed a few balls through that she typically would have stopped.

In hindsight, calling her when you knew she was beating herself up was not the best decision to make, but you wanted to make sure she knew it was okay to make a few mistakes and that she could make them up during the next game. As Leah answered your call, you could sense the fight coming but after hardly hearing from the defender for days, you decided to risk it. The fight had started over her mistakes which then snowballed into her blaming you for said mistakes. This led to you bringing up her lack of communication with you and seemed to piss the blonde off even more, Leah stating that she didnt have to talk to every minute. Leah regretted the words the second they left her mouth and knew she truly messed up when all you did was scoff and hung up the phone. Each attempt to call you right back failed as you declined each call. 

The complete radio silence from you lasted for about a week until you got injured during the El Clásico against Real Madrid. It wasn’t a serious injury but it was going to keep you for a few weeks. As you lay in bed that night, your phone rang and not thinking about checking the called ID, you picked up, hoping to get rid of whoever was calling quickly. As soon as the word “hello” left your mouth, you heard your English girlfriend’s familiar accent on the other line. Leah didnt give you time to fully respond before she began rattling off an apology you could barely understand because she was talking very quickly. Having to say her name pretty loudly to get her attention, Leah finally let out a breath before muttering a “sorry.” The rest of the night was Leah apologizing for her lack her communication and the words she had said the week before, having stated that watching you go down in the middle of the game made her realize she hated thinking that she may have had some influence on the injury knowing your thoughts most likely hadn't stopped revolving around the fight between the two of you. The two of you spent the rest of the night talking everything out before you fell asleep on the phone due to the exhaustion from the match and the pain of your injury.