#...my mum got me tipsy so...

[hannyhannybee]

Hungarian sausage. Polish sausage.

...I'm easily entertained. (Also, maybe just a teeny tiny bit drunk, shhh.)

[sparklingchim]

maybe in another universe; m |jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 6.2k

tropes: idol!jungkook, angst, childhood friends, exes to lovers?, smut

rating: 18+

warnings: protected sex, making out, groping, fingering, jk is saur in love <3, oc is an overthinker, they're v needy, he loves watching her cum <3, giggly kisses, jk wants to hit it raw so bad 👉🏼👈🏼, one (1) boob squeeze i think, oc scratches his back 🤭

summary: jungkook is tipsy as he wanders the streets of seoul, and still, you're all he can think about.

a/n: it's bestie jk's bday!!! so here's a little fic n i swear i was gonna post smth fluffy but...here we are!!!!! sorry not sorry </3 love u

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

“I need you.”

“What?”

“I miss you so bad.”

“Are you drunk?”

“I love you. So much. It kinda hurts.”

“Jungkook.”

Silence. Except for the faint noises of cars passing by.

You hear a little sigh. “Missed hearing you say my name.”

Your fingers clasp tighter around your phone. “Why’d you call?” It’s 2 a. m., and the only reason you answered is because you were worried. This is the first time he’s called since the breakup.

“Just ‘cause,” he mumbles. You can hear the pout he’s speaking with. “We have a one week break from tour and I came back to Korea. Missed home and Mum, and you.”

“You’re in Busan, then?”

“Seoul.”

He’s here. So close.

You shake your head. Take a steady breath to calm your giddy heart. You shouldn’t care.

“Was at my parents’ for two...three days.” After a short pause, he continues, “Been wanting to talk to you all day long, but I didn’t have enough courage.”

“I mean...” You slump back against the couch, your head falling back. “There isn’t anything for us to talk about.”

“No?” he asks, confused. “I’ve got so much to say, though.”

“I meant, like, we shouldn’t be talking. At all. ‘Cause we’re – we’re done.” You thought you were. You thought you made it clear when you broke up with him.

“Haven’t you missed me at all?” He sounds both accusing and sad, and you think your heart breaks a little. “I think about you constantly,” Jungkook whispers, his confession carrying a soft hopelessness through the phone.

You sit up straight. “How much did you drink?”

“Hmm, not much,” he answers. “I’m not drunk!” he quickly adds. “Just needed some alcohol to have enough courage to call you.”

“You drank because of me?”

“You’ve never done this?”

“I’d like to say it wasn’t because of you.”

“So... you’ve been thinking about me too?” he asks tentatively.

You close your eyes. “Is this a conversation we should be having?”

Jungkook heaves a defeated sigh. With your eyes closed, you can almost picture him standing outside, the chill of the night air mixing with his feelings of loneliness. Maybe he’s pacing, or just staring into the distance, eyes weary with a faint trace of frustration mixed with vulnerability etched on his face.

“You can hang up if you want. I just hoped we could talk a bit. I’ve been – I’ve been feeling lonely and a little sad, and I couldn’t get you out of my head,” he babbles. “I’m sorry if you don’t wanna talk.”

You wish you could be cruel – could be a cynic and just hang up. But you can’t. He is tipsy and emotional, and you still love him too much.

“No, it’s fine.” If only he knew how much you’ve been wanting to hear his voice again. “I didn’t expect a call like this tonight, that’s all,” you add, pulling your legs up to your chest. “Are you on your way home?”

“Yeah. I’ll be there soon.”

“You have the dorm all to yourself?”

“The dorm? Ah, yes, I was the only one to fly back to Korea. The others stayed in the US.”

You hug your knees with one arm.

“Why are you still up so late?” Jungkook asks, as if he isn’t the one roaming around, tipsy and a bit of a heartbroken mess, in the city in the middle of the night. He does all that and yet worries about you.

“I was just eating.” Your eyes drift to the remnants of food in front of you. “And watching a drama.” The big screen is on mute. You hurriedly searched for the remote to turn off the sound once you saw the caller’s name.

“With your mum?”

“No, she’s at the studio. I think she’s finishing up some songs,” you say. Your mum left sometime in the evening, saying she’d had a sudden spark of inspiration and needed to go to the company. You bet she won’t come home until 4 a.m. “I couldn’t sleep and was craving some tteokbokki, so...”

“From the restaurant at Gangnam?”

A soft, hesitant smile blossoms on your face. “They make it the most delicious.”

He mutters a wistful sound. “I haven’t had it in so long.”

Your fingertips gently tap against your knees in a slow rhythm. “You should definitely have it before you leave again.”

“With you?” Just two words and yet they’re filled with so much innocent hope.

Your fingers halt.

“Oh?”

“Would you not want to see me?”

“I’m not sure if we should.”

“But do you want to?” He’s met with silence from your side. “You were one of the reasons I really wanted to come back to Korea.”

“But what if I don’t want to meet up?”

“Then don’t open the door.”

“I don’t...What door?”

“Your door,” he answers conversationally.

You hurriedly scramble to your feet and walk to the door. “You’re here?” The screen on the intercom shows Jungkook, holding up his phone against his ear and patiently waiting.

“You watching me?” Jungkook teases, playfully cocking his head to the side as he stares directly into the camera.

“Oh.” You take shy step back. Blood rushes to your cheeks.

“Open the door for me? Please?”

You don’t think it’s a good idea to let Jungkook in. But his doe eyes. His pleading doe eyes. They do it for you.

You buzz him in and, while you wait for him, you try to calm your racing heart.

When the elevator doors open and Jungkook steps out, you’re struck by the sight of him after months apart. You take in every detail: his tousled hair, his tired but still striking eyes, the way the light catches the contours of his face. He looks so handsome, so achingly familiar. You’re drinking him in with your eyes, unable to believe he’s actually here.

“I thought you were heading to the dorm,” you say as Jungkook steps out of the elevator.

“I didn’t say that.” A pout graces his face.

He said he was heading home.

“I missed you,” Jungkook says, and suddenly you become awfully aware of the situation unfolding before you. You have to blink twice to make sure you’re not just picturing a hologram of Jungkook in your apartment. This time, he is real. Not a figment of your imagination.

“Me too,” you admit with a heavy heart.

A lopsided, sorrowful grin appears on his mouth. “Can’t bring yourself to say it back?”

“Jungkook, you-” You shake your head, sighing as your scramble for words. “You shouldn’t even be here.”

It’s the middle of the night, and upon answering a call from Jungkook, he stands right in front of you – just like in the dreams you secretly have at night when you’re feeling lonely again. It shouldn’t be this easy. It really shouldn’t be this easy for him to say these things and fall back into a natural pattern with you when you’ve been crying yourself to sleep at night, wishing your love for him would die.

And yet, here you are, with dangerous words at the tip of your tongue, barely resisting the intense urge of your heart to scream how much it has been wanting him back.

“But let’s not – let's not just stand here.” You point to the slippers next to him. “Take off your shoes and I’ll...I dunno, put on a movie?” You go back into the living room as Jungkook hangs up his coat and follows you.

“Oh, that looks delicious,” Jungkook exclaims when he spots the leftover tteokbokki on the coffee table.

“I can heat it up for you, if you want,” you offer. Judging by the way his tongue wets his bottom lip, it’s clear he’d appreciate that.

Jungkook trails behind you into the kitchen.

“So, watchu been up to?” He leans his forearms on the counter, watching you from across the island as you put the tteokbokki into the microwave.

He’s been in this kitchen countless times before. He’s made you tea when you were sick, prepared hot chocolate when you needed comfort, and knew exactly where to find the snack stash for movie nights. He’s even prepared breakfast for you and your mum on some mornings. But tonight, he can’t shake the feeling of being a stranger here. The memories of those moments feel distant, like a blurry movie he watched when he was too young to fully remember, leaving him with only a vague sense of familiarity.

“Just, you know, studying, working. The usual.” You turn to him, mimicking his position on the other side of the counter.

“So much on your plate that you couldn’t reply to my messages?”

His gaze is intense and shameless, and you look away.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to reply to messages sent by your ex.” You turn around, leaning your back against the counter. “What am I supposed to text back when you tell me that you miss me?”

“Hey, just last week I asked how you were doing. You could’ve replied to that one.” You can sense the sulkiness in his voice, mingled with a touch of light-heartedness, but you don’t turn to face him.

Jungkook closes the distance between you.

“You don’t want me in your life anymore? Like, at all?”

Your engulfed by his scent as he stands next to you, struggling to form a proper answer as you hesitantly peer into his face.

The microwave dings, and you breathe again.

“When was the last time you had this?” You place the plate in front of him and hand him the chopsticks.

“It’s been a few months. Before the tour started, I was dieting, so, maybe 5 months?” Jungkook doesn’t notice the roll of your eyes when he mentions dieting, his attention focused on the hot tteokbokki between his chopsticks. “Mhmmm.” He closes his eyes tightly, tipping his head back as he tastes the food on his tongue. “So good.”

“Feels good to have a bit of home again before you leave?”

Jungkook nods vigorously, his eyebrows scrunched up as he eats more.

You find yourself smiling, only realising it when Jungkook mirrors your grin. A giddy thrill and a soft ache twist together inside you like a secret exposed to the light. Unable to bear the eye contact, you look away, hiding your smile by biting your bottom lip.

You notice Jungkook offering you a piece of tteokbokki in your peripheral vision. “No, thanks. I’m really full. I had a lot.” You rub your belly.

“You always used to steal bites of mine, even when you were full.”

“I used to steal your dessert. Not dinner,” you correct him. “I can never have enough dessert.” You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. “But that was when things were... different.”

Jungkook’s playful expression fades slightly. He chews slowly, contemplating your words. “Does it have to be that different?”

A delicate confession that hangs heavily in the air.

The warmth in your chest tightens, and you’re reminded again. Reminded of the reality you’ve both been trying to avoid – more so you than Jungkook.

“Maybe it does,” you reply, giving him a small, almost imperceptible nod. “Things change, people change.”

The weight of your words settles over both of you like a cold shadow.

Jungkook’s eyes search yours, as if trying to find a crack in the wall you’ve put up. “But what if some things don’t have to change? What if...some things are worth holding on to?”

So much longing and regret in his words, his eyes, his heart – he is blue everywhere.

“It’s not that simple, Jungkook.” The ache in your voice betrays the calm you’re trying to maintain. “We can’t just go back to how things were.”

He steps closer, and his familiar scent surrounds you again, making it so hard to act rationally when so many past memories swirl in your mind.

“I know we can’t go back. But I don’t want to lose you completely. Can’t we find a way to be something else? Something that works?”

The idea of keeping him in your life, even in a different way, tugs at you, but you know the danger in that. You know how easily the lines could blur again, how much harder it would be to protect your heart.

That reminds you, there are still pieces of Jungkook left in your room; t-shirts and sweatshirts scattered in your wardrobe.

Taking a deep breath, you push off the counter. “Before I forget, there are still some of your things in my bedroom.”

You catch the sudden confusion in Jungkook’s eyes, but you don’t let it deter you as you pad into your room.

“It’s just a few of your shirts. I’ve been meaning to give them back to you, but uh, I wasn’t sure how to approach you because I didn’t want to contact you, but anyways.” You grab the neatly folded pile of clothes from the back of your wardrobe. “Now you’re here, so.” You hold the pile out to him.

He regards his forgotten clothes with a slight raise of his brow. His hands don’t move to take them.

“They’re old anyway,” he says. “I don’t need them. Just throw them out.”

You hesitate, holding the pile tightly.

You won’t throw them out. He knows that too.

“Fine,” you shrug nonchalantly, storing his clothes back into your wardrobe. They sit there, a constant reminder that he still has a place in your life, even when he shouldn’t. Haunting every little corner that still belongs to him. But you’re just as guilty, allowing him to do so.

When you turn around again, you see the loaded expression on his face, and your immediate response is to ignore it – redirect his attention before he starts digging up old feelings, past memories, and forgotten promises that will only make you doubt the walls you’ve tried to put between you.

“I think you still have some tteokbokki left-”

“___.” Jungkook interrupts you, grabbing your hand. You feel the warmth of his skin, and you’re mortified and comforted at the same time. “I thought we would always speak comfortably with each other. No hiding, no walls – just the truth.”

“That was before the breakup,” you counter, barely able to hold his gaze. “There is no we anymore.”

“How can you say that when our whole lives have been intertwined? We can’t just pretend it all meant nothing, erase everything.”

“Being with me is an inconvenience for you, Jungkook.”

“Is that why you broke up?”

Ah, right. You never told him the real reason.

The night when you broke up with Jungkook was a bit chaotic.

You hadn’t planned on ending the relationship. Threads of worry had plagued you for some time, and you had been considering breaking up with him, but you never had the courage. You loved him, still do. And losing the one person you’ve trusted since childhood was terrifying.

But that night, while waiting for Jungkook at your favourite convenience store, you grew impatient. Waited for so long that you started eating ramyeon without him. As you sat by the window, gazing at the night sky, you decided that tonight you would break up.

Jungkook had always been busy, and you never minded it. Didn’t even mind it as you were eating ramyeon while pondering how to tell Jungkook. But Jungkook had so many things on his plate, so many worries, and you didn’t want to make his life more complicated by being his girlfriend. He tried so hard to always respond to your texts, tried to call at reasonable times instead of the middle of the night after practise, and promised to meet you at times other than when the sun had long fallen.

Jungkook needed to prioritise things that were more important to him.

And knowing his selfish tendencies, you needed to help him a little.

“Part of it, yeah,” you answer.

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate when he says, “You’re worth the inconvenience.”

You think he holds your hand a little tighter, but maybe you imagined it.

“I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you, and that night, I – I didn’t know if I would ever feel okay again.”

Jungkook was so used to you giving in. Was so selfishly used to having you whenever he wanted, that once you finally pulled away, his world had lost its gravitational pull. Suddenly, he was left adrift, circling aimlessly like a planet that had lost its orbit.

“I still don’t know. I miss you every night and keep wondering how to move on, but I’m not sure if that will ever happen. How do you move on from a love like ours?”

He’s known you for almost his entire life, and having you completely erased from his life felt like something he could never get over. Jungkook went a little insane. Everyone around him noticed his change in behaviour, but he pretended to be clueless, perhaps as a foolish act of hoping that you might return, change your mind, want him again, and never leave. It’s the hopeless romantic in Jungkook that makes him cling to shreds of hope for a better ending – a happy ending.

And maybe it’s not so hopeless after all, he thinks, as he watches your eyes sparkle with gentle love when you meet his gaze.

“Have you never thought about calling me?” he asks. “Never wanted to text back?”

“I almost do every night.”

“What makes you hesitate?” Jungkook steps closer, and it’s so dangerous, but you can’t keep pretending you don’t want him.

Which is why you whisper your next words, staring down at the small space retaining between your bodies.

“Because I know that I’d forgive and not fight.” You want to force your eyes back to him, but can’t. “It’s not like I wanted to break up. I just did it because I thought it was the wisest decision for us.”

“___.” It’s just a soft murmur of your name, slipping off his tongue with more love than it should, and it sends your heart fluttering far too easily. His voice draws your gaze up to him, and you’re met with eyes brimming with pure yearning and raw adoration. You never forgot how he looked at you, but you did underestimate the intense pull of his gaze – how it stirs something deep within you, even now.

“I thought it was for the better, but...” You trail off, lost in his eyes, forgetting what you were trying to explain and deny. Because what does it matter? How does anything matter when he’s here – when he’s here and not a single bit of his love for you has wavered?

Jungkook cups your cheek with his free hand. It pulls you closer to him. His thumb brushes gently across your skin, and the world outside of this moment blurs into insignificance.

You can feel your resolve crumbling, the walls you’ve built around your heart starting to fracture. It’s terrifying and comforting all at once, the way he’s always had this power over you – the way he can unravel you with just a look, a touch, a simple word.

“I don’t want to let you go,” Jungkook says, his voice tight with emotion. His hand remains on your cheek, as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go.

“Neither do I,” you confess, barely believing your own words. But voicing it out loud seems to untangle something within you that had been knotted and confused for so long.

Jungkook’s eyes search yours, making sure he heard you right, that this moment is real and not just another dream he’s afraid of waking up from. His thumb stills on your cheek, and you can feel the warmth of his palm spreading across your skin, grounding you, anchoring you.

“Is this okay?” He leans in the slightest bit.

You nod, muttering a small “Yeah” as your gaze lingers on his sparkling eyes, the soft curve of his nose, the tiny mole beneath his lip – everything that reminds you of longing, comfort and the feeling of home.

The moment his mouth presses against yours, you feel a surge of warmth. It’s tender and soft, his mouth brushing against yours with a mix of hesitance and longing. As the kiss deepens it becomes more fervent, more urgent, as if he’s trying to convey everything he’s been holding back.

Your lips move with a slow, deliberate rhythm, and the touch of his tongue sends shivers down your spine. There’s a slight pressure as he cups your face, wanting you closer, while his other hand slides down your back, settling on your waist.

“I hope you know that I didn’t come here with these intentions.” Jungkook murmurs against your lips, his voice husky. But you guide him towards your bed.

“I know. It’s okay.” You straddle his lap. “You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want you to.”

Jungkook’s hands are eager and exploratory, skimming over your shoulders, your back, and down to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. His chin rests in the crook of your neck as he breathes in deeply.

“You don’t know how much I missed you,” he mumbles, nose tickling your neck as he snuggles closer to you. “You missed me too, right?” he speaks with an innocent pout on his lips that you don’t even need to see – you know it’s there.

“Of course I did. Why would you think otherwise?” You run your fingers through his silky hair, which is a comfort for both you and him.

“I think I just need to hear you say it.”

He draws back, and a soft smile touches your lips as you see the achingly tortured expression contorting his face – traces of love and relief at having you so close, right where he wants you.

“I missed you.” You keep your eyes on him.

“Again,” he urges softly.

“I missed you.”

Your fingers gently curl around his face.

Jungkook’s lips brush against yours in a fleeting kiss. His forehead falls against yours as your words sink into him, straight to his heart.

“One more time? Please?”

A giggle slips out of you. “I missed you, Jungkook.”

Your laugh dies in your throat when he crashes his lips against yours, more forceful and passionate this time, pulling you so close to him, you feel everything.

Your hips move on their own, instinctively grinding against his lap. He’s hard and the bulge is right where you’re craving him the most. You kiss turns sloppy and needy and it’s filled with heavy breathing.

Jungkook’s hands are all over you. His touches leave tingling sparks everywhere. You’ve gone months without him, and every little brush of his finger makes you lose your mind. Especially when his hand dips into the front of your tiny shorts, lightly grazing the pad of his finger against your panties and making you twitch when he brushes over your clit. You break the kiss, inhaling sharply.

“I wanna make you feel good.” His words are hushed, a slight tremor tinging his voice. His fingers disappear into your panties, rubbing his middle finger along your folds and spreading your wetness. Jungkook is tender as he moves his finger, and you wish you could see him playing with you, watch him be so soft with you because he loves treating you with delicate care, and you love feeling like you’re everything to him.

Your hips buck as he circles your aching clit. You start whine softly as Jungkook applies a little more pressure, his steady, deliberate movements intensifying the sensations as he continues to rub your sensitive spot.

“You like it?” His gaze fixed intently on your reactions to his touches. His doe eyes drink up every nuance of your face and body – each twitch, shudder, and breath. His expression brightens with a trace of satisfaction.

“Feels good,” you reply shakily.

He has you making his fingers all sticky and wet. As Jungkook slowly teases your hole, drawing tiny circles and ever so slightly dipping the tip of his finger inside, your eyes close and your breath catches while you anticipate the familiar stretch of his finger.

Jungkook slides two fingers inside you, and your brows furrow as you feel them burying deep within your pussy. He moves them slowly, each stroke eliciting soft, breathy moans from you. The gradual, teasing rhythm amplifies your pleasure, and with each tender push, your senses heighten, making you ache for more.

“Move your finger like – oh. That’s right. Don’t stop, please.”

His fingers brush against your sweet spot continuously, making you grip his shoulders tightly, your nails digging into his skin as you try to anchor yourself and try to tame the soft trembles of your body as the pleasure reaches you everywhere.

Jungkook holds you close to him by having his hand placed firmly on the small of your back. He keeps you perched on his lap while you lose yourself in the feeling.

As the pleasure builds, you find yourself melting into him, whimpering his name in a gentle hush. The soft sounds of your voice blends with the rhythmic movements of his fingers.

Jungkook feels you tightening around him. He doesn’t increase his pace but keeps his steady pattern going, exactly how he knows you like it. You hide your face on his shoulder, overwhelmed by the fast-approaching high. Your muffled noises sharply contrasting with the squelching sounds coming your shorts.

“Let me see you,” Jungkook gently requests, tugging gingerly at your shirt to draw you back. It’s just a delicate tug, but it’s enough to pull you away from him. You’re too immersed by the intense feelings enveloping you to fully respond.

He catches the exact moment when your moan gets caught in your throat, your lashes flutter shut, and the sweetest glow settles on your face as you reach your climax.

He doesn’t tease you, instead, he lets you revel in the wave of euphoria that pulses through you, your thighs quivering as you gradually come down from your high. As our breath steadies, your foreheads touch, and you exhale heavily through your nose, tickling Jungkook’s face.

He smiles. His eyes reflect a deep satisfaction, because you’re happy and that’s enough.

Jungkook’s hands travel to your sides and he slowly strokes his palms up and down. Your body is warm and shaky and he wants to hold you forever.

“Is it okay that I want more?”

You nod, kiss him, probably a little deliriously, answering, “I want it just as much.”

Your hand glides under his sweater, fingers tracing the contours of his toned stomach. Jungkook wastes no a time pulling the sweater over his head, tossing it carelessly behind you. He helps you shimmy out of your shorts, discarding your clothes in a hasty rush, stealing giggly kisses between each movement, because you need to feel. He playfully comments on how cute your panties are. His finger lazily skims over the little pink ribbon before the material sinks slips down your legs and pools around your feet in a small heap. You giggle shyly.

Just as you want to sink onto your knees, Jungkook grabs you by the elbows, not letting you.

“Want you on the bed, ___. I need to feel you,” he says, voice strained with desperate need. Jungkook leads you onto the bed, gently laying you down. Your head sinks into the soft pillows. He spreads your legs, settling himself comfortably between them.

Your hair is fanned around your head against the pillow. Jungkook can’t help but stare, utterly captivated. He brushes a few strands away from your face, his fingertips lingering as if memorising every curve. His gaze holds a quiet affection, mingled with a sense of awe, like he is seeing you for the first time and falling for you all over again.

A curse slips his mouth as she stared down at your bare pussy, glistening and shining just for him, looking so pretty only for his eyes. For a few seconds, he allows himself to rub his tip over your wet folds. Just gentle brushes, nothing more. You don’t stop him, letting him play a little.

Jungkook is painfully hard, and he dares to slide his tip further down to tease your hole a little. His stare is fixed downcast while he pokes his cheek with his tongue to distract himself from the urge to push himself all the way as he minimally dips his head inside. Jungkook’s so sensitive, he thinks he could cum like this. He’d go insane if he slipped his cock into without protection. He’s let his mind wander to this fantasy a few times and he so desperately wants to feel all of you with no barrier, especially after not having you for so long, but you both have to be careful.

Someday, when you’re older, Jungkook thinks. When he can love you endlessly without always having to consider the consequences.

“Jungkook.” You pull him back to reality, and a faint pink flush colours his face.

He bends over and opens your nightstand drawer, searching for a condom. His fingers brush against several plastic foil packages, and he pauses, lost in thought. He thinks back to the last time he was over at yours. How many were left in the drawer then? Is his mind playing tricks on him, or were there more condoms the last time he was here?

While Jungkook’s mind drifts to you every night his head falls against the pillow in a different city each night – have you been letting other boys warm your bed?

You say his name again, forcing him out of his racing thoughts once more, this time with a note of impatience.

Jungkook tears open the wrapper, tosses it away along with his doubts, and focuses on you again. You chose him, and for now, that’s all that matters to him.

He rolls it down his length. Your eyes fixate on the slow connection of your bodies. Once he’s fully inside, a shaky whimper escapes your throat, trembling as it leaves you. Jungkook begins to move his hips with deliberate thrusts, and your head rolls back, eyes drifting to the ceiling as Jungkook finds his pace.

“You’re so pretty.” His eyes roam over your naked figure, so much adoration and maybe a hint of obsession hiding in them. The white covers beneath you are messy and chaotic, and you lie on top of them like a delicate masterpiece, a striking contrast to the chaos of the bed. The soft light casts a warm glow on your skin, highlighting every curve and contour. The soft swells of your boobs move with every thrust and he enjoys the sight of it.

You grow a little shy beneath his intense gaze. You turn your head and cover your face with your arm.

Jungkook lowers himself, clicking his tongue as he gently pulls your arm away. “Don’t.” His grip is firm on your wrist and he holds it against the covers, preventing you from hiding again. However, his hold on your chin is careful as he guides your gaze back to him. Fingers slightly caressing your skin. “I love everything about you, baby.” His words coax a small smile from you, which he acknowledges with an approving nod and a smile of his own. “You don’t need to hide from me.”

“It’s just been a while.” You bite your lip. The shyness still lingers, like spotting your crush in a crowded room and instinctively hiding, feeling all giddy inside.

Jungkook slows a little, buried so deep inside you, but his movements are precise, hitting the spot that makes your tummy clench.

“I know,” he says softly, tracing his thumb over your lip to free it from your clenched teeth. He plants a little kiss on your mouth, his tongue sliding over your bottom lip to soothe the ache you’ve caused yourself. “I don’t think I’ll last long,” Jungkook admits as his round nose brushes your cheek. You’re so wet and snug around him that he has to focus intently to keep from coming right away. You’re too good, too pretty, occupying every corner of his mind. “Missed you so much. You don’t even know.”

Jungkook’s head falls into the crook of your shoulder. His moans grow a little louder as he moves faster again. He can’t help himself. Feels too good. You wrap your legs around him, allowing him to bury himself even deeper. You pull him closer, throwing your arms around him to have him as close to you as possible while Jungkook repeatedly tells you how much he has missed you and loves you, how he never wants to let go of you and keep you to himself forever. How you are meant for him just as much he is meant for you.

Jungkook sneaks one hand between your bodies and grasps your breast. Keeps a firm squeeze around your flesh while your bed rhythmically hits the wall. All the tender murmurs and quiet gasps of your love had been missing from your room for so long that you began to doubt if Jungkook would ever again fill your bed with his warmth and whispers.

You feel the heat rising on your skin, growing with each passing second, and you can sense it on Jungkook’s body too. His back is hot, slightly slick with a sheen of sweat, and you can’t resist digging your nails into his muscled shoulders, leaving chaotic, frantic lines across his skin. A whine, which you try to suppress, tumbles from your lips as the tingling sensation spreads through you.

Jungkook pulls back, his movements weary yet determined, and peers at you through heavy-lidded eyes.

“Jungkook,” you mumble weakly, and he nods, because he knows.

With a gentle but firm motion, Jungkook shifts, guiding you both onto your sides. He slips an arm beneath your waist, holding you close to his chest as he continues to move inside you. The new position allows him to thrust deeper, and you gasp. His other hand slides down your thigh, hitching your leg over his hip to open you up further.

The intimacy of the position, with your bodies so close and intertwined, makes everything feel more intense, more personal. As you move together, your eyes lock. You see in his eyes the reflection of your own emotions, a mirror of longing, affection.

Tears begin to well up in your eyes, not just from the overwhelming pleasure, but from the sheer depth of the moment, the intimacy of it all, and how much you’ve missed him.

He notices the tears glistening in your eyes. “Baby,” he breathes. “Are those tears for me?”

“I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’m not letting you leave me again.” It’s a promise wrapped in desire. “That’ll never happen again.”

His hand on your waist grips you tighter, and his thrusts become more urgent until you’re both teetering on the edge.

Jungkook’s hips stutter as he loses control, and with one final, deep thrust, he’s all the way inside you, spilling into the condom with a low groan. At the same time, you reach your peak, your body clenching tightly around his length, breathy puffs escaping your lips as the intense tremors take over. Jungkook’s holds you steady through all of it.

He stays inside you, savouring the warmth and closeness for a few more moments before carefully pulling out. He presses soft kisses along your shoulder and neck, his breath still uneven as you both come down from the high.

Later, after Jungkook asked if it’s okay to stay – just as you had been plagued by the thought that he might want to leave, and sighed in relief upon realising you were on the same page, lovesick and obsessed after finding each other again – and after he asked if he could borrow one of his old t-shirts and you giggled, saying they are his anyway (they are more yours than his and you both know it), you’re now cuddled up in bed with your head on his chest, right on top of his heart where you belong.

“Forgot how comfy your bed is.” He nuzzles deeper into the mattress, wriggling beneath you.

“You should visit more often, then.”

Jungkook sniffs a surprised laugh at your flirty remark.

“I should, huh?” He brushes his knuckles over your back. “After the tour, I’ll make sure to drop by as often as possible,” he says. “So much that you might get sick of me.”

You smile. Banter and flirt and giggle with him a bit more before you both drift off to sleep.

But you wonder, every time your eyes flutter open in the dark, is it actually this easy to fall back into normality?

Pretend the last few months didn’t happen and continue as you had never been apart?

Questions swirl in your head all night long, but the answer to your doubts lies right beside you. Unlike you, he isn’t awake, grappling with what’s right and wrong – he’s softly sleeping, peacefully unconscious of your turmoil.

It makes you think, is it really this simple and you’re just too much? Or is it all a mess, and you’re the only one trying to make sense of it?

Maybe you had it all wrong.

And you wonder, the next morning, are you really that surprised to find the spot next to you empty?

[everlastingephemera]

among the whisperings, the champagne, and the stars | Spencer Reid

— or the one where Spencer takes you home after JJ and Will’s wedding and you spend the night discussing love, finding the one, and (happy) ever-after’s on your balcony. [Spencer Reid x fem!BAU reader]

Word Count: 7.3K. Proof-read.

Content Warning: FLUFF + ANGST (the inner monologue kind). SECOND-PERSON POV. No use of Y/N. Mutual pining, hopelessly romantic idiots in love (not that they’d admit it, but man, they cannot hide it), description-heavy (one day, I will master the art of dialogue, I will!), alcohol consumption, reader wears a dress, reader has a fear of heights (allow me to project for once), space imagery, mentions of God, slight canon deviation (What is Jeid again? Does Evolution really exist? Would Spencer drink post S2? I have opinions!) Let me know of anything else that should be mentioned.

Author’s Note: Woah, almost three months since I have been here! Sorry for that but my WIPs have me locked the fuck in and I want to do them justice. This might be my favourite thing that I have ever written, hence the Gatsby reference in the title! Season 7!Spencer is my favourite thing in the world and I have an extra soft spot for him during the wedding scenes/the finale in general. Might be too romantic and sappy but I am owning it because hopeless romantic!Spencer is canon to me! Hope you guys enjoy, feedback is always appreciated, and I am looking forward to being more active on here 🫶🏻

There’s not much to be said about weddings. Well, not much, not anything, that hasn’t already been said before, at least. That doesn’t mean that people will not continue to say all of it, though. That they won’t still try to find the words to capture the feelings that such a moment inspires in everyone, the happiness that being part of them elicits. No, on the contrary. It will all keep being said, it will all keep being celebrated as if for the first time.

And there’s certainly beauty in it, in seeing two people who love each other celebrating the promise of forever with those closest to them. Those who drown them in gifts and wishes of happiness and health and a life spent adoring one another through thick and thin. Yes, there’s definitely a lot of beauty in all of it.

But there’s also a melancholy that, despite how misplaced it seems in the context of such a wonderful moment, persists and thrives on making itself known, on taking root so deeply inside of you that you cannot possibly outrun it if you tried.

Not through the dancing, not through the drinking, not even through observing Spencer’s delightfully charming magic tricks saved for keeping Henry alert enough to witness his mum and dad getting married.

You tried. Desperately. Didn’t you always, anyway? You were a good sport like that. You’d mastered the art of trying. In more ways than one, time and time again.

You agreed (not without expressing significant reluctance at first) to get up on the “dance floor” which Rossi had set up in his mansion’s ridiculously enormous garden, and ignore the embarrassment you’d undoubtedly feel as you swayed out of sync when Penelope and Emily asked you to. You weren’t that much of a party-pooper, after all. 

You also agreed to slow dance with Spencer when he had walked up to you where you had drifted off walking around the backyard, eyes staring up more at the starlit sky than the ground ahead of you, even when you’d got a little too close to the edge of the pool in your tipsy, melancholic state. As always, he’d found you just in time to prevent an accident which would have left you drenched and feeling much too sorry for yourself for the rest of the night. 

You’d agreed because you’d never been good at denying Spencer anything, especially not when he looked at you with those big, doe, hazel eyes of his, which seemed to shine even brighter under the fairy-lit environment surrounding you, and that signature tight-lipped smile he always seemed to wear when you were around. 

You’d agreed because the mere fact that he’d asked you to dance made your heart flutter like crazy, and gave you a precious excuse to be inches apart from him — your right arm wrapped loosely around his neck, your left hand intertwined with his right one, slightly sweaty from the nervousness he’d fought to approach you with his request — as he twirled you around and guided you with far more technique than you’d imagined him capable of. 

You’d agreed because he’d turned you into a flustered, smiley mess with his jokes and his tidbits and his compliments, and fuck, did it all indulge that stubborn part of you which was hellbent on falling even more in love with your best friend and colleague against all hope and odds.

While the dancing might not have come easy in itself, though, it did the job of keeping you just cheerful enough well. But the drinking was a whole other story. Of course it was. After all, isn’t alcohol almost always a person’s outlet to cope with sadness? You were no exception to the rule tonight. And a good sport as you were, you’d not managed to shut up about Rossi’s champagne and wine collection since the moment you’d arrived to help with the preparations, even beating Spencer for the title of the earliest arrival of the night. 

Frankly, you didn’t care enough to count just how many glasses of champagne you’d indulged in. Not when you had guided Derek, whose eyebrows had remained playfully raised at you the whole way there, to the buffet to help him fix his serving and refill your empty glass. Not when Hotch’s eyes had narrowed slightly as you offered Beth and Jack a far warmer welcome than you usually did. Not even when you had stood up to give your impromptu speech, toasting to the newlyweds with a throwback to those days in New Orleans during a case what seemed too long ago now, when you were still a rookie profiler, and JJ couldn’t have possibly thought she’d be here, with her two favourite boys and the rest of her friends, celebrating what’s made for her. Not even when Rossi had to cut you off eventually because, as he’d said, you are getting too wordy again, you need to leave something for the rest of us to say, too, kiddo, and Spencer had squeezed your forearm gently in an attempt to sweetly coax you into quiet. You’d grumbled as you sat back down in your chair, but still, you were proud of yourself for not messing it all up and making both JJ and Will smile. 

Even if you didn’t care, though, Spencer seemed to do that just enough for the both of you. Because right as you went to reach for yet another glass of the fizzy, sugary liquid, he’d stopped you with nothing more than another gentle squeeze, and a (terribly disguised) amused but concerned whisper of just how much you’d already had. You’ve just had your fourth one. And you really wanted to ignore his looking out for you, but goodness, he was so gentle with you, you might actually cry about it. You both knew better than to think you’d ever admit you actually enjoyed when he actively proved how much he truly cared about you. And so, again, you proved just how much of a good sport you were, and let him have his way with you. You even offered him a teasing eye-roll, alongside one of your typical, not overly bold displays of affection that came with fixing his slightly-crooked bowtie, and smiling — I guess if you think I’m no fun drunk, doc, then I can’t have that happening. ‘m sorry, lovey. It did the job perfectly, tinting his earlobes a light pink colour, as he struggled to get rid of the lump in his throat your touch and your words inevitably caused.

It was when you’d been overlooking Spencer doing a magic trick for Henry, though, when that inexplicable melancholy gnawed at your insides the most, when it was especially impossible to deny it existed. 

You’d been on your way to find them to announce that JJ was all dressed and ready to walk down the aisle when you’d seen it. Spencer, looking as dapper as he ever had in that tuxedo of his, crouching down slightly to be on Henry’s level, who was now sporting a jacket slightly too large for his age, along with a tie identical to Will’s. You’d made it just in time to see Spencer extending his empty palm to Henry, his mouth open in an O shape, as he asked him if he’d seen his mum’s ring. Did you—do you have the ring, Henry? What? No? Where—Hey! Do you have the ring? He’d asked, referring to you then, voice all high-pitched as you blinked, and shook your head, your lips already turning upwards into a poorly disguised smile as you realised what was happening. Reaching behind his ear just when Henry had turned to look at you, he made the ring magically reappear, and you played into the whole thing, gasping as Henry blinked back up at him, clearly confused but still delighted. With Henry erupting into a fit of giggles, Spencer looked between you both, his own smile widening when he saw that you were grinning as much as Henry was. It was impossible not to, seeing him in his element, performing a magic trick for a little boy that he adored, and reminding you just why your stomach filled with butterflies and your heartbeat sped up when you were around him.

The image had still been fresh in your mind as you stood next to Spencer, overlooking Henry holding that same ring out to his mum on a cushion, as his dad put it on her finger, and promised to love her forever until death do them part. You hadn’t been sure which of the two images actually made tears appear in your eyes, or made you shyly glance up at Spencer, who stood inches taller next to you still, even while you wore the most uncomfortably high pair of heels you owned. You’d tried to fight them off, but as always, Spencer was so attuned to you in ways that couldn’t let you hide even if you wanted to. Even in a room full of people, even during a wedding ceremony. 

Hey. You okay? He mouthed when he looked over at you, his expression immediately softening once he took notice of your teary eyes.

I’m alright, lovey. You mouthed back, shaking your head as nonchalantly as possible, before returning your attention to JJ and Will exchanging their vows. 

Still, Spencer’s gaze remained locked on you for a moment longer. When he focused straight ahead, he only did it after his knuckles brushed along the back of your hand. Intentionally yet casually enough, a brief and reserved touch which was still enough to make your breath catch inside your throat. And still, you’d tried your best to ignore the tears, but more so what caused them. 

The realisation that if you ever were to want something akin to forever, if you had imagined yourself finding it, the one person you wanted it with was the one standing next to you.

And that realisation dawning on you was enough to have you drifting towards the buffet as most of the others were either still mid-conversation, dancing, or getting ready to call it a night. You’d promised yourself you’d hail a cab home soon enough, just… Perhaps after you’d indulged in Rossi’s fine champagne collection a little more. Scanning the tables for your any remaining bottles, your nails clinking rhythmically against the tall, empty glass in your hand, you frown when you realise every one of them was empty. Petulantly, you turn around, expecting to spot one of the waiters Rossi’d hired for the night. Instead, you find yourself face to face with the tuxedo-clad man who was the very reason you’d been hoping there was more champagne waiting for you.

“Whoa, whoa—Hey, easy there.” 

“Spencer, thank God! Quick, help me find more champagne, will you? All of the bottles here are empty!” You pat his chest after regaining your balance, desperately trying to ignore the goosebumps creeping up your spine at the feeling of his arm around your waist. 

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, actually. You’ve already had plenty. Here, maybe we can find you some water—“

“Oh, don’t be a killjoy!” You grumble. “We’re celebrating, I should be able to—Hey, you’ve got some—“ If Spencer was going to stop you from switching your empty glass with his full one (he hadn’t had but one lousy sip of it this past hour), he wasn’t quick enough. “Ugh, see, this? You and your impeccable timing? This is why you’re my hero, doc.“ Spencer sighs as he watches you down most of the champagne, flustered and amused all the same. Luckily, he regains his composure once you’ve emptied your glass, and turn to seek out another one.

“Right, I think that’s enough celebration for you.” He leaves both glasses on the nearest table behind you and gently stops you from reaching out for them again.

When you pout at him, he doesn’t relent, and you let out a tiny groan as you lean against the table. “I’m simply doing Rossi a favour. He wouldn’t want his finest wine collection to go to waste.”

“I’m pretty sure Rossi would agree you’ve more than done your part. His wine collection is not what’s been wasted.”

You roll your eyes, grimacing slightly to avoid appearing entertained by his comment. “Ridiculous,” you tut, looking past his shoulder all coyly, “‘m not wasted.”

Spencer tilts his head and regards you with an amused half-smile. “Right. Would mildly inebriated work better?” You roll your eyes but don’t respond. “No? Well, just tipsy, then.”

You can’t fight the smile your lips finally curve into at that. Not when you make eye contact again and realise he looks as gently amused by you as he sounds. “Fine, I will give you tipsy.” A hint of a late-May evening breeze blows just then. You cross your arms in front of your chest and inwardly curse yourself for not bringing a jacket with you. Spencer notices, and opens his mouth to probably mention your being cold, but you don’t let him. “I’m just being a good sport. I’m celebrating. I’m happy.”

A beat of silence passes where Spencer decides that right now is not the time to probe you with more questions as to what you’re truly thinking about. Not because he doesn’t notice, or even has his own guesses, but because he knows you won’t indulge his efforts. The light banter that defines your relationship — whatever that is — would have to suffice. “I don’t think Rossi’s going to be equally as happy if you end up falling asleep on his couch tonight.”

“Why would I fall asleep on his couch when there are so many guest bedrooms in his mansion?” Spencer chuckles at your attempt to mimic Rossi’s voice and words before a recent briefing at work. “If I were to end up falling asleep here, that is.”

“Which you’re not going to do.” 

“Well… Not unless I have to.”

It seems you both reach that particular point with your back-and-forth where Spencer can’t help but become flustered. Whether it’s what you’re suggesting or what you’re outright asking of him, the result is the same. It’s not like he’d not have offered taking you home, either way. After all, it wasn’t just you who couldn’t deny him anything. 

“Then I guess we better make sure you don’t have to.” He eventually nods, a playful glint still apparent in his eyes, one that’s very similar to the one in yours. He smiles back the moment you preen.

When he tries to fix his fringe from in front of his eyes, you rid both of you of the remaining distance between you and do it for him. From this close, you can see his Adam’s apple bobbing and his breath catching inside his throat, and he can feel the scent of your signature vanilla fragrance and the sweet aftertaste of the champagne you’ve drunk cloud his senses. To his credit, he stops himself from fully leaning into your touch where your lithe fingertips skim his jawline, coiling the stray curl behind his ear. 

“Spencer?” He only blinks when your attention is now on fixing his bowtie. You toy with it for a moment before you leave it as crooked as it was, and hum back at him, “Do you think we could get some ice cream on the way over?”

He doesn’t have to think about it twice, really. Stays by your side as you drown JJ and Will in even warmer well wishes and tries to ignore Derek’s subtle teasing as he waits to do the same. When you’re reluctant to leave Emily’s side where she’s sat between a sleeping Henry and Jack, sensing that she’s holding back on something serious, he only caves when she looks him in the eye as if to say don’t screw this up. 

You’re both still wondering what all that was about when you’re curling up against the worn-out leather of his Volvo’s passenger seat and he’s driving you back to DC. He lets you fiddle with the radio console until you give up on finding something good to listen to and turn to him with your curious questions and harmless gossip the whole drive to the ice-cream shop.

He relents when you loop your arm around his as you exit with your ice cream cup in hand and ask him to walk for a while, even though he knows you’ll barely last in your heels for long. Five minutes later and barely a block away from where he parked, you’re leaning onto him and stifling your pained groans, and he’s holding back on any I-told-you-so’s like he always is with you. Instead, he entertains your trying to name the constellations above you and acting nonchalant as he matches your slowed-down pace back to his car.

Luckily, your place is only a few-minutes drive away.

“You didn’t really have to walk me upstairs.” You leave him to close the door behind him, already leaning against the couch’s armrest, half a spoonful of vanilla ice cream in your mouth as you reach down to unstrap your heels.

“Considering the elevator in your building is out of service and you almost fell flat on your face twice on the way up here, I’d say I really had to.” He chuckles as he munches on his own scoop, choices identical to yours — vanilla and banana split. He knows well enough not to turn on the big light in your living room, settles for the small, antique lamp you’d bought on a thrift shop visit after a case in New Orleans. The warm orange light hits your figure in just the right way as you bend over, tresses delicately falling in front of your eyes, the dark emerald green satin fabric of your dress rising up your calves as you finally free yourself from those unholy shoes (he’ll never understand just why you wear them, even if Derek and Emily had tried to explain it for your sake). 

It’s not inappropriate, the way he looks at you. No, it could never be. After all, he’s mastered the art of defining boundaries well enough in his thirty years alive on this Earth. But it’s also nothing like the way friends are supposed to look at each other. It has been anything but that since he met you and he only realises it more and more with every day he’s known you. 

2047 days and counting. 

And every single one of these days, to Spencer, you’ve always been the closest thing to truly disarming beauty that he has ever known. Everything from the way you trace the outline of your lips with your knuckles, to the deep frown that paints your features when you’re thinking too hard, and the way you always know exactly what to say and when to say it — all of it has made Spencer feel as if he’s only really been alive since the day he met you. He might as well have, for all he knew. It has long felt like what came before you was an indistinguishable blur of events and feelings.

Even though he’s certain he has the words to describe it, he doesn’t think he’s capable of it. There’s adoration and tenderness, a kind of reverent fascination to how he sees you and for what he sees in you, that phrasal combinations  lack the power to translate. 

The only thing Spencer is and has always been certain of is that he wants to know you, all of you. In every way there is to know a person. That’s the truth of it. The truth he tries to fail behind. Successfully or not, he can’t quite say, but God, is he trying.

Like now, when he’s already been too deep in his fondness for the sight of you to realise in time that you’ve mumbled something along the lines of I wasn’t that bad, made it to your kitchen, grabbed a bottle of champagne and two glasses, and were now making your way towards the window to your balcony.

“Wh—Wait—What are you doing?” He almost stumbles over his own feet and chokes on his few leftover ice-cream bites before he makes it by your side. 

You ignore him when he tries to reason with you, already climbing out of the window, and sitting down on one of the small chairs you’d managed to place there when you’d moved to your unit. 

You’re already pouring a glass of champagne for yourself as he huffs your name in that all-familiar high-pitched tone of voice he always takes on when you have a terrible idea or push his buttons all too well. “Oh, come on, doc, don’t be dramatic.” You swing the empty glass back and forth in front of his face, wiggling your eyebrows. “Now, are you going to join me, or am I pouring a second glass for myself?”

And Spencer sighs, because he really can’t say no to you, really doesn’t want to, which means he can only push his lanky frame between the balcony’s window all funny, and feel the metal of the table pinch his side as he tries to sit down opposite you. 

Your poorly suppressed giggles are only met with a narrowing of his eyes and a shaking of his head. You’re impossible. He wipes dust off of his suit jacket and trousers and ignores the half-full glass you’ve pushed in front of him. 

He studies you for a moment, looking across the railing, from the half-empty street below you to the starlit midnight sky above you, back to the bubbling liquid inside your glass. 

Something was off about you, that much was clear now as it had been during the wedding. It wasn’t that you hadn’t been genuinely happy for JJ and Will, hadn’t honestly joined in alongside everyone celebrating. It wasn’t even that your drinking could be classified as excessive, really. He’d seen you drink more than you had tonight during team outings at O’ Koeffe’s — out of happiness, out of misery, out of burn-out. 

But right now, you weren’t any of these things. What clouded your features was not the familiar melancholy he’s known you to succumb to more than a handful of times all these years, it seemed… deeper than that. Similar in a way, but different and deeper than that at the same time.

You’re a universe of your own making and, impossible as it seems, Spencer prides himself in his stubbornness enough to want to unravel you, one law, one piece, one secret at a time. Just as long as you let him.

He moves his chair closer to the centre of the table and goes to bring yours further inside as well. You startle gently, returning to reality from where you’d drifted off inside your head because of the crackly sound. “What—“

“You are afraid of heights.” He interrupts, his tone factual and simple. That one case where you hadn’t gone back to being yourself until an hour later was a painful reminder of that. He’d had to stay behind with you after Derek had seized the unsub, not before he’d dragged you a little too close to the rooftop’s edge, leaving you breathless down on your knees and staring blankly at Spencer as he tried to ease your panic.

“Doesn’t seem to faze me too much right now.”

“Still, I’m not letting you risk it—“ And the way he pulls your chair further away from the railing of the balcony shouldn’t make your stomach flip, swarm with butterflies, but it does, and perhaps you could blame it on the alcohol, but deep down you know it is more than that. You choose to ignore it because haven’t you always done that? Even as the signature sandalwood scent of his cologne fills your senses and makes it harder to keep your eyes open, even as his fingertips skims the bare of your upper back innocently enough and gives you goosebumps. If he chooses to ignore that, so do you. You are, once again, a good sport.

You try to be, at least. As he focuses on perhaps shielding you from crossing the line from tipsy to properly inebriated by going to pull your glass away from you. You stop him before he can do it, holding it away from him. “If you reach for my glass again, I will bite you.”

“Well, that’s a new one.” He laughs. Until you squint seriously, mockingly threatening, and he stops, clearing his throat. “Okay, okay, I won’t.”

You turn to the constellations adorning the night sky then, like you’d done previously during your short-lived walk. “Hey, look!” You point towards an arrangement of stars resembling a cross, clearer from here than they’d been before. “That’s the Cygnus, isn’t it?”

Spencer follows your line of sight and smiles, “That’s the one, yeah.” Your unit was almost at the top floor of your building, meaning the view must have always been breathtaking during clear nights like these. “Seems brighter from up here.” He looks back at you then, his heart skipping a beat at how your eyes seem to sparkle as you connect the stars together, again and again. 

You’d always been fond of them, Spencer knew that well. You’d once spent hours on the phone asking him questions based on the latest copy of The Astronomical Journal that he subscribes to when he’d lent it to you. He’d talked your ear off happily all the way from Las Vegas where he’d been on a visit to his mother, delighted to engage with your questions and your theories.

I’m sorry, I know I get all philosophical about this stuff, but I can’t help it. It’s just the way I am.

Don’t be sorry. You know we’ve both been saved more times than we can count because of your thinking deeply.

He’d said, and you’d laughed, flustered enough for him to notice even from the other end of the line, on the other side of the country. What he’d wanted to say, though, was much more than that — Your mind is fascinating, you know? Please, keep talking, because the world is much more interesting through your eyes. I’d listen to you for hours on end every day of my life if you’d only let me.

Even now, Spencer wants to tell you so many things. He wants to ask you so many things. Still, you beat him to it.

“Swans mate for life, don’t they?”

“It’s not a general rule of nature, but yes, they tend to be strictly monogamous as a species. A significant portion of them doesn’t search for a new partner, even after one of them dies, and there are cases where swans have died while mourning their partners in what does resemble a broken heart syndrome.”

Your expression shifts from entranced to thoughtful to dejected by the time that he’s finished talking. “Ah,” You frown at your still untouched glass. “So much for happy ever afters.”

At your words, Spencer softens. Understands much more than you’re letting him in on. “I mean, it is true that it’s the exception, not the rule with them.”

The smile on your lips is self-effacing as you rest your chin on your palm, mulling over your thoughts and feelings alike. It’s always like Spencer to be so… logical. Precise. Honest, perhaps to an unnerving degree. You adore him for it, although there are times when you wished that he’d bend the truth a little. If only for your sake. 

“And—Well, even if it was the rule,” He starts characteristically, not just because he wants to comfort you, but because he sees and understands you. He has always felt like he does, has always hoped you feel the same way. “There’s no rule in life without exceptions.”

He doesn’t look away as you finally take a sip from your champagne, ponders desperately on whether he’s managed to say the wrong thing, at the wrong time. He’s notorious for doing that, after all. When you do respond, he tries not to flinch.

“Does that really matter if most, if not all, rules and their exceptions involve settling?” You’re still only looking at Spencer from the corner of your eye, because you know that you’re past the point of no return when it comes to opening up to him. It’s always like this. He never pries, never says more than he has to (not where you’re concerned), yet sees right through you. Through every layer, every wall you’ve put up for yourself. He challenges everything you’ve ever known just by seeing you. 

It’s no wonder he doesn’t say anything, his eyes flickering between your own almost apologetic. An unsettling kind of understanding. One that’s a quiet declaration. 

Don’t think that I don’t see you because I do. I always have. 

“It’s not like there’s any certainty to the opposite, is it? Happy endings? You could want it, you could try to find it time and time again, but what if there’s no one on your side? Not God, not fate, not… probability. What if all you’re meant to do is settle for something that you’ve never wanted?” Sighing, you sit back against your chair, and shrug. “I don’t know, I just… Seeing JJ and Will tonight, knowing that they have something so real, that they’ve found it and… and held on to it all this time… It’s… I just don’t like that it’s not the rule. Not for everyone.”

It’s what it all comes down to for you, really. You want to find something to say that has not been said before. You want to be the exception to the rule. To find forever. To cultivate it, if nothing else. You want to love someone, and give yourself to them. You want to watch them leave, and fuck, you want to continue to love them because you can, because you choose to.  You’re loyal like that. You’re sure if everyone’s made for something in this life, you’re made for giving yourself completely to the one. Against all odds, against any outcome. Because finding the one is devastatingly true. And how can anything compare to it? How can you just sit there and accept that you might be the exception to every possible rule, that you might not get to find the one, and that you’ll spend the rest of your life settling in more ways than one. 

You aren’t made for that. You just can’t accept that you’re made for that. If it’s a rule of life, a law of nature, you want no part of it. You’ve never been good at being logical, after all. Emotions were your strong suit. Understanding what everything and everyone’s made of and why they’re made like that. 

“I just don’t like when people have to compromise,” you admit finally. And then, even more softly, “I just don’t want to have to compromise.”

Spencer refrains from turning to words of comfort this time. Returns to what he’s always yearning for — to understand you. “Why do you think that you will have to?”

“Because it’s the whole thing, isn’t it? Everyone has to eventually, in one way or another.” 

You say it as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Clearly, though, he’s taken aback by your words. He doesn’t know if it’s the fact that you seem to truly believe them to be true or if he deep down also believes them to be true for himself. He considers what brought this topic, this onslaught of feelings, on in the first place, relies once again in his hopeless optimism. “JJ didn’t have to.”

The exception to the rule.

“No, she didn’t. Because she’s JJ and because Will’s Will. Because they deserved not to have to compromise.” It’s only then you turn to look at him, hoping in that inexplicable attunement that exists between you, and forgives you whenever you’re not making sense for the rest of the world. “But you said it yourself. Every rule has its exceptions. That’s how life works. And I… I certainly don’t understand the logistics of it all, but you… you understand everything. It’s your whole thing.”

And Spencer’s eyes sparkle and widen slightly, because he doesn’t understand everything, and he certainly doesn’t understand you. Not you. Not completely. If he did, he’d know what’s made you believe there are no exceptions to every one of life’s rules. If he did, he’d perhaps be able to accept why you’ve made peace with torturing yourself over not deserving to be an exception. If he did, he’d know how to help you understand in return that you’d always been one. To him, you’ll always be one. In all honesty, you’d always been the only exception to every rule in his life. He’d like to think that could mean something to you because he knows that your understanding him means everything to him. More than he could say.

You’re staring up at the Cygnus constellation when Spencer reminds himself that you’re a universe of your own making. You’re made of laws and phenomena that are in few ways clearer to him now than they were when you first met. Spencer knows that all people are exceptional — exceptions — in their own way but he also understands that you can’t be compared to just anyone or everyone. The universal is personal in this life. Well, it’s the truth until it isn’t. It’s enough until it isn’t. And how can he understand you in a way that is enough? He wants to. God, how he wants to. Maybe then you’d be right, maybe then he’d understand everything. 

Until then, though, the only truth he knows and understands would have to suffice. 

“You won’t have to.”

You blink down at him, not expecting that in the slightest. Instinctively, you’re ready to bite, you always are. But there’s something about Spencer turning the tables on you that makes you uncharacteristically vulnerable. Something that makes your only response come in the form of a whispery, “How do you know?”

He’s not even the tiniest bit hesitant when he whispers back, “I just do.”

You’re rendered speechless in a way that burns you up from the inside out, leaves you oblivious to the shiver that a sudden breeze causes you, and to the goosebumps lining your sensitive skin. 

You’re not oblivious to the way that Spencer shrugs his tuxedo jacket from his shoulders, though, and is quick to drape it over yours, his calloused fingertips fixing the strap of your dress from where it’d fallen down your arm. 

For a moment, he stills, and it’s all because in trying to secure the fabric over your body, your hand comes to rest on top of his. He doesn’t move. You don’t move. 

You look at him and see the universe. He looks at you and feels the same. 

It’s the closest you’ve both come to understanding everything that there is to understand in this life.

“Thank you, lovey.” 

His ears take on the same tint of soft pink colour they do every time you’ve called him that. Still, he’s categorised all of them in his mind well enough to know that you’ve never uttered it the way you just have, that it’s never overflowed with as many emotions as it does now.

When you both pull away, reluctantly, Spencer has to take a sip from the glass you’d so kindly poured him when you settled on your balcony. Funnily enough, the starry liquid is exactly what his heart needs to go back to beating normally again. 

It’s short-lived, though, because you call out his name quietly, and he’s back to looking at you and hoping that it’s not painfully transparent you have his heart in your hands.

“Spencer?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think you’ll have to, either.”

He doesn’t know what to say, although he’s glad to see the curves of your lips tilting upwards as you curl further into his jacket. As long as you’re back to being you, he thinks that silence might be the greatest gift he could ever be given. Especially the kind that stems from endless understanding, from seeing each other.

You only climb back inside your apartment once the bottle of champagne has been emptied (it only took two separate pours in either one of your glasses), only it’s Spencer who gets in first, and it’s his hand you’re squeezing as you follow his lead.

You’re still clinging onto his jacket when he shuts the window behind him and rises to his usual height. “It’s late, isn’t it?”

Spencer checks his watch, although he doesn’t have to. He knows it’s late, recognises the out you’re giving him for what it is. “Almost half-past midnight.” 12:27, if he chose to be pedantic as per usual. He decides not to.

You stay put where you stand by the window, half-nodding as he wipes his palms on his suit trousers, and doesn’t make an effort to take his jacket back or walk away from you.

“Uh—I—“ This is where you’re thinking over your options, cursing yourself for not being bold enough to tell him you really want him to stay tonight. Because you don’t want to be alone, because he doesn’t have to leave, because he’s everything. But the weather is perfect and there’s practically no traffic at such an hour. The half-empty glasses sitting atop of your tiny balcony table almost wink at you just then, have you looking up at him again. “It’s not a good idea to drive after you’ve drunk, right?”

In the almost complete darkness of your living room’s corner, you’re glad you can somehow and rather poorly hide from him. 

You notice his bowtie looks extra crooked right then. You reach out to fix it and hope he won’t feel how much you are burning, even as your fingers brush against the curls on the nape of his neck. 

If he does, he doesn’t mention it. He’s pretty sure he’s warming up just because of your proximity and the sight of you in his jacket as you touch him, anyway. “Oh, no. It’s, uh… Strongly advised against. Whatever the alcohol intake.”

You don’t pull away, even if you’ve finished fixing his bowtie to its usual perfect crookedness, and you are sure his eyes have never looked prettier than they do right now, aglow by the moonlight bathing you both where you stand by the window.

“You can… Well, you can stay the night.” It’s certainly a proposal. It definitely sounds like one. At least to you, it does. You’d know about it, surely. You’d tiptoed the tightrope that was your friendship with him, navigated through the blurred lines that had your heart skipping several beats as it clung to the presence of the equally hopeless and hopeful what-ifs, long enough to have mastered the way you phrase things. Always open, never imposing. Often suggestive, circumstantially bold. Constantly present to remind him that you’d always try to resemble comfort and truth for him. And although the haziness brought upon you by the excessive amount of champagne you’d drunk tonight was adamant in trying to cloud your judgement, still, by the colour creeping on Spencer’s features, you think that’s how he takes it, too. Thankfully.

Breathe, blink. Still here, still a gorgeous, looming (sans jacket) tuxedo-clad beauty with doe hazel eyes and a smile that was more so a pure-intentioned invitation than anything else in front of you. 

You wish you knew what he thought. You wish you could wrap your arms around him and press your face against his chest and have no reason to pull away in case you blur the lines so devastatingly that there is no turning back from. You wish that he’d want you to do that, not just settle for it, but want that. Want you like you want him.

Little do you know that he does, that he always has and always will, that he’d be yours if only you’d just ask him. If only he could find the courage to just ask you. It’s all that he thinks of. Well, perhaps that’s a hyperbole, but it is always constant, always vastly looming over each other overpowering thought — statistics of potential serial killers at large in the tristate area, the Riemann’s Hypothesis solution draft that he’d been working on all day yesterday, the quotes of Brontë’s poetry he’d meant to ask you your opinion on, whether JJ and Will will like his present. 

All of it was always overshadowed by the thought of you — the thought of wanting you.

I could stay forever, Spencer thinks. Fleeting enough, he could blame it on the champagne, although his intake was barely enough to constitute him light-headed. He could blame it on how enticing your voice is now that it has dropped more than an octave and taken on that soft, whispery tone. That would be more fitting a reason — except the choice to stay had been the only option for him before, when your cadence was as usually vibrant as ever. Then again, it had also been the only option for him when he’d seen you mad — furious, even — with the world, with yourself, with Hotch for not trusting you enough during the latest interrogation. He could blame it on the constellations lining up the sky and how the dark midnight blue of it brought out that indescribable desire (or need would be a more astute description, since he had no control over it) to be vulnerable with you. To open up to you, to keep opening up to you, to the point where he can barely think of what more there is to say. That’s when you’d roll your eyes in that characteristic way of yours, that ever-so-curious glint appearing in your eyes, as you tell him that there will always be more to say, more to know, more to understand. About the world, about each other, about what matters. And he’d agree, not only because you’re right, but because he doesn’t think he could ever have enough of getting to know you, to understand you.

Maybe it was the wedding which made him lean towards the option of blaming it on all this talk about happy endings. About rules and the exceptions to them, about finding the one, about wishing for forever. Probability, fate, divine intervention, choice — just what exactly, he couldn’t possibly make his mind upon, isn’t sure he understands what there is to understand about it, except for the fact that he wanted it just as much as you seemed to. Both of you did. Craved it. Hoped for it. Seeing JJ and Will celebrate their love just made it clearer to you both, opening your heart to each other like you had tonight solidified it. So yes, that’s what he blames it on. That’s how he explains just why exactly you have taken on the living embodiment of what he’s always dreamed of yet never had the courage to ask for.

He steals a small glance to his left, to the empty bottle of champagne and the glasses sitting upon your balcony table. Then, he looks towards the end of the hallway, towards the door to your office space he’d help you set up a few years back, where he knows you keep an extra wardrobe. 

You still don’t move as he pads through your apartment, like he’s done time and time again, knowing every corner of it like the back of his hand.

“Are your spare pillows and blanket still in the second drawer to the left?” He asks over his shoulder once he is behind the half-ajar door and over the sound of the wooden drawers cracking open slightly, not really waiting for an answer.

Because he already knows what it is.

[linaslivery]

౨ৎ TOUCH TANK ౨ৎ

masterlist / rules / requests & talks with me!

SUMMARY౨ৎ  Being a single mother after your ex broke things off after your daughter was born was hard, especially with your busy schedule. But with Daniel being there for every step of the way and becoming a father figure for your daughter, you wouldn’t change anything. That was until new fans began to attack you for being wwith him and how he deserves someone who isn’t “ruined”. But Daniel reassures you he wouldn’t be the one to change anything.

PAIRING ౨ৎ Daniel Ricciardo x Fem!Mom!Reader

WARNINGS ౨ৎ kids, self doubt and insecurity (turns to comfort), small hate from weirdos online, intoxication (nothing bad happens!! just a bit tipsy). (Reader is in late 20’s early 30’s!! No confirmed age)

A/N ౨ৎ i never wrote for danny before, and i’m trying to improve my other writing skills!

PS. “Touch Tank” is about finding a partner that loves you no matter what you look like and loves you for you 🩷

1K EVENT MASTERLIST

INSTAGRAM

y/n_l/nredbull ✔︎

liked by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo, redbullracing and others!

y/n_l/nredbull fun never ends in miami! 🌞 congrats to my boys, @ landonorris for winning his first ever f1 race, and my baby girl for winning her first karting race! they grow up so fast 🥹

2,389 comments

username1 STOP IT NOT LITTLE VIVVY AND LANDO GETTING THEIR FIRST WINS BOTH IN MIAMI :((

username2 NOT BECAUSE THE WAY SHE WAS JUMPING UP AND DOWN IN THE RED BULL GARAGE SEEING LANDO WIN 😭🩷

danielricciardo ✔︎ Vivvy is all grown up now 🥲 so happy i got to watch her win her first karting race ❤️

→ y/n_l/nredbull ✔︎ are we going to ignore how you tried like a baby when she held her little trophy? → maxverstappen1 ✔︎ video evidence??? 👀 → y/n_l/nredbull ✔︎ sorry max, but i won’t expose the loml like this (i’ll show you it later) → danielricciardo ✔︎ this is still my replies you know 🙄 → y/n_l/nredbull ✔︎ it wasn’t me it was vivvy that wrote that → danielricciardo ✔︎ yes because Vivvy knows that your password on your phone is the year we meet. → username3 daniel being there for Vivvy and y/n since her douche of a ex left her is my roman empire. → username4 no because the way he stepped up and basically said “you’re not gonna the father in her life? fine, i’ll be it then.”

danielricciardo ✔︎ …questioning those last few photos… 🤔

→ y/n_l/nredbull ✔︎ why?? they are perfection 😞 → maxverstappen1 ✔︎ perfection is a bit of a over statement…

landonorris ✔︎ thanks mum 😋

→ y/n_l/nredbull ✔︎ anything for my son ❤️ → username5 isn’t he like two years younger than you?? → landonorris ✔︎ no i was actually birthed from her daniel has proof → danielricciardo ✔︎ don’t drag me into this. → landonorris ✔︎ okay daddy 😏 → danielricciardo ✔︎ i’m reporting to hr i feel like i need a trusted adult → username6 daniel, you are a trusted adult??? bro is 34 😭 → danielricciardo ✔︎ @ y/n_l/nredbull help me i’m being harassed by people other than vivvy and lando

username7 hey!! i’m now to f1, can anyone explain how daniel, y/n, and vivvy came to be??

→ username8 y/n and daniel met when he was still in redbull and she’s (still) a engineer! they became really good friends while daniel was there and liked y/n but she was in a relationship with a asshole that i won’t spare the details of. He cheated on her multiple times and y/n decided to cut the ties with him once Y/N ended up having Genevieve (Vivvy/Viv). Daniel was there for Y/N and Vivvy and basically stepped up as a father figure to Vivvy growing up and they began dating and here we are now!! → username9 stop that is so sweet 😭😭 → username10 idk it just feels like she was using danny to get viv to have a father in her life → username11 okay @ username10 lets just forget that daniel liked y/n for YEARS and let’s just think that y/n has no job for FUCKING REDBULL and was begging daniel to take her and viv in!!

danielricciardo ✔︎

📍 Miami

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, y/n_l/nredbull

danielricciardo not my best race, but happy to have my good luck charms here ❤️ (congrats to laaaaannnndooooo noooooorriiiiissss for his first win)

tagged; y/n_l/nredbull

2,864 comments

username12 daniel avacodo come back is coming guys dw

→ username13 that’s what we said last year 😞

username14 HELLO THE Y/N PHOTO???

username15 MOMMY? SORRY. MOMMY? SORRY. MOMMY?

landonorris ✔︎ my eyes have been blinded by the most unthinkable photo you can show of my adoptive mother.

→ danielricciardo ✔︎ if I can see how fine she is, so does the whole world 🥴

username16 girlie is smart AND fucking hot???

→ username17 milf fr → username18 i love women in stem 😩

username19 damn how did daniel bag such a fine woman

→ username20 fine woman?? homegirl has stretch marks and looks like she hasn’t had sleep in days. she’s lucky daniel posted a good photo of her → username21 he could choose anyone but he choose the woman that only picked him so her kid has a father 🤢 → username22 shaming a MOTHER who BIRTHED A CHILD for how she looks like and saying that she doesn’t lover her partner is the lowest of the lows.

TWITTER

Real Life

Miami, also known as the Magic City, is a place where the excitement never stops, and the nightlife is always lively. The city is filled with vibrant clubs where the music never seems to quiet down, and the clinking of glasses creates its own unique rhythm. In honor of the race in Miami and Lando's first win, the entire grid decided to gather at a well-established, extravagant club.

To be completely honest, nightclubs were never your cup of tea. The deafening noise, pulsating music, and perspiring individuals dancing into the early hours of the morning, not to mention the sticky floors from spilled drinks, never really appealed to you. When you were pregnant with Vivvy, being able to use the "I'm pregnant" excuse was a blessing, but now, you find yourself preparing to accompany the other drivers' girlfriends for a so-called "girls' night" at the same club. 

Lately, the comments people have been leaving on your feeds getting on your nerves. About being manipulative to Daniel for only using him for Vivvy to have a father in her life, to get that you are "too old" for him, even receiving comments that you don't deserve to be with him because you weren't "up to the standards of other men in Formula 1" which were repulsive, to say the least, but... now those thoughts began to consume your mind. As you glanced in the mirror, your eyes trailing over each curve of your body, the wrinkles of your face-

"What's all this?" a voice interrupts your thoughts, and you look up to see Daniel, wearing a smirk on his face as he leans against the bathroom door.

You let out a sigh, trying to hide the scowl you were giving yourself. "The girls managed to convince me to join them for the night. They kept insisting that I need to let loose and have some fun," you explain, adjusting your lip liner.

"Maybe they're right. You sound like a grandma," Daniel teases, and you raise an eyebrow in response. "I'm just saying that maybe it would be good for you. Relax, spend some time with the girls," he adds, offering a supportive perspective.

"What about you? Are you going to go and hang out with Max and the others?" You questioned, turning over to look at him, your eyes meeting his chocolate brown ones. Daniel shook his head.

"Not tonight. " He comments with a slight shake of his head, curls bouncing. "Besides, it's your time to have fun, and who'll look after Vivvy?"

"Danny, you aren't obligated to-"

"I know. But I'm the one that wants to spend time with her." Daniel reassures. You smile at him before turning back to the mirror. A slight frown forms on your lips the more you look at your reflection.

"What's with that frown?" Daniel's smile shifts as he sees you look over each crevasse of yourself as he walks over and wraps his arms around your waist.

"Can I ask you something?" You start, placing your hands over his, caressing your thumb over his hand.

"Anything."

"Why me? You... you have anyone you can choose from, Danny. Those models that come knocking at your door at any opportunity, the actresses, the singers, all these beautiful women that have it all and are stunning. And everyone says how perfect they are for you... so, why me?"

"Y/N... look at me," Daniel says, turning you to face him. "I chose you because-"

Before Daniel can respond, the doorbell rings and the bathroom door swings open, Vivvy excitedly rushes into the bathroom, socks sliding on the tile and eventually bumping into Daniel's leg. "Mommy! Aunt Kelly is here, and Miss Alexandra, and Miss Rebecca, are here! They're waiting for you! Oh, and they brought presents!" she exclaims, her eyes sparkling with excitement, as Daniel picks her up, securing her in one arm.

"Well, it's rude not to say hello, right? Come on!" Daniel grins at her, using his other to ruffle her head. Vivvy let out a squeal along with a "Danny! Stop it!" leaving her lips with some giggles. You quickly put on some lipgloss before rushing out to meet everyone else.

"Guys, you didn't have to get anything-" You start as Vivvy reaches out for the gift from Rebecca, but she quickly shoots it down.

"Oh please Y/N, it's nothing! Besides, we love Vivvy! It's hard to not get anything for her when she looks at us with those big eyes..." Rebecca explained, beaming from ear to ear as she fixed Vivvy's hair after being messed up by Daniel. You exhaled, Rebecca's bright expression beginning to make your own eyes crinkle.

"Alright, Danny, no sweets before bed, be sure she brushes her teeth, and-"

"Make sure she gets in bed before 8:45. I know, I know. It's nothing new." Daniel replies, rolling his amber eyes in a joking manner. The girls begin saying goodbye, stepping back outside the door, but Daniel grabs your hand making you pause. 

"We'll talk about that question later. Okay?" He says, making you blink. "Now go have fun."

You quickly give Vivvy and Daniel a kiss, the door closing.

"Well, Vivvy, it's just you and me now. Let's get this movie night started."

"Yay!"

· . ୨୧⭒๋࣭ ⭑

"Hey, Danny?" Vivvy's voice interrupts Daniel as they both sit on the couch, movie playing in the background.

"Yes, Vivvy?" Daniel turns to look at her, his eyes filled with warmth and affection.

"Do you love Mommy and me?" Vivvy's innocent question catches Daniel off guard, but the shock in his eyes soon turn to tenderness as he takes a moment to formulate his response.

"Of course, I love you both very much," Daniel replies, his voice filled with sincerity and love. "You and your mommy mean the world to me." Vivvy smiles contentedly, snuggling into her blanket as she listens to Daniel's reassuring words.

“Did i ever tell you on how we met?” He questions, moving her little strands of hair away from her face.

“A lot.” Vivvy mumbles, voice muffled from the soft material she’s clinging to.

“Well, how about I start from the very beginning?”

“Not again…”

IMESSAGES

Real Life

As the night wore on, the club's vibrant atmosphere seemed to seep into your very bones. Despite your initial reluctance, the pulsating music and the infectious energy of the girls pulled you in. Kelly, Alexandra, and Rebecca kept you on the dance floor, and you found yourself laughing more than you had in a long time. Drinks were shared, stories exchanged, and for a few hours, you forgot all about the comments and the insecurities that had been weighing you down.

But now, as you stumbled through the front door of your home, the effects of the night were starting to catch up with you. The room swaying slightly, and you had to steady yourself against the wall. The house was quiet, except for the soft hum of the television coming from the living room. You made your way toward the sound, the familiar warmth of the home drawing you in.

Daniel was on the couch, a sleeping Vivvy curled up next to him, her little head resting on his lap. He looked up as you entered, a gentle smile spreading across his face.

"Hey, there you are," he said softly, careful not to wake Vivvy. "Did you have fun?"

You nodded, the room still spinning a bit. "Yeah, I did. But I think I might have had one too many drinks." You giggled, trying to keep your balance as you approached the couch.

Daniel chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Sounds like a successful girls' night."

You plopped down next to him, your head resting on his shoulder. "It was. But... Danny, can I ask you something?" Your voice unsteady slightly, due to the mix of alcohol and lingering doubt.

"Of course," he replied, turning to face you, his expression becoming serious as he sensed the change in your tone.

You took a deep breath, the question that had been haunting you slipping out before you could stop it. "Do you really love me? Even though I have Vivvy and... I'm not as young or as glamorous as those other women you could be with?"

Daniel's eyes softened, and he reached out to gently cup your face, his thumb brushing your cheek. "Y/N, I love you more than anything. And Vivvy... she's not just your daughter, she's our daughter. You two are my family."

"But all those people say—" you started, but Daniel cut you off with a gentle kiss, silencing your doubts.

"Don't listen to them," he whispered against your lips. "They don't know us. They don't know how much you mean to me, how much Vivvy means to me. You're the one I chose, and I wouldn't trade you for anyone in the world."

Tears welled up in your eyes, but they were tears of relief and happiness. "Thank you, Danny. I needed to hear that."

He pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you close. "Anytime. Now, how about we get you to bed?"

You nodded, feeling a sense of peace wash over you. As Daniel helped you up and guided you to the bedroom, you glanced back at the couch where Vivvy was still sound asleep. Your heart swelled with love and gratitude.

"Goodnight, Vivvy," you whispered softly.

Daniel smiled as he tucked you into bed, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Goodnight, Viv," he said, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead before leaving to get Vivvy into her own bed.

As you drifted off to sleep, the lingering doubts and insecurities melted away, replaced by the comforting knowledge that you were exactly where you were meant to be – in the arms of the man who loved you and the family you had built together.

[bejewellery]

just for one night

summary: you asked your friends to be civil to just one night, things escalated quickly but not because of them.

pairing: jj maybank x reader

since you were the most responsible of your group of friends, you all warned them not to get themselves into anything chaotic tonight. just for once. to pope and john b , to not fall into any of the kooks’ provocations. to kie, to not start arguing with some touron about how climate exchange exists and it is important— nothing wrong with that if it didn’t end up with her being dragged out of the kegger on john b’s shoulder while screaming. to sarah and cleo, to try not to jump that insufferable bitch, ruthie. and least, to your boyfriend, jj, to not start anything with anyone. because as everyone knows, even the smallest thing, said with bad intention, could provoke into jj a little bit of overreaction, causing a huge fight— both physical and verbal— with anyone, creating an huge mess.

you were all having fun, it was nice and peaceful, all of you tipsy if not drunk and enjoying the night, laughing at some joke that cleo just made— you loved the girl. you could see in pope’s eyes that she let him breathe and not worry as much as he did before meeting her, he was finally getting more relaxed and acting like a normal teenager again.

it all started with john b and sarah getting up, going to "fill their drinks"— sure. whatever. no one believed them anymore. then pope and cleo, classic. and when kiara started talking to a girl, you and your boyfriend took the clue (her dirty look that she gave both of you) and left.

you were standing next to a keg, cosy in jj’s embrace— he was it for you. you knew it. he knew it. everyone knew it. he practically lived in your house since things with luke got bad again— but it wasn’t a problem: your family loved him.

he helped your dad in the kitchen, your mum with the groceries, and when your cousins would come around, they all stayed on the couch watching some surf competition. he was the love of your life, the only and last one, because you already wrapped your head around that if something would happen between the two of you, no one could ever replace him, and there would be no one after him.

your thoughts interrupted by someone bumping into you, spilling some of their drink on both of you and jj. you looked at him, expecting him to say something, but even drunk he remembered that you asked him to behave and for once he listened. you watched him take a breath and just try not to say anything.

"watch it, dude". of course—topper. he was the one who bumped into you, and he is saying to 'watch it'? he was a joke. still with jj’s arm wrapped around your shoulder, you looked at your boyfriend, waiting for him to say something, anything— he didn’t.

topper at the non-reaction laughed in his face, you started to feel jj tensing, you gripped into his arm. "c’mon dude, aren’t you gonna say anything?" and then he pushed him, causing you to stumble a little, this is when jj flipped. he scoffed, irritated—obviously so. "nah man, don’t like to waste my time with daddy’s rich boy." topper come closer, facing jj with a smirk through his lips. oh no.

"what did you say to me?" jj lifted his face, looking at him straight through his eyes. "you heard me man, walk away before you end up like the other times." he pushed him slightly, with one hand, still causing topper to trip back. it started with the same insults. they always bothered you, but tonight even more. and he continued, trying to push jj to his limit, but he didn’t break. not tonight. not after he promised you. now he is fighting with every bone in his body to not shut that big mouth that topper had with only just one punch. his knuckles turning white.

"something happened, maybank? huh? that drunk of your dad finally thought you a lesson by hitting-" topper twisted his neck sharply when the fist of someone hit his face. then he turned his head back, still shocked by the punch. he brought his hand on his bloody nose. but what shocked him most was that maybank was still, the same reaction as topper reflecting in his face. it wasn’t jj that punched him.

it was you.

you stayed composed, ignoring your hand burning because of the contact with topper’s face. you got closer to him, with an intimidating air— he flinched. the scariest thing was how calm you looked. your eyes met with his.

"i am saying this for the first and last time. you stay away from my boyfriend and my friends topper, because if you don’t i’m not afraid to tell your lawyer of a dad how you’ve been buying lots from barry. so get back to your side of the island before i…" jj interrupted you, back with his arm placed on your shoulder— that calmed you, just a little, not too much.

that’s when you looked around; people gathered in a circle to assist the scene. your friends that were standing behind jj had a mix of both amusing and surprising looks on their faces.

cleo gave you an okay sign with her hand, looking proud.

"okay that’s enough! get back to the party, everyone!" your boyfriend yelled, guiding you back to the others through the crowd.

you were welcomed by the laughs of the pogues, cheering for you.

"girl. that—was fucking insane," exclaimed sarah, john b nudged her shoulder in approval, extending his hand towards you for an high five, adding "well, mrs. responsabile finally gave in to the dark side." you just laughed. with them, your anger wasn’t there anymore, relived that it didn’t happen nothing far worse than that.

"what did you even say to him?" asked kiara with an arched brow, a little smile playing on her lips. you shrugged, like you hadn’t just blackmailed topper and punched the guy. "just that if he wouldn’t leave us alone i would tell his dad that his monthly allowance has been going straight to barry over the past year." pope’s eyes widened in shock.

"are you crazy?! what if he tells him? you’ll be seen as a threat by barry y/n!" yes—that was a risk, but you knew barry and he owed you a favour, so you weren’t worried; he knew you would never turn him in.

you just exhaled with a little giggle, the fact that now they were the ones scolding you—when since you were little, it has always been you scolding them, was hilarious.

"relax pope, i would never snitch on barry. even if topper does tell him, he trusts me and would never believe that i would do that. plus he owes me one. so everything is good, you guys. let’s just hope that blonde there doesn’t bring rafe the next time." you shot and apologetic look towards sarah, but she just dismissed you with her hand— she knew who rafe had become and what could happen if her brother was there too, so she didn’t take your sarcastic remark to heart: it was only the truth.

jj was too silent, cheeks flushed, absent look and that idiot smirk of his that could always make your head spin. pope waved his hand in front of his best friend "guys we lost him".

kiara chuckled "i think y/n broke him", you just rolled your eyes, smiling shyly, focusing on your boyfriend. and when you were just about to say something to wake him up from his status of trance —your mouth was suddenly shut with a passionate kiss.

it was certainly unexpected but not less appreciated. jj hands vaguely going towards your waist, pushing you more towards him, making you go up into your tippy toes. you could hear your friends making fake disgust sounds as the kiss deepened, making you both smile into it.

when the kiss stopped, jj had both of his hands on your cheeks, looking at you lovingly while out of breath. you just waited for him to say something, and he did: "you are insane, and i love you. no one has ever defended me like this, and you don’t even know how much this means to me y/n." you smiled at him, while your heart skipped a beat.

oh how much you loved jj maybank.

"and i love you jj, i just couldn’t stand that asshole saying those things to you anymore." he gave you a quick peck on the lips, while holding your hand, interlocking your fingers. heading towards the pogues to walk towards the château— it will be a long walk— mostly because all of them are teasing both of you and jj about your passionate kiss in front of half of the island, your cheeks flushed and jj laughed, brushing it off.

in moments like these, you knew how lucky you were— and one thing was certain: jj maybank knew he was too.

[woso-dreamzzz]

New Girlfriend II

Lucy Bronze x Teen!Reader

Ona Batlle x Teen!Reader

Summary: Ona's tipsy

It's hard to hate Ona.

You kind of wish you could regardless of the truce you have going on with her.

She's over all the time. She's always in your house and your face and you hate that she asks about school.

It was always Keira's job to help you with your homework. You miss Keira a lot which is probably why you stick heavily to her side when your Mum hosts a bonding night for the team.

You sit next to her and let her give you a hug that you sag happily into. You used to see Keira all the time but it's Ona that you see more often now.

It's strange but you're working on it because you think your Mum is really in love with Ona and she's so happy so you're sucking it up.

It doesn't mean that you don't stick to Keira whenever you can.

Originally, you thought it would get you some respite from Ona but it seemed that even Keira had a good relationship with her so, as you sat at the kitchen table, leaning against Keira as she helped you with your homework, Ona appeared out of seemingly thin air.

Her cheeks have a red kind of sheen that you know comes from the alcohol in her glass. She's a little tipsy, just like most of the girls in the house.

"You're so smart," She giggles as you scrawl down the equation Keira explains to you," Both of you. So smart." She breaks off into a fit of giggles and Keira leaves your side to guide Ona into a chair.

"How about we sit down?" Keira says as she takes the drink from Ona," And have some water."

Ona's giggling again and it's a little unnerving. She reaches across the table and holds the hand you're not using to write. Another wave of giggles. "You're so smart. Is it hard? Being smart all the time?"

"It must be," You mutter," Because this is my birthday party and I'm stuck doing homework."

You hadn't really wanted to do anything for your birthday. You didn't have any friends at your new school (the accent of your spoken Spanish tended to put people off) but your Mum took any excuse to get a bit tipsy without consequences and the team had ended up around your place to 'celebrate' which really acted as a dual celebration of the big one they just had over Real Madrid.

"That's sad," Ona says," I wasn't good at school. You're doing it in a different language."

You sigh softly, shaking your head in amusement as she continues to talk earnestly to you, making sure to keep eye contact so she's sure that you're understanding her.

"Lucy's so proud of you, she tells me all the time."

That shocks you a little bit. You hadn't really considered what your Mum and Ona talked about when you weren't there. Truly, you had imagined that their time was taken up by kissing.

"I want you to like me," Ona continues, still giggling and completely flushed in the face," How can I make you like me more? Arcade? Food? Food! Let's order food!"

"Let's not order food," Mum says as she approaches. She's not as tipsy as Ona is but there's a little flush to her skin. "Because then we've got to pay for everyone's."

"No!" Ona says with that dopey smile that she always gets when your Mum is holding her. "Just for the birthday girl." She looks at you again. "Ooh! Let's get cake!"

Mum laughs, leaning down to whisper in Ona's ear about something.

Keira, who you thought would be fairly awkward around the couple, just shakes her head fondly. "You two are gross," She declares with a laugh, confiscating both of their drinks. She's the most sober person in the house. "You're already lovey-dovey at practice."

Mum laughs. "This is my house, Kei. I can be lovey-dovey if I want."

"You're scarring her!" She says," Look at her!"

You've got your nose all wrinkled up in disgust and Mum leans over to pinch at her cheek.

"Don't lie, Kei! She loves this!"

You push her away in annoyance and try to throw your pen at her but you're caught off guard by Ona hugging you tight. You didn't realise she was such a sentimental drunk.

"You're so smart."

Oh, she's back on that.

"Lucy, tell her she's smart!"

"Very smart," Mum says. You're trapped by Ona so can't escape when Mum places a big, wet kiss on your cheek and then grabs you in a headlock. "My smart little girl!"

"Mum!" You cry out," Let go! Come on, let go!"

"No!" Mum laughs," You're a proper teenager now! My little birthday girl!"

"It's your birthday!" Ona exclaims like it's the first time she's heard the news," I got you a gift!" She pats wildly at her pockets before coming up empty. "Lucy, where's my gift?"

Mum's only half paying attention as she rubs her knuckles against your hair as you fight to get away, tears of laughter streaming down your cheeks. "Er...I don't know? I think you called it an experience?"

"Ah! Ah!" You had to admit (begrudgingly), Ona jumping up and down in triumph was kind of cute. "We will go to the beach! There is an arcade there! A big one! Bigger than the one here!"

It stumped you for a moment. Your love for arcades wasn't something that you talked a lot about but clearly, Ona remembered. She's smiling at you now and you tear your gaze away to look at your Mum.

"Really? And you're okay with going?"

"I'm going to the beach," Mum says," You and Ona can waste all the money you want but I'm working on my tan."

Ona sticks her tongue out. "Buzzkill."

[canirove]

The invinsible princess | Chapter 5

“How I met the royal family”

Chapter 4 | Chapter 6

Masterlist

“What if we tell them that I wasn't feeling well and had to go back to my hotel?”

“What?”

“Yeah… That I got dizzy or something.”

“Pedri, they just saw you play for eighty minutes, pose with your man of the match award, and give a bunch of interviews.”

“Exactly!” he says. “We can tell them that I was exhausted after all that and that we can meet tomorrow. Or next time I'm playing in Madrid. Or…”

“Or nothing. You are officially meeting my parents tonight, end of the story.”

“C'mon, Sofía…” he pouts.

“No. The sooner we do it, the better.”

“Please…”

“Pedri, I said no. And stop pouting.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“Umm….no.”

“Urgh” I groan, rolling my eyes.

“I was just teasing you, my lady” he says, moving as close to me as his seatbelt allows him to. “But it was my lips made to kiss and to be kissed, wasn't it?” he smirks, lowering down his voice. “You can't control yourself when I pout because they look even more kissable, and we have company” he says, nodding towards Carlos, who is driving us to the palace.

“He's seen us kiss many times before.”

“He has. But with these kisses you would probably end up getting carried away” he says, one of his hands touching my thigh and slowly moving up. “You always end up getting carried away” he whispers against my neck, the feeling making me shudder.

“Pedri, turning me on isn't going to save you from meeting my parents” I manage to say, his hand now dangerously up on my thigh, making me regret wearing a dress.

“Isn't it?” he says, kissing my neck on the spot that by now he knows drives me completely crazy.

“Fuck” I gasp.

“Everything ok, ma'am?” Carlos says, giving us a quick look through the rearview mirror. 

“Yes, perfect” I say. “We were just wondering how long until we make it to the palace.”

“Around fifteen minutes, ma'am. The traffic is kind of bad.”

“I can make you cum in fifteen minutes” Pedri whispers so low I can barely hear him myself. 

“You won't dare” I say, slapping his hand when he manages to touch me between my legs.

“Ouch!” he laughs. “But if this car had one of those things that separates us from the driver, I definitely would” he smirks.

“Thought you didn't like doing that in the car.”

“And I don't. But this…” he says, moving his fingers in a way I'm very familiar with. “This I can do it anywhere.”

“You are the worst, Pedro González.”

“Yet you love me, my lady” he smirks. “So, should we ask Carlos to take us back to my hotel?”

“Nice try, but no. You are meeting my parents tonight” I say, giving him my best smile.

“Urgh” he replies, moving away from me. 

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“I think they are getting along quite well” my mum says.

“They are, yes” I smile while watching Pedri laughing with my dad. And they are not laughing together to look good and please me, no. This is a real laugh, an honest one. Their body language is giving it away. 

At first both of them had been a bit stiff, making the beginning of our dinner kind of awkward. And the fact that my mum had started asking Pedri many questions about his life, sounding like her old journalist self, hadn't helped either. But then my dad had remembered a cute anecdote from when I was a kid that I myself didn't, and that somehow had broken the ice to the point that now both he and Pedri were laughing together as if they had known each other their whole lives… And maybe because they were a bit tipsy too.

“I can't remember the last time I told this anecdote” my dad chuckles. “Do you?” he asks my mum.

“I… Ummm…” she mumbles, taking a sip from her wine to avoid answering. 

“I do” I say.

“You do?” my mum asks me, raising an eyebrow.

“It was the night I met Pedri” I smile, looking at him. Because the anecdote my dad had just told him and that he had liked so much (maybe because he had actually found it funny, maybe because of the alcohol in his system), was the same one he had started to tell his friends when Pedri had walked towards me and gestured me to follow him outside the room where everyone was celebrating that Spain had won the Euros.

“Aww, what a lovely coincidence!” my mum says.

“It is, yes” I say, still smiling at Pedri like an idiot.

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait” my dad says. “The night? I thought you had met when the team came to visit us here at the palace.”

“Oh, I… Umm…” I mumble, now being the one who takes a sip from her drink to try and avoid answering.

“Who cares about the exact moment they met?” my mum says. “What matters here is that they love each other and are very happy together” she smiles, reaching for my hand and giving it a little squeeze.

“You are right. We should toast to that!” my dad says. “But we've run out of wine… Let me call for another bottle.”

“Haven't you had enough already? You aren't twenty anymore, darling” my mum tells him with a teasing smile. “And we can't get Pedri drunk. He's a professional athlete!”

“Oh, this is nothing compared to what others drink, mum. Trust me” I chuckle.

“Especially when celebrating winning a title” Pedri adds.

“Should I ask for that bottle, then?” my dad asks. “If you get drunk you can always spend the night here, there are enough rooms. In fact, I think you should. We could call my mum and ask her to come over for breakfast tomorrow so you can meet her too. Wouldn't that be nice?”

“It would. But are you sure you want to have breakfast with your mother while hangover?” my mum asks him, still teasing him.

“Nothing she hasn't seen before” he shrugs. 

“That's not what I meant and you know it.”

“Whatever. What do you say, guys? Are you in?”

“Are we?” I ask Pedri.

“Yeah, why not?” he says. “Your grandma and I are supposed to become bffs, aren't we?”

“What?” my dad asks with a confused look.

“Inside joke” I chuckle. “But we are staying and saying yes to that breakfast in one condition.”

“Ok” my dad says.

“Can we please sleep in the same room? I'm not a kid anymore, dad.”

“Oh, trust me, I know. I know...” he says, drinking from his glass but finding it empty. 

“Is that a yes?” I ask him.

“I guess it is” he sighs. “I'm gonna go find that wine.”

“And I'm gonna go to the bathroom” my mum says, excusing herself and leaving me and Pedri alone.

“See how you didn't have to worry about anything?” I tell him, moving my chair closer to his.

“Your parents are really nice, yes.”

“And my mum isn't that scary, is she? Maybe at first she looks like it, but once you get to know her…”

“Yeah” he smiles. “But is what you said earlier true? That your dad was telling that anecdote when we met?”

“Yep.”

“It is a funny anecdote. I don't know why you looked so miserable.”

“Maybe because I had already heard it a hundred times before, I knew by heart, and had had to hear similar ones from his friends for like an hour?”

“That can make someone miserable, yes” he laughs. “Though I guess I have to thank them, because if it hadn't been for them and their anecdotes, I wouldn't be here tonight” Pedri says, leaning forward and closer to me.

“Meeting your in-laws, also known as the King and Queen of Spain?” I say, also moving forward.

“That, or meeting the parents of the woman I love more than anything. The woman I've had a crush on since I was a teenage boy and who to me never was invisible like she believes herself to be.”

“I actually believe it a bit less every day. And do you know why?” I say, our noses almost touching.

“No” he whispers.

“Because of you, Pedri. It's all because of you. I love you.”

“I love you too, Sofía.”

“Ehem” someone says behind us, stopping our kiss the moment our lips touch. “I got the wine.”

“Oh, dad. You're back.”

“I am.”

“Cool, great. Umm… Do you need help opening the bottle?”

“I'll do it myself” he says, giving us one last look before focusing on his wine.

“You know, maybe I was wrong and he is the scary one” Pedri whispers.

“Maybe” I laugh. “We'll finish that kiss later when we are alone in my room.”

“If he allows it. I think he is regretting agreeing to it.”

“My mum will convince him, don't worry. And Pedri…”

“Yeah?” he says, his eyes focused on my dad and how he is struggling with the bottle.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, my lady” he smiles, turning to look at me and giving me a quick peck just as my dad finally pops the wine open, making my mum scream since she was just coming back into the room. 

And there, as I rest my head on Pedri's shoulder and he interlaces his fingers with mine, and as we watch my dad pouring some wine while my mum scolds him for almost giving her a heart attack, also telling him to be careful and not spill any on the carpet while he just rolls his eyes, I finally feel that something I had missed quite often growing up. That feeling of union, of togetherness. That feeling of family.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

A few months later...

“Do they always have to do this?” Pedri asks.

“Every summer, yes. It's like a family tradition that has been done for generations to officially kick off the summer holidays, and also a way to give something to the press so they would leave them alone” Irene says.

“And it is just them? You don't join them?”

“No, we don't. This is just for the king and their family.”

“So… if one day I… You know” Pedri says, his eyes still focused on Sofía and her family, on all the photographers surrounding them while they smile and pose for the cameras.

“You will be part of it once you marry Sofía. And as long as Leonor hasn't become queen yet, of course.” 

“What?”

“That photoshoot is for the king or queen and their family, not their siblings. So if you marry Sofía and Leonor still isn't queen, you'll have to be part of that photo. Same with whoever she marries. Once she becomes queen, it'll be just her partner and their children if they have them” Irene explains.

“So that's why your mum and your aunt aren't part of it?”

“Exactly. They were while my grandad was king, but once he abdicated, bye bye.”

“Your grandma is posing with them, tho.”

“That's because she's the dowager queen.”

“Grandad isn't dead yet, Irene” her brother Pablo laughs while joining her and Pedri at the window from where they are watching what is happening in front of the palace.

“Exiled, dead… Kind of the same” she shrugs. “But they let grandma be part of this because she deserves the love after having to deal with him, and because it is her 80th birthday next week.”

“She told me she wants to have her first dance at her party with you, Pedri” Pablo smirks.

“What?” he says.

“Oh, I heard that too” Irene giggles. “But don't worry. If you don't know how to dance, Sofía will teach you.”

“Sofía? The one who was born with two left feet?” Pablo laughs. 

“She isn't that bad of a dancer, don't listen to him” Irene says. “But you better get ready, Pedri. Because grandma loves dancing at family gatherings, and she's smitten with you” she smirks.

“Indeed” Pablo replies with a matching smile.

“Yeah, well, ummm…” Pedri mumbles. “The photoshoot is over. We should probably move from the window before someone sees us.”

“Oh, finally! I'm famished!” Pablo says as they walk away.

“You are always hungry, Pablo” his sister says.

“Because I am a professional handball player. People like me and Pedri need our energy, don't we?” he says, putting his arm around his shoulders.

“Yeah” he chuckles.

“What you are, is a professional glutton” Irene says with a teasing smile.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said what I said.”

“Oh you little…”

“Pablo!” she laughs as she starts running down the stairs, her brother going after her while Pedri laughs behind them.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“Looking hot, Mr. González. White suits you” I smirk while watching Pedri button up his shirt.

“Don't, Sofía.”

“Don't what?” I say, walking towards him.

“Don't tease me like that.”

“How?” 

“By telling me that I look good in white. I know what you truly mean” he says.

“I mean just what I said” I shrug. “And leave this one unbuttoned too” I say, stopping his hands.

“Sofía, we are attending your grandma's birthday party, remember?”

“Yes, and?”

“And…” he says, grabbing me by the waist and pulling me closer towards him while I wrap my arms around his neck. “I must look good and presentable, not as if I'm going out to a club in Mykonos. This is my first proper holiday with the whole family.”

“But that's the vibe of the party. Greece, the Mediterranean, white clothes, hot people...”

“I don't think your grandma had that last thing in mind when she chose the theme for the party” he chuckles. “Though you also look really hot, my lady.”

“Do I?” I ask him.

“So hot I don't know if I'm gonna be able to keep my hands to myself.”

“Pedri!” I laugh, when he moves both his hands to my butt and squeezes it. 

“Told you” he shrugs. 

“You rascal” I say before kissing him. Which probably is a mistake, because now I also am not able to keep my hands to myself, and as usual, I am getting carried away. We both are, to be honest. “Pedri…” I whisper as he starts kissing my neck.

“Yes?” he says against my skin, one of his hands already moving under my dress.

“We are gonna be late.”

“We won't” he says, walking us towards one of the windows in our room until my back is against it. “I think we actually have time for a quickie.”

“What?” I laugh.

“You are already ready” he smirks, his fingers moving under my underwear.

“I’m… I… We can't do it here.”

“Why not? We are in our room” he says as he goes back to kissing my neck, his fingers already torturing me. 

“Yes, but I… I'm against a window” I manage to say. “What if someone sees us?”

“Sofía, this room looks at the back of the palace and there are security guards everywhere. No one will see us.”

“They could see us.”

“But they won't say anything. It's part of their job.”

“Yes, but… Fuck” I moan. 

“Are you sure you don't want to do this? That you want me to stop?” 

“Ok, fine. But try not to ruin my hair too much.”

“What?” Pedri chuckles before letting go of me to get a condom from his toilet bag.

“It took me ages to do it like this, I have to pose in front of the press before the party, and you are about to fuck me against a window.”

“If the lady is so worried about her hair, I can always fuck her on the table. Or on the bed while she is on all fours. Or…”

“I like the window idea better. It is more… exciting.” 

“Oh, so now we aren't worried about the guards seeing us, uh?” he smirks.

“Whatever. But I want to have you closer” I say once he is ready and back with me, his hands quickly moving under my dress to get rid of my underwear. “I want to have you as close as it is humanly possible.”

“Like this?”

“More” I whisper, wrapping my arms around his neck while he moves me until he is completely inside me, the feeling making us both gasp. 

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“There you are!” my grandma says. “Where were you? Your parents and Leonor are already outside waiting for us.”

“I'm sorry, grandma. We…”

“Sofía was struggling with her hair, and convincing her to let me help her took its time” Pedri says. 

“I see… Did you also struggle with your makeup?”

“What?” I say.

“You look quite flushed, darling” my grandma chuckles.

“Oh, no. That's from doing my hair and getting mad. You know me” I say with a nervous laugh. 

“Does Pedri also get mad with such things?” she asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Pedri?” 

“He also looks quite flushed. Look at the colour of his cheeks.”

“My cheeks?” he says, touching his face.

“That's because we had a little argument because we were going to be late, nothing else” I quickly say.

“I hope everything is good now” my grandma says.

“Peachy” I smile. “Should we get going?”

“Yes, of course. But Pedri, darling. While we are outside, can you please go check on my grandchildren and make sure they don't start eating without us?”

“You mean Pablo” he says.

“Exactly” my grandma chuckles.

“I will, don't worry” he says, giving her his best smile.

“I hope it was good” she says once Pedri is gone.

“What?” 

“What you and Pedri were doing.”

“I don't know, you tell me. Does my hair look good?”

“Oh, Sofía” she laughs.

“What?” I ask again.

“I know you weren't arguing because of your hair, darling. You were doing… other things” she smirks. “And I don't blame you. He looks extremely handsome tonight.”

“We… ummm…”

“But c'mon, let's join the others before your mother gets angry with us” she says, linking her arm with mine. “Besides, we have to take advantage of that glow you have right now. Not many are lucky enough to get it” she winks, leaving me even more speechless and flushed than I already was.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“C'mon, Sofía.”

“We can't, Pedri. It's too risky.”

“We'll ask Carlos to come with us. Please” Pedri pouts.

“Go with you where?”

“Bloody hell, grandma!”

“Language, Sofía” she says. “And where do you want to take her, darling?” she asks Pedri.

When I joked about them becoming bffs, I didn't expect it to actually happen. Like, we've been in Mallorca for a week, and they already are as thick as thieves. She even calls him darling, which is something she only uses with her grandchildren.

“I was told there is a verbena* going on in a town nearby and I want to go, but she says it is too risky” Pedri explains.

“Why risky?”

“Because anyone could recognise us, grandma.”

“I already told her that no one will be paying attention to us, that they will be too busy dancing and drinking. And that if someone comes closer or something, Carlos will intervene. But she still thinks it is a bad idea.”

“If no one were to recognize you, would you like to go?” my grandma asks me.

“Of course I would! I've never had the chance to go to something like that” I say.

“Then come with me” she says, Pedri and I looking at each other with a confused look before following her.

*A verbena is like a party that usually happens on Spanish small towns at night during the town's summer festivities, and where there is live music and like a bar where you can get something to drink (basically alcohol).

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“Those are… wigs?” 

“Indeed, darling” my grandma says, taking one and brushing the hair. 

“Why do you have a closet full of wigs?”

“Because sometimes I want to go out unnoticed, and these are perfect for it.”

“What?”

“Oh, don't look at me like that, Sofía” she laughs. “I haven't done it in years, but your mother has used them more than once, especially while dating your father. And they clearly worked, because no one knew about them until their engagement was announced, which I guess it is what you also want. Privacy.”

“We do, yes” I say, looking at Pedri. Though he doesn't seem to be paying too much attention. He's focused looking at one of the wigs, one of ginger hair. “Pedri?”

“Yes?” 

“We do want to keep our relationship private for the longer the better, don't we?”

“Yes” he says, still looking at the wig. “Can you try this one on, please?”

“What?”

“I think you would look smoking hot as a ginger. Sorry” he says, giving my grandma a shy smile.

“Oh, no need to apologize” she chuckles. “I actually agree with you. Come here, Sofía.”

“What?” I say again.

“Come, let's see if we are right” my grandma says.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“We were right. You look smoking hot as a redhead, my lady.”

“Oh, shut up” I say, giving Pedri a little push.

They did it. He and my grandma convinced me to try on the wig, said it looked perfect on me, and now here I am, at the verbena he wanted to go, Carlos keeping an eye on us from a distance.

“C'mon, let's go dance” he says, taking my hand on his and leading me towards where everyone else is.

“Pedri, you already know I wasn't made for this. I almost injured you while teaching you how to dance for my grandma's party.”

“Yet I survived, didn't I?” he says, making me twirl before he wraps one arm around my waist, the hand from the other holding mine.

“I guess, yes. But do you know how to dance… this?” I ask him.

The band on the little town square where we are is playing a traditional Spanish song, a pasodoble, one that I did not get taught as a kid when my mum made Leonor and I take some dancing classes before quickly realising that neither of us were born for it.

“I don't, no. But we can learn how to. Excuse, ma'am” he says with his best smile to a woman dancing next to us. “My girlfriend and I are a bit lost, we don't know how to dance a pasodoble. Could you show us how it's done?”

“Oh, of course!” she smiles back. How does he do it to charm every single woman he encounters and that could be his mother or grandmother? “It's very simple. One, two, three forward. One, two, three back. And turn” she says, her and her partner showing us and making it look easy.

“Ok, I think I got it. Sofía?”

“Uh?”

“Are you ready?”

“I…”

“I'm leading, ok? So you go back” Pedri says. 

“Ok” I nod, ready to step on his toe, or bump into the people around us, or…

“That's it! You got it!” the woman says.

“We… did it?”

“You did it, my girl!” she smiles.

“Wow” I laugh.

“Thank you very much for teaching us, ma'am” Pedri says.

“My pleasure” she replies before going back to dancing with her partner.

“Ready to go again?” Pedri asks me.

“Ready” I say, taking a deep breath and focusing on the steps.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“I knew you weren't born with two left feet, my lady. You just needed the perfect partner” Pedri says as we wait to get ourselves a drink.

“And you are that perfect partner, aren't you?” I ask him with a teasing smile.

“Duh” he replies.

“So humble” I chuckle. “What… what are they doing?” I ask him, pointing at one of the bartenders.

“They are making kalimotxo.”

“What?”

“Sofía… Sofía, please tell me you know what kalimotxo is.”

“A drink?”

“A… Sofía!” he gasps, his eyes wide. “I get you haven't grown up in the same environment most people have, but are you seriously telling me that as a teen, none of your friends drank kalimotxo?”

“Some of them may have, I know they used to meet to drink in a park or something. But I never joined them, I wasn't interested” I shrug.

“Wow. Just wow” he chuckles. 

“Sorry” I shrug again.

“You don't need to apologize for not being interested on that, Sofía. To each their own, there is nothing wrong about it. It's just that I thought this was something everyone knew everywhere in Spain, royal or not. Do you want to try it?”

“What?”

“Should we order some kalimotxo, my lady?” he says. “It is Coca Cola mixed with wine, though they use more wine than anything. And you like that, so…”

“But I can't drink one of those huge glasses, Pedri. If I do, you'll have to carry me home.”

“Ok” he chuckles. “Then we'll share one.”

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“Here is your first kalimotxo, my lady” Pedri says, passing me the huge plastic glass. 

“Wow” I cough after smelling it. “Are you sure this is legal?”

“You said the same about Paco's chips and now you love them” he smirks. “C'mon, drink.”

“Ok” I sigh before taking a sip. “Bloody hell!”

“That doesn't taste like the nice wine you have in the palace, does it?” he laughs.

“It does not, no. Holy shit.”

“It'll probably taste better after a few sips.”

“Or not.”

“Or not” Pedri laughs. “And look, the bingo is about to start!”

“What?”

“Sofía, please tell me you do know what the bingo is.”

“I do, don't worry. My granddad's sisters love playing it, and if my cousins and I are around, we actually end up joining them and being quite competitive about it.”

“Royals fighting over bingo?” he laughs.

“Yeah” I shrug. 

“Should we get ourselves some tickets and join everyone else, then?”

“Let's go” I smile.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“Sofía… Sofía!”

“Shhh!” I giggle after hitting him with the ugly teddy I won on the bingo. “You are gonna wake them up.”

“Then stop hitting me with that thing!” Pedri whispers. “What is it, by the way? A mouse? A bear? A cat?”

“I don't… fuck!” I say when I trip with the stairs.

“Maybe, after all, you actually were born with two left feet” he laughs.

“Idiot” I say, sticking out my tongue. “Come help me get up.”

“Can't the lady do it herself?” he says with a teasing smile.

“Any other day, she could, yes. But the lady is a bit tipsy and needs help from her handsome boyfriend.”

“A bit tipsy, she says” Pedri snorts. “You are drunk, Sofía.”

“And so are you, Pedro.”

“I'm not” he says, crossing his arms over his chest but somehow losing his balance and ending up on the floor next to me.

“Were saying?” I ask him, arching an eyebrow.

“Whatever” he replies, lying down on the steps and snatching the weird stuffed animal from my hands, using it as a pillow. “Can we spend the night here? It isn't that bad.”

“It isn't, is it? Quite cosy” I say as I lay down next to him, resting my head on his chest.

“Uhm” he replies, running a hand through my hair. Because I'm not wearing the wig anymore. I think it is on the car, that I took it off when we started making out.

“What will we tell my family when they wake up and find us here?”

“That's a tomorrow problem, Sofía” he yawns. 

“Pedri…”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for tonight. I loved it.”

“You're welcome” he smiles. I can't see his face, but I can hear it in his voice. His very sleepy voice. “I love you, Sofía.”

“I love you too” I reply before curling up my body against his and closing my eyes.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“Sofía!”

“Holy mother of Jesus!” I say, standing up so fast that everything around me is spinning. 

“What is this, Sofía?”

“What?”

“You scared us all when one of the security guards told us you were sleeping on the stairs. We thought something had happened to you!”

“Mum, can you… can you lower down your voice, please?”

“I beg your pardon?” she says.

“What time is it?” Pedri yawns next to me.

“Too early” I say, laying down again. 

“Sofía!”

“Yes?”

“Are you drunk?”

“I'm… I was. Now I think I'm hungover.”

“Why are you yelling so early in the morning?” my grandma says somewhere.

“Your granddaughter and her boyfriend are drunk!”

“Hungover” I correct her.

“And is that a reason to start yelling as if the house was on fire?” my grandma says.

“Of course it is! They are sleeping on the stairs!”

“I've slept in worse places in my youth” my grandma chuckles.

“Are you defending them?” my mum gasps.

“I'm just saying that they are young, in love and on holidays. Let them enjoy themselves!”

“But… But…”

“C'mon, darlings” my grandma says, waking us up more gently than my mum. “You better go to your bed if you don't want to add back pain to what you will definitely be feeling in a few hours.”

“Ok” I say, barely opening my eyes as she guides us towards our room.

“Are we in trouble?” Pedri asks her.

“You aren't, don't worry. I'll deal with her and my son” my grandma says.

“Thank you, grandma” I say, letting myself fall on the bed once we make it there, Pedri doing the same with a loud groan. “For this and for last night.”

“You had fun, didn't you?” she chuckles.

“Yeah… Though I'm not drinking kalimotxo ever again. Do you hear me, Pedri?” But his only reply is a snore. 

“We’ll take that as a yes” my grandma smiles. “Sweet dreams, darling” she says before kissing my forehead, something she hadn't done since I was a little girl.

“Thank you, grandma. I love you” I smile, my eyes already closed.

“I love you too, Sofía” she replies, her words probably being the last nice thing I feel before experiencing the worst 24 hours of my life once I wake up again.

Like I said, I'm not drinking kalimotxo ever again. Like, ever. 

[lipringlrh]

“I told my mum about you.” | mm19

summary: mason’s not your boyfriend, but he might as well be. Especially when his mum thinks he is.

pairing: mason mount x fem!reader

an: in honour of the recent news. i’m glad he’s doing what best for him but it’s still sad, even though he’s (most likely) moving to my team!!!

word count: 1.1k

warnings: dodgy kissing bit xxx

feedback and reblogs appreciated!!!

…

It was a cold Friday night, you were led on the couch with Mason like most nights, cuddled up under a blanket, a film muted in the background. It was like every other evening: the two of you sharing constant kisses and compliments and talking about your future plans together, but neither of you would have it any other way.

You were led against him this time, his arm round your shoulders. You were close enough to lay your head comfortably on his neck, where you would probably end up falling asleep later, but just far enough away that you had to lean over to kiss him, stopping you from doing just that the whole night.

He was quieter tonight than usual but you didn't mind. Silence with Mason was comfortable, you could sit by him for hours and not speak. You were both perfectly content with just being next to each other.

You knew something was on his mind but you weren't entirely sure what. You knew he'd tell you when he was ready, so you didn't mind and carried on focusing on the muted film, trying to grasp any idea of what was going on.

"I told my mum about you - us." He mumbled, a mix of pride and guilt flowing through his words. He didn't mean to mention you at all, not that he didn't want to but for the reason your situation was complicated: you both liked each other and knew that, both acting on your feelings for each other but with no label or exclusivity. He got just a little too tipsy at a family meal but could help but gush about you to everyone.

"Mum, have you seen her? She's so pretty and perfect, Mum. Look." He demanded, wobbling over to her, ready to show her the fourth picture of you tonight.

"Why haven't you told me about her before if you love her this much?" She was quite confused about the situation herself. She figured if he was with someone he would've told her like he usually does, but she'd also never heard him talk about someone this way before.

"Because she's too special, Mum. I don't want to lose her. Don't you think she's beautiful? You have to meet her. Have I told you how kind she is? Or about that time when we-"

He droned on about you for hours but he didn't care, he loved talking about anything to do with you, whether it was your plans for the week or how he watched you do your hair in the morning and couldn't fathom how you did it. His mum didn't mind either, not fully knowing the situation but knowing fully you were extremely special to him.

"You've told me twice, love."

"You have to meet her, Mum. I think I might love her- I think you'd love her. You have to meet her: my girl. My girl, Mum."

"How about you bring her over next time you come round? Next Sunday, or whenever you feel like it, she sounds lovely."

"She is lovely, she's just-"

"Mason, what?" You looked at him in shock: wide-eyed and mouth open. You didn't realise he would talk about you to people other than his close circle that barely had an idea of what was going on, let alone his mum.

"She thinks we're dating, she just assumed by the way I talk about you, and I really didn't want to correct her." He didn't really know why he admitted it but he also didn't regret it after looking at your face.

"Oh." You were shocked but smiling. The fact that he didn't correct her must be a good thing, right? You didn't really know what else to say - you wanted to know every detail of what he said about you but you were now also worried about what his mum thinks.

"She wants to meet you."

You didn't really know where he was taking the conversation - you weren't his girlfriend, why would he let her think that? And how were you meant to answer him when it could all get confusing and awkward with one slip up.

"Shame, she won't," you murmured, looking away from him, trying not to let him read your face - for signs of what, you didn't know.

He grabbed your chin, gently, pulling your face up to almost reach yours. "She is. This Sunday," he whispered against your lips, barely making a sound, then attaching his lips to yours before you could speak.

You let him kiss you for a moment before registering his words and pulling back, leaving your hands on his cheek and chest.

"What do you mean she is? Mason, we're not even-"

"Not yet, we're not. I promised her she could meet you, she's so excited please, baby. I'll promise you anything."

"Mase," you whined, letting him grab your face again before pulling you in to kiss him.

He was confident but soft, neither of you taking the lead, just letting your lips brush over each other. He was grinning more the longer you went on, and you could feel it making you more giddy and eager.

One of his hands moved down to your waist, pulling you in more towards him whilst the other moved under your jaw, holding your head up. Your hands were moving from his chest up to his hair, ruffling through it. He was tender and familiar, and you felt more comfortable than ever before.

You both were eventually forced to pull away but you stayed close, resting your foreheads close to one another. His hands was still holding your head up, keeping you close, as you both listened to the others heavy breathing.

"I love you," he confessed, tightening his grip on your waist, not letting you leave. He was still trying to get his breath back but couldn't resist staring at your lips, silently begging for more.

You moved your head back as far as his hand would allow you to take a proper look at him and take him all in. Your hands were still in his hair and it wouldn't take anyone long to notice how messy you've made it, along with his slightly swollen lips. He looked like the prettiest mess.

"I love you too, Mase. So much."

"Yeah?" He broke out into a massive grin, similar to you. "You do?"

"I really do." You felt warm all over, the joy bubbling up from your stomach. It felt like a moment from your dreams.

"Kiss me then." You couldn't help but comply, leaning back into him impatiently and sealing your lips together.

please please please drop in my inbox (or whatever it’s called) on what footballers you want me to write for!!!

footballer masterlist (coming soon) |

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Dancing in loafers

Bartolomeoxreader. Modern AU. An opposite attracts story! (moodboard)

Lots of swearing, some violence.

*****

You and Bartolomeo are of an age and both grew up in the same little town, but you are as different as two people can be. Barto is a thug, a good-hearted but prone to violence hoodlum who never finished school, and supports himself working odd jobs and gets involved in a different brawl every week; with his green hair, heavy motorbike and disrespectful attitude, not to mention the way he dresses, he’s well known to the local authorities. For Barto, the ideal night is spent drinking at a bar, getting in a fistfight with Gambia and his other friends -the Barto Club, obviously named after their leader- against another of the town’s gangs, riding around town on their bikes, and then camping all together at the place of one of them, nursing both an hangover and bruises as they sleep until late. 

You are at the other end of the spectrum. A straight-A student, you won not one but two prestigious scholarships for academic merit, and were accepted into a prestigious university; you spend your time reading, writing, visiting museums and attending conferences on various subjects. Years spent poring over books and staring at your computer’s screen -to study, not to play videogames or wasting time on social media- have ruined your sight to the point you have to wear thick eyeglasses, and your look is as classic as they come: plaid skirts, blouses and tweed jackets, moccasins and oxfords. Your criminal record is unblemished, you never even got a parking ticket or a fine at the library, and only drink a glass of wine on special occasions, more because you genuinely dislike alcohol than because you think there’s something wrong with it. 

In short, you and Barto hang out with different crowds and have no friends in common, but he was hired as a cashier at the same grocery shop where you work -those scholarships were not, unfortunately, enough to pay for your tuition, and you didn’t want to ask your parents for a loan- and so you did start to bond. You helped Barto learn to use a till and manage the shop’s books, and he insisted you let him carry all the heavier packages, and even defended you when a drunk customer started harassing you. You spend your breaks together, and he insists on walking you home every night, given the lateness of the hour, and even though he lives in the opposite direction, claiming -every single night- that he has to meet a friend in your neighbourhood.

In the end, six months after you started working together, you have become… friends, in a sense, and while when you first met him you were a bit intimidated by his weird hair and clothes, not to mention his name in town is synonymous with troublemaking, you did come to respect him immensely: Bartolomeo -it’s just Barto, alright? Not even my mum calls me Bartolomeo- is headstrong, determined, the sort of person who never gives up on something he cares for and lets no one disrespect him, all characteristics you admire in a person. He’s kind as well, even if he’s too embarrassed to admit it: he regularly comes to work still tipsy or with a bruised face, and he and his bike are regulars at the town’s illegal street races circuits, but you have also seen him buying -not stealing, buying- a bottle of milk from the shop to feed the neighbourhood’s stray cats, and to carry the purchases of a few old ladies to their car, saving them the effort, even though that is not part of his duties. 

He has told you he quite likes working at the shop, for once, and you are proud of all the effort he is putting in it; he might not be the sort of friend your parents, or society, would want for you, and you still disapprove of his habit of getting into fights and causing trouble for the mere thrill of it, but Barto is a good man, clever, kind, and…

… and you have gotten a crush on him, maybe even something more. It is your first time, but you feel yourself blushing every time his hand touches yours as he passes you a bottle or a can to put on the shelf, and one day you happened to catch a glimpse -you weren’t spying on him, you swear!- of his naked torso as he changed into his work shirt in the toilet, and the image wouldn’t leave your mind for days.

So yes, you like Barto, and, you decide after much deliberation -seriously, it took you less time to decide what university to attend!- you would gladly start a relationship with him, if he were to ask you, or accept your proposal. The problem is, much as it grieves you to say it, Barto has never given you reason to even just suspect your feelings are reciprocated. He’s always friendly and appears to sincerely enjoy your company, but nothing more; he doesn’t have a steady partner, but sometimes he mentions a man or a woman he went on a -social or, err, domestic- date with, never the same person for long, which makes you suspect he might not be interested in a more long-lasting relationship, no matter who with. You’re not even sure he considers you a proper friend; one day his friend Gambia came into the shop to buy some groceries and he refused to introduce you, mumbling something you didn’t catch before grabbing his friend’s arm to pull him towards the frozen foods section. 

The people he likes are probably as different from you as they can be; girls who wear low-rider jeans and heavy make-up, who hold their liquor as much as their boyfriends do and hold on their backs during a motorbike ride. Barto did offer to take you for a ride once, but you declined, because you were scared of falling, and of the speed the bike could reach, and you could see how disappointed he was, even though he didn’t insist. 

Why would Barto want to go out with you?, you reflect sadly one night as you close the lid of your laptop before preparing for bed; you have just received an excellent grade for your latest exam, but you can’t find any joy, nor satisfaction, in that result for once; there are so many other people he would like better, people who have more in common with him that simply thirty hours of work a week. He has probably never thought about you as a potential partner, content with being your colleague and nothing more…

 … then I’ll have to show him; show him I can be more than a colleague, and that no matter how boring and mousy I seem, I can make a man’s head spin, if I put my mind to it. Even yours, Barto. 

Your decision is taken. The perfect occasion presents itself a week later, when you read in one of the magazines you are arranging on a shelf that the Dressrosa, a popular club Barto told you he and his friends often hung out at, is going to reopen soon after a period of closure for renovations. That very night, as you and Barto walk towards your home, you gather your courage and propose that the two of you attend the Dressrosa’s opening night together, just the two of you.

Barto refuses.

“Why? Are you going with your friends? Can’t I… come as well?” you ask, sounding small.

“It’s not that; I mean, I’ll probably go with the boys, but… it’s not the place for you, (name); you shouldn’t go to a club like that.”

“But… I thought you liked the Dressrosa.”

“I do. Just… promise me you’ll stay away, alright?”

You have no way of continuing the conversation, because you have reached your complex; Barto mumbles a goodnight and then leaves, briskly walking away while you remain at the door, looking at his retracting figure while your heart breaks in a million pieces.

He’s ashamed of you. Ashamed of what his friends, and the other men of the town, would think if he showed up at the Dressrosa with a woman like you by his side; does he think they would laugh about you both, calling his virility into question since he was unable to attract a more desirable partner? Would he choose to avoid being seen in public with you, rather than chiding his friends for making fun of you and your clothes?

Well; if that is the reason, then Barto is not the sort of man you thought he was, nor the man you’re interested in being in a relationship, or even just friendly, with. By now he knows the job well enough not to need your help, and from tomorrow on, you promise yourself that night as you take a quick break from your usual night study session, you’ll spend as little time with him as possible, using your bicycle to return home and spending your breaks reading rather than talking to him. Part of you will probably miss him, but if Barto is unable to look beyond your clothes and love for studying, and cares more about his friends’ opinion than to spend time with a person who cares for him, then too bad for him, and you won’t waste your tears on a man like that. 

Still, no matter how determined you are to leave your affection for Barto behind, since he’s clearly not worth it, you are still annoyed, and upset, that he thought the Dressrosa, one of the town’s most popular clubs, was not the right place for you. Who gave him the authority to decide? Does he really think that only because you enjoy studying, spend most of your time in the library and only drink cola and tonic water, you are unable to enjoy yourself and spend a night dancing? In that case, you decide as you reach your first-row seat for your first class of the day, your laptop already at hand to take notes, you’ll show him! You’ll go to the Dressrosa opening night by yourself, wear a nice dress, dance and meet new people, and when Barto sees you you will ignore him, making it clear that you are more than able to have fun, preferably without him. 

A perfect plan, except for one single detail: you’ve never been to a club before and have no idea what to do, how to act, and especially what to wear, to a place like that. Fortunately, you have recently become friends with a girl attending a few of your classes, named Nefertari Vivi; her father is a famous fashion designer, and she is studying to follow in his footsteps. Who better than her could suggest you what to wear for your first visit to a club?

So you stop Vivi at the end of the class, explain your situation -at least regarding the Dressrosa and your desire not to look like a fish out of water; mentioning Barto would be too humiliating- and beg for her help, which your friend is happy to lend. 

Two days later, three before the day of the club’s re-opening, you go shopping together, and on your request Vivi chooses a dress, shorter and more ostentatious than anything in your wardrobe, a pair of high-heeled shoes, and even a few accessories. 

“Come on, try them on, let me see how you look.” she excitedly invites you, and you obey, disappearing in the shop’s dressing room. You emerge a few minutes later, and the woman staring back at you from the full-length mirror is… well, not you, or at least not a version of you that has ever existed before. But you look good, even though you just need to look at your naked legs, or the portion of cleavage left exposed by the dress, to feel embarrassed. And the heels are so high! Do women actually dance in these?

“Are you sure this is alright? I mean, I know one doesn’t wear to a club the same clothes she puts on to go to class, but…” you stammer, unsure of how to express what you think and fear, but Vivi, who is a kind soul who would never deliberately embarrass you, assures you that there’s nothing inappropriate in what you are wearing, at least for a place like the Dressrosa. Of course you don’t have to wear what she chooses, let alone something you don’t feel at ease in, and if you’d rather keep your legs covered, or choose a less modest neckline, she can…

“No, it’s fine. These are fine, really.” you rush to add, already regretting your objection as you retreat towards the dressing room, more than a bit unstable on your new shoes “I’m gonna take them off and go pay.”

And so it is that you buy your first club outfit - quite an expense, for clothes you doubt you’ll ever get to wear a second time, but you are sure it’s worth it. 

Over the next few days you pointedly keep your distance from Barto, who seems to perceive you are angry or upset for some reason, but when he tries asking what is eating you, (name)? you avoid meeting his eyes and ask him to leave you alone because you are busy with your book, which he does, with a roll of his eyes. Later that day, you hear him make plans over the phone with his friend Gambia to attend the Dressrosa opening night, and the humiliation inside you reaches the breaking point: he does intend to go, knows you want to do the same, and still he won’t invite you.

I’ll show you. Oh, I’ll show you alright, Bartolomeo!

Finally it’s the big night. Two hours before the club’s opening, you reach Vivi’s house with your new clothes in a bag, and she helps you prepare, even enlisting the help of his father’s assistants, Pell and Chaka, to take care of your hair and make-up. 

“You look lovely, (name).” she says in the end approvingly. The effect of the outfit, so different from anything you have ever worn before, not to mention the fact you are wearing contacts rather than your usual glasses, is even more striking now that you are all dolled up, but as you observe your reflection in the large mirror in Vivi’s room -which is bigger than your apartment- the feeling of estrangement has been replaced by something akin to pride: you may be a four-eyes teacher’s pet, a woman who has never been asked on a date and feels more at ease in the library than in a club, but you can look good, and even make heads turn towards you, if you put your mind to it.

You can’t wait to see Barto’s reaction when he’ll see the new you. It might be childish, and petty, but you hope that he’ll realise how pretty you are, and it will be too late, because you will have moved on, and maybe even met someone else…

You thank Vivi for her help, promising to reciprocate if she ever needs it, and she wishes you a good night and begs you to call her tomorrow to tell her how it went. 

You reach the club by metro, planning on taking a taxi to return home. You are more than excited as you join the long queue before the entrance, and finally you are allowed to pay for your ticket and enter; no matter what happens today, you know already this night will be unforgettable. 

The inside of the Dressrosa is not different from what you had imagined: a long bar counter, loud music, a DJ, go-go dancers on podiums, bouncers patrolling the area. The energy in the large, dark room is electrifying, exciting, sensual, and just a little dangerous; unlike what you would have imagined just two weeks ago, you soon decide you like it.

It would be excessive to say that the moment you step into the room, every single head turns in your direction, half of the other patrons wishing they were you and the other that they were with you, but you swear you can see appreciation in the gazes of two young men who openly look at you on their way to the bar, and a girl you had shared a few class with last year recognises you and compliments your outfit. 

You look around you for a while, observing the crowd that has quickly filled the club to capacity, and to your relief you quickly decide you are not out of place as far as your clothes are concerned; if anything, your dress and high heels look positively tame compared to what some other people are wearing, but at least you do not look like a fish out of water, which is reassuring.

Deciding to take your time before joining the dances, you reach the bar, sit on a stool and ask for a cola, to the great amusement of the barman. “Would you prefer a fruit juice, darling?” he asks, openly derisive, but then he starts to prepare your drink, which you are free to enjoy as you observe the place and the people filling it; the dance-floor is already crowded, and while the music is different from the classic composers and opera pieces you’re accustomed to listen, it is catchy, and who knows, maybe someone will come inviting you…

“Hello.”

A man is leaning against the counter by your side as he regards you with interest; he is very handsome, with long blonde hair and an outfit clearly chosen to emphasise the wearer’s athletic physique. 

You can’t believe he’s talking to you. “Err, hello.”

“Name’s Cavendish.” he says, offering you a smile that is blinding even in the stroboscopic-lit darkness of the club; you have always had a weak spot for guys with a nice smile “Why haven’t I seen you here before?”

“Well, this is the first time I… I mean, I usually prefer other clubs.” you quickly recover, praying inside you the man -Cavendish- won’t ask you to elaborate, because you don’t know the name of any other club, let alone the ones that could impress him “But I heard the Dressrosa was a good place, so…”

“It really is, especially now that you are here. Can I know the name of such a pretty girl?”

He’s flirting with you, you feel flattered to realise, like no one in your life had ever done before; you tell him your name, and you spend a few minutes talking - or rather screaming at each other, since the music is so loud you can barely hear yourself. Catchy, yes, but you know already that tomorrow morning you’ll wake up with a migraine.

You and Cavendish are talking about your jobs when suddenly you notice a green mohawk in the crowd, out of the corner of your eye: Barto is standing near a sofa his friends are huddled on, staring in disbelief at you. Feeling extra petty, you smile and raise your glass at him, and then turn to look at Cavendish, trying to look completely interested in what he has to say. As you expected, a minute later…

“(name), what the fuck are you doing here?!”

Barto is now standing next to you, looking supremely pissed and incredulous, even though you could swear you can see him blush when his gaze falls on your naked legs “And what the hell are you wearing?!”

He, you must admit, looks amazing, black leather trousers hugging his strong legs and backside, a shirt left unbuttoned just enough to offer you a peek of his firm chest, silver jewels on his fingers and ears. 

“So? I asked you a question!”

“Dude, leave her alone.” Cavendish intervenes chivalrously; then, turning to you: “You know this guy?”

You are sorely tempted to deny. “We work together.” you admit “Leave me alone, Barto; I am perfectly fine.”

“You shouldn’t be here, (name). This place is…”

“I happen to like this place. Now, please, just go.”

Barto seems ready to argue some more, but then he sees something in your gaze, and he gives up; he leaves, clearly angry. 

“Your ex?” Cavendish asks, looking at Barto’s retracting figure; you can’t help following his eyes, until the ever-moving crowd of the club swallows your green-haired colleague.

“Oh, no; we’re just colleagues.” you explain; it’s not a lie.

“Well, I bet he wants to be something more.”

You both remain silent for a minute; Cavendish gulps down his drink, and then, just as you find yourself wondering, despite yourself, if you shouldn’t stand and follow Barto to explain yourself, he takes your hand. “Dance with me?”

You have never danced before, not since your ballet classes as a young girl -which you enjoyed, even though you and your parents agreed it was better to interrupt to allow you to dedicate more time to studying- and you don’t quite know what to do. Fortunately, there are no choreographies involved: people just seem to stand, swaying to the music, hugging a partner or in groups, at most waving their arms or jumping in place. As soon as you have reached the dancefloor, Cavendish’s hands find their way to your hips, which feels a bit premature since you have known each other for twenty minutes, but what do you know?, maybe this is how it works in places like this. So you look discretely around you to observe what other women are doing, and then circle his neck with your arms, which Cavendish seems to appreciate.

Neither of you notices a woman, dancing with two others nearby, whose eyes follow you intently, an expression of displeasure on her pretty face.

“You are very beautiful, you know.”

“Thank you.” you say, sincerely touched; you can’t help but wish Barto had been the one to utter those words, but he wasn’t, he didn’t want you when you proposed you go to the club together, and you have to forget him.

You remain on the dancefloor with Cavendish long enough to lose track of time; you enjoy dancing, but you keep bumping into other people, and at some point, you feel a hand -a masculine hand, no doubt- squeeze your backside. You cry out in alarm, and turn, and the closest people are laughing at you; you demand to know who touched you, and they ignore you. 

“You okay?” Cavendish asks when you tell him what happened; he seems to be genuinely sorry but, he tells you, accidents like that happen all the time at the club, and most girls get used to it.

“You mean they don’t fight back? And their partners and friends don’t intervene?” you ask, flabbergasted; you are the least athletic person in the world, and have been a victim of bullism since you started school, but the one time you were molested -you were fifteen, and one of the school’s rugby player decided it would have been fun to grab your skirt to tear it and expose your underwear in the middle of the corridor- you slammed a eight pounds physics textbook in his face. It was the one time in your life you were called to the principal’s office, but it was worth it.

“Sometimes they do, but it’s so dark here it’s hard to say who did what. Listen, I am very sorry; just don’t think about it. If it happens again I’ll intervene, I promise.”

You nod numbly, thinking, once more despite yourself, that Bartolomeo’s reaction would have been completely different, had he been present; he would have forced the people who might have witnessed the incident to listen, and then he would have beaten the crap out of the person responsible and forced him to apologise, even if it meant being kicked out from the club, even if it meant being blacklisted from the Dressrosa.

He would have done it; even if he doesn’t reciprocate your feelings, even if he considers you nothing more than a colleague he is forced to spend time with. He would have defended you, whatever the price. He would have done it for you. 

“You want to stop?” Cavendish asks kindly, and you shake your head; you remain on the dancefloor for a while, but the fun you were having until a minute ago seems to have evaporated. The smell of alcohol and sweat impregnates the air, the music is loud, and every single other patron of the club seems to have decided to bump into you before the end of the night. In the next hour you see Barto two more times, the first as he sits by himself on a sofa nursing a beer, the second as he talks to a very pretty woman -you recognise her by her long pink braid; her name is Rebecca, and she’s a student of your university, a friend of Vivi- a sight that you have no right to be sad about, but you do, almost as if you could feel your heart breaking in a hundred pieces.

Suddenly you feel suffocating; suddenly, even though the evening has been somewhat pleasant until now, you wish you had never set foot in the Dressrosa. 

“I’m going outside for a minute; I need some air.” you tell Cavendish, and he nods.

“I’m coming with you.”

“There’s no need, really…”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind.” he says kindly, and you, who had actually hoped for a minute of peace and solitude, can do nothing but nod.

The bouncers standing guard at the entrance stamp your hand as you leave the club, so that you won’t have to pay again when you decide to re-enter. The landscape you find yourself facing is quite desolate: a large parking lot full of vehicles, a few people smoking, someone who didn’t even bother -or manage- to find a more secluded corner before starting to puke their guts out. You let Cavendish’s hand on the small of your spine guide you to the back of the building, where at least the music is a bit less loud, and you can finally breathe a little more freely.

The two of you rest your backs against the wall, alone save for a few garbage bins, full of bottles and plastic cups, and a cat huddled on the hood of a car. For a few minutes neither speaks; Cavendish has lit a cigarette, while you are still thinking about Barto, and wondering if he’s going to leave with Rebecca to spend the night with her, like part of you had hoped he would do with you, had he accepted your offer to go to the club together.

Well, he’s free to; Barto is not your boyfriend, he has a right to spend time with and date and sleep with whoever he pleases, and his life must be no concern of yours. It mustn’t; you can’t allow a guy who declined to be seen with you in public out of embarrassment to break your heart, because a man like that doesn’t deserve you. Still, you can’t help but feel sad about it, because you do care about Barto, and you thought he cared for you as well…

“You alright?” Cavendish asks after a while, the smoke of his cigarette spreading in the cold air of the night.

“Yes, sure; sorry, I just wanted…”

Suddenly he is smiling as he throws the cigarette on the ground and stubs it with his foot. “Yes, I know.” he interrupts you, and a moment later his arm has circled your waist, pulling you close “I know what you want, baby.”

And a moment later he is kissing you.

It is so unexpected, even though it shouldn’t be, that for a moment you don’t know how to react; you remain perfectly still, your mind gone blank because of the shock, as Cavendish kisses you passionately. It has been years since the last time something like this happened to you, and it should be pleasant, because he is attractive and he complimented and paid attention to you and his mouth is warm and soft against yours, but it’s not, it’s not pleasant at all!

Why the hell is he doing this? You barely know him, and you have not consented to this in any way! Could he not -oh God he just put his tongue in your mouth- could he not at least ask or make sure you also wanted this…?

For a minute, maybe two, you try to get used to the kiss, to find some pleasure in it, to feel what a person is supposed to feel in a situation like this; but you don’t, and when Cavendish pushes you against the wall behind you, gently but forcefully, and puts his free hand on your breast, you realise you need to stop this now.

You do. “Stop it; please, you need to stop.” you say, and push him away from you, in case he thinks you are just playing coy, and Cavendish does take a step back, looking at you with eyes full of disbelief.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, and you don’t quite know how to answer, because you don’t want to offend him, because he did treat you kindly and doesn’t deserve it, but you’re not sure you’d want to see him a second time. 

So you explain that while you do find him very attractive and had fun spending time with him, you are not interested in getting any closer, and poor Cavendish is completely flabbergasted.

“But… but you did dance with me, yes? We’ve been together for hours… and you let me accompany you outside…”

And this was enough to make him believe you wanted him to kiss you? Is Cavendish used to women falling at his feet five minutes after meeting him -it could be, since he is handsome and clearly knows it- or it is you who, since this is your first visit to a club, have no idea of how relationships develop in places like the Dressrosa?

In any case your decision is made and so, without hesitation, you tell Cavendish you are sorry to disappoint him, and that you never intended to let him on, but you have no intention of kissing him, never did, and you’d really like to remain alone now.

“Are you really sure?”

“Absolutely. Listen, I appreciate you keeping me company, but I don’t want you to waste the rest of your evening on me.”

Cavendish seems to agree, because a moment later you part, still amicably, and he leaves, in search of a woman more sensitive to his charm. The moment his blonde figure disappears from sight, you sigh to yourself, resting your back against the wall.

What a disappointment! Your first kiss in years -you could calculate how many exactly, but you are too embarrassed to- and you wasted it on someone you had no real interest in. You had expected so much from this evening, and yet here you are, head hurting because of the loud music, the packed room that made you feel claustrophobic, and you’ve been touched without consent by not one but two men!

Why the hell did you come here? This is not the right place for you, and you’re not the right person for a club like the Dressrosa, and there’s nothing wrong with it. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to try something new, but this has been a completely wasted evening, and your desire to show Bartolomeo you could have fun without him and despite his declining your offer is beneath you, something you should and do feel ashamed about. Oh, why did you not stay home with a cup of tea and that book you wanted to start reading…?

Busy as you are feeling sorry for yourself, you don’t hear danger approach until it’s too late.

“Hey, you!” the woman calls you, marching in your direction “What were you doing with my boyfriend?!”

You blink, absolutely sure you have never met her before. “... excuse me?”

“I’m talking about Cavendish! I saw you, you know, flirting with him and rubbing yourself on him! He’s mine, and you have to stay away from him!”

Cavendish did mention, as you made each other’s acquaintance at the bar, that he has recently broken up with a woman he had dated for a while, because she had been too controlling and obsessive, to the point of following him around and forbidding him from hanging out with his friends; he could have lied, obviously, to attract you, but you are almost sure the woman is the one framing the truth as it suits her.

“Hasn’t Cavendish broken up with you a while ago?”

“He… shut up! You don’t know what you are talking about!” she orders, her pretty face now bright red “You slut, you need to stay away from my man!”

Not wanting to get involved in a -former- lovers’ quarrel, you tell the woman you have no interest in Cavendish and she is free to go get him if she wants, but she doesn’t believe you, already convinced as she is that you have somehow seduced her man to take him away from her. You are usually a non-confrontational person, inclined to solve problems with words and reasoning rather than arguing or worse with violence, but tonight your patience has reached its limits; so you bite back at her, making it clear that you have no interest in Cavendish and that maybe he’d be still dating her, rather than kissing other girls, if she were less controlling and obsessive…

“Kissing?!”

Shit.

It’s too late, unfortunately, to take your words back, and learning you have kissed her ex turns the woman’s anger into full-blown rage. She swears at you using words you had never even heard before, and then, still unsatisfied, starts threatening you. “I can find out where you live, you slut, I’ll cut your face with a knife!”

“You can try!” you answer, equally furious; how dare she?! Does she not know you could go to the police for words like these?! “Who the hell do you think you are? The only way you can get a man to date you is by intimidating other women to stay away? You are pathetic!”

You are really fed up with all of this; fed up with this idiot, fed up with this sordid place, fed up with yourself even, since you got yourself in this stupid situation to get back at a guy who never even wanted you. Why didn’t you stay home?

“You know what? I’m sick of this. I’m leaving.” you declare, turning on your heels -your poor feet hurt, after a whole evening with this stupid, uncomfortable shoes, and you can’t wait to take them off and make yourself a footbath- and that is your mistake, because there are few things more dangerous than to take your eyes away from a person who is threatening you. 

You had noticed the glass bottle in the woman’s hand, but you had paid no mind to it, just vaguely thinking her behaviour was due to the number of drinks she had imbibed, not imagining that the harmless container might be used as a weapon; you are grabbed by the shoulder…

“You bitch!”

… and the moment your body is forced to turn, an arm is raised above your head…

“Noo…!”

… the bottle is smashed against your forehead, and the world turns into pain and the red of your blood.

*****

“(name)? Oh, fuck… (name), baby, please, talk to me, please… open your eyes…”

Obeying is the hardest thing you have ever had to do -and since you have once taken three exams in a day, skipped two grades in school, and enrolled in more optional courses than any other student in your year, that is saying something- but you have recognised the voice calling your name, and this makes you less afraid of the world you could find yourself in once you come around. 

“Are you alright?” Barto asks; he’s kneeling on the ground next to you, genty supporting your head with one hand while the other is holding a dirty napkin already soaked in blood - your blood. You can feel it on your forehead, on your hair, dripping down your cheek, syrup-like dense and sticky, and you’re terrified, because you don’t…

“... know.” answer in a small voice “W-what happened to me?”

“You don’t remember?”

“I… yes, a woman hit me with a bottle, but… am I hurt? Barto, I am bleeding… I can’t see well…”

It’s true, his face and the wall behind it swimming in front of you, first clearly visible and then shrouded in darkness and then somehow opaque, as if you couldn’t focus on them, but Barto assures you your eyes are fine, even if some blood trickled on the left one. “You are probably under shock.” he murmurs, and then anger fills his face - an anger that is not aimed at you “Where is the bitch who did this to you? I’m gonna kill her!”

“No…”

“Oh, yes! I know I shouldn’t hit women, but I swear, I’ll make her wish she was never born…”

And this is when you start to cry. Out of pain, yes, and of fear and anger, but out of relief and gratitude as well, because until a moment ago you and Barto had, if not properly fought, at least been more distant than you had ever been since the day you first met, and he still came to help you when you needed it… as if he cared for you.

“Oh, fuck… (name), I’m sorry…”

“I-it’s not your fault.” you stammer. You are pretty sure you’ve never looked worse in your life, between the blood, the tears, and the ruined make-up, and Barto is at the same time the first and the last person you’d want by your side in a situation like this “Please, I just want to clean myself… I need to go to the toilet…”

“Good idea. Give me your hand. Come on…”

In the end he has to almost lift you from the ground, and then his arm around your waist is guiding you back inside, as you cross the room in the direction of the ladies’ room.

“Come on, we are almost there.” Barto says encouragingly, and you nod numbly, still a bit wobbly on your legs, clinging to his shoulder to keep yourself upright as you limp by his side.

The white-tiled room is occupied by several women who fix their make-up in front of the mirror, smoke, or make out against the cubicle’s walls; they react with surprise when they see Barto, but then they notice you, still sobbing softly, and every one of those women you have never met before immediately offers their help, at first making sure this guy with the mohawk is not the one who decked you and then assisting you in cleaning the blood away from your face and hair.

“I’m afraid you need stitches, girl.” one of them says with a wince, as she observes the wound “There’s a clinic behind here…”

“Yeah, I know the place.” Barto points out, preoccupation evident on his face as he listens to your moans “Sorry, but can someone go take her stuff?”

One of the women volunteers, soon returning with your jacket and purse, while another gives you her water to drink and a third even offers to fix your make up. You thank them all profusely, their kindness so welcome in a moment you desperately needed some, and in the end you and Barto leave the toilet together, him once again holding you by the waist.

“I’m bringing you to the clinic, alright? My bike is right here.”

“I can’t ride a bike.” you murmur as you finally leave the large door of the Dressrosa behind you.

“You just need to hold on to me; we’ll be there in five minutes.” 

“Barto, I really can’t…”

“Yes, you can. (name), believe me.” he tells you, taking your face in his hands, large and rough, but so kind as they cradle your head, and suddenly you are so close he could kiss you, and the mere thought makes your heart tremble “I promise you won’t fall. I know it hurts like shit, but hold fast, alright? Five minutes, and we’ll be at the clinic. Can you do it for me?”

There is very little you would not do for him, but if there’s a right moment to tell him, this is not it. The truth is you have always wanted to ride Barto’s bike, a beautiful, powerful vehicle that is his pride and joy, but you refused the only time he offered to take you for a ride, afraid you’d be too scared and you’d make a fool of yourself begging Barto to slow down or to stop because you were feeling sick. He probably wants a girl who knows her stuff about bikes -“it has two wheels, and an handlebar”, that’s all you could say- you have thought ruefully more than once, a girl who probably has one of her own, unlike you, who take the metro to go to class and cycle around the rest of the time.

Still, that is a thought for another moment as well. The bike is parked on the back of the club; once you reach it, Barto helps you mount behind him, and you hold on tight, still too in pain and too scared of falling to appreciate the fact you can feel his athletic, solid body in your arms, the pleasant smell of his aftershave filling your senses. 

“Barto, please…”

“Don’t worry, baby.” he says, turning to look at you with a smile, as he starts the engine, the bike coming alive under him like a lion roaring “You’re safe with me.”

You believe him.

You reach the clinic less than ten minutes later, the brief journey at low speed and perfectly safe, and enter the waiting room, empty save for a clearly exhausted doctor taking a cup from a vending machine, a nurse pushing a patient in a wheelchair towards a corridor, and another nurse sitting behind the counter. 

It is she who Barto walks determinedly towards, having left you on one of the chairs available for the waiting patients. “Sorry, is Nico Robin here tonight?”

The woman Barto has asked for appears a minute later; she seems to be only a few years older than you, tall and slender, clad in an immaculate doctor coat, a stethoscope hanging from her neck. 

“Hello, Bartolomeo.” she says kindly, apparently not at all upset to have been called upon when she was probably already busy with something else “I’d ask what brings you here tonight but I think I can see it with my eyes.”

“This is my friend (name); some bitch at a club smashed a glass bottle on her face.” Barto succinctly introduces you “Can you give her a look? And she probably needs something for the pain.”

“Of course. (name), I am doctor Nico Robin.” the woman kindly introduces herself to you “Can you come with me, so I can get a look at your wound?”

You nod quietly, and five minutes later you are sitting on a hospital bed in a small, white-walled room, while Robin takes care of your wound and Barto stands guard by your side. He has taken your hand in his, squeezing it gently every time he sees pain on your face: you had never gotten stitches before, and you really wish that was a gap you wouldn’t have to fill.

“Alright, all done.” Robin announces in the end as she stands from her stool, to then retrieve a small mirror from a shelf “Have a look.”

You do, and fortunately now that it has been cleaned and closed, your wound looks… a bit less horrible than before. “Will it leave a scar?” you ask, dreading the thought of having a reminder of that horrible moment on your skin forever, but fortunately the doctor -Robin, please- reassures you.

“It shouldn’t; it’ll take a while to heal, but you should be fine. You will have to keep a bandage on it for a few days, though.”

That is a sacrifice you can bear. 

“That’s good; your face is too pretty to ruin it with a scar… even though you’d have looked badass, (name), I’m sure.” Barto points out; then, as if realising he has just paid you a compliment, he blushes furiously and looks away, hands in his pockets.

You thank Robin profusely for her help, and she just smiles in return, walking you to the door before returning to her job.

“How do you feel?” Barto asks quietly as you walk back to his bike; he seems nervous, as if fearing you could blame him for what happened, or tell him you never want to see him again.

Those are, of course, the farthest things from your mind, but you are too tired and in pain to focus on it; the only thing you want now is your home, your bed, and a cup of chamomile.

“Better, I think; I hope I’ll feel better tomorrow morning.” you answer, forcing a smile “Can you accompany me home, please?”

He nods, and so a minute later you’re riding through the night, the roar of the engine deafening you, and you are cold and tired and in pain and your feet are killing you, but you feel safe, clinging to Barto’s warm, solid body, no longer worried but sure that he’ll bring you home, safe and sound, just like he promised.

He does, and in the end it is very late, so late it is almost early, when Barto sees you retrieve your house key from your bag, standing in front of your complex and looking more ill at ease than you thought he could. 

“Listen, I…” he begins, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck “I… err…”

“Yes?”

“Shit… (name), I am so sorry.” 

“It’s not your fault, Barto. None of it is…”

Your friend shakes his head, apparently determined not to be comforted. He found you outside the club because he saw Cavendish inside by himself and asked him about you, he explains, but had he arrived five minutes earlier he could have stopped that bitch from hurting you. Or even better, he should have accompanied you to the Dressrosa, so that he’d have been by your side at all times…

Ah.

“Barto?”

“Yes?”

You swallow, now turned to look at him; you have never been afraid of Barto, but suddenly asking the question waiting behind your lips is the hardest thing you have ever done. 

“Why didn’t you want to go to the club with me? Are you… ashamed of me? Of the way… I dress? You thought people would laugh at you, because you were with me?”

The ten seconds that follow are the longest, tensest of your life, but Barto seems too stunned to react, staring at you as if he had never met you before. 

“Oh, shit.” he says in the end, finally realising the effect his refusal had on you “Oh, God, (name), no! I could never… be ashamed of you! Do you really think I care about what people think?”

“Well, I thought… the clothes I usually wear are not exactly the sort you wear to a club… and there were so many beautiful women…”

Another shake of his head, before your friend rests his hands on your shoulders, staring at you like a man does when he’s making a solemn promise, or swearing on his life what he says is the truth. 

Bartolomeo, it turns out, is doing both things.

“The only beautiful girl I could see tonight is you.” he murmurs “And believe me, I would have been happy to go to a club with you; or anywhere really. Proud to.”

“But then why…?”

“The Dressrosa is a dangerous place, (name); you’ve seen it too. It’s nice, the drinks are good and the music too, but the violence… Police have to intervene all the time, one time  I’ve seen three stabbings in one night, and no girl goes there without at least two guys protecting her, because you never know what could happen. I just didn’t want something bad to happen to you; I should have told you, but I didn’t want you to think I thought you couldn’t take care of yourself. I wanted to take you somewhere else, a nicer place where we could drink and dance and have time to talk, but…” 

“I beat you to it.”

“You did. I am so sorry, (name); it’s all my fault.”

You sigh, at the same time relieved you were able to clarify the misunderstanding, and feeling more stupid than ever; had you and your friend just talked, him admitting the reason for his refusal, and you being less petty and avoiding going to a place you weren’t even really interested in, all this mess could have been avoided. You could have spent a nice evening somewhere else, and now instead you have a new pricey outfit you will never wear again, and an ugly wound on your head that will take weeks to heal.

“I just wanted you to look at me.” you mumble; you can’t bear to look back at Barto, and suddenly you feel stupid, and childish, and so so tiny “Not as colleagues who help each other and spend their breaks together, and not like friends either. Girls like me are seen, but rarely looked at. I wanted you to look at me, and to want me.”

“But I do want you.”

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better, Barto. I ruined your night, I’m sorry…”

“You didn’t. Fuck, I would have been happy to have a bottle smashed on my face, if it meant I’d get to take you home.” he says, and you can feel him tremble  “(name), I… I do look at you, and want you. I just… I’m not good for you.”

“Barto, no…”

Another determined shake of his head. “You know that too. You’re good, smart, you don’t get in trouble… you’re probably gonna have a great career and make a lot of money; I’ll be lucky if I get to work at the shop for the rest of my life and pay my rent with that. I’m not saying my life sucks; I like my life. But you deserve better, (name); you deserve a guy who can study with you, and who can afford to buy you nice things, and-and bring you to all those places for brainy people like museums and…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence; he can’t, because you have grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and smashed your mouth against his in a kiss that is passionate, fierce, and expresses everything you haven’t dared to utter in words. Barto is clearly taken aback, but a moment later he’s moaning in your mouth, one of his arms holding you by the waist while the fingers of the other run through your hair. 

“Shit, baby…”

“Don’t talk; just kiss me.” you tell him, without breaking the kiss, and you can feel Barto laugh softly against your mouth.

“As you wish…”

You could get inside, you have the keys to the complex in your hand, but you can’t stop, you can’t stop kissing him and holding him and having your hands discover his skin through and under his clothes. Barto is holding you as if never wanting to let go, his strong hands moving up and down your sides, his tongue doing something so unspeakable to yours you can feel your knees buckle, if it weren’t for the wall now pressed against your back. You are kissing near the complex’s trash bins, in sight of any tenant who just decides to look out of their window, your wound is still hurting and Barto tastes like cheap alcohol and smoke, but it is your first kiss, and it is perfect the way it is.

The moment Barto’s hands touch your buttocks, you jump.

“Shit, sorry… I didn’t mean…”

“No, it’s fine.” you hurry to answer; you’re bright red in the face, he can see it, and you don’t care “I-I don’t mind; quite the opposite in fact.”

Barto laughs, clearly pleased as his hands slide downwards, his fingers grabbing at your flesh. “This is a side of you I didn’t think existed.” he murmurs.

“These stupids clothes don’t count?”

“I think you look very pretty tonight; but you always look nice.”

“Seriously?” you inquire, breaking the kiss to look at him; maybe it’s stupid to ask for reassurance in a moment like this, since Barto is clearly doing his best to prove how much he likes you, but you can’t help it “I thought… I mean, my long skirts and blouses and all the rest are pretty boring compared to what other girls wear…”

“I like your long skirts and blouses and all the rest just fine; and you are sexy as hell whatever you wear.”

“Barto…”

“I’m serious, (name).” he insists, and he really is, as he takes your face in his hands once more “Do you really think I care about the sort of clothes you wear? I know you, and I want you; I want you so much it hurts. And I know I’m not good for you, and that you deserve better, but if you actually give a damn about me, if you just give me a chance, I promise…”

“Ssh…”

A finger on his lips silences Barto. “I do much more than care for you.” you reassure him “I want you too, Barto; because I know you too. I know how clever, kind, and protective you are; I have wanted you for a long time, and I am so happy I got to tell you.”

You share a smile, still holding each other tight; no more words are necessary as Barto lets you lead him to the complex’s door, which a minute later closes behind you.

*****

You find yourself whistling softly, something you only do when you are particularly happy or relaxed -or both things together, like in this particular instance- when, thirty-six hours later, in a sunny early afternoon, you leave the faculty building where most of your classes take place. Your bag, hanging from your shoulder, is as usual heavy with the weight of your books, but by contrast, your step has never been so light as you move towards the main door, walking past students and professors, some of which you greet with a nod without lingering. 

On a day like this you would normally spend the little time before you’re due at work in the library studying, but not today; today you have plans, plans that made focusing on your morning classes harder than ever, but the moment has finally come, and you can’t wait to…

You are so deep in your thoughts, it takes you a moment to realise your phone is ringing in the back pocket of your slacks; you plan on not answering unless it’s an emergency, given the fact you are expected, but reading the name of the screen makes a smile appear on your face.

“Vivi, hi! I’m sorry, I had promised I would…”

“(name)... hi, it’s Cavendish.”

You stop in your tracks, momentarily stunned. “... Cavendish?!”

“Yes, that’s me. I was talking to Vivi, we are old friends, and when I mentioned the Dressrosa we realised we both knew you.” he explains “I thought it wouldn’t be fair to ask her for your number without your permission, but I hope you don’t mind if I called you.”

Glancing at your watch -five minutes more and you’ll be late- as you force yourself not to sound too frustrated, you assure him that no, of course you don’t mind. Cavendish then tells you he heard about your misadventure with his ex, and he can’t help but feel guilty for what happened, even though you assure him he has no fault, especially since your wound will heal soon.

“That is very good to hear. The truth is… well, I was wondering if you’d let me buy you a drink sometimes? I know you… well, you didn’t let me kiss you, but we did have fun together, didn’t we? I’d really like to get to know you better. Just a drink, I promise I won’t do anything you don’t want.”

You thank him for the offer, and admit you enjoyed spending time with him at the club, but, you add, you are going on a date right now, and at the moment you are not interested in seeing anyone else.

Cavendish, to his credit, takes it pretty well. “I see. Well, have a good-day then.”

“You too, Cavendish. Thanks for asking, and will you please tell Vivi I’ll call her soon?”

He promises he will, after which you say your good-bye and finally close the call. 

Well, that was unexpected, you think as you put your phone away, but you know declining the request for a date was the right thing to do; you doubt you and Cavendish would have much to talk about, and he’ll surely find someone else to date soon… just like you have.

Barto is waiting for you in front of the university’s courtyard, sat on his bike, and grins happily when he sees you approach. “Here’s my woman!”

“I’m here! Sorry, I got caught up.”

“I already thought you had changed your mind…”

“Never.” you assure him decisively “Now come here, I need a kiss.”

You share one, long and passionate, indifferent to the many students and professors, some of whom know you personally, surrounding you; both of you are smiling when you part.

“Are you sure you don’t mind coming?”

“Of course not; if you like this bar, I want to see it as well. We have just the time for a drink before work.”

“Can’t we skip it and spend the rest of the day in bed at my place? I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” Barto laughs, before opening the tail box “You can put your books here.”

You do, and a minute later you are sitting on the bike behind him, happily holding Barto’s warm, solid body tight; he grins as he starts the engine. “I won’t let you fall, I promise.”

“I know you won’t; I just like hugging you.”

“Ah, well, in that case…”

You are both smiling; a moment later the roar of the engine has filled the air, and the bike is speeding down the road, carrying you both away under the early afternoon sky. 

[elimoskowitzs-wife]

Miguel finds out eli moskowitz x fem!reader

Summary-hawk and yn hook up after a party your brother Miguel finds out and snitches on you to your mum and stepdad getting you grounded but you still sneak out

Warnings- talk bt hook up, kissing, swearing,mentions of ED and I think that's it

Last night was a huge party at hawks house you an hawk have always been fairly close and flirty but you and hawk this time hawks sober and your tipsy you walk to him grab him by his chin and kiss him it's un expected but hawk kisses you back

A few hours later you and hawk are in your room kissing hawk shirtless and you in your bra and shorts

Miguel screams 'what the fuck yn I'm fucking telling mum Johnny and robby'

'there's a thing called knocking dumb ass honestly go away and don't snitch I beg' you say gasping for breath

Miguel shuts the door and you giggle to hawk putting your hand on his six pack

The next morning you sneak hawk out the house after kissing him again and again you turn around and your step brother robby is there

'who was that' robby asks

'nobody' you reply fast

'nice try your lucky Carmen and dad was out last night' robby laughs

'Miguel is gonna snitch on me because he walked in on us kissing like the fuck honestly don't snitch robby I beg' you pleade

'trust me I've done shit like that before don't worry I got you just gotta worry about miguel'

You sit in your room and Carmen Miguel and Johnny ask to speak to you in the living room

You groan 'fuck sake'

You walk out to your mum with crossed arms Johnny with a stern look on his face and Miguel is smirking

'I'm very disappointed in you yn never have I ever thought you'd be the one to bring a boy home I'm discusted that miggy has came and told me that you was with a boy in your room and you ho I can't even say it Johnny can you please finish it off' Carmen sighs after saying it

'you hooked up with a boy but not just any boy your brothers best friend it's disappointing behaviour' Johnny shakes his head

'I didn't do anything with him' you lie

'don't lie to us because if we go in your room' Johnny raises his voice

'oh fuck off I'm a teenage girl let me live life your so strict but don't care about what Miguel dose or robby dose clearly you don't care about me' you scream slamming your door to your room

You put hawks hoodie on and put the shit he left in a bag and walked to his for a few hours

You knock on his door and hawk answers smiling that your wearing the hoodie he left he kissed you and walked to his room with you

'I fucking hate Miguel he's got me in so so much shit this isn't fair' you complain

'I know i know but he's your brother' he whispers

'I don't care I can't live my life honestly' you flop into his open arms

'I'll walk you home okay princess' he smiles standing up with you

You walk home to Johnny there pissed off

You kiss hawk goodbye and walk in

'YOU HAVE HAD YOUR MUM ME AND ROBBY WORRIED BECAUSE WE THOUGHT YOU WENT MISSING HIM AND MIGUEL HAVE GON OUT LOOKING FOR YOU GET TO YOUR ROOM NOW YOUR MUM AND I DONT WANNA SEE YOUR FACE FOR THE REST OF THE NIGHT' Johnny screams and Carmen smiles at you but you ignore her and slam your bedroom door

Robby walk in with some food for you and sees you lied on your bed crying

'I heard the argument get something to eat please I don't want you being ill again your my stepsister' robby comes to you

You shake your head and robby puts the food infront of you 'eat a bit' he says

You take a bite and thank him you text hawk

Hey hawk how'd your mum react?

She reacted fine tbh your parents still mad?

Yup I'll sneak out and see you later

[blingblong55]

fuck you saying Alejandro and Rudy would listen to lana del rey or graves listening to some new artist only teens know about (hypocrite of me ik)

(my Spanish class is making me write about influential hispanic/latin singers...and I think Alejandro is from the north of Mexico...so..I'll mention lots of singers from that region...)

what about Alejandro who listens to music that his dad would play on the speakers during family gatherings.

Los Tigres Del Norte loud on the speakers of his home as he prepares the meat for the cookout. La Puerta Negra (the black door) because it reminds it of his mum singing over and over and how he adored her voice when he would sit on her lap as a kid. Golpes En El Corazon(Blows to the Heart), when he went through a breakup and got tipsy. Calibre 50, when he wants to be a romantic. Siempre Te Voy a Querer(I'll always love you) plays around his mind when he looks at his pretty wife and kids. Another song that reminds him of his parents would be No Hay Novedad(No news), mainly because of when he was a kid and that song would play over and over during cookouts. Nieves De Enero(Snows of january) when he thinks of his young teen years and for some reason that song reminds him of his first girlfriend. Mi Ultimo Deseo(My last wish)is a song that most men in Los Vaqueros know and love too much for the meaning of the song. Adiós Amor(Goodbye Love) when he and his wife got into an argument and he got drunk, sang this and cried...went home and cuddled her. Hablame De Ti(Tell me about you), reminds him of how flirty he was when he met his wife and how the lyrics are close to what he said. Ariel Camacho was mainly his 20s and the two women he dedicated most songs to and how now they are for his wife. Ramon Ayala would play in cookouts and when he and the Vaqueros get real drunk, they nurse a bottle and play Tragos Amargos and sing with their slurred speech.

A/N: thanking my classmates for the idea ----

Graves, country of course. Texas Sun, when he is driving back home from base and he can finally let the wind hit his face. Coming Home-Leon Bridges, when he is in love and can see the girl he's been talking to again. Wild World-Yusuf/Cat Stevens, when he reminisces on his life and the girl he lost to the life he chose instead of her. Right Down the Line-Garry Rafferty, for some reason he plays it when he's alone and on the long texan road. (I ran out of ideas for him....sorry)

A/N: I'm sorry....I don't know country singers.or songs for that matter but my point still stands

[enbysiriusblack]

Hello fantastic friend!! I love seeing your posts, Congrats on the 2k 🥳🥳🥳 my ask is: 🫅🏿 for either Wolfstar or Jily - you pick!

thank you sm !!! <33

here's a jily drabble. it ended up a lot longer than i planned so apologies:

Lily walked through the open doors with Marlene by her side. She had opted for her favourite green slip dress and brown crinkle boots. She had flooed to Marlene's and spent the last hour doing each other's nails and pregaming before heading down the street to Potter Manor.

The two girls walked through the hallway, filled with other teenagers, some of who they recognised from classes, until they made their way to the large lounge.

Lily instantly spotted James, standing on his coffee table and playing some odd wizarding drinking game that seemed to involve charmed paper balls whizzing above people's heads. James clasped onto one, unfolded it, and chugged a red cup handed to him by Sirius, to the cheers of the others surrounding them.

"This is so stupid", Lily muttered, taking her eyes off James to take in the rest of the party. A ravenclaw girl, she vaguely recognised from the year above, threw up into a large plant pot beside Lily.

Lily turned up her nose, "I think I hate teenagers."

Marlene snorted, grabbing Lily by the arm and pulling her over to the kitchen, "You are a teenager, Lily, so lets have some fun! Get a little tipsy, snog some people we'll regret snogging and then head back to mine and get yelled at by my mum!"

Lily laughed, letting Marlene pour her a cup of spiced mead.

"Cheers!" Marlene held her own cup up against Lily's.

Lily gently tapped Marlene's plastic cup before bringing the drink to her lips and taking a large gulp.

"Ugh", Lily muttered afterwards, "God, I hate wizard alcohol."

"There's some muggle wine and scotch in the cellar."

Lily whirled around to see James standing in the kitchen doorway.

He lifted a hand to his hair nervously, "Would you-uh... Would you want some?"

Lily nodded, placing the cup of mead back onto the side. Marlene quickly took it and poured it into her own cup.

James grinned, "Right. Which would you prefer?"

Lily shrugged, "I'm not sure. How about I come with you to look?"

"Sure", James tried to lean against the doorway casually but tripped slightly and tried to play it off by turning around and making his way to the cellar.

Lily held back a laugh and followed him.

James pointed his wand into the dark cellar, setting the lamps alight and brightening up the room.

"So... Here it all is", James hummed, glancing to Lily.

She looked to the labelled 'muggle drinks' shelves and plucked out a bottle of scotch.

"I've never tried it", she turned to James, "My Dad gets it as a special occasion on his birthday though and I've always wanted to try it."

James nodded, "Is your dad... nice?"

Lily snorted, "Yeah. I mean he works a lot, so does Mum, but when he's not then we do a lot of stuff together, he tends to take a lot of days off when I'm home for break because he says he missed me. And, I don't know, he cares about me I suppose."

James grinned, "Well, I'll send him a bottle of my dad's best scotch for Christmas."

Lily turned to him with a frown, "You don't need to do that."

"Well, I want to."

"You don't even know him."

"But I know you."

Lily sighed, "Why are you... like that?"

James paused, "Like, what?"

"That", she threw her arms up, "I mean we're barely friends and you're still buying presents for my family. People don't do that."

"I always buy presents for my friend's family. As long as they're nice, although I suppose I did get a present for Sirius' before but it was more of a prank gift? Like I basically transfigured a snake into a tiny lion and put it in a gryffindor jumper. Sirius said his mum got so mad she gave herself a migraine."

Lily laughed, "You're really something, Potter."

"In a good way?" He tilted his head slightly.

Lily smiled, "Yeah. In a good way."

[the-fiction-witch]

I Dare You... P1

Media The Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Cute + Funny

I sat on the theatre steps bottle in my hand, and a few steps up with a bottle of his own sat Dr Dawkins, Together we were... tipsy. 

But It was understandable, It had been a boring day. 

A storm hung over Port Victory the sky dark and grey, rain battering the earth, the lights lit to try and starve the dark, most if not everyone huddled away in their homes, in that quiet where people don't want to go out as anything important isn't worth getting soaked over.

The hospital had been fairly quiet today, with only a few little things to deal with but not much else.

The sound of the wind and rain battering the world coming though the large window in the theatre, shadows of the rain across the bloody operating table. 

So as we had little to do, Jack and I sat on the theatre seats with a beer each. 

We had said we'd remain mostly sober, just one drink but in the boredom and darkness of the day, I don't think anyone can blame us for the few we had. 

"Jack?"

"Umm?" He mumbled as he sipped his drink, his feet up on the wooden seats his arm leant over his knee, 

"I'm bored," I said but then it clicked, 

"Yep."

"There's nothing to do."

"Yep."

"Jack... Entertain me."

"Why?"

"Because I'm bored."

"How about... we play a game?"

"Ohh? What sort of game?" I glared, "Becuase we're not playing Jack says! I'm not falling for that again." 

"Ohhh come on it was fun!"

"It was not! something else."

"Fine... How about truth or dare?"

"Are we sixteen? Is this a sleepover?"

"Just trying to help, fine I'll shut up." He said as he sipped his drink again, 

"Fine, Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Alright...  when was the last time you cried?"

For a moment he glared at me, "I am not drunk enough for this... uhhh Yesterday probably."

"Why?"

"I stubbed my toe getting out of bed,"

"Awwww, that's fair."

"Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Hum... What's something you do, when you think you're alone?"

"bite my nails."

"Why?"

"I don't know if it's comforting, and my mum used to slap my hands for doing it I just kinda absentmindedly do it when alone." 

"You shouldn't do that."

"Yeah yeah, I know." I rolled my eyes "Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Do you... have anyone you hate?"

"How long have you got" he chuckled,

"Really?"

"I hate a lot of people. People are dicks," He shrugs, "Truth or dare?"

"truth," 

"If you could have any animal as a pet what would you have?"

"A bat."

"Really?"

"Yeah, there freaking adorable." 

"Fair enough." 

This went on for a while of back and forth with various questions none of which were all that interesting, 

"When was the last time you had a bath?"

"...That seems invasive." He chuckled, "And your tone implies you're gonna judge my answer."

"Yes. Yes, I am Jack."

"...Last week."

"You're a gross little man."

"I know," He sighed, "Truth or dare?"

"Uhhh Dare!"

"Oohh Brave girl, Alright finish your drink."

I rolled my eyes and forced down the rest of my bottle, "Truth or dare."

"truth."

"You can't pick truth forever Jack,"

"Next time."

"What's the best advice someone has ever given you?"

He chuckled a little, "I was once told, that no matter what you do in life there are three options, You can do it good, you can do it fast, you can do it easy. But you can only pick two, so if it's good and fast it's not gonna be easy, if it's easy and fast it's not gonna be good, if your trying to make it easy and good well you're not gonna be fast. Think about that a lot."

"Hu... That is kinda insightful. Who told you that?"

"Captian Grimm. Served under him in the navy." 

"He sounds like a very smart man,"

"He could be." He nodded, "truth or dare?"

"truth."

"What's the most trouble you've ever been in?"

"Ohhh Uhhh? My mother caught me cutting the heads off my dolls as a kid."

"Why?"

"I was crazy."

"was?"

"Hey!"

"Sorry."

"It's fine." I glared, "Truth or dare."

"truth."

"Jack!"

"Last one I swear."

"What's your greatest fear?"

"Intimacy. Abandonment and silence."

"Why the silence?"

"You spent ten years on a ship in pitch black, completely silent, it freaks you out." 

"Fair enough,"

"What are you scared of?"

"I didn't say truth,"

"No, I'm just asking you."

"...Time."

"Time?"

"it's ever going, ever flowing constantly nature."

"Fair enough." 

[gin110881]

In Another Life, chapter 8, New Year's Eve

Hi everyone!

Wow, I have to admit, I was a bit surprised (and more than a little overwhelmed) when I suddenly got so many followers. Thank you all so much!

I’ve had this Tumblr account for a while, but if I’m being honest, I’ve never quite figured out how to properly use it. Posting sneak peeks was already a victory, haha! I probably should take some time to actually learn my way around here, but every time I think about it, I feel like it’d eat into my writing time—and let’s face it, writing always wins.

Anyway, enough rambling. Here’s a sneak peek of Chapter 8: New Year’s Eve. Hope you enjoy it!

-------------------------------------------------

Harry took a big swig from his bottle and glanced around. His mother, along with Mrs Weasley, Charlie, and Tonks, was sitting in the chairs, warming their hands on their mugs of mulled wine, while his sister stood nearby with Ginny, drinking what Harry assumed was hot tea. Once they had finished their butterbeer, they quickly switched to mulled wine at Ron's suggestion, as their mothers seemed a little distracted tonight, maybe even a tad tipsy, and weren't paying much attention.

Harry couldn't help it, but his gaze kept wandering over to the girls, who'd apparently also switched to mulled wine quite unobtrusively. Watching Ginny chatting so animatedly with his sister dampened his mood for a moment. He'd avoided Ron's sister since that stupid incident on Boxing Day, simply because he didn't know how to treat her. He'd tried his best, but as always, it had ended in disaster.

"Harry, are you even listening?" asked Ron, waving his hand in front of Harry's eyes.

Torn from his thoughts, Harry looked up. "Of course. What's up?"

"It's about to start," Ron said, grinning and pointing to Charlie, who was setting up the Muggle fireworks he and Tonks had gotten from somewhere.

A glance at his watch told Harry that it was indeed almost midnight.

"I'll get us some more mulled wine," said Ron and trotted over to the drinks table where champagne glasses were already being prepared for midnight.

"Hi, Harry."

Startled out of his musings, Harry turned around only to stare at Ginny, gobsmacked. "Hi," he answered cautiously, a crooked smile on his lips.

"I... erm," she started and sighed, giving Harry an uncertain look. "I want to apologize. About Christmas."

"Oh," Harry replied, surprised. "You don't have to apologize. It was my fault."

"Hogwash," Ginny responded, eyeing Harry irritated. "Ron bumped into you, and you didn't see me. I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"But I ruined your dress," Harry said, confused. "You had every right to yell at me. Your mother said you wore that dress especially for Christmas."

Ginny chuckled, shaking her head. "Not especially for Christmas, rather for..." She paused briefly. "It wasn't a good idea anyway."

"You looked really amazing in that dress," Harry blurted out, feeling a blush spread across his face, much to his discomfort.

"Thank you, Harry," she replied sheepishly, giving him a hard-to-read look.

A lump formed in Harry's throat, and he couldn't hide a smile as he felt his cheeks heat up even more. But not from the bonfire. Taking a step closer, he heard Ginny's breath hitch as he stood so close to her, looking into her chocolate-brown eyes. Reaching out, he tucked a strand of hair that had come loose in the wind behind her ear. "You always look great no matter what you're wearing," he heard himself saying.

Harry couldn't believe his own ears. Had the mulled wine made him brave? His heart pounded loudly in his chest as he met Ginny's wide-open eyes, which felt like magnets, drawing him in. He leaned forward a little and could almost feel her lips on his when Emily's distant voice sounded, "Ginny, Harry, come on. Mum has already poured the champagne. It's almost midnight."

Brought back to reality, Harry took a step back. Still a little befuddled, his gaze followed Ginny's, who was giving his sister a disgruntled look.

At this moment, Charlie set off the fireworks.

[lolathestoryteller]

Hi! If accepting prompts/drabble ideas, I have a prompt.

Alive!Jily(with Harry in the background):

“I must you look dashing today, Mr.Potter.”

“Not as stunning as you, Mrs.Potter”

“Ugh.. mum, dad, it’s strange enough you two do PDOA. Do you really have do it home as well?”

Hi Anon! Your ask made me so happy — and it’s the perfect excuse to take a break from editing (or rather failing to) my cv and admission form for work! I hope you’ll like it! (btw not me having to google „what does PDOA mean?“ LoL)

public display of affection

Lily smiles as she spots James, already waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs.

She can’t wait to see where he’ll take her out tonight! Though, she rather hopes it isn’t the leaky cauldron again…last time, well, she might’ve gotten a little too tipsy…she still can’t smell Firewhiskey, even though it’s been months — and she definitely blames Sirius for it.

Come on, Lil, since when did you become such a lightweight? — she’s never been good at admitting defeat, especially not to Sirius Black.

It had not ended well…for either of them.

Tonight though, it’s only going to be James and her. Date night.

„Hello there, gorgeous.“ James grins as she descends the staircase.

Lily notices with delight that he’s wearing his new robes — the ones they‘d picked out together, on their last visit to Diagon Alley.

God, he looks fit.

„I must say, you look very dashing today, Mr. Potter.“ she says, still so utterly besotted with him, even after all these years together.

He takes her hand as she reaches him, kissing it gallantly. „Not nearly as stunning as you, Mrs. Potter.“ he replies. „You look absolutely radiant in that dress.“

Lily‘s stomach flutters with a million butterflies as they look into each others eyes, so tenderly, and for a moment everything around them seems to fade away—

„Ugh…Mum, Dad!“

And…then the moment‘s over.

„—it’s strange enough you two do PDOA, like, all the time. Do you really have do it at home as well?”

Lily sighs, just a breath away from James‘ perfectly kissable lips.

This kid somehow always has the worst possible timing.

„Do you really have to be such a teenager all the time?“ she retorts teasingly, turning around to regard their intruder with a pointed look.

„Just saying,“ Harry shrugs. His cheeks are about as red as Gryffindor‘s crest. „I already know how I got here…you don’t have to keep on reminding me.“

„Harry James!“ Lily scolds as she stares at her son, her eyes wide and filled with a mixture of disbelief and amusement. „James, did you hear— James?“

„…what by Merlin’s beard is a PDOA?“

(background; Harry cracking up at his Dad‘s thoroughly confused expression)

[foxounderscorecube]

favorite tradition and nicknames? 👀

I'm probably mostly thinking of it because it is that time of year and because I mentioned it in the tags of a post I reblogged earlier, but I really like the way I grew up with Father Christmas as a tradition! I'm a big Christmas fan anyway, but I'd say that's the part of it that stands out most (because smoked salmon and scrambled eggs with Bucks Fizz, while THE Christmas Day breakfast in my eyes, feels less like a TRADITION tradition, you know?). I still get visited by Father Christmas - I'm pretty sure my mum did until I was born - and even as an adult going to bed exhausted and tipsy on Christmas Eve, it is VERY important to me to leave some mince pies and sherry and a carrot for the reindeer. When I notice I have presents (in my family, Father Christmas presents are left in a pillowcase on or next to your bed) I always have to count and prod them and I still wake up early on Christmas Day, chronic fatigue syndrome and all. Because jermagaunt's parents stopped doing Father Christmas for him in his early teens or so, my mum and I make sure that he gets visited again now, too, and it's fun being Father Christmas, as well!

A lesser tradition that isn't Christmas-related but which I'd like to mention is a holiday within my English family called Pina Colada Day, which falls somewhere in June (I put it on my calendar but I am not good at remembering dates...). Occasionally, my family do, like, girls' holidays, which is usually to this one spa but for whatever reason one time it was a trip to Egypt. I was 10 and my mum and I weren't able to go because my passport expired a few months after our return date so I have no clue why it was such a big holiday. Either way, most of the women in my family were on holiday, and everyone wanted to get pizza one day, but my Auntie Jean, a raging snob in many respects, was turning her nose up at the concept because she would never eat something as base as pizza, I guess. That changed drastically after she got off her face on pina coladas and started absolutely wrecking pizza like her life depended on it and she was never able to live it down. At first, Pina Colada Day was mostly just "celebrated" by taking the piss out of her about it from time to time, but after her daughter and then she died to cancer within a fairly short time, it became a memorial thing, so once a year, somewhere around the time of Auntie Jean's original pizza hypocrisy, we all make pina coladas in Auntie Jean and her daughter's honour.

With regards to nicknames, I don't have many! For my given name, I've always been Cat, which is fine. I like cats :3 I don't know why that's what it got shortened to, but my given name is uncommon in the UK and lots of people can't pronounce or spell it (skill issue, in my opinion) so it's nice to have a single syllable to point to. For my chosen name, I have one friend who calls me Lowie, which I think is absolutely delightful!

jermagaunt wants to me to mention that he often calls me pickle (see also: peanut, pinky, penis), and my mum has a variety of pet names for me, the most important being chicken. Chicken is, like, a badge of honour: I think there have been four chickens ever. If my mum calls you chickadee or chick, she looks upon you fondly; if she calls you chicken, you're either me or practically adopted as an honorary child.