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me-loving-woso · 4 months

Text

Today. Tomorrow.

Author's note: Hi everyone! So I know I've been MIA for several months. But I'm back! This fic will be divided into 3 parts cause I've realized that I can't write a short one-shot. In no way am I an expert in medicine. The information is from Greys Anatomy and the internet. I apologise in advance if I offend anyone Summary: You never thought you'd find love under these circumstances, but sometimes, love works in mysterious ways. For you, it came in the form of Aitana Bonmatí.

TW: Illness, Cancer, Surgery, Happy Ending

You've just returned to Barcelona after being away due to your job. You were an art restorer and had established a small company with some friends from university. While you specialized in medieval and Renaissance art, your three partners specialized in Japanese art, antique jewelry, and ancient Egyptian art. Your company's diverse expertise made you wanted all around the world.

Although managing such a company and traveling extensively at 26 was demanding, you wouldn't trade it for anything. You loved your job and your colleagues, who were also your best friends. Supporting each other through thick and thin made this life worthwhile for you.

That morning, you were driving to your next job. FC Barcelona, yes, the football club wanted you to restore and polish their trophies. They were meticulous about their trophies, and despite the unnecessary level of care, they requested your services every year to maintain them. It was lucrative work with minimal effort. Even though you weren't specialized in that type of restoration, you were willing to assist your colleague and friend with the task since you had little else to do.

As you parked near the Barcelona training grounds, about to pull up the parking brake, you heard an unpleasant sound, like glass breaking, from the back of your car. You hoped it wasn't what you feared. Taking a deep breath, you checked the other side of your car, hoping it was just your imagination. But as soon as you saw the damage and a small woman approaching you with a mortified expression, you knew the worst had happened. She had hit your car. This couldn't have happened at a worse time.

Walking up to the culprit, you were angry. She was about to speak, but you cut her off. "Sorry, miss. How many fingers am I holding up?" You politely showed her two fingers.

Looking baffled, she replied, "Two?"

"Oh, so you have eyes!" you retorted sarcastically. "I guess an SUV right in front of you was too small for you to see." Your anger was palpable.

"I'm so sorry. I-I was overthinking and didn't turn the handlebar all the way to the right," she stammered apologetically. You could see she was genuinely sorry, but in that moment, you didn't care.

"They should revoke your driver's license. You're a menace," you said, crossing your arms and returning to your car. Taking out the accident report, you said, "Let's fill out the accident report so I can be done with you." She nodded sadly and helped you complete the report.

You knew you were being unfair to her. Stuff happens, but this one was the final straw for you.

As you started filling out the report, you noticed her coming back towards you. Despite her being attractive and all, you were too mad to give a damn. Once you wrapped up your part, you handed her the report to fill out while you rang up your insurance company.

After a couple of minutes of you dialing your mechanic and finishing off the paperwork, you said goodbye to the lady and headed to the Barcelona training grounds.

While you were hanging around, you checked out all the team photos with the trophy. The left side had all the guys' photos, with Messi and the 2009 team, while the right side was all about Barcelona Femeni. Your father was a die-hard Barcelona fan; back in the day, you'd go to some games with him. But when you hit high school, you kinda lost interest in football.

As you spotted last year's Ballon d'Or picture, you suddenly recognized her, which made you laugh out loud. You had just had a small car accident with none other than the Ballon d'Or winner, Aitana Bonmatì.

You thought she looked familiar, but it didn’t really click at the time. Well, at least she's better with her feet than with a steering wheel.

When Eva finally showed up at the training grounds, you rushed over to her.

"Hey Y/n, how's it going?" she greeted.

"I'm good. Some car bumped into me about ten minutes ago, but I'm all right."

"Wait what?!" Eva exclaimed, shocked. Since she found out about your condition and all, she's been super protective. "Are you sure you're okay? Do I need to go all out on someone?"

"The damage ain't that bad. And you'll never guess who I had the run-in with."

You pointed at Aitana's photo on the wall. "Aitana Bonmatì?" Eva asked, puzzled.

"Yep."

"Well, at least she's better at kicking a ball than driving a car."

"That's what I was thinking!" you said, pumped. "Now let's get down to business."

A couple of guys from the club gave you the grand tour and hooked you up with a whole room to work in. You offered to take the trophies back to your lab, but they were set on leaving them there.

As you got everything set up, just as you were about to dive in, the bearded dude was heading out. "Just a heads up, the squad might swing by to check out your work. You know, for Instagram and stuff. Don't sweat it; it won't take too long." You gave a hesitant nod, gearing up for your first trophy.

"Imagine if Aitana walks in here with all her teammates!" Eva quips jokingly as the two guys leave you alone. "I'd pay to see her face when she realizes it's you," she chuckles.

"I think it's the men's team. Otherwise, they would've said it," you comment, preparing your materials.

"How was meeting her?" Eva asks eagerly. She's a big fan of the women's side.

"I didn't even recognize her. I was kinda harsh, actually," you chuckle.

"Luck hasn't been on your side lately, with the car and all," she replies sadly.

"Yeah," you say, feeling a wave of emotions you'd rather not deal with. You shake it off and force a smile. "Let's focus on making some good money. I'd love to have jobs like this every day!"

You start working on Champions League and La Liga trophies. There's a lot, and as the hours pass, you feel even more exhausted.

After a couple of hours, the guy from earlier shows up. "So, the team's about to arrive. Is it okay if we film you?"

Eva looks at you, waiting for your response. "Only if I get some free advertising out of it."

He thumbs up. "I'll tag you in the story."

"You better!" you playfully retort, returning to polishing the 2005 men's Champions League trophy. You fake a smile and wait for the team to arrive.

As soon as you hear female voices, you glance at Eva and chuckle. She whispers a "I told you so" and gets back to work.

When they come in, you make eye contact with Aitana. Her smile turns to shock, then mortification. It takes all your willpower not to laugh. Out of all the people in Barcelona, she had to be the one to hit your car?

You quickly present your work, using fancy words you rarely use and explaining all the procedures. Aitana never comes near you, which makes you feel a bit sorry for her.

Once the cameras stop rolling, some of the players ask you both questions. As they're about to leave, Aitana walks up to you, apologizing awkwardly.

"I'm sorry again."

"Don't worry about it. Let's start fresh, okay?" You offer your hand, and she shakes it, smiling.

"I didn't know you worked with trophies," she adds quickly, not wanting the conversation to end.

Now that the anger has passed, you actually look at her. She's one of the most beautiful girls you've ever seen, and you're a sucker for nose rings.

"I'm actually an art restorer for Renaissance art. I'm here to help my friend with this job."

"That's so cool!" She beams at you. "So, are you going to work on my Ballon d'Or trophy too?"

You glance at Eva, who nods slightly. "Yeah, but probably not until next week."

She looks at you hesitantly. "Can I be there? I mean, it's not that I don't trust you, but I'm just curious, that's all."

"Are you done rambling?" You chuckle lightly at her nervousness. She's probably still embarrassed about the accident.

"Yes, I am," she replies shyly, making you chuckle. There's something about her that draws you in, as if you were meant to be near each other.

"Of course, you can join us. It might be a bit dull for you though, since you're all about adrenaline during your football games."

"I'm just really curious, that's all. I won't bother you, I promise," she reassures you, still smiling.

"I don't think you could ever be a bother," you say before you can stop yourself, turning your head away.

"Well then, as a proper apology, can I bring you coffee tomorrow?" she offers.

"You don't have to, Aitana."

"I insist. How do you take your coffee?"

—

The next morning, you waited for Eva to pick you up for Barcelona's facilities. Since your car was at the mechanic's, she'd be giving you rides for at least a week.

As soon as you arrived at the trophies, you got to work promptly.

"So, you think Aitana's actually gonna bring you coffee?" Eva smirks suggestively.

"I doubt it. She'll probably forget. And maybe she was just being polite," you reply, focusing on your task.

"Well, she was all smiles with you yesterday," Eva starts tentatively.

You turn to her, pausing your work. "What? What are you getting at?" you ask, eyebrows raised in exasperation.

"Maybe she wanted something more than your forgiveness. Like your attention, or an excuse to see you again," she smirks.

"You, Eva, have been reading too many romance novels lately," you chuckle, feeling defeated.

"Two is not too many!"

"We've only talked for fifteen minutes."

"Yet it was the first time I saw you smile in a month," she says, making you roll your eyes once again. You're certain Aitana was just being nice. But you can't deny she's cute. And kind. And nice.

"Eva, you know I can't," you say sadly.

"You deserve a shot at happiness too, you know."

"Yes, but I don't think a super hot football player is the answer."

"Well, maybe a super hot footballer isn't the solution, but I know one who promised you coffee," you turn your head towards the door. There she is, with three coffees on a tray, wearing a shy smile. You blush profusely, hoping she didn't overhear your conversation with Eva, but she seems unfazed, waiting for your acknowledgment.

You take a moment to compose yourself before removing your work gloves and standing up to greet her.

"Hi Aitana. Did you manage to park your car properly?" you tease.

"You're never gonna let me live that down, are you?" She hands you your coffee and then turns to Eva. "Well, I didn't know what kind of coffee you preferred, so I just brought you the most basic and likable."

Eva looks at her baffled; neither of you expected her to bring Eva coffee or to see her again. "Oh, thank you!" Eva responds before turning back to you, the absurdity of the situation evident in your wide eyes.

She takes a sip of her own coffee, then looks at the trophy you were just working on. "Have you already worked on ours?"

"We wanted to finish the men's trophies first, then do yours next week," you explain. Eva's phone rings, and she excuses herself to take the call, as it was a work call, leaving you and Aitana alone.

“It’s El Prado, I’ll be right back.”

You sit back down to work, and she curiously comes around the table to your side to see what you're doing. "Don't you have practice today?" you ask.

"We have a rest day," she replies. "Your colleague said El Prado called her, like the museum?"

"Yeah, I have to go touch up some paintings, maybe next month? My schedule's really busy right now."

"You do paintings too?" she asks, surprised.

"I usually only do that. I'm just helping Eva with this job. These trophies are already well taken care of; they don't really need this much attention. But I have to say, LaPorta pays really well," you joke, trying to ease the tension. She chuckles lightly. She has a cute laugh, you think.

"Well, now I'll definitely tell LaPorta!" she jokes back.

"Don't you dare!"

You joke and chat for at least another fifteen minutes. There's something about her that makes your stomach flip in ways you definitely don't want it to. She's attentive, curious, and sweet. She's confident but never boastful, which you find refreshing.

As the minutes pass, she gradually moves closer to you, coaxing you into letting her help with your work. You gently push her away, chuckling, telling her they don't pay her to restore trophies. But she doesn't budge. She grabs a pair of gloves, picks up her chair, and places it next to yours. She sits down, and you turn to her, wide-eyed at the proximity, but soon focus back on the trophy.

She tucks a loose hair lock behind your ear, asking for your attention. You turn to her, cheeks slightly flushed. "You're distracting me, Aitana."

"Maybe that is my intention," she smirks teasingly.

"Do you want me to lose my job?"

"It's not my fault you're easily distracted. I haven't done anything. I just sat next to you and put on some gloves," she raises an eyebrow.

"And that's more than enough," you utter to yourself.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing!" You reply hastily, but she smiles knowingly, as if she caught you saying something you shouldn't have.

You two stare at each other, like strangers trying to solve a puzzle on each other's faces. You can't quite figure her out. She's the best footballer in the world, yet she's so much more. Still, you feel drawn to her, as if you're meant to be there with her, and she with you.

You're probably imagining things and being delusional. You blame it on your period. The silence fills the room, becoming suffocating. It's too intense, too much.

Thankfully, Eva enters the room, and you jump back into action, focusing on the trophy again, while Aitana stares at the floor.

You look at Eva, who's already sending you a big smirk, making you roll your eyes.

Aitana stands up and walks to the door. "I really have to go now. How about tomorrow?"

"What-"

"Okay. Bye!" And she was already out.

You turn to Eva. “Did I miss something?” She asks.

“I don’t know. And I don’t want to talk about it.”

—

"So, the blood work came back," your doctor says, settling into his chair and opening your file. "You have anemia. Until your hemoglobin levels increase, we can't proceed with the therapy. I advise you to adjust your diet to include more iron and vitamin B12-rich foods. Also, consider taking some vitamin supplements."

You nod lightly, already mentally noting a trip to the drugstore. After a final visit from the doctor, you head home.

This week has been relatively relaxed compared to your previous ones in Italy. You've been working on an undemanding job with your best friend, which couldn't have gone better. Well, maybe it did. Every day this week, she brought you coffee and lingered for at least 15 minutes to chat with you. Even with her busy training schedule, she always made time to talk. You wouldn't discuss deep topics or your condition, but you appreciated how she listened and remained interested in your life.

Occasionally, she'd flash you that beautiful smile, tempting you to throw caution to the wind and kiss away all her smirks and grins.

—

That same morning, Eva was alone at the Barcelona training grounds because you were at the doctor's office. Around 9 AM, Aitana arrived, searching for you.

"Hi, Eva. Is Y/n here?" she asks.

"Y/n isn't here today. She had a doctor's appointment. Did she forget to tell you?" Eva replies.

Aitana's face falls into a kicked puppy expression. "She did. Anyway, I wanted to give her this." She hands Eva a bag. "It's game tickets. She mentioned she's never been to a Barcelona Femení game, and I wanted to change that. Can you please give them to her?"

Eva studies her, trying to gauge her intentions. "You like her, don't you?"

"What?" Aitana's taken aback, clearly not expecting those words.

"I get it. She's a wonderful person. And stubborn. Just don't hurt her; she's already going through enough," Eva warns.

Aitana nods lightly. "I hope to see you at the stadium this weekend. Bye!" With that, she leaves.

—

Two hours later, you return to work.

"Hey!" you greet Eva.

"Hey! How was the appointment?"

"I have anemia, among other things, so I have to wait for it to get better before starting treatment."

"That sucks. But on the bright side, your footballer came by."

Damn. You were so wrapped up in conversation with her, and also distracted by her presence the day before, that you forgot to tell her you wouldn't be at work the next day.

"I forgot to let her know I wouldn't be here today," you admit.

"I figured. I saw the disappointment on her face when she didn't see you," Eva says, overly dramatic.

"You're being dramatic," you lightly blush.

"Maybe, but she cares about you."

"She's a good friend. It's no wonder everyone likes her."

"She could be more than a friend. I think she's—"

"Again, Eva. You know I can't! Besides, do you really think a girl like her would go for a girl like me?" With every interaction, your feelings for Aitana have grown. You're ignoring them, but you know they're there. Acting on them wouldn't be fair to her. But there's an inexplicable pull that you can't control.

"Y/n, you have qualities not everyone has. If it's a worthiness issue, it's all in your head." Eva hands you the bag Aitana left.

"You know I can't be in a relationship right now."

"Why?"

"You know why. It wouldn't be fair to her."

"Then stop giving her heart eyes. It's annoying, especially when I'm trying to work," Eva chuckles.

"It's not you she's trying to distract," you admit, blushing lightly. "And I don't give her heart eyes." You pout.

"Denial isn't just a river in Egypt," she comments ironically. "But I get it. You've never dealt well with hot women anyway. You're just playing it cool because you're still denying your feelings."

"Stop getting inside my head! Let's get back to work."

That night, you finally open the bag. Inside is an envelope with two tickets to Saturday's game against Atletico Madrid, along with a note.

"I hope you enjoy the game! Since I know you don’t have a jersey, I thought I’d give you one of my old ones."

You pull out the jersey, from last year with the Liga F patch. You subtly smell it, convincing yourself it's not weird. Her perfume lingers, but there's also a scent that inexplicably feels like hers.

The next morning, you wake up an hour early for work. You want to finish an be earlier to surprise Aitana and apologize. Knowing she has a physio appointment ending at 10 AM, you plan to surprise her with a macha latte, just as she did for you all week.

Waiting outside the physio building feels like a terrible idea, making you regret everything. As time passes and she doesn't emerge from the building, you were about to give up. But then, after what feels like centuries, she appears. The look on her face makes it all worth it. She walks quickly to you, still wearing a cute smile.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" she asks.

"I wanted to apologize. I forgot to tell you about yesterday." You hand her the macha. "Plus, this week, it's my turn." You both sit on a bench.

"Is everything okay? Eva mentioned you had a doctor's appointment," she inquired, causing your brain to pause for a moment.

"Uhm, yeah! Just some anemia, but otherwise, I'm good," you fib.

"That must be tough. My mom also has anemia, but fortunately, it's not that serious," she says, switching to a more excited tone. "So, are you coming to the game on Saturday?"

"Of course," you reply, grinning at her excitement.

"You know, since I gave you the tickets, you have to wear my jersey, or they won't let you in," she teases.

"Too bad, I was planning to wear my Putellas jersey. She's the best player on the team. Plus, I love the number 11," you try to rile her up. Her smile fades, and she's about to stand up when you put down your coffee and wrap your arms around her waist to keep her on the bench. "I'm kidding!"

She sits back down, crossing her arms childishly. "I want my jersey back."

You scoot closer to her, attempting to uncross her arms, but she's surprisingly strong. "Oh no. It was a gift. Besides, I think I can get used to the number 14." Finally, you manage to uncross her arms, and she takes your hand, intertwining it with hers. Your heart begins to race as you stare at your hands together. Her voice brings you back to reality.

"I'll show you who's the best."

"I have no doubt." With your free hand, you tuck one of her locks of hair behind her ear. "And you, woman, are one of the most competitive people I know. It's concerning."

"If we win, we'll probably go out to celebrate. Do you want to come?" she asks shyly.

"I'm already going out. One of my friends wants to celebrate his birthday at a bar. Maybe next time?" you suggest.

"Definitely."

You check your watch. "I really have to go now; I need to get back to work. Same time tomorrow?"

"Bringing you coffee is my thing. Are you stealing my ideas, Y/Ln?" she hints.

"Well then, I won't have a reason to see you," you imply, stepping into unknown territory, but it feels right.

"Well, that's just your loss. Coffee's my thing. You'll just have to find another way to see me then."

"Is that a challenge? Because I can find some other excuses to see you before the match," you grin confidently.

"Like?" she asks, smiling back.

"Well, I was thinking of working on your Ballon d'Or tomorrow evening. You've been bugging me for a week, asking for my help. I'll let you work on your Ballon d'Or, if you still want to, of course."

"Oh, so you want to invite me over to do your job?" she smirks.

"Definitely. This was all planned. You didn't see that coming, did you?"

"You just broke my heart. And for a moment I thought what we had was genuine," she says dramatically, making you poke her side.

"I really have to go now. So, I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Definitely."

You walk to your car with a smile plastered on your face, feeling a tingling sensation in your hand from when she held it. You feel and sound like a horny teenager. Never in your life has a person made you feel this way, and that scares you.

—

The next morning, you arrived at work with a newfound excitement, which didn't escape Eva's notice.

"Why are you so happy?" she asked.

"Just the usual," you shrugged.

"Does it have something to do with your footballer?"

"She does have a name, you know."

"Yeah, I know. I've seen her more than my parents this past week. It's concerning. By the way, where is she?"

"She'll be here in the evening when we work on the Ballon d'Ors."

"Then I'll be out of your way."

"You don't have to. Nothing will happen between us, don't worry."

"Yeah, no. I've suffered enough this week. All the giggles, all the weird flirting. I'm done. Plus, you're making me feel extremely lonely."

—

Fast forward to the afternoon, you were waiting for Aitana while finishing touching up all the material. Even though the supplement for anemia gave you more energy, you had been working for six hours straight and couldn't wait to finish.

What was left was Aitana's Ballon d'Or. You hated working with gold, so you were glad this was the last thing for Barcelona. You would probably miss being here, but most importantly, you'd miss a person more.

As soon as she came in, you noticed she was still dressed in Barcelona sweats.

"Hey! Did you just finish training?" you asked.

"Yeah."

"How was it?"

"Tiring. I didn't know you wore glasses." She put your glasses on herself.

"You are definitely blind. I remember you asking me if I was blind when we first met. I guess coming from you, it's even funnier," she teased, earning a poke to the side.

You rolled your eyes. "I had contacts on. What's your excuse?"

She showed you her tongue. "Do I look like an art restorer now?" she fake bragged.

"You are way too fit for anything to do with art," you chuckled, gently removing your glasses from her face.

"Hey! I do, in fact, love everything to do with art. I'm here; that should mean something."

"Being friends with an art restorer doesn't change the fact that you're for sports, while I'm for the visual arts."

"Maybe that's why we get along."

"Maybe." You handed her a pair of gloves, which she excitedly put on. "You're getting very excited for this. Working with gold is very boring."

She shrugged. "I'm working with Spain's best art restorer; it's a privilege," she teased.

"I'm far from being the best," you denied shyly.

"I looked you up, you know. Youngest woman to own an art restoring company, you travel the world because everyone wants you. What more can you do?" she insisted confidently.

"You're the best player in the world. Last year, you won everything. What more can you do?" you flipped the conversation.

"I'm far from being the best. I still have to improve," she repeated your words.

"To me, you are the best, if that means something," you admitted, making her turn to you with a big smile on her face.

"Well, I thought Alexia was your favorite player; you claimed that you love the number 11," she raised an eyebrow, smirking.

"Well, I told you that I could get used to a 14 on my back. Plus, she didn't bring me coffee for an entire week just to see me. Lame, I might add," you teased her, making her blush.

"Shut up! You loved it," she said shyly, hiding her face away from you.

"Yeah, I really did... Now let's get started."

For the next half-hour, you taught Aitana a part of your work, filling your heart with joy at her curiosity. Whenever you guided her hands, Aitana would send you a look that you couldn't quite explain. It was intense and riveting, making you internally combust.

She was sitting so close to you; you could smell her perfume and shampoo. Your eyes focused on her, and she lightly stuck out her tongue, which you found extremely cute and distracting. As you gently took her hands, you could feel her calluses even with gloves on, you showed her a movement she had to do.

"Thank you for letting me help you," she said shyly, and you gently squeezed her hands.

"No problem. Plus, it's your Ballon d'Or," you shared a quick, soft look. "Actually, you're doing me a favor. Working with gold is my least favorite thing to do. You made it a little more tolerable."

"I'm glad to hear that," she chuckled. "I hope I didn't distract you too much from your work this week," she confessed insecurely. Insecurity didn't suit her well.

"Did you distract me? Yes," her face fell a little. “Do I care? No. We wouldn't be here now," you reassured her, and she lightly nodded in response. "So, on Saturday, I'll have to find ways to distract you from the game, so then we'll be even," you bumped her shoulder playfully.

"I never get distracted," she said confidently. You were glad to see her back to her confident self.

"Is that a challenge?" you raised your eyebrows.

"No challenge. It's a fact."

"Are we back to being all confident now?" you smirked playfully. "Well, now I'll definitely make it my main goal for Saturday to be able to distract you."

"And how do you plan to do that?" she turned to you defiantly.

"My master plan will be divided into plan A, which I still have to devise, and plan B."

"What's plan B?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"I kinda do?"

"Too bad," you chuckled playfully.

It was 6 PM when you decided to go home. You had stayed with Aitana for more than three hours, but strangely enough, it felt like thirty minutes. You had discovered a new side of her that you couldn't get enough of.

She was different in real life from when she was on the pitch—still driven and determined, but also funny, kind, and gentle. She cared about so many things and was so busy, yet she had time to be with you for more than three hours.

She loved books and days spent at the beach. Her passion for football encompassed her whole life, and you admired how passionate she was about her work.

She reminded you of yourself and your love for art. When you asked her about her favorite books, you were surprised when she replied with nerdy titles. Looks could be deceiving; Aitana Bonmatí was a bit of a nerd, and you loved it.

She walked you back to your car with your bag on her shoulder, insisting that it was too heavy. As you reached your car door, you quickly turned to her. "So I'll see you on Saturday?"

"Definitely."

"Don't leave without saying goodbye, okay?" you couldn't help but smile.

"Yes, boss," this time, you received a poke on the ribs. "Ow!"

"Thank you for today. I really had fun. I thought working with gold was going to be more boring."

"It wasn't, thanks to you," you wanted to hug her. No, you felt the necessity to do so. Unceremoniously, you brought her into a hug, wrapping your arms around her neck and drawing her closer. After the initial shock, she wrapped her arms around your waist and held you tighter. The hug lasted longer than necessary, but neither of you wanted to let go.

There was a pull that made you not want to leave her embrace. It was comforting, and even if you didn't realize it at the time, you really needed it. After some time, you broke off the hug, said your final goodbye, and left for home.

—

Upon arriving home, you noticed a light emanating from the living room. Initially startled, you thought it might be an intruder. However, upon entering, you found your annoying brother standing there with his arms crossed.

"Jesus Christ! I thought you were a burglar! Idiot!" you exclaimed, smacking his arms in frustration.

"Hi to you too, sis," he responded with a smirk.

"Why didn't you call me?" you asked, placing your bag on the floor before embracing him.

"I needed to talk to you, and I knew you'd find an excuse not to see me," he explained.

"You live in Manchester!"

"I'm back. Got transferred back to Barcelona."

"For good?" you inquired eagerly. Ciro, your brother, was one of the best sports physiotherapists globally, having worked with Man City for almost two years.

"Yeah, got a call from Barcelona. You know I can't say no to that. Plus, I really wanted to be home," he replied.

He towered over you, twenty centimeters taller, with medium-length wavy hair that made heads turn. You both represented the opposite ends of two worlds—you loved art, he loved sports.

"I'm glad you're back," you said warmly, stepping back from the hug.

"Now, why did I have to hear from Mom that you were sick?" he asked, concern etched on his face.

"Ciro, I wanted to tell you, but you were busy with work. I really didn't want to worry you."

"You should've told me," he said sadly. "I would've been there. Could've come sooner."

"And do what? I'll start my treatment next week. There's not much you can do."

"I can be there for you. We made a deal to always stick together. You're my older sister, you've always been there for me. The least I could do is to be there for you," he insisted. You sighed sadly, realizing he was right. You should've told him. Perhaps you wanted to protect him, or maybe you feared that acknowledging your illness would make it too real.

"Did you come home because of me?" you asked tentatively, hoping for a different answer.

"As much as Man City pays, Barcelona is my home. And I really missed my sister."

"You're such a suck-up! What do you need?" you teased.

"Well, now that you ask... I might need a place to stay."

Rolling your eyes, you replied, "You can take the guest room."

After settling his stuff in the guest room, you both decided on pizza for dinner. He insisted you make the call, but you refused, playfully tossing his phone back to him. As soon as he returned, you sat on the couch to catch up on each other's lives. It had been months since you'd seen each other, and despite your reluctance to admit it, you missed him.

"Are you also working with Barca Femeni, or only the men's side?" you asked.

"I still don't know. Definitely covering all the home games and the key players if they're injured. Unsure about the away games."

"I have tickets to Saturday's game for the women's side if you want to come," you offered.

"I'll probably have to cover that game, being the first one," he replied with a suggestive smirk. "Why do you have tickets for a football match? Weren't you against 'the sports'?" he teased, using air quotes.

Blushing lightly, you retorted, "I never said I was 'against the sports.' I just prefer books to football games."

"Then why the sudden interest in watching a football match?" His face lit up. "Is it for a girl?" he asked excitedly.

"No girl!" you insisted, though thoughts of Aitana flickered in your mind. "Just felt like it."

"Then why are you smiling?" he persisted, tossing a pillow your way.

"No particular reason," you lied.

"Okay. You'll tell me when you're ready," he said with a knowing smile.

—

Fast forward to Saturday, and Ciro settled into his new job quickly. He primarily worked with the men’s side, working on Gavi and Balde, the most serious injuries at the moment.

On Saturday, he was to finally meet the women’s side in preparation for the game. Patri was the first to arrive, followed by Pina and Bruna. Aitana was the last, there for additional ankle support.

Upon seeing Ciro, Aitana gave him a strange look, as if he reminded her of someone.

"Hello?" Ciro greeted, puzzled by her expression.

Quickly snapping out of it, Aitana apologized, "Oh, hi, sorry! You kinda looked like someone familiar. I apologize if I gave you a weird look." Extending her hand, she introduced herself, "I’m Aitana."

"Hi. I’m Ciro. I’m the new physio. What can I do for you?" he responded.

During their time together, Ciro realized that Aitana was very chatty about nerdy things like books and coffee places—things that reminded him of you and how well you two would get along.

"You said you just came back from Man City, right?" Aitana asked.

"Yes, I did," Ciro replied.

"Did you know that the first atom was split there?" she commented, making Ciro chuckle. She would really get along with you.

"I think you’d be friends with my sister. She said the same thing when I left to go there," Ciro remarked.

"I guess it’s common knowledge," Aitana stated confidently.

"No, it’s not. But I’ll reply the same way I replied to my sister: who cares about atoms, when Manchester is home to the annual World Pie Eating Championship," Ciro chuckled.

"You got a girlfriend there?" Aitana asked unexpectedly.

Blinking at the question, Ciro replied with a crooked smirk, "Why, are you interested?" It was playful banter, no ulterior motives.

Raising her hands defensively, Aitana replied, "Nope, you’re not really my type."

"Then I should really introduce you to my sister," Ciro teased.

"Nah, I’m already interested in someone else. I’m sorry," Aitana smiled brightly.

"Too bad," Ciro finished up her ankle. "You’re all set. I’m sorry if this conversation was unprofessional. Please don’t report it to the club," he added with a tense smile.

"Don’t worry. We were just talking. But I do have to say, the more I see you, the more you look like a person I know," Aitana observed.

"Well, I hope they are great. I don’t want to leave a bad impression," Ciro replied.

"She’s wonderful," Aitana said before heading to the pitch.

—

Meanwhile, you were getting ready with Eva to go to the Estadi Johan Cruyff.

"So your brother’s back in town for good?" Eva asked.

"Yeah, he’s currently crashing at my apartment until he gets a flat of his own. Feels like we’re back to being teenagers living together for Uni," you replied, putting on Aitana’s shirt and giving it a subtle sniff.

"How’s that going?" Eva raised her eyebrows.

"So far, so good. She’s my friend," you reassured her.

"So, you told her about your condition, right?" Eva asked sternly.

You fell silent. "I’ve been meaning to! I just haven’t found the time yet."

"You need to tell her," Eva urged.

"I know. Let me just ignore it for a little longer," you replied hesitantly.

"She won’t go away, you know that?" Eva reassured you.

"I don’t care about that. We’ve only met three weeks ago. I don’t have some sick attachment issues, okay? I... I just really care about her," you admitted.

"I know you do. Or else we wouldn’t be going to a football game just to see her," Eva said with a smile.

—

At the Estadi Johan Cruyff, Aitana had secured great seating spots for you. As they warmed up, you couldn’t take your eyes off her. When she spotted you in the crowd, her face lit up with a huge smile, and she excitedly waved at you.

The game started quickly, with Aitana making a significant impact on the field. Her passing was precise, and she dribbled past opponents effortlessly.

In the first 15 minutes, she had already made an assist and nearly scored a goal. At the thirtieth minute, she scored a remarkable goal from outside the box, prompting you to cheer loudly.

However, the next action worried you. A harsh tackle left Aitana clutching her ankle in pain. Thankfully, your brother quickly tended to her, and she was able to continue playing, albeit with some discomfort. At halftime, Ciro was still with Aitana, leaving you concerned. But what concerned you more was that she didn’t return for the second half, replaced by another player.You quickly sent a text to Ciro, hoping he’d see it.

**You:** Where are you?

**Ciro:** I’m at work, idiot. You saw me.

**You:** I know, but right now? Is everything okay with Aitana?

**Ciro:** Yes, why? Why are you so concerned?

**You:** She’s my friend. Can I come and see her?

Aitana was perched on the physio bed, visibly annoyed that they’d taken her off at half-time.

“Hey, Aitana,” Ciro turned to her, puzzled by her behavior, away from his phone. “How do you know my sister?”

She looked at him, puzzled. “Who’s your sister?”

“Y/n?” He stated, as if it were obvious.

“Like Y/n Y/ln? You’re his brother?”

“Yeah!”

“I didn’t know that! She never mentioned she had a brother. That’s why you looked like her!”

“She wants to come and see you. I can’t let her in, but you can if you want.”

Aitana blushed lightly, a fact Ciro noted but didn’t comment on. Internally, she thanked him for it.

“Yeah, of course she can come if she likes.”

He smirked knowingly, making her blush again. “I’ll go get her. Then we’ll have a small talk on how you have the hots for my sister,” he teased, leaving the room.

As soon as you saw Ciro in the hallway, you understood immediately that he had something in mind.

“Since when do you know Aitana Bonmatì?”

“Since I worked on her Ballon d’Or. We’ve become friends.”

“Only that?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Ciro. Only that.”

“Doesn’t seem like it. You are way too worried.”

“Shut up,” you smacked his stomach hard, making him whine. “And not a word about this around her, understood?”

“Can I say one thing?”

“Then you’ll shush?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“She’s really nice and chatty. I get why you like her. Plus, she’s really hot, not to mention your type?”

“You really want me to get violent on you?” You hit him again.

“Ow!”

“You deserved it.”

“You didn’t deny it though…” You hit him again, this time harder. “This one was my fault. I take it back.”

You both reached the door to the physio room. “Now get back to work, Ciro.”

“So bossy! I hope Aitana likes this side of you!” He teased, and you replied with a glare that clearly said, "I’m going to hit you." Your patience was really getting tested. “Bye!” He quickly left to get back on the pitch, while you opened the door.

—

She was sitting still on the physio bed, with some ice on her ankle, still dressed for the match, and lightly pouting.

“Hey,” as soon as she turned to you, she brightened up.

“Hey!” You approached her. “How’s your ankle?”

You took her in, noticing she looked exhausted even though she only played for 45 minutes. Even though you saw her play, you were glad they let her rest.

“It’s good. They took me off for ‘precautionary measures,’” she rolled her eyes.

“I’m glad you’re healthy,” you replied, turning around to show her you were wearing her jersey.

She grabbed both sides of the jersey and dragged you in between her legs. “You have it on!” she said excitedly.

“Of course! I only wear the best! Great game, by the way,” you lightly caressed her thigh, next to her knee, to give her some reassurance. “You scored a banger!”

“Thank you. I’d rather have played more, though,” she pouted, making you smile at her cuteness. “By the way, what was your secret plan to make me distracted?”

You chuckled lightly, completely forgetting. “Plan A was to distract you just by my presence,” you bragged jokingly, making her giggle and earning you a poke in the ribs.

“That’s not true. You just didn’t think of anything to distract me with,” she said confidently.

“Maybe.”

“What was plan B, then?”

“Becoming a pitch invader or just flashing you,” you said dramatically.

“I would’ve definitely loved to see that,” she gave you a playful smirk, lightly gripping your waist a little harder.

You chuckled, smacking the back of her head. Then, you looked at her properly, changing the mood of the conversation. Her eyes looked so tired. “You look exhausted. You still have the elastic band in your hair. Isn’t it uncomfortable?”

“I’m just too lazy to take it off,” she confessed bluntly.

You rolled your eyes and then gently took it off her. “There you go. Do you want me to take out your ponytail too?” You looked into her eyes once again.

“You don’t have to. I can do it on my own,” she said shyly.

“I know you can, but then I wouldn’t have an excuse to be near you.”

Her face softened, making you melt like chocolate under the sun. She nodded slowly, and you sprang into action. Taking a step closer, you gently took off the elastic band and looped it around your wrist. You scratched her scalp a little, making her release a relaxed sigh. Chuckling lightly, you took a step back to give her some space. As you were about to take another step, she quickly grabbed you, bringing you even closer to her. Swallowing some of the tension, you realized she was in control now and wanted you closer. You quickly looked at her lips, then back to her powerful gaze.

“You don’t have to find an excuse to be closer to me. I always want you near me all the time,” you tucked your head down to hide your blush, not wanting to show her how much those words had affected you. She gently grabbed your chin and raised it to her level.

“Don’t hide from me. I love it when you blush,” she teased.

“Stop doing that,” your face flushed again.

“Doing what?”

“Being all confident and so close to me. It’s distracting.”

She smirked in response. “Maybe that’s the effect I want you to feel. I’ll let you go if you feel uncomfortable,” she reassured you.

You replied by simply placing your hands on the sides of her face, playing lightly with her baby hair.

“We’ve been skirting around it for two weeks now. Don’t you feel the same pull towards me that I have with you? It’s consuming, and it feels so good,” she admitted.

It was intense, obliterating in a sense, yet you couldn’t resist it. You hated not feeling in control. Acting upon these feelings wouldn’t be fair to her.

“I feel it too,” you removed your hands from her and took a step back, seeing her expression change. You could feel her disappointment. “So much. But I can’t,” you sighed defeatedly. “It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

“Why?” she asked vulnerably. “Do you have a secret boyfriend or something?”

You took a deep breath and decided to tell her. She deserved to know. You couldn’t continue like this.

“Aitana, I have ca—”

The door opened, and the entire team barged in. You subconsciously took another step back and let the team swarm Aitana. They were checking up on her, but her eyes never left yours.

“Hey, you’re the art restorer!” Patri pointed out.

You quickly changed your demeanor to something more cheerful. “Yes, I just came in to say hi to Aitana. I was just about to leave. I’ll see you.”

You quickly left to reunite with Eva and then headed home.

—

Later that night, you were going to a club to celebrate your colleague Pablo’s birthday, but for you, it was also the last party before you had to start your treatment.

The whole thing with Aitana earlier that day had left a bitter taste in your mouth. You felt like an asshole and couldn’t shake the feeling that things could have gone better between the two of you.

Realising that you never asked for her phone number and that you had finished your work for the club, you concluded that you probably wouldn’t see her again.

So when you left for the beach bar with your friends, you decided to indulge in some vodka. Eva didn’t question it. She knew that sometimes, when you were out with your friends, you stopped being the responsible one and drank more than usual to have some fun. Pablo and Eva always made fun of you because you never had filters and would always create chaos, but you never went overboard.

You were in the middle of the night, two drinks in, and you started telling your friends that you loved them. They only chuckled in response. You alternated between depressing states and euphoric ones, making Eva, who was also intoxicated, extremely confused.

The whole night shifted again when you saw a group of girls entering the bar, including the one girl you thought you’d never see again. As soon as she saw you, she tried to approach you. She wanted to talk about the conversation you had earlier that day, but you tried to drunkenly escape the conversation. It did not work.

A few moments later, you were met with her standing in front of you while you were sitting down at the bar stools. She saw that you were drunk, and her serious appearance faded for a moment.

“Can we—Are you drunk?” she asked.

“Yep,” you confessed without even trying to hide it. “What are you doing here?”

“We are out celebrating the win. What are you doing here?”

“The birthday party,” you slurred. She had her nose ring on. You loved it when she wore it. “You have your nose ring on. I really like it,” you tried to raise your hand to touch it, but she quickly stopped you.

“How much did you drink?” she asked, concerned.

“Not that much. Why are you so serious? I don’t like it when your face scrunches up.”

She chuckled at your drunkenness. “You are so drunk. I’ll take you home.”

“Nooo. You just got here, plus my friends are about to leave,” you protested.

“It’s no biggie. You need to get home to sleep it off.”

“I think I should. On Monday, I have my first treatment. I shouldn’t feel hungover,” you blurted out.

“You have your first what?”

“Can I have a kiss?”

“What?”

“A kiss. You know, the ones you give to a person with the lips,” you explained, while she slowly took your hand and led you out of the bar.

“I know what a kiss is. I don’t think I should give you a kiss, given your current state. And the fact that a few hours ago you rejected me.” You were out now.

“Wait. Why are we outside?”

“I’m taking you home.” She states.

“You tricked me. You are one little sneaky son of a bitch.” You pout, making her laugh.

“You drunk, is the highlight of my day.”

“That’s so sad.” You cover your mouth with your hand childishly. “I shouldn’t have said that.” She giggles in response. “I still want a kiss from you. And I want to you to know that I didn’t in fact reject you. I just told you that I can’t.” You specify.

She leads you to her car without you realizing it. “I hope you are not one of those people who takes me to their car and then try to kill me.” She opens the car door and helps you inside.

She buckles your seatbelt, and due to the closeness, you blurt out. “You are very beautiful. The most perfect face.”

She chuckles, lightly shaking her head. “You are very beautiful too.” She gives you a quick kiss on the temple and round the car to get to the driving seat.

“Was it that difficult to give me a kiss?” You ask her rhetorically, making her roll her eyes at you.

“Can you tell me your address?” She sat down on the driver’s seat and gently turned your head towards her to get some attention.

“I don’t wanna go home. My brother is there.” You whine. “Let’s go to the beach.” You say excitedly.

“Y/n you are drunk. If you don’t tell me your address I’ll bring you to my home.” Aitana tells you seriously.

“Is that an invite?” You smirk suggestively.

“Get your head out of the gutter, Y/n.”

“Calm down. I was just joking!” You grinned.

“I should probably text Eva.” You sober up and sent her, very slowly, a text.

**You** I’m going hmoe with hot footballer. See you on mnoday. I’m drukn but I love you.

The drive pretty much sobered you up. You were still blabbering nonsense to Aitana, talking to her about the most random things. When you arrived, you quickly noticed that you weren’t in your apartment complex.

“I knew it. You brought me here to kill me,” you said, fed up.

“We are at my home.”

You opened the car door and got out before she could help you. “This whole building is your house?!” you said, shocked, while she quickly walked up to you.

“No, you idiot. I have an apartment,” she giggled lightly.

“You are enjoying this, aren’t you? Getting to see me like this.”

“I am definitely enjoying this. Too bad I can’t make any videos of you like this,” she said, placing a hand behind your back to stabilize you until you got to her apartment.

You curiously wandered around her living room, taking in her home. It was just like her. Every decoration, every piece of furniture reflected her in some way, only something was missing.

“You should get some artwork to fill up the walls. Your house is beautiful, Aitana.”

“Thank you. I guess you can definitely help with that, don’t you think?”

“Not in this condition.” You sat on the couch, while you waited for her to join you.

“You wanted to talk?”

“Not with you like this, tomorrow morning?” she offered, but you weren’t on board with that.

So, with a swift movement, you sat on her lap, taking Aitana by surprise. You placed her hands on your waist and blurted out. “I’ll talk then. I really like you, but I can’t be with you right now. The connection you feel between us is so real and intense that it scares me. You have been one of my biggest blessings in disguise since you came into my life.”

“I’d rather talk about this when you’ll remember it, but I really like you, and I would like to know why we can’t be together.”

You were sober enough to stop yourself from telling her the truth. “I’ll tell you tomorrow morning, I promise.”

You gently rubbed her shoulders, feeling all her muscles, making you giggle.

“What?” she asked, tickling you for a second or two. She was back to being her unserious self, and her crinkle disappeared. Probably it was because she knew that you were safe now.

“You are so muscular.” You squeezed her biceps. “If we were in a zombie apocalypse, would you protect me from all the zombies? You go fend off our enemies while I do the housewife and part-time art restorer. Maybe zombies make art, who knows?”

“Okay, I will,” she indulged you.

“You promise?” You asked her seriously.

“Yes.”

“Pinky promise?” You raised your pinky, and she laced it with hers. “Now it’s sealed.”

“Let’s go to bed,” she spurred you to stand up and walked you to her bedroom. She quickly gave you some spare clothes to change, leaving the room for you to have some privacy. She gave you some Barcelona shorts and one of her old t-shirts.

Somehow, every item had her typical perfume, and that special something that was characteristically hers. You were now a little more sobered up, which made you less chatty and with some inhibitions.

As you opened the door of her bedroom to see where she was, you saw that she was getting the couch ready to sleep.

“Aitana, come to bed. I can take the couch. You already did more than enough for me today.”

“It’s no biggie,” she shrugged.

“No, it’s a big biggie.” You walked up to her and literally dragged her into her own bedroom. “You take the bed.”

“Then we’ll both take it.”

“We can do that.” You waited for her to take her usual side, then you climbed on the other side. She turned off the light, and you moved to your side to face her. “Thank you for tonight. You didn’t have to, but you still took care of me. You are truly one of the most amazing people I know.”

She kissed your forehead. “Goodnight, Y/n.”

She laid on her back, making you subconsciously go near her as much as possible, until you looped your arm around her waist and cuddled into her. In response, she gave you another kiss on the temple and nuzzled into you.

—

The next morning, you woke up with a headache. An arm was keeping you down, and as you opened your eyes, confusion swept over you.

Aitana was still softly sleeping on your side. Memories of last night flooded back into your mind. You guessed that she felt you stir awake because not even a minute after you had woken up, she woke up too.

“Good morning,” she said gently, moving away from you and sitting up, quickly stretching herself. You basically mimicked her movements on the other side of the bed and followed her to the living room.

“Coffee?” she offered.

“Definitely,” you replied, sitting down at her kitchen table. “Can I have a glass of water? My head is killing me.” She quickly retrieved it for you and got back to preparing the coffee. “I apologize if I made you uncomfortable last night.”

“You didn’t. I’ve thought about what you told me yesterday: that you can’t be with me because it wouldn’t be fair to me. I think… no, I’m certain, that we can work it out together,” she said hopefully. She was still standing when you chuckled sadly.

“Aitana, you don’t know how much I’d want that. But being with me right now isn’t worth it, and I won’t ask you to wait for me because that wouldn’t be fair to you,” you admitted sadly.

“I’ll be the judge of that. Whatever it is, we can—”

“Aitana, I have cancer.”

Now she sat down. “You told me you had anemia,” she said defensively, not really believing you.

“I do also have anemia. That’s why I’ll start chemo so late from the diagnosis,” you released a sigh.

“Is—is it curable?” she almost whispered, almost not knowing how to take the news.

“Thankfully, I found out early about the tumor. The doctors said a 70% success rate.”

“Where is it?”

“Thyroid cancer. It’s a little bump next to my vocal cords.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” she pleaded, almost offended.

“Because...I didn’t want you to see me in a different way,” you confessed as your voice cracked vulnerably.

“I could never see you in a bad light. You are a fighter, Y/n, remember it.”

“Do you understand why I can’t be with you?”

“Yes, and I call it bullshit,” she remarked determinedly.

“What—”

“You know, statistics say that only 30% of relationships last the first year. You literally have more hope to live than us being together.”

“And so?”

“And so, why are you denying us to yourself?”

“Maybe because in the next month, all my hair will fall off, I’ll be as weak as I’ll ever be, and I won’t be able to work anymore?” you said sarcastically. “Do you really want a girlfriend like that?”

“I want you, Y/n. We’ll just have to go through the bad times first before the good parts.”

“You know, Aitana Bonmatì, you are one stubborn woman. You never stop until you get what you want, huh?”

She nodded confidently.

“Can’t you see I’m trying to give you an out? For God’s sake, I have cancer! I might die, and I don’t want you to ruin your life to take care of me. I can’t be that selfish. I care about you way too much!” you replied exasperated, still with your head pounding.

She rounded the table and knelt down next to your legs, taking your hands. “It’s not a decision you can make for me. If you won’t let me be there for you as your girlfriend, then I’ll be there for you as a friend. For the record, I care about you too. And even if you already have Eva and Ciro, I won’t let you go through this alone.”

“We could never be friends, you know that?” you gently caressed her cheek, and she leaned into the touch.

“I know. But you are in control, okay? Let me just be there for you, please,” she practically begged you in the last part. You made her stand up while you thought for a moment.

“You won’t surrender, will you?” Your face adorned with a sad smile, while she shook her head. “I’m just a stranger, Aitana.”

“You are way more than that, and you know it,” she paused for a second. “You would do the same for me.” You nodded. You’d probably do worse if you found out that she had cancer.

"Let's take things slow, okay?" you concede, rising from your seat and placing your coffee cup on the table. "I should probably go home. Tomorrow I start chemotherapy, and I should probably rest," you say with a tinge of sadness. Making your way to Aitana's room, you change back into your clothes. After about five minutes, there's a knock on the door.

She slowly opens it. "Do you need me to drive you home? It's no biggie," she offers.

You nod slowly. "Can I come with you for your chemo?" she asks, her voice tentative, not wanting to overstep.

"I don't want you to see me like that," you explain, seeing her disappointment. "But maybe you could come and pick me up afterwards? We can go to lunch somewhere," you suggest.

"I'd love that," she replies with a small smile. "By the way! I think it's time for you to give me your phone number! I still can't believe we haven't exchanged numbers," she chuckles, and you hand her your phone.

She bursts into a giggle, sending you a knowing smirk. "I'm glad to hear that Eva is happy you went home with a hot ass footballer. The next part of the text, it's better that I don't say," she teases, causing you to blush profusely.

"I'm sorry," you mutter, covering your face with your hands.

"Oh no. I love it," she counters, smirking confidently as she tosses your phone back to you. As you unlock it to read Eva's texts, a smile tugs at the corners of your lips.

**Eva** Fucking finally!

Now go and sex up that hot ass footballer!

"Damn it!" you exclaim, exasperated, prompting a chuckle from Aitana.

The drive back home is mostly silent. As she stops right next to your door, you're unsure how to bid her goodbye. It's been a heavy morning for both of you, and you need time to process everything. You had intended to push her away, give her an out. But she refused to give up, surprising you.

"I'll see you tomorrow, right? You'll text me?" she asks, her voice tinged with insecurity.

You reassure her with a kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow, Tani. Thank you for everything." With that, you exit the car and wave one last time before entering your home.

Sitting on the couch with a sad expression, you stare at the turned-off TV. You feel awful, like you've made Aitana feel awful. Groaning loudly, you bury your face in your pillow.

Ciro emerges from the guest room, eyeing you. "Rough night?" he asks.

"I told her," you confess.

He sits next to you and pulls you into a hug. "Did it go badly?"

"No, I guess. Is it bad if I wish she had just told me to get out of her life?"

"No," he replies, rubbing your back soothingly. "But I'm glad she'll stick around."

—

Meanwhile, Aitana returns home and collapses on the couch, her face turned toward the wall. She lets out a light but painful sob.

"Damn it."

In the afternoon of the same day she found out of your cancer, she had a recovery session at Barcelona. For the first time ever, she just wanted to stay home.

Despite being off during all her training, her teammates didn’t ask what was going on, as she's not one to let her emotions affect her play. But that day, she was anything but focused. Ciro noticed and approaches her during a water break.

"Hey," he says.

"Hi, Ciro," she greets him, trying to hide her emotions.

"You good?"

"I'm good. Just tired."

"You know you can talk to me, right?" Aitana nods and rejoins her teammates.

"When did you become friends with the physio? Are you over the Art Restorer?" Keira asks.

"Her name is Y/n, and that's her brother," Aitana replied emotionless.

"The hot gene really does run in their family," Patri remarks, earning a smack from Keira.

—

Your first chemo treatment isn't as bad as you feared. Your energy isn't drained at all; in fact, you're super alert, probably because of the steroids.

Aitana arrives half an hour early and joins you in the hospital treatment room.

You're nearly finished; you just have to complete the saline shot.

"Hey, how are you?" Aitana enters the room and gives you a quick hug before sitting beside you. You'd be lying if you said you weren't happy to see her. Her smile melts away your worries in an instant. She's here, and that's enough to lift your spirits.

"I'm nearly done. How's training?" you ask.

"It's good. We worked on free kicks and rondos, so some light stuff. I brought you some snacks," she says, handing you dried fruits and nuts. "I read that the first chemo might make you feel drowsy, and since you also have anemia, I brought you some food with iron."

You smile softly, thanking her with a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, Tani." Opening the bag, you search for some almonds. "I hate raisins," you remark.

"Just give them to me," she offers, and you quickly pass all the raisins to her as you eat the rest. "I don't know how you like raisins," you say, giving her a disgusted look.

"They're just fruit," she chuckles.

"How was the treatment? Do you feel sick?" she asks, worry evident in her voice.

"For now, no, probably because of the steroids. I should bring something to do next time," you say, your gaze softening. "About yesterday, we're good, right? I felt like we left each other on a bitter note.”

"It's okay. It was a pretty intense day. Let's just move forward, okay? So, I'm thinking... Let's go get some food, then we'll start our DreamWorks/Disney marathon. What do you say?"

For the past two weeks, the two of you had been discussing doing a movie marathon, and since you both liked kids' movies, you settled on that. However, there was one point of contention: she argued that Disney movies were better, while you favored DreamWorks. So the two of you had started arguing about which was best, and the winner was yet to be decided.

"I'm feeling great! We don't have to barricade ourselves in one of our homes. We can go to the beach and maybe take a walk," you offer, not wanting to confine her to spending the entire day indoors with you, knowing she's a very active person.

"Oh no! We have to finally settle this debate! It's been going on for too long now! Plus, you're going to need all the rest you can get, and I don't mind keeping you company," she insists.

"Are you sure?" You check once again.

"Yes, I'm sure," she reassures you.

—

Her idea proves to be right because as soon as you get home, you feel the steroids wearing off, with a sudden tiredness enveloping your body. As you drive to your home to start the movie marathon, Aitana notices almost immediately, quickly taking your hand and gently squeezing it, not letting go until you arrive.

"Your home is so full of books! I love it," she says excitedly as she steps inside your house.

"I love reading, and I have a college degree and currently doing my second specialization. I guess I have been the culprit of the death of some trees," you joke.

You fetch your grandma's blankets that she knitted for you, then return to the living room.

Aitana is already sitting on the couch with her arms open, waiting for you. Despite wanting to be held by her, you fear she might feel uncomfortable, so you sit on the opposite side.

She looks at you quizzically and then drags you to lay on top of her. You release a content sigh and proceed to hug her sides, fully taking in her body against yours. "Didn't you get the memo? From now on, I'll be your designated cuddle buddy," she giggles.

"Oh my god! How stupid! I completely forgot!" you joke.

She holds you tighter as you search for a movie to watch together, settling on "The Little Mermaid." You start to drift off, only remembering a faded kiss on the temple and a whispered, "You rest. I'll be here when you wake up, mi sirenita."

Approximately an hour later, Ciro returns home after spending the day with the men's team. He's really worried about you and how the treatment went, but he doesn't expect what he sees. You're lightly sleeping on top of Aitana, while she watches a movie on TV.

"Hey," he whispers.

Aitana's head shoots up to look at him. "Hey. She just fell asleep; the drugs wore off, and she got tired."

He smiles softly at the sight of his sister with someone who cares enough to be with her, even while she's sleeping. "How are you feeling?" he asks her.

"Oh, I'm good. She let me come inside while she finished up her treatment, and we had lunch at that place she always talks about."

"I'm glad she lets you be with her. She's stubborn, but don't give up. She'll come around," he reassures her.

She looks at you. "I really hope so," then turns back to Ciro. "Oh, you should text Eva! Y/n told me that she would text her, but I guess she forgot; she might be worried." Hearing all of this chatter, you stir awake, still drowsy.

"Tani, where is all this sound coming from?" you asked her groggily, still keeping your eyes closed.

"Ciro is here," she informed you.

"Hi Ciro," you lightly waved at him, then cuddled up against Aitana once again.

"Hey, how was chemo?"

"Tiring," you replied.

"I can see," he chuckled.

You raised your arm to show him the middle finger. "Okay! I'll wake you up later; you have to call mom."

You grunted at the thought. "Okay, okay. But now let me sleep."

"Do you want to go to bed?" Aitana asked you.

"You are too comfortable!" you replied.

"Why don't we go to bed? We'll be even more comfortable," she giggled.

"Okay," you slowly removed yourself from her and walked with her to your bedroom.

As soon as Aitana laid down on the bed, you resumed the same position as before. You indeed were more comfortable.

"You are the best cuddle buddy, Tani. Thank you." You gave her a kiss on the corner of her lips and fell back into a deep slumber.

—

Approximately an hour later, you woke up. You patted your bed to find Aitana, but she wasn't there. You quickly got out of bed, feeling a little better, and went to the living room to get a cup of water. In the kitchen, you found Ciro.

"Where's—"

"She left about five minutes ago; she had to do some media stuff with Barcelona, and she didn't want to wake you," he explained.

—

For the next two weeks, you had fallen into a routine. Whenever you had chemotherapy, Aitana would take you back for lunch away from the hospital, and sometimes you would take small walks together or watch movies if you were extra tired. In those two weeks, you had gotten a chance to know her better. The more you talked to her, the more you couldn't picture yourself without her.

She was incredible. But most importantly, you loved how she made you feel. She was always so supportive, never failing to make you smile, but most importantly, she was ever-present.

Eva and Ciro would tease you so much because whenever she was around, you became a completely different person: nicer and more compliant. However, the mood from the first two weeks changed when you started losing hair.

You never really gave much thought to your hair; it was long and wavy, and honestly, you never thought about how being bald would actually make you feel. When single locks of hair started falling out, it was really a punch into reality. You had cancer, and your hair was falling out. Still, you didn't tell Ciro or Eva about it, and especially not to Aitana.

You were currently cuddling up next to her while she gently caressed your back. You had just finished your treatment for the week, and you were more exhausted than usual. Your throat was hurting, and your legs were aching as if you had just run a marathon. Aitana was rambling on about a book she started reading that you suggested.

"It's actually so good, no wonder you have great tastes in books," she lightly praised you, giving you a kiss on the scalp. She then tucked your hair behind your ear, but the lock remained in her hand.

"Since when have you been losing hair, Y/n?" she asked softly.

You moved away from her and sat on the couch, realizing that you had just lost another lock of hair. "It's been a week now," you uttered sadly. "Let's just not think about it, okay? I don't want to talk about it," you got defensive.

One thing that you didn't want was for Aitana to see you actually sick or suffering the consequences of cancer. One thing was tiredness, but another thing was losing hair.

"Do you maybe want to shave it all off?" she tried.

"Aitana, I don't want to talk about it, please."

"Okay, okay. I'll stop talking." You felt ashamed and embarrassed that she saw you like this, weak. So you completely closed off from her.

"It's getting late," you looked at your watch. "Tomorrow you have practice, and I have to study. I think that you should leave."

"Wha—"

"Aitana, please," you pleaded, with a vulnerability in your voice that you really didn't want to show.

"I'm sorry if I overstepped." With that, she left.

—

You took a loud sigh and went to the bathroom. Your brother's electric razor sat on the counter, and you just looked at it, unable to bring yourself to use it. You tried to convince yourself that you weren't actually losing her, but that didn't quite work.

Whenever you touched your hair, a lock would fall off. It was time to shave it off. Sitting down on the bathroom floor, you sighed deeply. Lost in your thoughts, you didn't even notice when your brother came back home.

He appeared in the bathroom after a couple of minutes. "There you are! I thought you left. Where is Aitana?"

"I told her to leave," you said absently, still looking at the razor. He looked confused, both by your state and how you had kicked out Aitana. "My hair started to fall off. I've been trying to shave it off all afternoon, but I can't." You broke down crying at the last sentence.

"Gosh, I feel so stupid! I never bothered until now about my hair, and now all of a sudden, I can't get rid of it!" Frustrated, you punched your leg.

He sat down next to you and grabbed the razor from you. "But it's not just hair, isn't it?" he stated simply. "Losing hair is a physical reminder of what you are going through. It's scary, especially because you are someone who deals with problems by ignoring them."

You released a choked-out chuckle. "It's scary. You have cancer, you can die. Just like dad. And losing your hair may feel like you are out of control, like your body isn't responding to you anymore like before. But it's just hair." He turned on the razor. "Hair will grow again eventually." He moved the razor next to his scalp, making you react almost immediately.

"What are you doing?" You tried to move his hand away from his hair, but he wouldn't budge.

"I'm showing you that you are not alone, and for as long as you are in this fight, we are in this together." He quickly shaved a whole strip of his hair.

"Are you an idiot! Why did you do that?!" You said angrily, knowing that he would most probably pull off something like this, and even if you begged him not to do it on multiple occasions, he still did it. He didn't bother with your angry tone as he kept shaving off his hair until he was nearly all bald.

"See! It's just hair. Losing your hair is tough, but you know what? It's just another step until you get better. You are a fighter, and you are stronger than this." You were at a loss for words, so you just hugged him.

"Did you search on Google how to talk with your family member who has cancer?" You chuckled lightly, trying to break a little tension.

"I did," he said honestly, earning a small giggle.

You stayed a while inside his embrace, but then you soon remembered why you were in the bathroom. "I think I'm ready to shave it off.”-

—

After a very intense and emotionally charged afternoon, you found yourself sitting on the couch wearing one of your old Adidas beanies. You realized that one drawback of being bald was the constant feeling of coldness. Touching your head without any hair on it was something you had to get used to. It felt strange yet oddly cathartic, signaling your readiness to continue with the treatment.

"So, are you going to tell me why you kicked out that poor girl who's been following you like a lost puppy since you met her?" Ciro jumped on the couch to sit next to you.

"She's not a lost puppy."

"Well, she's been ever-present, bringing you food and always taking naps with you even when she could be doing other stuff."

"Don't make me feel guilty," you said defensively.

"That's exactly what I'm trying to do. You haven't fully given her a chance, and I believe she wouldn't want anything more than for you to give her a chance. You are all she talks about." His confession made your cheeks redden, trying to hide away the stupid smile forming on your face.

"I don't want to hurt her," you uttered sadly.

"By pushing her away, you are doing just that."

"I know, but what if I give her a chance and it goes wrong? What if she decides it's too much, or I don't make it? I can't deal with that."

"What if it works? You're simply denying yourself some happiness, which I think you fully deserve."

"Why are you being so wise today?" You tried to change the subject.

"I'm just trying to help out my sister, plus I really hope that if the two of you get together, she'll stop talking about you during the physio sessions. That girl is chatty," he chuckled.

"I should probably go and talk to her," you said.

"She should be home; she told me she needed to rest for tomorrow's practice."

You put on your coat and left for Aitana's apartment with newfound determination.

#woso imagine #barca femeni #woso x reader #aitana bonmati x reader #aitana bonmati #alexia putellas #woso fic #barcelona femeni

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corroded-hellfire · 3 months

Text

As You Wish - Eddie Munson x Reader, Part 9

Collaboration with the one and only Dr. @munson-blurbs 💛

Summary: Eddie's finally moving into a place of his own. It's fun and exciting but at the same time, it makes things more real for the boys.

Note: It is here! A happy As You Wish Wednesday to you all

Warnings: talk of divorce, Brittany

Words: 7.4k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Eddie usually hated his government name. He’s Eddie, not Edward; the latter too formal and a reminder of when he’d get reprimanded at school.

But today, as the ballpoint pen glides over the paper, he’s never been happier to be Edward Munson.

“All right,” the leasing manager chirps, procuring a key from her back pocket, “congratulations on your new apartment, Mr. Munson.”

“Thank you.” It’s bittersweet; his first place without Brittany, without his boys as permanent fixtures. But he no longer needs to couch surf or rely on anyone else. This is his place, and though it’s not quite the house he once lived in, it’s home.

The Harrington household is in its usual state of controlled chaos when Eddie arrives. His sons are running around with Steve and Nancy’s three oldest kids on their front lawn, so engaged in a rousing game of freeze tag that they don’t even notice the car pulling up.

You spot him right away, greeting him with an excited wave. One arm stays wrapped around Mia, who offers a big smile when she sees her favorite uncle.

“Ryan! Luke! Dad’s here!”

The boys grumble, clearly upset about their game being cut short, and the Harringtons cheer triumphantly.

“We won! We won!” Theo cheers.

Luke shakes his head. “No, we’re just pausing until next time.”

“Nuh-uh! You guys forfeit, which means we win!”

You sigh. “We’ll call it a tie,” you decide, not waiting for a reply. Nancy comes out of the house to pay you, scooping up her youngest.

“Did we avoid a fight?” She whispers to you.

“Barely,” you confirm, tucking the bills into your front pocket. “I’m hoping to make our escape before it escalates.”

Nancy nods. “Godspeed.” She ushers Natalie, Theo, and Danny back into the house, bidding Eddie and his boys farewell, but not before Luke sticks his tongue in his friend’s direction.

“Saw that,” Ryan mutters. So did you, but you lack the energy to reprimand the youngest Munson, so you act oblivious.

This evening was the final celebration of your birthday week—the cherry on top that it seemed the boys wouldn’t let you go without: them treating you to a McDonald’s date. Ryan and Luke had both chipped in some pocket change they had in a piggy bank or hidden underneath a mattress. Though, you wouldn’t be surprised if Luke scrounged some of his from between couch cushions and between seats in his dad’s truck as well.

With their donations appreciated, Eddie pocketed the money and told everyone to order whatever they wanted. That’s dangerous territory with the two rugrats around, but it’s a special occasion.

The order in total managed to fit on four trays, which the guys said they had handled and would head off to find a table while you wait for the milkshakes at the counter.

As you rest your hip against the cool metal island that contains condiments and utensils, you hear familiar giggles coming from the tables around the corner. They bring an instant smile to your face. There’s a lot of turmoil going on in these kids’ lives right now, so the fact that they get to have these moments of peace and joy with their dad is very important. It’s part of the reason you told Eddie that it might be better to take Ryan and Luke shopping for their new rooms on his own. None of the three Munson men were having this, though. Every single one of them trusted your opinion far more than anyone with an XY chromosome in your little gang.

“Milkshakes?”

The worker’s voice pulls you out of your head and you give her a polite smile as you pick the cardboard carrier up off the counter, holding two vanilla shakes for you and Ryan, a chocolate for Eddie, and a strawberry for Luke. You set off in the direction the previous laughter came from and just as you turn the corner are greeted by the sight of the back of your boyfriend’s head in all its curly glory. Thing One and Thing Two are on the other side of the table throwing fries at one another, trying to catch them in their mouths.

“Come on, try me,” Eddie says, tilting his head back a bit. Ryan throws a fry first, but it bounces off his father’s cheek. Luke then throws a fry that is way too long and was never going to make it across the table. You watch in silence as the boys make a few more valiant attempts, Ryan able to sink one in eventually. The shakes are getting melty now though, so it’s time to barge in on their game.

When you walk over to the table and set the drink caddy down, you notice Eddie’s expression goes from playful to remorseful. Unfortunately, it doesn’t take your brain long to make the connection that this is something Brittany probably would’ve berated him for in the past—acting like a child and goofing around with the boys. It’s preposterous to even think of, really.

Instead of assuring Eddie with comforting words, you just slide onto the red vinyl booth next to him and nudge his arm with your elbow.

“My turn.”

Juxtaposed with the fun dinner you just had is the quiet car ride back to Brittany’s house to drop the boys off. Seeing the two happy little moods dampened weighs on Eddie’s heart, so he tries to get them engaged in another fun topic.

“Are you guys excited to pick out stuff for your new rooms tomorrow?” he asks, grinning at them through the rear-view mirror.

“Do I get, like…a new bed?” Luke asks.

“Sure do,” Eddie says as he flips the blinker on to turn into his old neighborhood. “And whatever kind of sheets you want to put on it.”

“Can I get ones with Spider-Man? Or Batman? Or Spider-Man and Batman?”

Eddie chuckles. “We’ll see what they have.”

That seems to satisfy Luke, at least for the moment, which is all you need. Eddie takes a deep breath as he pulls up to Brittany’s house—his former house. That twinge of pain never seems to dissipate, even though the end of his marriage was inevitable, the loss still hurts. Ryan doesn’t give him much time to dwell on things, though.

“Can I get a PlayStation for my room?”

Eddie barks a laugh and rubs a hand over his eyes. Before he can open his mouth to say no, Luke has to add his own outlandish request.

“Can I get a dog?!”

Your boyfriend just looks at you, silently begging you to take over before his patience completely runs out.

As you unbuckle your seatbelt, you casually announce, “No additional living beings until further notice.”

Luke grumbles, but ultimately relents, climbing out of his booster seat and running up to the door where Brittany is waiting.

“Mom!” Ryan and Luke yell out in unison. The older boy’s enthusiastic grin falters a bit when he notices the fakeness in his mom’s smile, but the younger boy thankfully remains oblivious.

“We’re gonna pick out stuff for our new rooms tomorrow!” Luke chirps.

Brittany’s perfectly plucked brows pinch together in a mix of confusion and her usual perpetual annoyance. “Tomorrow?” she asks, her voice far from genuine. “I thought we would spend tomorrow together, guys.”

“Britt, you said tomorrow you had that work thing, remember?” Eddie reminds her, a smug smile on his face. They both know damn well she just wanted to get out of taking the boys to the toy store when Luke originally asked the other day.

Brittany glares at Eddie but Luke shrugs and walks away.

“Another time, Mom.” He says casually, and something inside you breaks. You can feel it in Eddie, too. Luke’s unbothered attitude is too natural, like he’s accustomed to his mother constantly breaking their plans.

Speaking up will only incur the wrath of Brittany, so you stay silent, leaving Eddie to maneuver the rest of the awkward conversation.

“See you guys tomorrow,” he calls out to his sons, giving a cordial wave to Brittany. She doesn’t return it, closing the door in your faces.

Eddie turns to you. “That could have gone worse, I guess.”

You scoff. “Yeah, she could’ve turned into one of those Demogorgon things from your D&D campaigns.”

“Now that would be entertaining.” He takes your hand in his, his rings pressing against your fingers.

The car ride home will almost certainly involve a discussion about the way the boys’ faces fell when they saw Brittany and how to undo the damage of her bailing on plans. But for now, you take the moment to relish the love between you and Eddie.

“Look at that lamp! It looks like a jellyfish!”

It seems as if every other thing that Luke sees as the four of you walk up and down the aisles of the store catches his eye. If his new room incorporated all these new interesting finds of his, the small bedroom would look like the storage space of an eccentric car enthusiast who has an odd pension for nautical memorabilia.

“I thought you wanted a Hot Wheels room,” Eddie says for what feels like the fortieth time.

“I do, that lamp just looks cool,” Luke says. “Hey! Can I get one of those rugs that looks like there are roads on it so I can drive my cars all around?”

“If we see one,” his dad tells him.

Luke may only be five, but he already has expensive tastes. Ryan seems to be the opposite on this shopping trip—he doesn’t seem to know what he wants. None of the movie or character themed bed sets thrilled him, and there wasn’t a sport or activity he wanted highlighted. The only things the elder Munson brother had in the cart so far were a set of two black bookshelves to hang on the walls and a package of glow in the dark stars to stick to his ceiling.

On the other hand, Luke had already collected Hot Wheels sheets, Hot Wheels curtains, a nightstand that looked like three tires stacked one on top of the other, a stuffed German Shepherd (since he can’t get a real dog, he said), a Scooby Doo calendar, and a set of four Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle posters. The young boy had also tried to add an espresso machine to the cart, which was immediately halted by both you and Eddie.

“What in the world do you need an espresso machine for?” you had asked.

“For when I have guests,” Luke replied simply.

“Oh, right,” Eddie said, raising his eyebrows. “Because I think that much caffeine is exactly what Mia Harrington needs.”

Luke scoffed and rolled his eyes as if his dad thought he was stupid. “Well, I wouldn’t give any to a baby.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose between your thumb and forefinger, massaging gently. As grateful as you are that you have this opportunity to shop with Eddie and his boys, you can’t deny that your patience is swiftly draining.

“Luke, why are you pouting?”

The voice doesn’t belong to you, Eddie, or even Ryan. No, this shrill, weasley voice could only belong to one person.

Brittany stands before you, a gaudy pocketbook tucked underneath her arm. Her lips curl into what you can only consider an attempted smile, though it still makes your insides curdle.

“C’mere.” She motions to her youngest son, pulling him into a too-tight hug. You watch him squirm out of her grasp.

“Britt,” Eddie says through gritted teeth, “I thought you were busy today.”

Brittany shrugs nonchalantly, as though she hasn’t just completely derailed your afternoon. “Moved some things around.” She grins at Ryan and Luke. “What are we buying today?”

We. Like she was paying for any of it.

You swallow your frustration and shoot her an equally feigned smile. “Luke’s getting stuff for his Hot Wheels room, and Ryan still needs a reading lamp.”

“I wanted a race car bed, but Daddy said it was too ‘spensive. So, I’m gonna get Hot Wheels sheets instead,” Luke proudly announces.

Brittany furrows her brows in mock confusion. “But how can you have a Hot Wheels room with a regular bed?” She cocks her head, looking at Eddie. “I mean, you can’t splurge a little? I’m sure you have a guitar you could pawn.”

Eddie bites his lower lip so hard that you swear you see a speck of blood form. He’s holding himself back; being in public and in the presence of his kids keeps him from launching into an expletive-laden tirade.

“I’m not pawning a guitar for a bed he’s going to outgrow in a few years. Especially not when we came up with a good compromise.” His tone is terse, clipped.

Brittany rolls her eyes. “I’m sure the court will love to hear that,” she mutters under her breath, still loud enough for you and Eddie to hear. The boys, luckily, have dashed ahead.

Your instinct is to bite back with a snarky comment about the court being much more interested in every important event she’s missed, but you restrain yourself. This isn’t your battle to fight, and any remark will just make Eddie’s life harder. Instead, you act as though she hadn’t said a word as you all catch up to the kids.

Not one to be ignored, Brittany turns to her oldest son. “What about you, Ry? What did you pick out?” Her frown deepens when Ryan shows her the three items in the cart belonging to him. “That’s it? It’s like they forgot about you!”

“We didn’t—” you start, watching hurt seep into Ryan’s eyes, but Eddie quickly squeezes your hand. Don’t play into it. You know her comment stung him, too, and that it was even more difficult for him not to defend himself.

There was no need for either of you to say anything, because Ryan is ultimately the one who speaks up.

“I’m still deciding what I want. No one forgot about me—not like how you forgot about my holiday concert.”

Brittany’s cheeks go beet red, her jaw clenched. “You know what? I need to get going now, anyway.” She glares at Eddie. “Drop them off at my house when you’re done.” With that, she walks away.

Your gaze immediately drops to Ryan, who just stands there as though shocked by his own comeback. “I…I didn’t mean to…” Tears well up in his eyes, and he blinks them back before they can stain his cheeks. “She just…”

Eddie puts one hand on his shoulder. He takes a deep breath, looking up, and you know he’s weighing his options. He can harp on Brittany’s insufficiencies, or he can do the right thing. Be a role model.

“I know, bud. It’s hard. Especially when we’re angry.” He gives a soft smile. “You’ve got that Munson temper—quiet till it boils over. But you can apologize to Mom when you see her later.”

Ryan nods somberly.

Eddie glances at you for help, and you carefully oblige. “That doesn’t mean that it’s okay for her to miss your concerts,” you say. “But you can talk about how it makes you feel before those emotions get to be too much.”

“Maybe we should go home,” Eddie says, but Ryan shakes his head. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Ryan swipes at his misty eyes. “I wanna pick out a bed. Maybe one that has the drawers underneath.”

You grin. “More storage space for books?”

Ryan nods, and Eddie grins. “Whose kid is this? Certainly too smart to be mine.”

You want to ask him what he kept stored in his bedroom drawers, but refrain at the last second. Perhaps some things are better left unknown.

Just one aisle over, Ryan’s attention snags on a bed that has his eyes widening.

“It has a desk, too!” he says, taking off towards the bed at the end of the aisle.

“Whoa!” Luke echoes, following behind his big brother.

You slip your hand into Eddie’s as he pushes the cart forward with the other hand. Even though the boys are preoccupied with the piece of furniture, you keep your voice low.

“I’m so proud of how you handled that,” you tell your boyfriend. “I was ready to scoop Ryan into my arms and comfort him and tell him everything is okay, but you did the right thing.”

Eddie sighs and gives your hand a small shake. “Shit. When did I become a grown up?” With another, more dramatic sigh, Eddie shakes his head. “Gotta fix that.”

Before you can ask what he means, he leans over and licks up the side of your face, tongue flat and hot against your skin. You squeal, taken by surprise and duck your head down away from him.

“You’re a child!” you say through a heavy bout of laughter.

“Damn straight, baby.”

When you look up ahead, the boys are now watching you two, your squeal having gained their attention.

“You guys know that your dad is bonkers?” you ask with a playful smirk on your face.

“Uh huh!” Luke declares proudly. “We’re the Goof Troop!”

“Oh, are we?” Eddie questions. He spins the cart out of his way, like a car doing donuts, and hoists Luke up, throwing him over his shoulder. “I think you’re the goofiest of the goofs.”

Luke laughs as his orange t-shirt rides up his back. You adjust it for him before leaving the two guys with the matching curls to their antics and join Ryan over by the bed.

“You like this one, huh?” You wrap an arm around the elder brother’s shoulders and give a gentle squeeze.

Ryan nods. “I wanted a desk in my old room. I mean, the room at the old hou—uh, Mom’s house. But my room is too small for one. But this is perfect! I crawl up top, there’s my bed! I come back down, it’s a desk!”

His excitement is palpable, and you can’t help but lean in and press a kiss to the top of his head. God, you’d give this kid the world if you could. Luke too, of course. They’re both such great kids and it’s moments like these where you realize just how lucky you were to meet this family.

Brittany’s abrupt departure, while welcome, also means that the boys will be accompanying you and Eddie while you pick out his furniture. Or, as Luke so aptly puts it, “the boring stuff.”

The youngest Munson lasts all of six minutes before he starts whining. Your patience has already worn thin from Brittany’s antics, and you have to take a deep breath before you respond.

“Luke, we picked out your stuff, now it’s Daddy’s t—”

Tears well up in his eyes. “But I don’t wanna! I wanna go home!”

You and Eddie share a glance. Between your schedule and his, there are few opportunities for you to shop together. You’re trying to remember what days you’ll be free when you hear Ryan pipe up.

“We should play The Price is Right!” He exclaims. “Y’know, that show we watch when we’re home sick? We can guess the price of Dad’s furniture and see who gets the closest.”

Luke ponders this for just a moment before nodding emphatically. You and Eddie exhale twin sighs of relief, and you make a mental note to thank Ryan later.

The boys guess on everything from bed sheets to sofas, with Luke’s answers only getting more outlandish. There’s no way he thinks a TV stand costs $80 million…right?

Eddie chuckles as he watches his sons over his shoulder. They’re looking up at a chandelier, Ryan’s lips pursed, and Luke with his head tilted to the side like a confused puppy. Your boyfriend shakes his head in amusement as he faces forward again, pushing the now-heavy cart further down the aisle.

“I kinda like that lamp,” Eddie says, taking a closer step to the display sets blinding you with their high wattage all aimed in your direction. “Oh shit, that’s nice, too. Babe, what do you think?”

Coming up beside him, you loop your arm through his and press a few kisses to his shoulder.

“Sweetheart, it’s your apartment,” you remind him. “You deserve to make this place your own.” Giving a soft shake of your head, you wrinkle up your nose in a way that Eddie finds adorable. “You don’t want your girlfriend playing interior decorator.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows and angles his head down to meet your eyes. “Am I allowed to ask for my girlfriend’s opinion?”

“Of course.”

“Okaaay,” Eddie says, playfully pulling you in front of him so he can wrap his arms around your middle and run the tips of his calloused fingers over the soft material of your pink shirt. “So, girlfriend, which of the two lamps do you like better?”

The one that first caught Eddie’s eyes was a simple, basic design, but who really needs more than that? The black, twisting metal that twines up to an off-white lampshade is elegant and something you can absolutely see being in Eddie’s new living room. The second lamp is a little more ostentatious, though it’s certainly pretty. The silver body of the lamp resembles an hourglass, rounded edges topped off with a round white lampshade. It’s nice, but not something you can see Eddie being really happy with.

“I like the first one,” you tell him.

“That’s the one I was leaning towards,” he says. Eddie presses a kiss to your cheek before unwinding his arms from around your body so he can grab two of the lamp boxes to add to the cart. “Come on, shortstops. Keep up.”

The boys trail at a small distance, calling out numbers and pointing at various objects on shelves they’ll never be able to correctly identify prices on. With one hand, Eddie pushes the cart forward, and he lays his other hand, large and warm, against the small of your back as you walk.

“Now, this next part in particular is what I really want your opinion on.” Eddie’s words are just above a whisper and the ghosting of his lips against the shell of your ear sends a chill down your spine. There’s no need for you to look, you already know your boyfriend is smirking at the reaction he has on you.

You turn the corner with the cart and when you see the next aisle, your face feels warm. Of course this is what he wants your input on the most. The bedding department.

“What exactly would you like my help with?” you ask, feigning as much innocence as you possibly can.

The aisles of bed linens, bed frames, mattresses, and pillows seem to stretch out for a mile before you. You don’t see this ending without Eddie severely working you up.

“Well,” Eddie says with a shrug, far too innocuous for the thoughts you know are running through his mind. “We found things for the boys’ rooms, but none for mine yet. And since I’m really hoping you’ll be spending a good amount of time in my bedroom, I’d like you to be comfortable there.”

“Sounds reasonable enough.” You don’t meet his eye, instead strolling closer to the mattresses, to get a better look at them.

“Oh, yes!” you hear Luke cheer as his black and blue sneakers squeak on the linoleum floor. “I’m gonna guess all the beds right!”

Ryan follows along behind his little brother, shaking his head. He looks at you and mouths no he’s not. A chuckle rumbles your chest as you watch the boys walk further down the aisle, inspecting a shelf of body pillows.

“What kind of mattress do you prefer?” you ask Eddie. “Firm? Soft? Somewhere in the middle?”

“I—” he cuts himself off, brow wrinkling as he looks down at the scuffed white floor beneath his boots. “I don’t actually know.”

“No?” you ask, curiosity burning inside of you. He’ll explain if he wants to, but you’d never push.

He shakes his head. “I had a hand-me-down mattress when I lived with Wayne. Brought that same mattress when Jeff and I got a tiny ass apartment on the edge of Hawkins. After that I moved in with Brittany and we just used the one she already had. We got a new mattress when we moved into the house, but Brittany went out and picked it out herself. I didn’t see it until I went to sleep on it that night. It’s the same one there now.”

“So that mattress has a few good memories then,” you tease, giving him a gentle smirk. “Let’s test out what you like then.” You take a seat at the foot of the bed on the nearest mattress and hold out your hand to Eddie.

He parks the cart between two adjacent mattresses and climbs on the mattress next to you. The two of you situate yourselves as if you were going to go to bed, to sleep.

“This feels…” Eddie shifts his position, adjusting his shoulders to make himself more comfortable. “It’s a little hard.”

“I think so, too,” you agree. “Onto the next.”

After testing half a dozen beds, you and Eddie have deduced that he likes softer mattresses, but not too soft. With one goal achieved, now it’s time to find the most comfortable of the semi-soft mattresses.

“Okay, this might be the best one we’ve laid on,” Eddie says after four attempts. “I really like this.”

“This is nice,” you concur. “One more test.”

Eddie turns his head to look at you in question, but it clicks soon enough as you cuddle up to his side and rest your head on his chest. It’s the exact position the two of you lay in quite frequently, and you have to make sure that this bed is accepting and supportive of that.

“I mean, I can think of another test,” Eddie says as he wraps his arm around you. “But I don’t think they’d let us do that in the store.”

With a girlish giggle, you press a kiss to Eddie’s chest and push yourself into a seated position.

“What’s your verdict?” you ask.

Dark chocolate eyes gaze up at the ceiling as Eddie adjusts his position on the bed once more. Then, he slips his eyes closed and rolls onto his side, which is his most common sleeping position.

“Yeah,” he says, opening his eyes. “I’m gonna go with this one.”

“And this one is…thirteen thousand dollars!” Luke calls as he and Ryan run over. Luke face plants on the bed and Ryan plops down next to his brother on his bottom.

“He tried guessing the price of a lady’s dog,” Ryan says.

Luke lifts his head, blue eyes wide as he pulls his shoulders up towards his ears.

“She was carrying him in a little doggy bag! It looked like she was buying him!”

“This is the one you’re getting?” Ryan asks, ignoring his little brother completely. The older brother bounces slightly as he sits, testing out the springiness.

“Yep,” Eddie says as he pushes himself up from the bed. “Just have to get some sheets for it now. You two stay here and watch the cart, okay? We’re just gonna be right over there looking at the linens.”

“Okay,” Ryan says.

“Aye aye!” Luke gives his dad a salute before going to sit up near the pillows.

Eddie laces his fingers with yours, tugging you over to where bedsheets lay wrapped in their plastic coverings. “Gonna need your help for this one, baby.”

“Eds,” you protest, “this apartment is for you and the boys. I don’t wanna—”

Your boyfriend leans in and silences you with a kiss. “While I appreciate that…you and I are gonna be the ones getting well-acquainted with these sheets. I wanna make sure you’ll be comfy laying on them…or kneeling on them.” His eyes twinkle mischievously. “Don’t want those pretty knees getting scratched up while you’re riding me.”

You shove him away playfully. “Behave,” you warn, thumbing through the linen options.

“Yes, ma’am,” Eddie mumbles under his breath, though it’s hard to take that promise seriously when it’s followed by a pinch to your ass.

Eddie grabs a set of dove gray sheets and a matching comforter from the shelf and turns to head back towards the boys. Before the two of you reach the end of the aisle though, your boyfriend stops short and looks to you with eyes wide as saucers.

“Can I get Star Wars sheets?”

As much as Eddie tries to hold in his laughter, a snort breaks though. You shake your head in bemusement as you pass him by and head towards the arguably more mature Munsons.

“Okay, so.” Steve stands with his hands on his hips as he addresses his two oldest kids along with Eddie’s boys. “Any box marked with this word,” he points to where FRAGILE is written in black Sharpie, “is not for kids to carry.”

Luke furrows his brow. “Why not?”

Before Steve can answer, Theo speaks up. “Because it says the F-word,” he says matter-of-factly.

“No, it does not!” Steve sputters.

“There’s an F right there,” Luke points out. “See?”

Steve sighs. “Yes, that is an f-word, but it says ‘fragile,’ not—never mind.” He shakes his head. “Just don’t touch it.”

Across the room, Eddie grimaces as his uncle tries to lift a coffee table. “Old man,” Eddie calls out. “Put that down before you hurt yourself. My goal is to avoid the emergency room at all costs.”

Wayne shakes his head. “I’m not just gonna stand around while everyone else works,” he protests.

Eddie runs his fingers through his hair, wincing when he snags them on a knot.

“I didn’t wanna have to bring out the big guns…” He grins at Wayne’s puzzled expression before calling out to his sons. “Ryan! Luke! Grandpa wants to hear all about that cartoon you’re obsessed with.”

Luke bounds over with Ryan right behind him. “Okay, so there’s a cat and a dog, but they’re stuck together where their butts would be!” He cackles at this.

“And Cat is scared all the time, but Dog is crazy,” Ryan chimes in. “And he’s always getting Cat into trouble.”

Eddie throws his uncle a wink, a silent I warned you, and slides his arm around your waist.

“Thank God for shitty kids’ shows,” he murmurs.

You roll your eyes. “Pretty sure I’ve caught you watching that ‘shitty kids’ show’ on more than one occasion. Even without the boys there.”

Pressing a smacking kiss to your temple, Eddie whirls around to see Lucas, Max, and Dustin struggling with the sofa. “That’ll stay our little secret,” he says before darting off to help them.

A few hours later, once the moving van has been unloaded and furniture and boxes have been placed in their respective rooms, the whole group finds themselves in the living room. The youngest Munsons sit on the floor next to their Uncle Dustin. Wayne rests on the couch, sandwiched between Eddie and Steve. You, Lucas, and Max pull up some folding chairs. Each of you has a slice of pizza on a paper towel, since no one wanted to unpack the plates.

Pressing on his knees, Eddie stands up. “Before we dig in, I’d just like to offer a toast.” He raises his beer bottle, and everyone does the same—root beer for the boys, of course. “To the best moving crew this town has ever seen. May we never have to do this again.”

Everyone nods in agreement, bottles clinking before the room goes quiet. The only noise is the sound of pizza being devoured.

You look at Eddie, trading exhausted smiles. Today was long, but it was one huge step closer to your future together. No matter how strongly sleep beckoned you, you wouldn’t trade this for the world.

Once all that remains of the pizzas are the few crusts left behind in the box, everyone starts to head out. Eddie makes sure to thank each of them again when they say their goodbyes.

Wayne is the last one there besides you and the boys. The older man yanks his keys free from his back pocket and jingles them in his hand as he walks towards the front door.

“This is a nice place you got here, Ed.”

It doesn’t matter how old he is, hearing praise from Wayne still makes Eddie feel like a little boy making his father proud. He can’t help but smile as he shuffles over to his uncle.

“It is pretty nice, isn’t it?” Eddie looks around, taking in the dark green walls that he can’t wait to fill up with silly photos of the boys and pictures of your beautiful face to greet him every morning. A blank slate, his to do what he wants with.

“I’m proud of ya, son,” Wayne says, clapping Eddie on the shoulder. “You were dealt a rough hand but you’re making it through alright.”

“Doing my best,” Eddie admits with a shrug.

“That’s all anyone can,” Wayne says. “I’ll see you later, kid. Where my boys?”

As if waiting for their cue, both Luke and Ryan rush at Wayne, arms open and ready to receive their goodbye hugs.

“Bye, Grandpa!” Ryan says as he’s squeezed in the older man’s arms.

“Remember,” Luke says when it’s his turn to get hugged, “Catdog is on Nickelodeon, not Cartoon Network.”

“I’ll try to remember that,” Wayne says with a hearty chuckle. Next, those wise blue-gray eyes are aimed your way and before you even realize it, you’re going in for a hug.

Being hugged by Wayne is like cuddling up with a cherished childhood teddy bear after you’ve had a bad day. It feels safe, warm, and loving. It’s as obvious as Luke’s love for Hot Wheels where Eddie learned how to be a good father. Wayne might like to make people think he’s rough around the edges, but you’ve learned in a short time that he’s Mr. Softy when it comes to anything involving his family. But who can blame him when his family is Eddie, Luke, and Ryan?

“You take care, doll,” Wayne says, giving you a soft pat on the back before pulling away. “And let me know if any of these three get out of line.”

“Us?” Luke asks, voice an octave higher than usual as he gestures to himself. “Never!”

“Uh huh,” Wayne hums with a rumbling laugh. He ruffles the smallest boy’s curls before heading out the door.

You, Eddie, and the boys leave a few minutes later—not without arguing with Luke about using the bathroom. Ryan and Luke climb into the backseat, and after double-checking that they’re securely buckled in, you slide into the passenger seat.

Eddie shifts the gears from park to reverse, and you keep your hand atop his. The ride back to Brittany’s is fairly quiet, with no bickering from the brothers. Apparently, a long day of unpacking boxes and bothering their grandpa has worn them out.

It isn’t until you’re a few blocks away from the house that Luke speaks up.

“Dad, what’s for dinner tonight?”

Eddie keeps his eyes on the road as he answers. “You’re, uh, gonna have to ask Mom about that,” he says evenly.

“Can you ask her not to make fish sticks? I hate those.”

A lump forms in Eddie’s throat. He thought the boys both understood what the living situation was going to be. Sometimes it’s easy to forget Luke is only five with the larger than life personality he has or that Ryan is only seven when Eddie’s pretty positive the kid is smarter than he is. Eddie silently prays that he won’t have to explain the separation time and time again because he doesn’t think he has the strength to repeatedly let his sons down. Because that’s what he’s doing, right? Breaking their little hearts by telling them things are changing whether they like it or not.

It seems like aspects of it they like—like you being around more and being their father’s girlfriend. But it’s hard for them to grasp that in order for that to happen, they have to have Mom live in one place and Daddy in another. Eddie’s sure that the three of them not all waking up in the same house everyday is killing him more than it is them.

“Luke, buddy,” Eddie starts. “I’m not eating dinner with you tonight. We’ll eat dinner together when you stay at my place.”

Ryan leans forward. “Is Mom gonna eat with us there, too?”

You catch the sadness in Eddie’s face. The two of you know that it isn’t healthy for the boys to grow up in a home with parents who don’t want to be together, but that doesn’t mean the divorce is easy. You give Eddie’s hand a small squeeze of support.

“Guys, Mom and I don’t live together anymore. She lives at the house, and I live at the apartment.”

“Oh.” Realization hits Ryan. “So…you and Mom are gonna be separate forever?”

Forever. Eddie had promised Brittany forever that day at the altar, and now they’d reached a much different definition of that word.

It’s funny how the same word is so full of promise and excitement, blooming with life and warmth when he says it to you, but shriveled up and desiccated when presented by his sons in this context.

“Yeah. That’s what happens when people get divorced—they stop living together. But you will always have a home at Mom’s, and you’ll always have a home with me. They just won’t be the same home.”

There’s only silence as Luke and Ryan process the information. Neither you nor Eddie are used to them being so quiet; the million follow-up questions you’d anticipated never arise.

The floodgates burst when Eddie pulls into Brittany’s driveway, before the seatbelts can even be unfastened.

“I d-don’t wanna leave!” Luke cries, tugging his knees to his chest. “I don’t want Dad to live at the ‘partment!”

Your heart lurches. There’s nothing to say or do—he’s disappointed, and rightfully so. As much as you love Eddie, as glad as you are that he’s yours, you wish he and his sons didn’t have to deal with the pain of this divorce.

Eddie helps Luke out of the car, then Ryan. The older boy is fighting back tears of his own.

“I know this change is hard,” Eddie says to both kids, “but we’ll get used to it. I promise.”

Luke shakes his head, his curly mop of hair tangling. “No! I don’t wanna get used to it! I want you to live here again!”

“I know,” Eddie repeats, exhaling. “I wish I could make it easier.” He kisses each of his boys on the forehead and turns to you.

Ryan and Luke follow his gaze. They look even younger, smaller somehow, when they’re sad. All you want is to protect them from all of the bad in the world.

You open up your arms, enveloping them in a hug. “We’ll see you guys super soon, okay?”

It isn’t okay, and you’re sure Luke is about to tell you that. But then the front door swings open.

“Good, you boys are home. Wait. What’s wrong? What’s going on?” Brittany looks from the heartbroken boys in your arms over to Eddie in question. She doesn’t give anyone a chance to reply before her eyes snap back to the boys and she demands, “What’s wrong? Luke?”

The five-year-old turns out of your arms and buries his face in his father’s t-shirt. His small sniffles and sobs are heart wrenching, and you find yourself holding onto Ryan a little tighter out of reflex. Ryan rests his head against your body. The feeling of his shoulders heaving dials up your instinct to comfort, so you card your fingers through the boy’s honey brown curls.

Eddie is doing his best to comfort Luke as well. One ringed hand rubs up and down Luke’s small back, while the other cups the back of the boy's head as he cries. The pain lashing through your heart is nearly unbearable—you can’t even begin to imagine how bad it is for Eddie.

“He was a little confused about having two places to live now,” Eddie explains to Brittany. “He, uh, doesn’t want me living at the apartment.”

Brittany, to your surprise, stays quiet. She simply nods her head and crosses her arms over her chest.

“Do you want to go inside, Luke?” Ryan speaks up from your arms, standing up straight so he’s no longer leaning against you for support.

Still sniffling, Luke turns from Eddie’s torso and nods at his big brother, his left fist coming up to rub at his eye.

Ryan nods and steps out of the circle of your arms to offer his little brother his hand. Luke grips it tightly, like it’s a lifeline and he’s scared Ryan is going to be the next one to live somewhere else.

The two make their way into the house and the gazes of you three adults on the porch follow them until they’re out of sight.

Letting out a pained sigh, Eddie rubs his hands over his face. He hardly gets those two seconds of reprieve because Brittany immediately snarls at him.

“So, you just explained it all to him without me? Without even telling me?”

The look you register on Eddie’s face first is shock, but it disappears after half a second, used to this insanity and savagery from his ex.

“What did you want me to do?” Eddie sounds exhausted. Mentally, now, in addition to physically from moving furniture all day. “He was upset, did you want me to have him hold on so I could have you come over to the apartment? Get into the car with us?”

She probably wouldn’t have anyway, you say to yourself.

“Now I have to deal with him being upset,” Brittany complains.

You’re seeing red. The world is painted in crimsons and scarlets and it’s a good thing Eddie speaks up first, because something would’ve come out of your mouth that you would’ve ended up regretting later.

“He’s your son,” Eddie argues, seething anger present in his voice as well. “That’s part of your job. You should want to comfort him when he’s upset.”

With one last roll of her eyes and a loud scoff, Brittany steps back into the house and slams the front door behind her.

Eddie takes a few breaths before he lets out a pained chuckle and turns away from the house.

“I hate her so fucking much,” he says.

Your boyfriend takes a deep breath and turns to you. The pain in his eyes steals the breath from your lungs. That agony morphs into a look you can’t interpret at first. No, it’s still pain, just a different kind. He speaks up before you can ask about it.

“This shit isn’t easy,” he says. The tone of his voice makes it click for you. Part of him thinks you’re going to walk away from all of this. Now that the emotions are raw on a different level, he thinks you’re going to change your mind about this. About him.

But he’s crazier than Brittany is if he thinks you’re going to leave his side for even a moment.

“I know,” you answer him with a shrug of your shoulders. “But I’m not going anywhere, Eds. I’m here for you—all three of you.”

The plug is pulled on that pain and worry, and it all disappears down the drain to make room for the love and gratefulness that fills him up now. A small smile even curls one corner of his mouth up.

“Have I told you that I love you lately?” he asks.

“Not in the last…” you peer down at your watch before meeting his gaze once more, “hour or so. So, I think you’re due.”

Eddie steps forwards and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I love you,” he whispers. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

His voice faltered slightly on the word “home,” but you don’t let him dwell on that. You slip your arm around his waist and start walking towards the car. “Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Eddie says as the two of you step into the driveway, “I got that bottle of champagne I bought for your birthday that I left at the Harrington’s. Figured it could be used to celebrate the new place. But, shit, I think I’m going to need something a whole lot stronger than champagne when we get back.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #older!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fic #dad!eddie #eddie munson imagine #AYW #AYWS

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neiptune · 4 months

Text

surreal, but nice

cw: 7k wc, female reader, strangers to lovers, osamu doesn't exactly know how to handle one of the most famous music artists in japan suddenly popping in onigiri miya, inspired by notting hill, my sappy entry for the romcom collab hosted by @bloompompom! thank you @yellow-sword-lily, this fic is also a little yours :)

Miya Osamu is a creature of habit.

He gets up fairly early, showers, never leaves the small apartment without fixing himself a nutritious breakfast, more or less knows and is therefore prepared to what to expect from each particular day.

Downstairs there’s his beloved shop, a dormant creature he gently stirs from sleep each morning. When he doesn’t have to head to the market to select and order the freshest products, Osamu starts the day by contacting all his suppliers and arranging the deliveries. He then checks the inventory, reviews reservations, welcomes the only other chef to discuss any special preparations or new experiments. It’s not unusual for him to check his emails, monitor the website and official social media of the shop, the one thing he actually hates doing because he knows damn well one negative comment will ruin his day, especially since there’s nothing he can do to rectify mistakes made days, sometimes weeks before.

He has a chef, one dishwasher, three servers, two food delivery drivers and that’s about it. Osamu Miya is the owner, manager, host, executive chef, server and cashier of onigiri Miya. He juggles management skills, culinary talent and business acumen just perfectly. He’s prepared and knows exactly what each day has in store for him.

Until you happen.

Osamu has been cooking for almost three hours by the time the shop officially opens at 11AM. It’s not unusual for new faces to come in from time to time, despite his clientele being more or less established, but it is rare to hear the little door chime ring so soon. Except if his dumb brother happens to be in town.

But you’re not his dumb brother. You’re a new and yet strangely familiar face, even hidden behind thick sunglasses and a beret that one could deem more appropriate to a parisian getaway rather than a Kansai one.

“Morning” you offer a little bow, hesitant by the door “you’re open, right?”

“Uh, sure” he smiles, still a little uncertain after a moment of astonishment “I don’t often have clients for breakfast. What can I get ya?”

“I’ve been told this is the best onigiri shop in town. I’ll let you decide”

You seem to consider your options for a moment, then decide to sit at the closest empty table. Osamu would usually provide more than a nod: he’d make conversation, ask questions. Forming bonds with whoever visits his shop and trusts his food is his favorite part of the day, as well as a great activity to engage in while his hands are busy putting the rice into molds.

“Close that mouth” is the only thing he utters under his breath, glancing at the server who set your table “yer catching flies”

“But it’s her!” Hiro squeaks as silently as humanly possible “I’m gonna ask for an autograph”

“You will do no such thing”

“We could hang it in the shop!”

“Go help in the kitchen, Minato called in sick today. I’ll handle this”

Hiro disappears behind closed doors but only after batting his freakishly long lashes to his boss, a heartbreaking disappointed look on his face.

Osamu takes a deep breath and squeezes the molds together, an action executed as gently as possible to keep the fluffy texture that makes his onigiri the best in town.

He knows you, of course he knows you. Not only your face was on any available surface for the entirety of the previous summer (posters, billboards, magazine covers to advertise your first ever concert in the Koshien stadium), he’s also pretty sure in high school Atsumu had perpetually ruined the walls of their shared room with some crappy adhesive squares used to hang your poster.

Osamu is not really a dedicated listener, he knows a couple of your most famous songs and that your success is damn near planetary. You have a house in Tokyo but spend most of the year in America, California if he recalls correctly, and you tour across Europe as well. Yet, it’s been easy to pick what to serve you. The gourmet options such as salmon roe or roast beef are off the table: they don’t make new clients feel special. What new clients need is a taste of authenticity, something that reminds them of home, and don’t you look just like the kind of person who could use some of that?

Osamu decides on pickled plum, tuna mayo and bonito flakes. One serving usually consists of three onigiri but he can’t resist adding an extra treat for you, a tenmusu onigiri. He’s recently perfected the recipe with an egg-free tempura batter that is still thick enough to absorb his special sauce.

He hopes it’s not creepy that he lingers by your table after he brings your meal: celebrity or not, you’re a new client. And Osamu can’t resist observing the wander taking over customers who are unfamiliar with his kitchen, as soon as they take the first bite. He hopes you are no exception.

“If this is an onigiri” you lock eyes with him and smile, glorious, radiant “what the hell have I been eating until now?”

“Probably not the best in town” he grins, proud, a slight blush already coating his cheeks. Damn it, he’s tempted to turn the baseball cap once more, let the brim shield his awkwardness. But that would be totally lame.

“Is it a family business?”

“No. It’s just… mine”

You hum, busy chewing on another bite. Then you swallow and ask another question, invite him to sit eventually, then apologize because he’s probably busy (he is) and has things to do (he does) but this is never going to happen again for Osamu, because he’s not Atsumu. And so he sits and makes conversation like a normal human being that definitely isn’t obsessively dwelling on how beautiful you are, how different your voice sounds when you’re not singing, how much he’d hate for a client to come in and pop that bubble. Which is exactly what happens and he doesn’t like it one bit how you interrupt your chuckle, lower your head, hunch your shoulders in an attempt to hide. He doesn’t like that he has to excuse himself, call Hiro back form the kitchen, make conversation with Suzuki-san, listen while he describes all his latest hospital visits in horrifying detail.

You look at him from time to time, the quiet shop owner suddenly turned chatty sparks your curiosity. He’s skilled with his hands and genuinely interested in what the person who must be an habitué has to say. He’s attractive, too. Especially as he tries to disguise the occasional glances directed your way or the disappointment that flashes in his eyes when you get up and start collecting your things.

“Can I get the check, please?” you approach the counter, pretend not to notice his hesitation. Osamu decides against indulging in the “it’s on the house” cliche, opts for treating you as any other client. With the exception of a small discount you won’t even notice.

“That was the best breakfast I had in a while” you collect the receipt and put in your pocket.

“You should come back, then. To have another” Osamu cringes internally as soon as the words leave his mouth and Suzuki-san’s chuckle makes him want to dig a hole to disappear into. But you smile, despite probably having heard the corny line a million other times, and tell him that you just might.

It would’ve been perfect: a beautiful ending to a glorious encounter. It could’ve been. If only you didn’t turn around so abruptly, a small shriek echoing across the shop as you came face to face with Mai, the sudden sound and panic causing her to jump and spill the fresh iced tea from the jug in her hand all over your painfully clean, crisp, starched, white button down.

You both freeze, your mouth open in a silent scream, an horrified look in Mai’s eyes that would’ve been comical on literally any other occasion. Osamu wishes he would’ve went with the “it’s on the house” cliche.

“Oh my god! Oh god! It’s you! I mean, I’m sorry!” Mai’s voice comes out an octave too high “my god, I’m so sorry!”

“Well, this is great” you frantically grab a handful of napkins from the counter and attempt to dab the mess on your shirt “I have a meeting in half an hour!”

“Please, take my uniform! I will pay for the dry cleaning!”

“Actually” Osamu chimes in as politely as possible, trying his best not to let his anxiety get the best of him “don’t take this the wrong way but, uh, I live upstairs. You can get cleaned up and…”

“You’re kidding, right?” your astonished look is almost glacial. It makes him falter just slightly.

“Or ya can leave with a giant orange stain on yer wet, probably uncomfortably cold shirt?”

“Miya-san!” Mai’s hiss and your shocked expression make him think that sarcasm probably wasn’t a good idea. Osamu sighs.

“Listen, I’m really sorry. These are the keys, you can go on your own, I promise the bathroom’s clean”

You eye him for a few seconds more, then decide against grabbing the keys from his hand.

“I’m gonna need a change of clothes”

Osamu blinks a couple times, dumbfounded. His clothes? You’re asking to wear… his clothes?

“Sure! Yeah, sure. Come on” now his voice sounds uncharacteristically squeaky and he clears his throat as you follow him up the stairs, Suzuki-san’s good grief still ringing in his ears.

Thank god he cleaned the entire apartment just the day before. As much as he likes to brag about being the tidy twin, deep down he knows he’s just as messy as Atsumu.

Osamu tries hard not to look at you, leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed while he rummages in his drawers in search of something that could fit you. He shortly wonders if it’d be a good idea to offer a complementary bento box to make up for the disaster Mai caused.

“I’m genuinely sorry” he starts rambling because the silence is unbearable and some of Atsumu’s genes really do take over sometimes “the worst incident we ever had at the shop was my brother almost choking on his dinner. I had to perform the heimlich maneuver, it wasn’t pretty” god, where the hell are this clean, not embarrassing shirts?

“Guess this one will go down in history” your voice is less sharp now, which relieves him.

“Oh, no. I will never tell anyone about this, ever. Mai and Suzuki-san will have to sign an nda. A proper, legally binding one”

The laugh you offer sounds weirdly intimate in the small space of his bedroom, it makes the tips of his ears hot. Finally, he’s able to dig out a decent, basic shirt you accept by thanking him softly. When you lock yourself in the bathroom, Osamu rushes to the kitchen to tidy up the mess he’s left behind after that morning’s breakfast. No time to concentrate on how you’re actually, genuinely in his home, cleaning yourself in the same bathroom he showered in, without a shirt on.

No one’s ever going to believe him. Hell, he may not believe it himself by the end of the day.

“Hey” he jumps at your voice, sudden and closer than expected. You look good in his basic shirt, it suits you somehow. Did you shove your own in one of the bags you left by the door?

“Hey” Osamu says back and cringes for the millionth time “are ya hungry?”

You smile when he shuts his eyes for a second, right after the silly question leaves his mouth.

“Not hungry”

“Right. Of course. Thirsty? I have really good tea, from Shizuoka. And orange juice” he pauses for a second, then adds “or water”

Your smile grows, almost melts into a giggle. “Not thirsty either”

“Okay” he clears his throat “how about dessert? I made some mitarashi dango just yesterday”

“I have a meeting to attend”

“Oh. Sure, yeah, that makes sense” he wants to bash his head against the wall “I’ll walk you out. To downstairs” thank fuck ‘Tsumu isn’t there, he’d never let him live this down. Jesus.

You precede him to the door, gather your bags, then softly thank him for the shirt.

“Nice meeting you, Osamu” he nearly explodes when you say his name, no honorifics whatsoever. How do you even know? He hasn’t carried a name tag on his shirt for years.

“It was nice to meet you too” there’s no time to dwell on dumb, pointless questions “surreal, but nice”

He thinks if your smile could conjure waves, he’d gladly give up all the oxygen in his lungs and drown in them. Has someone ever looked as beautiful while smiling at him? He doesn’t think so. He can’t think. Not when you’re leaning closer, not when your arms are suddenly wrapped around his neck, not when you’re pressing your lips to his. Holy shit. You’re pressing your lips to his. And he’s forgotten how to breathe, let alone kiss. Osamu just freezes, like a marble statue, like a teenager who’s never touched a woman before. Right as he’s about to swallow the shock and fucking move, you’re already pulling away, eyes not leaving his despite the slight self-consciousness swarming in those irises.

And then you disappear, just like the dream he believed you were, all that’s left is an empty spot by the door and his heart slamming against a pathetically ill-equipped ribcage.

La Suite is one of the most luxurious hotels in the prefecture and Osamu feels out of place with the 30 onigiri order he’s carrying past a french restaurant and a traditional japanese one, all soft carpeting, dim lights and wide windows. So different from his.

He timidly explains that he’s there to deliver an order to a certain Bennet-san, who for some reason insisted he’d be the one bringing it to her hotel. They look at him funny but let him through and give the coordinates: top floor, superior double room. A woman meets him the second he steps out of the elevator and sternly asks him to follow her, a silly part of him wonders if he’s about to get murdered in one of the top 25 hotels in Japan. But then she knocks on a door right before swinging it open and he doesn’t even get to explain that he’s not supposed to get inside, she can take the bloody bag and he’ll be on his merry way, but once again Osamu fails to determine what the day holds in store for him.

Once more, it’s you. A less preppy version, one that seems so small in such a gigantic room, the sea breeze blowing from the terrace gracefully lifting up the hem of a tennis skirt you immediately fight to keep down as you promptly get up from the couch.

“Hi” he says, so dumbfounded he barely notices the door closing behind him.

“Miya-san” you bow, keep your eyes down, no sign of a smile he could by now deem familiar “I’m sorry for the trouble, I know the hotel is pretty far from the restaurant and you must be busy. This will only take a second”

Osamu’s brows furrow, confusion evident in the way he cocks his head. You don’t catch it, because your eyes are glued to the floor. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior. I don’t know what came over me, I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me”

His eyes soften as part of the tension leaves his shoulders. Truth is, Osamu is glad you’re apologizing: despite how beautiful and dreamy you may be, life is not quite a movie and he doesn’t exactly appreciate being blindsided by a stranger. He doesn’t really understand what made you think kissing him would be a good idea (was his awkardness interpreted the wrong way? Did his stare linger on your smile a second too long?) but he’s certain you meant no harm. A shitty person certainly wouldn’t take time out of her day to leave an autograph on a napkin, especially right after half a jug of iced tea was spilled on her shirt just minutes before. To Hiro, with love.

After a moment, he clears his throat. “Can ya look at me?”

You meet his gaze hesitantly, mouth a thin line of harsh disapproval directed at yourself. For a second, you remind him of someone and he almost breaks into a smile.

“Thank you for apologizing. We’re good”

“Are you certain?”

“Yeah!” he chuckles “you didn’t have to place such a big order”

You blink twice, then start nervously fiddling with your fingers “ah, actually I didn’t do it to… well, those onigiris are just really good. I wanted to take some extra ones with me”

“You’re leaving?” he doesn’t mean to sound disappointed, especially not while you’re so intentionally keeping your distance.

“Kinda. My record label rented a house in the countryside, I’ll spend most of the summer locked in, trying to finish my new album. I couldn’t do it in America, I missed being home but didn’t want to endure Tokyo’s chaos so I ended up picking Hyogo. Sorry, you didn’t ask to know all that” you chuckle tensely “we leave tomorrow and I didn’t want to go without apologizing first. That’s all. You may go now”

Osamu hums. “I may go? As in I’m excused?” he laughs when your painfully stoic expression melts into sheer horror.

“No! Of course not, I didn’t mean it like that!”

“You take yourself too seriously” he grins “I’m just messin’ with ya”

“That’s not very nice of you”

“Would you compare it to kissing a stranger out of the blue?”

“Oh god” you hide your overheated face in your hands “you said we’re good!”

“And we are” Osamu steps closer to gently place the bags still in his hands on the marble topped pedestal coffee table. It’s just fun to tease you, one of the many irritating habits he shares with his brother.

His brother. Osamu looks up, a risky desire taking shape in his head and threatening to spill over the tip of his tongue.

“I’m really sorry, Miya-san” you repeat and he doesn’t love that you’re now calling him that “uh, this is your shirt. Cleaned and ironed. Thank you for…”

“Whatcha doing tonight?”

You freeze, paper bag still in hand. “Uhm, nothing interesting”

“No packing?”

“My manager does that for me”

He chuckles. “Right. Chances you’d want to spend your last night in the city at an even less interesting birthday party?”

Osamu waits patiently while you weigh your options, recognizes the confusion in your hesitant stare but doesn’t quite understand why there’s a weary vibration to your voce when you accept, the slight disappointment that flashes across your features.

It’s only fair, you think as he parts from the room with a smile and the command to secure those onigiris in a fridge. If showing you off to his friends like some valuable conquest is the way he wants to even the score, you’re in no position to deny him. You’re the one at fault and you’ve been given a chance to make up for it by wearing the facade you wear best.

Then why does it feel so disheartening, this time?

When Shinsuke opens the door, he’s more surprised by your presence than the carefully wrapped gift in your hands. Not that he doubted Osamu: why send a message to the group chat telling everyone that a) he was bringing someone and b) they should’ve absolutely not behaved any differently than usual if not better (in bold), if he wasn’t actually going to show up with a plus one?

Still, a small part of him did wonder if Atsumu’s and Rintaro’s relentless teasing finally got the best of him. Shinsuke doesn’t think that his friend works too much or that he should start “looking around” before “his hair starts greying again only this once naturally”. He remembers Osamu rolling his eyes at his brother when he implied that at this rate he’s gonna have to tie the knot with the restaurant, only to then space out for most of the evening as everyone else found new topics to migrate toward.

In short, Shinsuke wondered if Osamu was going to come up with a last minute excuse to justify the empty spot next to him at the table. But it seems that spot is going to be taken after all, by you nonetheless.

“Nice to meet you, Kita-san” you smile after Osamu introduces you by your name and nothing else, not a wink, not even a subtle hint or a reasonable explanation “happy birthday”

Shinsuke accepts the gift with a polite thank you and he’s almost made sure you could preserve a nice, normal memory of stepping foot into his house for the first time, of course failing to consider the Hinata factor.

“Thank god, Osamu, I’m so hungry- holy shit! Is her your gift? I only brought a cap that says farm hair don’t care!” there’s a strange but seemingly friendly redhead looking at you with eyes so wide you fear they might roll out of their sockets.

“Shoyo, any chance you checked the chat today?” Osamu smiles at him widely but Kita recognizes the tension at the corners.

“What? Of course not, I was busy picking a cute gift” Hinata smiles too but his excitement is genuine “hello, nice to meet you! Please come in, you can help us set the table!”

You chuckle and meet Osamu’s horrified eyes for a second, his posture relaxes as your gentle reassurance puts him at ease. I’ll be in the other room, then. Leave it to Hinata to make a gigantic deal out of a special guest only to treat her as one of his buddies ten seconds later. You seemed comfortable, though, as one always feels whenever Shoyo happens to be around.

“Who is she?” Shinsuke doesn’t mean for his tone to be so conspiratorial but he keeps it low, just in case you might still hear them.

“A friend. Kinda. Ya wouldn’t believe me” Osamu takes his jacket off and hangs it by the door, then picks up the plethora of bags from the floor and makes his way into his friend’s kitchen.

“No, I mean… who is she? Why does Shoyo know her?” Shinsuke follows suit, intent on helping him distribute all the food he’s brought in the different plates he has prepared. Osamu shakes his initial surprise off with a chuckle.

“Only one of the most famous pop music artists in Japan”

Kita stills his movements for a second, then absorbs the new information with a simple nod. “Right. And you met her at the shop”

“How d’ya know?”

“Where else would you be meeting a pop music artist?”

“Don’t make it sound so obvious” Osamu pulls a face and Shinsuke’s eyes twinkle with mischief.

“Well, she’s here. With you. Is it like… a date?”

“No” the peremptory answer comes embarrassingly fast “it’s her last night in the city, she’s here because she didn’t have anything better planned”

“But you invited her”

“Yes”

“Because you like her”

“I don’t-” Osamu gestures vaguely with his hands “it’s not like that. ‘Tsumu used to have a poster of her face in our room, for fuck’s sake”

Kita hums. “So what you actually mean is it can’t be like that”

“I don’t see the difference”

“I do”

“Well-” a loud commotion Osamu has been trained for over two decades to instantly recognize as his brother’s voice, makes the words die in his throat. By the time him and Shinsuke return to the colorfully decorated living room (courtesy of an overly enthusiastic Hinata and one resigned Rintaro), Atsumu is already talking your ear off and seemingly invading your personal space multiple times as he follows you around the table you’re setting with Suna like a golden retriever on a sugar overload.

“Shoyo, you were supposed to keep her safe” Osamu glares at his brother and takes a mental note to scold Aran too, later. For snickering.

Hinata doesn’t get the chance to defend himself because of course Atsumu’s the only one who could outshine that intense excitement with his own.

“Samu! What the hell? If this is yer gift to Shin, what are ya plannin’ to get me exactly?”

“Can everyone stop assuming she’s here as a thing and not as a person?” it comes out harsher than intended and Osamu feels his face grow hot when all those present simply stare at him. When you stare at him.

Suna clears his throat.

“Cut him some slack, he came out of the bathroom and we could barely convince him she’s not a hallucination” you chuckle at that, which makes the ever stoic Rintaro look away with a faint blush blossoming on his pale cheeks.

“Wait” Atsumu looks at you, then at his brother and his brows become progressively furrowed “she’s here with you? As in, you invited her? And she said yes?”

Osamu wonders why he thought a simple admonishment in the group chat would be enough. He has half an idea of shoving an onigiri right into his brother’s loud mouth and not perform any maneuver whatsoever when the rice obstructs his airways.

“Actually, I wanted to come” you chime in so gently it takes a few moments for him to register the words “I’m leaving tomorrow and when Miya-san mentioned it was one of his friends’ birthday, I shamelessly asked if I could tag along. Hope I’m not a bother”

Kita is looking at you the same way Osamu is, puzzled. Hinata almost chokes on his coke and starts coughing profusely, so much that Aran has to lend him a napkin.

“A bother? No, of course not!” his nose might be on fire but by god, he physically cannot let you believe such nonsense for a second too long.

Atsumu’s mouth hangs wide open, brows still knit that make his expression overall hilarious “you make her call you Miya-san? Yikes, bro” he turns to you and makes a scene of slamming a hand on his chest “please, feel free to call me ‘Tsumu. I think we’re intimate enough by now”

“Given that we took five selfies and you made me sign my name on your abs, I also think we’re intimate enough” your grin seems genuine, which only startles Osamu more.

“Ya made her do what?” oh, there are probably not enough words in the japanese vocabulary for the way he’ll have to apologize at the end of the night.

“It’s fine, I didn’t mind” you shrug “but if I could ask everyone a small favor…”

“Sure, anything!” Atsumu’s interruption only makes your smile grow wider “I’d really like to celebrate Kita-san’s birthday like you’d normally do. Please don’t make a big deal out of me, it’s his night after all”

“She’s asking not to be treated like a circus act” Aran whispers to Hinata, who blinks his big brown eyes in quiet understanding.

“Done!” Atsumu’s fist hits his chest right where the heart is as he solemnly declares “you’re one of the boys now, consider yourself a pal”

“Thanks, ‘Tsumu” he tries to keep his composure but nearly implodes as you direct your attention to Shoyo “no, Hinata-san, this doesn’t mean we won’t be taking that picture I promised. Don’t worry” your wink is the prettiest, most wonderful thing he’s ever witnessed and thank fuck he’s done drinking that coke because his airways suddenly feel clogged.

Kita thinks this is already the most entertaining birthday he’s ever celebrated.

And celebrate his birthday you all do. Normally, as per your request. You sit between Rintaro and Osamu at dinner and masterfully divert the attention from yourself whenever the questions start piling up. The uno reverse technique works well: your curiosity feels flattering and everyone is happy to satisfy it. The questions you direct are extremely specific, your laugh echoes alongside everyone else’s and Osamu can’t help but think that, in some odd way, you fit in seamlessly.

Keeping his eyes off of you isn’t but a strenuous fight with himself, it’d be lovely if looking would be the only activity he’d be allowed to engage in. It’s not hard to guess why hordes of fans and admirers are so enamoured: you’re such a natural. Polite, poised, funny, charismatic. Making you laugh feels like a privilege, having your brows raise in interest makes the story one’s recounting instantly fascinating. And yet you’re not doing any of that on purpose, he can tell. The one thing you’re being intentionally careful about is avoiding his gaze and making sure your arm doesn’t accidentally brush against his.

Osamu wants to ask himself why but also refuses to indulge in childish fantasies. What, he thought you liked him? Part of him believed you’d accepted to come to some stranger’s birthday party purely to spend an evening with him. Bullshit. Everyone in the world knows who you are and he simply owns an onigiri shop in Hyogo, one you happened to visit by sheer chance. He’s the guy you are so embarrassed to be seen with, you had to come up with a lie to justify your presence at the very same table that seems to adore you.

But when he jokingly throws a grain of rice at Aran, you hide your chuckle behind your hand. If he speaks, you always turn to look. Osamu doesn’t remember a social gathering where he tried to come up with just as many things to say, desperately conjuring genes that always weigh heavier in Atsumu. Unfortunately, the one person he could always count on, his dear friend and trusty supplier, decides his birthday night is the perfect occasion to stab him in the back.

“I’m sorry, I just need to ask” Kita refills your glass with fresh wine from across the table before retracting to his seat once more “your encounter with Osamu, how did it happen exactly?”

“Yeah, was his onigiri so good you wanted to-”

“Do not finish that sentence, Shoyo” Aran clears his throat as Suna, next to you, has a hard time swallowing his stir fry noodles.

“She heard my shop was the best in town, which it is, came to try it. That’s the story” Osamu wishes he could disappear into his kitchen as he often does when things at the restaurant get uncomfortable.

“I don’t buy it” Shinsuke shrugs “is that really the whole story?”

Kita’s knowing stare really hasn’t changed since high school and it seems you’re affected by it just as much as every other human. His eyes bore right into yours, trained to detect hesitation or even the hint of a lie, giving you no escape. Goddamn it, he’s still the team captain, there’s no running from him.

“Well” you gently swirl the glass in your hand, suddenly very much focused on the crimson liquid swooshing inside “I also kissed him”

This time someone does actually choke and, of course, it’s Atsumu. Right as Rintaro utters an ever quiet holy shit, he explodes in a coughing fit and Aran promptly strikes between his shoulder blades with the heel of his hand, perhaps with more force than needed. Thankfully, Atsumu manages to swallow his bite and, despite the tears threatening to run down his cheeks in all their shimmering glory, still conjures the energy needed to point an intimidating finger at his brother “ya bastard!”

“That’s a joke, right?” Hinata’s eyes have once again grown three sizes.

Kita doesn’t ask, the answer is written all over Osamu’s crimson red face. He was right, no one would’ve believed him.

“No, I really did” you take a sip from your glass and now everyone is looking at you like you’re some kind of alien. Except for Atsumu, who’s still glaring daggers at his brother.

“So this is… a date for you two?” Suna’s just as shocked as everyone else but seems to be the only person currently able to string words together.

“Oh, no” you brush the question off with a gracious wave of the hand “I just did it to thank him”

This time the silence stretches for a moment too long. Atsumu seems on the verge of passing out.

“You kissed him to thank him?” Kita cocks his head.

“Yeah. I mean, he was very kind. Have you never kissed someone to thank them?”

“Uh… no. I don’t think so”

“Really?”

“Do you…” Aran hopes to the gods that the words don’t come out the wrong way “do that often?”

“Aran” as much as Osamu wishes the earth could swallow him whole, he doesn’t want you to think his friends may be implying something they’re really not.

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

“It’s okay” you let our a nervous chuckle and because Osamu is sitting so close, he hears the shaky breath too “I know it was wrong. I tend to forget that’s not what normal people are used to. I apologized and now we’re good, right, Miya-san?” your eyes meet his and he feels his heart drop right into his stomach.

“Why are you used to that?” he asks instead of replying to your question and you just. Freeze.

“Yeah…” Hinata quietly chimes in “that doesn’t sound like something anyone should be used to”

For the first time, you don’t know how to respond. Osamu senses your panic, can read it in your eyes, but is too baffled to think of something smart or chivalrous to say.

“Holy shit, ya know what that means?” Atsumu slams both his hands on the table and both you and everyone else jump “it means she thinks I’m hot! In another life, I’d have a chance! Sorry, Shin, I know it’s yer birthday but I think this is the best night of my life!”

A quiet, astonished moment follows, then the table erupts in genuine laughter. You’re giggling so much you have to hold your stomach, Kita is shaking his head in resignation, Suna rolls his eyes with affection. Osamu settles for a smile as he relaxes against his chair once more. His brother may be loud and annoyingly inopportune, but his quiet support never once faltered throughout the years. One doesn’t need to be an old acquaintance to be taken under Miya Atsumu’s wing: if he senses as much as the hint of unease, his charismatic idiocy is summoned right away at the service of whoever may need it. Yet his loyalty remains unshakeable: Osamu knows that, in his stupid head, you’re already forbidden territory.

His mind is dizzy with confusion he doesn’t know how to properly address. As Kita blows out the candles on the cake he’s made, Osamu feels a wave of affection inundate his heart. He remembers that are nights like this that are worth being present, even if he has to get up at dawn or his sink is full of dirty dishes and he’s exhausted. Life only ever feels right when he’s with his friends or his family. It’s a routine he’s trained hard to get used to: work, work, work, carve out small moments to spend with those who come and go. It’s important for him to be there, when they come.

Osamu almost misses it, too focused on cleaning an extra plate or two in the kitchen, to make sure the birthday boy can get to relax once they leave. And then you call for him, a small crack in that poised facade of yours when his name almost slips out. You rush into the kitchen and urge him to hurry up, they’re already singing happy birthday to Kita-san. Come on, you’re missing it!

You probably wanted to go for his sleeve and found his hand instead, dragged him out of the room so quickly Osamu barely had the time to put the towel down. For some reason, once in the living room you don’t let go right away and neither does he. You only do so to clap with everyone else and even then it’s not entirely possible to establish who lets go first. Regardless, Osamu gives your hand a light squeeze and hopes you notice, despite there being no signs to indicate that.

You’re the first two people to excuse themselves: he refuses to let you go back to your hotel on your own, doesn’t give two shits that you have a driver or could well afford a cab because it’s a beautiful evening and Osamu is itching to have as little as ten minutes alone with you. He watches as you formally offer a hand to Suna and he grins as he shakes it, gently taking it in between his in a respectful attempt at suggesting that there’s no need to be so ceremonious.

You exchange quick hugs with everyone else, take the picture promised to Hinata, chuckle lightly when Atsumu timidly asks for a kiss on the cheek just because “it’s the american way of saying goodbye!” and of course you accomodate the request. Osamu is almost willing to bet you genuinely had fun but he also can’t seem to shake off the odd feeling suggesting you’ve somehow taken it upon yourself to just… appease everyone for the entire evening. Like some kind of duty. He doesn’t want you to think back to this evening like a task that had to be carried out.

“Oh my god, I cannot fucking believe it!” Atsumu’s shriek echoes loud and clear in the empty street as soon as Kita shuts the door and you meet Osamu’s exasperated glare.

“I’m genuinely not sure what I should start apologizing for” he runs a hand through his brown hair and his stress makes you smile as you fall into a comfortable walking pace.

“I should start by thanking you for inviting me. Can’t remember the last time I had such a normal night”

“My friends are many things but I don’t know if they really fall into the normal category”

You laugh at that. “I think they’re really nice. It was fun. I didn’t know there were two of you”

Osamu grimaces, lightly shaking his head “good call, he’s the thing I should start apologizing for”

“I liked Atsumu” of course you did, don’t they all? “you’re lucky to have such good friends and a brother. Is it true what they say about weird connections us twinless mortals wouldn’t get?”

He sighs. As much as Osamu hates stereotypes and all the disadvantages that come with not being able to be his own person, the curse of always being considered nothing but part of a set, he knows the bond with Atsumu is just as rare and irreplaceable as people make it out to be.

“Well, I can pretty much always read his mind. But it’s not a twin thing, s’just an Atsumu thing” he shrugs “most transparent, honest person on earth”

“You’re both very kind” your observation strikes him. It hits the nail on the head: he does his best but it’s unusual for someone to notice ‘Tsumu’s selflessness right away.

“Could say the same about ya” he’s eager to direct the topic to the thing he’s really interested in, the one person who refused every bit of attention directed her way throughout the night “that tea collection must’ve costed a fortune. Shinsuke loves tea, yer manager picked well”

You hum, gaze focused on your feet. “Actually, I picked it”

Another thing Osamu has in common with his brother, the ability to royally fuck up in such a short amount of time.

“Oh, I didn’t-”

“It’s okay, happens all the time”

“What happens?”

“People assuming things” you’re not mad, there’s just a sad vibration to your voice. If he could punch himself in the face, he would.

“I’m sorry”

“Don’t be” Osamu hates the smile you toss at him. He hates it so much he stops in the middle of the sidewalk and watches you turn around, confusion flashing in your disenchanted eyes.

“There’s a pretty cool park ‘round the corner. How about a detour? If you’re not too tired”

You hum in agreement, ask him to lead the way. Careful, Osamu, you’d like to say. This same polite regard is what got me in trouble the first time.

The park, which is more of a garden really, is a slice of eden in the jungle that any city inevitably ends up feeling like. Lowlands, an abundance of irregular but colorful flowerbeds that seem to glow in the dark, the warm air of the evening saturated with the sweet scent of lime trees, a gravel path you both follow all the way to a small, wooden playground. It’s only natural to gravitate toward the swings, relish in the comfort of the stillness the evening offers. It always feels like the earth rotates slower, pace decelerating to give you more time to enjoy the things it’s hard to appreciate during your hectic days.

Osamu approaches the swing like an old friend, takes hold of the chains with both hands. He lightly pushes off the ground with his feet while pulling back, giving you a perfect view of his perfect profile.

“I don’t want to assume” he says quietly “so is it okay if I ask?”

“Yeah” you rest your head on the chain you’re holding, still looking at him who won’t look at you.

“Why did you tell ‘Tsumu you asked me to come tonight?” the actual question dies in his throat. Were you that embarrassed of being there with me?

“You seemed pretty self-conscious. I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable” and I guess that way, you got to seem cooler.

Osamu almost chokes on his own spit from how surprised he is by your answer. What the fuck.

“I wasn’t-” not for the reason you seem to believe “I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable!”

You smile, patiently waiting for the moment where he’ll finally turn to meet your gaze instead of persistently staring at his feet. “I don’t think I ever felt that comfortable in a room filled with men”

“That shouldn’t be an exceptional occurrence”

“Right. But it is”

He spends a few moments trying to come up with the right words, a handful of seconds spent with part of his brain wishing he could have a talk with all the men who made you feel unsafe. How many? Where, why? Are they the reason why Osamu wants to get so desperately close and yet keep a respectful distance, not to scare you off, not to be another name added to the list of creeps you surely hate?

“Why did you kiss me?” those are far from being the right, considerate words he was trying to summon, but they bubble up from his throat before he can stop them.

You hum, pensive “I don’t know. You’re pretty, you’re gentle, I thought t’was what you expected to happen. It’s what men usually expect in return”

“In return for what?” he fights the urge to keep his eyes down, confident that the darkness will conceal the redness of his cheeks. You think he’s pretty and the first thing his dumb brain is able to link the revelation to, is Atsumu. Shit, he was right, this means you do find him attractive as well.

“Anything, really” your chuckle is devoid of actual humor “I know this night was supposed to make up for it but I didn’t expect to have so much fun. Regardless, I hope we’re even now”

Osamu furrows his brows.

“Ya think that’s why I invited ya?”

“Why else?”

He almost laughs, incredulous. You hide that mistrust really well, Osamu has to give it you. It feels unfair that life has given someone who seemingly has everything, so many reasons to think you can only be seen as an empty shell, some trophy with the sole purpose of being flaunted.

“You said you were leaving. I didn’t like the idea of not seeing you again”

“Really?” your lips curl into a small smile “the weird girl who jumped you on your first meeting?”

“You’re weird” he concedes “and selfless. Intelligent. Maybe jokes are not your forte but, hey, ya get to look like that” your laugh compliments his really well and Osamu can’t help but think he’d like to sit in a park, in the middle of the night, and talk and laugh and be with you just once more.

You briefly wonder if the man sitting so close to you is aware of just how devastatingly charming he is. Part of you wishes he’d want to take you out on a proper date, let you meet his friends on different occasions, include a weird stranger in such a well balanced life. Part of you also knows you’d never want to ruin that for him. Not for someone like Osamu. People who are unfortunate enough to stumble across you are almost always harassed away, it’s a life you’re used to and can’t bring yourself to run from. It’s who you are and, most importantly, all you have. It’d be too dangerous for your heart to desire anything different.

But he’s looking at you as if you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, land emerged from the sea millions of years ago for his eyes only to experience such a sight. No one’s ever looked at you with such wonder.

“I don’t want to assume” he holds your gaze locked to his, swing dangling lightly as he leans closer “so is it okay if I ask?”

“Yes” you utter a little too breathlessly.

“Can I kiss ya?”

You hum in affirmation and close your eyes, heart beating a little faster than what you’re used to as you sense his proximity. He smells nice, radiates warmth and his soft hair tickles a little when his lips gently press to your cheek.

Osamu smiles when he catches a glimpse of disappointment flashing over your features, the first of many clues he wants to learn how to interpret correctly. The cracks in a facade he’d make his personal mission to tear down.

“I know you have to go away tomorrow” he gently moves a strand of hair away from your forehead “but I wondered, if you didn’t, whether you might let me see ya a little. Or a lot, maybe”

You lean into his touch, calloused fingertips still barely grazing your skin.

“A lot sounds good”

#osamu x reader #osamu x you #osamu miya x reader #osamu miya x you #miya osamu x reader #haikyuu x reder #romcomcollab

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vettelsvee · 4 months

Text

PREGNANCY JOURNEY | Sebastian Vettel

f1 masterlist | wattpad | ao3 | instagram

rbr sebastian vettel x schumacher!reader | part 1 here

summary: a little bit of your pregnancy journey with seb

word count: 2809

warnings: none of it! just seb and reader being cute (at least that's what i think sjsj). settled on 2012 season

a/n: I love dad!seb bye, pls send me requests bc he's literally the seb i love to write the most about

you can send your one shots requests here! feedback, as well as comments and reblogs, are truly appreciated!

Yours and Seb's families

It had only been two weeks since Sebastian and you had discovered you were going to be parents in that room in Hungary, and you wanted to start sharing the news with your family.

After much deliberation on how you could do it in such a special way, you decided to organize an intimate dinner at the house they shared in Switzerland.

As you enjoyed the delicious dishes you prepared yourself with the useless help of your boyfriend, nerves filled you both as you prepared to share the news at the end of the dinner. So, when desserts arrived at the table and you enjoyed them while chatting animatedly about trivial matters, Vettel gently took your hand under the table. With a glance, you knew it was time to tell your parents what you had been hiding.

You took your glass of wine, from which you hadn't been drinking, and stood up, causing the attentive gazes of the three present to focus on what you were about to say:

"Mom, Dad. Heike, Norbert," you began. "Today you're not here just because I'm showing off my ridiculous cooking skills, but for a more special reason."

Confusion arose among the older couples, who exchanged confused looks with each other.

You began to get emotional, finding it impossible to articulate your words. Therefore, Seb took over for you, continuing with the improvised speech:

"I know it might not be the right time," the younger German expressed, taking your hand, "but you're going to be grandparents."

"Wait… What do you mean, Sebastian?" your mum asked curiously, doubting what her son-in-law just told them.

"That's right, son," Norbert agreed with your mum. "What are you trying to tell us?"

"We're going to be parents," you whispered, feeling a bit embarrassed. "I'm pregnant."

As soon as your mum heard from your own mouth that you were expecting a child, she rushed to hug you tightly, immediately joined by Vettel's mother, causing all three women to have teary eyes. Norbert immediately ran to hug his son, shouting in excitement as he did so, and your dad, on the other hand, was in shock, as if he couldn't believe what he had just heard.

"Wait a moment, Y/N," Michael commented, rising and positioning himself next to his son-in-law. "Are you saying that you've been accompanying Seb all season while pregnant, and on top of that, you've kept it from me?"

You started laughing at your dad’s comment. Sebastian, on the other hand, began to feel fear for the first time in his life towards the man who initially became his idol and, over time, not only his friend and mentor, but also his father-in-law.

"Dad, no!" you denied. "I haven't been pregnant all this time. I'm currently about three weeks along, and we found out as soon as we arrived in Hungary because I was nauseous and dizzy the whole trip," you explained.

"I'm sorry if this caught you off guard," your boyfriend apologized, especially to Michael. "It’s not like we haven't been hiding the pregnancy," the young man declared, "but we needed time to process it and make sure it wasn't a false alarm."

Schumacher sighed in relief and wrapped his arm around his wife. Heike hugged her husband, who still couldn't believe he was going to be a grandfather for the first time.

"Yeah, okay…" your dad finally replied. "I'm glad to know that my eldest daughter hasn't been taking unnecessary risks and that, furthermore, you've been celebrating Seb's victories properly."

The mention of this made Sebastian wish he could disappear at that moment just like you.

"Michael, don't say that to them!" your mum exclaimed, hitting her husband's arm. "I still can't believe we're going to be grandparents. It's wonderful! Congratulations, guys!"

Once you exchanged hugs and congratulations, the quartet returned to the table to finish enjoying dinner. The truth was that your parents were concerned about your condition, but for different reasons: on one hand, Michael knew how stressful Formula 1 could be day in and day out, and he didn't want his eldest daughter to suffer accompanying Sebastian, so he would have to have a serious talk with you. Corinna, on the other hand, knew they still had to break the news to Gina and Mick, who would be aunt and uncle in about nine months. As for the Vettels, there was nothing to comment on or exceed: in a few months, the family would grow even more, and the excitement of having the little one in their arms was overwhelming them at that moment.

The former decided to stay silent for the moment, pondering when he could have a chance to talk to you alone. Corinna, however, decided to ask you about what how would you break the news to your siblings:

"Y/N, dear," she immediately captured your attention despite being deeply engrossed in a conversation with your father about Seb's performance that season. "Don’t you want to share the news with your siblings? I think they would like to know that you're pregnant, they would be quite happy..."

"Yes, of course..."

"For now, we would like to enjoy this stage of the pregnancy privately," Vettel interrupted you, "although that doesn't mean we won't tell them. For heaven's sake, Corinna, my siblings don't know anything yet either!"

The woman glanced at her husband, who shot her a look to calm down. Indeed, both families continued to celebrate the new life Seb and you had created and, in due time, would reveal to the rest of their loved ones and possibly the whole world.

Mick and Gina

You couldn't keep the secret any longer. It had only been a couple of days since your parents and in-laws found out you were going to be parents. The same went for Seb's siblings, whom you finally called on the phone because they couldn't come to Switzerland at the moment.

Now it was time for Gina and Mick to find out they were going to be aunt and uncle at fifteen and thirteen years old.

Summer vacation was coming to an end for both teenagers and the eldest Schumacher. The kids had to go back to school, while you would be traveling the world again with you father and you boyfriend in early September.

For that reason, and because you were really excited to see her siblings' reaction, you decided to tell them that afternoon they would go to the mall.

"Guys," you said as you ate your bowl of cereal, "we're going to the mall today. I want us to spend some time together and, well..." you dropped a hint, trying to be mysterious. "I have some news to share, actually."

Gina's eyes widened in surprise. Mick kept his gaze fixed on his buttered toast with jam, pretending not to hear although he was actually really excited.

"Of course, Y/N!" Gina exclaimed excitedly. "I can't wait to buy some new clothes, especially to hear what you have to tell us."

"Exactly that," replied the youngest brother, mouth full. "You're acting very suspiciously, as if you've killed someone. Have you killed someone?"

Gina flicked Mick on the head, who immediately protested, sparking an argument. You simply cleared away your breakfast dishes and placed them in the dishwasher, leaving the kitchen seconds later, not believing that those arguing over a trivial matter would later discover they were going to be uncles.

Once at the mall, the three of you strolled through the aisles, looking for stores of interest and, especially, trying to blend in with the crowd, surprisingly succeeding.

The truth was that days earlier, you and Sebastian had agreed that to break the news to the kids, they would invite them to dinner at their favorite restaurant. However, to avoid raising suspicion, you would say that Seb couldn't make it because he had scheduled a meeting with Red Bull to discuss a few strategy matters. This way, you thought, the kids would be even more surprised.

As the afternoon wore on, your nerves, along with bags of clothes for the kids, and a few indulgences for themselves, grew.

"Y/N, is Seb coming with us?" Mick asked, a hint of sadness in his voice.

"Oh, no, I forgot to tell you! Seb mentioned he had a Skype call or something with Horner and Red Bull about strategy, so he can't make it."

You hated lying to your siblings, especially about Vettel-related matters, particularly to the youngest. They had a very good relationship and sometimes seemed more like siblings than the three Schumacher kids together.

"I know you were excited to see him," you continued explaining, "but I'm sure in a couple of days, or even tomorrow, I can tell him to come over."

"Exactly, Mick," Gina chimed in, "let's enjoy an afternoon with siblings, there will be plenty of time for you to see your brother-in-law!"

After a while of strolling, you finally decided to take your siblings to the restaurant they held in such high regard. As soon as you entered, you spotted the Red Bull driver sitting at a table checking emails on his phone.

Sebastian looked up and found a preteen Mick Schumacher running towards him, receiving a hug the moment he reached him.

"What are you doing here, Seb?!" Mick exclaimed, drawing everyone's attention. "We thought you had a meeting with your team!"

Sebastian tousled the boy's hair and stood up to greet both Gina and you, who were giving him knowing glances at what was about to unfold.

"I guess these past few months I've become quite the expert in lies," you said. "And you're not here for just any reason."

Mick and Gina exchanged glances, not fully believing what their older sister was telling them.

"Indeed," Vettel continued, "before we order anything, we'd like to tell you that, around March next year, we'll be adding one more member to the family."

"You're going to be aunt and uncle, guys."

Both of them stood there speechless, trying to process what they had just heard.

"Is this for real, sister?!" Mick whispered cautiously, aware that you were public figures and attention would be on them at that moment. "We're going to have a nephew, Gina!" he turned to his younger sister, who was still in disbelief.

"This is incredible, guys!" Gina exclaimed. "I can't wait for March next year now... And I thought the best thing that could happen to me was going to see One Direction that month!"

You and Sebastian exchanged a knowing glance, realizing that the joy the younger ones were feeling at that moment was even greater than they had initially expected.

"We're so happy that you're part of this beautiful journey ahead," Seb explained, giving them both a hug. "I'm sure, and I know your sister and your parents are too, that you're going to be amazing aunt and uncle. The baby is so lucky to have a family like yours."

You wiped away tears. You hated getting emotional over the slightest thing, but at the same time, you were grateful to be surrounded by so much positivity and support from the early stages of her pregnancy.

"That's for sure, Seb," Mick replied jokingly. "But you have to understand that I'm going to be the funny uncle, and most importantly, his favorite."

The dinner continued with laughter, anecdotes from the teenagers that Seb and you had missed because of the Grand Prix races and, especially, future plans they would make when little Vettel-Schumacher decided to make his way into the world.

Mark Webber

After a month-long break, 2012 Formula 1 season was finally back in Belgium.

You, despite being about three, almost four, months pregnant, decided to continue accompanying you boyfriend for the remaining nine races.

Friday, before free practice sessions began, you were in Seb’s room at the Red Bull Racing hospitality. The German held an instant camera in his hands intending to take a few pictures of you, something that had become routine to document your pregnancy. You, reclined on the sofa in the space, simply caressed your increasingly prominent belly.

The flash of the camera snapped you out of your trance, immediately feeling embarrassed.

"Seb, I've told you a thousand times I don't like you taking pictures of me when I'm not ready," you commented, feeling somewhat uneasy.

Sebastian couldn't care less.

"You're perfect, Y/N Schumacher," Sebastian replied, taking another snapshot of you. "Come on, stand up for a moment and pose with our son for your future husband. You don't have to worry about looking good or not, you're doing enough work creating a life in your belly."

You agreed to your boyfriend's proposal, excited enough to hug your belly and shed a few tears.

Hormones were acting like crazy on you, and Sebastian Vettel might too if he kept being so good to you.

The blonde raised his camera again and once more took a picture of the scene in front of him, highlighting your smile above all.

As the photo was revealed and Sebastian, sitting on the floor, was admiring it, the door to the room opened, revealing a somewhat angry and surprised Mark Webber.

"Well, well…" the man exclaimed. "What do we have here?"

Sebastian and you exchanged looks, a mix of excitement and nervousness. No one beyond your families knew you were expecting a baby, and with the way the Australian was acting, you knew that would soon change.

"What you have here is the future best mother in the world, Webber," Sebastian explained, gesturing from top to bottom at you and then touching your belly once he stood up.

"That's incredible, guys! I'm really happy for you!" Mark approached you and hugged you, genuinely pleased with the news you had just revealed and especially by the trust you had in him to do so.

"Well, it seems Horner will be pleased when you tell him the news," Seb's teammate continued, "because I'm sure he'll want to sign the little one as soon as he's old enough."

"Of course, Mark," Sebastian replied. "Not every day you create offspring with both Schumacher and Vettel blood."

"The royalty of Formula 1, if I may say," Michael Schumacher interjected, entering the Red Bull garage despite not being part of the team. "And now, if you don't mind, I'd like to see how my daughter and my grandchild are doing."

You asnwered with a small ironic laugh at her father's remark, who was mistaken at that moment to think that Charlotte Vettel-Schumacher would be a boy.

Kimi Räikkönen

The penultimate race of the 2012 season finally arrived, and you and Sebastian had finally revealed to the world that you were going to be parents. Although there were mixed reactions and comments, the majority of people who discovered that the eldest daughter of Michael Schumacher and the two-time world champion were going to have a child were quite pleased.

Both of you were in the paddock, arriving a bit later than usual.

"Vettel, hey," Kimi called out as soon as he saw you two. "I heard rumors that you have a new passenger in your very own car. Is that true?"

You burst into laughter at Räikkönen's irony, who maintained a cool demeanor.

"Yes, Kimi, it's true," Seb replied, still chuckling. "The baby is due in March, so just a few months to go."

You nodded in agreement with your boyfriend's statement.

"So, there will be a new fan running around the paddock soon..." Räikkönen commented. "Make sure he doesn't miss the races, Y/N."

"Of course, no need to worry about it..."

"But, hey," Kimi interrupted you, "don't let him stay up all night watching replays of my victories, okay? He's needs some rest too."

Sebastian was bewildered. However, you were laughing even harder at Kimi's antics.

"Don't worry, mate," Vettel replied, "I assure you I'll train her in such a way that she'll be taking you on track before she's even ten."

"Yeah, right, whatever you say" the Finn said ironically. "Just make sure that when she decides to enter the world, you invite me to her big welcome party."

You nodded, playing along with the Lotus driver.

"It's surreal that you've won another victory, Vettel," Kimi continued. "And remember: invite me to the party. I want to welcome the little one with alcohol, lots of alcohol."

Kimi lowered his head in farewell and continued on his way to his garage, letting you both get on with your day.

You and Sebastian knew Kimi well enough to understand that most of his comments were sarcastic, but within the sarcasm, there was genuine happiness for them.

Who would have thought that years later, Charlotte Vettel-Schumacher would become the apple of her godfather, Kimi Räikkönen's, eye, every time she visited the paddock with her mother.

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randombush3 · 7 months

Text

dies irae

alexia putellas x reader

part one, part two, part three

words: 12425 (sorry not sorry)

summary: part four, the part that made me realise another part was necessary

warnings: drugs, alcohol, cheating, (a lot of???) vomiting, general angst tbh

notes: in all honesty, i started this with the intention of finishing the series, but it hit 12k and i thought maybe not x

weird little comment, but the last section was originally written in spanish (hear me out: i was on the plane and i didn’t want the people beside me to read it over my shoulder) and i’m still feeling a little iffy about my translation of my og version but oh well!

i hope you enjoy this and are content w waiting another five years for me to churn out the new FINAL part

The sand is warm beneath your feet, each grain rubbing against your bare soles as you sprint. The ground under such surfaces often hardens, proven by the sweat trickling past the thin string of fabric that holds your bikini together. If the beach were not so private, you would be worried about wandering camera lenses.

However, there is no one else here but your favourite people. Well, maybe Nico has dropped to the bottom of the list now that your energy has been worn down while his does not seem to waver.

“I give up,” you pant as he continues to tumble down the shoreline, changing his tactics and swerving into the water, comfortable in his sea. The same sea he looks at each morning from your bedroom window. The one he learnt to swim in. (That and a variety of hotel pools.) “You win, you win!”

The small figure, around twenty metres away, comes to an abrupt halt, wobbling on little legs for a moment. Then he begins to run again, but this time towards the towels and constructed shade you had set up earlier. Unwillingly, you race him back to base camp.

“He ganado,” he declares as he taps Alexia’s shining back as though she is the signpost signifying the finish line. Your hand caresses the divots of muscle soon after, brushing sand across smooth, tanned skin. Nico peers at you strangely, but understands, thanks to Tia Alba, that the beach outfits are special to his mothers.

“Mi ganador,” comes a tired murmur of praise.

“Did you see, Mami? I was so far ahead.” She nods, craning her neck upwards to talk to him. You gladly sprawl out on the vacant towel, passing on the baton to your wife, fortunate that Elena has been asleep in her buggy for the past twenty minutes. “Can I play with Lela now? Is nap time over?”

“No, sweetheart, naptime has just begun.” He looks up at you with pleading, bored eyes. The one unfortunate consequence of going to a private beach is that, unless you bring along your babysitter, there is no one else for Nico to play with. Alexia and you are both exhausted, and today is supposed to be about relaxation. Three-year-olds don’t understand that concept. “If you don’t want to sleep, how about burying Mami?”

“In the sand?”

“Sí, in the sand.”

He leans close to your ear. “Mami says I’m not allowed to do that,” he whispers, though he has not quite mastered the volume of such a tone yet. Alexia pretends not to be listening, but you can feel her foot prodding your shin in protest.

“Rules are sometimes made to be broken,” you tell him. “And if you do bury her, the only way to make her happy again is to get ice-cream. Which means you can also get ice-cream.”

“You are so annoying,” grumbles Alexia.

“This morning, I believe the word you used was ‘sexy’,” you retort. With the Euros on the horizon, it seems that the two of you are using up what little time you have to spend together. Though Alexia sometimes feels like there are hands wrapped around her neck after she failed to win the Champions League once more, she is more than happy to take advantage of the time off before she tries to make amends internationally.

“Mm. You are magically both.”

You tug your sunglasses – Prada, brand-new from a modelling campaign – down slightly, so that they sit lower on your nose. The sun is warm and doing its best to wear Nico down as he finds his discarded spade and begins to dig, and Elena is still fast asleep.

A mischievous grin forms on your lips, one that Alexia knows well. Topless, she flips over onto her back, excusing herself with a muttered comment about an ‘even tan’, and that is invitation enough for you to cup her cheek, your touch as fiery as the surface of the sun that blankets the beach. The gentle breeze ruffles your hair as you lower yourself down to her level.

“The phrase is ‘annoyingly sexy’ in English, darling,” you murmur, your eyes locked onto hers. Even now, after six years, the proximity ignites desire over every inch of your skin, and you cannot wait to kiss. Alexia’s initial grumble turns into a soft chuckle, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and something more. Impatiently, you kiss her, aware that the moment will soon be ruined by a spray of sand as Nico pursues his mission.

She is just as eager to kiss you back, craving the way you seem to hold the solution to every problem. Part of Alexia’s mind has not yet been able to comprehend the way in which you love her. It is hidden by the other, much larger compartment: the one that reminds her every day that she should never, ever tell you, because it would break your heart. To you, Alexia is making up for lost time. To her, she is secretly begging for forgiveness that you don’t even know she is due.

She knows the minute your phone rings that everything is about to go wrong. No one is supposed to call you today; you have been emphatic about it. You blindly reach for the ringing device, ready to lob it into the ocean, but Alexia grabs your wrist. “It must be something important,” she says, and it feels like she is telling you she understands; you are busy, and she understands.

“I’ll be quick, I promise.” With a quick jog up the steps and onto the concrete of the promenade, you perch on the stone wall separating the beach from the carpark, bare feet swinging over the edge. The rough surface of the wall presses uncomfortably into the exposed flesh of your bum, but you remind yourself that you will soon be lying back down on the beach towels. “Hi? I thought we agreed that pretty much everything could wait until tomorrow. I don’t care about any photos taken of me, and you know that my automatic position is simply to ensure that the children’s faces are blurred out before they get spread around.”

“Y/n!” Your publicist sounds nervous. It’s a stressful job, you guess. Between organising interviews and brand deals and the like, she has to stamp down on unwanted rumours and be on the look-out for any perceived cracks in your very public person. Naturally, you are not perfect.

“Yeah, I’m here. Hi.”

“I’m afraid that it’s not a picture of you this time.” Alexia is now famous in her own right, as she always should have been. With a Ballon d’Or under her belt, you have been promoted to a ‘celebrity couple’.

“She has her own team, you know.”

“I’m sure she will be firing them soon.” The joke fails to land, instead crashing and burning and… You freeze.

“Why?”

“I am sure that you are aware we have feelers out for anything that could potentially harm your reputation.” You nod foolishly, caught up in the undisclosed severity of the phone call, forgetting that she cannot see you. “An hour ago, we were contacted by a photographer; one of the usual ones we get in when you’re in need of a bit of a press-boost. He’s based in Barcelona, has lots of friends in the area and such. I have the terrible job of telling you.”

Your heart quickens as the confession hangs in the air, leaving a heavy silence on the other end of the line. The anticipation builds, and you can almost feel the impending storm swirling just off the coast, waves beginning to thrash against rocks, nature beginning to tear the world down.

“He claims to have some photos, ones that could potentially damage your image,” she says, tone measured and professional. “I haven’t seen them yet, but he described them as… intimate, to say the least.”

“Of Alexia?” you question carefully, forcing the words onto your tongue. “Intimate? What do you mean?”

“Well, they are of her and someone else. Someone who isn’t you.”

“Who?” Dread sets in, and the wall is suddenly not the most uncomfortable thing about your position. You feel too exposed, unsafe in what you are wearing. Taken advantage of, perhaps.

Cheated.

“I have not seen the photos yet, babe. I don’t know what else to tell you.” He would have attached them in his email. Paparazzos don’t have time to harass you digitally as well as in real-life. She must have avoided opening them. Or. Or she is lying.

“I need to see those pictures,” you assert, your need for clarity driving the sentence forwards.

“Are you sure?” You nod again, unable to speak past the lump in your throat, knowing that she cannot see you but feeling helpless to do anything else. She takes your silence as confirmation. There is a brief click of a mouse, and the animated swoosh of an email. “They should come through in a moment.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you… alright?”

She quickly takes the hint from the lack of response and hangs up.

You rest your phone on your thigh as your arms grip onto the ledge of the wall, pulling yourself backwards so that you do not fling yourself off it. You shake as you reach safety, and your fingers feel numb as they tap the screen, accessing your emails robotically until a pinwheel is all that separates you from the photos.

Intimate, huh.

They are practically snogging.

There are eleven images, and each one delivers a blow more painful than the last.

The beach feels confined, like an elaborate cage that you cannot escape. The shoreline creeps towards you, and you seem to be pressed against the hot metal of the car in the carpark. You struggle to recognise the scenes captured as ones where you were present, and the unfortunate date in the bottom right-hand corner evidences the photos as a time when you were not in Barcelona at all: 2021.

The realisation hits hard and you find that everything you have ever believed to be true has simply been a cruel joke that you were excluded from.

What you have been sent is more than just proof; it is a betrayal etched in pixels, an undeniable record of a moment that shatters the foundation of your relationship. Your heart races as your scroll through the images, cruelly reminded of a reality you desperately wish were not true. One you had no idea existed. One that had been kept secret from you.

The lump in your throat grows, and your eyes blur with unshed tears. You are overwhelmed by sharp pain coursing through your veins, and it is as if you have been injected with a poison that burns through your cell tissue, disintegrating every block of your body. It scorches the things you know to be true.

Love goes up in flames before your eyes.

And then a voice that you really do not want to hear speaks, and, just like that, the ashes of what has disappeared are suddenly ablaze once more.

“Nico y yo vamos a tomar helado. ¿Quieres algo?” Sandals, sunglasses, a loose linen shirt. Nico holds her hand, proud of himself. You cannot bear to look at either of them, so you stare at the towels a few metres beneath you.

“Where is Lena?”

“Dormida, aún.”

Shaking, you stand up, enjoying the sharp rocks that pierce into your skin, reminding you that you are yet to die. “Take Nico. I’ll go back down and sit with her.”

“Vale. Te quiero.”

You don’t reply. You wouldn’t have known what to say anyway.

Every step feels as though the world is cracking open and you are going to fall to your death, yet, in the midst of the impending doom, you feel as calm as can be. Numb, perhaps.

Elena stirs as you adjust the parasol providing her the necessary shade. A hand reaches out, prepared to grab onto you, searching for your body like you are her lifeline. You are her lifeline; you are her mother. And so is Alexia.

A tear rolls down your cheek as you let her pull your fingers to her mouth, nails brushing her lips as she whines with the headache of waking up from a nap. “What are we going to do?”

…

The car journey home is silent on your part. You stew in your nothingness, unwilling to engage in the light conversation Alexia creates to keep Nico awake before his sleep schedule is ruined. Barcelona flashes past you, and the city that you once admired feels like the scene of a crime. Looking out the window is almost as sickening as if your eyes were to land on the woman beside you. Almost.

You withhold your grief for the evening, going through the motions of nightly chores; putting the kids to bed, finishing the remainder of your packing, drying the dishes without throwing them at the blonde hair that sails past as she sorts her own suitcases out. A few texts are exchanged between you and your publicist, in which you graciously decide that those pictures will not come from you. Though if her team fails to catch them before they reach Twitter, that is not your problem.

Under the soft glow of the bedside lamp and the comforting blanket of darkness, you clear your throat.

It has been six hours since you found out.

Every second that has passed has done so with excruciating pain, yet you cannot determine whether it has sunk in at all yet. You wonder if, given the chance, you would crumple into yourself and weep as though she has died.

When you look at Alexia, readying herself for bed, you decide that the whole situation is laughable.

You are so stupid. You thought she loved you more than that, and you were embarrassingly incorrect.

“I want you to leave now,” you say firmly, only the bed between you. Alexia pauses, pyjama shorts halfway up her muscular legs as she peers at you curiously. Her confusion is infuriating. “I want you to… go to your mother’s or something. You’re not sleeping here.”

“Why? What have I done?”

She speaks as though this is a normal argument, or as though you are hormonal and unreasonable. You clench your fists and remind yourself not to wake the children up. “I am surprised you didn’t follow her to Mexico.”

It is then that Alexia Putellas realises three things. The first: she hasn’t spoken about Jenni since she left for Pachuca, and she barely pays attention when Nico persuades her to find the stream for the striker’s matches. The second: it has been six months since Jenni called whatever they were doing quits. And the third… the third is how well and truly fucked she is.

She should have confessed her crime the minute she first slept with her; the night after they were knocked out of the World Cup. Elena wasn’t even a concept, then. You took her back though you were unaware you had ever lost her.

Last year, when it was Alexia all alone, she should have confessed her second betrayal. A longer, more hurtful betrayal. Something fuelled by meaningfulness, not passion and heightened adrenaline. If she were in your position, the physicality would not be what obliterated her heart; the emotion behind the entire affair would.

She wipes her eyes, aware that she has started to cry. It is all the confirmation you need. “I’m so sorry,” is the only thing she can think to say, but ‘sorry’ does not amount to the pain she knows she has caused. ‘Sorry’ won’t heal a wound that has cut deep, cut through years of love and happiness and supposed loyalty. ‘Sorry’ does not change the fact that Alexia lent herself to Jenni, let Jenni take her in any capacity she wished, and then returned to you as though it had never even happened.

In all honesty, part of Alexia is very curious about how you have found her out. Mapi would not risk being caught up in such a storm, and Jenni would gain only suffering from telling you because she knows that Alexia would never choose her. Though she has spent night after night with her finger hovering over her sister’s contact, she resolved never to tell Alba either, for fear that her sister would see her for the monster she is and side with you. Selfishly, Alexia does not want anyone to side with you, but even she finds it easy to hate herself.

“Is that all you can offer me?” you croak, and it is clear to Alexia that you are this calm because you are putting your children before yourself. They do not need to hear their parents’ marriage implode; not tonight, not ever. She cannot bear to meet your eyes as you pierce through her bowed head. “Alexia.” She pulls her shorts up fully, forehead parallel to the floor. “Alexia!” you snap.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats.

Alexia Putellas is regarded by most as intimidating, yet, here, she is anything but. She is meek. Pathetic.

She is a woman who continued to make a stupid mistake although she was given so many opportunities to fix it.

And, when Alexia finally grows the balls to look into your piercing eyes, she sees, reflected in your hardened, dark pupils, weakness and idiocy, rimmed with the most stinging of betrayals. It kills her to see you fight your own tears, and it is worse when you have to break eye contact because you are afraid you will vomit if it goes on any longer.

“You are packed, so you can leave tonight. Sort yourself out while I get the children up.”

Everything is ruined because of her.

It is the last night Alexia lives under the same roof as you. It is a horrible way to end a golden age, and the worst possible confirmation of the fleetingness of all things that exist. You hate the world, you hate Jennifer Hermoso, and you hate that you can’t bring yourself to hate your wife.

Alexia says goodbye to a sleepy Nico and a clingy Elena. Your daughter refuses to let her mother go the minute she is passed to her, and all four of you try your best not to cry, whether it be from confusion, regret, or heartbreak.

Nico, inquisitive as one is at his age, does not let the door open without questions. ‘Why now?’ is what causes Alexia to freeze, searching on your face for permission to have one more second with him. You cup the back of Elena’s head, fingers splaying out against her soft hair, soothing her back to sleep. And you nod.

She crouches to his level, dwarfed by her suitcases. In her pocket, her phone buzzes; her taxi has arrived. “¿Te acuerdas cuando te hablé sobre la responsabilidad? Soy la capitana, cariño, y tengo que cuidar a mi equipo, así que ‘ahora’ es lo mejor para ellas.” You are grateful for the lie.

“¿Ahora yo mando? ¿Como me dijiste?”

“Sí. Tienes que cuidar a Mama y Lela, y protegerlas como yo os protejo a vosotros. Y nos veremos prontito, petit. Te lo prometo.”

He is fighting his tears, stiff like a toy soldier marching off to an imaginary battle. You half expect Nico to salute with his chubby, unpractised fingers, but he simply stands there, between Alexia and you. Though Elena is safe in your arms, Nico is caught in the crossfire, two feet innocently leading him into no man’s land.

You take a deep breath as Alexia closes the door behind her. She has been driven out – her own doing – and she knows, because she knows you, that there will be no space in your life for her until your gaping wound dulls in pain. The journey to her mother’s house is the second time she ever considers killing herself, with the first being the night her father died.

But this is how it goes.

You fly to England the next day, holding it together until Elena and Nico are safely in the hands of Anya, but you do not give her a reason for her much-needed babysitting abilities.

It is a small secret. You keep it because on top of being in agony, you are so fucking embarrassed. You. You got cheated on. You weren’t enough for her. (And Jenni was?) It’s really easy to pretend you’re stressed for Alexia, knowing she is heading into a tournament that Spain could win but won’t.

The first official step you take – the very first – is with a nanny. You meet her the day after landing at London Stansted, and she seems to be the perfect choice for the interim period of your life that you have unexpectedly entered; she speaks Spanish, she is discreet, and she reassures you that she is there to enhance family life, not destroy it. And possibly another alluring factor: she is quick to sign an NDA and promise that no photos of your children will make it into any dogshit magazine.

Her first interaction with your children is two hours before your lunch with your publicist, manager, producer, and lawyer. They have agreed to congregate – they have seen the pictures (an exclusive peek, as the deliciously world-destroying surprise photoshoot has not yet been picked up by anyone with ganas to publish it). Each one has a purpose, each one wants to profit off your heartbreak, and, though they’d never admit it for fear of breaking their hard exteriors, each invitee would also like to see if you’re okay.

“Do you… like her?” you sheepishly ask your son while Isabela, the nanny, supervises Elena’s lunch. You’re not entirely sure your daughter understands that the hummus is supposed to go into her mouth, not redecorate the highchair table from white to beige, but Isabela does her best to instruct her, the familiar tinkle of Alexia’s language making your daughter’s eyes light up.

He looks a little puzzled. “Is she a babysitter?”

“Sort of.” You sigh, “it’s just that I have a lot to do, and Mami is playing football now. Isabela is going to help us, but I want to make sure that you want that.”

Nico shrugs. “Don’t care.”

“And she’s going to speak in Spanish, just like Mami does.” In anticipation of a worse reaction, you wince at the slight insinuation that you’re replacing Alexia. He doesn’t pick up on it.

“She sounds funny.”

“That’s because she’s from Colombia,” you answer him, and he nods, storing that information for later. Probably for when Alexia calls to speak to him (a moment you are dreading).

“Is Colombia near Mexico?” He perks up; you know what’s coming next. “Does Isabela know Jenni?”

You have to remind yourself that Nico has not done anything wrong. The fault of the mother is not the son’s, and, briefly, you pray he has inherited your fidelity for the sake of his future partners.

You pretend that the name that just fell from his lips does not fill you with the overwhelming urge to strangle someone. And, calmly, you reply, “probably not, but you can always ask her.”

…

Alexia does not know what to do.

She wishes, she really does, that someone would pass her a clock… and she knows she has trained and worked hard enough to wrestle the hands of time back a year and change her decisions in every situation. Alas, that is impossible.

She tells Mapi, as the team touches down in England, what has happened. The defender is unimpressed – angry, even, at her best friend – but nothing warrants what is to come.

The morning feels eerily normal. Breakfast is difficult, especially when all Alexia can think while she eats is that every morsel in her mouth fuels the monster she has become. Every bite, every sip of coffee, leads her to live another day. She is not particularly certain that she deserves that.

Mapi does not look at her, swerves her request to be partners when training begins. Head down, eyes slowly filling with tears, Alexia takes the punishment. She says nothing when Pina pinches her side, “Patri’s being annoying”, and drags her into the drill.

She runs, she passes the ball, Pina turns and shoots it into the mini-net.

Pina runs, she passes the ball, Alexia turns.

Something goes wrong.

Maybe it is that the pitch is uneven, cut up from whoever had trained before. Maybe it’s the pass, slightly off-target. Maybe she is at that point in her menstrual cycle where the risk of injury is higher – that’s being looked into, isn’t it?

Maybe it’s that her body can no longer stay so robust when everything else in her life is hurtling towards the ground in the most epic downhill slope possible.

Maybe.

The pop is unmistakable, and the pain searing. She can’t help the scream she lets out, barely registering whoever has rushed to her side while she presses her face into the dirt, tears watering the grass.

“I’ve done my ACL,” Alexia gasps, lifting her head up slightly. She catches sight of the blue sky, the green grass. The bright sun shining down on her, hot against her neck but nothing in comparison to the agony in her knee.

She blinks, thinking her eyes are blurring from her tears.

A second later, she is unconscious.

When Alexia wakes up, she is glad to have passed out. She has no memory of being hauled off the pitch or brought into the medical room. Her head aches and her knee throbs, but she knows that there is someone beside her so she does her best to hold in the immediate wave of sobs that seem to take over her.

A calloused hand reaches for hers, unclenching her fist, urging her to squeeze the pain away, pass off some of it to her companion. They have given her pain medication. She can tell because the white walls dance around her and the only word she can manage to get out is your name.

She whispers it over and over again.

“I know,” comes a soothing voice, poorly concealing the worry that cracks the tone. “Shh, I know, I know. You’re okay, Ale. She’s… she’s on her way.”

…

The call is unexpected.

Mapi never has much reason to talk to you on your own, unless you share a concern for your wife’s wellbeing. You suppose that’s a bit of a redundant commonality now. Your lawyers have drawn up a custody agreement and, upon meek request, divorce papers: a gift for after the Euros.

“Dime, Mapi. Estoy trabajando,” you say curtly, signalling from inside the booth that the phone call is nothing to worry about and you can resume the recording session in a moment.

Mapi’s news makes you even more resentful than you were already feeling, because you can’t help but sprint to your car the minute the address is given.

…

Pain becomes part of everyday life.

Crutches, too.

Alba and Eli already existed as frequent visitors, but the former increases her appearances so that she has moved in the day before Alexia’s surgery.

It spills out, the night of the surgery, that Alexia and you are no longer together. That you left her, with good reason. It’s a surprise, considering you had stayed by her side during the twelve hours in England between the medical room, the hospital, and the airport.

When Alexia reluctantly tells Alba why, Alba decides that you are a saint and her sister, a sinner. She holds her hands behind her back to keep herself from slapping Alexia across the face, but little does she know, Alexia longs for the anger, wishing she wasn’t being pitied for her injury. She wishes there was no injury to be pitied for, but, then again, she tells herself that she deserves it and accepts the agony as one would hold a blade to their wrists and slit them.

This behaviour, this quiet ideology that she has been punished for her mistake, is what leads Alba to ensure the keys to the balcony are hidden and the kitchen knives are tucked away in a cupboard, out of sight. Or perhaps it is what she hears her sister telling herself in the mirror. Worthless. Degenerate. Evil, cruel, horrible. Selfish!

She has two children with you, for God’s sake!

“I have ruined my own life.” Her words burn, the intensity of her anger enough to make Alba flinch, hands gripping the steering wheel harder, forcing her way forwards. The hospital comes into view and Alexia cries out in anguish. “I have ruined it, Alba! I have ruined everything!”

Alexia, The Ruiner.

She bears the new name with something more than disappointment. She lets the nurses examine her knee, compliment Alba for her care-taking, and reassure her about the surgery. She lets them talk her through possible complications, secretly hoping one will occur and she will wither away; no longer a footballer, no longer a mother, no longer your wife. Just Alexia, The Ruiner.

Alba and her argue, Alexia lying back in the cot, hospital gown patterned against clinically white sheets, light fabric against her paling skin. “You wanting to die is not you wanting to kill yourself. It’s your regret, and it’s your cowardice at not being able to face the consequences of your actions.” Alexia had been hot-headed enough to voice how she did not want to make it through the surgery. She is in excruciating pain, and is convinced they need to investigate it. “It’s your knee, not your heart. Your heart hurts because you cheated on her and she rightfully left you! Don’t you ever say something so fucking stupid again.”

“Alba!” Eli’s entrance is neither good nor bad. “Alba, leave her.” Alexia’s tears run down the sides of her face, hitting the sheets like little bullets. The soft caress of her mother’s hand across her cheek is no comfort, and Alexia only sobs harder. “You are going to be fine, mi cielo. The surgery is going to go well and you will come back even stronger.”

Alexia knows that, once you have torn your ACL, you are more likely to tear it again, so she mentally disputes her mother’s claim. She has no energy to voice the thought, however.

“Mamá, she’s convinced she’s going to have a heart attack.” Alba points to her sister’s chest, as if to disagree by showing their mother that nothing seems to be out of the ordinary. They begin to argue, and Alexia watches her family implode, deeming herself once more, Alexia, The Ruiner.

It’s not a heart attack, it turns out. She falls victim to a severe panic attack just as they begin to wheel her away. They increase her dosage of anaesthetic.

Unfortunately, the next morning Alexia comes to after a successful surgery and remembers nothing. That is until she looks to her bedside and finds only her mother there (Alba having gone to the big, empty apartment to adjust it to her sister’s newly-disabled lifestyle).

She relives the kisses Jenni used to press to her neck, the marks sucked into her skin though Jenni knew she was not hers to brand. She relives your expression when you told her you knew, the grimace you had worn, the way your eyes flicked to the ensuite as though you were going to throw up at any point.

She hears her knee pop again, sees the trophy slip from her grasp, sees it float into the realm of possibility along with the Champions League cup.

“You’re awake,” Eli says with surprise, offering a warm but sympathetic smile. She reaches out to touch Alexia, but Alexia jerks her body backwards, instantly regretting it when her knee begins to ache unbearably. “They said you’ll be in a lot of pain at first, but it will subside and, soon, you can start recovery. Your physiotherapist is going to visit in an hour or so, and I cannot count how many well-wishes you have received.” Weirdly, Eli thinks to herself, Jenni has said nothing.

Alexia shakes her head, trying to dispel the fog in her mind. “Do the… Do the children know I am hurt?”

“I believe so,” Eli replies with a nod. “Y/n broke the news to them, but we haven’t heard from her since you went into the operating theatre. I have no idea whether she’s going to come here. I assume she will.”

“She won’t,” mutters Alexia, refusing to look at her mother.

“Oh, don’t be so gloomy. She’s your wife, of course she is going to come.” A dark storm brews in the cagey hospital room, but Eli remains an oblivious ray of sunshine. “I know you don’t want Nico and Lela to see you like this, but they miss you. They must have been so excited for the Euros!”

All of it is the wrong thing to say. If Eli had known, she would have approached the uncertainty differently.

If Alexia were not so angry at herself, so guilty, so destructive, she would have calmly explained that your absence is both warranted and understandable.

Instead.

Well, instead, this comes out of her: “She is not going to come because I had a fucking affair and she has left me and taken the children to fucking England where they are probably never going to be allowed to see me ever, and I will live out the rest of my days as a fucking coach because I am useless and I am never going to play football again!”

Eli sits back in her chair, shocked.

“What have you done?”

Neither knows if it is a question or a damnation, but Alexia chooses to answer her mother regardless; “I have ruined everything, and now I am paying the price for it.”

…

Your friends gloat a little bit, calling it Karma. Anya and Gio are first in disbelief, but they soon progress onto the stage of hatred – something you have not yet been able to access.

For now, life feels as though it is on auto-pilot. Your children are happy and safe, your country is going to do well in the Euros, and time does not stop ticking no matter how hard you wish it would.

Alexia’s surgery is successful. You see the update on Twitter, not wanting to contact Alba or Eli in case Alexia thinks you have forgiven her. You haven’t. Perhaps you never will.

“There are two ways you can go about this,” Gio says with a smirk, holding out a thong to you as you stand in your bedroom in just a towel. “You’re hot and rich and famous… and now single, too.” You are not completely sure of that, but you nod, following along. You slip into the lace and then point to the England shirt folded on top of your pillow. It gets thrown at your face. “You can wallow in it and weep like a damsel in distress, giving her the satisfaction of breaking your heart…”

“I don’t think she wanted to–”

“She cheated on you,” Gio cuts you off bluntly. After a moment, your shoulders drop and you resign to hearing her plan. “As said earlier, hot, rich, famous… Babe, just get with someone else. Get with everyone else! Your babies are looked after 24/7 and this is London, my dear. The pond is really an ocean and you are a catch. As your bestest friend, I know what’s best for you. You’ve got an album coming out in September, a tour to hop on in November, and about three thousand dildos you can hop on after that!”

You cringe. “Don’t be crass.”

“Don’t be a prude.” She gestures to herself. “Look at me; Mia’s fine and healthy, doesn’t legally have to see her arsehole of a father, and I get a good shag every fortnight.”

“No, I’ve drawn up the custody agreement already. I’ll go back to Barcelona when the school year starts, and we can swap every two weekends. But I’m keeping our home – she can find somewhere else to live, seeing as all of this is her fault.”

“And the tour?” Gio asks as you pull on your England jersey and a pair of shorts. Good weather has blessed the start of the tournament, and you have been invited to the first match at Old Trafford by Manchester United themselves. Gio and Anya are coming, and you think they have put you in with a few of their players and executives. Your father has his own ticket, planning to meet you there and convince you to pay your grandmother a visit (she doesn’t like that you are lesbian and therefore you don’t like her).

“I don’t know,” you sigh, “because I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to make the children’s lives even more unstable. Maybe it’s best to give them a few months to adjust to the idea of us not being together.”

Gio hums in agreement, knowing she had it easy with her own co-parenting adjustment because her daughter was a baby with no recollection of her parents being a couple, much less in-love. “You’re a good mum.” She kisses your cheek and wraps you in a very needed hug. “You’ll get through this because you are stronger than a pathetic affair.”

You swear.

“What time’s our train leaving?!”

The match is a good one, and the atmosphere is enough to make you feel the slightest bit alive. Spain plays in two days, and though you have good reason to believe Alexia is going to be there, you are booking a family trip to Legoland to delay the first hand-off of many.

England win with one goal to nil, courtesy of Beth Mead’s chip. You are on your feet, cheering the entire match. One of the United executives tells you that he loves your passion and asks you if you’d take his ticket to the post-match drinks as he wants to head home for a nap. You laugh, the old Mancunian reminding you of your father, and accept. It’s just the one ticket, so you bid Gio and Anya goodbye, book a hotel for the night (comfortable with the idea that Isabela has safe hands to care for your children), and give your father a valid reason to pass up on the visit to Didsbury.

The only person at this event that you really know is Alessia Russo, after exchanging a few DMs last Christmas to wrangle a signed Manchester United jersey for Nico’s Christmas present (a gift Alexia had refused to say was from her as well).

“No kids today?” she asks with a grin, pulling you into a friendly hug.

“Didn’t manage to get them tickets,” you reply. “But now I get to drink, and you get to watch me and wish you weren’t on a nutrition plan.”

She shakes her head. “We’ve actually been instructed to celebrate the wins. Sarina Wiegman says it’s a key part of tournament success.” You look around the room, noticing every Lioness here, hair still wet from the showers and donning team-issued tracksuits, has a can of beer in their hands. Jorge Vilda could never. “Glad to see you haven’t yet become a Spain and Barcelona fan. Feeling patriotic enough to be introduced to our captain?”

Leah Williamson bears the same concentrated eyes gifted to Alexia; determination, victory, leadership.

You’re unsure if you have ever formally met her, perhaps at the Brits once. “I go with Alex? Alex Scott,” she says, as though she is trying to impress you. She takes the briefest of looks down to your hands that hang near your waist with no glass to hold (the bar has cut you off for half an hour).

You wear one ring. It is not the one with which Alexia promised you her total devotion, but it is from her all the same. An old gift – maybe from your first anniversary?

Leah doesn’t ask whether you are still married.

“I heard your son loves football?” He is obsessed with his mother, he wishes to follow her in every single thing she does. “You should bring him to our next match. I’ll get him one of those passes, and– Hey, you know what? I bet there’s a way I can get him a place as a mascot for one of the matches! Both our next ones are down south.”

You smile. “Really?”

“Yeah, course. He might be a bit young but I’m always glad to help out our little fans, and it might throw Spain off their game.” She winks, offering no further explanation, and is suddenly called away before you can request more information.

You have to admit, the idea of Nico walking (toddling) out with England makes you feel both proud and satisfied. It will be a tiny jab towards Alexia, which, honestly, is a privilege considering how she has stabbed you in the back repeatedly with a machete.

When your son’s first time on a proper football pitch is with Alessia Russo, holding her hand with wide eyes and a wider smile, you are sure Alexia has smashed the screen of whatever TV she has been studying her opponents with.

…

Spain playing England in the quarter-final feels intensely political within your family.

Alexia is in Brighton for the first time in her life, and she hates more than anything that she is not preparing herself for a match. She won’t be going through her pre-game rituals for another seven months, at least.

You tell Isabela to take the children to Alexia’s hotel, unable to put yourself in front of the wheel. Your hands have not stopped shaking since your manager texted you a screenshot of their conversation (seeing as you refuse to talk to her, not for pettiness but for fear of breaking yourself in two), and Isabela poured you a glass of wine before she left to calm your nerves.

You feel sick, and the toilet water turns red as your body rejects the rioja. Once you have wiped your mouth, you laugh at the notion that even Spanish wine is unwelcome inside of you.

“Who are you?” Alexia demands as the revolving doors of the lobby reveal her two babies with a stranger. She is quick to remove Elena from the arms of this new woman, although she is disgruntled by how comfortable her daughter seems. One of her crutches falls to the ground, Alexia not having been able to master childcare and post-surgery impairments because she has not seen the children she is supposed to care for, but she does not find it in herself to care.

“Hola, Sra. Putellas. Encantada.” Isabela holds out her hand but Alexia does not shake it, jaw clenched at the way you have gotten a Spanish-speaking nanny as though to completely erase her babies’ Catalan accents and memory of their other mother! “Me contrataron para ayudar a Y/n con los niños. Me dijeron que usted se encargaría de ellos hoy.”

“Sí, lo estoy haciendo, porque son MIS hijos.” She looks at Nico, who has been hiding shyly behind his nanny’s leg, afraid of his mother’s fierceness. Alexia softens, hoping to welcome him into her embrace, but her stupid knee won’t bend and she can’t get onto his level. Isabela reaches out to help her, or to at least steady her so that she doesn’t drop the squirming toddler she is holding, but the help is unwanted and, quite frankly, embarrassing.

Alexia’s frustration brings tears to her eyes.

She quickly blinks them back.

“¿Le gustaría que la ayudara, Sra. Putellas? Me han pagado por trabajar hoy, así que no es un proble–”

“¡No!” Alexia snaps. Silently, she curses how condescending and petty you have become. Paying the nanny in advance to taunt her for her injuries! “No. Estaré bien. Soy su madre.”

“Por supuesto, pero también está herida.” Isabela looks around the lobby for a moment. “¿Está sola?”

Alexia knows that Mapi’s parents are going to be arriving any minute now, kindly offering to help out with Nico and Elena. “Oh, we do not mind! We’d love for María to have children of her own,” they had said.

“Soy perfectamente capaz de manejarlo–”

“Isabela,” Isabela supplies.

“Isabela,” Alexia repeats. “Ahora, si ha terminado, vaya a disfrutar su día libre.”

She waits on the sofa just left of the door for Mapi’s parents, silently begging them to arrive as soon as possible. Nico is bored and would like to run around, upset that Alexia denies him his fun whenever he whines to play. Elena is tired, grumpily napping in Alexia’s lap, but that means she can’t position her knee the way the surgeons had asked her to. Isabela hadn’t meant to, but she had dumped two rucksacks of toys, snacks, and clothes onto Alexia, who still hasn’t been able to retrieve her crutch from the floor.

Close to tears and very overwhelmed, the arrival of the couple comes as a great relief. “Oh, you poor thing,” coos Mapi’s mother, a caring woman from whom her friend inherited the same quality. She kisses Alexia’s forehead and instantly takes the weight from her lap, hushing the soft whimpers Elena lets out. “Let us look after the babies. You make sure you have the tickets sorted. Have you taken your pain medication? Oh, let me take care of it for you.”

The fuss is something she has had to get used to, but she is thankful for the assistance. They wrestle Nico into his red Spain jersey, something he was not delivered in, and they ensure all three of their wards are comfortable before the stadium appears in the windshield of the taxi.

Alexia begins to get nervous.

Spain has more talent than England – always has – but they don’t have the same funding nor support. Their manager is a dickhead and the federation corrupt, and Alexia’s teammates suffer daily in a way no Lioness would be able to comprehend. She fears for their reputation, for their progression.

Her nerves increase when she sees you in the stands, in your own box of course. It seems that you see her too, but your only acknowledgement of her presence is the wave you give to your children. Alexia has to remind them sharply in Catalan that they are Spanish.

Afterwards, when Spain lost and Alexia is blaming herself for the defeat, you walk through the tunnel, following Leah’s directions that she had sent over text. You’d added her to your contacts yesterday, growing tired of Instagram DMs.

The odd thing about this area is that to your left, nothing is heard and the air hangs its head in shame, but to your right, a nation celebrates its victory. Sadly, you know you have to fetch your children from the Spain changing room before you say goodbye to the English heroines.

You knock on the door, politely. You have never been more glad that a player has not been selected for a squad. Jenni has missed the Euros due to injury, much like her partner-in-crime.

A solemn Ona Batlle, a Manchester United player who serves as a bridge between worlds in your household, opens the door, making no attempt to force a smile when she sees that it is you. You are (were) their captain’s wife; you are like family.

“Hi,” you breathe, not wanting to be the one to pierce through the silence.

Ona stands to one side and you pass.

Most of the girls are tearful, sniffling into their jerseys, heads in their hands, but no one is as distraught as Mapi. Her sobs take the fun out of winning, her devastation crushing and contagious and impossibly hard to ignore. She buries her face into Alexia’s shoulder, but it does nothing to muffle her cries.

You gulp, catching hazel eyes, understanding the plea to not make this feel worse.

You are heartbroken, and so is Mapi. For different reasons, yes, but both organs are shattered in the same way.

Alexia mutters something very quietly, secretly wishing Mapi does not let her go because this is the first time the defender has actually spoken to her since Alexia did what she did, but the blonde hair stops itching her face soon enough.

Rooted to the spot, you search the room for two smaller Spaniards, finding them both taking after Alexia, comforting the players.

“Nico, Lela, come on,” you croak, finding tears in your own eyes. “Say bye-bye to Mami.”

Their hugs and kisses are missed the moment Alexia leaves the country, and the absence of them makes Alexia crumble completely when she finds the letter from your lawyer that Alba has been hiding from her.

…

September rolls around with school, the start of your custody agreement, and the release of your new album.

Judgement Day.

For many, it confirms the split from your wife. Those pictures were never picked up by a magazine, so you have had them deleted with a baseless threat to sue for defamation.

Alexia no longer has to communicate with you through one of your employees, but any texts exchanged are few and far between. She tells you that she is renting a flat near the training centre. It has three bedrooms, but Nico and Elena share one because her mother is living with her while she recovers from her ACL. She also partially tore her meniscus, though she had hesitated to pass that news on, but everything seems to be in order and she is ahead of schedule.

You reluctantly text her whenever you leave the country, whether that is because you are flying to London for work (and to visit Leah, who you are now good friends with) or because a club opening has called and you have answered. It’s not as messy as the media makes it seem, but you agree with the articles that say you seem to drink as though it is what keeps you alive. The word ‘addict’ gets thrown around, but you are sitting in an armchair in front of your therapist before that escalates, if not for yourself then for the sake of your children.

They themselves do not understand. Nico frequently asks when Alexia will come home, though he has usually just visited her when this question pops out, and Elena throws big tantrums during the swaps. Those are done at a neutral location: the park near you. You hope the playground takes the edge off the palpable tension between you and Alexia as you sit on opposite sides of the same bench, exchanging brief updates about your shared duty until whoever is a mother for the next two weekends makes up an excuse to go.

Just before Christmas, once you have calculated that it’s technically Alexia’s turn with their children until January, you go on your biggest night-out since the days when all you were was a 2010s pop star in a girl-group. With no one to go home to and an empty house in Highgate awaiting your return, you get the closest to sleeping with someone else since before meeting Alexia. Her lips trail down your neck, the white powder on her nose rubbing onto your skin as she presses herself into you. You grope her body desperately, painfully dissatisfied by the bones and creamy skin your hands find. You are used to muscle, to strength, to power.

Not some anorexic model who calls you a MILF and hasn’t had a sober day in years.

In the end, you don’t end up sleeping with her, but it makes the headlines nonetheless. Your publicist lets them. “The world needs to see you move on, even if you aren’t,” she says. Your slight disagreement is not voiced, and social media explodes with further confirmation that you are single. A group of football fans are quick to attack you, calling you cruel for leaving Alexia when she is injured, but the thousand-person army doesn’t particularly bother you. You are doing your ex a favour by not opening up about the reason for the split, and you are both aware of that.

You spend Christmas with your parents, who are not pleased to have you moping about their house. Your father tells you that success is the best revenge. You tell him that your album has topped the charts in December, winning its battle against Christmas music.

“But that hasn’t mended a broken heart,” he is unkind enough to point out. “And neither will models, drugs, or alcohol.”

At this point in the day, you have made it through a bottle and a half of wine and a pack of Marlboro Golds. Voice hoarse from smoking and sobbing the entirety of Christmas Eve, you tell him to “fuck off” and call a taxi for yourself.

You don’t remember the destination you had typed in, but you end up at Leah Williamson’s house.

Leah is home, having returned from Milton Keynes half an hour ago, and is not really surprised by the state you are in. She supposes that she has gotten to know you well enough to realise that you are far from stable. This is the first time the English captain has seen you heartbroken, but she is unsure whether it will be the last.

…

Your tour commences the following month, with January being a fresh start to a new year. You tell Leah, who invites you out with her on NYE, that this year you won't be cheated on. It is not the comment that makes her laugh, but rather the way it slurs out of your mouth.

Barcelona feels suffocating when you arrive at the park to say goodbye to Nico and Elena. You’ll be in the States for the entire month and maybe some of February. Alexia is sure it will be fine, especially since the team has taken it upon themselves to look after the two children and help where they can. Additionally, Alexia is growing closer to one of her friends, Olga, who loves children and wanted to be a teacher before she decided on something much cooler.

Alexia has the courtesy to send Mapi and Ingrid in her place, knowing that you do not want to talk to her. You haven’t yet heard her explanation, but that does not matter. Nothing excuses what she did, and nothing will. (And with Jenni, who is no longer the godmother to Elena, the title being revoked instantly.)

“Will you miss us?” Nico asks as you kiss his soft hair, hugging him tightly. “Mami said that we have to swap every three findes so why no now?”

“Why not now?” you gently correct him. “Because I have to work. I’m going to sing in front of lots and lots of people and, maybe, write some new songs!” Your attempt to excite him crashes and burns, but you are not going to give up. “This is a secret so you can’t tell anyone, but some really, really special people want to make songs with me.”

“Who?” he pouts.

“Well, one of Mami’s favourites, Karol G. She is very nice, and she told me she has an idea for a collaboration.” Petty, yes, but also a career move. Nico’s innocence and lack of understanding about the meaning of separation means that he sees your plans as a very nice gift for Alexia. “And, let me think. Ooh, Bad Bunny – you know him, don’t you? I’m sure Pina or Patri or–”

He pulls away from your embrace, taking a step back. “Sí,” he says, sounding exactly like Alexia, “but to Mami, she no like because he says rude things.”

“Adults are allowed to say rude things,” you reply with a cheeky smile, winking at him. “Your mami says rude things all the time, but not in front of you.”

“Really?”

“Yep, but you’ll have to ask her about that.”

Alexia has hobbled through the nighttime routines, aided by Olga, who has halved the job by picking Elena and Nico up from nursery and school and watching them until Alexia’s day at the training ground had ended. Her and Olga haven’t kissed yet, but Alba has advised her sister to be quick about it if she ever intends to. Alexia is not sure she does want that, because your absence has only made how much she loves you (and how much she fucked up) even more obvious.

Their beds are on opposite sides of the room, which is technically the master bedroom – only fair, Alexia thinks, because they are having to share here but not when staying with you – and Elena is fast asleep by the time Nico is tired of the bedtime stories he has relentlessly requested. She brushes off the slight sting of his dismissal of her acting and helps him settle underneath the covers.

As usual, she presses a kiss to both cheeks and the tip of his nose, and tells him to have nice dreams and a good rest. The weekend starts tomorrow, which means he gets to join Alexia at the training centre and sit in on the sessions. Alexia is slightly jealous because she is still stuck in the gym, but as long as he is entertained, she will get over it.

“Mami, how long is a month?” asks Nico, voice small and groggy and… is that a hint of an accent? Maybe the two and a half months of Isabela’s Spanish has affected him. She will look into it.

He tugs on her jumper when she spaces out. “Sorry,” Alexia whispers. “A month is thirty days. Maybe you need to pay attention at school.” She pokes his cheek playfully, and he giggles.

“I do pay attention, I do. Thirty days is long.”

Alexia dreams of the football pitch, of the grass she has been promised she will play on before April. “It can be very long,” comes her agreement, picturing where in her recovery she will be come February. “It can also be very short.”

“I miss Mama.”

His statement, unbeknownst to him, is uncomfortably relatable.

“Thirty days will be very short. You’ll see her again soon, and, you know what? She made me promise to give you goodnight kisses from her every night! She is going to send them to me from America, and I’ll pass them onto you.”

“Really?”

“Sí,” says Alexia with pursed lips, raising her eyebrows to invite him to doubt her. He looks up at her with adoration, as if her word is law. She can only be thankful that you are merciful enough to have not turned her own children against her. You have expressed your wish to keep them from being collateral damage, and Alexia respects you for that.

“Mama said that she makes songs in LA with Karol G!”

Then again, there are other ways to be petty.

…

Touring has always exhausted you. Eat, sleep, travel, sing, in varying orders; the schedule grows repetitive and tight after the first week.

After the first show in LA, you bring a blurry face to your hotel room. You kiss her, you can’t bear to do anything more, and you let her sleep off her drugs in your bed while you take the sofa in your suite.

High on adrenaline half the time and utterly knocked-out when not, you zombie your way through the travelling, grouchily rehearsing new songs on the road, signing merchandise for your screaming fans. You get asked about your private life in a few interviews initially, but the journalists soon learn that the topic is to be avoided if they wish for you to talk to them at all.

The headlines continue to tear apart images captured of you at clubs, and magazines never seem to find the pictures of you with your children when you visit them while you make your way around Europe.

There comes a point where you look at a woman and she becomes, in the eyes of the media, your latest plaything.

Alexia is seething by the time your two-night show in Barcelona rolls around.

One day, when Nico and Elena understand the concepts of affairs and heartbreak, they will see the articles written about their mothers; the hate Alexia gets, the times she has been called a whore by fans of the same sport she devotes her life to, the stark inequality between her and her male counterparts. With these horrors of the world, they’ll see the pictures of you, pupils blown out, eyes red. Women clinging onto you that perhaps faintly resemble Alexia.

Because Alexia knows you, because she loves you, she can see that what has been labelled your ‘slay’ era is really fuelled by devastation. A disaster that she caused. It riddles her with guilt, but she doesn't know how to expel that emotion from her head without reverting to the early days of her loneliness where she ate nothing and made her sister seriously worry whether she was going to find her bleeding out in the bathtub one day. And so, with a lack of command over such a strong feeling, she decides to rage. She is furious with your irresponsibility.

“Where should we eat?” your guitarist asks with a grin as you touchdown in Barcelona. The soft murmur of Spanish and Catalan is unexpectedly comforting, the familiarity grounding. Maybe Barcelona has become your home. Maybe it never stopped being that, because home is where the heart is and, frustratingly, yours still belongs to the woman who tore it out of your chest and didn’t even have the guts to tell you about it.

“I can’t,” you reply quickly, wiping the sweat from travel off your brow with the sleeve of your turtleneck. “I promised my son I’d tuck him in while I’m in the country, and my daughter has been drawing at nursery so I’d like to collect some of the pictures and see if I can get them blown up onto canvases.”

Laughing, your crew make their way off the jet. “You know, most celebrities would pay thousands for abstract art but you get yours from a toddler.”

“She’s talented.” Mapi draws with her, you’ve been told. Elena is what makes Ingrid yearn for a ring to appear in their relationship sooner rather than later. “And take the piss all you want, but if you had had to put my kids through what I have, you’d feel the same.”

The sofa in the Putellas household (the apartment no longer inhabited by Eli, who was very glad to escape the intense atmosphere as soon as Alexia was cleared to live by herself) houses three unsettled humans of varying sizes. The biggest, Alexia, shifts on the soft, new cushions, awaiting your arrival with gulps of brewing tears and the latest set of paparazzi photos of you fresh in her mind. The boy, Nico, practically vibrates with excitement, promising himself that he will drag out this bedtime as long as possible to make up for all the others you have missed. The smallest is upset because she hasn’t fallen asleep yet, kept awake by her older brother who shakes her whenever she starts to drift off, hastily scolding her with a ‘no, Lela! Mama is coming home’.

With no key to this flat, you are forced to be buzzed up.

The anticipation builds. Nico and Alexia try to remember what you smell like, testing themselves to see if they can recall it scent for scent. Have you changed your shampoo? Alexia wonders, Do you still use the same moisturiser?

“Hi, my darlings!” you squeal as the door flies open and Nico comes hurtling into your crouched form, closely followed by his unsteady little sister. “Oh, how I’ve missed you!” You squeeze them as though you are never going to let go, and only release them from the hug when Elena begins to whine, adrenaline rush dying and tiredness overcoming her once more.

“Mama, home,” Nico says with an inaccurate finality. You spare Alexia a glance as he pulls you through the bare walls and grey decor until you reach a door with stickers up and down the white-washed wood. “Mami made me change, but you can read! Lela wants this one.” He rumages through the box of books near the children’s whiteboard (on it, the odd x’s and o’s of football tactics), pulling out a few to stack into his own pile before thrusting something you recognise very well.

“Mami reads to us in English sometimes,” he says matter-of-factly, though Alexia silently curses him from where she is standing in the doorway. “Important to know.”

You chuckle. “Mm, very important. How else would you talk to me?” Elena quietly crawls into your lap, happy to take over Nico’s bed, where you are sitting. You stroke her hair, holding her close. “Mami reads you ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar’?”

He is too young to know what scepticism looks like.

“Es que hay ‘La Pequeña Oruga Glotona’.”

You refuse to look at the voice which speaks, but you nod.

“Alright, why don’t you get into bed, and then I’ll start to make my way through the mountain of books. I am absolutely all yours for tonight, my loves.”

…

Alexia’s hands slam down on the dining table, slapping against the wood with a loud bang. “Enough!” she exclaims, her voice slicing through the tense air like a knife. Her eyes blaze in fury and you shrivel, not quite sure what you have done to her. You grant her the silence she needs to continue, though her shout echoes through the shattered tranquillity like a bomb that continues to explode. “It is enough.”

“What, Alexia?”

You sound kind of… bored once you have regained your composure. Your shock is now replaced with a blank expression, and you run your eyes over your nails, examining your cuticles so that you don’t risk making eye contact with her.

“You think you can just waltz in here as if you haven’t offered yourself to the entire world and expect everything to be okay?” Her voice trembles with indignation, venom dripping from each word she spits out. “You can’t go from common slut to mother in one day!”

Nails forgotten, you square your shoulders and set your jaw. “I hadn’t realised you were the jealous type, Ale.” The nickname slips out like a poisonous dart, taunting her, wounding her. It rattles her, and you intend to shake her more. “It’s none of your business, not anymore. Deal with it – or don’t, I don’t care.”

“What kind of example are you setting for our children?” she continues, lips curling into a scornful sneer. “Kissing anything with a mouth! Like some, some hormonal teenager. And to have it all over the papers? It’s trashy! It’s embarrassing for me, because my wife has her hands down the pants of every woman she meets, pumped full of alcohol and drugs and… You, you go to these events, paid to get yourself on the front pages so that they can be mentioned in the location of the incident, and… and that’s like prostitution! Making money from your body, from sex!”

Her fists clench and she storms towards you, footsteps harsher than her bad knee can probably take, but you make no move to back down. You lift your chin up; “I don’t have to resort to prostitution for money. I have more than enough.”

“Then you do it for attention,” Alexia reasons with herself, albeit very loudly. “That is what you are, aren’t you? A slut for the cameras and the glitz and glamour of it all. So quick to jet off on tour, leaving me with our children–”

“I may be a ‘slut’ for attention, but at least I am not a whore for a woman who is not my fucking wife!” You press your hand to her chest roughly, pushing her away from you. “I’m not the one who had an affair, I’m not the one who ruined everything!”

Alexia recoils at your words, freeing herself from your searing touch before she melts. She forces her fury to its boiling point. “How dare you,” she seethes, voice cracking at the ferocity in which she forces the sentence out. “You think you can just throw my mistakes in my face?” You hold your ground. She will not intimidate you. “You think you’re so righteous, but you’re not as innocent as you pretend to be.”

It is a baseless accusation. You both know it.

“The only fact we have here is that you fucked Jenni. Our daughter’s godmother. Your ‘best friend’, my friend too! I trusted her, and I trusted you, and you took that trust and obliterated it by sleeping with her!”

Alexia wants to cut you deep, wants to give you the gory details of it all, but she hears the croak of your voice and knows you will not make it to your hotel if she tells you.

“I slept with Jenni, sure, but you have passed yourself around enough to make us even.”

“Nothing will make us ‘even’, Alexia,” you cry, meaning to sound scarier than you do. You can’t help the tears from streaming down your face, nor the hoarseness of your throat. “And I would never ever do to you what you did to me!”

You have to go on vocal rest the next day, otherwise the concert would be called off.

Alexia refuses to attend, even though most of her teammates will, instead pawning Nico and Elena off to your backstage staff and dangerously driving herself to Alba’s place.

It is one of those nights where Alba cannot leave her side for fear Alexia will choke herself to death on her tears. When the elder of the two can longer hold it all in, Alba ties her hair back with an old hair bobble so that the blonde strands don’t get in the way of her sister’s vomit.

("I don't want to live like this," Alexia says, her eyes wide and alert. Her little sister looks at her with empathy, searching, with a broken heart, for a version of a woman from the past she's not sure she knows. This Alexia is not the same.

"Of course you don’t." It's obvious. Obvious by the way she forces her existence without happiness, without company, without a smile. It's like there is no sun in Alexia's world, nor a blue sky, nor an end.

It never ends.

So, she says, "I don't want to live like this, without her, without the family I dream of every night, every waking moment. I don’t want to live, Alba. I didn’t want to live in August, and I haven’t since, and I… I do it because people rely on me." She takes in a deep, acidic breath, grimacing at the taste of bile on her tongue. “If it were just me, just Alexia”--The Ruiner, she silently adds–“I wouldn’t be here. Alba, Alba, I don’t want to live like this.”

She carries on repeating it because Alba has to understand. There can't be a possibility that Alba thinks her sister is insincere. What a lie that would be! To Alexia, she prefers death over continuing like this, with her head in the toilet and vomiting, vomiting, vomiting.

"If I had the chance, I would go back to August 2021 and never sleep with Jenni. I’d not let her kiss me, not give into it. I'm exhausted from it; from my loneliness, from the kids' questions, asking when their mother will come back home. Do you know that Nico asked me if we still loved him? If she still loves him? And why his friends have two parents and he seems to have a shell of a woman for one, and a vacant space in the king-sized bed for the other?"

"She might not want you again, however, and your imagined future may be false – it is the opposite of reality, no? If I were her, I wouldn't. You cheated on her when she only gave you love and patience and… Well, Alexia, I swear I really want to see you happy, but I just don't think she'll forgive you."

"And why not?"

Alba sighs. She places her hand on Alexia's back, moving it in circles to calm her sister down. When they were little, it was always Alexia who helped Alba. With school, with her problems, with new lovers or ones from the past. It was her responsibility to take care of her little sister, and when their father died and there were only three of them, Alexia felt that responsibility even more.

Here, roles reversed, Alba can only apply that which she has learnt from the heaving lump of flesh slumped on the chequered tiles.

"Alba," repeats Alexia, lowering her voice, relenting. "She loves me."

The younger of the two can’t help the tears that brim in her eyes, distressed in her own right. "She loves you despite your other girlfriend because she's a saint. She's a saint but, if you want her to be happy, you cannot take advantage of her," Alba warns gravely, sincerely, and correctly. Alexia lifts her head and looks at the clock on the bathroom wall. Alba's apartment is clean and trendy, just like the woman, and she has dirtied it with her presence. She remains, for the foreseeable future, Alexia, The Ruiner.

"Smartass."

"It's just the truth."

"Well, if that's the truth, I'd rather you be a liar."

Alba sighs again, more heavily, and asks Alexia to get up from the floor. If Alexia's knee hurts, she says nothing and jumps up and down. "Ay, your knee," Alba grumbles but Alexia keeps going. She keeps going and going until she can't breathe and her lungs hurt. She keeps going because she believes it will rid her of her sadness, or at least hopes so. She hasn't stopped when Alba asks her to. A loud voice breaks the silence. "What are you doing?"

"Destroying everything. If I can't be with her, I don't want to play football. I don't want to walk, or see, or talk. I just don't want to live."

To Alba, this tells her two things. One is that her sister has gone batshit crazy. The other? Well, that is the solution. It's simple, really; one sentence, and Alexia will know what she has to do.

"You need to fix this.")

Heartbreak is ugly, but Alexia’s guilt is uglier.

#woso x reader #woso #woso fanfics #barca femeni #woso imagines #fc barcelona #mapi leon #ona batlle #alexia #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #alexia putellas imagine #randombush3

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ariestrxsh · 2 months

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𐙚ྀི༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚, ✮⋆˙𐙚ྀི༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚, ✮⋆˙𐙚ྀི༘˚

⚠️ content warning: ⚠️ smut, masturbation, oral, fingering, praise, public (ish), mentions of religious shame, fluff

📝 author's note: 📝 this is part three of one of my favorite series i've ever written. it's controversial, and you might get offended if you're religious, just a heads up. here you can access part one and part two. 💖 it's not integral to the storyline that you read the other parts, but it will give you insight to the relationship dynamic and it just makes it hotter.

✍️ Summary: ✍️ Matt takes you on a surprise adventure after church where the two of you explore each other's bodies and your budding relationship.

𐙚ྀི༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚, ✮⋆˙𐙚ྀི༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚, ✮⋆˙𐙚ྀི༘˚

coming down part three

It was Sunday morning and only a few days since I'd last seen Matt, but I needed him so badly already. Matt and I discretely made eyes at each other across the room during church, and I felt myself get wetter every time his gaze caught mine.

"I used that trick that you showed me," I whispered to Matt after service ended under the shade of the oak tree. "Oh yeah? You played with yourself? What did you think?" Matt asked, smirking. "It felt soo good, but not quite as good as when you do it," I looked up at him innocently. "How many times did you do it, princess?" Matt asked, pushing some of my hair back behind my ear. I was a little embarrassed to answer, but after a moment of hesitation, I whispered, "Every night since I last saw you."

"Oh, wow. You weren't kidding when you told me you needed to see me more often than once a week. You poor thing," he whispered, looking into my eyes and rubbing the tip of his thumb over my cheek. "Let's go to my car, darling. I have a little surprise for you," he smiled sweetly at me and took my hand, and we walked to his car together.

"What's the surprise?" I asked him while he held open his car door for me. "If I tell you, it won't be a surprise anymore, silly girl. Just sit tight. I'm gonna take you somewhere special," Matt responded, leaning into the car to kiss me after helping me in. Matt then closed the passenger seat door, making sure I was in all the way before he did, came around to his side, and started up his car.

I loved the sound of Matt's car starting. It always meant something amazing was about to happen. I even loved the faint smell of gasoline that would fill my senses when I heard the engine turn over.

I didn't know where we were going, and I didn't recognize the roads we took, but I still felt an excitement growing deep within me, eager to know what Matt had in store for me today, whether he'd use his mouth or his fingers, if I'd get a chance to fill my mouth with his warm, sticky goo again..

"Princess, you look so pretty in this dress. I think it's one of my favorites," Matt said pushing up the skirt of my white sundress that had cherries printed on it, and he started drawing circles with his fingers on the top of my thigh. As he did this, I felt myself grow warm and damp between my legs. "Thank you," I told him.

We turned down one more road I didn't recognize, and there was a field. The grass was a bit overgrown and very green, and there was a small pond nearby. It was quiet, isolated, and so beautiful. It was a warm, sunny day, and there wasn't a single cloud in the sky. Matt shut off the car and said, "we're here."

After Matt came around, opened my door for me, and helped me out of the car, he opened the door to his back seat. He pulled out a red blanket and a picnic basket. "Sandwiches for lunch, and then I'm having you for dessert," Matt smiled down at me while we started to walk out into the field.

Matt was such a gentleman. He laid out the blanket and gestured for me to sit down beside him. He handed me a sandwich with turkey, pepperjack, lettuce, mayo, and mustard on marble rye, which was my favorite, and it made me feel special that he remembered that detail. He even cut it in half diagonally, just the way I liked.

We ate our food while we enjoyed the warmth of the sunshine beating down on us, the sounds of the birds, and the faint sound of a train in the distance.

Once I finished my sandwich, Matt pulled a small container of strawberries out of the picnic basket. "These are perfectly ripe. You have to try them," he said, smiling and holding the strawberry up to my lips, encouraging me to eat it from his hand. Matt looked into my eyes as I took the strawberry into my mouth, bit down, and felt the sweet juice engulf my tastebuds.

"Mmmm. So sweet," I commented, my eyes lighting up. Matt fed me a few more strawberries until he started to steer the conversation in a different direction.

"So, darling, you said you used that trick I taught you every night this week, hmm?" I bit my lip and nodded at him. "Did you do as I ask and think about me while you did it?" He wondered. "Every time," I whispered, widening my eyes. "Yeah? Good girl. Did you cum?" He cooed. "Every time," I said again. He licked his lips and smiled devilishly after hearing me say that.

"Hey, Matt. Can I ask you something?" I looked up at him with my big doe eyes. "Of course, sweetheart. Anything," he stroked my cheek with the back of his hand. "Do you ever.. touch yourself?" I hesitantly asked, worried he'd be offended that I had wondered about it. "I do, princess. I do it quite often," Matt chuckled.

"Can you show me how you do it?" I asked eagerly. "How come, princess? Does it make you wet to think about me stroking my cock?" He asked me teasingly. I bit my lip and slowly nodded. "Of course I'll show you," Matt obliged, unzipping his pants and pulling it out of his boxers. He was already rather hard.

"Princess, will you do me a favor and spit on it? I usually use lube, but I haven't got any on me right now," he bit his lip. I leaned over and let a few strands of saliva fall from my mouth onto the head of Matt's cock. "Good girl," he moaned while he spread my spit over his shaft and started pumping his hand faster.

A few more sounds of arousal filled my ears while Matt focused on the head, teasing it and coaxing a bit of clear liquid out of the slit. I watched in awe as my eyes danced over Matt in his vulnerable state. I watched as the tip got more swollen, and he looked like he was really enjoying himself.

I didn't want Matt to know that I had imagined this a couple of times when I played with myself under my covers at night, but it was even better in person, watching it unfold in front of me. "Does it feel good?" I asked him dumbly. I knew it felt good. I could tell by Matt's whole demeanor that he felt amazing, but for some reason, I wanted to hear him say it.

"Yes, princess. Mmmm. Feels soo good," Matt's voice sounded like warm honey while he relayed this information to me. "You know what you could do to make it feel even better?" He asked me. "What? I'll do anything," I eagerly told him, dying to do whatever it took to keep hearing his delicious noises cut through the summer air. "You could put your mouth right here, and you could suck on it like I taught you," he whispered, running his thumb through the pre-cum that collected on the tip.

"Oh, Matt. I'd love to," I told him, and I leaned down and placed my lips right where he wanted them and tenderly sucked on it while I moved my tongue around in circles. "Good girl. Just like that," I heard Matt coo. I loved putting Matt in my mouth. I loved everything about it. His whimpers, the way he tasted, the way he talked to me, the way he filled my senses entirely. I was so incredibly wet, and Matt hadn't even touched me yet, but I was longing for it.

"I'm getting close, princess. Can you be a good girl and swallow it for me again?" Matt inquired sweetly. "Mhmmm," I moaned against his cock. He liked this a lot. I watched as his eyes rolled back and he slowed the rate of his breath. He had one hand on the back of my head and the other still pumping away as he moaned my name and filled my mouth with his fluid. I was starting to like the taste.

I swallowed it all, like a good girl would. "I'm so proud of you," Matt whispered while he caught his breath and started to put his meat back in his pants. "It's your turn now, darling," Matt whispered. Matt leaned in and kissed me while he gradually laid me down on the blanket, pulled up my dress and started to slowly take off my panties. I lifted my hips to help him, and he grabbed me by waist to pull me closer to him.

I loved the way Matt handled me. He was gentle but strong. He parted my legs and spread open my pussy with his fingers. "Oh, princess. What's got you this wet, huh? Is it the fact that we're outside? Or is it from watching me beat my meat? Or do you just really like giving head that much?" He asked me, peering up at me mischievously. "All of it," I admitted, chewing on my lip.

Matt lowered his head, tickling the insides of my thighs with his soft hair and attaching his lips to my most sensitive spot. He burrowed his tongue in my warmth while I relaxed into the blanket and grass beneath me. Matt expertly explored me, taking his time and savoring my taste.

His soft lips closed down around my sensitive bud, and he moaned against me, resonating through my core, which in turn had suggestive sounds flowing from my mouth. Just when I thought my pleasure couldn't be topped, Matt inserted a finger, and shortly after another one. I was in shock. Matt had used both his tongue and his fingers when he touched me, but never both at the same time. I didn't even know you could do that.

I looked down at his piercing blue eyes that stared hungrily back at me. "Do you like that, princess?" He asked me softly, coming up for air for a second. "I love it," I whined. I closed my eyes for a moment and let myself get lost in the feeling, enjoying the sun and the freeness of it all. I threw my head back, and a few strands of grass tickled my ear. I could hear the birds, the gentle whirr of the wind rustling through the trees, and the sound of Matt grazing my clit with his lovely tongue.

"Remember, princess. Long, deep breaths. No matter how much you want to hold your breath or lose control of it, breathe steadily and relax your muscles," he whispered before he went back to licking me.

I took Matt's advice, and it was difficult, but it felt like an implosion of goodness that had me suspended in time, lasting several seconds longer than my orgasms by myself. It was hard not tense my muscles, and I didn't do it perfectly, but I could see the appeal. It's crazy how listening to what Matt said made such a difference. It made my climax feel less like a quick lightning bolt and more like a lightning storm.

"Matt, can I ask you something?" I wondered after we'd finished, and I'd put my panties back on. He looked intently at me, "anything."

"Well, I know you'd never leave me astray in my faith, but I have to ask, are you sure God isn't mad when I rub my pussy at night?" I inquired. "Oh, sweetheart. No. He wouldn't have created such a wonderful thing if He didn't want you to enjoy it," Matt caressed my face.

"Do you ever feel guilty when you do it?" I asked him. "No, not at all. I love it," Matt smirked. "Well, when I do it, sometimes I still feel guilty," I admitted to him, looking into his eyes to see his reaction.

"I understand, baby. That's because someone at some point made you feel ashamed for doing it, but I can assure you, it's perfectly normal, everyone does it, and it keeps you from having sex with losers like your ex who don't know what to do with pussy as good as yours," Matt smiled at me.

"Matt, can I be honest with you?" I asked him. "Of course, princess. What's up?" He replied. "I know it's selfish to ask you not to use your special gift on any other girls, but when I think about it, it makes me wanna cry. I just wanna be the only girl you do this stuff with," I admitted, studying his expression for a reaction.

"Oh, princess. It makes me sick to think about you with anyone else either. You are the only one I do this with."

taglist: @ariithereyet @bsturnzmtt @sturnzluv @sturniolo-girl @strnlxlqve @sofieeeeex @alizestvrnss

part four posted here 💖

#matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo fic #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fic #sturniolo fanfic

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allgoodnamesrgoneee · 2 months

Note

Heyyyyyyy. I love your imagines. I was wondering in honor of Kylian joining Real Madrid today, Can you make an fluff imagine where you go with him to his Real Madrid presentation with his family and friends to support him and it’s cute behind the scenes moments leading up to his presentation ? An already established relationship .

Thank Youuu ❤️

I'm so excited about Kylian joining Real Madrid. So proud of him. I wish him success in his future, and may he accomplish all his goals💛

Sorry if this one is a little wonky, wrote it on my lunch break.

Presentation Day

Masterlist

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — You support Kylian on his presentation day.

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Kylian Mbappé x you

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 3.2k

Warnings! FLUFF, supportive reader, Kylian is playing for Madrid y'all!!!

Today is the day.

The day that Kylian had been waiting for his whole life. The day that would mark a significant milestone in his career. The day that he would be presented as a Real Madrid player.

You're so proud of him. You can't even put it into words. You've seen him work so hard for this. How much he's sacrificed to get here. It's a day that he deserves to celebrate and you can't wait to do just that. By his side.

You still can't believe that you're here for this. You can't believe that he picked you to be here with him for this special day. You can't believe that you've been able to be a part of his life these past three years.

You remember the day you met him. You had just started working at a popular news company and your first assignment was to attend a Paris-Saint Germain game that he was playing at. You were doing some interviews with some of his new teammates and he walked by and you couldn't help but stare at him. He had this air about him, this confidence, this spark in his eyes that made you just want to know him.

When he walked into the room where you were doing the interviews, you almost dropped the microphone in your hands. He was so handsome up close, so charming. You introduced yourself to him and you couldn't help but stare at him. You were nervous as hell but he made you feel at ease. He made you feel so comfortable in his presence and you found yourself laughing and joking with him.

After the interview, Kylian offered to show you around the stadium. You couldn't believe it. Here you were, walking beside one of the most talented footballers in the world, chatting like old friends. He was easy to talk to and genuinely interested in your work. Though the conversation was very surface level you were surprised at how down-to-earth he was.

By the end of the tour, he asked for your number. To your delight, you exchanged numbers, not entirely sure if he would actually reach out. But he did, later that evening, and from that day on, you started texting each other regularly.

It wasn't long after that he asked you to be his girlfriend. You said yes and you two became inseparable. The chemistry was undeniable between you two. You couldn't get enough of each other.

You went to his games, you were there for him when he needed you and you were his rock. He was your everything.

You never could have imagined that three years later, you would be standing in the bathroom of your new home, getting ready for his presentation at the Santiago Bernabéu.

You're wearing a black jumpsuit with a gold belt that accentuates your waist. You've curled your hair and did your makeup. You're even wearing the gold necklace that he bought for you last week. You want to make sure that you look good for him. You want to make sure that he knows that he deserves this day. That he deserves everything that he's worked for.

You're slipping your shoes on when you feel a tap on your ass. Without even looking up you know who it is. You roll your eyes at his antics but can't help the smile that creeps onto your face.

Even after all these years together, you still get butterflies in your stomach when he touches you.

"Kylian," you scold, but the playfulness in your tone tells him you're not really mad, "do you have to do that every time?"

He grins, his touch lingering a moment longer before he steps back, hands in his pockets. "Sorry, couldn't resist," he replies, his tone light but his eyes betraying a hint of nerves. You know he's trying to keep it together, trying to stay calm for what lies ahead.

"Tu es magnifique," he says, his voice softening as he steps closer, his hands finding your waist. His French accent is as sexy as ever. Sending child down your spine as his hands continue to hold you close. His eyes raking your figure in the mirror.

You look perfect.

You blush, your eyes meeting his. "Thank you."

"I mean it," he whispers, his gaze sincere, his grip on your waist tightening. "You look so beautiful." He meets your eyes in the mirror again. "I'm so lucky to have you." He pulls you flush against his chest. "Tu es la femme de mes rêve." His lips brush against your ear. "I couldn't imagine being here without you." He finishes his words with a gentle kiss to your neck.

Your heart melts. Your heart beats faster. You've heard him say these words before. You've heard them more than once but each time still gives you butterflies. Each time makes you love him even more.

You lean back into him, wrapping your arms around his around your waist, savoring this intimate moment with him before you have to share him with the world.

"You ready?" he asks softly, breaking the peaceful silence.

You turn to face him, his hands still holding you close, your arms finding their way around his neck. You bury your face in his chest. You take a deep breath and breathe him in. You smell the cologne he's wearing.

"I should be asking you that" you whisper, your hands resting lightly on his chest. You can feel his heartbeat under your palms, steady but perhaps a beat faster than usual.

"I'm a little nervous," he admits with a small frown, his fingers tracing absent-minded patterns on your waist.

You know how much he's worked for this. You know how much pressure he's under. You know how much he wants this. But you also know that he's going to do great. You know that he's ready for this.

You reach up to cup his cheeks in your hands, your eyes soft and encouraging. "It's okay to be nervous," you assure him with a reassuring smile. "But you're going to do amazing. You're Kylian Mbappé You're going to rock this. I know you will. You've worked so hard for this." You tell him, your hands finding their way to his neck, your thumbs rubbing gentle circles against the skin there.

He's silent for a moment before he pulls you into a tight hug, his head burying in your neck. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close, letting him take comfort in you. You let him hold you like this for a few seconds, feeling him breathe you in.

"I love you, thank you for doing this with me. For being here." he mumbles into your skin, his voice so soft and so sweet.

You smile. Your heart racing at his words.

"I love you too," you whisper back.

He pulls back, his eyes meeting yours. "Seriously bébé," he says, his voice soft but full of conviction. "I couldn't have done this without you. Thank you for being with me every step of the way. You've sacrificed so much to move here with me. I will never be able to thank you enough for all the things you do for me. I promise to always be there for you, to support you, to make you happy. To be the best boyfriend I can be. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me." His hand rests gently on your cheek, his thumb brushing against your jaw.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you look at him. You're so in love with him. You can't believe that this man is all yours, that he wants to be with you, that he loves you just as much as you love him. You can't believe that you found each other.

You want to say so much, want to reply to his little speech but you can't find the words to express how much you love him. So you kiss him instead.

A soft kiss, one full of love, one full of affection. One full of hope. Your lips linger on his for a few seconds before he pulls back. You're both smiling at each other.

"We should head downstairs," he whispers softly, breaking the silence again. "We don't want to be late"

You nod and you step back. He lets go of you, letting you walk out of the bathroom first.

When you walk into the living room downstairs, his family is there waiting for you two, chatting animatedly. They look up as you both enter, smiles lighting up their faces. His little niece and nephew are sitting on the couch with their mom when they see you come in. Without waiting a moment they stand up from their spot on the couch and run up to Kylian.

"Uncle Kylian! Y/N!" They squeal in unison.

He bends down and picks them up. One on each arm. He swings them around and they giggle in glee. You watch as his face lights up with a bright smile. His eyes meet yours over his niece and nephew's heads and he grins at you.

"I missed you guys so much," he whispers in their ears.

They're still laughing when they land back on their feet. He sets them down and gives each of them a kiss on the head before they turn to you. "Y/N!" They greet you with equal enthusiasm.

"My babies," you coo, bending down to pick them up. "I missed you two so much too!" You give each of them a hug. You give them each a kiss on the head before you set them back down. The second you set them back down they're on Kylian again, completely enamoured with their uncle.

"Be good for your mom and dad today," he tells them softly. "I want to see you after the presentation." His eyes light up with excitement.

"We will," they reply in unison, giggling.

He pulls away from them, giving each one another kiss on the head before he turns towards everyone else. Kylian's mother approaches you with open arms, pulling you both into a hug. You were in the shower earlier when they arrived so she hadn't seen you yet.

"Mes bébés," she said, tears shining in her eyes. “I'm so proud of you, Kylian. And you, my darling,” she adds, embracing you in turn, ”thank you for being here with us today." she coos, kissing both your cheeks.

Kylian's father pulls him into a tight hug next. He pats him on the back. "Fier de toi, mon garçon," he says, his eyes shining with pride. "

The other family members join you, each expressing their admiration and support for Kylian. His father squeezes your shoulder affectionately, his siblings exchange jokes with him to lighten the mood.

Silently without anyone noticing you sneak a picture of Kylian and his family gathered together in the living room. It's candid, raw, real. Capturing the support and love surrounding him on this monumental day. Kylian's smile is wide in the picture, the kind that radiates insumontable joy. You feel tears prick your eyes as you look down at it, happy to have frozen this moment for him.

As the final hugs are exchanged, Kylian’s agent steps forward, checking the time on his watch. "It's almost time," he announces, his voice calm but firm. "We should get going."

You all head outside, where a convoy of sleek black cars waits.

You would be riding with Kylian. Because today was also the day you would come out to the world as his girlfriend.

Even though everyone knew by now that Mbappé was off the market it was still a hush on who he was dating. At first, you guys had done it for the sake of your job. But now that you would be staying in Madrid with him, the both of you decided not to keep your identity a secret anymore. So this was technically your first appearance together. All the more reason to be nervous.

The plan was to arrive together at the stadium, walk in with him, then get separated to go to where his family would be sitting while he gave his speech.

You two slip into the car together. He pulls you into his side, his hands holding yours. You both sit there quietly for a second, the only sound being the driver's voice talking through the intercom.

He's fidgety, his eyes darting out the window to the passing buildings. You squeeze his hand gently, reminding him of your presence. He looks at you, his eyes meeting yours for the first time since the car started moving.

"Are you sure you're okay?" You ask him softly, his hand squeezing yours in reassurance.

"I'm good, trésor," he assures you. "Just excited and a little nervous."

You nod, your hand rubbing circles into his wrist. "I'm so proud of you," you tell him sincerely, your free hand reaching up to cup his cheek. He closes his eyes briefly at your touch, breathing in deeply before turning to face you fully. His lips meet yours for a brief kiss. He smiles against your lips, his hands finding their way to your waist as he pulls you into a tight hug.

The rest of the car ride is silent.

You're pulled out of your comfortable bubble when the car stops.

The stadium.

You're here.

You both sit in stunned silence for a moment, your eyes wide as you take in the sight. The stadium is already packed with thousands of screaming fans, each holding a white Real Madrid jersey with his name on the back.

Kylian is silent beside you, his eyes wide, his hands resting on his thighs. He takes a deep breath. He looks at you, his eyes locking with yours.

"Ready?" he asks softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, a smile on your face.

You two slip out of the car together, Kylian holding your hand tightly in his. They don't notice you at first since you're hidden behind him, out of sight, but he pulls you beside him and wraps an arm around your waist. The cheers from the crowd grow louder as the realization of who you are girlfriend sinks in.

You smile shyly, trying to hide your face in his shoulder.

He laughs, pulling you closer to him.

You both walk towards the entrance of the stadium, the screams of the fans reaching an all-time high. Kylian smiles brightly at the cameras flashing in your faces, his free hand waving at the crowd.

You both stop walking for a second, posing for pictures together. You're conscious of the cameras flashing around you, of the fans screaming his name. The whole situation is a little overwhelming but nothing you can't handle with him beside you, holding your hand.

You both pose for a few pictures, then you walk inside, the crowd quieting as you leave them behind.

You're led to a room backstage, where you'll wait with Kylian until it's time for him to go on stage. The room is buzzing with activity – staff members are rushing around, checking last-minute details, and ensuring everything is perfect.

You find a quieter corner of the room where he can take a moment to collect himself. He sits down on a plush leather chair, his eyes scanning the room but his grip on your hand never loosening. You can tell the nerves are killing him.

“Do you want some water?” you ask softly, your thumb rubbing soothing circles on his skin.

He nods, and you quickly fetch a bottle from a nearby table. When you hand it to him, he takes a long sip, then leans back, exhaling slowly. “Merci,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You sit beside him, placing your hand on his knee. “Remember, they’re all here for you. They believe in you, just like I do.”

He turns to look at you, his eyes softening. “I know. It’s just… a lot.”

You nod, understanding completely. “It’s okay to be overwhelmed. Just take it one step at a time.”

He nods, his eyes locking onto yours, drawing strength from your calm presence. The door opens, and one of the staff members steps in, clipboard in hand. “It's time miss Y/N,” he announces, waiting for you at the door.

That's your cue.

You stand up, offering Kylian your hand. He takes it, rising from the chair, his grip firm and warm. He pulls you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you with a strength that speaks volumes about the emotions coursing through him.

“I’ll be right there in the audience,” you whisper against his ear gently stroking his back “I’ll be cheering the loudest.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours. “Je t'aime fort,” The tone of which he says it is the most endearing you've ever heard from him. It makes your heart swell. You wish you could go with him.

“I love you too,” you reply, placing one last peck on his lips.

With a final squeeze of your hand, he releases you and you follow the man to the section reserved for his family.

As you enter the stadium, the roar of the crowd is deafening. The energy is electric, every person present filled with anticipation. You find your seat next to Kylian’s mother, who greets you with a warm smile and a comforting squeeze of your hand.

The lights dim, and the stadium falls silent. The anticipation is palpable. The lights dim slightly, and the murmurs in the stadium grow louder. The large screens display a montage of Kylian’s best moments, a tribute to his journey and accomplishments.

Then, the announcer’s voice booms through the speakers, introducing Kylian. The crowd erupts into cheers, the noise almost overwhelming.

You're crying as you watch him walk to the stage, grateful that you get to witness this moment with him, a moment he's been waiting for a long time.

Kylian steps onto the stage, his presence commanding yet humble. He looks out at the sea of faces, his gaze searching until it finds yours. You smile at him through your tears, giving him a small nod of encouragement. He smiles back, gesturing at your crying.

The jumbotron pans to your face as you laugh at his antics and everyone in the stadium realizes who you are immediately. They start cheering even louder.

The warmth of the moment envelops you as you watch Kylian take center stage. His speech is emotional thanking his fans, his teammates, and the club for believing in him. He speaks with passion and sincerity, his words resonating with everyone in the stadium. When he finishes with his "Hala Madrid", the applause is thunderous, echoing through the massive arena.

You and Fayza hold on to each other as you cry your eyes out, Kylian's words of thanks to you echoing in your ears. You both hug each other tight, both of you overwhelmed with emotion.

It's such a powerful moment one that sends shivers down your spine. The beginning of a new era. The start of your new life together with him.

-Bianca🌻

#footballer x reader #football #kylian fanfic #kylian imagines #kylian mbappe x reader #kylian x reader #kylian x you #kylian mbappe #kylianmbappé

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sluttywonwoo · 2 years

Text

no nut november — felix (loser #6)

pairing: lee felix x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, special guest appearance, jealousy, smut (18+), fwb, protected sex, hard(ish) dom!felix, spit kink, choking, multiple orgasms, orgasm control

a/n: part of @gimmeurtmi and i’s collab <3

word count: 3.6k

series masterlist

No one had expected Felix to last this long, least of all Felix himself. When he woke up to Chan’s text saying he lost, he almost couldn’t believe it. Bang Chan was one of the most competitive members of the group. He honestly thought Chris would have had a little more control.

But Chan’s loss left Felix in the final three, which felt like a big deal. Felix considers himself to be competitive as well, even though he isn’t particularly good at games. He isn’t particularly good at not cumming either, so it’s a miracle that he hasn’t yet. He hadn’t put much stake in the bet at the beginning since he didn’t think he had any chance at winning, anyway, but as more members dropped out and the finish line crept closer, he began to take it more seriously.

He’d even been so careless to have tried to have sex with you at the beginning of the month, convincing himself he could last through it, before pulling out a couple minutes in with a frantic “no no no no no!”

Felix hasn’t taken any risks since then.

You’ve been completely understanding about it, to his relief, and haven’t stopped hanging out with him even though you know you won’t be getting laid like you usually would. That type of behavior is obviously expected from a girlfriend, but you’re not his girlfriend even though he treats you like one and talks about you to the guys as if you are. They all know it’s not official and if Felix refers to you as “his girl” without actually making you his girl one more time, he’s convinced Chan’s gonna slap him. He’d deserve it, to be fair. He’s a coward and he knows it.

You’re not dating, you’re simply friends with benefits and he likes it like that- at least that’s what he tells himself. It takes the pressure off. Even though you’re not exclusive, he’s not fucking anyone else. You are kind of his person in his mind but he would never admit that out loud. He loves spending time with you and going on dates with you and waking up next to you, but at the end of the day he’s a bit of a commitmentphobe. So what if it’s a shitty excuse? He just doesn’t want to fuck up what you guys have going on and lose you completely. Maybe one day he’ll get the balls to have that talk with you, but for now he’s content with the dynamic you already have, that is until the last week of November.

The end of the month is just around the corner and victory is so close he can taste it. He’s been doing so well, resisting the urge to touch you whenever he’s near you. You’re over a lot these days, which he loves but also hates because of how hard you make everything, literally.

You’re in his bed today, dangerous territory already, but Minho and Seungmin were occupying the living space so you had no choice but to hang out in his room. Somehow you’d ended up tangled together beneath his sheets, making out and desperately grabbing at each other. Felix feels you grind into him, feels himself getting harder in response, and realizes he won’t be able to stop if you keep going like this. He’s so tempted to just say fuck it and throw caution to the wind, but he’s so close to winning that he knows he’ll never forgive himself if he gives in now.

Felix forces himself to pull back, breaking the kiss. “We should... probably stop,” he says breathlessly, hating himself for ruining the mood.

You take a moment to process and then push yourself away from him, nodding. “Oh, right. I totally forgot about the bet, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay. I’m sorry that we haven’t been able to- that I haven’t been able to you know.”

“Lix, how many times have I told you it’s not a big deal?”

“It’s not fair to you, though. I hate leaving you hanging when you’re horny.” And you seem really horny. You were all up on Felix a few seconds ago, already whimpering into his mouth and tugging at the buttons on his shirt.

You scoff. “It’s not like I’m going to die if I don’t get some dick in the next hour.”

“You’re all worked up now, though, and-”

“I promise you, Felix, it’s fine. I’ll just call Wooyoung to pick me up in like thirty minutes.”

Felix nods before he processes what you’ve said, then it clicks and he whips his head back up to look at you. “Wooyoung? Jung Wooyoung?”

“Mhm.”

“Why would he pick you up when I can just take you back home myself-”

“Lix, he wouldn’t be taking me home...” you trail off a little uncomfortably.

“What, are you guys like fucking or something?”

It’s supposed to be a joke, a suggestion so outlandish that it would break the tension but you don’t laugh. Felix panics.

“Wait, seriously?”

You sit up and cross your arms over your chest. “I mean, not as often as you and I but yeah... we hang out sometimes.”

“And by ‘hang out’, you mean his dick hangs out inside of you?”

“Lee Felix!”

“Sorry! It’s just... this is news to me, that’s all.”

That’s not all, and Felix is afraid you can see right through him but he tries to brush it off anyway.

“Are you okay?” you ask tentatively, reaching for him.

He jerks away from you out of instinct and immediately regrets it. This is not a good look for him and he knows it. He huffs out a breath and takes your hand in apology, squeezing in reassurance.

“Lix... is this going to be a problem?”

“N-no, no it won’t be,” he lies. “Just, will you stay a little longer tonight?”

You soften. “Yeah, of course.”

Felix shifts on the bed and pulls you in close, playing with your hair as you nestle yourself into his side. He thinks back to the last time he saw Wooyoung. It was at some stupid after party for The Fact Awards, just over a month ago. You were Felix’s date, he’d gone to get you both a flute of champagne from the table of refreshments, and when he came back, you were in the middle of conversation with Wooyoung.

Felix didn’t even know you knew each other. If he had, he would have invited you to more of their Strayteez hangouts- any excuse to spend more time with you, honestly.

He approached the two of you and presented you with your drink, placing his newly free hand on the small of your back as he sipped from his glass.

“Felix!” Wooyoung exclaimed and pulled the younger man in for a hug. Felix nearly spilled his champagne down Wooyoung’s back but managed to hold it just out of the way so that only a little bit splashed out onto the floor.

When Wooyoung finally released him, Felix looked between the two of you, trying to connect the dots.

“So how do you guys know each other?” he asked.

You just exchanged looks with Wooyoung and chuckled awkwardly, something Felix hadn’t caught on to at the time.

He feels like an idiot looking back on it. Wooyoung had known this whole time that they were both sleeping with you and never thought to mention it. It was technically none of Felix’s business, but he couldn’t help feeling betrayed by his friend. And Changbin! He was even better friends with Wooyoung than Felix was. He had to have known you were hooking up and also managed to neglect sharing that important piece of information. He would be having words with that man whenever you left and he got back from his girlfriend’s house.

“I’m sorry for not telling you,” you whisper all of the sudden, breaking the silence. “I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings. I know you can be sensitive about these things so-”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Felix blurts out.

“But-”

“We’re not exclusive or anything and we agreed on that. As long as you’re being safe with him...”

You nod. “You don’t have to worry about that. We use condoms, just like us. No one’s getting an STI.”

Felix hums thoughtfully. He’s honestly relieved that you aren’t letting Wooyoung fuck you raw, not because he’s worried about protection even though that is a concern, but moreso because it would imply you like him more or you’re more serious about him than you are about Felix. It’s a petty victory but a victory nonetheless.

He wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head, enjoying the feeling of having you close. It’s not a very ‘friends with benefits’ thing to do so he hopes you don’t mind, but you don’t move away from him which he takes as a good sign.

“Don’t go to his place tonight,” Felix murmurs into your hair. “Let- let me take care of you instead.”

You stiffen in his arms. “But... the bet.”

“I don’t fucking care,” he rasps.

You turn a little more so that you can face him. “Felix, I’ll stay. We don’t have to have sex.”

“I want to,” he insists. “Unless you don’t?”

“No, I want to,” you assure him.

“Are you sure? You’re not just saying that?”

“Positive. I was all over you not even ten minutes ago, remember?”

Felix grins. “I remember, I remember. But things can change, you know?”

“You’re sweet,” you say, kissing the corner of his mouth like you were rewarding him for it.

“I try.”

“So how do you want me?” you ask.

He takes a moment to think about it. “Um, want me on top?”

“Mhm that sounds good.”

“Yeah? You like just laying there and looking pretty? Like me taking control?”

The change in his demeanor makes you whimper, stroking Felix’s ego significantly. He pushes the blankets off of your bodies and rolls on top of you, taking your chin in his hand so that he can force you to look up at him.

You arch to kiss him but he dodges you, smirking and still holding your jaw in place. You pout and try to turn your head to the side to break out of his grasp but he manages to keep his grip, surprising you both. Felix isn’t weak, but it’s usually pretty easy for you to overpower him. When you realize you can’t this time you stop trying, relaxing back into the mattress with a sigh of annoyance.

“Look at me.”

You do, eyes wide and eager. He spreads his fingers until his thumb is resting on one of your cheeks and the rest of his fingers are splayed out across the other, squeezing your face gently to get you to open your mouth.

“C’mon, baby. A little wider.” You obey easily and Felix spits into your mouth. “Swallow. Good girl.”

He’s quick to undress you both so that he can get his head between your legs, needing to taste you after going so long without having you on his tongue. You’re wetter than he expected and he can’t stop himself from groaning at the sight.

“God, baby, making a mess already. Gonna have to change my sheets after this.”

His comment makes you shrink into yourself in embarrassment. “You have no one to blame but yourself for that.”

Felix grins. “I know.”

He makes you cum with his tongue and his fingers twice, feeling a little like he has something to prove after learning that he has competition. He wants to go for another, but his cock is aching at this point and he’s worried he’ll cum his pants before he gets to fuck you if he does.

“Still okay?” he asks, checking in.

“Perfect,” you respond. “You’re so good at that.”

Better than him? Felix wants to ask, but he doesn’t. He’s not entirely sure he wants the answer to the question, not entirely sure he’ll believe you if you tell him what he wants to hear.

“Are you good to keep going?”

“Yes, please fuck me already.”

Felix chuckles. “Always so impatient.”

“You would be too if you knew how good your dick is.”

He curses, dick twitching. “You always know just what to say, don’t you?”

“I try,” you parrot.

Felix gets up on his knees and reaches over to his bedside table. He opens the first drawer and pulls out a condom, bringing the foil packet to his teeth to rip it open when you suddenly reach out to stop him.

“Let me?” you ask.

“Yeah, baby. Go ahead.”

He hands it to you and watches as you do the same thing he was about to. You take the condom out of the wrapper and hand the trash back to Felix. He scoffs but accepts it anyway and tosses it in the bin that was easily within your reach without complaint.

You pull his boxers down just below his butt, just enough to get his cock out, and roll on the condom, jerking him a few times before you do. You’ve never done this for him before and it all feels very intimate. His breath catches in his throat when you touch him for the first time and he shudders. He makes himself stay very still as you work. One wrong move and he’ll cum all over your hand and ruin everything.

He’s in awe of how careful you are with it. You gently guide the material down his length, making sure that the elastic doesn’t accidentally pinch him in the process.

“That feel okay?” you ask once it’s on all the way.

“Mhm. Now come here.”

He hooks his hands under your thighs and pulls, yanking you forward and making your head fall back onto the pillow. Once your body is flush with his, he positions himself and guides his cock inside of you, holding his breath yet again as his name falls from your lips in a strained whisper.

God, this was a mistake. He’s going to embarrass himself, isn’t he? Why did he think this was a good idea? Why did he let his jealousy color his judgment? It wasn’t even about the bet anymore. He already knew he wouldn’t last when he decided to fuck you. He wasn’t that naive.

No, it was the fact that his pride was on the line and it’s taking all of his strength and willpower not to cum on the spot. It’s been weeks since he’s felt you, felt anything for that matter, obviously it was going to feel incredible.

Felix always cums faster than he wants to when he’s with you. The (literal) grip your pussy has on him is ridiculous. Does Wooyoung have this problem? Honestly, probably. Felix likes to think that anyone in his position would struggle.

“Fuck, fuck, don’t move,” Felix pleads. “Just. Stay like that. One second.”

You start to nod before remembering what ‘don’t move’ means and then freeze in place, mild concern replacing the lust reflected in your eyes.

“I’m fine,” he grunts out and closes his eyes, willing the feeling to pass.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m s-sure.”

He can tell you don’t believe him but you don’t press any further which he’s thankful for. You wait patiently for him to recompose himself and when he finally does, he asks you if he’s good to start moving.

“Yeah, give it to me.”

“Careful what you ask for.”

You roll your eyes and wrap your legs around his waist, forcing him deeper inside of you with a smirk. Brat.

“Behave,” he warns.

“Or what?” you challenge, raising your eyebrows.

“Do you really want to go there?”

You shrug indifferently. “Haven’t decided. Now, are you going to fuck me or what?”

He has to cover your mouth with his hand when he starts snapping his hips into yours, forgetting about how loud you get when you’re this worked up.

“Baby, we’re not home alone, you have to be quiet,” he hisses, even though he’d much rather hear all your pretty sounds.

“Feels too good,” you whine. “Fuck me harder, Lix! Please, harder...”

“Harder? Gonna break you in half if I go any harder.”

“Yes, yes, break me in half,” you sob. “It’s been so long. Missed this so much.”

“Will you be good and stay quiet for me if I give you what you want?”

You nod. “I can be good.”

“Are you lying?”

You hesitate. “Maybe.”

Felix laughs coldly and shakes his head in disbelief.

“But not because I don’t want to be good!” you protest. “I just can’t help it.”

“I know, baby,” he coos condescendingly. “Can’t even think straight when you’re so fucked out like this, isn’t that right?”

“Uh-huh.”

The change in dynamic is almost comical. Mere minutes ago, Felix could barely move without cumming, too lost in the feeling of your hot cunt to concentrate. Now, you’re the one gasping for air and clawing at his back like an animal. Even Felix is surprised by the amount of self-control he’s exerting. He’s using it to his advantage though, taking the opportunity to thoroughly ruin you like you deserve.

Even if you’re completely silent, the sounds coming from Felix’s room are obscene and anyone that walks by would immediately know what you were up to. Seungmin or Minho had probably already texted the groupchat announcing Felix’s loss but he didn’t care. All he wanted was to make you feel better than Wooyoung ever could.

“Does he fuck you like this? Huh?” Felix is wandering into dangerous territory, he knows, but he can’t help asking. He needs to know. “Does he make you feel this good? Cum this hard?”

“No!” you cry. “No, he doesn’t!”

“Be honest,” he growls, wrapping his hand around your throat. He only applies a little pressure, just enough to make you lightheaded the way you like.

“I am! I’m being honest, I promise.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Lix, ‘m gonna... gonna cum,” you whine.

“Who told you you could do that?”

Your eyes get wide at his response, bottom lip trembling. “What?”

“Who gave you permission to cum?” Felix demands. He’s right there on the edge himself so he doesn’t really know why he’s dragging it out, but he just wants to see you squirm a little more.

Thankfully, you’re quick to adapt to the new rules. “Can I? Can I please cum? I need it, baby. Please make me cum... please tell me I can. I’m not gonna be able to stop myself if you don’t...”

The desperation in your eyes does something for him, and knowing he can’t hold back any longer, he relents. “Go ahead. Be a good girl and cum for me, baby.”

He’s only halfway through the sentence when your body locks up and you scream his name, gushing around his cock. If he’d waited any longer you wouldn’t have been able to obey him. He helps you ride it out by rubbing your clit and fucking you through it, letting his own orgasm wasm over him as you’re still clenching around him.

“Oh god, I’m cumming. I’m cumming, fuck!” he groans, making a last ditch effort to stop it before it happens. But his efforts are in vain because it’s too late and he’s cumming into the condom so hard his vision whites out.

When he starts to come down, you’re still weakly rocking your hips into his, whimpering with every thrust.

Felix winces at the oversensitivity but doesn’t stop you. With how long it’s been since he last got off it won’t be long until he’s hard again.

“Insatiable tonight, aren’t you?” he muses. “Came three times and still want more.”

You frown and try to get yourself to stop without much success. It’s like your hips are moving on their own accord. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Want you to be satisfied.”

“God, you’re so good to me,” you moan and wrap your arms around Felix’s neck, making his chest feel tight all of the sudden.

“It’s what you deserve.”

He doesn’t have enough energy to hold himself up above you properly so he has you roll over onto your side so that he can slip himself inside of you and you can fuck yourself back against him that way.

While you’re doing that, Felix feels around the bed for his phone, grabbing it when he feels it under one of his pillows.

Like he predicted, he doesn’t even have to announce his loss because his roommates did it for him.

Min: Felix lost

Chris: what? how do you know?

Seungmin: we heard it happening :/

Min: and we’re traumatized

Innie: thank god i wasn’t home

Felix: you guys could have LEFT. you didn’t HAVE to listen!!!! btw changbin i need to talk to you

Min: oh no not his government name. someone’s in troubleeee

Binnie: um. 0.0 should i be worried

Felix doesn’t respond right away, wanting to make Changbin sweat a little for the trouble he’d put him through.

He puts his phone on his bedside table so he doesn’t lose it in his bedding again and turns his attention back to you. The oversensitivity had started to bleed together with pleasure and Felix could feel his cock getting stiff again. He groans and buries his face in your shoulder, inhaling the scent of your shampoo.

There was still a lot to talk about with you. He needed to address his feelings, be honest about everything. But for now...

“Round two?”

nnn tags: @doesthismeannothingtoyou @yellowroses-world @allyoops @thelostverse @karlitaburrito @lydataylorsversion @septemberkisses @caticorn61 @multifandomtrash-dree @cixrosie @mchslut @cutiequokka @fairygemss @multistancheck @lady—-boner @stay-bi @compersian @raspbinniecreme @skzgallll @strawberriesandknives @laylasbunbunny @goddessofhiddenpleasures @brit97 @jonaticdragon @linobuns @vampcharxter

#no nut november #no nut november stray kids #nnn skz #stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #felix smut #felix x reader #flashing tw #lee felix smut #lee yongbok smut #yongbok smut #stray kids x female reader #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x you

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gaylordscooter · 5 months

Text

One Year of This So-Called Hell

It's been awhile since they've started living at the castle. They've grown used to it. They wouldn't call it their home or call each other their housemates, but they certainly thought of it like that.

However, despite how long they’ve been here, they still have yet to get acquainted with Nightmare. They were all casual with each other except with him. For obvious reasons, including but not limited to the fact he kidnapped them all and puts them through grueling situations from time to time.

Though, that latter reason has diminished over time. They didn't know if he was running out of ideas or what, because recently these situations have become akin to game nights. Quite literally they would play some board game or card game. It was kinda fun. None of them were going to complain though, even if they found it odd.

But today something especially odd happened. Not only was there a breakfast setup for them when they arrived at the kitchen this morning, Nightmare himself was at the table.

At first none of them said anything to him. Then Killer decided he couldn't stand the silence and said a good morning that was directed at everyone.

“Good morning, Killer,” Nightmare responded in a formal tone. He took a bite out of his pancakes. The three were watching him in disbelief as he chewed and swallowed. He looked up, taking note that none of them were making a move to sit down. “I hope the food isn't that bad. It took me a few tries to make something decent.”

“you cooked this?” Horror asked in surprise. He shot a skeptical look at the food. He's never messed with their food before, but he wouldn't be surprised if he started now.

“I made an effort to. There are no eggs as I couldn't extract the edible part without getting the casing mixed up in it.” He continued to eat, trying to show the food wasn't tampered with.

Killer shrugged and pulled out a chair to sit down a few chairs away from Nightmare. He grabbed a plate and a few pancakes. He quickly inspected the food before dousing it in an ungodly amount of syrup and began to eat.

Nightmare couldn't help but stare at Killer's soul as they ate, as weird as that was. He was transfixed by the shape. It was different, much more reminiscent of a proper monster soul rather than the usual target.

“hey, bud, my eyes are up here,” Killer said.

Nightmare's eye snapped up as if he was a child that was caught holding a knife. He noticed that Killer’s eye sockets, which were usually empty, had ringed eyelights at the moment, but usually he’d only have them when he was experiencing intense emotions—often negative. He didn't sense any negativity from him at the moment.

“whatcha lookin’ at?” he questioned despite knowing the answer.

Nightmare felt the other two’s tension and wariness. “Your soul's different,” he noted.

Killer’s posture relaxed a little. “oh, yeah. it's been that way for a bit.” He glanced at the other two, silently pleading them to stop standing in place awkwardly and to actually join them at the table.

Fortunately, Horror read his mind and made a move to sit down, prompting Dust to as well.

“May I ask what it means for it to look that way?” Nightmare implored.

Killer seemed taken aback by the question. His smile went crooked, at least more than usual and he slouched as if to cover his soul with the table. “am i allowed to say ‘no’? you kinda already asked.”

“You need not answer,” he responded. He dropped the topic; the question made Killer uncomfortable and he would rather not drive him away.

Dust and Horror were finally beginning to eat. Nightmare was almost worried they’d never start.

“i’ll tell you if you answer two of my questions,” Killer eventually said, to his surprise.

Of course he’d turn this into a bargain. “Ask away.”

He noticed that piqued Dust and Horror's interest.

“what’s up with the breakfast? you've never done this before.” Killer said.

“I can be nice, once in a while.”

Killer scoffed, rolling his eyelights.

“And it's a special occasion. It's been a year since I first brought you all here,” he added. He debated doing something like this in the first place. His relationship with these three was unusual. He was their tormentor; their personalized hell. At the very same time, he was their provider, in a way. He’d bring them food, water and shelter, things normally a parental figure would do—even though he was everything but that.

Horror laughed dryly, “how nice, a breakfast to celebrate a whole year after you kidnapped us to treat us like your toys.”

However, as far as he knew, he was nothing but a demon and that was exactly how they saw him.

His brother was an angel, and he was a demon. That's just how things were.

“second question, why haven't you ever messed with our food?”

Horror’s expression soured as he glared at Killer like it was a warning.

“it'd be pretty effective torture, right?” He continued to eat despite the topic at hand.

“It’d be effective,” he agreed, “but only once. Afterwards, Horror would be too far gone to do anything with.”

Horror dropped the fork he was holding with a clatter. His smile was tense and nearly a straight line.

“you’d still have me and dust, though,” Killer said.

“you little shit—”

Killer turned his head to Horror revealing his serious expression to him to silently tell him, no, he's not giving him ideas. He's trying to get information.

“Killing or irreparably harming any of you would be a major inconvenience, that is why.”

Killer stood up and leaned towards Nightmare, putting his hands on the table. “you said we were easily replaceable,” he remarked.

“I said there were many like you, not that you were easily replaceable,” he corrected. He didn't like where this conversation was going. “I answered your questions, now answer mine.”

“fine,” Killer huffed, sitting back down and crossing his arms. “i don’t know,” he said.

“What?” Nightmare said in a low rumble. Was he tricked? He didn't take kindly to the notion that Killer was going back on their deal. His tentacles flicked irritably.

Horror, noticing the ends of them sharpening, decided to speak up, “he doesn't. at least, he doesn't know what causes it.”

His tentacles relaxed, no longer threatening to lash out at Killer. “Do you feel any different?”

Shouldn't he already know that?

“oh he sure feels different,” Horror said.

Killer shrunk in on himself, trying to look invisible. Embarrassment. Shame? Guilt.

Why was it suddenly harder to discern his emotions?

“I want to hear it from him.” His eye bore into Killer.

Killer groaned, bordering on a growl, “you’re telling me you haven't felt a difference? actually, i’m surprised you’ve kept me around before, considering i didn’t feel anything.”

Nightmare's eye widened.

He didn't feel anything before? That wasn't right. He could sense his emotions the whole time. That's how he found him in the first place. As far as he knew, he wasn't like Ink either. It was very clear he had a soul.

“You did feel before. That's how I found you,” he insisted.

Killer narrowed his sockets. Anger. “i was only acting, until recently. none of it was real.”

He could feel bitterness coming from Dust.

Killer frowned, risking a glance at Dust. “but it is now,” and it’s terrifying, “and it’s weird.”

“How long has it been like this?” He knew Killer was getting annoyed at all the questions but he couldn't just drop it now. He didn't care if he was getting annoyed.

Killer had the audacity to stand up.

“Sit back down,” he ordered.

“i don't need to answer you. i don't need to follow your orders. i'm not your pet,” he spat as he roughly pushed his chair in, making the table jolt.

“You aren’t,” he sighed as Killer stormed off. His eye darted to Dust and Horror. They hardly ate anything.

“it’s been fluctuating ever since we got here,” Horror said once Killer left. “but recently it's been staying that shape.”

Nightmare was surprised at Horror’s willingness to share that information. “I’ve been sensing fear from him recently.” It didn't take a genius to find out that it was connected. “But there's also been positive emotions—coming from all of you, actually.”

Horror scoffed in a way that sounded like a laugh, “call that stockholm syndrome.”

He did not know what “stockholm syndrome” was, but from his knowledge he knew that the word “syndrome” had negative connotations. Did he inflict a disease of some kind on them without knowing?

He stood up, picking up his plate with one of his tentacles that stretched over to the sink to place it down. “I will be taking my leave now. Thank you for humoring me.” His body melted into the shadows and he was gone.

Horror shook his head, “what a weirdo.” He put a few more pancakes on his plate and resumed eating.

Dust refrained from eating, merely picking bits from his pancake and dropping it back down on the plate.

“so…how are things between you and killer?” he dared to ask. It's been about a week since they had that fight. The two were avoiding each other. Well, Dust was obviously avoiding him. Killer just made no attempt to approach him—at least to his knowledge. This led to Killer spending more time with Horror, and honestly, he has no clue how Dust has tolerated this guy for so long.

Dust made a guttural noise that was basically a growl.

Though it was a clear show of his discontent, Horror couldn't stifle a chuckle.

That only exacerbated Dust’s sour mood. He stood up.

“hey, wait,” Horror said. “you hardly ate anything.”

“not hungry,” he signed.

Horror looked unconvinced. “that's bullshit and you know it.”

Dust sighed and picked up his plate.

“c’mon dude, don't go wallowing in your room.”

“don't play therapist,” Dust muttered.

“someone in this castle needs to stay level-headed. you didn't answer my question.”

“what do you think?”

“i think…that killer’s an asshole and you're right to be pissy, but you two should probably talk,” he suggested. He gave him a serious look, “he's driving me insane, dust.”

“it's all he’s good at,” he said bitterly.

“c’mon now, that's not true.”

Dust didn't even have to say anything.

“ehhh. we still care about him anyway,” Horror said.

Dust was mad that he couldn't refute that without lying.

Nightmare found Killer outside in the forest, he was nearby a make-shift shelter he made for the stray cats that lived here. It took him an embarrassingly long time to find him because he wasn't in the castle, but him being outside for once was a welcome change. Since he wasn't holed up in his room it meant Nightmare didn't have to worry about intruding on his private quarters.

Killer loudly groaned when he noticed Nightmare. He ignored him and continued to watch and pet the cats.

Nightmare remembered how terrified Killer was when he saw him hanging out with a bunch of cats. He thought he would harm them—he was so sure that he instigated a fight to protect them. Once that was resolved, he started going outside much more often just to see the cats. He was still tense whenever Nightmare was near them, however.

“Have you named them yet?” Nightmare asked.

“what’s it to ya? waiting for me to be more attached to them so you can rip them away from me when the time’s right?” Killer snapped. He didn't take his eye off the cats.

There were six of them, each of them having various colors and patterns. He was surprised Killer could take care of that many, considering he couldn't take care of himself.

Nightmare hummed thoughtfully, eye skimming over the group of cats. “I was merely curious, usually people name things they look after.”

Killer scoffed, “you named dust and horror.” The brown cat rubbed its head against his outstretched hand.

“Yes.”

“you don't ‘look after’ them.” He gently scratched the chin of the cat. It was purring.

“Depends on how you define ‘look after’. I definitely monitor them.”

“no shit,” he snarked.

“i also supply food, water and shelter.”

Killer frowned and stood up. The cats meowed in protest. He faced Nightmare. “what are you getting at?”

“You see me as needlessly cruel, as if I’m incapable of doing kind things,” he replied.

Killer laughed forcefully. It startled the cats, making them retreat to their shelter. “what? suddenly feeling like you deserve sympathy? i don't give a shit if you do kind things. that doesn't change the fact that you tortured us.”

Surely none of it was worse than their situations in their old universes.

“Right. Forgive me for digressing, but what, pray tell, is ‘stockholm syndrome’?”

It seemed like Killer found that question humorous. “you trying to do that to us? is that what your deal is?”

Frankly, Nightmare had no idea what Killer was talking about.

“you start being all nice and dandy to make us think ‘oh he's not all bad. i actually enjoy being here’.”

“You do,” Nightmare pointed out, “enjoy being here, I mean.” He could sense that clearly.

“fuck off. you don't know that for sure,” he said bitterly.

He couldn't deny the utter contempt Killer held for him.

He dipped his head. “I apologize.”

“you what?” Killer said incredulously.

Why was he apologizing? He was deceiving him. He had to be.

Nightmare didn't know what he was doing. He's hardly bothered to show remorse. There wasn't any reason to start now. Except, after seeing the companionship between the three, he couldn't help but feel jealous.

He wanted connection. It was pathetic to admit, but the only person he was close to was his brother. Was.

How cruel of the multiverse to allow him to yearn for something he wasn't allowed to have. He couldn't help but try to get what he wanted.

“For choosing you three to inflict pain upon, I apologize. You don't deserve it yet I do it anyway.”

“i don't deserve it?” Killer said. “hah! who the hell am i talking to right now? you really nightmare?” He strode closer to Nightmare and thrust a finger at him, poking him in the chest.

Nightmare was shocked by the sudden contact.

“y’know, you and me are pretty similar in some aspects. we don’t have the capacity to care and yet we're pretending we can anyway. you can't fool me. i know you're just trying to manipulate me with that apology.”

Nightmare took a minute to respond, scanning over Killer’s feelings and expression. Again, he was hard to read, like he was able to obscure it. He wasn't trying to manipulate him. He really wasn't. But he supposed he hasn't been upfront enough with him to believe that. “Do you recall when we encountered Fresh for the first time?”

Killer snarked, “what about it?”

“I could've left you, you said.”

“you didn't save us out of compassion, you just needed us for your stupid plans or whatever.”

“But you thought you were replaceable. Which one is it?” he countered.

“it's whatever's most beneficial to you,” he retorted. “you said it would’ve been a hassle.”

He did say that. Nightmare was stumped. He didn't even know where he was trying to go with this. It wasn't like he could make Killer’s hatred towards him disappear.

Maybe he could make Killer’s self hatred go away.

Why did he think that? Did he want that? That wouldn't benefit him.

Maybe he was sick of the feeling of hatred, like loneliness. Like being sick of having the same food over and over again.

He felt something down by his tentacles. He tried to hide his surprise but he hastily looked down to see one of the cats nudging against one of his tentacles. It was the brown one that cuddled Killer a moment ago. Nightmare froze.

“hey!” Killer barked and knelt down to shoo the cat away from Nightmare. “baked beans, i told you not to get near him,” he scolded the cat.

The cat meowed out a whine.

Killer frowned and stood back up as the cat walked away.

“‘Baked beans’?” Nightmare echoed. “Is that its name?”

“don’t hurt her.”

“You are awfully insistent that I’m going to hurt these cats. Has anyone told you about self fulfilling prophecies?”

Killer decided to take that as a threat and drew out his knife.

Nightmare made an attempt to seem less threatening, having all of his non-essential tentacles tucked away. “I’m not going to hurt them, Killer.”

“you're lying!” he shouted and pointed his knife at him. “i’ve seen it happen. you're going to do it, i know it! you're just trying to get my guard down.”

He’s seen it happen?

“Are you having nightmares, Killer?”

He didn't answer.

He couldn't reason with him now, he supposed. Nightmare decided the best course of action was to simply leave. He sunk into the ground.

Killer frantically scanned the area, taking a few minutes until he confirmed that Nightmare did indeed leave. He knelt down, curling in on himself as he sighed. The cats walked back over to him.

Nightmare reappeared in the kitchen, startling the two skeletons that were currently on the couch of the other half of the room.

Usually they wouldn't be startled at his appearance. At least, not anymore. He caught sight of the drinks in their hands, they seemed to be similar. He scrunched his eye in disgust. “What the hell is that?”

They were surprised at his language. Usually he didn't express surprise like that, or at all. Dust and Horror looked at each other as if neither had an answer.

Instead of verbally answering, Dust thrust the drink out. Was he offering it to him?

Nightmare got closer to inspect it. When he reached out to grab it, he saw the two’s sockets widen. He brought it up to his face, the goop covering his mouth melted away as he took a sip.

Oh god. That was awful.

He refrained from spitting it out and managed to brute-force his way into swallowing. A whole shiver rippled throughout his body, and it didn't help that it literally made the goo on his body ripple for a bit.

Horror and Dust remained painfully silent.

Nightmare calmly handed the glass back to Dust. “It's horrible,” he deadpanned.

“he was just trying to show you it, not…” Horror didn't even have to finish his sentence.

Oh great, he misunderstood. He didn't even have to drink that. It was painfully obvious he was embarrassed, even after he covered his mouth once more. “Why do you drink such awful concoctions?”

Dust shrugged, wiping the rim of the glass with his gloves before resuming the consumption of that horrific beverage.

Nightmare refrained from showing his disgust. He moved over to one of the chairs near the couch to sit down. All of his tentacles disappeared, revealing the rest of his cloak that covered most of his legs.

Dust spat his drink out while Horror gawked.

Nightmare flinched, “What?”

Dust gestured at the lower half of his body.

“you have legs!” Horror exclaimed.

“Of course I have legs!? I’m a skeleton like you two.”

“you’re a skeleton?”

Nightmare realized how little they knew about him. “What did you think I was?”

Horror scrunched his face, unsure how to answer. “not…a skeleton?? what's up with all the slime then?”

“I suppose you could call it melted parts of my own body fused with a surplus of magic. Would you care to see how I look without the ‘slime’?”

Horror was very confused at his willingness to be open about this. Which was fair. From their point of view, all of this was coming from nowhere.

Dust, however, immediately signed “yes.” It seemed like his curiosity trumped his confusion.

“Alright,” he said. He focused, shifting his energy into one concentrated point: his forehead. The usual glowing cyan crescent moon on his forehead grew into a full moon as the goop on his body disappeared, revealing white bones with a blue tint to them underneath.

The silence that came after was deafening. The way Horror and Dust looked at him felt different. It was like they saw him as a different person like this.

Sure he was less menacing in this form, but he didn't think he looked that different.

He did. He totally did. He was even smaller like this. He was probably shorter than the two if he were to stand.

“you look so young…” Horror said.

He didn't like the tone of his voice. Maybe this was a mistake.

He quickly changed back to his usual form. The dark goo flowed out from the moon like a waterfall until his whole body was coated in it once again. He immediately felt more comfortable. He decided he was never going to do that again. “As I said, I’m a skeleton like you two.”

“you’ve mentioned you had a brother, does that mean—”

“My brother is not a Papyrus, no. He looks just like me. I did not have a world like yours nor was I ever like you. In fact, I did not even have a world.”

Horror blinked at the onslaught of information. He just learned more about him than he ever has the entire year. “you're pretty chatty today.” About yourself, he meant.

“I suppose it's the torture for today.”

“torture for us or for you?”

At this point, what was the difference? Nightmare thought, but it went unsaid.

Once Dust finished his drink, he got up to put the glass in the sink. When he tried to go to the hallway, Nightmare opened a portal underneath him to get him back on the couch. He glared at Nightmare in protest.

“Dust, I know you and Killer are having some…complications right now,” he said, completely changing the subject. “Although it's provided plenty of energy for me, you two can't avoid each other forever.”

“but wouldn't that benefit you?” Horror questioned.

“I’m not going to risk Dust killing him out of anger.” That wasn't even an exaggeration considering their game of Monopoly the other day. He had to physically wrench them apart when Killer made him bankrupt. “Go make up with each other.” He summoned a portal underneath Dust, sending him to the forest where Killer was.

Dust managed to land on his feet, luckily. He didn't want to fall on his face right in front of Killer to give him something to laugh about.

Killer damn near screamed at his sudden appearance, but he played it off by coughing into his hand when he realized it was just him. Now all the cats around him were skittering about frantically. “miss me that much you had to drop by?”

Dust was completely unfazed by his pun, leaving Killer to awkwardly laugh at his own joke.

“‘m pretty proud of that one,” he mumbled as if to voice disappointment.

Of course he was proud, it was a miracle whenever he could think of a pun on the spot. It was something he was oddly insecure about, not being able to come up with jokes that well.

Dust supposed it was a reminder that he was hardly “Sans” anymore. It seemed like such a small thing until you thought about it. Dust knew he’d use humor to cope or to cheer people up. It was second nature, a skill polished throughout his life, even. To suddenly lose that ability…he wondered if Killer looks at his past self and sees a stranger.

“you just gonna stand there and stare at me like i stabbed your soul?”

While he wasn't skillful at punning, he sure was great at handcrafting every sentence he says to annoy him.

Killer’s cheerful facade dropped, “seriously, are you? i’m having a moment with the cats.”

Is that what he's been replaced with? Cats?

Even though Nightmare ordered him to make up with him, he really didn't feel like talking at the moment.

He wondered what Killer would do if he just continued to stand here in silence. Knowing Killer, he won’t be able to just ignore him.

Yet he turned around to face the cats. He knelt down to pick one up—the one with a pure brown coat—that one was his favorite. He named it something stupid but Dust couldn't remember it off the top of his head at the moment.

He just kinda held the cat for a little while, petting it in silence.

And then after a bit he stopped. The cat whined at this and hopped out of his arms.

He sighed. “i…i’m sorry, okay?” he finally said.

Pathetic, he couldn't even face him when he said it.

“i shouldn't have messed with you like that. i thought you were playing along. i forgot that…i refused to believe you really did care about me and it took you stabbing my soul to get me to realize.”

He had to pause as his breath shuddered, probably trying to keep himself composed. He still hasn't turned around or stood up for that matter.

“i don't know if i can care about you back. i care now, but,” his voice wavered, “you’ve seen how unstable my soul is. at any moment it’ll just snap back to the same old shape of a target and then boom, nothing! a pillow could care about you more than me.”

“i think all i’d do is hurt you,” Killer said. He turned his head to look at him, “you wouldn't want that, would y—woah,” only to see Dust right in front of him, crouched down to be at eye level.

Killer raised a brow bone, having zero clue where this was going.

Dust put a hand on his own chest and then gently brought out his soul.

Killer’s eyes blew wide open.

It was odd, seeing a normal monster soul for the first time in awhile. Well, it wasn't entirely normal. It was pale white, covered in cracks, and an unusual dim glow of red outlined the edges. He could guess where that came from and it wasn't LV.

Before he could ask what his deal was, Dust spoke, “get your knife.”

Oh, HELL no.

His own soul (metaphorically) jumped out of his body at the instruction. He immediately knew where this was going and he did not like it.

“no!” Killer objected. “the hell’s gotten into you? i’d kill you!”

Dust looked as calm as ever. “you're scared,” he noted.

“of course i…” Killer furrowed his brow bones. “you’re trying to prove a point aren't you?”

He saw Dust’s smile curl up. Bastard.

He held his soul out to him as if it wasn’t the culmination of his being. “hold it,” he said.

Killer stared at it, dumbfounded. “i’m not gonna—”

“forget the knife. hold it,” he repeated, apparently switching his approach to this.

Killer shakily held a hand out, allowing Dust to place his soul in it.

He dare not move, as if it was a motion sensor bomb. Nevertheless, he couldn't stop himself from trembling.

He shifted his gaze from the soul to Dust’s eyelights, unsure of which one to look at.

i could kill him. all i’d have to do is squeeze my hand shut. it’d be so easy. would it pop?

He didn't want that. God, he didn't want that at all.

“you're not going to kill me,” Dust stated like he was so sure of himself.

“i could.”

“do you want to?”

“god no.”

“and my soul’s still fine,” Dust remarked.

“what the fuck are we doing, dust?” Killer asked, looking at the soul in his hand in disbelief.

“i dunno, trust exercise?” he offered as an answer.

“pretty intense trust exercise,” he chuckled half-heartedly in an attempt to ease his tension.

“and stabbing your soul wasn't?”

“i wouldn't call a murder attempt a ‘trust exercise’.”

“you know i didn't want to kill you,” he reminded.

“right. you want your soul back now?”

Dust gave a nod.

Killer carefully handed his soul back to him. A moment later it was back in his rib cage.

He let out a sigh of relief, keeping his gaze on Dust to ensure that he hadn't become his namesake. “we chill?”

Dust smirked. “we chill.”

A portal to the kitchen opened near Killer and Dust immediately after.

They could see Nightmare and Horror sitting on the couch looking right at them. Nightmare was slowly clapping in a mocking manner.

“were you two watching the whole fucking time?!” Killer barked. He threw his hood over his head to cover his blushing face.

“Not the most conventional way I’ve seen two people make up,” Nightmare remarked. “It was certainly interesting to watch.”

“my life's not a goddamn sitcom, asshole!”

Nightmare guffawed. He was fucking with him and it was absolutely working.

Killer crossed his arms and pouted. He gave Dust a “can you believe this guy?” look.

Nightmare’s laughing ceased suddenly, “Hurry up and get inside. I have something to give you three.”

“oh, goody, is it a bomb?” Killer asked sarcastically. Despite his sass, he stepped through the portal alongside Dust.

“No, actually.”

A portal opened on the ceiling between Nightmare, Horror and them.

A shopping cart with a huge pile of clothes on it crashed down onto the floor.

It took Killer a second to realize those were the same clothes they left that time they went shopping, when they first encountered Fresh. He reached down to pick up one of the articles of clothing, they were still in fairly good shape. “how the fuck?”

“That is Killer’s gift, of course.” He looked at Dust. A wrapped present appeared in his hands. “As for you, I wasn't quite sure what would be appropriate for you.”

Dust cautiously took the present.

“how come he gets his gift all fancifully wrapped?” Killer complained. He was currently trying to get all the clothes back in the shopping cart. Alas, the pile he made the first time was a one-time feat.

“Because he's less annoying.”

Dust tore the wrapping paper and opened the box that was inside. He looked at the contents inside blankly.

“what is it?” Killer questioned.

Dust reached inside to take it out and show them.

Killer and Horror’s sockets widened as that familiar red-orange came into view.

It was Papyrus’s cape.

Nightmare was unsure what reaction this gift would get. He's seen other Sanses from Dusttale universes wearing it. It supposedly had sentimental value.

It seemed that Dust was also unsure how to react. There were conflicting emotions, Nightmare knew that much.

He carefully put the cape back in the box and signed a “thank you”.

“As for you, Horror,” He held out what appeared to be a rock at first.

Horror inspected it, realizing it was a phone—his phone. He was irked by the idea of Nightmare going to his home universe just to grab this. At least, he hoped he didn't do anything but grab this.

However, the phone might as well have been a rock. He doubted Nightmare knew the phone wouldn't even work. The thing hasn't been charged in years.

And then it caught him off guard by ringing. He flipped it open, seeing the words on the screen indicate that the call was coming from his brother.

He tried to stop his hopes from getting up. He reminded himself this could be a prank call and it wasn't his brother at all.

“Go on, answer it,” Nightmare urged.

This had to be a prank. Papyrus’s phone wouldn't be able to work there was no power—and even then he was in a completely different universe.

He answered the phone.

“SANS!” Papyrus’s voice immediately rang out. “FINALLY, I THOUGHT YOU’D NEVER ANSWER! YOU’RE ALIVE! OH MY GOD YOU’RE ACTUALLY ALIVE!” He sounded on the verge of tears.

“bro?”

“YES, SANS?”

“just checking that it's actually you and not a prerecorded message,” Horror managed to say. The smile on his face grew as it became genuine. He saw Dust and Killer watching him in his peripheral vision.

“I COULD SAY THE SAME THING. I WASN’T SURE THIS WOULD EVEN WORK!”

“how are you calling right now? was the core fixed?” he dared to ask.

“OH. UH, NO. ABOUT THAT…” Papyrus trailed off going quiet for a minute.

“what happened?” His grin faltered slightly.

“DO NOT FREAK OUT.”

“you're gonna make me freak out if you don't tell me what happened.”

“OUR WORLD WAS KINDA DESTROYED, BADLY.”

Horror’s eye socket went blank. “what?!” he shouted.

Papyrus was quick to clarify, “BUT I’M DOING FINE! ACTUALLY, WE RELOCATED TO A MUCH MORE HOSPITABLE PLACE! SURE OUR HOUSE AND THE ENTIRETY OF SNOWDIN IS COMPLETELY GONE FOREVER BUT THERE’S FOOD HERE AND MAGIC AND I CAN CALL YOU! SPEAKING OF WHICH—WHERE IN THE WORLD HAVE YOU BEEN!?”

Horror sighed in relief. He glanced at Nightmare, who looked eerily indifferent to all of this, before he answered his question. “i kinda got kidnapped by an otherworldly entity, sorry bro.”

“YOU AND YOUR WEIRD HOBBIES, WARN ME NEXT TIME. I THOUGHT YOU DIED. THE ENTIRETY OF SNOWDIN DESCENDED INTO ABSOLUTE CHAOS WITH YOU GONE—ALSO THE WORLD-DESTROYING THINGY PROBABLY PLAYED A ROLE IN THAT TOO.”

“aw geez, is everyone else okay?”

“YEA, EVEN UNDYNE.”

Horror’s expression soured at the mention of her. “well, that's great,” he said sarcastically. He vaguely heard someone else on the other side of the call. From what he heard it didn't sound like anyone he knew.

“OH, ALREADY?” Papyrus replied to the unidentified person. “I SEE,” he sounded disheartened. “BROTHER, I NEED TO END THE CALL NOW BEFORE IT TEARS A HOLE IN THE MULTIVERSE.”

“huh?”

“I’LL SEE YOU LATER, LOVE YOU!”

“love you too,” Horror managed to say before Papyrus hung up. The second the call ended he felt incredibly drained. He felt like he got a mental whiplash when he looked at the room he was in.

Killer seemed to tune out the last bit of their conversation as he managed to get all the clothes piled back on the shopping cart. It seemed like Dust helped him.

Nightmare was also looking at those two rather than at him. He wondered if he was eavesdropping on the phone call or not.

It's been an entire year since they've been here. He had no idea how much longer this would last. He didn't even know what would happen after.

“I will be out for the rest of the day,” Nightmare announced, opening a portal behind himself. “We are stocked up on supplies, correct?”

“you got it, chief,” Killer piped.

“Not my name…” Nightmare muttered before leaving.

Killer sighed the moment the portal closed, looking up at the pile of clothes. “i have no idea how i’m getting this to my room.”

“bet you can't get it to your room by the end of the day,” Horror said, still recovering from that call.

“hey. you're totally wrong.”

Horror shrugged, “time's ticking.”

Killer then decided that pushing the cart would be an effective way to get it to his room. To his credit, it wasn't until he was met with the obstacle that was the doorway to the hall that his plan became flawed. He turned his head to Horror. “so what are we betting exactly?”

#utmv fic #the bad sanses #nightmare sans #horror sans #killer sans #dust sans

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magicalrocketships · 1 month

Note

Daniel is not special!!! I am also fucked up over de-aged max 😭😭

And sometimes Daniel is very fucked up. All earlier parts can be found in this masterpost and on AO3 here (I was planning on putting the outstanding ones on AO3 tonight, but I'll do it over the next couple of days instead, including this part).

This sort of follows on from Waking Up and Max is big again.

It's You And Me (I Know It's My Destiny): In which Daniel is sad, and Max and Daniel go on holiday (this part 2.9k)

"I have sand in my shoe," Max says.

"You can't have sand in your shoe," Daniel says, because they have been out of the car approximately 36 seconds and the beach is still the other side of the car park. All Max has stood on is the gravel next to the car. His Pikachu trainers are still tightly laced up.

"I can," Max says. He's not been enthusiastic about this beach trip from the moment Daniel's mum suggested it. He plays with the handle on the car door as if that's miraculously going to unlock it again and let him get back inside.

"You'll like it when we get there," Daniel says, sounding like his mum and her mum and probably every mum in the history of his family.

"Hmmm," Max says. "When are we going home?"

There's a strange little pull in Daniel's chest. Home. Max talks about home like it's a plant with Daniel's flat in Monaco the root and wherever Daniel is right now the leafy green. His favourite thing is when they're all together, but he'll take being with Daniel so long as going home is also on the cards.

"Later on," Daniel says. "We've got some fun to have first. We can go in the sea."

Max looks decidedly dubious. "There might be sharks."

"We won't swim if there's sharks," Daniel says. He rifles through his mental compendium of fun things they can do on the beach today. "There's tomato soup?" he offers. He's got a flask of it in his bag. He's learned. "And you can take pictures with my camera."

Max blinks at him. Unimpressed.

"My mum and dad will be here soon," Daniel says, desperate. "You can tell them all the facts out of your flag book."

"All of them?" Max asks.

"All of them," Daniel agrees. "Come on."

"Hmm," Max says, but he slips his hand into Daniel's.

&&&

Daniel finally acknowledges that he's hungry, so he gets out of bed and goes into the kitchen to find something to eat. It has been a week since his last supermarket delivery, and four days since he woke up to find Max gone, big again, disappeared back to a life which doesn't involve Daniel in any real way. There are apples slowly going soft in the bowl. Max likes apples. He likes them cut into slices with the core cut out. Depending on how crunchy the apple is, sometimes he likes the skin cut off. He doesn't like them when they're soft. Daniel can't be bothered to eat them, so he leaves them in the bowl. The fridge doesn't contain anything useful either, and the bread's gone bad. He stands in front of the kitchen cupboard with the crackers in and eats three of them. He follows it up with a packet of dried vegetable snack food for toddlers, significantly out of date, from when a tiny chunky three year old Max came to stay. He drinks a can of Red Bull looking at the empty cat litter trays. He needs to sweep the few remaining bits of litter up and take the bin out.

He doesn't do it. He finishes his can of Red Bull, goes for a piss, and climbs back into bed again with the covers over his head.

He hasn't showered in four days. He hasn't eaten a proper meal in five. He closes his eyes, buries his face in the pillows, and ignores the buzzing of his phone.

&&&

"I'm not jumping in."

"Okay," Daniel says, zooming in on a picture of the pool. "You don't have to jump."

After their relatively unsuccessful beach day, Daniel drops the idea of renting a beach house for his parents and Max for the remainder of their trip to Monaco, and instead, goes for a gîte up in the hills. It has a pool and a pétanque court and somewhere to play badminton. It has two bedrooms up in the attics, which Daniel plans on claiming for him and Max, and one downstairs with a massive bathroom for his parents. The local village boasts two specialist bakeries. Daniel hopes they're specialised enough to do a boring sliced loaf for Max to have buttered on a daily basis.

"You won't make me jump in?" Max asks, pressing himself to Daniel's side. He's so close that Daniel might require a spatula to get them apart. He's looking at the pictures of the gîte on Daniel's laptop. It's a last minute booking; they leave in the morning.

"Promise," Daniel says. He hasn't actually asked if Max knows how to swim, so his mum and dad have got floats on their shopping list just in case. They've gone out to buy last minute things for their holiday tomorrow..

"There's no sand?" Max asks, leaning over and digging his elbows into Daniel's thigh so he can get a closer look at the pictures.

"Not by the pool," Daniel says.

"I don't like sand," Max says, which is something Daniel knows, after Max had refused to touch it at the beach. "I don't like it in my shoes."

Daniel ruffles his hair. "No beach trips. I know. There is a train, though. We can go for a ride on it if you like."

"At the house?" Max asks dubiously.

"No, we'll have to drive to it. We can take my mum and dad."

"Yes, please," Max says. "Are the Jimmy or Sassy cats coming on holiday with us too?"

"They're going on their own holiday." A fucking expensive one too, at a luxury cat hotel. Cat ownership, even of the temporary variety associated with Go Small guardianship, is tremendously expensive. They've got the 'getting the cats into their multi storey cat carrier' experience to have later on too. They cats have clearly spotted the cat carrier and are sitting on top of the cupboards in Daniel's kitchen in protest. Daniel foresees a number of new scratches later on. A little pre-holiday gift.

"Will they poo in the cat carrier again?" Max maintains this is the funniest thing that has ever happened in his life, even beating the noises the camel made at the zoo, which he asks Daniel to imitate about three times a day.

"Probably," Daniel says grimly.

"Good," Max says. He leans his face against Daniel's shoulder. "Can we take the night lights? In case you are scared, Daniel."

Daniel kisses the top of his head. "Sure," he says. "We can walk around the flat and you can tell me all the important things we should take."

"Good," Max says. He's a solemn little boy sometimes, quiet and thoughtful and terribly protective of Daniel. Daniel is equally protective in return. "Pikachu won't get lost if he comes, will he?"

"No," Daniel says. "He can wear his own seatbelt in the car."

Max nods. "Good," he says. Then, "Let's pack now."

"Sure," Daniel says, who's never packed anything early in his life. "It'll be a fun surprise for my mum and dad if they come home and we're all ready to go."

&&&

The sound of the key in the lock should rouse him out of bed, but it doesn't. He's not expecting anyone, but if they've got a key it can't be all bad. Anyway, he can't be bothered to care.

He stays where he is, in bed, and waits for whoever it is to come and find him. To tell him what they need from him. It won't be a seven year old Max come to visit, so it doesn't matter anyway.

"Daniel?"

It's his mum. She's supposed to be in Australia. She isn't supposed to be here. He would have remembered that.

She pushes open the door to his bedroom. It smells in here. It's been six days since he showered. He's eaten the remains of the stale crackers and there's crumbs on the sheets and on the floor.

"Oh, Daniel," she says.

"Hi, Mum," he says. She looks sad, and worried, but Daniel doesn't feel anything. He's had a hole in his chest for a long time now, and it's grown every time Max got big and left him again, and getting to have a Go Small Max all over again and then losing him like clockwork has just meant the hole has swallowed him up. "Did I know you were coming?"

"You didn't answer your phone," she says, coming over and sitting on the bed. He moves his legs to let her sit down. "We've all been very worried about you."

Daniel hums. "It's okay," he says, although it seems like a long way to come just because she's worried about him. He's fine. "I'm just tired."

"Okay," she says. "Can I get a hug?"

She must have been travelling a long time. Daniel hugs her. He can smell himself, warm and stale and tired. She seems upset. Maybe he should be upset too. He just misses Max. He wants Max back.

She picks Pikachu up from the floor and brushes cracker crumbs off him. She tucks him up in bed next to Daniel. "I'm going to go see what's in your fridge, and then I'll come back and run you a bath, okay? We'll get you fixed up, Daniel, I promise."

Daniel nods. He just wants to sleep. He settles down into his sheets again, pulling Pikachu in close. He smells like Max. One day he won't, and Max won't Go Small again, and Pikachu will be all that's left of the months Max spent with him, small and serious and perfect.

His mum leans over and kisses him on the forehead. "Love you," she says.

Daniel closes his eyes.

&&&

Max stands on the side of the pool. Daniel's in the water, doing a very stupid dance. He's singing along, making up the words as he goes along. Max tells him he's being very silly.

Daniel agrees. They've been here two days so far and they've barely been out of the water. They've splashed and played and made up stupid games and done piggy back rides and played water badminton and piggy in the middle and had races where the point was to come last and Max has been happy the whole time. They've blown up stupid floats and ridden a giant flamingo and floated on a palm tree and paddled a boat. He suspects his parents haven't spent this much time in a pool in their lives.

They've made their excuses now, though, his dad getting the barbecue ready for dinner and his mum reading her book and taking a million pictures and videos of Daniel and Max together.

Daniel's heart sings. Max is having such a good time. He'd spent about 25 minutes in his own bed on the first night, and then gravitated straight into Daniel's, Daniel coming upstairs to bed to find Max sprawled out sideways, flat out, with Pikachu in one hand and his toy otter tucked under his other arm. The nightlights were on in both rooms. Daniel had resigned himself to sleeping in Max's bed until he'd managed about seven minutes sleep and Max was waking him up because Daniel would get scared if he slept by himself. Max had assigned himself Daniel's protector a long time ago and wasn't going anywhere. So, Daniel had the edge of the bed and Max had the remaining diagonal space, and everyone was happy (but mainly Max).

And now Max wants to jump in. He's practiced putting his head below the water, which he didn't like the first time and is now better at. Daniel's told him it doesn't matter if he decides he doesn't want to, but Max is brave and resilient and trying his best. And Daniel's ready to catch him. His mum's got the camera ready, and his dad's cheering Max on.

"Will you catch me?" Max asks.

"I won't let anything happen to you," Daniel says. "I promise."

Max studies his face. "Okay," he says finally. He puffs out his cheeks and jumps.

Afterwards, when Daniel's finished parading a cheering Max up and down the pool, his mum shows them the pictures. Max is beaming. Daniel doesn't think he's ever seen a picture of himself looking happier.

It's scary, if he stops to think about it. But he doesn't, so it's okay.

&&&

Daniel eats a sandwich and then has a bath. He can barely find the energy to wash his hair. When he gets out, the water's gone cold and his mum's put fresh pyjamas on the chair by the bathroom door. She's changed the sheets too, swapped Daniel's gross ones for fresh ones. She's even folded up Max's Pokemon blanket that Daniel's been hugging all week and put it at the end of the bed. The window's open and the curtains are pulled back. Pikachu isn't on his pillow anymore, because Max is sitting on his bed, holding him.

He's not small. He's big. He's just Max, normal sized, world champion Max.

Daniel gets back into bed. He takes Pikachu from Max and tucks him under his chin.

"Daniel," Max says.

"I'm tired," Daniel says. Max doesn't ever stay. He gets big and he leaves. He stops needing Daniel and he leaves.

Max's hand hovers over Daniel's arm. It rests on his elbow. "You didn't say you were not okay, Daniel."

"I'm fine," Daniel says. "Just tired. What are you doing here? You don't stay here when you're big."

Max flinches. Daniel feels it.

"I think I should not have left you," Max says. "But I am here now. Your mum has gone to the shop. You do not have any food."

"I'm not hungry," Daniel says. He doesn't feel anything. He misses Max. Max is here and he still misses Max, his Max, the one who needs him. "I want to sleep."

"Okay, Daniel," Max says. "Then I will stay here with you. So you are not alone."

Daniel nods. He doesn't believe it. Max always leaves. He takes his cats and his things and leaves a big hole behind him, and Daniel's chest swallows it up. He gets emptier. He feels empty now. "You won't stay," he says. "You don't stay."

"I will," Max says. "I will look after you. I am going to help your mum."

Daniel closes his eyes. He's tired. He'll wake up and Max will be gone. It's okay. He's good at losing him now. He'll cope.

He sleeps.

&&&

Max jumps in and he jumps in and he jumps in. He's delighted, excited, happy. He jumps in without Daniel holding out his hands to catch him, and lets Daniel float off to the side and just cheer him on in instead.

Afterwards, still excited, he wears his special robe to sit next to Daniel by the side of the pool and demands Daniel's mum show them both all her pictures. Daniel, in his matching robe, sits through picture after picture of the two of them together, of Max beaming, of Daniel beaming back. Of them beaming at each other.

Max is happy enough only to complain a little bit when Daniel reapplies sun cream to Max's flushed face. When Daniel's mum goes to help with dinner, Max buries himself in Daniel's side.

"I love you," Max whispers, like it's a secret. He tilts his face up and kisses Daniel's cheek.

Daniel wraps an arm around his shoulders. He kisses the top of Max's head. "Love you more," he says.

Max shakes his head. He's steadfast. He loves Daniel the most. He can't conceive otherwise. But it's okay. Daniel knows the truth: there's no one in this world he loves more.

&&&

When Daniel wakes up, he knows Max will be gone. He'll have left again, gone home, gone to find his real life, the one that Daniel isn't a part of. The one where he isn't needed.

Daniel doesn't open his eyes. He can hear his mum in the kitchen. He recognises her tread, the soft sound of the radio. He recognises her.

If he opens his eyes, Max will be gone.

"It is okay, Daniel." It's Max. He's here. He's stroking Daniel's hair. "Your mum is here and I am here. I'm not going anywhere."

Daniel swallows. He opens his eyes. Pikachu is still tucked into bed with him, the sheets pulled up over his shoulders. Max is lying next to him.

"I didn't want you to wake up alone," Max tells him. He's still stroking Daniel's hair. He's not very good at it. He's a little awkward and unsure, but Max doesn't stop something if he doesn't know what he's doing. He just keeps on going.

Daniel trembles.

"It's our turn to look after you," Max says. "We will get you better, Daniel. We'll make everything okay. I promise."

Daniel—who is desperate, exhausted, and scared—clutches at Max's hand.

Max laces his fingers with Daniel's. He leans in to kiss Daniel's forehead, and Daniel—that hollow in his chest suddenly aching, and he's breathless, his hand hot in Max's—abruptly starts to cry.

&&&

"Are you enjoying your holiday, Max?" Daniel's dad asks.

Max looks up from his new book of cat facts. He's been laboriously sounding out names of cat breeds to Daniel for half an hour.

"It's my best holiday ever," Max says in satisfaction.

He tucks his hand into Daniel's, looks up, and beams.

(thanks to Zoe @flawlessassholes for her help with the first 7/8ths of this and to Lin @andwegogreen for her help)

#my fic #de-aged maxiel #baby max #fic that i wrote #it's you and me #ps daniel is sad in this one

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fanfictionismyaddiction · 15 days

Note

Toto Wolff with wife reader. She and their son, Jack in the paddock during the race in Monza and the podium celebration. Credit to @wonderwolffs

https://www.tumblr.com/wonderwolffs/760618842108067840/mercedesamgf1-the-magic-of-monza-the-wolffs?source=share

Up to you how it goes. Add anything you want.

Winning in our own way

Word count: 891

Pairing: Toto Wolff x wife!reader, feat. Jack

Summary: Toto Wolff teaches his family the value of unity and support, even without a podium finish

Thank you for that request and thank you to @wonderwolffs for posting these sweet pics of the Wolffs

________________________________________________________

The Italian sun cast a golden glow over the Monza circuit, the vibrant energy of race day filling the air. The roar of engines and the cheers of fans echoed through the stands as you stood in the paddock, cradling Jack in your arms. Your little boy’s wide eyes sparkled with excitement as he took in the sights and sounds around him.

Toto stood beside you, his presence a comforting, steady force. He had one hand resting on your back, his thumb brushing gently against your shoulder, while his other hand lightly caressed Jack’s back. The three of you formed a close, intimate circle amid the flurry of race-day activity.

“You’re going to love this, Jack,” Toto murmured, leaning in closer so that only you and your son could hear. “Even though it’s not our day on the podium, it’s still going to be something special.”

Jack turned his head to look at his father, a curious expression on his face. “But why aren’t we winning, Papa?”

Toto smiled, his eyes warm as they met yours before he looked back at Jack. “Today, it’s someone else’s turn to win. And it’s important to be happy for them, even if we’re not the ones at the top. That’s what being part of a team is all about.”

You adjusted Jack in your arms, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “And we’re here to show our support, because everyone worked really hard today. It’s not always about winning, but about doing your best and being proud of that.”

The race was thrilling, each lap a testament to the skill and determination of the drivers. But as the checkered flag waved, it was clear that Mercedes wouldn’t be standing on the top step today. Charles Leclerc took the victory, with Oscar Piastri and Lando Norris rounding out the podium. The tifosi erupted in cheers, the sea of Ferrari red in the stands a sight to behold.

Toto exhaled softly, a mix of pride and acceptance in his expression. But when he looked at you, holding Jack so close, his gaze softened even more. “Let’s go to the podium,” he said, his voice gentle. “It’s important for Jack to see this.”

With Toto’s hand still on your back, guiding and supporting you, the three of you made your way to the podium area. Jack’s small hands clutched at your shirt as he took in the scene, his excitement palpable even in the midst of his curiosity.

As the drivers celebrated on the podium, the crowd’s cheers filling the air, Toto’s hand never left your back. His fingers traced soothing patterns, his way of grounding you both in the moment. Jack’s eyes were wide as he watched the champagne spraying, the sheer joy on the drivers’ faces a powerful image.

“They’re so happy,” Jack said softly, his voice full of wonder.

“They are,” Toto agreed, his voice equally soft as he leaned in to kiss the top of Jack’s head. “And we’re happy for them, right?”

Jack nodded, his little face lighting up with understanding. “Yeah, Papa. We are.”

After the podium ceremony, as the drivers came down to celebrate with their teams, you and Toto approached them with Jack still in your arms. Charles was the first to notice, his face breaking into a wide grin when he saw the three of you.

“Toto, Y/N, Jack!” Charles greeted warmly, crouching down to be at Jack’s level. “Did you enjoy the race, Jack?”

Jack nodded enthusiastically, a big smile on his face. “It was amazing! You were so fast!”

Charles chuckled, his gaze flickering up to you and Toto. “You’ve got a good one here,” he said, clearly charmed by Jack’s enthusiasm.

Oscar and Lando joined the group, their own smiles bright as they congratulated each other. You offered each of them a warm hug, Jack still secure in your arms, his little head resting on your shoulder now that the excitement was beginning to wear him out.

“Great job out there,” you said sincerely. “You all earned this today.”

Toto reached out, shaking hands with each driver, his respect evident. “Well done, all of you. This was your day.”

Lando grinned, his eyes flicking to Jack, who was fighting to stay awake in your arms. “Thanks, Toto. It’s nice to see you all here together. This is what it’s all about.”

As the celebration wound down, you and Toto stood together, watching the last of the crowd disperse. Jack had fallen asleep in your arms, his tiny breaths soft against your shoulder. Toto’s hand remained on your back, his presence as comforting as ever.

“Today was special,” you said quietly, leaning into him.

Toto nodded, his gaze tender as he looked at you and then down at your sleeping son. “It was. Not just because of the race, but because of what we’re teaching Jack. That it’s okay to not always be the one who wins, but to be happy for those who do.”

You smiled, feeling a deep sense of pride in the man beside you. “I’m proud of you, Toto. For the example you set, for the way you lead—both here and at home.”

Toto’s eyes softened as he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “We’re a team, Y/N. In everything. And today, we won in our own way.”

#fanfiction #reader insert #f1 #fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #toto wolff #fluff #toto wolff x reader #totowolff

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wowzer-bowzer · 19 days

Text

Title: Something More (part 1)

Summary: Paige proposes

The morning sun poured through the curtains, casting a warm glow over Paige as she lay in bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling.

She turned her head slightly to look at you, finding you still sleeping soundly beside her. Paige couldn’t help but smile. Even after three years, waking up next to you felt like the best part of her day.

Paige carefully slipped out of bed, trying not to wake you. She needed to get a head start on her plans, but first, she had one very important task: asking for permission.

Paige stood nervously in front of your family’s house, her hands sweating despite the cool morning breeze. She’d been here countless times, but this time was different. This time, she wasn’t just your girlfriend, but your girlfriend asking for the future.

Your father opened the door with a warm smile. “Paige! Good to see you, come on in.”

Inside, your two brothers were already waiting, sitting around the kitchen table with curious expressions. Paige took a deep breath, steadying herself as she walked in and took a seat.

“So, what’s this about?” Your older brothers asked, a teasing smile on their face.

Paige looked at them, her heart pounding. She’d never been this nervous before, not even before her biggest games. But this was bigger than any game.

“I wanted to talk to you all because… well, I’m planning to propose to Y/N,” Paige started, her voice steady but her hands trembling slightly. “I love her more than anything, and I want to spend the rest of my life with her. But before I do, I wanted to ask for your blessing.”

The room was silent for a moment, and Paige felt like she might pass out from the tension. But then your father smiled, a warm, approving smile that made Paige’s heart swell with relief.

“You’ve always treated her right, Paige. You have my blessing,” he said, his voice filled with genuine affection.

Your brothers nodded in agreement, their teasing smiles replaced with sincere ones. “You’ve got ours too. We know how much you love her.”

Paige let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, her smile wide and relieved. “Thank you. It means a lot.”

The next morning Paige woke up early, her heart racing with excitement. Today was your three-year anniversary, and everything HAD to be perfect. She turned to see you still asleep, your face peacefully, relaxed with a stand off hate covering it. Paige smiled softly, feeling that familiar warmth fill her chest, and lightly moved the stand away.

She carefully slipped out of bed and started getting ready. Breakfast was the first step—a cozy little spot in the city that you loved. Paige wanted everything to feel special, but still natural, like any other day you spent together.

When you finally woke up, Paige was already dressed and ready to go. “Morning, beautiful,” Paige said with a grin, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Happy anniversary.”

You smiled sleepily, stretching out before sitting up. “Morning, babe. Happy anniversary.”

You got ready and then headed out, the day already feeling perfect as you walked hand in hand to the breakfast spot. The morning was crisp, the city just starting to wake up, and Paige couldn’t help but feel like everything was falling into place.

Over breakfast, you both reminisced about your favorite memories together—trips you’d taken, nights spent laughing until your sides hurt, the little moments that made your relationship what it was.

After breakfast, you headed to the movies, a classic date that you both loved. You leaned against Paige during the movie, your head resting on Paige’s shoulder, and Paige felt a surge of affection as she gently kissed the top of your head. She couldn’t wait to ask you the biggest question of their lives.

Once the movie was over, Paige casually suggested, “How about you get your nails done and do some shopping with the girls? I’ll pick you up later for dinner.”

You looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “Are you planning something?”

Paige grinned, trying to keep it cool. “Maybe. Just go with it, okay?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head but agreeing. “Alright, alright. I’ll go get pampered.”

While you were out with your friends, Paige went into full preparation mode. She drove out to the beach, her heart racing as she began setting everything up. The spot she’d chosen was perfect—secluded enough for privacy but with a breathtaking view of the sunset.

She laid out a blanket, surrounded by candles that would light up the moment. The centerpiece was a small table with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. Nearby, a small speaker was ready to play your song. Paige took a step back, looking over everything, trying to steady her nerves.

This was it.

When everything was finally set, Paige picked up her phone to text you. Ready when you are. See you soon, babe.

When Paige pulled up to pick you up, her heart skipped a beat. You looked absolutely stunning, your freshly done nails gleaming in the evening light, and the shopping bags from your day with friends only adding to your radiant smile, that driver get crazy.

“Had fun?” Paige asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

“The best…You’re up to something, aren’t you?” You eased as you got in the car.

Paige just grinned, her heart pounding. “You’ll see.”

You drove in comfortable silence, the anticipation in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. When you finally arrived at the beach, Paige guided you down the path to where she had set everything up.

You gasped as you approached, your eyes wide with surprise. “Paige, this is… this is beautiful.”

Paige couldn’t help but smile, relieved that you liked it. “I wanted to make tonight special.”

You both sat on the blanket, sipping champagne, watching the waves roll in as the sun began to set. The sky turning into a stunning blend of oranges and pinks, the kind of sunset that looked like it was made just for you.

Paige’s heart was racing, her hands sweating as she tried to find the right moment. Finally, as the sun dipped lower, she took a deep breath and turned to face you.

“Y/N, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Paige started, her voice soft but steady.

You looked at her, those beautiful eyes filled with curiosity and affection. “What is it?”

Paige reached into her pocket, pulling out the small box she’d been carrying all day. She opened it slowly, revealing the ring inside—a simple, elegant band with a diamond that sparkled in the fading light.

“Y/N, I’ve loved you from the moment I met you. You’ve been my rock, my best friend, my everything. Every day with you feels like a gift I never expected to receive. I can’t imagine my life without you. I don’t want just a piece of you—I want all of you, forever. I want to share every sunrise, every laugh, every tear with you. You’re the love of my life, and I can’t wait to grow old with you and have our own little Paige’s. Will you marry me?”

For a moment, you just stared, your eyes wide with shock and emotion. Paige felt her heart stop, waiting, asking-no, praying for an answer.

Then, your face broke into the biggest, most radiant smile Paige had ever seen. “Yes, P. Of course, yes.”

Relief and joy flooded through Paige as she slipped the ring onto your finger, pulling you into a tight embrace. You both stayed like that for a long time, just holding each other as the waves crashed softly in the background, the sun finally dipping below the horizon.

As you pulled back, you cupped Paige’s face, tears in your eyes but a smile on your lips. “I love you so much, Paige.”

“I love you too, Y/N. More than anything,” Paige whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

You kissed, the world around you fading away as you were both wrapped up in each other. It was the perfect ending to a perfect day, the beginning of the rest of their lives.

A/N Hope you enjoys, this is part one of two :)

#paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers fanfiction #paige bueckers #paige x reader #paige buckets #uconn wbb #uconn x reader #uconn women’s basketball #uconn huskies #paige bueckers uconn #wedding #proposal

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jmdbjk · 1 month

Text

I'm telling you, their life flashed before their eyes...

The staffs' I mean...

WARNING: CONTINUED POSSIBLE SPOILER ALERT! I may or may not mention "Are You Sure?" scenes in detail and their outcomes during these long rambling messy posts beginning with the next sentence.

While on the kayaks, JK flipped over almost immediately. this sequence will be legendary in my mind:

All is well so far. Let's go kayaking! After being assisted by the Black Hall Outfitter staff, including Mr. Gino, they take off.

At this point, staff is walking away, ready to get on a boat to follow. Everything is cool. But something's not right. Why is the horizon at a 45 degree angle?

Staff has not noticed yet...

Jungkook's $1700 Balenciaga fancy pants are about to get soaked.

Jimin does not see what's going on behind him. Yet.

I can read his mind: "WTF?"

Staff finally notices and thoughts of living on the street start to flash through their heads...

Jimin can't believe what he's seeing...staff is sprinting into action...

He was first worried about his phone but one of the staff had it.

Staff thinking "I'm too old for this shit."

Drowned Rat Jungkook was not on my bingo card. I need a new bingo card.

Meanwhile, Jimin fearlessly paddles out to the middle of the river wearing his $70,000 Patek Philippe watch on his wrist... gasp.

Please take a moment to appreciate that gorgeous sunset in the background.

Seems some of Jimin's Slytherin has rubbed off on our little Ravenclaw (I know that's debatable but that's for another post).

Jimin was probably clenching so tight that flipping over would have been disaster for him.

Jungkook gets back in the kayak and is on his way... staff breathes a sigh of relief that they won't be jobless tomorrow.

Remember when he said this?

And this is how we know Jungkook is able to move past his own missteps.

But still desires some sort of collateral retribution from those more fortunate than he:

And this is the true and lasting take away from this little incident:

A moment that can be a beautiful memory.

And this is about the time this moment happened:

Now we know.

Jungkook was about to put on his royal blue Salty to the Core t-shirt. He wasn't taking off a shirt, he had already taken off his wet shirt and he was about to put on a dry one. That shirt in his hands is not black. And now we know Jimin was about to put on his turquoise one. And now we know what kind of fun they'd had up to that point. And now we know Jimin was struggling with a stomach bug when this pic was snapped. And now we know that Jeep parked next to them was theirs. And now we know they were about to head to the campsite. And now we know why this photo was special enough to Jimin that he posted it on his Instagram for Jungkook's birthday. They'd just had so much fun doing something they never get to do. Definitely a cherished memory for them. It was so endearing to me. I feel privileged knowing so much about this particular day. I hope they are doing all right today...

Things I cannot relate to and will never happen to me:

• Driving over a bridge not realizing Jimin and Jungkook are the ones on those kayaks down there on the river.

• Shopping at Dick's Sporting Goods and running into Jimin and Jungkook while they shop for mens size small shorts and Nike slides.

• Sitting at a bar at my neighborhood craft brewery while global stars next to me sample several pale ales and hard sodas.

Again, I will end it here as I've used up the posts image limit. I will be back with part three of Episode 1.

#jimin #jungkook #jikook #kookmin #are you sure?#salty to the core #i hope they are doing ok

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violetrainbow412-blog · 1 year

Text

Hearts [S. R] part 2

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

word count: 3.9k

part 1!

summary: morning coffees become the special moments between you and Spencer, but you also discover that he may have more competition for his love than you expected.

N/A: I never thought this would be so well received and I honestly feel so happy! I am very grateful to all the people who requested a second part, I hope you like it and if you want to tell me something in the comments I will read it with pleasure!

people who might be interested: @c-m-stuff @no-soy-fer @synthsescape @bella-fics @cynbx

That morning Spencer came to his desk with coffee in hand and set it carefully to one side, the sight of his scrawled name looming large throughout.

Spencer <3

What did that mean? It was his name, that's obvious, but it was written with such a careful and clean line that it was very beautiful to admire and the heart drawn next to it was what didn’t quite add up in the whole thing. Reid knew that it was an ideogram used to express the idea of affection or love, so the most logical conclusion was that you were trying to communicate a feeling of that kind, but then he wondered: was it affection between friends? a simple show of affection, he supposed. Nothing further, surely it could not be anything else.

There were days when you and he barely saw each other, as the team had to go out to handle cases in the field and you stayed behind to do literally whatever you could do to complete your service hours, but every morning without fail you looked for him to deliver the long-awaited coffee. You were keeping your promise and for three days you arrived with two cups on the tray, one clean and the other labeled for him: Reid, Spence, Doctor R., all titles followed by a drawing of a heart. When Friday rolled around and you handed him what he thought would be his last cup, you decided to propose a deal.

"Today I was thinking that I could buy your coffee permanently, if you want” you exclaimed kindly, while you watched him from the chair that you had pulled to sit next to him. Some mornings when there wasn’t so much movement you would stay there to drink a few shots of your coffee and share a small moment of the day "It's on my way here and it's obvious that you like it"

“Oh, I… I couldn't even think about it, no. I would take too much advantage of you"

“You're going to pay me back, Reid. I'll just bring it” you laughed, watching him turn red to the ears while he drank a little to try to mask it.

"Then, I'd love to," he exclaimed with a tight-lipped smile. He was a little excited to continue having excuses to talk to you every day and, above all, to drink the delicious coffee that he had already gotten used to.

"Although I'm running out of ideas, to be honest," you said amused, because that day the cup didn’t have any inscription due to that lack of creativity. But as by the work of fate, an idea came to your mind, so you smiled from ear to ear while you took a black marker from your friend's desk and took the cup from his hand. Spencer looked at you carefully and curiously while you were writing and just when you finished Hotch called you from the other side of the tables "I have to go, don't miss me too much" you murmured, handing him the glass and then winking at the boy, who in response only awkwardly raised his hand.

Once you left, he looked at what you had written, less neatly than the other times, and felt himself grinning like a fool:

My fav agent and again that damn heart.

“Y/N”

"Yeah?" you asked, looking up at another of your fellow interns. You had a room where everyone could stay for a while to work on their own business, but on this occasion, curiously, only women had gathered at the table, there were about five of you in the entire building. Among them Jennifer, a girl you liked very much and with whom you could presume to have something like a friendship, and for some strange reason there was also Victoria.

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Huh… yeah, I guess" you muttered a bit confused, and even though you didn't know the girl she smiled in your direction.

“Is that brown-haired guy you talk to every morning your boyfriend?”

“Spencer?” you asked, widening your eyes at the surprise with which the question had taken you. You expected her to ask what band you listened to the most, your favorite food, or some other stupid thing, but not that. Now all the girls' attention was on you, including Victoria's inquisitive scowl and Jennifer's amused look “I wouldn't say that”

"And do you think you can introduce me?" she said with more enthusiasm than she intended, and they all laughed collectively.

“I get second in line”

"Girls, girls..." Jennifer intervened and you knew that from that moment the topics of the internship would take a back seat “He may not be her boyfriend now, but that doesn't mean she doesn't want him to be”

"Jenn!"

"Am I lying?" she sneered “You smile every time you see him and you two look so in love whispering to each other every morning. Also, a week ago I saw you go out together at night”

"Jenn," you insisted, muttering to her in the hope that she would notice that you wanted her to shut up. It wasn't that you were ashamed of being associated with him, you just didn't want to spread wrong rumors that might embarrass him.

“How come he's already an agent? He looks very young”

“It's because he's a prodigy, duh. He’s as attractive as he’s intelligent”

"I imagine that being such a smart man he knows perfectly the weak points of a woman" another girl murmured, joining the conversation "If you know what I mean"

“For now we are just friends. That's all" you said trying to end the conversation, completely embarrassed that such a personal matter had ended up as the talk of all the female interns of the FBI. It was supposed to be a serious job and you guys looked like gossipy high school girls.

"Maybe he's waiting for someone better," Victoria said into the air, a venomous tone permeating every word.

"Anyway, if you give up, can you get me his number?" insisted the first girl. You nodded just so as not to break his illusion, but you knew very well that Spencer didn't use a phone beyond what was necessary for work.

Even though you yourself had told him that surely many girls liked him, you didn't expect that he really had admirers so close and to be honest a pang of jealousy invaded you. Victoria was the most obvious of them all, but you knew that being college girls they were more likely to admire the masculine charm of perhaps the youngest member of the FBI. They too were young and beautiful, but you chose to trust that you had the upper hand in winning the man's affections.

You tried as hard as you could to concentrate on your tasks, but now that his name had come up it was hard to think of anything but him. Spencer wasn't a very expressive guy, but you knew that he was comfortable with you or else he wouldn't seek you out or agree to talk to you like you did, although clearly that didn't ensure that he was attracted to you. Maybe he just saw you as a good friend.

At night, when you were about to go home, you tried to look for him so you could see him again with the excuse of saying goodbye, but you were surprised when you saw that he was talking to Victoria in an already empty section. Curiosity to know what they were talking about invaded you and you stood where you were, squinting your eyes to try to read their lips. Reid wasn't participating too much in the chat, you'd even say he looked awkward, but she was shamelessly flirting with him. Perhaps the sudden change in attitude that she had had was what your friend had missed so much and just when you thought of approaching to go save him from the situation, she stood on her toes and crashed her lips against his, leaving you standing just in your place and completely in shock.

You didn't expect her to dare to do something like that, but the reaction he had left you even more surprised, because, although it wasn't so favorable, he didn't seem bothered by the show of affection he had just received either. He just stood in front of her, looking her up and down as if he were analyzing her.

You didn't want to stay there any longer and almost instantly you turned around to walk out the front door, hoping that this had meant absolutely nothing to him and the next day you could look him in the face without feeling the jealousy boiling in your veins.

It was almost time for dismissal when Spencer remembered that he had a file to go through that he'd ignored all morning, and he cursed himself a little for leaving things until the last minute. His coworkers told him that he could finish it the next morning, but he knew that if he did that he probably wouldn't have time to drink coffee with you so he preferred to stay a little later there.

Little by little the offices emptied and when there was almost no one left, he finally finished, feeling the discomfort of the recurring pain in his back due to the bad position in which he sat. He put his things away, put on his coat, and slung his briefcase over his shoulder, ready to go back to his apartment, but a person got in the way when he was about to cross the hall. Due to exhaustion and seeing that it was a female body he assumed it would be you, but when he paid more attention, he noticed that it wasn’t even remotely possible that the ironed black hair was yours.

"Doctor Reid"

"Miss Evans" he greeted her, without losing cordiality, but not with too much emotion either.

"What are you doing here so night?"

"Job. There's nothing else to do around here at this hour,” he said without looking at her. But the girl was determined to get that one-night stand that she was sure you had, lie as it was.

“It's a shame, but I know a bar near here that you might like if you want to have a little fun”

“Bars are noisy and are one of the biggest sources of infection that can exist. Sweat, alcohol, and unknown fluids permeate the environment and it is very probable that the consumption of drugs affects not only those who consume them but also those who are close to them, so I prefer to decline your invitation" he exclaimed, hoping that this explanation would be enough to make it clear to this woman that he wasn't interested.

“So you're more of hanging out in the apartment? I have a lot of great things in mine, including a jacuzzi."

“Jacuzzies are unsanitary” he insisted. If he proposed, he would know that he would find a valid excuse for whatever plan she might suggest.

"What a killjoy, Agent Reid” she giggled, but he wasn't too amused by any of it. "Do you ever have fun?"

"I think my concept of fun and yours diverge a lot" he murmured, still not looking at her directly and ready to end the conversation.

Spencer was about to leave when she raised herself to his height and in a quick movement that caught him off guard, she smashed her lips against his. As she turned away from her the man froze completely in his place, looking at her from head to toe as if she were some strange natural specimen.

"What if I promise there will be more of that?" she asked, in a last-ditch attempt, faking a honeyed voice. He was going to respond when there was something that forced him to look in the direction of the exit door, where someone else was already walking. From the pattern of colored stripes on the jacket he knew it was definitely you and if it was you then you probably witnessed the entire exchange. He felt the urge to run after you to justify himself for something he hadn't even done, not knowing why he was embarrassed or worried that you'd seen that. “Come on, are you really going to say no to all this?”

"Listen to me, Victoria. I understand if having power over others gives you pleasure because you are the least noticed and recognized member of the family, or if you enjoy saying hurtful things to people to feed your own insecurities, but I ask that you please stay away from me and stop trying whatever you're trying. I don't like you, you're a bad person and I won't allow you to kiss me without my wanting it, or to make your sexual advances that won't get you anywhere. So again, I say don't bother me again” he said and without waiting for any answer he walked out of sight of her. Even if he had stayed, Victoria had her ego so hurt that she didn't think of anything to say back and instead she just let helpless tears fill her eyes, followed by a gesture of a tantrum.

When Spencer came downstairs he couldn't find you anywhere and the anxiety in his stomach only increased, wishing he had misrecognized the person who had left so it wasn't about you. The matter didn't keep him awake, of course, but when he noticed the next morning that you weren't at his desk, he thought it was reason enough to worry. Worse still when he noticed that you had left a lonely cup on the table, with absolutely no adorable titles decorating it. It made him feel so guilty, like he somehow knew that you were upset because you'd seen Victoria kiss him the night before and he wasn't worthy of your affection anymore.

Even Hotch noticed that he was more distracted than usual and although he had already seen your exchanges, he thought it would be better not to intervene in anything that had to do with young love. Being a cupid was a more difficult task than the one he already fulfilled at the BAU. So when night came and he didn't look at you anywhere, anxiety was already eating him to the ground, wishing he could have your phone number to at least comfort himself with hearing your voice. Going to your apartment was something he considered, but then it became unthinkable because he didn't even know how you would react.

Victoria became less of a concern as she seemed to get the message perfectly and every time during the day that he crossed her path she just looked away, totally offended.

But when the same situation arose twice, he felt that something was wrong and he wasn't going to endure a third time. It was then that Spencer left the house early that morning to stop by a bakery and buy a couple of fresh sweet buns, hoping that this time you were expecting him. But his disappointment was greater when he saw that once again there was only the bare cup of coffee.

"Didn't you see Y/N?" he asked Elle when he arrived, nervously fiddling with the paper bag he was holding in his hands.

“No, she just left your coffee and left, but I don't know where. She seemed pretty rushed”

Spencer inwardly cursed and sighed in frustration, until a few seconds later he caught sight of you on the other side of the building, carrying a stack of folders and talking on the phone. He didn't hesitate for a moment before running (at first, then he slowed down a bit as he remembered the incessant times Hotch had scolded him for it) towards you so he could finally talk to you.

“Y/N,” he said softly as he reached your side, and he took the bright smile you gave him as you turned to look at him as a good sign.

"Wait a minute" you mouthed, still answering the call you had on the line, and when you hung up you finally turned your attention to him "Hey, Reid. Good morning"

"I bought you this" he murmured, showing you the bag with food inside, and you almost moaned with happiness.

“Food is what I need most to survive the day”

"What are you doing?"

“Two days ago, your boss Gideon thought it was a good idea to make me his personal secretary. So right now, I'll do everything he asks me to do” you snorted, obviously exhausted by the work you had done and by the ones you surely would have to do.

It clicked in the boy's mind and then he understood that this was the reason you hadn't seen it, not because you were angry. Relief ran down the length of his spine.

"Really?"

“I don't even think that's legal, you know? I'm an intern, they don't pay me a penny and they take advantage of me like I earn the same as the fucking president” you complained. Until then he noticed that you were struggling to hold the papers and he decided to stretch out his hands to help you carry them, like a real gentleman "Thank you"

“Where should you take them? I'll accompany you” he offered. You led him through the halls to a file store that even he doubted he knew about, and explained that your job for the next several weeks would be to sort and categorize the case files for a more efficient process of future searches.

“I'm seriously thinking about giving this whole damn thing up and selling hotdogs in some park or whatever. I would be happier and I would earn almost the same” you joked, raising your arms to stretch your back a bit like a cat that had just woken up. The place was completely alone, silent and the lighting was so dim that it even looked gloomy “Did you get my coffees?"

"Yes, I did," he muttered, "I thought you were mad at me though”

"Why?"

"Because..." he hesitated for a moment if it would be wise to mention what he thought was the reason for your anger, until he realized that saying it out loud would simply sound absurd. There shouldn't be a reaction on your part to the facts “you weren't there. And you didn't write anything”

"Oh, I was in a hurry. I'm sorry,” you sincerely apologized. While you were talking to him you thought that you could start to categorize the documents that you would have just brought and you got to it, hoping that he wouldn't interpret that as a sign that you wanted him to leave; luckily Spencer rushed to your side to help you as soon as he could.

"Alright. I'm glad to know you're not upset."

"If I had known that you loved my notes so much, it would have taken me a few seconds" you smiled and when you turned your head you noticed that you were too close to him, or he to you, rather.

You were silent for a few moments until he couldn't take it anymore. He needed to know your opinion about what you had or hadn't seen that night.

"Victoria looked me up the other day," he said disinterestedly. You smiled victoriously for not having to be the first to mention it, even though the matter was slowly burning inside you.

“Oh, I know. I looked at you talking to her” you exclaimed bitterly, without taking your eyes off the files.

"And she too... huh..."

"Calm down" you interrupted him, taking a bunch that were already ordered and moving away from him to take them to a filing cabinet "I saw that too"

“It was so strange”

"It was pathetic," you said without any embarrassment. You finally looked up and noticed some fear in him, as if he thought you meant that he was pathetic "It wasn't even a good kiss"

"And what would one be like?" he replied without thinking. You stifled a laugh and looked at him kindly.

“That's not something I can explain to you, Reid. I would have to show you"

“Well…” he said, finally breaking away from your gaze and staring at you with those big beautiful hazel eyes.

You were surprised that he wasn't averse to it because you honestly didn't expect to achieve anything with that sentence, you just wanted to tease him a bit. Spencer kept looking at you in silence for a few seconds and you knew what that look meant, or at least you thought you did. Those pleading eyes only screamed one thing: show me. Kiss me.

You walked enough steps to close the distance and stand right in front of him, looking down at him with a smile of pure mischief.

“Well, what?"

“Nothing, nothing, I just… I thought you could enlighten me a bit on the subject. As unbelievable as it may seem, I am very uninformed about the standard of what is considered a good or bad kiss” he admitted. Even flirting he sounded like a walking book.

You weren't going to give him time to regret it so you took him by the lapels of his formal shirt and with a yank you pulled him to you. Spencer's breath caught at how sudden the contact had been, and you heard him release the trapped air over your lips, giving you the chance to deepen the kiss. At first he was tense, but after a few seconds you felt his shoulders relax considerably and that's when you slid your hands down the length of his neck until you reached to hold his cheeks. One of your hands left that position only to guide the man's hands to your waist and once you were in this way you took the opportunity to push your body against his a little more, with your torso attached to his. There was no mention of how the tip of your tongue experimentally flicked across his lips and made him sigh audibly.

Spencer nearly whimpered as the heat from your body left his.

“We just shared approximately 80 million bacteria” you blurted out, but he was too flushed and shocked to corroborate denying the information. Just to play with him you decided to give him another kiss, shorter and louder than the previous one "And you just had a good kiss"

You didn't wait for any reaction before separating completely and that made him come out of the trance he was in, still not believing what had just happened. He couldn't even say anything before your phone started ringing with a call.

"I'll see you later?"

"It's up to you," you said with a smile. Spencer nodded and not knowing what else to do he decided to walk out before he could embarrass himself "Oh, and Spence…”

"Yeah?" he answered, trying not to let you notice how it affected him that you called him that way.

“Do you remember the other day when I told you that surely hundreds of girls liked you?” you asked and when he nodded a couple of hairs got messy "Although I'm sure it's true, on that occasion I was only talking about me" you confessed. You couldn't ignore the ringing sound any longer or you'd lose it, so you picked up the hook and started a business conversation, but not before winking at him as a farewell.

Spencer came out of it trying to look as normal as possible, but he still couldn't figure out how he'd have the strength to work objectively for the rest of the day when he'd just gotten such a good kiss from the prettiest girl he'd ever met.

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