#throw him away like football he might die instantly

[cherrio-krispz]

wait no I’m invested what’s this specific alpha cross detail? /nf (I’m gonna regret asking /hj)

oh boy errrmmmmmm

So like…….

[lloydshoulddyehishair]

Home Is Where You Are

Summary:  Morro loved his cousin more than anything in the world. Sadly, the rest of Ninjago couldn't seem to share that kind of affection. or In which Lloyd gets stabbed and Morro would like to do nothing more than join forces with his uncle and burn the entire city down.

[Movieverse]

Sometimes Morro wanted to beat up the world. Punch it until its only remains were about the size of a football and then burn it until the ashes of the ashes had ashes.

Sometimes, was most of the time.

But it really wasn’t his fault that the world had to be a stupid place filled with stupid people, that formed a stupid society that had somehow normalized the bullying of a fifteen year old boy, for something he had no control over.

That fifteen year old boy also happened to be his cousin, Lloyd Garmadon, son of evil Lord Garmadon, a warlord who attacked Ninjago on a weekly basis, trying to conquer it.

And while, obviously, everyone in Ninjago had labelled Lord Garmadon as “evil”, their tiny, tiny brains (if brains the size of a peanut could even pass for brains anymore) somehow had come up with the idea that Lloyd was “evil” too. Why? Because he was his son. Simple as that.

No one cared about the fact that the boy had never met his dad, hell, he had never even as much as exchanged a single word with him and Morro wasn’t even sure if Garmadon knew that his son existed.

But somehow that went over everyone’s heads because Lloyd Garmadon was blamed for every attack and every inconvenience in the city – he was easily the second most hated person in Ninjago, right after Lord Garmadon himself, of course.

The thing was, Lord Garmadon had it easy – in Morro’s humble opinion – because the warlord got to attack the city and then simply vanish back into his volcano in the middle of the sea – with no one able to reach him. And with Lord Garmadon being out of reach, Lloyd had to catch all the fists flying at him, all the insults people would throw against his head. The people just wanted to let their hatred and frustration out at someone – and that someone, was his little cousin.

Morro did his best to protect him as much as he possibly could, he loved the boy with his whole heart, he was his whole pride and joy. He was like a light in a dark for him, leading his way, giving him something to hold onto. But sadly, Morro wasn’t always able to be there, when he needed him. He couldn’t always pick fights for Lloyd and he knew that the fifteen year old would rather die than fight someone. His cousin wasn’t much for physical violence.

He understood why, though.

If Lloyd were to snap, it would be instantly used by everyone as some stupid “evidence” that he was just like his father, that he was evil and that he was going to destroy them all and join forces with Lord Garmadon.

Bullshit. The elder hated how stupid and blind Ninjago's citizens were.

Lloyd wasn’t evil, never had been evil, never even did anything remotely evil.

They were the real bad guys. All of them. Hypocrites. How dare they call his baby cousin a “villain-in-the-making” when they were the ones cursing him out, insulting him on the daily, trending disgusting songs about him and beating him up. And what did Lloyd do? He just took it. Took all the insults, took all the punches, never daring to stand up for himself or returning the favor. And why?

Because Lloyd was good.

Too good, for his own good, Morro thought as he looked up at his cousin's face, seeing silently tears streaming over his cheek.

“Tell me who did this to you,” the raven head's voice stern and stable as his hands made his way to his bleeding abdomen again, pushing a tissue on it to try and stop the bleeding.

Lloyd bit his lip, like he always did when he was nervous. His eyes continued to stare at the tiles of Morro’s bathroom, filling with tears once again. He shook his head quickly, blond locks stained with blood falling into his face.

“Lloyd.”

A sigh escaped him.

He loved his cousin but sometimes he just wanted to take him and squeeze his stubbornness out of him.

“This wasn’t a usual attack anymore, Lloyd. They stabbed you! They are getting bolder with their stupidity. You need to go to the police with this, they–”

“‘They’ what?” Lloyd’s head turned to him, looking at him in desperation and anger. “Don’t you get it? The police don't care about what happens to me! They could find me bleeding out on the street and they would just walk over me as if I were–,” the words suddenly seemed to be stuck in his throat, making him lower his gaze, once again, in – in embarrassment? In sadness? He wasn’t sure.

Morro’s eyes widened slightly, once he realized that Lloyd was right.

The police were just as shitty as the rest of the citizens of Ninjago. They already treated him as if he were a criminal, even though Lloyd probably had the cleanest criminal record in the whole city.

Stupid police, stupid people, stupid–

He silently nodded to himself, trying to think of what they were going to do next.

“Okay, no police then, but we need to get you to the hospi–”

“No!” The teen interrupted him once again, which was honestly getting quite annoying. Usually he would be the one interrupting the other. “No hospital! My mom can’t know about this and–” a hiss escaped his lips as Morro pulled the tissue from his wound, dry blood ripping from his skin. “–we can’t afford it. We need to deal with this on our own, it’s not that deep anyways.”

“Lloyd, it’s a stab wound.”

“I’ve gotten away with worse injuries, without going to the hospital.”

He felt like someone had punched him in the gut.

Morro was quite aware of the dozen of times Lloyd would come back from battle with his Ninja Gi looking way too much like Kai’s because – oh, hadn’t he mentioned?

Lloyd was the Green Ninja, sworn to protect Ninjago from his father. Protecting the people that bullied him. Just another reason he sometimes wanted to burn this city down and go a bit warlord like his uncle – but that would also mean that he would, probably, have to fight Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes. So he shrugged his warlord ambitions under the rug.

“Okay, we can deal with this,” the elder bit the inside of his cheek, silently wishing for his dad to be here to deal with this instead.

He didn’t like seeing Lloyd hurt. It broke his heart.

“It’ll need stitches, though.”

He noticed immediately how the younger's palms started to grab the rim of the bathtub he was sitting on, as if his life depended on it, knuckles going white. “Okay,” he gritted out quietly.

He hated this, everything about this. It felt so, so wrong.

Lloyd shouldn’t be sitting in his bathroom, white as a sheet, seemingly near to passing out from blood loss. Morro shouldn’t have to stitch him up because he couldn’t go to the hospital or the police. His tiles shouldn’t be coated in Lloyd’s blood. And for fucks sake, Lloyd shouldn’t have been spotting a stab wound to begin with.

“I hate this too you know,” the blond’s voice was quiet but audible, nonetheless. Morro could only nod as he grabbed his medical kit from the cabinet.

---------------------------------------------

"If I had the chance to, I'd kill the people that did this to you."

"I know, that's why I'm not giving you their names," Lloyd's voice sounded a bit too calm, too collected to be talking about the people that had just tried to kill him.

Morro hid his face behind his palms, trying his best not to scream in frustration. "You shouldn't be protecting them like this. They're criminals, they tried to murder you and all you do is– is–,” a groan escaped his lips.

“Lloyd, I swear to fucking god, you can't keep doing this.”

His words made the room go quiet, not one of the teens daring to say another word. The nineteen year old's eyes wandered over to look at his cousin, who was currently busy biting onto his lip, his expression unreadable and Morro worried that he might have gone too far.

The young teen’s head tilted, teary emerald eyes meeting his own. “Do you think I like this?” a bitter laugh escaped him, though it sounded more like a gasp for air. “I don't like this any more than you do, believe me! You have no idea what it is like to wake up and be scared because you don't know what people will do to you! But there's nothing I can do about it and I've accepted that.”

The raven head felt the blood in his hands run cold, grabbing his cousin by the wrists, shaking him slightly. “Lloyd, you shouldn't accept it just like that! You– you deserve better than how these people treat you.”

“Morro, I know you mean well but,” the blond twisted himself out of his grip. “I was hopeful for so long. I tried to believe that people would change and I tried to let them see that I'm not who they think I am but it didn't do anything – it only made me feel worse. There's nothing I can do. I can't fight back, you know that.”

And he hated how right Lloyd was.

He still remembered how, a few years ago, the younger would cry himself to sleep every night because he just couldn't seem to find friends, no matter how hard he had tried. He still remembered how he would cling onto Morro and sob his soul out until he simply didn't have any tears to spare because he thought something was wrong with him. Otherwise the entire city wouldn't hate him, right?

Morro also still remembered the stinging pain in his chest as he had wiped away the smaller's tears and held him close – trying to be as much of a help as he could but still feeling absolutely useless.

So really, Morro was a fool to believe that Lloyd wouldn't stop caring at some point. It had done nothing but worsen the pain.

That didn't mean he had to like it, though.

“Listen, I know I've told you this many, many times before but–,” he looked out the window, onto the city that had hurt them so much. Onto the city that was ruining Lloyd's life. Onto the city that would possibly be the death of him at some point– He pushed the anger, threatening to overflow, back into the bottle of emotions where it belonged. “What they say,” he spoke quietly but with so much venom in his voice that Lloyd couldn't help but wince. “It doesn't matter. Nothing they say matters, so don't you dare put any worth onto their words–,“ anything Morro had planned to say suddenly vanished to dust as two arms threw themselves around him tightly, blond locks tickling his face.

“I know–,” his whisper left the room numb as a sob escaped his throat, his head just pushing itself more onto Morro's chest. “I know and I'm just so glad that I have you and the others.”

He could feel the tears starting to soak through his shirt and started to play with the blond strands of hair, in an attempt to calm his cousin down.

“It's just so much sometimes and I– I–,” the small voice broke and Morro could swear he could feel his eyes starting to sting.

Silent shushing and sobs were the only sound that filled the room from then on. It was almost suffocating, the contrast from his once so happy and bubbly cousin to– well, to how he was now. The citizens of Ninjago had managed to break his spirit in unimaginable ways.

They broke his baby cousin because they were stupid and egoistic, because they wanted someone to let their anger out on and decided to use Lloyd as a punching bag instead of going to therapy or something for their anger issues–

The nineteen year old, however, really shouldn't be the one talking about people and their anger issues, considering how his own bottled up anger at the citizens started to slowly make its way back to the surface once more.

“I would burn this entire city down if I could,” his voice was drenched in bitterness, Lloyd nonetheless found the strength in himself to laugh, making him calm down slightly.

“That seems like something my dad would say.”

“Well, it seems like him and I would agree on that part, then.”

“Mhm.”

Morro looked down to where his counterpart had now comfortably snuggled up on him, his eyes still puffy but no longer as teary like they were half a second ago. He released a breath he didn't know he had held.

He didn’t know how to fix this. Hell, he didn’t even know if he could fix this even if he really wanted to. The only way he knew he could protect Lloyd from this city was by simply taking him and running away, going somewhere else where nobody knew them. He knew that that was impossible though. Aunt Koko couldn’t just leave everything behind and even if she could, Lloyd probably wouldn’t even want to leave because of his duties as the Green Ninja – because he was a self-sacrificing fool who apparently never learned to put his own needs before others.

And Morro wanted to be proud of him for it – really wanted to, because his cousin sacrificed his needs for the greater good. It was brave and noble of him and he should be proud. Perhaps the nineteen year old was a terrible person for even questioning it but– Every so often, usually when Lloyd came home spotting injuries which he knew hadn’t come from fighting Garmadon, he wondered if risking your life for a city that couldn’t care less whether you were alive or dead, was worth it – and in Lloyd’s case they would probably be more than thrilled to see him gone.

Well, until they’d notice that they no longer had a Green Ninja to protect them.

Cowards.

“Your angry thoughts are practically clogging up the air. Can you turn them down, for just one second–”

“Brat,” Morro huffed under his breath a small smirk placing itself onto his lips. It vanished as soon as it had appeared. “My cousin showed up on my front porch with a stab wound, I think I have every right to be angry,” Lloyd frowned, letting go of the elder.

“Morro, not this again. I swear–”

“I mean, you never show up and the only reason you did today was because you were bleeding to death. Seriously, am I not cool enough to get a visit by my annoying cousin anymore,” the raven haired teen grinned at the blond with his eyebrows raised, in an attempt to lighten the mood and get rid of the tense feeling that had settled between them ever since Lloyd had sat down in his bathroom.

He could always let out his bottled up anger on that Chen guy from the Cheer Squad. The smaller had told him something about the boy giving him a hard time, some time ago, hadn’t he?

“What? No! You’re plenty cool– I just didn’t– you know school stuff and my dad and–,”, he stumbled over his words making Morro laugh.

“Lloyd, chill,” he said, making his way up to his desk to get his phone and text Aunt Koko. She probably was already worried sick now that he thought about it “I was just messing with you. I know you’re busy, it’s fine.”

He felt the other stare at him for a second, unable to make out his thoughts, just before–

“You miss me!”

He almost dropped his phone in surprise at the sudden statement. “Wait, wait, no– Who told you that?”

“It’s obvious,” Lloyd mused, walking up behind Morro and placing his chin on his shoulder. “You miss me~ Morro misses me~”

For a second he stopped typing, sighing. “Shut up, I see you enough on TV, to not miss you– For real do they ever show something other than clips of the oh-so-great Green Ninja? Like, we got it, you’re cool and all that. Can we move on? I wanna watch the new episode of Starfarer.”

“Sounds like someone’s jealous.”

“Am not.”

“Sure are. Bet you wanna be the Green Ninja yourself. Do I have to lock myself in my room when I sleep at night because you might come in and murder me to take my spot–”

“Oh you definitely should because I might come in and choke you to death for being annoying,” he rolled his eyes, sending the text to his aunt. “Besides, I got my wind powers. What do I need a stupid title for anyways?”

“Not like you use them a lot,” Lloyd replied snarkily, already going over to Morro’s bed and letting himself fall onto the, in his opinion, too hard mattress. “I guess that I’m staying the night?”

Morro just nodded, already looking for more comfortable clothes for Lloyd to sleep in. “Sure are. You don’t think that I’m letting you go out alone right now, do you?”

His cousin sighs. “I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”

“We saw how that went, didn’t we?” Morro replies a bit too harshly, almost wanting to take it back immediately, but he knew he was right. The sun had already set outside and Lloyd had just gotten stitches, if he was going to be attacked there’d be no way for him to get out of that fight unharmed. So Morro was going to keep him right where he was. With him.

He only got a hum in response, the younger probably being either too tired to take up another discussion on the matter or just not caring enough to try. Either way, he was fine with it.

“Hey sleepyhead!” he called, throwing the pair of joggers and a shirt right at Lloyd’s face, making a startled cry escape the blond. “Don’t you fall asleep on my bed, you’re sleeping on the couch.”

“You’re a big meanie,” the young Garmadon mumbled, taking the clothes off of his face but smiling slightly, nonetheless.

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolled his eyes. “I’m gonna get some water now. If you drift off while I’m away, I will wake you up.”

And true to his word, he left the room, not even waiting for an answer from Lloyd and entering the kitchen, collapsing on one of the chairs, suddenly feeling the tension pushing him down like weights that weren’t actually there.

He buried his face in his palms as soon as he felt his eyes starting to sting.

“Get a grip,” he hissed quietly to himself. He was a Wu for God’s sake. He didn’t cry, that was something for bratty little Garmadon’s with blond hair and no sense of self-preservation, who got themselves killed almost every day and– Fuck.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips, which was soon followed by hot tears streaming down his face.

He was angry. Angry at the city for treating Lloyd the way they did. Angry at Lloyd for not being more careful. Angry at himself for not having been there– But most importantly, he was scared. (Not that he was going to admit that to the Green Ninja, who already felt enough like a burden, even though he wasn’t.)

He was scared of losing his cousin. This whole ordeal had started with petty comments and glances, now they actually went out of their way and harmed him physically, stabbed him. Where was this going to end? When would it be enough for them?

Morro gulped. The only answers he could think of for these questions were terrifying and implied scenarios in which he would no longer have a little cousin to be annoyed at, he’d no longer worry if his family would still be whole after yet another Garmadon attack (because it wouldn't be whole to begin with), there’d be no more clips on TV of Lloyd fighting a bit too overdramatically and doing far too many backflips and there would be no more “Hey Emo-Boy, can I crash at your place? I’m bored” texts, hitting him at 3 am every once in a while.

A world without Lloyd would be an empty one, Morro figures. It would be cold and it would be lonely and he would rather die than live through it.

His legs carried him to the sink, filling the glass in his hands, which he didn’t remember grabbing, with water and chugging it down immediately. Maybe he should grab one of the bottles in the fridge for the teen in the other room – aside from blood loss he really did not need to face dehydration as well.

He spent a second leaning against the fridge with his forehead, desperately attempting to collect his thoughts. He couldn’t be an emotional mess in front of Lloyd, especially not now. He was supposed to be the strong one, the one who always kept a clear head. 

But after stitching up your cousin's wounds you were allowed to be at least a little shaken up, he supposed.

He took a deep breath, opening the fridge and taking one of the cool water bottles, before making his way up to his room and entering it, just to be greeted by– snoring?

For fucks sake-

Morro’s eyes fell onto the boy laying still on his bed, almost about to shake him and send him to the living room to sleep, but instead he froze, noticing the dark circles under his eyes and– Oh God, if his heart hadn’t broken yet it definitely was now.

He had been so focused on his wounds and being mad at the city that he hadn’t even noticed how exhausted Lloyd looked.

He bit hard onto his lip, only watching the boy, his mind suddenly going blank.

The Son of Garmadon hadn’t even properly put the blanket over himself – but hey, at least he had changed out of his Gi. Morro was going to give him credits for that.

Walking up to the nightstand next to the bed as quietly as he could, the Master of Wind placed the bottle he was still holding onto the little table, for the other to find once he woke up.

Seemed like he would have to sleep on the couch, after all. He made a face at the thought of the back pain he was going to wake up in tomorrow, but at least Lloyd would get proper rest for a night. He could be happy enough that the boy would even be able to be here tomorrow.

Before he knew it his hands had already grabbed the blanket, softly tucking his cousin in. If Lloyd could see him right now he’d most likely call him a big sap, which he, maybe, was but it’s not like his counterpart was any better. And it wasn’t exactly like the young Ninja wasn’t testing his sanity on the daily.

He hummed quietly to himself, already walking out of the room again and turning the lights off. His eyes fell onto his sofa in the living room.

“You and me, huh?” he mumbled, looking like he was on the way towards his deathbed.

But sleeping on the sofa was worth all the back pain in the world as long as he did it for Lloyd.

Because that meant that he still had a squeaky voiced, self-sacrificial, idiot cousin to return to.

[footballfanfictions]

The thrill of the chase - Chapter Two

Pairings: Mason Mount/OC, Ben Chilwell/OC

Authors Note: Sorry that this has taken a little longer than anticipated and thank you so much for all the love for the first part.

--------------------------------------------------------------

One of the main drawbacks of working with social media, is that you are always on social media and you’re constantly bombarded with information and images that make you feel downright crap about yourself.

I’d been asked to take over the instagram page of one of the high profile players at the club and his entire feed was just one supermodel and influencer after the other with the odd footballer thrown in to balance it out. They were all so stunning that it truly made me feel awful about myself, how could it not? My salary was pretty good for a new graduate but not quite good enough for weekly manicures, lip fillers and hair extensions and my time management wouldn’t stretch for that either, I barely made my eyebrow wax appointments.

I was trying to avoid looking at the player’s DMs while I posted a few pictures from the pre-season training sessions to his feed, but the notifications pinging every few minutes was getting quite annoying.

Has it been Brianna with access to his account and not me, she would have gone straight to his messages to read them. I preferred to live in blissful ignorance to the sleazy ways of the men around me. I already felt like finding a good guy was absolutely hopeless.

I had been renting a flat and I was saving for a deposit to buy a house, hoping that by the time I had saved up enough to buy that I would have found the right person to live with. If I were to attempt this alone, with London house prices I would be around  60 by the time I had saved enough alone.

The message notifications continued to come in and whoever Sam was, she was really keen.

I logged out after posting the final image and prayed I wouldn’t have to go into it again. The less I knew about their private lives, the better. It would be pretty awkward to be sat in the staff and players’ family box at a game knowing that the wife of someone I knew was cheating was close by. Best to steer clear of those complications.

Brianna hadn’t visited my office at all and by 12 I was both worried and hungry and decided to go looking for her.

I tried the kit room first but it was empty and surprisingly tidy. Dave kept a tight ship and liked everything to be in its place but it wasn’t often possible with the sheer volume of kits that needed to be looked after.

As I backed out of the kit room and closed the door, I felt something hit me in the back.

“Sorry” mumbled the voice from behind me. “I was looking for Dave, I need a new top.”

I knew who it was but I didn’t really want to turn around and look at him.

“They’re not in there, I was just looking for him and Brianna too.” I responded in an emotionless tone, shrugging.

“Why are you being so weird?” he asked.

I turned to face him then and gave him a look of contempt before I answered him. “Maybe I just don’t enjoy spending time around footballers?”

“No offence love, but I think you might be in the wrong job if that is the case.” he put his hand on the door, next to my head where I was practically pinned against the door by how close he was to me. Only then did I realise that the training top that he was wearing was ripped, front he shoulder to his navel, the material hanging and exposing his toned chest and abs. I tried to look away but he had caught me looking and was now smirking.

“Maybe it’s just you that puts me off.” I shrugged as I ducked under his arm, escaping from my position between him and the door.

“You really don’t like me?” He huffed. “I don’t remember doing anything to offend you personally.”

“Maybe I’m offended that privileged young lads get money, fame and praise just for kicking a ball around a muddy field. Try something more impressive, like curing cancer or performing life saving surgery, ending world hunger, ending wars.” I groaned in frustration. Maybe that was the truth of it. Why should he get all the praise and admiration that he got, just for playing a sport? There were so many incredible people in the world doing, or working towards the things in that list that never got half the praise that Mason Mount did for kicking a ball.

He looked a bit dumb struck.

I went in again, “Maybe I don’t like you assuming that I should be into you, just because you’re Mason Mount, England and Chelsea midfielder. Maybe that’s what the girls in the club that throw themselves at your feet are into, but it’s not for me.”

I made to leave and he grabbed my hand and mumbled, “Sorry, I’ll leave you alone from now on.”

I didn’t respond. Just pulled my hand from his and stormed off towards the boot room, leaving him outside of the kit room in his ripped shirt.

“Fuck it smells like feet in here.” I complained, walking into the boot room with my nose pinched between my fingers in disgust.

“When I said that I liked shoes to dad, this is not what I meant.” Brianna laughed.

“What are you doing in here, I didn’t think boots were part of your job?” I asked, perching on one of the benches while Bri sat on the floor, sorting through a massive pile of boots to try and match up the pairs. They were in all sorts of bright colours and differing sizes. If I had to guess, I’d guess that she had been at her task for hours.

“Dad and the boot guy had some sort of emergency” she shrugged.

I laughed at that, wondering what kind of emergency you could have that involved kits and boots. Maybe they hadn’t ordered the right brand or something and one of the stars wasn’t going to get his cash from his boot deal if they didn’t find him the right pair.

There was a little tap on the sliding glass door that lead out onto the pitches and stood there was the guy from the other day that had held the door to the cafeteria open for us. He looked a little sheepish.

“Are you going to let him in?” I asked Bri, trying to unbury her from the pile of boots by throwing some of them into a pile, all of the orange ones in one corner, the yellow in another pile and pink in another and so on.

“Oh yeah.” she said, standing and brushing herself off, and adjusting her skirt that rode up her thighs slightly. The guy had noticed and I watched as he tried to look away and then down at his feet. At first I hadn’t thought that his shyness was that genuine. Footballers were all confident cocky little shits in my book, I’d never met one that was shy and unsure of himself.

Bri unlocked the door and let him in.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but only one of these fits” he said, holding up a pair of lime green boots and giving Bri an apologetic smile.

“Oh shit” she said, taking the pair from him and inspecting them. “I’ve given you one 10 and one 9.5.” she looked through the pile of lime green boots until she said “aha!” triumphantly brandishing another size 10 boot. “Here you go my love.”

That as just Bri’s way, she called everyone little pet names all the time, but he didn’t know that and he was blushing profusely and I was almost certain that his hands were shaking as he laced the boots up.

“Thank you so much.” he mumbled, looking like he was about to die of embarrassment. He turned to walk back out of the sliding door, but hadn’t realised that Bri had shut it behind him, so he ended up walking straight into the glass, hitting it with enough force to emmit a cracking noise from his nose which was suddenly streaming with blood.

I jumped up from my seat and crossed the room to him, avoiding the piles of boots the best that I could, not wanting to add myself to the casualty list.

I had an unused tissue in my pocket, that I took out and pressed to his nose. It was instantly bright red and the blood poured straight through it.

“Bri can you go and warn the medical room that we need to bring him down?” I asked.

She nodded in agreement and rushed out of the room.

I put my arm around his waist and guided him back over to the benches. He sat down and I slipped my cardigan off. It was a very thin material and already a deep shade of red. I didn’t let him protest as I replaced the tissue with my cardigan. It was the best that we had, and he looked like he was in a lot of pain.

“I’ve never seen anyone get that flustered before.” i laughed, sitting down beside him. He managed to give me a pained grin.

‘It’s Bri isn’t it? Is she why you were waiting by the canteen door the other day?” I asked gently, patting him reassuringly on the back. “I wanted to send her out of the room so that I could ask you, and also to reassure you that you shouldn’t be embarrassed about this. I’ve seen Bri do a lot more embarrassing things. She’s always falling over and hurting herself. You would make quite the pair.” I laughed.

He shook his head and mumbled “I can’t ask her out”.

“Why the hell not?” i scoffed.

“She has a boyfriend doesn’t she?” he shrugged, looking really sombre.

“Ah no, not anymore. Things are definitely over between her and that prick, and between you and me, if she ever gets back together with him, I’ll give her a matching broken nose.” I bumped shoulders with his, trying to cheer him up, just as Bri came back into the room and told us that the medical room were waiting for him.

“Can you come with me?” he asked, not talking to Bri, but to me instead.

“Sure, I would do anything to get out of work this afternoon. Our twitter page today is just full of fans that are disappointed that we didn’t use the Hazard money to sign Messi.” I laughed, getting up and guiding him towards the door.

“Can we catch up later?” I asked Bri before leaving the room, she nodded and told me she would be free all evening.

As we walked down the corridor I said to him “See, no plans to see a boyfriend” and he blushed again.

One of the medical assistants rushed out to meet us and guided him into the room exclaiming “Billy, what the hell? How have you done that?”

He shrugged, clearly feeling embarrassed about how he had injured himself. So when they looked over at me for clarification, I shrugged too.

Billy wasn’t the only player needing the use of the treatment room. As he sat down on one of the chairs, I noticed that Ben was in there too.

The medic went about dabbing Billy’s nose and he cried out in pain.

“Sorry about your cardigan.” he said, looking down at the red material on his lap. He didn’t need it now that he was getting patched up.

“Honestly don’t worry about it Billy.” I grinned.

The medic then mumbled something about needing something and left the room.

That gave Billy a bit more confidence to talk about what had happened.

“And thank you for the advice about your friend.” Billy seemed a bit happier as he said that, and I could see Ben out of the corner of my eye looking over at us as Billy spoke.

“Please tell me you’re going to ask her out!” Ben laughed.

I turned to look at him and smiled. “You know?”

Ben nodded and looked at Billy with a horrified expression “Oh god, you asked her out and she punched you.”

I shook my head. “Not exactly.” I said.

“The boyfriend was here for some reason, and he punched you?’ Ben went on, standing up and coming over to Billy. He walked with a slight limp.

He stood in between us.

“Why are you in here if you don’t mind me asking?” I looked down at his leg while asking the question.

“It’s my hamstring, nothing too serious.” He smiled.

“Don’t laugh at me when I tell you how I did this.” Billy warned, pointing at his nose. “I walked into a sliding glass door that I thought was open, all because she gave me a pair of boots and called me love.” he groaned, covering his face in embarrassment.

Ben laughed and clapped Billy on the back with his hand. “Oh mate, no wonder you’re embarrassed.” he then addressed me, asking “Just how cringy was it?”

I shook my head before answering him, “I honestly don’t think it was that bad. Bri is pretty oblivious sometimes and I don’t actually think she realised the real reason for you hurting yourself. So if you were to pluck up the courage to speak to her, I wouldn’t even bring it up.”

_________________________________________________________

The next day, I was looking out at the training pitches while I waited for the coffee machine to finish making my drink when there was a gentle tap on my door.

I crossed the room and opened it, expecting it to Bri or maybe even the club photographer giving me some new pictures of the squad to use, but it was Ben.

“Hi, are you free?” he asked, giving me one of his sweet smiles.

“Yeah come in.” I said, stepping back into my office and letting him pass me so that I could hold the door open.

“That coffee smells nice”. He remarked.

“Do you want one? Or did I put you off the other day?” I smiled.

“Ah no thanks, and no you didn’t put me off. I’ve never really liked the stuff. I like the smell of coffee, it just doesn’t taste as good as it smells.” as he spoke I realised that he was holding something in a plastic bag.

He realised that I was looking at it. “It’s your cardigan. I washed it for you at home. Think I got all the blood out but it’s red so I can’t really tell.”

I was for once, speechless. It was a small gesture but it was really kind all the same. I thought about making a witty remark about it actually being his mother or an employed cleaner that washed it for him but I just couldn’t bring myself to.

“Thank you, you didn’t have to do that. It’s only an old primark cardigan.” I said, taking the bag from him.

I suddenly felt a bit flustered in his company. He had that charming smile and didn’t really look like a cocky footballer to me. He didn’t act like one much either, he was just kind of like the guy next door, or the guy you would see on Tinder with a picture of him with his mates at the only photo on the profile so you couldn’t tell which one you were swiping for.

In all honesty, he kind of reminded me of my ex boyfriend Rory. He had the same sort of look, and they had similar accents. Maybe it was nostalgia that made me find being around Ben comforting.

‘I think your coffee is done.” he said, gesturing to the machine.

I nodded and walked over to the machine, taking the cup and adding some creamer and sugar. As I stirred the cup, he leant against my desk and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Something is bothering me if I’m honest.” he said.

“What is it?” I asked curiously.

“Mason said that you told him that you hate all footballers because we’re privileged and get too much clout for what we do.” He looked slightly disappointed in me. “Thing is, I don’t entirely disagree with you. Maybe we do get paid too much for what we do, and maybe doctors and nurses deserve way more praise than we do. I also don’t think that you hate all footballers. You were really kind to Blly yesterday and he won’t forget that in a hurry. You really helped him.” he continued.

“I don’t hate Billy, and I don’t think I hate you either.” I said quietly, taking a sip of my coffee.

“That is interesting.” he grinned, as he took one of my hands and guided me over to him, to stand in between his legs where he now sat on the edge of my desk.

Instinctively I put my coffee cup down and he put his arms around my waist.

“It’s interesting?-” he cut me off before I could say anything else, by pressing his lips against mine. The kiss is soft and gentle and lasts only a few seconds. He testing me and my brain is going in so many different directions. Am I actually going back on all of my principles and kissing a fucking footballer right now? And am I only doing it because he reminds me of my ex?

He moves to pull away, breaking the contact between our lips and I let out the tiniest whimper before putting my hand on the back of his head and pulling him back in for more. This time his tongue slips past my parted lips. My hand at the back of his head grips a generous handful of his hair and one of his hands makes its way to my bum.

My body feels like it is on fire. It has been a bloody long time since anyone kissed or touched me, and I hadn’t quite realised just how starved of affection I had been until I got a taste of it, a taste of him.

The telephone on my desk started to ring,and although I tried to ignore it, I just couldn’t. My job meant a lot to me and if it were Marina or someone of equal importance I would be chastised for missing the call.

We broke the kiss at the same time and I apologised to him. He grinned and fired back that I didn’t need to apologise and that he needed to get back to training, and by the time I picked up the phone, he was gone.

[izzielizzie]

I love your one shots so can you do one of everyone hanging out at Addy's apartment?

Yes, under the cut. I wrote this with the AMAZING @forjusticeandspite​ and it’s long but SO worth it and also going to be on my ao3

“My apartment is haunted!” Addy declares as she sits in her chair at lunch. Her tablemates glance at each other for a moment.

“Okay I’ll bite,” Nate says, his arm draped over Bronwyn’s shoulder. “Why is your apartment haunted?”

“How exactly am I supposed to know why ghosts have taken residence in my house Nathaniel?” Addy asks.

Nate shrugs.

“Then how do you know you’re haunted?” Luis asks good-naturedly.

“There are weird noises all the time, stuff keeps falling, and it’s really cold.” The look of genuine terror on Addy’s face keeps Maeve from laughing. Barely. 

“What are you going to do with these ghosts?” Cooper asks, putting an arm around Addy’s shoulders and pulling her into a hug. 

“Well, actually, I was hoping we could deal with this as a... group? Ash is away this weekend and I’m throwing the track part Saturday night so you know… I gotta clean the place.”

Maeve raises an eyebrow. “You want us to clean your apartment for you?”

“Well, that and also deal with the ghost,” Addy says, nodding solemnly, her purple hair bouncing around her face.

Maeve catches her sister’s eye. Bronwyn shrugs, and Maeve makes a face at her. “We’re in,” Bronwyn says, speaking for both sisters as Maeve shakes her head vehemently.

“Aww thanks!” Addy says brightly into Cooper’s shoulder. 

“I’ll be there with Kris too,” Cooper adds. Addy squeezes him tighter. 

After a couple kicks to the ankle from Bronwyn, Nate relents and agrees, leaving only Luis. Addy turns to him expectantly. He runs his hand through his hair as he avoids Addy’s pleading eyes. 

“You know, well, I was going to… not clean an apartment on my Friday night.”

“I’m with him,” Maeve says, perking up. She pauses for a minute, knitting her eyebrows together. “Well, not with, with him. Just, you know. Not going.”

Bronwyn glances between her sister’s red face, and Luis’s equally flushed face, her eyes narrowed. She’d been sensing some sort of… awkwardness between the two of them lately, but Maeve had refused to answer any questions. 

Nate just giggles under his breath watching Maeve be a wreck. To him, this is entertaining. Addy winces. Secondhand embarrassment is her worst enemy. 

Maeve glares at him and kicks his other ankle. “Remind me not to sit between the two of you,” he grumbles as the sisters let out identical snorts.

“Please come Luis,” Cooper says, steamrolling over the looks Maeve and Luis are giving each other.  

“Only if Maeve goes,” Luis says with a shrug. Maeve narrows her eyes at him. 

“She’s going!” Bronwyn says pleasantly. 

“Says who?” asks Maeve, shocked at this development. 

“Says the person driving you.”  

“And if I just happened to avoid said person driving me?” Maeve answers cheekily.

“I can take you. Would you avoid me?” Luis asks. 

Maeve sputters, turning to him. “What?”

“Would you avoid me?” Luis repeats, smirking at her.

Maeve opens and closes her mouth for a moment as Addy burrows her head further into Cooper’s shoulder. The secondhand embarrassment is steadily becoming worse.

“The guy asked a question Maevey,” Nate says, smirking. 

“Stop enjoying this,” Bronwyn mutters under her breath, leaning into him. 

Nate shrugs and whispers under his breath again, “It’s funny though!” as Maeve finally answers.

“I don’t know what you want me to say? I…” She trails off, sounding panicky and confused at the same time. 

Addy whimpers. She really can’t handle this sort of thing. 

Even Cooper, who doesn’t want this interaction to be happening at all, buries his head in his hands, sending Addy crashing against him.

Maeve glances between her sister and Luis for a moment. “Okay sure, yeah I’ll go with you,” she says finally.

Nate stage whispers, “Are you sure we’re still talking about coming to Addy’s house to scare away a ghost? Or am I just reading this wrong?” Bronwyn lightly smacks his shoulder as she looks at Maeve’s face.

“Yes we’re still talking about the ghost,” Maeve snaps, her patience for boys finally worn thin. 

“Great, we’ll reconvene after the last bell,” Addy says, sounding like a tour guide as the warning bell rings.

Bronwyn and Cooper nod and start to leave. Nate saunters after them but turns back and smirks at Maeve before he says, “Maevey, you might want to splash some water on your face. You look a little… overheated to say the least,” He grins and turns around.

Maeve looks as if she wants to die. Luis grins to himself as he swings his bag over his shoulder, heading off in the opposite direction, leaving Addy and Maeve at the table. Addy turns to Maeve, a smirk on her face. “So,” she starts.

“Oh shut up,” Maeve says, looping her bag over her shoulder and stalking off. 

Addy calls out behind her, “I wasn’t going to say anything!”

Maeve chooses to ignore her.

---

Three hours later, Maeve taps Luis on the shoulder. He’s sitting on the front steps of the school, tapping away at his phone. Bronwyn and Nate had just walked away, heading hand in hand to Nate’s motorcycle. Addy and Cooper had left too, planning to pick up Kris before they headed to Addy’s apartment. 

“Hey,” Luis says, glancing up at her, squinting as the sun hits his eyes. 

“Hey,” Maeve responds, shifting from one foot to another, uneasy. She’s not quite sure when it happened, but lately Luis had gone from a mildly cute nuisance to someone she can’t keep her eyes off of. 

“Hey,” Luis says, both of them too busy staring at each other to notice he’s already said that. 

“Well, we should go,” Maeve says, waving her arm at the parking lot. Or at least what she thinks is the parking lot. 

A slow smile forms on Luis’s face looking at her. “Unfortunately, I was unable to park my car in the football field today, so you might have to make do with the parking lot.” He points in the opposite direction as Maeve’s face flames.

“Right, I forgot.” Maeve mumbles.

“Clearly, even though, correct me if I’m wrong, you’ve been here for three years now? Maybe I’m wrong though, who knows?” Luis says, his voice filled with laughter. 

“Two,” Maeve says.

Luis’s mocking smile drops. “You’re a year younger than us.”

Normally, Maeve would give a nonsensical answer, waving her arms around until the person asking forgets what the conversation is about, but for some reason, she finds herself looking up (and up -- Luis is tall) into his deep brown eyes. She’s never noticed how friendly they are until now. “I had cancer. For seven years. I started freshman year too late.”

Luis doesn’t respond for a moment, looking down at her. His arm moves forwards for a moment, as if he’s intending to take her hand in his, but he pulls back. “That sucks,” he says after a moment. 

To her surprise, and his too she guesses, Maeve starts laughing. He stares at her for a moment until he laughs too. She reaches forward, her hand on his forearm to steady herself. “You summed that up pretty well,” Maeve says when she catches her breath.

“I guess I did.”

Maeve’s hand is still on his arm, and they realize at the same time, stepping back.

“Well we should go…” Maeve says as Luis mutters something about how ghosts wait for no man. 

Luis leads Maeve to his car, muttering about how his brothers leave all their junk in his car instead of their parents’ and she should really be careful, as she assures him that she doesn’t mind, but neither of them are really listening. 

They arrive at Addy’s apartment nearly twenty minutes after the time they agreed on. They separate instantly, Luis heading towards Cooper and Kris. Maeve floats towards Bronwyn as if in a trance, wrapping herself around her side. Bronwyn and Addy exchange surprised looks over Maeve’s head. Clearly something had happened, and they silently agree to figure out what. 

“So, what’s going on with the ghost?” Maeve asks. 

“Well, nothing has happened yet,” Addy says, rolling her eyes. 

“Except it’s really cold,” Nate adds, he’s relinquished his jacket to Bronwyn, who drowns in the jacket because she’s 5’ 4” and Nate is almost a foot taller. It’s quite cute. 

“So?” Maeve asks. She looks around. The apartment is sparse and it honestly looks a bit creepy. She figures a ghost might like a place like this. 

“Yeah, this is an old apartment. Old apartments are cold,” Luis says.

“But why would it be cold? It’s April and we’ve had a heatwave, and also, California?” Kris says. He definitely has a point. 

“Okay so free air conditioning. What’s wrong with that?” 

“You’re very antighost, aren't you?” Maeve asks him.

Luis raises an eyebrow at her. “And you’re not? You didn’t even want to come.” 

Maeve tilts her head in acknowledgement. “Fair.”

Cooper looks between the two, sensing a shift in their relationship. It’s a small shift, but it’s there nonetheless. And he doesn’t like it. “Why don’t we start cleaning, and if we come across some ghosts we’ll act accordingly?”

“Sure Dad,” Addy mumbles as she leads her friends to the kitchen where a variety of cleaning supplies are lined up. Brooms, mops, bottles of liquids and rags are all on the table. Addy was serious about the cleaning. 

She points at Bronwyn and Nate and says, “You guys tackle the hallways,”

Pointing at Kris and Cooper she says, “You guys do the kitchen,”

Pointing at Maeve and Luis she says, “You guys will do the living room,”

And then she points to herself. “Because I’m nice, I will do the bathroom.” 

She claps her hands and then points to the stuff in front of them. “Grab what you need and go!” 

Maeve steps forward first and grabs a broom, everyone moving behind her to grab what they need. She turns around and Luis is standing in front of her. Face deadpan, he says, “Let’s chase the ghost away with our impressive brooming skills.”

She smiles at him, ‘Let’s do this.”

“Okay remember guys! If you see a ghost, just call out!” Addy calls from the dining room. 

“Can you see ghosts?” Luis asks Maeve as they start in the kitchen. 

Maeve tilts her head, considering the question as she pushes the dirt in a neat pile. “Yes? Maybe? I don’t think so?”

Luis nods one short nod. “Thanks for laying out all the possibilities Maevey.”

Maeve tries not to blush at his use of “Maevey”. It’s always been a name reserved for the people she loves the most. The time Evan called her “Maevey” she nearly threw her phone at his head. But there’s something tender about the way he says it. Like he loves her as much as her sister does, or maybe he could, if she let him.  

Has Luis wormed himself into being one of those people yet? Someone who loves her enough to know that she’s always considered nicknames to be a display of affection? A gesture that shows love? Does he know? Maeve isn’t sure. 

Luis looks at Maeve expectantly, and she realizes that she hasn’t yet responded to him. “Any time,” she mumbles, glancing down, expecting to see the pile of dust she’s been methodically adding too, but to her surprise, it’s gone, and her broom has been pulled out of her hand. “You finished?” she asks in surprise.

“You were taking too long,” Luis says with a shrug as he steps towards her. Maeve involuntarily moves towards him too, and she’s not quite sure where this is going when she hears a voice call out “Are you two working over there?”

Maeve turns to see Cooper and Kris in the arm chair, Kris sitting as straight as a pin in the middle, his hands by his side while Cooper lays next to him, his feet at the top and his head on the bottom. Why Cooper sits like that Maeve has no idea. Kris looks amused, and Cooper looks… not amused. Maeve shakes her head at them. 

“You’re not working!” Luis calls from behind her. 

“Couples get breaks!” Kris calls, holding up his right hand, which is intertwined with Cooper’s. 

“Well what if Maeve and I are paired up for the day, hmm?” Luis asks.

“She won’t even answer if she’d avoid you,” Nate says, emerging from the dining room where he and Bronwyn had been vacuuming the rug. 

Maeve rolls her eyes, face slowly reddining as Bronwyn appears next to Nate, vacuum cord in hand. “This thing is dead,” she announces as she catches sight of Cooper and Kris. “Oh are we taking a break?”

“Only if you’re a couple apparently,” Cooper says with a shrug. 

“Good, I’m sitting,” Bronwyn says, dropping onto the couch and dragging Nate after her. 

 “Who’s sitting?” Addy asks, sticking her head out from her room.

“We are,” Nate calls. “Well everyone except Luis, Maeve, and youuuuu,” he says all sing-song. 

“It’s because we’re single,” Maeve explains in response to Addy’s confused looks.

Addy frowns. “But I have a girlfriend? She’s just not in the country?” 

“Wait what?” Cooper asks, trying to sit up.

“Yeah, I thought I told you. Oh wait maybe I wasn’t going to tell you because you dated her.”

“What?” Kris asks.

“Wait, are you dating Keely?” Bronwyn asks, piecing together the information faster than everyone else, as usual.

“Are you opposed to Keely?” Addy asks, crossing the kitchen to pull open the fridge and extract a Diet Coke. 

“No, I’m not. But why didn’t you tell us?”

Addy shrugs. “Well, you know, Luis and Cooper dated her and I thought it would be awkward.”

“It’s not awkward,” Cooper says, swinging his legs over the side of the armchair to stand and cross the apartment, pulling her into a hug.  

“I’m happy for you,” he says into her hair. 

Addy giggles a little as Cooper rocks them back and forth. “Thank you!” she says as she pulls away from. 

Nate just looks confused. “Keely is gay?”

Addy rolls her eyes. “She thinks she’s pan but she’s not exactly sure what label yet.”

Nate nods, a slow grin stretching across his face. “Oh no, what are you planning?” Bronwyn asks with a resigned tone. 

“Just the best way to tease Addy mercilessly to make up for all the teasing she did when you and I started dating.”

“Oh I could get behind that,” Bronwyn says with a sly smile. 

“No you can’t,” Addy says quickly. Bronwyn and Nate just smirk at her. 

“Well, I guess that leaves Maeve and Luis,” Nate says, redirecting his smirk to the pair who had been rooted to their spots for the past few minutes. 

Maeve rolls her eyes. “I’m exhausted,” she says, sliding past Addy to the couch. Luis follows her, but they stop short when the coffee table suddenly lists to the side, sending the papers on top flying. Maeve and Luis, who are closest, bend down to pick up the papers. As Maeve gathers them in a neat pile, Luis turns to the table.

“It’s the ghost!” Addy cries out, pointing to the table. 

“I thought that ghosts couldn’t touch stuff,” Kris says as she leans forward on the armchair.

“They don’t need to touch stuff, they have powers. God Kris haven’t you watched any TV?” Addy asks. Kris opens his mouth to argue when Luis interrupts him.

“It’s not a ghost. The table leg collapsed.”

“And why would it do that, hmm?” Addy asks.

“Maybe it was shaking,” Bronwyn suggests.

“Yeah, this is California after all. Are we near a fault line?” Nate asks.

Bronwyn groans. “Buildings this tall can’t be built near a fault line, Nate.”

“Sorry,” Nate mumbles, catching Maeve’s eye. She smiles and rolls her eyes, telling him that her sister meant no harm. He grins at her.

“Well, whatever it is, the table needs to be fixed. We can prop it up for now.” Luis says, slightly impatient. He hauls himself to his feet and glances down at Maeve, who’s still crouched on the ground. He holds out a hand, and Maeve shifts the papers so she can take it. She tries to use his hand as momentum to pull herself up right as he pulls her up on his own, causing her to lose her balance and stumble forward. 

Right into his chest. 

They stare up at each other awkwardly for a beat, his hand on her waist. Then Nate coughs indiscreetly and Maeve quickly steps back, almost tripping over her own feet. “Shut up Nate,” she mutters, already missing the weight of Luis’s hand on her waist. 

Luis clears his throat. “Right, so, anyway. No ghost. Just shoddy carpentry.”

For the second time that day, Bronwyn looks between Maeve and Luis with a smirk playing at her lips. “Agreed. I think we’re all good with cleaning, don’t you Addy?”

Addy tears her eyes away from Maeve’s red face with a smile. “Oh yes. Take a seat you two.” She pats the couch next to her, and Maeve and Luis oblige, sitting as far from each other as they can on a couch that really only seats two people. 

“So, now what do we do?” Kris asks.

“Don’t say ghost hunting,” Bronwyn advises Addy, who sinks back into the couch.

“Monopoly?” Addy suggests instead. 

Bronwyn nods, a mischievous grin forming on her face. “Monopoly,” she confirms.

Maeve gives her sister a look as Addy gets up to get the game out of the closet. “What’s up with you?” she asks her sister.

“Nothing. Oh by the way there’s a spider on your arm.”

Maeve jumps, ending up pressed against Luis. He moves his arm from around the back of the couch, his hand on her shoulder.

“There was no spider,” he informs her dryly. 

“Then move your hand,” Maeve responds, glaring at her sister. Bronwyn smirks as Addy returns, dropping a box on the floor. 

“Okay you guys, Monopoly is a no-go,” Addy says solemnly. 

“What? Why?” Cooper asks.

“I can’t find the box. Maybe Ash ate it who knows, anyway,” she says this all very quickly. Everyone stares at her, trying to figure out what she said. 

“Ash what?” Kris asks.

“Nothing anyway I found a couples’ game!” she says brightly, pulling the top of the box off. 

Maeve begins to shake her head. “No, no, no, Addy why?” 

“What, you don’t like couples?” Luis asks her, smirking. Maeve shakes her head at him, her eyes narrowed. 

“You be quiet,” she grits out between her teeth. 

Nate interjects, “Now, now Maevey. Don’t be couple-phobic, c’mon now,”

Maeve looks at him incredulously. “Couple-phobic? What? That doesn’t even make sense!”

“It makes perfect sense. If you looked it up in the dictionary, you’d even find a picture of you next to the definition.”

“Nate you pulled that out of your ass. If I was really ‘couple-phobic’ I’d tell dad you climbed through the second story window the other day,” she sneers. 

‘Maeve!” Bronwyn says quickly. 

A look at the faces in the room was quite a sight. Addy looks amused, Kris looks shocked, Cooper looks disapproving, and Luis looks delighted. 

He leans back in his chair. “Well Maevey, you have to understand them. I’m willing to bet you wouldn’t care if you were in a similar situation?”

Maeve’s eyes widen. “I have morals!” 

Luis smirks at her. “We’ll have to see how long those last then.”

“Luis Santos,” Bronwyn says harshly. Luis just shrugs at her. 

“Let’s play the game!” Kris interjects before Luis can say anything. 

“Good idea,” Addy says firmly. She pulls the cards out of the box and shuffles them with a flourish. “As the person reading these cards, I get to pair you guys up.” She grins. 

Maeve sighs as Addy slowly spins in a circle, analyzing the people in the room. “Kris with Cooper. Bronwyn with Nate.” She pauses dramatically. 

“It took you that long to choose preexisting couples?” Maeve asks sassily. 

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” Addy responds cheerfully, tapping the cards on Maeve’s nose. Maeve waves her off with a huff. “And that leaves,” Addy turns towards Maeve and Luis. “Guess what? You two together!” She smiles like the cheshire cat and Maeve looks like she has never wanted to disappear as much as she does now. 

Luis on the other hand, looks very comfortable. He slides across the couch to Maeve’s side, throwing his arm over the back of the couch like it was before. Maeve vows to murder Addy the first chance she can get. Not that sitting with Luis is that bad. She likes it actually, but still. She has principles to maintain. 

And she also has no idea how to deal with the ever growing feelings towards Luis. Not that she even knows what exactly they are, but she does know she’s not ready yet. For whatever it is.

“Okay first question!” Addy says as she takes a card. 

Cooper asks, “Wait. What are the rules?”

Addy looks up. “Oh right! Every card has a question. For the first round, one person has to go and answer the question. If they get it right, they get a point. There are three questions per round. Whoever has the most points at the end of the round wins!” 

“Sounds good,” Cooper says, settling back against the chair, his fingers still intertwined with Kris’s.

“So, first question, we’ll start with Bronwyn and Nate. What annoys your partner the most?”

Nate answers this round: “People who don’t say what they mean.”

Addy turns to Bronwyn. “Is he right?”

Bronwyn takes a moment to answer as her eyes trail over her sister. “He is indeed.”

“Alrighty then, one point to Bronwyn and Nate. Maeve and Luis, you’re up next! What annoys your partner the most?”

Before Maeve can answer, Luis leans forward with the smirk and shining eyes Maeve has learnt means danger. “Me,” he says.

Addy raises her eyebrows and looks at Maeve. “Is that correct?”

Maeve looks confused. She turns to Luis. “You think that?” she asks him. 

Luis’s smirk disappears. “Wait, I was just-” but Maeve cuts him off when she pulls him off the ground with unprecedented strength and pulls him away from their group, out of the doorway and into the hallway.

“Ow, you don’t know your own strength,” Luis says, massaging his arm as Maeve lets go of him. 

Maeve ignores him as she crosses her arms and glares at him. Luis mimics her pose - down to the exasperated expression - and he holds it until she laughs. She quickly straightens her face. “What do you want from me?” she asks bluntly.

“What do I… what?” he asks, confused. 

“Want from me?” Maeve repeats dangerously. Luis had always been scared of Bronwyn Rojas, and it isn’t until now that he realizes that he should be just as, if not more, scared of her sister. 

“I don’t…” Luis trails off, studying her face. “I don’t know Maeve.” Maeve scoffs. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” Luis waves his arms around in frustration.

“And I’m supposed to know? I was perfectly happy without you pushing your way into my life and flirting every other word! And now you have the audacity to say I don’t like you? I didn’t ask for that! I don’t want that!”

She’s nearly yelling now and Luis’s patience is running thin, maybe because he’s never really been asked a question like this before. “Then what do you want, Maeve?”

If Maeve took a moment to think, then maybe she’d realize that what she wants is for Luis to smile at her the way he did in his car when he thought she wasn’t looking. She wants him to put his hand back on her waist like he did when she nearly fell. She wants him to say her name and never stop because somehow he turns five letters into the most wonderful sound in the world. But, unfortunately, thinking when angry isn’t part of Maeve’s extensive skill set. 

“What do I want? What do I want? What do you think I want? I want you to not break my heart!” she yells, then freezes, staring up at him in shock. Luis was not expecting her to say that, and clearly, she didn’t mean to. Luis can hear a muffled “finally” from the apartment, followed by a harsh shhh.

Maeve and Luis look at each other through the awkward tension between the two of them and come to the same conclusion: there never was a ghost. 

“They set us up,” Maeve huffs as Luis says “something tells me this was planned.”

Maeve and Luis push open the apartment door, sending Addy and Bronwyn scurrying off to their seats. 

“You two are something else,” Maeve says as she picks up her school bag, swinging it over her shoulder. Luis mimics her movements. They might not know what to say to each other, but they know what they’re thinking.

“Going somewhere?” Addy asks brightly.

“Home,” Maeve and Luis say in unison, storming out of the apartment, shutting the door as their friends break out in laughter.

“Some friends they are,” Luis mutters.

“Agreed,” Maeve says, ignoring the times the two of them had worked together to get Cooper and Kris to admit their feelings, and to get Bronwyn and Nate to start talking to each other again. 

“Like, they actually made us believe there was a ghost!”

“The audacity,” Maeve adds as they stomp down the stairwell together. “I can’t believe Addy lied about Monopoly.”

“And she pinned it on poor Ashton.”

“I know!”

Neither of them bother to admit that they believed there was a ghost and that Ash had consumed a board game. Being friends with Addy leads to some interesting things, and the two have become immune to weird. 

The push through the front door of the building and into the evening sunlight. “Can I drive you home?” Luis asks. Maeve doesn’t look at him when she says “sure”.  Luis pauses for a moment before reaching out and grabbing her forearm. “Maeve wait.” Maeve turns to him, her hair swinging over one shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want my heart to break either.”

Maeve smiles a little at him as she climbs into the passenger seat. 

Maybe neither of them needed to have their hearts broken in the end. Maybe they could figure it out. But for now, Luis knows Maeve wants coffee. So to Contigo it is.

[the-breath-in-air]

Nicolò Patrol (Chapter 4: The Rescue) [text of a Twine fanfic]

[If you'd rather read the story with sound and video cues, you can do so by clicking here]

If the goal of the current mission weren’t so serious, Joe might have been caught up in the surreality of what was happening. He was sitting in the back seat of a teleporting sentient van who was following directions from a man in a leopard-print hotpants. The man in leopard-print hotpants was, in turn, taking directions from an electromagnetic spirit who lived in a man wrapped in mummy bandages. The man in mummy bandages had allowed himself to be kidnapped in order to lead the rest of the team to the facility of a secret government agency.

Most importantly, the facility was where Nicky was being held captive. So Joe turned his mind away from the surreal situation. He instead focused on the plan; he’d need to be at the top of his game. They all would.

After what felt like an eternity, Danny finally turned off the radio.

“We’re here,” Flex announced.

Danny had actually teleported them a few blocks away from the Bureau of Normalcy, so they wouldn’t draw any unnecessary attention. It was here the team split up. Victor, Jane, Rita and Cliff would cause a distraction by attempting to enter the facility to stage a ‘rescue’ for Larry. Meanwhile, Nile, Andy, Booker and Joe would actually infiltrate the facility through a back entrance Victor had conveniently hacked open for them. Danny was standing by as their getaway and Flex was managing communication between the negative spirit and each group.

Just as they were moving out, Joe heard Cliff through his earpiece. “Uh, guys, what if they’re keeping this Nicky fella in a different facility than where they brought Larry?”

Joe heard Jane and Rita respond, “Shut up, Cliff.”

Joe knew the answer to that possibility, though. If Nicky wasn’t here, they’d simply have to take an agent of the Bureau hostage and use them to get Nicky back. Whether that meant using the hostage as leverage, or interrogating the hostage for information didn’t much matter to Joe.

Andy and Joe hadn’t shared this contingency with their new allies; they weren’t sure how the others would respond to taking part in a kidnapping. If it came to it, Nile, Andy, Booker and Joe would simply have to enact that backup plan on their own.

“Stay focused,” Andy ordered them as they took up their positions.

There was silence over the comms as the Doom Patrol moved into place. Joe waited with the second team for the signal to access the back door. Joe took slow and steady breaths. This is just another mission.

Suddenly the silence was broken by the sound of Robotman’s voice, coming through even with his comms turned off. “You Normalcy bastards better get the fuck out here right now,” Cliff shouted. “Release the Lar-bear! Give me my Lar-bear!” Next to Cliff, Jane had become Sun Daddy, a giant person with a sun for a head, and was throwing fireballs at the entrance to the base. Explosions punctuated Cliff’s vulgarities. “Fuck you, you absolute literal…” boom! “Come out here and…” boom! “FUCK!”

The distraction worked, and as the alarms on the base went off and personnel ran to confront the Doom Patrol, Joe, Nile, Andy and Booker quietly entered the Bureau of Normalcy’s headquarters. “We’re in,” Andy said over the comms.

Infiltrating an enemy’s prison was, in many ways, a fairly routine mission. Joe and the others had done this countless times before. Weapons ready, they moved through the hallways fluidly, appearing almost as a choreographed dance. This helped them cover ground quickly, which was necessary as the building complex was large.

It soon became clear why they had come across so little resistance as they made their way to the cell Victor had identified as Nicky’s via hacked security logs. Any guards who weren’t responding to the commotion outside the building, were stationed right outside the door to Nicky’s cell. The four immortals made quick work of the dozen, or so, guards. They never stood a chance.

“Victor you’re up,” Andy stated.

“Copy,” Victor responded.

Now that the team was standing at the cell door, Victor would need to remotely open it.

“Uh, Keeg asks that you hurry. Larry is being tortured,” came Flex’s voice over the comms.

“Copy,” was all Andy said in response. She was keeping it all business.

Joe wanted to point out that they were there to rescue Nicky as a top priority. He wanted to tell Flex that they’d find Larry after they saved the love of his life from whatever horrors the Bureau had been inflicting on him. But Joe said none of that. Andy was right to keep things professional. Plus, Joe really did want to save Larry from torture too. He just couldn’t prioritize that part of the mission right now.

The mechanism that locked the cell door audibly released, and Joe looked at Andy to confirm everyone was ready to breach the cell. She nodded back to him and he opened the door and rolled into the room in a fluid motion, weapon ready in case someone from the Bureau was in the room.

Joe saw Nicky strapped to a medical table, with a newly regrown arm. Relief flooded Joe as he saw that Nicky was alive. It was all he could do to keep himself from collapsing onto him. Then Joe noticed that a cleaner was standing near the medical table with a mop, washing away the blood on the floor. Joe cleared his head and returned to focusing on the mission. They weren’t out yet.

“Back away slowly,” Joe ordered.

Nicky spoke as the cleaner moved to the opposite side of the room, “Alex, here, was just about to help me escape.”

“Oh thank goodness you arrived,” Alex was saying. “I really wasn’t sure what to do. It all seemed so horrible. Like, worse than usual, even…”

As Alex babbled on, Joe swiftly moved toward Nicky and began releasing him from the table. They embraced briefly. It’s not over yet. Joe handed Nicky a firearm and Nicky nodded as he took it with his good hand. “Stay here until it’s safe,” Nicky said to Alex.

Joe and Nicky emerged from the cell and they silently greeted Nile, Booker and Andy, who had been keeping watch at the door. There’d be time for an emotional reunion after they had finished their escape.

“Flex, we have Nicky. Have you located Larry?” Andy asked.

“Down the corridor and make a right. Cell #247,” Flex replied.

By this time, the distraction from the Doom Patrol had stopped being useful as a distraction. Now it was just a fight. And Sun Daddy’s fireballs were proving to be more of a hindrance. “Jane, cease the fireballs,” Andy ordered over the comms as the team made their way toward Larry’s cell. “Just be glad she’s not Karen right now,” Rita replied.

When they arrived, Joe noticed that the cell was suspiciously unguarded. “It’s a trap,” Nile said. “Agreed,” Andy acknowledged.

Joe turned to Nicky to assure himself that Nicky was up for this. There had been a lot of blood in that cell, and Nicky’s entire harm had only just become usable again. Nicky silently patted Joe’s shoulder in reassurance.

With that, Andy gave the signal. It might be a trap, but they were immortal. Their biggest concern was making sure Larry didn’t end up collateral damage. “Relay to Keeg that Larry will want to duck if possible,” Joe said as they took up positions outside the cell. “Victor..”

“One step ahead of you,” Victor replied as the lock to Larry’s cell was released.

This time Andy breached the cell door first, with her labrys at the ready. Joe heard gunshots ring out as Andy tore through the guards in the room. Meanwhile, more guards poured out of the adjacent cells. “What’d I say?” Nile said as she met the onslaught. “When you’re right, you’re right,” Booker replied.

The resulting fight was brutal, but ultimately the team was victorious. Andy emerged from the cell with Larry slumped against her. Cliff, Jane, Rita and Victor came up behind the dwindling guards and cut through them effectively. “We need to leave. Now,” Andy said as the two teams rendezvoused. “On it,” Jane, or more accurately Flit, said as she stuck her hands out like she was ready for a football huddle. “Hands in everyone,” Rita said wearily.

By this point, Joe trusted this other team enough to believe that whatever was about to happen, it would aid in their escape. So he and the others all put their hands in. A moment later they were all standing outside the Bureau’s headquarters, right next to Danny and Flex. “Why didn’t you simply teleport us to the house?” Booker asked. “Actually, why didn’t you simply teleport us directly into the facility in the first place,” Andy added. Jane, who had again become Jane, simply shrugged. “Flit does what she wants.”

Quickly, both teams hurried into the back of Danny they instantly teleported them to Dr. Calculator’s mansion. Everyone climbed out of the van and stood aways from Joe and Nicky as they reunited. Danny turned on the radio to provide what they thought was the perfect soundtrack.

Joe was so shocked by what Nicky had just revealed to him, that he didn’t even realize what song was playing or see Danny’s message. But when he finally recognized the song, he burst into tears and collapsed into Nicky’s arms. The anger, fear and tension from the past few days was finally released. “I just got you back,” Joe murmured between sobs. The Origin of Love, indeed.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Nicky reassured him as he wrapped his arms around Joe. “Not any time soon.”

Joe drew a knife from his utility belt and quickly sliced open his own finger. The pain was familiar. What was not familiar was how long the pain lingered. He watched his own finger intently, waiting to see if it would heal as it usually did. A few seconds passed by and the blood started to drip down. It hadn’t begun to heal, though.

Joe’s sobs turned into quieter sighs as his worst fears were ameliorated. For a few brief moments, Joe had imagined the possibility that he and Nicky had been wrong about their destiny. That Nicky might die in a few brief decades, and Joe would be forced to continue on alone. “I’m going to need a band-aid,” Joe called out as his breathing returned to normal. “And Nicky needs to be patched up. A bullet grazed his side.”

On hearing the call for bandages, Danny turned off his radio and everyone gathered near the two of them. “You need what?” Nile asked in disbelief.

Joe held up his bleeding finger and Nicky lifted his shirt to reveal his wound. “It’s nothing serious,” Nicky reassured everyone. “We’re just going to die some day.”

“Well, fuck,” said Cliff. “Aren’t we all.”

[macybeckham7]

Army Medic - Eric Dier

Part Nine 

YN was sat in the garden in the little allotment garden Eric made a few months back during the summer, she had found herself coming out here every morning and started it being in her daily routine. She wanted to keep to schedule or routine as she was not in the army anymore she didn’t want to feel lost. 

Every morning she was waking up alone in bed, usually feeling sick due to the back kicking her insides, she would get dressed as if she had somewhere to be but she never did. She would sit on the sofa and watch trash TV while she ate her breakfast, or the sorry excuse of a breakfast. Try to not throw up and then go in the garden and sort it out then usually have a cry about what her life has become and then inside when Eric’s mum and her  mum comes round and gushes over her for a few hours before Eric comes home and just nonstops talking about his day. 

She lets out a small sigh as there was a knock on the door, Eric who was home as he had a home game the next day, he walks to do the door and instantly hugs the door so she couldn't see who it was and they couldn't see her.

‘Is she in?’ Michael asked softly, giving the footballer a small look which he seemed to understand and got when he saw the bouquet of flowers he had in his hands. 

‘Was it?’  he whispered. 

He nods. ‘Curtis.. Sniper to the head, and Henry too’ he mutters. 

Eric lets out a frustrated sigh and shakes his head. ‘The funerals are this week... I know she isn't apart of the team anymore but a family is always a family’ the soldier says. 

Eric shakes his head and tells him that he doesn't want to tell her, mainly because he knows this wouldn't be good for her or the baby. 

He takes the flowers and thanks him before walking back inside.

‘Who was that?’ she asks as she was now in the hallway.

‘No one’ he tries to drop the conversation he didn't want to be having. She raises her brows at him and then asks who gave the flowers which he instantly said they were left on the doorstep. He walks past him and sorts the flowers out which YN defiantly found weird and noticed that he was acting strange. 

A few days went by and YN was beyond bored. She had clocked out of the conversation and somewhat come numb to having a hand on her as she is used to it nowadays. It was like people forget she is always a person and is more than just a baby bump. 

Her phone beeped which she instantly picked up from the table and instantly looked at Eric, she quickly excused herself and went outside and got followed by the dogs. 

‘Quasi? You are back?’ she says as soon as she answers the phone. 

‘I am.. Quick pit stop and then back out there’ he says. 

Eric was watching her, he narrowed his eyes as he saw her looking at him through the window, she then fell to her knees as she sobbed. He instantly raced to her, her wrapped his arms around her as she swayed side to side as she sobbed, she pulled away and started to hit his chest as he tried to sooth her. 

‘He is dead and you weren't going to tell me?’ she cried. ’You fucking asshole!’  

Her mum joined her and hugged her as he climbed back to his feet. ‘I didn't tell you because-’

YN cut him off. ‘Why because this is bad timing for you? Because you knew how much he meant to me?’ 

‘Because I didn't want to lose you to this shit again’ 

She raised her brows at him. ‘This shit?’ she questioned. ‘This shit is my whole fucking life. They are my family!’ she sobbed. ‘I loved him’ she cried as her mum hugged. 

….

Eric walks alone in the cemetery, enjoying the coldness and quietness, he was in his deep thoughts about life, he found YN sat on a bench she was holding onto one of Curtis’ caps. Since she found out about his death she has gone into auto pilot mode and just wanted to be with his family and found comfort with Imogen and Quasi. She had made an emotional speech, which Eric had to step in and finish the speech. He felt her tense up when he touched her and she walked off as he finished the emotional speech. Him reading her writing on the crisp white paper, he instantly realised what she was feeling, and how lost she was without her army family. 

He sat down beside her and they stayed quiet, she gently leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder. 

‘I’m sorry for being a dick’ he whispered as he kissed her forehead. ‘I’m here for you’ he says softly. 

A small smile appeared on her face and she looks into his eyes. 

‘Tell me about him... Not the one that everyone is talking about now that he has gone, but the real Curtis, what was he like?’

‘Curtis, he was a little shit, but he was always had his friends backs, he would do anything for his family’ she says softly. ‘He took me under his wing and he was the reason why I was called smudge’ she mutters. Her bottom lip quivers. ‘He was one of the best soldiers to fight for his country, and in some twisted way he would of loved this celebration of his life’ 

Eric stayed quiet as he just listened. ‘We all said that you wouldn't want to see him in a dark alley, he was this hench guy that would even frighten Frankenstein’s monster, but when you got to know him, he was just the sweetest guy in the world’

She bursts into tears as Eric holds her softly. ‘I know that we signed up for this but I never thought he’d be the one to die, I always thought he would just always find his way back, he had loads of hit misses’

Eric saw Imogen first and nodded for her to join them, her hand instantly intertwined with hers. She was with him and had told her that he was talking to her as if she was Yn. Imogen gave her the little voice note she made for her, she cried at every little joke he made and detail he went into, and told her that she could be anything she wanted and don't stay in one little bubble. As she listened to him she really wanted to be with him, she should of been there and she hated herself a little more that she wasn't there for him. Imogen was in a flood of tears which Yn instantly pulled away from Eric and looked after the medic and tried to calm her down and told her that this wasn't her fault. 

….

A month went by and Yn was now 8 months, the nursery was fully done, and Yn found herself sat in the cosy room on the floor as she looked at a photo of her and Badger and Animal, the photo was of her sat on Animal’s knee with the Badger stood behind them and they were pulling funny faces at each other, the photo was taking in the mid first tour. 

‘I think it might be me...’ she whispered as Dier’s dad walked in. 

He handed her a coffee before taking the photo from her. 

‘This wasn't your fault, not Raccoon’ he mutters, making her giggle. 

‘Badger’ they both say in unison. 

He pulls her into his arms. ‘None of this was your fault’ 

‘If I didn't get pregnant’ she whispered. 

He shakes his head as the two dogs appear by her side and comforts her. 

‘This isn't me’ she cried. ‘I shouldn't of got bloody pregnant and I should of been with him’ she cried harder. 

As Eric arrived home he found Yn curled up in the nursery which she had destroyed in rage. 

[bagels-and-seagulls]

ok so hot jock david and cheerleader matteo was *chefs kiss* would you ever consider doing one from david's pov ??

i’m watching the sooners take on lsu and already want to die, so let’s fucking go

matteo’s pov

-you play football? the principal asked with an airiness in her voice, looking over the file in her hands at him as her glasses slipped down her nose. yes, david answered easily, and he clawed his nails into a hole that was in the arm of his chair. quarterback? she asks with a little bit of hum, looking between the file and david. yes, david repeats. we have an opening on our team here, if you were interested, she says simply, flipping a couple of pages around, though i understand that might a little overwhelming with the move and all. and david’s breath catches in his throat because he thought the only thing in front of him was a series of closed doors, it wouldn’t be a problem? he asks with a little bit of hope stuck to the edges of his words. no, not at all, she says with a little smile, her hands folding over each other as they rested on the desk. 

-david goes to meet with the head coach that afternoon, who's voice is gruff and overused as he shakes david’s hand with a little bit too much enthusiasm and compliments the way david’s previous team absolutely demolished them the previous year. he leaves as the new starter and thinks about second chances. 

-he meets the team in the flurry of his first day starting a new school and tries to keep up with everyone’s names and positions as they all come up and clap him on the back in greeting like they’re already old friends. the defensive captain takes him aside after initial introductions, leading him onto the field and giving him a low down that david was manically trying to absorb, the previous qb was weak on the left, mostly ran a running game, but i heard you got an arm. and i know that fitzy has been itching to prove that he can catch half way down the run, so i’d try to stick with him while you’re getting- he collides with another boy that was standing near the entrance to the fence and throws a nasty look over his shoulder. anyways, he overexaggerates, as you’re getting in the rhythm. his voice fades out as david looks over his shoulder to see the other boy, who’s hair was flopping down in his eyes, who was glaring at their backs with his face scrunched up in a way that david supposes is to be mean, though it mostly made david want to learn a little bit more. 

-the boy looks away when he catches david’s glance, and david wishes he didn’t. he looked good in those little shorts though, david thinks. 

-he sees the boy again in the locker room later that day. he’s grabbing his stuff out of his locker, and david takes a moment to appreciate the lines of his body as he walks towards his own just a few away. hey, he says before he can really stop himself, just because he was itching in a way he couldn’t place to see the way the boy’s eyes looked up close. he looks over his shoulder, and his brows furrow up in what david thinks must be confusion. hey, he repeats as he clears his throat and goes to zip up his stuff, and david feels the words, i’m david, fall out of his mouth as he accidentally knocks his hand into his lock and tries to cover it up with a smile that he hopes at least looks a little bit cool. i heard, the boy responds like it was obvious, and david feels his smile get a little bit bigger while he thinks this might be easier than he thought. did you? he asks. somebody pulls matteo’s attention away from him with a yell and a shout, and sneers something a little harsh out to him in a way that made david remember old locker rooms and people who didn’t appreciate a good thing, even if that thing was a little bit different than them. but matteo serves the guy something just as cold back as he slams his locker shut. david thinks it’s a shame as matteo storms out. he thinks about doors that he thought he might be able to open, even if the last time he tried, he ended up getting kicked out. 

-david meets a girl named leonie in his math class who smiles politely at him and holds her hand out for him to shake like it was something david should want to do, and there’s something about the way her eyes sparkle that make david respect the way she shakes his back. you’re on the football team? she whispers when they’re both done with their work and are waiting for the teacher to do something other than drown on about the good old days. david nods and shrugs. i’m one of the cheer captains, she says, and david says that that’s cool. he’s was friends with the cheerleaders at his old school. they taught him how to do a back flip. what’s the name of the guy on your team? i think he’s a captain, too, he asks when he finally thinks about it after the teacher starts going on a tangent about traffic. who? matteo? 

-they have the same literature class, him and matteo, and by certain fates, david is assigned the open seat next to him. he goes to say hello, smile at him, maybe tell him that he likes his sweater if he was feeling a little bit bold, but he doesn’t even look at him when david plops down next to him and quietly whispers some sort of greeting to him. and david thinks about desperate times and perhaps desperate measures. are you really the cheer captain? david asks a little bit louder because matteo hasn’t looked over yet, and it was making david want to stick out his bottom lip. certainly he wasn’t that repulsive, he thinks. what about it? matteo asks with his arms crossed in front of his chest, and david scrunches his nose up because matteo still hasn’t turned towards him even though david is leaning in close enough that he might fall right out of his chair if he were to lean anymore. desperate measures. i just never got your name is all, didn’t think it was leonie, he teases because maybe if polite conversation didn’t work, david could tug on a pigtail just to get a little bit of attention. and matteo’s purses his lips and looks over with a pretty flush on his face as he bites back, right, and i’m sure your the defensive line captain, too. how many tackles you get last year?

-as david is chatting with leonie before practice, he notices matteo look up at him and immediately turn away just in time to miss the way that david waves at his back. is he always that friendly? he asks leonie when she laughs into the back of her hand at the way he frowns. he just isn’t a fan of football players, she says with a bit of a smirk as she seems to realize something that must have been written clearly on david’s face, though you might be able to change his mind. open his eyes to new possibilities. 

-david learned almost instantly that subtle flirtation and quietly placed compliments laced through his smiles weren’t going to get him anywhere around the same time that he cements the fact that matteo with his jaw clenched and his cheeks pink was something he caught himself thinking about too many times when he couldn’t sleep at night. desperate measures, he catches himself repeating as he drags out greetings when he’s walking past matteo in the hall and winks slow enough to make sure that matteo sees, just because he knew that matteo was going to shake his head, roll his eyes, and look away. the only attention that ever seems to satisfy the way his fingers reach out towards matteo when he isn’t paying attention is when he gets matteo to throw jabs back at him in literature as he scoots in close to avoid their assignment together in hopes for  a slice of matteo’s affections. 

-he watches him on the sidelines, tossing people in the air and throwing himself over his feet, and tries to convince himself that it isn’t creepy, just an act of silent admiration towards a team that was dedicated to the encouragement and support for his own. every now and then, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, matteo looks back at him, too. 

-david thinks about matteo too much in those little shorts he wears to practice, and david knows- knows, that that at the very least is just a touch creepy. 

-the season starts next week, david says when matteo has been blankly staring down at his homework that’s completely filled in anyways, and the teacher hasn’t shown up even though class started ten minutes ago. and david was feeling a little bit bored because he’s already tried to say something to matteo twice and flipped through his phone more than that. i know, matteo responds, moving his pencil idly over the page in front of him, and the sound of his voice makes david feel a little bit giddy at the same time the desire to get matteo to look at him was reaching the top of david’s head. are you gonna cheer for me? he asks because he knows that ought to get a reaction, and it does because matteo scoffs at him and mutters back, we cheer for everyone. don’t flatter yourself. and it makes david laugh, somewhere in his throat as he leans back in his chair as he admits, well i’m excited to see your dance anyways. he means it, but he doesn't think matteo believes him. 

-the third game of the season is against his old school. and david makes it a point to toss a fifty yard throw that fucking brady would be proud of as it lands right into fitzy’s hands like a blessing, and he slides himself into the end zone like it was that easy. david gets sacked on the next play. hard. and the tackle spits down at him and asks how he managed to get on another team, which wasn’t much appreciated by one of his lineman who pushes the tackle away from david with a shout and a reminder to stay in his lane. david looks him right in the eye the next down as he spins left around him and runs to the end of the field his own goddamn self. 

-they win that game in a blowout, 42 to 7. david doesn’t shake his old coach’s hand. his own coach didn’t make him. 

-they win the game in a blowout, and everyone starts talking about how david was the best player the school had ever seen. everyone seems to have plenty of nice things to say about him, except perhaps the one person he really wanted to.

-did you watch the game last week? david asks matteo, not really expecting to get an answer, but willing to shoot his shot anyways, like every other day. he never was a quitter after all. and his constant attempts must wear down on matteo eventually because he rolls his eyes and responds, i go to all the games. you know that. and david feels satisfied all the way down to his toes and knows that it’s showing on his face as he leans in to say,  just cause you’re there, doesn’t mean you watch. you said so yourself, you cheer for everyone, in attempts to keep the conversation going. and for some reason, that must stump matteo, if just a little bit, because he keeps looking away and back towards david like he was going to throw his hands up at it, and goes, yeah, and? and david wants to spell it out as clear as he can because even though he wouldn’t say he was being subtle before, he feels the need to tear his chest right open and pull his cards out from behind his sternum to lay them on the table. i watch you, you know? he says with his voice only a little bit wobbling, you finally got your front flip things timed with that other guy.

-and that must stump matteo even more because he stares at david like a fish out of water before he goes to argue, you’re in the locker room when we perform routines. david perks up a little bit because now this is officially the longest conversation they’ve ever had without saying something mean to each other, and he’s willing to keep it going even longer just to see if he can memorize the color of matteo’s eyes. they were making their way into the margins of his notes so he might as well get the coloring right. yeah, but you got it in practice on thursday afternoon, so i just guessed, david shrugs, keeping his eyes up towards matteo’s face and not wondering down the lines of his arms. matteo clears his throat. you need to watch your right side in the pocket, he says. your ol on that side isn’t as strong.

-david thinks that matteo must finally be getting it after that interaction because david doesn’t feel the need to pull on pigtails so much after that, doesn’t feel like he needs those desperate measures he’s been storing away somewhere. when he waves, matteo starts to smile and duck his head, eventually starts waving back. when he says hi, matteo starts nodding, starts acknowledging his attempts at a begrudging friendship when they pass each other on the field or in the hallway. when he asks questions, matteo starts actually answering them, even if they’re only with short little mumblings that don’t make too much sense out of context. david starts to think that maybe they’re friends, if only a little, in the same breath he thinks about open doors. 

-he stills thinks about matteo late at night. 

-he stills pulls a pigtail every now and then just to see matteo blush. 

-leonie invites him to a party, a party that matteo is at, and david feels like he needs a second drink to hold in his other hand too when he sees the patterned, black button up and those form fitting jeans that matteo is wearing. something that was quite unlike the stuff he wore to school that seemed more about comfort and fading away than actually showing himself off. david keeps his eyes up towards matteo’s face, shoulders at the lowest, at least mostly. at one point, matteo is leaning over the kitchen counter and laughing along with something that someone is saying, and david is only human after all. leonie catches him looking, and david sends her a look that says to keep her mouth shut. 

-someone suggests a game of truth or dare.

-it’s leonie’s turn to dare someone, and she looks david right in the eye as she sips her beer and then drawls out, matteo, her eyes landing right on him. truth or dare? she asks, and matteo raises and eyebrow and shrugs, dare. and she grins like a cat with a canary, i dare you to sit on david’s lap for the rest of the game. she looks over at david. he glares at her, and she just smiles as if to say not to look the gift horse in the mouth. david looks over at matteo, who is looking right back, and thinks this might be his last time for desperation before he gives up for good. he leans back and motions matteo over when jonas and sara cheer from across the room. matteo looks at david with squinted eyes, and david feels like he can’t help but wink and pat his lap just to see if he can get one last little blush. 

-matteo leans back against david’s chest, and it takes all of david’s effort not to lean into his shoulder and just take a deep breath to store something else away for his memory. and even though it probably isn’t really necessary, not really part of the dare at all, david keeps an arm around matteo, to keep him steady, he tells himself, to pretend just for a little while, he knows. the whole thing ends up being too overwhelming for him, and his thoughts get stuck in his throat as he mutters out, this is nice. and matteo takes a sip of his beer. is it? he asks, and david wants to pout a little bit at that because it makes it seem like matteo doesn’t agree. yeah, don’t you think? he asks because he’s already put his cards down, already has made himself and his intention clear, and was kind of annoyed with the way matteo wasn’t willing to do the same. are you serious? matteo asks, and david tsks at it, tugs at matteo until he looks over his shoulder enough that david can see his eyes. i’ve been flirting with you since i got here, he states because matteo knew that. he had to. david hasn’t been subtle in a long time at this point. is that what you call it? matteo asks back, and david laughs because this he can do, poking fun. he can do that. 

-later when everyone else is distracted, after matteo has leaned even further back into david’s chest and david has breathed down the back of his neck, matteo asks if he wants to step out for a smoke. and david thinks that’s as clear a sign as he’s ever going to get, a wide open door eve, so he says yes. and matteo leads him to the bathroom and kisses him square on the mouth before that door is even closed. david can’t help but laugh. 

[fight-surrender]

Howlin’ Forever Chapter 3: Into the Woods

Rating: Teen and Up

Word count: 2583

Read on AO3

Summary: “Dog-Simon must catch my scent because he’s instantly awake and on his feet. His head is down, hackles are up and the snarl that ensues from his mouth is most certainly lupine. His eyes are Simon’s blue, but there is no humanity or recognition in them. Only malice.”

Time for Baz to find a werewolf. 

(I did put a readmore cut in here on my desktop, I’m terribly sorry to clog your feed if it doesn’t transfer to mobile.) Thanks as always to my amazing friends, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz​, @vkelleyart​ @penpanoply​ for their unwavering support and encouragement and beta reading and omg @penpanoply​ made me this cover art which is fucking gorgeous and brilliant and perfect. <3 <3

        _________________________________________________

                                       Ch 3: Into the Woods

                                   You and me have a disease,                                   You affect me, you infect me,                                   I'm afflicted, you're addicted,                                      You and me, you and me

                                  - “Infected” by Bad Religion

 Baz:

Panting, I scramble to the window. The night seems to be holding its breath, silently waiting as a quiet splash draws my eyes to the moat. The merwolves are eerily calm, almost reverent, as they bear witness to the hulking bronze figure that cuts through the water. The creature emerges from the moat, shaking off moonlit water droplets. He howls again, sending my heart into a renewed frenzy. The wolf then turns and runs into the forest.

I wipe my hands across my face, then rake them through my hair.

What should I do? What should I do?

Should I go after him? Leave him be? Where is he going? Does he even know?

The drawbridge is closed. I’m too frazzled to manage a spell to get around it. Sleep isn’t an option tonight. My eye catches on the pile of books Malfoy sent over. At least Hogwarts still has a fully stocked library, not the Children’s Garden of Verses we have here at Watford. I take a copy of “Magical Beasts and Where to Find Them,” a bag of salt and vinegar crisps and settle onto my bed to try and focus on the pages.

***

  Sunrise turns the room pink as I realize I’ve been reading the same paragraph for half an hour. I have no idea what it says. The only information I’ve retained from this exercise is that the full moon phase can last up to about four days. The transformation seems to last longer in the newly Turned. Also, there is a potion called Wolfsbane that helps lessen the effects of the Lycanthropy.

A heavy thunk, followed by the clatter of gears indicates the drawbridge is coming down.

I snap the book shut with one hand and stand up.

Time to find a werewolf.

 ***

 It’s a good thing it’s the weekend. I certainly wouldn’t miss class to hike through the woods after this imbecile. Branches slap my face as I stomp along, following Snow’s tracks. He’s left an obvious trail of broken limbs, scratched soil and huge footprints. My vampire senses come in handy as well. His scent is different in this form. He still smells like smoke, but now there’s a wildness, a smell of petrichor and moss with hints of musk.

My mind is a swirl of thoughts, but I can’t settle on any single one. Simon, the Chosen One, Watford’s golden boy is now a monster. Technically, he’s not allowed to exist. Neither am I, for that matter, I’m well versed in keeping my secret. The question is what’s Simon going to do with this information? He’s so damned good, he could very well just turn himself in to the mage as soon as he resumes his human form. I’ll be damned to hell twice over before I let him throw his life away like that. I will stop him, even if I have to put a collar on him and chain him to the bed. (That actually sounds appealing, regardless of his reaction to his new condition.)

Simon’s scent gets stronger as I approach a dried creek bed. I slow down, treading lightly across scattered stones and debris, trying not to make a sound. An angry squirrel chitters at me from a branch above my head. If I had the time or inclination, I’d drain him out of spite. At least squirrel blood tastes better than rat.

I stop short as I come around a boulder, on the other side is the hulking form of Simon Snow. Rather, the were version of him. His breath is till heaving, but he seems to be asleep. During the frenzied events of last night, I hadn’t a chance to really get a look at him.  He’s huge, probably the size of a Shetland pony. He doesn’t exactly look wolfish, his muzzle is not so pointed, his ears flop down. He looks like, well he looks like an overgrown, shaggy, bronze-furred Golden Retriever. For snakes sake, of course Simon Snow would turn into a Golden; cheerful, loyal, lovely dogs that they are. He’s too good to even be a proper monster. Crowley. I roll my eyes and shake my head in wonder.

Dog-Simon must catch my scent because he’s instantly awake and on his feet. His head is down, hackles are up and the snarl that ensues from his mouth is most certainly lupine. His eyes are Simon’s blue, but there is no humanity or recognition in them. Only malice. Not quite so Golden-esque then.

Before I can pull my wand from my sleeve, he lunges at me, but immediately falls to the ground. He growls again and turns to bite at something behind him. I step back to a safer distance and see that the beast’s foot is caught in some kind of debris. Snow flails and thrashes, but eventually collapses, exhausted, panting.

I try to approach him, now that he’s tired, and am met once again with that malevolent, dead stare and a mouth full of giant teeth. And, I might add, horrific dog breath.  I back away into the forest to think. That thing, it is Simon. I can’t exactly leave him out here for the next three days, but how can I spell him free and somewhere safe until he goes back to human form? There are dog training spells, but what would “atta boy” do to the human part of his brain? I suppose I could spell him to sleep, but how do I get him back to our room? I don’t have the magic to transport him.

What if I could get him to trust me? Physically, he’s a giant pet dog. What’s the best way to train a dog? Positive reinforcement: Food. What’s the way to Simon Snow’s heart? Food.  

I turn and run back to Watford. It’s time to call in a favor with Cook Pritchard.

 ***

 Thank magic no one is around when I haul the giant wicker picnic basket Cook Pritchard loaded up for me across the great lawn. She gave me enough food for an army. The woman was well chuffed that I was having a picnic with “friends.” She acted as if I hadn’t any friends.  “Well that’s lovely, Basilton, so nice to see you coming out of your shell.” Cook even tucked a small bottle of dandelion wine into the basket, “to help break the ice.” She actually winked at me. I wanted to implode.

I have friends. Sure, half of them are family, but still. You only need one or two friends, anything more isn’t worth the effort.

I carry the basket through the wood. I feel like I’m on my way to a goth Victorian picnic. I stop periodically to drain a few squirrels, just for spite.  The resident dryad side eyes me as I pass her thicket. I ignore her.

“What do you seek, blood eater?” She hisses. Twirling her ridiculous umbrella. Butterflies swirl lazily around her mossy hair.

“None of your business.” I reply.

“Your pistil is a wolf.” She remarks.

“He’s not my anything.” I snarl, “And he’s not a wolf, he’s a Golden Retriever.”

“The Chosen One is an abomination,” she presses. “The children of the moon must die.”

I light a fire in my palm. “Is that so?” I drop my voice to a menace, “maybe I should take out this whole forest in the process.”

“Do what you must. The forest will regrow. He cannot live.” She calls my bluff.

“You know what? You can fuck off.” I say, frustrated.

She opens her mouth to speak, but I raise my hand. “Enough. We’re done here.” I sling the giant basket over my shoulder and stomp away.

I’ll be staked before I take advice from a woodland creature holding a parasol. Snow has as much of a right to live as I do. More so, he’s not dead. Fuck the dryad.

I finally make it back to the creek bed. Dog-Simon looks vaguely defeated, laying on his side, his back leg stretched behind him. I can see a length of rusty wire wrapped around his foot. He’s awake, wary eyes never leaving mine, a low growl rumbles in his chest.

I settle myself on the ground a safe distance away. I’m wearing my school-issue green Watford football trackie bottoms and sweatshirt. Coach Mac will probably not appreciate werewolf damage to the practice uniform. My trainers are caked with mud. I sigh. The things I do for love.

The basket creaks as I open it. The sound makes Snow get up and retreat as far as the wire around his leg will let him. His tail is down, ears back; he’s panting lightly.

I pull out the bottle of dandelion wine and take a swig, to calm my nerves. It’s bitter, with a faint floral overtone, and just enough bite to warm my chest. I take a deep breath and survey the contents of my picnic. The basket is overflowing with roast beef sandwiches, sour cherry scones, roast chicken, bacon butties, jellies, and inexplicably a layered trifle. She must have magicked it all in there.

It’s just me and the dog, and I missed breakfast, so I help myself to a roast beef sandwich. Snow’s ears tip forward and he sits down. Sniffing the air.

I toss a bit of my sandwich at him, he scrambles away with a surprised bark. Almost immediately, he cautiously noses forward, sniffing at the roast beef. He sits down again, without eating it and resumes watching me, panting. His teeth are huge.

“For fucks sake, Simon, it’s not like it’s poisoned.”

The dog’s ears perk up and he cocks his head at me. His mouth is closed, brows almost furrowed in concentration.

“Go on then lad,” I press, “roast beef is your favorite.” I remind myself to breathe.

Snow resumes panting, but lowers his nose again at the food. He nudges it, then takes an experimental bite. Apparently satisfied that the offering wasn’t going to kill him, the great dog swallows the rest. Licking his lips, he retreats to his original position, as far away from Baz as he can get.

I toss half a sandwich into his orbit.

“There you go Snow, I know you can’t walk away from half a sandwich.”

Once again Dog-Simon sits, cocks his head and looks at me. I’m probably imagining it, but his eyelids almost seem to squeeze a bit, in concentration. He cautiously walks my way, never taking his eyes off me, and eats the sandwich half in one bite. This time he doesn’t shy away, he sits, panting again and watches me.

I toss him the other half of the sandwich, which he catches in the air and eats with more gusto. He’s watching me again, this time I get a weak tail wag.

I unwrap the roast chicken and throw the whole thing at him. It lands with an unceremonious plop, a leg breaking free. Simon stands and practically inhales the whole thing. His tail is wagging faster now.

We go on like this for the duration of the afternoon. I’m slowly inching closer, I can almost touch his muzzle now. He seems more relaxed, the panting has stopped. His ears are forward, tail wagging freely. His eyes have gone softer, from ice to sky.

I reach into the basket for a sour cherry scone, I’ve been saving these for this moment. I scoot even closer, holding it in my hand this time. He’s so close, he could easily rip my throat out. It’s not often I have to worry about someone ripping out my throat. It’s refreshing, really. I suppose there are worse ways to die.

“Simon, we’re going to have to work together to figure this mess out. If there is any part of you that can hear me, let me help you. I mean, I know you don’t have any reason to trust me, but…” My voice tapers off. Why would he trust me? Crowley, I’ve done nothing but torment him for the last 6 years.

A gentle breeze ruffles the golden leaves above me. “We be of one blood, ye and I.” I murmur. A warm rush of surprise washes over me. Where the fuck did that even come from? Kipling was a powerful magician, but is that even a spell? Leave it to me to channel my favorite childhood book in times of duress.

I take a breath and hold out the scone. Simon noses forward, sniffs, and carefully takes the scone from my hand. He doesn’t move away. I keep my eyes on him as I slowly reach for the basket and remove another scone. I hold it in my hand, when he takes it, I reach out with my other hand and run it behind his ear, rubbing along his jaw. He stiffens, but continues to eat the scone. “These are your favourite,” I whisper, scratching behind his ear, rubbing slowly along his neck and shoulder. Eventually, I find myself out of scones and scratching his stomach, while his tongue lolls and he scratches his back leg lazily.

I take a break because my hands are cramping from all the petting. I really hope he doesn’t remember any of this. I shake my hands and look at the grime under my nails. I’m going to need a manicure.

Simon stands and gives a mighty shake from his nose to his feathered, rudder-like tail. He utters a sharp bark, like he’s decided something, then proceeds to try and climb into my lap, his huge pink tongue lapping my face.

“Merlin and Morgana, you giant thumping git, get off. I push him away, but not too far. He knocks me to the ground and licks my whole face. For snakes sake, you’re disgusting, I get to my feet wiping saliva off my chin and trying not to smile. Simon’s tail is wagging so hard his whole body is wiggling and he’s rubbing along my side, trying to get me to scratch his back. I oblige for a moment.

“Snow, stop, let’s get your leg untangled.”  He stands so quietly as I extricate his leg from the wire, that I can’t help but wonder if he understood me.

Once freed, Simon plants his giant paws on my shoulders and smears the side of my face with his tongue once more. “Blimey, Snow.” I step back and the great dog’s feet once more hit the ground. He zooms away, coming to a skidding stop, returns to my side and bows his front legs down, rear up, tail wagging madly.

I lean down and take his huge face in my hands, scratching gently below his jaw. “Come along, you delightful moron, let’s go home.”

I turn and make my way through the forest. The late afternoon sun dappling the trail with rich golden light. Dust motes dancing in the beams. Simon scampers ahead, darting back every few minutes to make sure I’m still following.

I breathe in the rich loamy scent of these ancient woods and let it out slowly. For once, my mind is quiet. Simon is back at my side, nosing at my hand. I absentmindedly rub his velvet ear. I stop and let this foreign emotion wash over me. I let myself relax, for just this moment, I am content.

[oohfluffy]

DDND Ch.16 | KJI

Group: EXO

Member: Kim Jongin

Theme: Fluff | Dancer!AU | Dormmmate!AU

Word Count: 2,592

❀ Chapter 16: Rendezvous ❀

"Does this mean—"

"I like you."

You gulped as Kai held your hand tighter. You stopped walking and turned to him. Kai innocently blinked at you.

If you're wondering where are you two right now, you sneaked out of the house by climbing up the gates again to get out.

For some reason, you felt adrenaline running through your veins as you walk with Kai in the dark night. Well, it wasn't really that dark since there are light posts and some lights on from afar but still dark.

"A-Are you sure?" You asked, almost choking at his sudden confession. Kai grinned, pulling your hand lightly.

"Why? Are you doubting my feelings for you?"

"No! It's not that. It's just- I don't know. I'm not sure." You mumbled, looking away from his stare.

"Hey. Look at me, babe."

You blushed as his hands found their ways to your rosy cheeks.

Thank goodness for the dim lights.

You looked back at him, seeing how his brown eyes sparkled as they stared back at you. Kai suddenly smirked.

"You just want me to kiss you again, huh?"

Your eyes widened, pushing his face away immediately.

"No way! I was just asking if you're sincere or not, so I won't be hoping for more!"

You almost stopped breathing when you straightly said that without even filtering your words before it came out from your unstoppable mouth.

Kai's smirk was wiped off as he heard you. His eyes turning into puppy ones.

"Uhm. Don't mind what I just said—"

He hugged you, making his head home on the crook of your neck. His brown fluffy hair tickled your ear, making you giggle unintentionally. You bit your lip as you refrained giggling more.

"You like that, baby?" Kai whispered teasingly, shaking his head, making you giggle as his hair tickles you.

"S-Stop." You mumbled, pushing him away. He let you push him away with a grin but his arms stayed on your waist. You averted your eyes from him. "You're so touchy. We're not even official."

Kai laughed before gently pinching your waist, making you jump.

"I like you, Lin. So much that my eyes hurt when I see you."

"Yah! Is that even a good thing?!" You said, hitting his chest.

Oh ghad. It's a wall.

"Of course, baby, it is. My eyes hurt when I see you because I can't look at your blinding beauty— HEY!"

You quickly walked away as you escaped from his grasp, making pout as he follow you in the dark.

"And here I am, thinking I'll receive a better confession than before." You thought out loud as you hear Kai's footsteps behind you.

"What? Than before? Someone confessed to you already?" He asked incredulously, making you glare at him.

"What? I thought you think I'm beautiful? What's with your—"

"I'm jealous."

You gaped at him as you reached the playground. Kai was pouting like a child as he grabbed your hand and led you to the swing. He made you sit on one and sat on the swing beside yours.

"J-Jealous?! W-Why would you—"

"I thought I was the first one."

You cleared your throat as you looked away from his eyes. Your eyes went up the sky, where stars were slightly twinkling and lightening your view.

"Beautiful." Kai whispered, staring at how you smile while looking at the stars.

"I had my first boyfriend when I was 18. I met him in college—" You frowned as you were cut off by the boy beside you.

"Was he the one who dropped you off at home last Sunday? I didn't see him but I bet he's not hot as me." Kai said, crossing his arms as if throwing a tantrum. You giggled as you watch him act so childish.

"What do you think of my type of guy? Of course he's hot! His voice is amazing too! His eyes were the ones that made me drawn to him. They're like hypnotizing me to—"

A hand over your mouth stopped you from speaking. You turned to Kai and saw him glaring at you.

"I don't wanna hear more." He grumbled, pinching your cheek after letting your mouth be freed. You grinned.

"Then don't cut me off again, my devil dancer."

Kai's ears perked up with the nickname you've come up with. He turned to you with a smirk.

"Devil dancer? Seriously, babe?" He said teasingly. You blushed, nodding as you bit your lip.

"Y-Yeah. What's wrong with that? You don't like—"

"I like it because it's you."

You felt like your heart escaped from your ribs and jumped down to run away from you.

I feel like I'm a melted cheese on top of pizza.

"You mean that—"

O-Okay.

You thought as Kai once again made his lips connect with yours, leaning closer to you. It was just a quick peck though, not that you're complaining.

Kai smiled as he pulled away, taking notice of your reddish cheeks. You instantly covered your cheeks with your hands.

"Does that answer all of your questions?" Kai asked teasingly, standing up from the swing. You sat still on your swing, not looking at him.

Oh ghad. He just took another kiss from me.

"W-Well, it might but it would be better if you tell me why you like me." You mumbled, staring at your feet.

"There are so many things that I like about you, baby. Then let me start at your stubbornness, impatience, grumpiness, your love for barbecue, how you make me really jealous every single—"

You suddenly stood up and covered his mouth to stop him from saying more.

"Aish! Enough! Enough! Let's just go home!" You said, walking ahead of him. Kai grinned as he scratched the back of head before following you.

"I'm not yet finished though!"

When you both arrived back at the dorm, it was already 1:15 am. You two were poking each others stomach as you walk upstairs like kids.

"Yah! I'm a girl! How can you poke me back?!"

"I'm a boy then. Admit it, you like poking my stomach because you can touch my abs."

Well...

"Whatever, Kai."

"That's babe for you, okay?"

You blushed, quickly opening your door.

"Goodnight, baby." He whispered behind you.

You swear if you turn around, you'll die.

"Goodnight." You said back shortly before closing the door with a smile. After a few seconds, you suddenly remembered something. You quickly opened the door. "Kai?"

"Yep?" Thankfully, he was just in the middle of opening his door. He walked back at you with your eyes on his feet.

"Is your foot okay now? We walked for so long. It might have opened or something! Should I check it—"

Kai shushed you with his finger.

"I'm totally fine. More than fine actually." He replied, winking at you. You sighed.

"You sure? It doesn't hurt?"

"Yes, it doesn't. Now, go to sleep, baby." He said then leaned forward to you. You closed your eyes, obviously expecting something. Kai stopped, looking at your cute reaction. He grinned before placing a kiss on your forehead. "You're getting too greedy, baby."

You opened your eyes in shock before backing away from him. You rolled your eyes before taking the door knob in your hand.

"Go to sleep too, my devil."

He just smirked before you fully closed the door.

You stared at the ceiling of your room as you got in and straightly laid down on your bed with a smile.

What exactly are we?

Does this mean we're official or what?

He didn't even ask me to be his girlfriend but he said he likes me.

It would be embarrassing if I ask him tomorrow.

Should I just let this go and go back to normal?

"Urgh. Such a headache." You mumbled, rolling over your bed but a smile was plastered on your lips.

"Gosh, I really like him."

♫ ❧ ♫ ❧ ♫ ❧ ♫ ❧ ♫

"So you went out at 12:35 am with your fave dancer?!"

You shushed Tiffany as she spoke too loud after you told her what happened last night.

"Keep your voice down, will you, unnie?" You said, looking around for anyone that might have heard. Tiffany giggled.

"Huwaah~ Our Lin is growing up."

"It's not like I haven't gone out with a guy. It's just- This is a different case. Kai is different from Myungsoo."

Tiffany tilted her head in confusion. You sighed as you leaned back on the chair.

"Myungsoo was straightforward, you know that. When he told me he likes me, he also said he would court me as long as I want him to. He was open with everything. But Kai is—"

"Like a mysterious one? He didn't clear your status, huh? What a jerk. Seriously if I don't have my little brother, I would've rooted for your fave dancer. It's just sometimes he lacks in something important like this." Tiffany said, crossing her arms. "But did you ask him about it?"

"No, of course not. It would be embarrassing, unnie."

"Right. But how would you know? Just wait until he says so? Nu-uh, my dear!"

You almost jumped out of your seat when she squealed.

"What should I do, unnie? It's bothering me. I guess I really like him that much." You mumbled, your voice smaller as you say the last one. Tiffany grinned.

"Should we trigger his manliness?"

You looked at her incredulously.

"Seriously? Trigger what?"

"Hmm. I think we can use my lil' brother in this. I'll tell him later the plan when he picks me up! We'll make your fave dancer claim you as his on the spot!"

WHAT.

Your phone rang as you closed the front door of the café. Joohyuk was talking with Tiffany beside you about the latest football match. You grabbed your phone from your pocket and turned to your friends.

"I'll just answer this." They nodded and went back to talking.

"Yeobeoseyo?"

"Lin..." A rough voice called out.

You put your phone down and looked at the caller.

'Oh Handsome Sehun'

You immediately brought the phone back to your ear.

"Sehun-ah?! Are you okay? Why do you sound so—"

"Come here, please..."

"Where? I don't know where you are. Please tell me." You said in panic. You heard him chuckled lightly but ended up coughing. You just grew more worried.

"I'm at my apartment. Noona knows it. You can ask her but please don't tell her about me being sick. She'll worry for sure." Sehun stuttered, coughing in between his words. You bit your lip, nodding as if he can see you.

"Okay then. Wait for me, Sehun-ah. I'll be there in a few!"

You quickly hung up and went back to your friends.

"Unnie, can you please tell me where Sehun's apartment is?"

They both looked at you in wonder. Tiffany didn't hesitate giving you his address and room number since you looked like in a hurry. She didn't ask about it though.

"He's living at the 4th floor of the building at Gangnam Street. 412 is his room number."

"Okay thanks, unnie! Joohyuk, can you walk her home? Sehun said he won't be able to pick her up today." You said, walking on the opposite direction where you usually go.

"Okay, I guess." Joohyuk mumbled, watching as you run away, not even waiting for his reply. Tiffany smiled as she watched you go.

"Sehunnie's growing up too." She mumbled, clinging her arm on Joohyuk's. Joohyuk groaned in annoyance. "Let's go home now, Hyuk!"

"I guess I don't need a plan after all." Tiffany sang as she walked, making Joohyuk look at her.

"Plan for what, noona?"

"Plan for love~" She squealed.

♫ ❧ ♫ ❧ ♫ ❧ ♫ ❧ ♫

You quickly pressed the elevator's button to the 4th floor, tapping your foot as you got in the elevator. The door closed and you anxiously watched as the screen on top of the door moved from 1-4, showing that you've reached the floor.

You immediately got out of the lift and went to find the room 412. As you walked further on the right, you finally saw it.

"Sehun-ah? I'm here!" You knocked.

No one answered the door, so you knocked again, louder this time.

"Sehun-ah! Please open the door. I'm getting worried now."

The door opened, revealing a half-naked Oh Sehun.

"Why aren't you wearing your shirt?" You bravely asked, pushing him back inside. You closed the door and turned to him. You observed his apartment and saw it was neatly cleaned.

"I felt h-hot, that's why." He mumbled, leaning his head on the door. You groaned as you made him lean on you, putting his arm on your shoulder.

"Come on. You'll get cold soon." You murmured, leading him back to what you think his room.

The wall was painted white, so you noticed every little think that contrasts its color. The bed was messy, showing that he just got up from it earlier. You didn't focus yourself on his room and made him lay back on his bed.

"Please don't go around without a shirt. You might get a cold. You may have gorgeous body but—"

"Y-You think my body's gorgeous?" He managed to mumble with a smile.

"Ha. Ha. Ha. Just rest there. Have you eaten already? I'll make you something to eat, if you don't mind." You said as you stood up but was stopped when Sehun grabbed your hand.

He has his eyes closed, eyebrows knitted as if he's in pain, his lips pursed and sweat was lightly trickling down his face.

"D-Don't go."

Your eyes softened at his words, you slowly sat down on his bed.

"You don't want to eat? I'll get a towel then. I'll try to cool down your fever. So please, let me go for a moment."

Sehun pouted, making you laugh.

"Come on, baby boy." You teased, ruffing his hair. He smiled at your touch and nodded, letting you go.

You quickly stood up and made your way to his cabinet.

"Is it here?" You asked as you opened the cabinet. You heard him hum, so you continued your search. You found one and took it. You went back outside and saw the sink on the kitchen. You washed the towel carefully and went to get a basin. When you got the basin filled with cold water, you quickly walked back to the room, managing to keep the floor dry.

"I'm back, baby boy." You greeted, putting the basin down before squeezing the towel.

"Hmm." He hummed again, letting you cool his face with a cold towel. He flinched at the coldness but you just chuckled. You continued wiping his neck to his arms, quickly going to his chest and abdomen. You slightly gulped as you saw his well-built abs.

You shook your head and stopped wiping his body. You put the towel back on the basin to renew its coldness before squeezing it again. When you turned to Sehun, he was asleep already, or so you thought.

"Aigoo. What a baby." You mumbled, putting the towel neatly on his forehead. You cover his body again with his comforter and sat beside him, quietly observing.

You sighed in relief as you stood up and turned on his lamp before turning off the lights. You glanced at him with a smile.

"Goodnight, Sehun-ah." You whispered, ready to get out of the room when you heard him mumble.

"I love you."

—

❀ Ch.17

[carryonmylovelies]

#13, PITCH

Rating: T

Tags: Soccer/Football, Outsider POV, Simon Snow, Baz Pitch, My OC Michael Torres, Fluff, Humor

Word count: 4685

Summary: Michael Torres loves football. His favorite team is Watford F.C. and his favorite player is a clever, speedy center defender. He meets a weird, curly-haired Watford fan at a Sunday match and it gets super mental from there.

Read on AO3

AN: This is the first time I've written anything since a lot of stuff in my life happened and I am just so happy to be posting again!! :D I wrote this after going to my favorite soccer team's game and just focused on making it fun. Alsooooo hAPPY BIRTHDAY BAZ!!!!

I'm dedicating it to my BEST friend Theo @bazypitchandsimonsnow because she encouraged me and gave me so much confidence and affirmation about my writing and stuff in my life and I just love her so much and literally it's all on her for being such an inspiration. Love you <3

Michael Torres loved football. More specifically, he loved Watford F.C., the Premier League football team of Hertfordshire, England. He loved everything about them. They were the Hornets, the Golden Boys, standing 8th in the league but quickly gathering speed as they swallowed up wins left and right. They were a team full of young, enthusiastic men with a certain insatiable hunger for victory and they were only getting better. Michael had been watching them play for as long as he could remember; recognizing their striking black and yellow and red colors before he even recognized his own name. Match days were considered to be religious events. Season tickets were a necessity. He owned at least three different jerseys in their classic black and yellow stripes, two different jerseys in their away colors of forest green, and various jerseys with the numbers and last names of all his favorite players. He was obsessed, utterly in love with his home football team of Watford.

At four o’clock today Watford would be playing against Manchester City, the number 1 rated team in the League. It was going to be one hell of a match.

                                                        ***

“DROP BACK, ROLDAN. LOOK UP AND SEE CARSON, COME ON! HE’S OPEN, HE’S OPEN . . . NO! NO! YOU HAVE NUMBER 23 UP YOUR ARSE, LOOK LEFT AND SEE . . . WAIT! YES! BRILLIANT RECOVERY! NOW TAKE IT, TAKE IT, UP THE SIDELINES, YES YES! CROSS TO HENDERSON AND . . . NOOOOOO!” Michael yelled, sumping back into his blue stadium chair as he miserably watched Manchester’s star midfielder sweep in and steal the ball right from under Watford’s rookie right forward, Ben Roldan, dribbling for a moment before rearing back and sending the ball flying back towards Watford’s half of the field.

Michael sighed and took a sip from the soda he had bought before the match had started. All around him, a sea of people were waving yellow and black and red flags frantically, the Watford badge as well as the Manchester badge rippling in the late afternoon wind. People were shouting and cheering at the top of their lungs and the sun shone brightly on the field, stark white lines of paint marking the green grass and aligning perfectly with the two large goals on either end of the field. Popcorn was spilled all over the cement ground and fans were munching on pretzels and nachos. Kids were giggling with their faces sticky and pink from the large cones of candy floss they were shoving into their mouths. There had to be at least twenty-thousand people filling the slightly uncomfortable stadium seats, maybe more, and there was a thrumming, tangible sort of energy hanging in the air that everyone appeared to be feeling.

It was about thirty minutes into the first half and Manchester was up 2 to 1, but Watford wasn’t far behind. They had been pushing the ball into Manchester’s half and taking more shots on goal, and Watford’s fans could feel the determination and perseverance rolling off of their players in waves. It was a strong match so far and Watford had been mostly attacking--that made sense since they had such an unstoppable team of forwards, but unfortunately Manchester wasn’t one to stay on the defense for very long.

Manchester’s up-and-coming forward, Number 42, was now streaking down the middle of the field, weaving through Watford’s midfielders and almost getting close enough for a scoring shot when a flash of black and yellow sprinted towards the attacking forward and neatly pulled away the ball in one smooth motion. The crowd of Watford fans were up on their feet in an instant screaming and cheering with all their might--Michael being one of them--as Watford’s wicked center defender, Basil Pitch, took two long strides up the sidelines and then delivered a devastating kick to the ball. It sailed over the heads of Manchester’s forwards and midfielders and completed its arc right above Jordy Benson, Watford’s left forward. Benson jumped up and trapped the ball with his chest, letting it roll to his feet and settle for a quarter of second before tapping the ball in front of him and taking off towards Manchester’s goal.

The crowd absolutely exploded as Benson lined up for the shot and then slammed the ball in the direction of the goal, everyone cheering and shouting as loudly as they could. Manchester’s goalie had adopted a wide stance and was shuffling back and forth as the ball came barreling towards him, and then made a spectacular dive a second later. The ball hit the goalie’s stomach and the goalie instantly curled around it, falling to the ground having successfully blocked the shot. Watford’s fans all groaned in disappointment but commented to one another that it had been an excellent save, even though Benson’s shot didn’t make it in.

Michael sat back down as the Manchester goalie threw the ball to his closest teammate and the back and forth between Manchester defenders and Watford forwards resumed, the ball being quickly passed and bounced from player to player.

Michael wasn’t happy about the missed shot, sure, but mostly he was still reeling from how skillfully Pitch had recovered the ball, at how Pitch had basically handed the ball to Benson in order for the shot to be made. It was unreal.

Michael looked down proudly at the black and yellow jersey he was wearing, feeling confident in the name and number that was on his back in white, block letters. ‘PITCH’ was curved across Michael’s shoulder blades and a large ‘13’ sat directly underneath it. He had bought the jersey after the first game of the season, after Pitch had made so many saves and recoveries for his team that Michael didn’t even think the ball or any of the opposing team’s players got anywhere near Watford’s goal.

They were about halfway through the season and Pitch had been continuously defending the everloving fuck out of Watford’s goal, catching the attention of not only the public and die hard football fans, but the other teams and players in the league as well. He was a force to be bloody reckoned with.

A burst of noise from the crowd around him and movement on the field took Michael back to his feet as he watched Pitch sprinting up the field, his long legs pumping furiously as he darted in and out of Manchester’s forwards, the ball dancing between his black cleats and a Manchester midfielder practically on his arse. The midfielder shoved himself up against Pitch’s shoulder, driving him towards the sidelines, but Pitch resisted, somehow managing to keep his speed and position despite the extra force working against him. The midfielder tried again and again to throw Pitch off but nothing was making him budge.

Michael cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “STAY ON HIM, PITCH. DON’T LET UP ON THE WANKER!”

The fans around him were shouting out similar comments and Michael couldn’t take his eyes off the two of them.

The midfielder seemed to be getting frustrated, and once again he reared back and slammed himself into Pitch. Or tried to, at least. At the very last minute, Pitch slid the ball behind him and gracefully stepped backwards, the midfielder missing him completely and falling roughly to the ground at Pitch’s feet. The crowd roared in approval, Michael pumping his fist in the air when suddenly he heard the shrill tweet of a whistle being blown, and anger rushed through him. A side referee was holding up the small, red and yellow checkered flag towards the sky, indicating a free kick.

The crowd exploded into yells and jeers.

“OI, WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT, REF? WHAT’S THE FUCKING CALL?”

“NO! NO! WHAT A BLOODY TERRIBLE CALL. PITCH DIDN’T EVEN TOUCH THE GIT HE JUST STEPPED BACK! THE GIT WAS PUSHING!”

“YOU ABSOLUTE DUMBARSE WHAT’S THE GODDAMN CALL? THAT WASN’T A BLOODY FOUL.”

A second later the announcer explained the call.

“Due to tripping and unnecessary roughness from number 13, a free kick will be awarded to Manchester.”

“BOOOOO,” Michael yelled, his face furrowed in frustration. “THAT WASN’T BLOODY FUCKING TRIPPING! ‘UNNECESSARY ROUGHNESS’ MY ARSE, PITCH WASN’T EVEN--”

But Michael was cut off by a much louder, more aggressive shout.

“OI, REF, GET OFF YOUR BLOODY KNEES AND STOP BLOWING THE MATCH! THAT WASN’T A FOUL AND YOU FUCKING KNOW IT!”

Michael snorted and looked to his left at the seat next to him, noticing a bloke around his age yelling at the field, his face bright red. The bloke looked over and Michael nodded back in agreement.

“The ref IS blowing the bloody match! Pitch didn’t even touch the dumbfuck, let alone TRIP him!” Michael exclaimed, shaking his head as he glanced back at the field, watching Manchester set up for their free kick.

“Christ, I know!” The bloke responded, throwing up his hands and groaning. “I swear to shit, it’s like these refs are TRYING to make the worst possible calls they can. They’ve been at it all season. It’s fucking mental out there.”

Michael nodded again and both of them looked out at the field in disgust as the free kick landed the ball right in front of Manchester’s star midfielder.

About two minutes later, another shrill whistle blow sounded, this time signaling the end of the first half. The players all exited the field through their respective corners and Michael and the bloke sat down next to him. The bloke then turned to Michael and extended his hand.

“Hey mate, I’m Simon. Nice to meet you.”

Michael clasped Simon’s hand and shook it. “Same here. I’m Michael.”

Simon smiled warmly at him and then turned his head distractedly at the sound of a woman’s voice shouting about the snacks and drinks she was selling from the tray she carried, and he quickly hailed her over and bought a large bag of kettle corn, a pretzel, and a bottle of soda.

Michael looked at him as he began to eat. Simon had a mess of curls on top of his head, loads of freckles and moles dotted all over his face and neck, and plain blue eyes. He was shoving handfuls of popcorn into his mouth at a fantastic rate and seemed quite unbothered by the many kernels that had escaped his grasp and were now gathering in his lap. But what really drew Michael’s attention was the jacket Simon was wearing. It was a black zip-up athletic jacket, the words “The Watford Hornets” written on the back in yellow lettering, and the red and yellow Watford badge on the front in the corner. Michael had seen the jacket being worn before, but only by the players, and usually during the colder months when the players needed something to cover up with before matches. Michael wondered where Simon had got it from. Maybe the team shop had started selling them and he just didn’t know about it yet? He doubted it; Michael knew everything the shop sold since he owned most of it himself.

“Hey, uh, Simon, where’d you get that coat, mate? Team shop?”

Simon looked down at the jacket and smiled, his cheeks turning slightly red as his eyes glittered.

“It’s my boyfriend’s. He gave it to me to wear for the match today,” Simon said fondly, rubbing his thumb over the sleeve.

“Oh nice,” Michael responded, noting that Simon still hadn’t answered his question as to where the jacket came from and was about to ask him again when Simon abruptly got up. He was clutching his phone with a huge grin on his face and then practically sprinted down the cement aisle, his hand flying over the metal railing. Michael watched as he stumbled over the last four steps and simply jumped straight to the ground. He then melted into the crowd of people who were getting up to go to the bathroom and to get food before the second half started.

Huh.

Michael didn’t really know what someone could possibly do for less than fifteen minutes during the halftime of a football match that would be exciting enough to literally fall down the stairs for but hey, more power to the bloke.

Michael already had his drink and he wasn’t really hungry so he was content to just sitting in his seat and watching other fans mill about. The goal posts were casting long shadows down the field as the sun began to slip from the sky, and the huge lights along the edges of the stadium clicked on, flooding the stands and the field with brightness as everything outside darkened.

When there were only about four minutes left until the second half, the players made their way back onto the field, stretching and getting set up in their positions, only now they were on the opposite side of the field they had started the match on. Michael briefly scanned Watford’s half and noticed that the center defender spot was strangely empty. A second later, Pitch could be seen jogging out from the sidelines and into position, his shoulder-length inky black hair flying around loosely for a moment before he seemed to realize it wasn’t tied in his usual low ponytail. Weird, Michael thought, as Pitch quickly tied his hair back up and began to stretch.

And even weirder still, Simon collapsed into the stadium seat next to Michael’s a minute later, completely out of breath, his face and neck a startling shade of scarlet. Michael couldn’t really tell if Simon’s curls had gotten neater or more messed up since the last time he had seen them, but they definitely looked different.

“Alright, mate?” Michael asked, raising his eyebrows at Simon’s completely disheveled state.

Simon looked at him in surprise, almost as if he had forgotten Michael was there at all. “Oh, er, yeah I’m fine. Just wanted to make sure I was back in time for the start of the match, is all.”

“Ah, well, not to worry. You made it with two minutes to spare.”

Simon nodded at him happily and then sank lower in his seat, rubbing his hands on his face as he exhaled loudly, his breaths quickly turning into low laughs. What a weird bloke.

Michael leaned forward to grab his drink from the cup holder in front of him when Simon gasped excitedly, smiling at him when he sat back up.

“Your jersey! Are you a Pitch fan?”

Michael looked at Simon as if he had just asked Michael if he liked breathing air. Was he a Pitch fan. The more appropriate question would be to ask who wasn’t a Pitch fan.

“Of course I am. He’s only the most brilliant defender of all the F.C.’s in England and the U.K.!”

Simon looked pleasantly amused. “Oh yeah?”

“Uh, yeah! He’s in the best season of his entire career and has one of the strongest defense records in League history! He plays every match like it’s his last and he never backs down from an opponent. He’s agile, ruthless, and shit, he’s fucking fast. What, are you a Pitch fan?”

Simon looked at him and promptly burst out laughing but Michael didn’t see what was so funny. When he calmed down, his huge grin had shrunk to a small smile in the corner of his mouth. Sort of  . . . smirk-ish.

“Me, a Pitch fan? You could say that. He’s alright, I guess. Seems like a bit of a prick to me.”

Simon then turned his head to stare at the field with a soft expression on his face.

Michael spluttered, “A . . . a prick? Isn’t a bit rude of you to call him a prick? I mean, you don’t even know him.”

Simon laughed again. “I dunno; I think it’s the hair. Awfully pretentious, all black and silky and shit. And don’t even talk to me about that bloody ponytail he always puts it in. Makes him look like a git if you ask me.”

Michael didn’t know quite how to respond to that.

“And would you look at that face? Like he’s ten seconds away from biting you or cursing you out in front of your mum? That’s the face of a prick right there.”

Michael looked at Simon, dumbfounded, but Simon just kept on smiling and gazing out at the field as if his comments were completely meaningless. Coming out of his mouth the insults sounded mostly truthful, but that whole effect was kind of shattered when Simon looked like he was about to rest his hand against his cheek and sigh dreamily to himself. Michael thought that Simon was possibly a bit bonkers. Nice, of course, but still bonkers.

Just then a whistle was blown and Michael looked at the field in time to see Roldan start the kick-off. The ball was directly passed to Benson who in turn sent it spiraling towards Watford’s right midfielder, Terrance Kelly. Kelly quickly leaped up and slammed his forehead against the ball, sending it flying all the way back to Watford’s defensive line. Pitch quickly stepped up and settled the ball instantly with one of his thighs, peeled around a straggling Manchester forward, and then sped away up the sideline until he had a clear shot to one of his teammates.

For the next twenty minutes, Michael and Simon and all of the other Watford fans watched eagerly as forwards Roldan and Benson made multiple shots on Manchester’s goal, the crowd screaming their bloody heads off once one of the shots finally made it into the goal.

Everyone cheered and yelled as Pitch made another few spectacular recoveries and blocks, slick as an oil spill, and even though the bloke obviously seemed to have mixed feelings about the brilliant defender, Simon was always, always, the one cheering the loudest.

As the end of the second half drew nearer, another weird thing happened. One of the bigger blokes of Manchester’s forwards was charging through the defensive line on the way to Watford’s goal, Pitch sprinted towards him, prepared to smoothly slide the ball away from the forward and get it back to up his attacking teammates. However, when Pitch was in the process of stealing the ball, the forward shifted into a lower position and dug his shoulder into Pitch’s chest, shoving him back and causing him to fall to the ground at an odd angle.

Simon was the first one to jump to his feet, worry and concern etched into his twisted expression. His fists were clenched and his eyes were locked onto the spot where Pitch was lying on the green field. After another moment, Pitch visibly sat up and grabbed the hand of a nearby teammate, quickly standing and then brushing the grass off of his black shorts and football socks. Then, once everyone had shifted back into position, Pitch gave a brief thumbs up towards Michael’s side of the crowd, and Simon exhaled and sat back down.

Seriously, Michael just did not get Simon. At all. But at least Pitch was alright. Michael had to admit, it could have been a pretty nasty fall. Watford was incredibly lucky that their best defender wasn’t actually injured.

***

The match was two minutes from ending, Manchester and Watford tied 2 to 2, and Benson had made another shot on goal and missed, the ball hitting the crossbar and bouncing back into the chaos of defenders and forwards. The crowd was losing their goddamn minds as the ball flew from player to player, people screaming to clear it out of the penalty box, to make the shot, to block the ball, to pass it out of bounds. Everyone seemed to think that the command they shouted at the field was the one that should be followed.

But no one expected the ball to go rogue.

No one expected the ball to be kicked out of the cluster of players scrambling to make a play. And certainly no one expected a clever, speedy defender to take two steps, leap into the air, and slam his head into the spinning, spiraling ball.

Everyone watched in complete shock and surprise, Michael in utter joy, as the ball made its fantastic arc over the defenders of Manchester and the forwards of Watford, and then brushed over the Manchester’s goalie’s outstretched hands, the goalie’s fingers just a centimeter away. And then the ball punched deep into the net of the goal as the stadium erupted into total pandemonium.

Michael’s throat felt raw from screaming and his face felt as if it was about to split in two as he smiled.

It was insane. It was incredible. It was bloody fucking mental.

Basil Pitch, number 13, center defender, scored a winning goal in the last thirty seconds of the match against the number 1 rated team in the Premier League, with his fucking head.

It was a sight for the gods.

Michael felt as if history was being written right in front of his eyes. And he had been right there to see it.

Michael turned to Simon, a feeling of euphoria in his veins, to see Simon looking as if he was about to cry. Of course, his smile was so big Michael was afraid it was going to consume his whole face, but his blue eyes were wet, and his cheeks were crimson.

Michael watched Simon’s lips move, unable to hear what he was saying due to the deafening volume of the Watford fans around them, and then Simon threw himself out into the cement aisle, clutching onto the railing as he half-fell half-sprinted down the stairs, his curls bouncing wildly.

“Alright, bye!” Michael called after Simon, waving as though his best mate was leaving. He was just so happy . . .

Simon whipped right back around, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

“Oh, uh, wait! Wait! I, uh, I know we don’t know each other very well yet, but, uh, you’re really nice! And cool! And, uh, I have to go like, right now otherwise I’m going to die but, uh, I want to properly say goodbye! And you can meet my boyfriend! You would like him! Meet me down on the first level of the stadium, by the elevators! See you! ” Simon yelled, speaking so quickly Michael could barely understand him. And when Michael finally processed what Simon had said so he could politely decline, Simon was long gone. Fuck.

Michael sat back down in his slightly uncomfortable stadium chair and exhaled loudly, laughing shakily as he held his head in his hands. This had to be the best, weirdest, most fucking mental Watford F.C. match he had ever attended in his entire life. It felt like he couldn’t catch his breath. And now, after this huge, godly win, he was supposed to go meet some random stranger’s boyfriend? Fucking hell.

Then again, Michael figured he might as well go because how could things get any better or weirder than they already were? Plus, Michael could ask Simon’s boyfriend where he got that Watford athletic jacket! He really did want one of those jackets . . .

Michael resolutely decided to stay behind an extra twenty minutes. He waited until the crowds had mostly dispersed from the stands since there was always a flood of people trying to leave the stadium after matches ended. Michael got a refill on his soda, drank it, and browsed the team shop. The jacket definitely wasn’t in there. Now he was really curious as to where the jacket came from. He glanced at his phone and figured he had given Simon about twenty minutes.

Michael took the elevator down to the first level of the stadium and stepped out, looking around for Simon and his boyfriend. There was a coffee shop a few feet away and another couple places to get snacks, but no sign of the weird, curly haired bloke and his boyfriend.

Michael was about to get back into the elevator and go home, figuring Simon had just forgotten in his excitement, but then he heard a low sound coming from around the corner near the elevators, and stepped around to see what was there.

Oh fuck no.

Michael could tell it was Simon because Simon’s back was turned to him, and Michael recognized the jacket and the hair. But Simon wasn’t alone. There was one pale arm wrapped around Simon’s waist and one around his neck. Michael could see that two long legs were between Simon’s, and the sounds Michael had heard were . . . moans.

Michael cringed and averted his eyes to the ground, not wanting to disturb or invade their private moment more than he already had. He started to walk back around the corner, but something caught his eye. A pair of sleek, black cleats, attached to the legs between Simon’s.Cleats. Michael couldn’t help himself, he looked up farther and saw black football socks, shin guards, and a pair of black shorts. Michael looked to the side and spied a flash of black and yellow. The jacket, the comments, the weird looks on Simon's face during the match; they all made sense now to him now.

Simon’s boyfriend was a Watford football player.

Michael gasped loudly and then instantly cursed himself as Simon and his boyfriend quickly turned around, embarrassed at being caught and--

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Oh motherfucking bloody hell.

Simon gave Michael a small smile, blush high on his cheeks.

“Oh, hey! Hey, Michael. Glad you could, uh, make it. This is my boyfrien--”

“Basil Pitch,” Michael choked out, his face flushed.

Simon’s boyfriend wasn’t just a Watford football player he was . . . he was Basil Pitch. Number 13. Pitch. The brilliant center defender of Watford F.C.

So . . . yeah. Basil Pitch was in front of him. Still in his uniform. His hair falling out of his ponytail and framing his face. His arm tightly wrapped around Simon’s waist.

The air was out of Michael’s lungs. Oh look, his stomach was on the floor. Just normal, regular things.

Pitch laughed coolly.

Michael stared, his eyes most likely obnoxiously wide, as Basil Pitch stepped up to him and offered Michael his hand.

“Well, you obviously already know me. But I haven’t had the pleasure. Your name is Michael?”

“Yes,” Michael squeaked as he put his shaking hand into Pitch’s and shook it. His hand was smooth and a little cold. It was definitely the best thing that had ever happened to him in his entire life.

Pitch smirked. “Nice to meet you, Michael. Thank you for keeping an eye on this bloody prat while I was busy scoring goals.”

Simon rounded on Pitch and pretended to be angry, kissing his cheek viciously as he growled. “Oh shut the fuck up, Baz, you pretentious arsehole. Michael was being cool and you don’t have to be a git every time I make a new friend.”

“Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it?”

Michael then cleared his throat because he was a little terrified of the wicked way Pitch was looking at Simon and also of the way that Simon was moving his hands up Pitch’s chest . . . yeah he definitely needed to leave.

“So, uh I’m, uh, just gonna go . . .”

“Oh, sorry, Michael!” Simon exclaimed, quickly taking his hands off of Pitch and opting to hold his hand instead. “Uh, sometimes we forget--” he elbowed Pitch in the side and Pitch snapped his teeth at Simon “--where we are and we get a little carried away. So we’re gonna have to cut this a little short. But do you wanna come to our flat for dinner sometime? We can make it up to you!”

Michael blanched, “Oh, that’s okay, I--”

“Here!” Simon dug into his pocket, grabbed his phone, tapped it a few times, and then thrust it at Michael. “Put your number in.”

Michael took the phone and then gave it back a minute later. He did not remember actually typing in his number but he must have because Simon smiled at him, Pitch smirked, and they both waved goodbye, their arms around each other as they walked away.

And then Michael fainted.

(Just an fyi, Watford F.C. is an actual team in the Premier League and I could not pass up the opportunity of making Baz play for a team called Watford, I mean come on. So he's not playing for the school, he's playing for the Premier League team. All of the other players mentioned are either names I made up or names I pulled from other soccer players but then changed either the first or the last name)

[onemuseleft]

Steve/Tony, number 19 for the AU meme!

When Steve gets there the classroom is mostly empty. “You’re the second wave,” a cheerful young woman in a rainbow plaid shirt tells him. She has a clipboard. “Parents A-M have left already and we’re starting on the back end of the alphabet now. Grab a seat, have some coffee. There’s crackers and stuff if you get hungry. And feel free to look around the classroom if you like. We had the kids decorate so you could see some of what they’ve been working on.”

He’d left Jamie in the gym where a handful of harassed looking teachers were trying to get a hundred kids under the age of six to play dodgeball by the rules. The odds hadn’t looked to be in their favor when Steve left. 

The classroom is bright and cheery with artwork on the walls and shelves full of storybooks and art supplies. There’s a corner in the back of the room with a throw rug and a bunch of pillows, and lots and lots of toys. Steve’s been in the room before but it had been over the summer when Dr. Foster was still getting her classroom set up. This was the first time he was getting the full impact of it and it hit him, hard, like a punch to the sternum that Jamie was going to school here, that his kid was getting the chance Steve hadn’t.

He’d gotten lucky. Natasha had found out about the Maria Stark Foundation from a friend of hers who worked at Stark Tower as an admin, and the friend had managed to get the application directly to the head of the program. Steve had had to pay application fees and for Jamie’s school uniforms, but Jamie’s tuition was guaranteed through fourth grade.

And now his kid went to school in a warm, dry, clean building full of toys and staffed with men and women who were at the top of their field.

It wouldn’t solve all their problems, but Steve knew how the world worked. Hard work counted for a lot but connections counted for a lot more. It was cheating, and for himself Steve railed against it, but all bets were off for his kid’s education. 

He walked through the classroom slowly, running his fingers over the shiny covers of the picture books on the shelves, and feeling vaguely like a giant next to the tiny chairs and low tables. 

The back wall was a huge corkboard covered in artwork. Crayon, pencil, markers, watercolors. Steve’s eye was drawn to it instantly and he gave up resisting the urge to investigate. There were literally dozens of drawings, arranged in bundles of five or six, all by the same kid. Steve saw a bunch of flower pictures by a girl named Suzie and lots of pictures of houses and families and things that were either horses or dogs (or very large mice, Steve couldn’t tell). 

There was a surprisingly good drawing of a bright red robot fighting a dinosaur and Steve traced his fingers over the bright red and orange fire the dinosaur was shooting out of its mouth (dragon?) with a strange sense of wistfulness. As a kid, having access to art supplies like that would have been… heaven. 

Oh, he didn’t regret joining the Army or anything that came after, but part of him had always wished he hadn’t had to give up on art, that he’d had the supplies and the training and the talent to pursue it further than as a hobby.

There are a few other drawings, all in colored pencil. The same robot versus unicorn, robot versus a tank, robot versus a clown and robot versus something Steve couldn’t for the life of him identify that looked like… one of those adjustable desk lamps maybe? He looked at it a little closer and that was when he noticed the child’s name.

Jamie.

Steve almost felt like his heart was skipping a beat. He’d never known Jamie liked to draw? Or that he could draw so well - it’s obviously the work of a kindergartner but there’s a real sense of perspective and dimension, a bit of natural talent mixed in with the robot enthusiasm.

He was excited, honestly. This was something he knew about, he could really share this with Jamie. He was already planning a trip to Michael’s on the way home, to stock up on supplies: paper, sketchpads, maybe some charcoals and pastels. Did they make child-sized easels? They must somewhere, he could look on Amazon when they got home. And Crayola of course, one of everything so Jamie could experiment and get a feel for his favorite medium.

“Thank god for trust funds, huh?”

Steve started, so absorbed in his planning that he hadn’t even noticed the other man come up beside him. “Sorry?”

The man smiled. He was handsome, in a way Steve couldn’t help but appreciate. Steve’s height, give or take an inch, with very dark, wavy hair that turned to curls at the very end and was stylishly disheveled. His eyes were a vivid shade of blue and his features were just a little too sharp to be really classic. His mouth was pulled into a sideways smirk - more amused than sarcastic, Steve thought, though the goatee gave him a bit of a devilish look to him. He was wearing a black t-shirt under a worn blue flannel and a pair of jeans that looked like they’d been designer before someone spilled motor oil on them. They were worn at the cuffs and thin around the thighs and knees, worn in. 

The guy crossed his arms and the material pulled tight across his shoulders and biceps. Also this guy had a gym membership somewhere. Steve blinked and dragged his eyes back up to the guy’s face.

“I hear the whole starving artist thing isn’t as sexy as they make it look on TV,” the guy said. He studied Jamie’s drawings. “I mean, okay, it’s early years yet, the kid might have a knack for something more marketable down the line. But this screams “future comic book artist” to me, so probably better to just start saving now, right?”

“What’s wrong with being a comic book artist?” Steve snapped. He took a step forward, partially blocking the guy’s view of the pictures. His heart was beating fast, and he could feel anger surging through his spine. Who the hell did this guy think he was? Who thought it was okay to talk shit about someone else’s kid’s (any kid’s) artwork? “If Jamie wants to draw comic books when he grows up that’s fine. The world needs more art in it and I’d rather have my kid grow up and actually create something in this world than be marketable off the backs of other people’s work.”

The guy gave him a sideways look. “She.”

Steve stopped short of his next sentence - he’s not sure, actually, what it was going to be but he’s probably perilously close to saying something that’s going to start a real fight. “What?”

“Jamie,” the guy says. He doesn’t look mad. A little bemused maybe. “Jamie’s a girl. And you’re right, if she wants to draw comic books when she grows up, that’s fine. I was trying to joke and obviously failed. Sorry. I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess you’re an artist?”

“I’m a cop,” Steve said. “Jamie’s a boy.”

The guy lifted one perfectly shaped brow. “Um.”

“Jamie’s dad!”

The cheerful teacher’s assistant was standing in the doorway of the classroom with her clipboard. She beamed in their general direction. “We’re ready for you!”

Steve nodded and stepped forward.

And so did the handsome guy.

“What-” Steve started to ask, but the teacher’s assistant cut him off. 

“Sorry! Sorry! We’re going alphabetically today, Mr. Stark. Jamie Rogers’ dad is up first.”

The guy - Stark, gestured for Steve to proceed. “No problem, Darcy. I didn’t realize there were two Jamies this year.”

Steve felt his stomach drop and almost closed his eyes in embarrassment. Oh no.

She grinned and rolled her eyes at him, obviously long-acquainted. “Oh, the terror twins. We can’t let them sit next to each other anymore, you know. They just team up against all the other kids and rule the classroom like tiny despots. It’s super cute, though, I have video. I’ll show you after.”

“It’s been less than a month!” Stark said. “How much terror could they really have wreaked?”

Darcy stuck her tongue out at him. “I was there for pre-K, Tony. Your kid convinced the entire class that we were all going to die in a black hole when they turned on the Large Hadron Collider last year. We had to send home notes. And half the parents didn’t even know what the Large Hadron Collider was and thought we’d let their kids see porn. Dr. Banner turned so red I thought his head was going to explode.”

Tony was grinning, clearly proud. “Embarrassed or angry at their shameless lack of basic knowledge of scientific and current events?”

“You know which one,” Darcy said. “Go away and stop distracting me. Mr. Rogers, come this way, Dr. Foster is ready for you.”

Tony was already turning away, attention back on the wall of art and studying Jamie’s - the wrong Jamie, Steve realized with a little pang of disappointment and more than a little embarrassment - artwork again. Steve wasn’t quite sure how to apologize for the misunderstanding and Darcy is waiting, so he went off to meet Dr. Foster. 

She was wonderful - bright and pleasant, but very serious as they discussed Jamie’s progress. He was already spelling words - Steve had been reading to him and working on the alphabet at home, so he was pleased to see that he was ahead of the class there - and he was good with numbers and other basic skills. “He doesn’t like nap time though,” Dr Foster said with a smile. “He likes to get up while the other children are asleep and play with the ball.” 

She gave him some materials to read and a progress report more complicated than some of the arrest reports Steve had to fill out at work, then presented him a folder full of Jamie’s schoolwork - and there were a few drawings in there, Steve saw, but nothing like the ones on the wall. Steve studied them; a firetruck, a football, a picture of Steve, Bucky, Natasha and Jamie standing next to Natasha’s F1 car from last season.

Steve decided he rather liked these even better than the robot drawings.

Afterwards, he lingered in the classroom for a while longer, waiting until Dr. Foster was done with “Jamie S’s dad!” 

“Sorry about earlier,” he blurted out as soon as Tony came back into the room. “I thought the drawings were by my Jamie and I got defensive.” 

“Hey, no worries.” Tony looked pretty laid back, but Steve thought he saw some tension seep out of his posture. “I totally get the mix-up. It’s my fault anyway - next time I’ll introduce myself before I go straight to roasting the five-year-old.”

“That’s… probably a good idea.”

Tony grinned. “I’m completely cool with the art thing, on the record. She wants to be President when she grows up, so honestly, starving comic book artist is a step up. I was just trying to break the ice because you’re the only other parent here who didn’t look like the came straight from the country club in Stepford, if you catch me.”

“Well, that’s probably because they wouldn’t let me in the country club, most likely.” Steve offered Tony his hand. “Steve Rogers, former US Army, currently Detective 3rd Grade with the NYPD. Jamie and I are here thanks to the Maria Stark Foundation.”

Tony grabbed his hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “Oh hey, I remember you! You’re Natasha’s friend.”

“You know Natasha?” Steve blinked. “Wait, you’re that Tony Stark. I can’t believe I didn’t realize.” He gave Tony a second once-over, taking in the grease under his nails and the old, worn clothes, then comparing them to the wildly expensive watch and leather motorcycle boots. So that was what a billionaire looked like when he was dressed casual, who knew?

Tony shrugged. “I’m told the camera adds ten pounds, fifteen years and at least six tons of sleazebag. And yeah, Natasha’s one of my favorite test drivers. She’s been driving prototypes into the ground for me since she wrecked her ankle and had to quit the ballet. How do you know her? She never said.”

“She married my best friend.”

Tony gave him a look that could best be described as delighted. “You’re Bucky’s roommate? Man, why weren’t you at the wedding?”

Steve sighed. “Getting drunk married on some random guy’s back porch at four in the morning five days after you meet is not a wedding. Oh my god, you were the guy in the bathrobe in the cell phone video weren’t you? You performed the ceremony!”

“I love weddings,” Tony said with relish. “But yeah, we were all super wasted. I still don’t remember how we got back here from Monte Carlo.”

“Daddy!”

Steve turned to face the door, aware of Tony doing the same beside him. The voice had been a girl’s, and there was a tiny little slip of a girl standing in the doorway. She had long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, light brown skin and the same bright blue eyes as her father.  She was wearing a purple t-shirt with a unicorn on it, a bright blue tutu, and leggings with a universe pattern on on them. She also had a pair of costume bat wings strapped to her back and was wearing several plastic bead necklaces. “Daddy, you can do weddings?”

Steve’s own Jamie was standing right behind her. He was wearing the same jeans and red t-shirt he’d been wearing earlier, but had at some point acquired a top hat and a cape. “I thought you two were supposed to stay in the gym?”

“Dodgeball is stupid,” not-his-Jamie declared. Jamie nodded in agreement, though Steve knew for a fact that Jamie loved playing Dodgeball. “We’re gonna get married instead but Modi and Magni said we had to get a priest if we wanted to get married for real.”

“Why are you getting married?” Tony asked. 

“Cause you’re supposed to marry your best friend,” his daughter replied in a tone that indicated she felt her father should have known that without having to ask. “Uncle Rhodey said so when he and Aunt Carol got married. And Jamie’s my best friend now plus our names match so we hafta.”

“Sound logic,” Tony said. “But I refuse to pay for your wedding until you have at least one college degree.”

“How long does college take?” she asked, eyes narrowed.

“For you? Two years. But you have to graduate from kindergarten first.”

She sighed heavily. “Fine. But someone’s gotta get married, we already decorated the book nook to make it the church and promised Thrud she could be the flower girl.”

“Why don’t you just marry Thrud?” Tony asked. 

“I don’t want to be related to Magni and Modi,” his daughter said.

“That’s fair,” Tony said. He leaned in close to Steve. “Imagine a six-year-old frat boy who’s basically a nice guy but has no volume control and  unlimited energy. Then give him an identical twin.”

“Smart girl,” Steve said. 

“You guys can get married instead,” Jamie said. He had his hands jammed in his pockets. “I want to see a wedding, I didn’t get invited to Uncle Bucky’s.”

“You were two,” Steve said, “you wouldn’t remember it even if you had gone.”

“Pleeeeease?” Jamie said. Not-his-Jamie turned on her father with a wide-eyed look that would have gotten an entire pound full of puppies adopted. 

Tony turned to Steve with a raised eyebrow. “Well, what do you say? Wanna go get hitched by a bunch of ankle-biters?”

Steve studied him for a moment. He looked relaxed and happy. His Jamie was standing on his feet and tugging on his shirt as she bounced up and down and he wasn’t trying to get her off his expensive shoes. He’d taken the whole misunderstanding thing earlier with a sense of humor and he hadn’t cared at all that Steve was there on charity, unlike the few other parents Steve had met that year.

Plus, he was still damned handsome.

“Sure, what the hell, I always wanted to get married.” Steve leaned down to pick Jamie up and sit him on his hip. “But you have to let me buy you guys ice cream afterwards.”

Tony gave him a slow smile. “First date after the wedding, huh? I knew I was going to like you.”