#two games have made me cry this year

[prismabeth]

just finished SLARPG

[giddlygoat]

my brother can make me laugh without moving at all. he can make me laugh on command, just by existing, and there is no physical tell or indication that it is about to happen. it’s like he can will me to laugh and i will. of course we’re not telepathic, but we do speak in unison sometimes. we improvise like no one’s business. we could fool anyone into believing we are psychically linked. when i try to explain it, i sound silly saying it out loud, but i really CAN tell what he’s thinking. we exchange so much information just with a look. he can make me cry laughing and he doesn’t even have to move

[crossbackpoke-check]

a junkyard dog ain't always pretty but you always love that toothless smile

[the-yearning-astronaut]

So I just finished patching up a hole in the sleeve of my first Mass Effect jacket and I tried remembering when I first started playing.

And at first I was like. Had to have been 2018. Right?

But I felt like I had this jacket for longer than that.

So I went to my OG blog that's still floating around here, archived, and thank FUCK I've always been a compulsive tagger because I was able to search my posts and scroll for a good 10-15 minutes to find my first mass effect post.

Guys I started playing fall of 2016. 6 years ago.

Somehow that feels like both forever ago and not long enough?

Like it feels like Shepard and the Normandy crew have been with me a lot longer than that.

But. 6 years ago, I was 23. I had just finished my first degree a few months previously. Hell it was pre 2016 elections lmao.

It was an entire lifetime ago. I'm not even close to the same person I was back then. For better or worse.

[ixhadbadxdays]

Not me two months late realizing they finally posted the Solar Ash OST on Spotify...

[troublesomesnitch]

Meeting Vhagar - Drabble

Aemond x Wife!Reader

Much to your dismay, Prince Aemond insists on bringing your little son to Vhagar. Set sometime during the Dance.

Contents: Just a little practice thing... Dad!Aemond, Targaryen parenting, subtle fluff. Little bit of subtle angst too. No filth this time..

Words: 3000, and very sloppily proof read.

The carriage can only take you so far as to the Iron Gate. 

Beyond its massive doors, the Rosby Road winds North, poorly maintained and full of potholes, as it is the shortest of the main roads, and thus the least important. It is not as busy as others, and the gate is not guarded as well - clearly, as the men who should be protecting it are presently engaged in a game of cards, laid out on top of a large, flat rock.

That is where the driver will wait, but it is not your destination. 

There is another little trail. One that runs in the opposite direction, scarcely used and partially hidden, visible only to those who know it. No horse or wagon can make the journey, and there is no option but to walk - first along a narrow, trodden path, and then further still, down treacherous steps, carved into the very rock the city rests upon. Past the watchtower, and across the Northern beach, to the vast caves of Maegor the Cruel, where Vhagar has made her nest.

You walk alone, just the two of you. The prince in his coat and boots, and yourself in attire much less suited for the occasion. Fine shoes, fine skirts, and with your little son cradled in your arms. 

The gentle rocking of the carriage has lulled him to sleep. Four months old, he is, and a source of such joy that your poor heart can scarcely contain it. From his first high-pitched cry when you brought him into the world - oh, the pains of labour were all but forgotten, as was the threat of the raging war. And when the prince came to see his son, you could hardly even bear to let him hold him. 

He wanted to bring the boy much sooner, but both you and the dowager queen staunchly put your foot down against that. Children should not be brought outside the home until they have at least lived through the first perilous weeks, and possibly even their first fever. And even then, most would argue, they have no business being around ferocious animals. 

“I don’t like it,” you say, for the umpteenth time, taking the hand offered to you by the prince to help you cross a treacherous stretch. “It is mad, bringing an infant to such a beast - ” 

“Vhagar should know him,” he says, steadfast and determined. As he has done whenever you voiced your concern. 

It does nothing at all to calm your nerves. But it is his most compelling argument, and the only reason you have allowed this lunacy in the first place. So the dragon would recognise the boy as his, and as one of her own. So she would know to protect him, if - something should happen. 

You make it halfway across the pebbled beach before the prince pauses. And you do too, lifting your gaze to follow his line of sight; see what he is looking at. 

An enormous, greyish mass, some yards away, that at first you thought was a moss-grown rock, or years of washed up seaweed. But the mass makes a rumbling noise and begins to shift and lift itself, slowly and carefully, as though with much effort. Part of it becomes a leg, another part unfurls into a great wing, and the rock nearest to you becomes a head, with a mouth full of jagged teeth, and two eyes opening slowly. Amber in colour, and with slitted pupils staring straight at you. 

“She can sense me,” the prince declares, with no small amount of pride, lifting his chin and straightening his back. 

You, however, are paralysed, utterly shocked by her vastness. You have never seen Vhagar this close before, and though you knew of her impressive size, it is one thing to see her soaring across the sky, and quite another to be right next to her, unprotected and vulnerable.

It seems to you that the span of her wings could cover half the city, that entire buildings could fit in her mouth. And certainly, she could end all three of you with her fiery breath, or with a single swipe of her claw or her massive tail. One wrong move, even if accidental, even if she did not mean to - you would all be dead. 

“Come,” the prince says, pushing at the small of your back. But you stall, digging in your heels, frozen in place at the sight of her. 

“I’ve changed my mind,” you stammer. “We should go back - it is not safe…”

The prince gives an overbearing, if somewhat irritated sigh. 

“Dragons are loyal beasts,” he reassures. “Vhagar is loyal to me, she obeys me - ”

“She is a beast,” you hiss, hugging your drowsy son closer to your chest. “She cannot be trusted. It is too dangerous - I won’t let you bring him any closer - ”

Prince Aemond does not like to be challenged. He turns around to look at you coolly, his voice low and scornful as he speaks. 

“Is your opinion of me so unfavourable, wife, that you think I would risk harm to my own son?”

“No,” you respond, quietly, but truthfully. Since you were married, your opinion of the prince has only risen, slowly but surely. And it continues to do so, still - though perhaps not right now. “I don’t like it - ”

“Mhm - so you said,” your husband says dryly, all but wrenching the swaddled boy from your arms. 

He does not complain, the boy. Prince Aemond comes to visit often, at least once a day, and sometimes more. He sits with the child, reads to him, lets him fall asleep in his arms - not for very long each time, but it is at least enough for the little boy to recognise his father’s low voice and stern face as something safe and comfortable. As is evident from the way he now settles against the prince’s leather-clad chest, tangling his little fist into a lock of his hair. 

The beast remains still, pensive as her rider approaches, her serpent’s eyes fixed on the thing in his arms, on what he is bringing her. Your most precious treasure, your life’s very purpose, completely at the mercy of the greatest dragon in the world. 

You might have felt more at ease if the soft, sparse hair on his head had been silver like his father’s, but alas, it is not. It is exactly like yours, and only the bright violet of his eyes gives away his true inheritance. 

And that seems like too little a thing for such a large creature to notice. 

Prince Aemond calls out in that strange language of his, with the open vowels and the rolling R’s. It is beautiful, especially in his mouth, and the dragon responds at once, contorting herself to let him touch her wrinkled neck with affection. Which is a strange sight, but what is even stranger is the way she grumbles - as though she likes it. He speaks to her as if she was another person, in long, full sentences that are much too complicated for you to even attempt to understand. There is only one word you can make out, for the sole reason that he says it twice - yoreliatzeh, or yorelatzya, or something akin to that. You haven’t a clue as to what it means. 

Vhagar snorts once, and the prince steps back to give her room to move, to rise up onto her legs and bring her head closer, her nose almost touching his hip. While you stand at a distance, staring at the utterly bizarre scene playing out in front of you. A fearsome, vicious beast, sniffing the child like a dog would. Gently and carefully, only she is so big that each of her cautious breaths is like a small gust of wind, making your husband’s hair billow about his face. When she makes a grunting noise, he carefully unwraps some of the swaddlings, holding the child up to let her see him better, smell him better. 

He is bright, your darling boy, and curious, like all babes and children. His eyes are wide as they take in Vhagar’s scaly form, and he gives a soft squeal of surprise or wonder, kicking his little feet under the blankets. Reaching his arm towards the beast's massive head, her massive teeth -

“Aemond, please - ” you gasp, clutching your hands to your throat. 

The prince turns his head to give you a stern look, one that clearly shows he is running out of patience. And maybe this time it is justified, because your fearful outburst startles the boy, who begins to squirm unhappily in his father’s arms. Fussing and whimpering; a sound that is as painful to you as salt to an open wound. 

“Bring him to me,” you plead, “can’t you see that he is frightened - ” 

“He is frightened because you are frightened,” the prince says, as soft spoken as always, but with a hint of something sharp underneath.

He cradles the boy closer to his chest, bouncing him gently, holding his head and murmuring soothing words. Exactly as you would do, and to the same effect. It calms him down, and his big, round eyes start darting around again, taking in his surroundings. The dragon, the grey sea, the fine silver clasps on his father’s clothes. It does seem that the latter intrigues him the most. 

Vhagar lifts her neck and tilts her head just slightly, seemingly very interested in the child, in this tiny little creature; the way he moves his little limbs, and his soft coos and noises. There is an almost… thoughtful look in her eyes, or at the very least a curious one. 

It makes you wonder about the extent of her perception. Whether she truly knows that this is Aemond’s child, that it came from him, from his body, his flesh. If she can sense it somehow, through the bond they purportedly share, or if she understood it when he spoke to her. 

How intelligent is a dragon? Are they like dogs or horses, able to learn the meaning of certain words, but not the full breadth of language? Or do they think as people, with nuance and emotion, and a mind as vivid as your own. 

You do not know. You suppose no one really does. 

“Come,” the prince calls, reaching his arm towards you, beckoning you closer. However, a single glance at Vhagar, whose mighty gaze is now focused on you, is enough to inspire disobedience in even the most well-behaved wife.

“I would really rather not - ”

“She must know the both of you,” he insists. 

“Is that - necessary?” you squirm, wringing your hands, very much aware that you are not a dragon rider, that you haven’t a drop of Valyrian blood. “Vhagar has no reason to think fondly of me…”

The prince scoffs. 

“Are you not the mother of my child?” he says. “Now, come.” 

You must go to him. He is your lord husband, and he is a prince, and such is the way of things. But you are not at all glad to, and you walk with shaky, reluctant steps, gripping onto his elbow and cowering behind him like a frightened child. 

You close your eyes when the dragon lowers her head once more, bringing it towards you. A sudden, low-pitched growl makes your heart tremble, but the prince speaks a soft command. Lykirī, Vhagar. Lykirī.

It has a calming effect on you too. As does the arm he keeps outstretched in front of you - solely for your comfort, you assume, as it would make no difference whatsoever, should Vhagar decide that she does not like you. But you appreciate the gesture nonetheless.

The air is warm, this close to her, and your skirts move around your legs when she breathes, slowly and deeply, while the prince speaks to her in soft tones. That word again, the one from before, and many others. You know the words for wife, for king, for father, brother, sister, even for dragon, but he says none of those now, so you have no guess as to what he is telling her. Or if she understands. Or what he would call you, if not his wife. 

This woman is my - spouse? lady? lover?

You do have a kind of love for him, and sometimes you think he does for you, too. Sometimes. One can never be sure of anything with the prince, who keeps himself so closely guarded. Even after more than a year of marriage. Even now that you have given him a child. 

The birth went mercifully well, but your recovery was long, and he has only recently begun to come to your bed again. And so far, only a handful of times. The first time, it was so painful for you that the act could not be completed, and the second time, he finished so quickly that it barely even counts. The third was better. Pleasurable for both of you, but still strange after going so long without it - at least for you. It is both likely and possible that the prince satisfied his urges elsewhere while your body was indisposed. You do not know. Nor do you wish to. 

The ground shifts beneath your feet, and the heat around you lessens, as does the heavy smell of burned flesh and brimstone, the very same one that so often clings to your husband’s clothes. When you open your eyes it is to the sight of Vhagar, settled onto her belly, her head laid atop her claws. Calm and docile, and with a deep rumble coming from her chest - one that is probably a sign of contentment, even if it sounds utterly terrifying. 

“Touch her,” the prince commands, giving a gentle push to your back. “You have nothing to fear, touch her.” 

It is quite clear that Vhagar is unruffled by your presence, that she is resting. But with her eyes heavy and half-closed, it makes her look so menacing, so evil - even though you know that evil does not exist inherently in any beast. Only in those who train it. 

You draw in a steadying breath, gathering up your courage, reaching your hand out - only to then think better of it and let it fall. 

“I am afraid to,” you whisper.

The prince sighs. But his hand closes gently around yours, bringing it to rest on the side of her nose, first the tips of your fingers, and then your whole palm. 

It is like nothing else you have ever felt, her scales. You always imagined that a dragon’s skin would feel like leather, but Vhagar’s skin is so much tougher, so much rougher, like running your hand over little rocks. And she is warm - so warm, as though a fire is always burning somewhere in her throat. 

She does not object at all to your touch, even when the prince withdraws his own hand, leaving only yours. Only you and Vhagar. The largest, oldest being in the world. 

To think, the things she has seen. The conquest, the Dornish Wars, the very founding of the realm of the Seven Kingdoms. Dozens of castles have crumbled in her fire, and thousands of people have perished, and she has fought and won hundreds of battles; torn through stone, rock and earth as though it was boiled jelly. 

It is at once terrifying and romantic, like something from a fairytale, or stories of ancient times. A creature of such myth and legend that you almost feel as though you should bow down to her, as one does before a great matriarch.

Vhagar the Conqueror. Queen of all Dragons. 

She closes her eyes when you draw back. 

“He might ride her too, some day,” the prince says quietly. Wistfully. 

“But dragons only have one rider - ” you protest, cutting yourself off when you realise what he meant. What he left unsaid. 

This is war. The realm is at war. Death is everywhere; at the end of a blade, in the point of an arrow. And if not on the field of battle, then in tainted water or plague-ridden camps; empty bellies or festering wounds.

“You shouldn’t say such things,” you mutter, looking down at your feet. Your dirtied shoes. 

The prince does not answer. A heavy mood has settled over the rocky beach, something vast and bleak and empty, only compounded by the surroundings. The colourless sky, the sombre crashing of waves. Even Vhagar gives a doleful sigh, as though she too is weary of what is to come.

She has been the prince’s companion since childhood. He was born to the queen, but Vhagar made him what he is, made him ruthless, made him brutally ambitious. Made him Aemond One-Eye, Aemond the Kinslayer. Prince Regent, Protector of the Realm. She has known him boy and man, as well as any, and better than most. She has known him in life, and she may yet know him in death.

You push that thought away as forcefully as your mind allows. You shouldn’t think such things. 

A coo from your son breaks the tension, and his eyes turn to the sky, where a large heron is flapping its wings. The afternoon is turning to evening, and soon the bell will ring for supper - something warm and comforting, you hope. You are cold, your breasts feel sore, and you have most certainly had enough excitement for one day. For several days, in fact.

“Can we go, please,” you breathe, looking up at your husband with wide, pleading eyes. 

“She is tired,” he says, with a soft glance at Vhagar’s terrifying face, and a gentle touch to her side. “Yes, we should.”

—

You walk slower on the way back. Uphill, with sore feet, and your boy now fast asleep in your arms. Safe and snug where he belongs. 

“My Prince,” you begin, sweet and innocent. “What does… yoreliatzeh mean?”

There is a sly little smile on his face when you look at him, a self-assured look in his remaining eye.

“Jorrāeliarza,” he corrects, with an artful pause before he continues. As though to keep you in suspense. “It means dear. Or… beloved.”

If he sees the sudden blush on your face, he does not let on. 

“Jorālitzeh.”

“No,” he says. “Jor-rāe-liar-za.”

“Jor-rāe-liar-za,” you repeat, trying your very best to mimic the exact movements of his mouth, the way he gently rolls his tongue. “Jorrāeliarza.”

“Better,” he nods, and then you round a corner, just in time to see the guards hastily hide their cards away, and the driver shuffling back towards the carriage, eagerly shoving his winnings into a pocket. 

Jorrāeliarza. Jorrāeliarza. Jorrāeliarza. 

Dear. Beloved. 

You like that very much.  

Please feel free to come into my asks or DMs with critique of my fics! Constructive is preferred, but not required.

Tags. @arcielee, @targaryen-madness, @aemondsbabygirl, @qyburnsghost, @blackswxnn

I am a mess with the tagging, I'm so sorry if I forgot or wrongly tagged anyone. Let me know, I will fix it.

[lauriemarch]

and at the end of the day, people will still hate women.

because beyonce is a terrible songwriter who has a good body and nothing more and she's really nothing compared to olivia rodrigo, that stuck-up bitch who steals other people's music, but taylor swift is an old, bitter nothing who clearly hates other girls. and sabrina carpenter deserves to die because she followed her heart, not her brain, and that's exactly why zendaya will never be good enough for tom holland. don't forget about kylie jenner, who's stealing precious timothee's innocence away and dating her is like committing arthouse cinema suicide, or how we said the same thing about miley cyrus and her disgusting profanity, think of the children, poor liam hemsworth, trapped in a marriage with such a horrible woman. lana del rey was hot until she was big and she made trailerpark sexy until her ass got a little too fat. and ariana grande, talentless homewrecker, and selena gomez, jealous and unreasonable, and hailey bieber, even more boring than the blood drying on the knives you are so quick to pull. sophie turner is a bad mom and megan thee stallion deserved whatever was coming to her.

and amidst all of this, we still don't know these women. we cannot fathom the pain of having a public divorce, one where people choose sides and hurl insults at you until the battery on their phone dies. we don't watch them chase after sweet-cheeked children in tucked-away backyards or play board games with their best friends while their chests heave in laughter. we don't know their marriages and we don't know their solitudes. we don't watch them unravel themselves, time and time again, preparing for the battle that we have made of their lives. they can never make a mistake. they can never cry. they can never be who they believe themselves to be.

and we take all of this and we go to work, we ride the bus, we go grocery shopping, we walk in dappled sunlight, and we let ourselves shrivel. i compare myself to every body i see and i comfort in the fact that i can still encircle my wrists with my fingers. food turns to dust in my mouth when i think about the fact that taylor swift thinks she's fat and people still hate sabrina carpenter for sticking by joshua bassett's side when he almost died, for God's sake, and now the people on my twitter feed are saying GUTS is the worst album they've ever heard. i liked it, the tiny voice in my head cries out. she wrote songs that made me feel noticed. they're calling the song i relate to the most a total skip.

so i close the app. i try not to think about the endless profiles screaming about how much they hate a nineteen/thirty-two/thirty-eight/twenty-three/twenty-six/forty-two year old. i try not to think about how much they would hate me, if they knew anything at all.

[sp0o0kylights]

"Valentines Day is a capitalistic scam made to sell chocolate and flowers!" Eddie Munson bellowed, leaping to the top of a cafeteria table not even ten minutes into lunch. 

"Do you think he was born like this, or just dropped on his head as a baby?" Heather asked, rolling her eyes as the super senior began waving his arms around, getting way too into  his annual “anti-valentines day” rant. 

Steve, who'd tuned out the dramatics in favor of trying to figure out how he could ditch school, only heard her because she’d begun running her foot up his leg.

Directly in front of Patrick.

As if half the school didn’t know he planned on asking her out after school. 

Long over being a part of these kinds of games, Steve kicked out, forcing Heather’s leg off his. 

He did it harder than he intended and immediately winced, as  if he hadn’t meant to do it at all. Aimed a sad little look at her, softening his eyes in the way he knew ladies loved while murmuring a quiet "sorry.” 

A pudding cup was offered as an additional apology--which Heather, thankfully, accepted. 

Crisis averted, Steve used the movement of handing the cup over to get his legs well out of Heather's range. He had other things to think about today, and getting drawn into whatever drama Heather was trying to brew wasn’t on the list. 

Particularly given the basketball team as a unit had started snubbing him out. 

"Newsflash ladies! Your man isn't taking you to some shitty restaurant because he loves you, he's doing it because he hopes you'll give it to him in your car!" Munson continued, voice growing impossibly louder. 

A crude gesture followed, involving hip thrusts and hand jabs.

 Several of the cheerleaders shot him disgusted looks as he did it. 

"Definitely dropped on his head." Carol said, glaring at Munson as his little group of freaks and geeks cheered him. "More than once." 

Steve hummed an agreement, more on automatic than from actually listening. He knew how to look like he was paying attention, even if his head was deep in possible escape plans. 

If he dipped at the last minute to the bathroom on the way to fifth period, Tommy wouldn't have time to stop him and he could make a break for his car…

That just left making up a plausible enough excuse as to why thee Steve Harrington, whose single status was the current hot topic of the school, left school early on Valentines Day. 

("Candy, sex, the overwhelming affection of all the ladies." Tommy drawled out that morning, practically preening. "Valentine's Day is the best holiday man. Just look at all this!"  

He waved a hand at his locker, which was absolutely covered in paper hearts. 

"The rally squad put hearts on the lockers of everyone on the basketball team, Tommy." Carol argued, rolling her eyes. "Steve’s is practically buried in them.”

Tommy opened his mouth to respond, no doubt with something else teasing and rude, but Carol’s elbow caught him in the gut first. 

“If you keep acting like this you're not getting any sex." She warned. 

"Aww baby, don't be like that. You know you're the only one for me." Tommy teased, with a wink that prompted Carol to smack him on the shoulder.

Laughing, he added: "Besides we can't fight or we'll miss our favorite game. Which poor gal thinks this year is the year Steve will take her out on a date!"

Carol allowed Tommy to put an arm over her shoulder, the two of them turning knowing grins on their friend as a singular unit. 

Even if Steve hadn’t felt like their friend in a hot minute. 

Not in the way he used to. 

"I do love watching them stutter through their little confessions.” Carol admitted, like this wasn’t something they’d loved doing since middle school. “I wonder if anyone will ever top Cindy Komer." 

Steve almost wasn't fast enough to cover his wince--that particular incident had been painful for him and Cindy. 

Steve still had no idea what he'd said to make the then-freshman cry. 

He thought he'd been nice about turning her down, but judging by Carol constantly quoting what he'd said, Steve had a feeling he'd accidentally been an asshole again.

Not that anyone ever thought it was accidental. 

“Steve? Hel~lo? Are you listening?” Carol said, snapping to get his attention and God did Steve hate that.

Never realized just how much until Nancy but after she’d pointed out that Carol treated him and Tommy both like her dogs, well. 

It was hard not to notice--and be a bit resentful. 

“God you keep doing this, you’re turning into such a space case.” Carol continued, the edge back in her voice. The same one she’d been using for a while, like Steve was on her last nerve. “Please tell me you’re not still mooning over Nancy fucking Wheeler.” 

“No.” He snapped, only to know instantly that was the wrong move, and try to fix it before Carol blew up. “No--I’ve just already had to fend someone off today. Like first thing--I was barely out of my car.”

There, that should keep Carol and Tommy both off his back for being “angry” and it wasn’t even a lie. He really had been asked out earlier, though the girl had been gracious about his rejection.  

Of course, this kind of instant redirection came with a price--and in this case, it was being absolutely hounded for more information. 

“Oh shit who!? Was it that Buckley girl?” Carol perked up immediately, like a hunting dog scenting prey. “I swear she stares holes in your head, she’s so weird…” )  

"This isn't about romance! It's about showing who has the most cash, gets the most sex! It's a pathetic social ritual you're all falling for!” Munson yelled, jolting Steve back into the present.  “I bet none of you even enjoy it!” 

"Tell that to all the girls Steve’s dated!” One of the younger basketball guys hollered, prompting a wave of laughter from the rest of the cafeteria. “They seem to enjoy it plenty!”

Steve couldn’t see who had said it, and should have felt the normal wave of smug warmth that the team had his back.  

Except his team had already proven they didn’t. 

Were in fact, siding more and more with Hargrove, just as Tommy was. 

They were rapidly approaching a watershed moment. Steve could feel it, the same way he’d always been able to tell when a crowd was about to turn.

He was losing, but was still on top of Hawkins social spaces enough, had caught it early enough, that he could turn everyone’s favor--if he wanted. 

Emphasis on ‘if.’ 

Munson spun to face his table, hair whipping to smack him in the face. The guy had clearly been trying to grow it out, but right now he looked like one of those poodles Carol's mom loved so much. 

So said Carol, anyway. 

"You sure about that?" Munson challenged, a crazed grin breaking across his face. "Rumor has it King Steve lost his groove ever since Wheeler dumped him!" 

Steve grimaced, though he was secretly thankful Munson went with "dumped" instead of "cheated on" (or any of the other vile words Billy had flung around, spreading across the school in the sick, crawling way rumors moved. 

Hargrove had been positively brutal about the whole Jonathan and Nancy thing, and the only reason he wasn't here now to spin this whole situation against Steve was because the guy always vanished at lunch.)

Tommy's face morphed into an affronted snarl, hands slapping down on the table. He turned expectantly to Steve, waiting for "The King" to get up and "handle" Munson.

Like Steve even cared about this dumb high school shit anymore. 

It took him a moment to realize Steve wasn’t planning on doing anything. Was in fact, going to remain perfectly quiet, other than an eyeroll and half-assed middle finger in Munson’s direction. 

Tommy let out a disgusted scoff in his direction and then decided to handle things himself. 

(Like that had ever been a good idea.)

“Shut up, Freak. The only game you have is in the prison showers.” He snapped, half rising from the table. “Isn’t that why you keep your hair long? So all the boys will actually fuck you?!” 

Whistles and yells lit the air, though Steve didn’t miss how the girls at the table looked taken aback at the sheer vitriol in Tommy’s voice. 

Even Carol looked startled, eyes sliding to meet Steve’s as if to confirm she hadn’t just imagined it. 

The three of them had always been good at this kind of mindless high school banter, but this over the top, crude shit? 

It wasn’t Tommy’s style.

It was Hargrove’s.

(That was its own growing issue. 

The way Tommy was gravitating towards Billy. 

How Carol kept expecting Steve to act like he used to. 

That she blamed his “outbursts” on Nancy, snidely mentioning that Steve had better have learned his lesson about “changing his personality for pussy.” 

Even now Steve knew they were only defending him because Munson was the one saying it.) 

“I didn’t realize Harrington still had his attack dog!” 

Munson put a hand against his heart as though injured, staggering dramatically backwards. 

“I thought you were too busy putting your tongue up Hargrove’s ass to bark at people!” 

Tommy immediately fired back, letting loose an uninspired string of curse words and something about Eddie being queer again. Steve didn’t hear the specifics--didn’t care to hear it, even as things started to spiral out of control. 

All he wanted to do was go home. 

Ideally before Billy got back from lunch and decided to make a spectacle himself, because Steve could feel that coming just as he could everything else. 

He was running out of time to come up with an excuse to get out of here without making a production out of it, and Munson wasn’t someone he wanted to piss off today, given he’d half hoped to buy weed off the guy before he ditched.

…Which was looking more and more unlikely given Tommy had just screeched some insult that had put Munson’s sights back on Steve. 

“You sure? Cause Harrington looks like he’s just gonna sit there and take it, just like he takes everything Hargrove and Wheeler and anyone else throws at him.”

He leered, leaning forward as if to see into Steve’s very soul. 

“I don’t know if anyone else has noticed, but our beloved King here hasn’t exactly been defending his crown. If anything, he’s abandoned it.” 

The world stopped. 

This was the first time someone actually called him out on the fact that he often let whatever crap Billy spewed go. That Nancy and him had a few awkward encounters publicly, with at least one of them starting a rumor that she’d told Steve to fuck off. 

(She hadn’t of course, but Carol had stopped running damage control, and Steve was feeling the effects of her ire.) 

Silence echoed, and Steve realized with a dawning sort of horror, that Munson was waiting for a response from him. 

Just as the entire cafeteria was. 

The catalyst was here, brought on early by one Edward Munson. 

With a startling amount of clarity, Steve realized he was done. 

With his so called friends, with  the girls who’d tried corning him all morning, with Hargrove and just--everything. 

He was over it. 

If Billy wanted the crown so bad he could fucking have it. 

(If Tommy wanted to pretend he was tougher than he was by mimicking the dick, then he could have that too.) 

“This is stupid.” Steve announced, dropping the masks he so carefully wore. The ones he kept having to fix, because the Upside Down and its related demons (human and non) kept taking chunks out of it. 

He stood, feeling the weight of the room press down on him as he faced them all down. 

“Yeah--!” Tommy started to pile on, seeming to think Steve was about to unleash hell, and got the surprise of a lifetime when Steve turned and jammed a finger in his face.

“Shut up.” He snapped. 

Knew instantly he only got away with it by the fact that he’d caught everyone off guard.  

King Steve did a lot of things, but he rarely blew up. 

“This is stupid.” He reiterated, voice booming across the lunch room, “ You wanna fight? Fine, but leave me out of it.”  

“The King doesn’t want to play? Why I never thought we’d see the day!” Munson clucked his tongue, and without missing a beat Steve turned to him. 

 “For someone who is always screaming about nonconformity, you sure are happy to attack anyone who doesn’t do what you want.”

Steve’s voice was loud, but he wasn’t screaming. Wasn’t yelling or throwing his arms around.

He didn’t need to. Had never needed to. 

“I heard you going off on that guy whose lunch you're standing on yesterday, because he wanted to watch the Colts play.” Steve continued, voice cold. “Half of your friends are terrified of you, because you’ll scream at them just like you accuse us of doing--and let’s be real here, Munson, you do it more.”

In a dramatic move that absolutely, 100% came from Dustin and his theatrics, Steve shrugged his letterman jacket off and bunched it into a ball. 

“You might as well crown yourself King, because you’re the exact same as the rest of us. Here--you can start with this.”  

Cocking back an arm, Steve let the jacket fly. Watched with everyone else as it  landed neatly right at Eddie’s feet. 

Shell shocked, Munson’s eyes drifted from Steve down to the letterman jacket and back. They were massive, those stupid eyes of his, but at least it meant Steve could see the realization wash over the guy in real time. 

Steve should have felt smug about it. His past self would have.

Presently? 

He just felt tired. 

“You’re welcome to jam it up your ass.” He finished, before giving his own sarcastic half bow to the room.  

The cafeteria was dead silent. Not a fork was scraped, or a loud piece of chip chewed. All eyes were on Steve, some waiting to see if Eddie would let him have the last word, others just  shocked to see Steve lose his shit in front of them. 

Idiot he was, he tried to rally anyway. 

Even Tommy, who’d partly stood up, hands pressed against the lunch table looked shocked.

“What the fuck Steve!?” He sputtered, and it wasn’t long before half the basketball team was muttering similar remarks. 

They were ignored. 

Whispers ripped across the room when Steve turned on his heel, striding towards the exit and making it clear things were over, but Tommy didn’t give up. 

“Fuck you Harrington!” He hurled at his back, Carol now standing and placing a restraining hand on his arm.  “You’re not fucking better than any of us!” 

Steve didn’t even look back. 

"That's my point Tommy." Steve said, loud enough to be heard. "No one is better than anyone else. You lot are all just buying into your own bullshit.” 

Then he was slamming through the doors, and out into the sunlight. 

xXx

He didn’t want to go home.

Not anymore, which was ironic in a way that made Steve’s face screw up in a grimace.  

Here he’d been dying to go to his stupid house all day, and now, after losing his shit and undoubtedly, the last of his social standing, he just didn’t feel like being by himself.

All alone, in a house too big for him, full of nothing but dark corners and a phone that never rang. 

So instead, he wandered, reminiscing on how Valentine's Day used to be his favorite day of the year. 

Steve loved the gesture of it all--the romance, the wooing. The butterflies floating in one's stomach, mixing with fear of rejection and a burning kind of hope towards starting something new. 

Of course, Steve also had always had a girl in mind, when he celebrated. Now, after Nancy…

He did not.

It felt weird to go to Skull Rock--the place he himself had made into Hawkins hottest makeout spots. Likewise all the local restaurants were off limits--too many adults knew how much he loved the holiday. 

Steve didn’t want to face that. The expectations, the knowing winks that would slide into uncomfortable frowns. Any possible advice given wouldn’t be appreciated, and the last thing Steve wanted was to get the “everyone has an off season, son” speech. 

So he’d stayed away from his usual haunts. Explored some storefronts instead, the Beamer parked in front of Family Video as he wandered. 

Had an entirely too peaceful two hours, which of course, meant he had to bump into someone.

At least, Steve thought dully, whole body tensing in preparation, it was Munson. 

Not Hargrove, or Tommy, or hell--the children, demanding he help them fight some other fucked up creature the government had accidentally summoned. 

“Hey Harrington.” Munson said, and it took a moment for Steve to realize the guy was embarrassed. “I uh, I need to talk to you.” 

Steve just stared at him.

“If you couldn’t tell from earlier,” He warned, “I’m a little done talking for today.” 

Or any day, for the foreseeable future. 

“Yeah no--I, I got that.  I--okay.” Eddie stopped rocking on his heels, before giving his entire body a shake, like the guys sometimes did while prepping for a game. “Hear me out, and then you can deck me or leave or whatever makes you feel better.” 

“I’m not going to deck you.” Steve said, exasperated and frazzled and not wanting to do this whole song and dance a second time. 

Not that it mattered, because Munson had already launched right into whatever it was he needed to say. 

“There’s this book right? My Uncle got it for me. It’s a fantasy book all about this big battle and there’s these wizards in it, and--” He stopped himself, shaking out his hands.

Like he realized he was rambling and needed the movement to get himself back on track. 

“I always--I guess I saw myself as a Gandalf kinda guy? Like I was this shepherd herding these lost sheep. A person who intimately knew all the dark forces of the world and could be a shield for them. Do not pass and all that.” 

He chuckled, but it was weak, and he killed it almost immediately. 

“...Okay?” Steve said, knowing he was supposed to say something here, even if he had no idea what. 

Maybe something about how Gandalf the Grey wasn’t exactly a shepard given he’d led the hobbits straight into Mordor, but saying that meant admitting Steve knew what Lord of the Rings was, which wasn’t a conversation he felt like getting into. 

Particularly not because he’d only read the damn things after losing a bet to Dustin and Mike both. 

Munson nodded, as if acknowledgement was all he needed. 

 “I thought that’s what I was doing. I wasn’t and I didn’t realize I wasn’t until you pointed it out. You shouldn’t have had to point it out. You shouldn’t have had to say any of what you did.” He rushed to add, oddly sincere. 

"Is this…" Steve might be confused but catching on, an uptick at the corners of his mouth as the tiniest spark of amusement leaked through. "an apology? Are you trying to apologize right now?"

Eddie groaned, flinging his head back. "No!” 

Then immediately; 

“Actually yes, but--”  

Which caught Steve off guard enough that he laughed, and had to hide it with a cough. 

“I am sorry, man. I shouldn’t have said that shit about you, especially not about you and Wheeler. It's more than that though.” Munson swallowed, before squaring his shoulders. “It’s that you were right." 

“I was right?” Steve repeated dumbly, because fuck, he couldn’t believe it either. 

Not that Munson heard him. Eddie always had been hard to stop once he started, and Steve had been in enough classes with the guy to know the train had left the station. 

"I did yell at Jeff because he wanted to watch that stupid football game.” He began, and Steve got a front row seat to watch as one Eddie Munson word vomited his way through a myriad of emotions. 

“I fuckin’ lost it on Grant because he missed band practice to drive his sister to some thing. Gareth looked like I was going to hit him when I asked if I had really been that bad--same exact look he gave Hagan and those other assholes that cornered him in the bathroom two weeks ago!” 

“Tommy did what?” 

Steve was promptly ignored. 

(Or more likely, Eddie simply didn’t hear him, too lost in his own voice to realize Steve had said something.) 

There were a lot of mentions of the Gandalf guy. Where Eddie thought he’d gone wrong, and even something about a glowing eye thing that had Steve a little concerned until he realized Munson was talking about Sauron (and also made Steve realize that he’d been pronouncing Sauron in his head wrong, oops.) 

“I called up this friend of mine who graduated. She’s always been no nonsense, so I asked her for her advice.” Munson said, finally seeming to slow down a little. “She told me I might as well eat my own doctrine because I sure wasn’t living by it, and that if I wanted to fix it then I should start by apologizing. To everyone but--to you, first.” 

Eddie took a step back, winging out his hands as if to present himself. 

“So here I am. Apologizing.” 

A pause wherein neither of them did a thing, which caused him to awkwardly add; “To uh, you. Harrington.” 

“Yeah I got that.” Steve said, because what else was he supposed to do here? “Good for you? I guess?”

“Most people either forgive a guy or tell him to fuck off.”  Munson pouted, and mimicked like he was kicking at a rock. 

It made Steve want to laugh again, though he shoved the urge down. 

“Someone once told me,” He said instead, speaking slowly to make damn sure he didn’t let slip this piece of advice came from a middle schooler. “that apologies without actions don’t really mean anything. They’re a start--they let people know you’re aware you screwed up, but no one’s going to trust you if you don’t follow through. So I can forgive you, but I think you’re better off doing this with one of your friends.” 

Someone who would hug it out, or at least tell Eddie how he could be better, at least. 

Rather than argue, Munson just titled his head back, eyes to the sky. Like he was really thinking on the words, before giving a sort of accepting sounding noise.  

“Trying too.” Steve admitted with a sigh. 

“That’s what you’ve been doing, isn’t it?” He asked, head coming back down so he could stare at Steve.

“The thing in the cafeteria was a good start.” 

“Yeah?” 

Eddie grinned. 

“Yeah. Don’t think Hagan’s gonna see it the same way though.” 

“We were falling out anyway.” Steve admitted, and hated how easy it was to say.

That they really were just going through the motions of friendship. Had been, ever since Jonathan had punched Steve in the face. 

“Think you lost more than just him as a friend, to be honest.”  

“Pro tip about the actions thing, Munson?” Steve said with a snort, once again unsure of where this conversation was going, “Nice people don’t typically point out when someone’s turned into a social pariah.” 

“No, I get that. Say,” Eddie’s grin had grown, which Steve would have taken poorly except he invaded Steve’s space with a goofy little hop. “I think you might be in need of some new ones!” 

“New…friends?” Steve hesitated, very unsure of what was happening. 

Munson promptly stuck his hand out. “Yup! So--hello, my name is Eddie Munson, and I am here to apply for the position as your friend!” 

Steve snorted, but the harshness of it was taken away by the grin on his face. 

He took Eddie’s hand, noting how doing so made the older teen’s smile widen. 

“Nice to meet you Eddie, I’m Steve.” 

Excited, Eddie waived their arms up and down, with far more enthusiasm than the gesture required. 

“How about we cement our new friendship by renting a truly terrible horror movie and drowning our woes with my other good friend, Mary Jane?” 

Then he waggled his eyebrows, like that was something scandalous. 

“Tempting me along with weed, huh?” Steve mused back, sticking his hands in his pockets once Eddie let him go. “Guess you’re a little like Gandalf the Gray after all. Just don’t send me on any missions.” 

“Steve Harrington.” Eddie gaped, pure delight spreading across his face. “Have you read Lord of the Rings!?” 

He got a shrug and a sly; “Maybe.” in response. 

It was worth the barrage of questions, even if the rapid fire pace of them nearly gave Steve a headache.

(Just as it was worth it several months later, when Steve was comfortable enough to instigate wrestling matches with Eddie over the dumbest of things. 

One particularly semi-drunk tussle over the remote led to an interesting discovery when Eddie popped a boner, and then frantically tried to escape when it brushed against Steve’s leg. 

 Instead of panicking--or letting Eddie bolt in his panic, Steve just dropped his whole weight down, effectively pinning the slimmer man to the floor. 

“Steve.”

Eddie said it so quietly he almost didn’t hear it, the word filled with desperation.

The kind of tone someone whispered a prayer in, a sort of pleading that Eddie did better with his eyes than his voice. Or would have, given his own were firmly scrunched closed the second he realized he’d been caught out. 

Except--

“Not right now I’m thinking.”  Steve told him absently. 

Which he was. Speed thinking even, if that was a thing. 

Because if two plus two equaled four (which it did) then feeling the exact same, fluttering excitement about Eddie’s boner as Steve had Nancy’s breasts, equaled…

“The fuck? Steve--”

Steve shushed him. 

That pulled a frustrated, embarrassed groan from Eddie that went directly to Steve’s own dick, not that it needed much help waking up. 

“I think I’m having one of those crisis’s Robin is always accusing the basketball team of having.” Steve informed Eddie dutifully, the dots done connecting.

Eddie, still refusing to open his eyes, snorted. 

“Whatever man. Can you at least be decent and hurry up with the beating? This is embarrassing enough.” 

“I’m not going to beat you up.” Steve said, thankful that his brain managed not to add some shitty comment about the entire town being awash in rumors of Eddie’s sexuality. That he’d confirmed it here wasn’t exactly a surprise. 

“I’m going to try something. If you don’t like it, let me know.” Streve added, before screwing up his courage and leaning down.

That of course, got Eddie to open his eyes.

“Wha--” He managed, before Steve’s lips were on his. 

For one single, blissful moment, Eddie Munson’s mouth was too busy to talk. 

“Yeah?” Eddie said, voice wrecked, and oh, Steve liked that. 

“Huh.” Steve muttered, when they broke for air. “Well that’s new.”

Liked the way Eddie looked at him more, hesitant, but with heat in his gaze. 

Steve had always been good about knowing what to do with heat. 

He leaned back down, pecking lightly at Eddie’s lips, and was delighted to find Eddie not only let him, but kissed back. 

“Not bad, Munson, but I think I could give you a few pointers.” Steve muttered, nose ghosting alongside Eddie’s. “Let me show you…” 

One boyfriend, several weeks, and another interdimensional monster later, Steve found himself socked in the arm by none other than his coworker, Robin Buckley. 

In her defense, she’d confessed her love for Tammy Thompson, still somewhat drugged on the Starcourt bathroom floor, only for Steve to tease her that at least his boyfriend could actually sing. 

“God you and Eddie Munson.” She muttered after, smile on her face. “How did that happen?” 

Steve knocked his shoe into hers, returning the grin unabashedly. 

“So remember last Valentines Day?” Steve started, all too eager to finally tell someone who understood about the best thing to ever happen to him. 

Robin of course, would soon also be ranked in that same chart, but Eddie didn’t need to know that. ) 

[dilfsfordinner]

summary- toji fails to prevent a completely preventable messy incident from occurring, involving his son

pairing- husband toji x fem!reader

—————————————————————————

“You wanna do it?” Toji grinned, eyebrows raised as he watched little Megumi tug the ratchet from his grasp, waddling towards the raised car, brave enough to face the thing he’d thought a transformer just months prior.

Your car was in dire need of an oil change and being the caring husband that he was, Toji took up his place as mechanic for the day, his worry about typical shop workers taking advantage of women evident in his pleas for you to just stay home and let him do it.

Megumi also took up his place as the incredibly curious and stubborn one year old, his job apparently to make Toji’s work as hard as humanly possible, every babble or questionable crash tearing Toji’s attention away from the task at hand, which is why he stopped trying, and just let his son indulge in his childlike curiosity.

Of course, you would lose your mind if you knew that your baby was around such a large machine, but Toji knew himself and his capabilities, his reflexes practically inhuman, so he didn’t really mind a little thing running around his feet, as long as he kept an eye out.

“Alright, Megs, give it back,” Toji said gently, hand curling open to reveal a waiting palm, Toji realizing that the young boy did not intend to help him underneath the car. Rather, he’d started a game of tag, little feet scurrying to the other side of the garage, awaiting his father’s move.

Refusing to let a one year old bruise his competitive spirit, Toji used his skills to be across the room in a split second, large hands grabbing Megumi before he could run away, a loud slew of giggles leaving the young boy’s lips, Toji smiling as he held him up with only two hands, walking towards the car like he was holding a feral cat.

Setting the babbling child down, Toji got down on his level, kneeling to tell Megumi to stay back and watch for a second. Pulling himself under the car, Toji then began to use Megumi like a little assistant, asking for tools as needed. “Wrench please” and similar phrases continued for a while before Toji was ready to actually do the task at hand.

Humming in approval at his handiwork, Toji made one final request to the boy sitting beside his feet. “Can you get the jug of oil for me, please?” he asked gently, hands busy holding the port above him closed, his ears catching an excited “yes” and the patter of running feet retreating farther into the garage.

Too preoccupied to notice the unusual length of time it was taking for his son to grab the requested bottle, Toji continued his tinkering before an odd smack sounded, glugging sounds following soon after.

Pausing his movements, Toji craned his neck to try and see his son but before he could even question what had happened, a familiar sniffle sounded at his feet, loud cries flowing from his baby’s mouth.

Sighing, Toji quickly screwed the oil duct tight, and pulled himself from under the car. The sight he emerged to was certainly a surprising one. There, right next to all of his discarded tools, was an oil-covered Megumi, his whole body completely drenched with the thick, black substance.

Letting out a sympathetic laugh and sweet “It’s okay”s, Toji scooped up his crying child, tutting as the dripping kid hid his face in his dad’s chest, trying to hide or remove the liquid, Toji couldn’t tell.

Completely clueless to the situation outside, you were busy in the kitchen, making a snack for your husband as a thank you. For the first time in an hour, familiar footsteps sounded behind you as you chopped up some vegetables, smiling to yourself as you expected two arms to come wrap around you. What you didn’t expect was to hear the wails of your baby boy, and you especially couldn’t have prepared yourself to see him in the flesh.

“What happened,” you gasped as Toji held the young boy to his chest, a black trail of droplets gathering around his feet as you rushed up to the two of them. Cradling little Megumi’s face, oil coated your hands, anger bubbling inside of you, the only funnel being a slap to your husband’s shoulder, narrowed eyes turning up to meet his own.

“I told you to leave him in here,” you huffed, your angry tone fizzling into sympathetic coos as your attention turned back to your son. “It was an accident,” Toji’s voice had that humorous lilt to it, one that was really good at making your very motherly nature less worrisome. “It happens to workers all the time, he’ll be okay.”

And he was right, because after what seemed to be hours of scrubbing and a whole bottle of dawn dish soap later, the previously oily Megumi was squeaky clean, and incredibly happy as he munched away on his dinner. Toji couldn’t help but retell the story a million times, ignoring your reprimanding words as he fell into a fit of laughter, which eventually had your lips starting to pull into a smile, Megumi none the wiser, his memory about the incident already wiped away.

—————————————————————————

[repulsiveliquidation]

Did I Cross The Line? || Alexia Putellas

warnings : angst. i am not entirely happy with it but if I kept editing, it would only become worse lol. Loosely inspired by the meaning of ‘Wildflower’ by Billie Eilish.

summary : There were two people to love. Alexia could only have one.

You started off as best friends. Two peas in a pod. One never without the other. You and Alexia were never seen apart from each other. Her mother was like your mother, and vice versa. Both families were like one big one all because Alexia decided she wanted to be friends with you at 4 years old and she kicked a football at you in kindergarten. 

You cried, of course, and she got so scared when the teacher scolded her and called her mother to school for it. She sheepishly apologized and when you accepted it, she kissed your cheek where the ball smacked you. 

“Mami always kisses my booboos so they feel better faster!” 

“Really? My mami does too…” 

A football to the face was the price you paid for a girl whom you would give your life for. 

That was until Jenni came along. 

Alexia looked at her differently. It was new. She’d never been this happy in a relationship before and you could not have been happier for your best friend. 

Alexia was someone who loved her friends. She wasn’t shy to show her affection and to boldly display her feelings. You were more reserved and outwardly didn’t like it when she was being touchy. 

Deep down though, her touch brought calm to your storm. You were always anxious before games and Alexia knew this; she made sure to stand beside you and hold your hand to squeeze three times before you left the tunnel. 

Today, Alexia stood beside you in the tunnel, chatting away to Jenni who was only half listening. Your hands shook with adrenaline and fear, palms itching to reach for Alexia’s hand to calm you down. 

The kind of friend she was to you showed itself in times like these. She could feel the fear radiating off you and without even looking back at you, her hand reaches for yours and you feel your body relax and react to the heat from her palm. 

“You okay? You look pale,” she whispers, looking concerned at you. You look up at her slightly taller figure and nod, gripping her hand tighter. 

“Fine, just nervous for the big game,” you lie, hoping she didn’t see the slight bit of jealousy that creeped into your head. 

“You’ll be fine, hermana, we’ll win this.” 

You nod again, feeling sweat on your brow. She squeezes your hand three times and faces forwards, walking out while you follow. The game went smoothly and you sailed to a 3-0 win easy peasy. 

At training a few days later, you arrive at the changing room a little energized only to be met with screaming. 

You stood at the door and listened carefully, not wanting to interrupt anyone when you recognized the voice yelling her head off. 

Alexia was yelling. 

“She’s my best fucking friend, how could you make me choose?!” 

“Well, she’s all you talk about! If I wanted to know her, I would have wanted to date her instead of you!” 

“You’re not good enough for her!” 

“I’m not good enough?” Jenni laughs, “You’re the one who got rejected when told her I love you while piss fucking drunk! May I add that we were already dating at that point; I knew you loved her and not me!”

”How dare you?!” 

You hear bags being zipped and boots clamoring all over the changing room. Alexia storms out of the room and you back away from the door just in time. She doesn’t even see you standing there pretending you didn’t hear them, seeing Jenni try to run after. She, unlike Alexia, notices you standing there looking like a deer in headlights. 

“Speak of the devil,” Jenni quips mockingly, “you were listening weren’t you?” 

“You didn’t make it hard not to,” you say as you roll your eyes, pushing past Jenni to put your kit bag in your cubby and run after Alexia. 

“Ale!” You call, running through the stadium looking for your best friend. She’s sobbing in her car, crying more when you knock on the passenger window gently. The doors unlock and you quietly climb in. 

“You heard.” 

“I didn’t get there in time to hear all of it, no.”  

“Jenni’s leaving,” Alexia takes a deep breath to stop herself from crying before she continues, “and she’s asked me to come with her.” 

“Why did you say no?” 

The tears start to flow again and she cries harder, now unable to catch her breath. She grabs the steering wheel and still can’t breathe so you take her hands in yours and hope she calms like you do. 

Her panic attack exhausts her and she’s in no condition to drive. A quick text to the group chat and you’ve got both your bags in her car and are on the way to her house. She’s passed out in the passenger seat and snoring a little, still holding your hand in the center console. 

Your hand holding hers feels familiar and comfortable. You’re sure she’s passed out and can’t really feel anything but unbeknownst to you, she was quite aware of her surroundings and knew she was close to home. 

Close to you. 

You really don’t want to wake her but you’ve pulled into her driveway and can hear dogs barking so you tap on her shoulder gently. You’re tempted to kiss the back of her hand but you refrain from it, feeling the restraint tug at your heart. 

She rouses and smiles softly at you, eyes puffy and nose red. She shuffles into the house with you right behind her. 

You make yourself at home, brewing two cups of tea. It fills the house with a lovely smell of jasmine, which eases your anxiety. She takes a mug from you, eyes filling with fresh tears. Her body shakes with fear, brain in overdrive. 

She was always open with you. But this time, her lips stayed sealed. It broke your heart. 

“Alexia, talk to me,” you whisper, eyes searching for hers. She doesn’t look at you, teary eyes instead glued to the floor. 

She sips the tea and it burns her tongue, the sudden rush of pain makes the tears she was fighting with win. They stain her cheeks and reveal her true feelings. 

She loved you. 

And she has for longer than she cares to admit. 

Dating Jenni was just an attempt at denying her feelings. She loved you. But she loved Jenni too. 

It was like she was having an out of body experience. She was sitting right in front of you and she had never seen like you she did right this second. But she knew now that she did in fact see you this way. 

She looked at you differently from Jenni. She took care of you differently from Jenni. She saw you differently from Jenni. She may have loved both of you, but there was a clear difference. 

She did those things differently because she loved you differently. 

She didn’t know you felt the same. You loved Alexia too. Boy did your heart break when they first got together. You wanted to break things she got you. You couldn’t wear her clothes you had in your closet anymore. You pulled away when all you wanted to do was crawl into her skin. 

You had to lie that day at the bar. You had to break her heart. She loved someone else didn’t she? You couldn’t let her be hung up on someone like you when she had someone like Jenni begging for her attention. 

She was La Reina. Two time Ballon d’Or winner. Queen of FC Barcelona. 

You were just…you. 

“I love you!” Alexia yells; fresh hot tears stream down her face. She looked like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. There was a clear release of tension in the room and it was magical.

When her lips touched yours, there were feelings shared that could be left unsaid. Feelings only the two of you needed to know. She loved Jenni, and there was a conversation to be had tomorrow but for today, she had all that she needed to make it through the night. And quite possibly the rest of her life. 

Alexia pulled you into her lap, hands resting on your waist in a deathly grip, clearly afraid you’d just disappear into thin air. 

“I love you too,” you whispered against her lips, feeling her perfect smile adorn her face again. 

As Alexia held you in her arms the rest of the night, you realized something. You were not just…you. 

You were the girl who took a ball to the face like a champ, though it left your cheek bruised for days, all because a 4 year old was too shy to say hello. 

You were the girl who fought a boy twice your size when he tackled Alexia dangerously. 

You were the girl who walked in and out of her house like it was your own. 

You were the girl so scared of walking out onto the pitch you needed your best friend to hold your hand. 

You were the girl Alexia, from the moment she laid her eyes on you at the kindergarten playground, wanted to be friends with her entire life. 

You were wanted, needed and cherished by your best friend. But there was more, so much more left for you to uncover. 

Was the next step in your relationship a line you wanted to cross? 

“Alexia?” you asked, looking back at her. She was smiling and you felt your heart melt. But you remained steadfast. 

“Sí?”

“What are you going to say to Jenni?” 

Alexia’s smile dropped, her arms around you slacked and her face turned into fear. 

What was she going to say to Jenni? She was going to break her heart for sure but what would be the right words? Were there the right words to tell your girlfriend you loved someone else and you were only with her because you were in denial? 

The night dragged on that day, on one hand you were over the moon to have Alexia to yourself but you felt bad for Jenni who was also a close friend, knowing she was in for a day she would want over as fast as possible tomorrow. 

“Jenni, just listen to me, please!” 

“There’s nothing to listen to, you’re in love with her and not me. Moving away was a good idea, that way I won’t be a constant reminder of a barrier in your relationship,” Jenni says calmly, standing right in front of the door outside the changing room. She turns, a pained smile on her face. 

“You two deserve each other. Please don’t break her heart like you did mine.” 

Alexia asked you to wait outside and you did, trying your best not to eavesdrop like before. Jenni walks out and you can see how hard she’s trying not to cry. She sees you and sits beside you, an awkward silence in the air. There was a war going on inside you, one that made your anxiety skyrocket. You were shaking, sweat building up on your brow. You tried to hold your own hand to no avail. It was nothing like Alexia’s palm in yours. 

Jenni takes your sweaty palm and rubs the back with her other. 

“Please don’t feel like this is your fault,” she starts, looking at your hand in hers. “We were having problems from the start. She has always loved you in a way that was reserved only for you.” 

You look at her and tears of your own begin to prickle. You felt bad for her; you should be comforting her since she was the one affected by all this and yet here she was comforting you. 

“Jenni…” 

“No, please. She loved me,” she pauses, taking a deep breath, “but she loved you more. More than anything in this world. She told me she was terrified of losing you when we got together. She was always your girl. She was never mine to love.” 

Jenni stands, leaving your hand in your lap and using hers to wipe her tears. 

“She always wished I was you," Jenni says, taking a deep breath, "now she’s got her wish. I just hope she doesn't regret it.”

[keerysfreckles]

lay all your love on me — LN4

pairing: lando norris x piastri!reader

summary: the aftermath of y/n's worst date she's ever been on, lando comes to pick her up.

warnings: one curse word, not proofread

a/n: dedicated to kayla bae 🤭🤭 comment if i should make a part 2!!!

masterlist !

⋆ ˚ ｡ ⋆ ୨୧ ˚

y/n can't remember the last time she went on a decent date. in the past year she's been on five dates, none of them doing any justice.

two of them were too busy staring at her chest from the low neckline of her dress. one wouldn't stop talking about the football game plastered on the tv behind her at the sports bar he dragged her to. one didn't even show up.

and now, the fifth date, he isn't taking anything she says seriously.

she tried explaining how she's able to travel a lot due to her brother being a formula one driver, and the bloke just laughed in her face. claiming "girls can't be that into racecars".

y/n's never wanted to punch somebody as hard as she wanted to punch the man in front of her.

he then started talking about his own career, which lead y/n to talk about hers. however, to the man across from her, having a degree in communications does nothing to improve y/n's future.

this man was suffocating. every word he uttered just made y/n's blood boil.

it got to the point where y/n simply left. she left the man there, at the restaurant, with the most dumbfounded look displayed over his features.

she couldn't stand to be there another five minutes, so she simply left. no apology, no goodbye.

the chilly monaco air did not help her sour mood, in which she didn't bring a jacket with her. the walk to her apartment wasn't far, maybe twenty minutes.

the more and more the girl thought about her date, and the previous ones, she couldn't help but feel sorry for herself. the past five times she's gotten dressed up, and was excited to learn about someone new, she just left disappointed every time.

y/n didn't even know why she wore the heels she has on. she's never worn them, so she's praying she doesn't get blisters the next morning.

groaning, she pauses to take off her black heels. her shoulders slightly relaxing as the pain from her feet falls into the pavement with every step.

now y/n wasn't sure if the rumbles she heard behind her was thunder, or just the roaring of engines passing in the streets.

she pushed the thought off for now, and went back to thinking about her failed dates. she didn't think it was her fault, but maybe she was just unlovable. there was a chance it wasn't the people she dated, and that she was the one with the problem.

the over consuming thoughts had now gotten best of the girl. before she knew it tears were welling up at her bottom lashes. she didn't care about her makeup anymore, choosing to wipe at the tears now mixing with her mascara.

seconds barely pass, and it was final that the rumbles y/n heard earlier was thunder. meaning rain would shortly follow after. she groaned again, wanting to do anything but walk home in the rain.

she could easily turn around and wait the storm out in the restaurant, but she didn't want to face the man she left at the table again.

she then decided to call her brother.

however her plan quickly backfired once she remembered oscar and lily went out tonight, somewhere over an hour of where y/n is now. so calling oscar was out of the question. the phone didn't even let out a full ring before she hung up.

to make matters worse, y/n felt big drops of rain hit her shoulders.

there weren't many other options y/n could give into tonight. her close friends were all in france for god knows what, oscar was busy, and y/n just wanted to go home.

call her pathetic, but y/n couldn't help but cry. her night has only gotten worse, and she couldn't do anything about it.

after mere minutes, her hair was soaked from the now heavy pouring rain, she had no doubt her makeup was fully ruined, and she was sulking underneath a flickering lamppost.

she let out a dry chuckle after scrolling through her contacts once again, now seeing the only person left to call. the only person who'd answer her tonight.

on the third ring, he picked up.

"y/n? is everything okay?"

y/n hasn't gotten asked that in a long time. so she simply let out a choked sob. she tried answering, but her voice failed her again.

"lando," she managed to get out, only to have her cries over power her words.

he was quick to ask her what happened to make her this upset. to which he only got small answers in between more cries and jagged breaths. he knew he had to do something.

"can you tell me where you are?" he asked, while slipping his shoes on before running out of his apartment towards the parking garage.

he was glad to finally get a normal answer out of y/n, as he pulled out of his parking space with a loud screech of his tires. his windshield wipers did almost nothing to help him see in the rain, only making him driver faster, wanting nothing more than to get y/n in the warm and dry comfort of his car.

he drove carefully down the street address she gave him.

then he saw it. his heart broke at the sight in front of him.

y/n sitting on a bench, with her head in her hands. heels discarded by her feet, and her wet hair sticking to her back and shoulders.

her head picked up at the headlights of lando's car, and the sound of his driver door opening.

"god, y/n are you okay?"

lando kneeled down in front of her, placing his warm hands over her knees.

all y/n could do was lean forward into lando, wrapping her arms around him for some form of comfort.

lando couldn't care less if his shirt was getting wet, he could easily put on a new one once he got home. all he cared about right now was the girl in his arms.

he helped her get to the passenger side of the door, before jogging back to the bench to grab her heels. as he threw them into the backseat his eyes moved to an extra jacket. he was internally thanking his past self for leaving this inside.

y/n shivered out a thank you, for the hoodie and at his action of turning the heat on.

the ride back was silent. a comfortable silence, mostly because lando didn't want to pressure the girl into talking about exactly what happened tonight.

after lando turned left, y/n spoke up, "wait, lando you made the wrong turn. my apartment's that way."

she pointed out the window, but lando simply shrugged it off.

"y/n you haven't had the best night," he starts by pointing out the obvious, "so you can crash at my flat tonight, okay? we can watch as many rom-coms as your little heart desires. i know how much you love those."

y/n chuckles at his ending sentence, but can't agree with him more.

as soon as lando pulls into the parking garage, he helps y/n up the stairs to his apartment door. he successfully opens the door with one hand, as y/n's shoes are hanging over his fingers in the other.

he watched as y/n crossed her arms over herself once he shut the front door.

"do you want a hug?" he held out his arms with a small smile adorning his lips.

y/n walks closer to him, her barefeet hitting the hardwood with each step before she rests her head on his shoulder.

one thing y/n loves about lando's hugs is how secure they feel. his arms always end up wrapped tightly around her, and she swears she feels her bad mood leave her body whenever she's in his embrace.

after a few moments, lando speaks up, "do you want to change? i bet i have some clothes that'll fit you."

y/n nods before ridding her face of any tears. she then follows lando to his room. she sits on the edge of his bed, watching carefully as he grabs a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

"i'll be out in the living room. take your time," he speaks softly, kissing the top of her head before he leaves the room.

y/n finally lets out a sigh. a sigh filled with many different emotions. too many to count, so y/n distracts herself by changing into the much more comfortable clothes lando grabbed.

she tried running her fingers through her damp hair as she exited his room, but her hair became too tangled from the rain.

lando's small smile made it's way to his face once y/n came into the living room.

"you feeling any better?" he pats the spot beside him on the couch.

all y/n does is nod, but lando senses that something's still bothering her.

he brushes off the thought for now, as he and y/n search for a movie to watch.

after eight minutes of flicking through netflix, y/n breaks the silence.

"lan, do i seem unlovable to you?"

the question certainly caught the brit off gaurd. he took a moment to think about his response before answering, but no certain response would be the right one.

"woah, what makes you think that?"

y/n gets more quiet, becoming more self conscious of herself as she sits beside lando.

she shrugs before responding, "every date i've been on in the past year has gone wrong. i can't help but think if it's something i'm doing. that i'm the one with the problem, not all the guys i've seen."

lando's heart breaks at y/n's statement. how long has she been feeling this way about herself?

"you're not unlovable y/n. it's all those idiots that don't know what they're missing out on. you're one of the greatest people i know, and if any guy you date can't see that, he's not worth it."

lando wasn't sure where his small speech came from, but the look from y/n made his heart beat faster than it did before.

she looked at lando with nothing but adoration. a blush covered both of their cheeks now, and before y/n could really register anything her brain was processing she leaned over to quickly kiss lando.

yes, she was kissing her brother's best friend. yes, she was kissing lando after she had a horrible date.

was it a bad idea? probably. but y/n needed one thing to go right tonight. she could only pray this was the thing.

just as lando got used to the feeling of her lips against his, she pulled away.

she couldn't read the emotion on his face, making her start to ramble.

"i'm sorry. i'm so so sorry lan. i- i just needed one thing to go right tonight. and i thought maybe kissing you was the right thing to do. shit, i'm sorry. i can leave-"

y/n's sentence was cut off, now by lando pushing his lips against hers. his hand found it's way to the back of her neck, as hers balled up the material of his shirt to try and bring him closer to her.

their panted breaths mingled together as they were only centimeters away from each other. their eyes filled with adventure and lust, both wondering where this thing could lead to.

[garoujo]

✩ ˛˚ . GOJO SATORU ; — you can’t help but feel a little upset thinking that your boyfriend has forgotten your anniversary.

ஜ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ warnings! f!reader, none, fluff! although it gets a tiny bit hawt at the end! ♡ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ note! an anon suggested this drabble idea literally like sometime last year + the new szn finally gave me some motivation to write it! i hope u see this!

3 years.. 3 years and gojo didn’t leave you with so much as a “happy anniversary” as he left this morning. you’d have even taken an extra smack on the ass during your usual morning makeout session, the taste of his two sugar’s too sweet coffee on his tongue as it twists with yours and his hands on your waist.. but that’s it, that’s all???

so now you’re here, angrily stomping back to your shared apartment after the few errands you had to run today because you took the day off to celebrate. but your dumb, stupidly handsome boyfriend doesn’t even know what for as he rambles on the other side of the phone.

“can feel you poutin’, what’s gotten into my sweet girl? hm?” gojo hums like hes thinking about something, his same sickly sweet tone dripping through you like honey despite the way you want to be mad at him right now— you would’ve ignored the call all together, just to be petty if you didn’t know he’d turn up at the door a second later.

“nothing. i’m just almost home that’s all.” you’re lying and you know he can tell, he always could. he could pick up every slight, little change in your attitude like he seen right through you.

“oh yeah? nothing at all on your mind?” gojo drawls again, there’s a teasing lull to his voice and it makes your pout puff out even more before he breathes out a low chuckle and sighs. “and here i thought you were mad at me. you almost made me cry at work— who would take me seriously then, huh?”

“you’re not funny.” you huff out, short and a little clipped as you finally come to a stop infront of your apartment door — fiddling with your keys in your hand while your pout still rests on your features.

“you sure?”

you really can’t be bothered playing gojo’s games right now and as amusing as he seems to find himself, it’s only making you burn hotter — making your stomach twist with the lump in your throat that you’ve been fighting to keep down all day. you don’t want to get upset, but it meant a lot to you.

you just wanted him to maybe put in a little effort on the one day that you guys really get to celebrate eachother.

“positive. so i’m gonna g—“ you can barely finish your own spiralling, upsetting thoughts before your snapped response through your phone fades on your tongue. but suddenly, the tears youd been fighting to hold back all day seem to come so ruthlessly, gathering along your lashes as you gaze onto the ocean of red that greets you as you open the door.

you’re not sure how many bouquets there are waiting for you there. hundreds? thousands? sitting pretty along the floor, decorating the shared space so beautifully that you don’t even realise that you’ve gone quiet. ofcourse gojo would do something like this, and suddenly you feel a little silly for even doubting him.

“ah, fine. i guess i’ll get the guy to come pick all of those back up then, huh, sweet thing?”

but the smooth tone that sounds from your phone speaker sounds a little louder, closer when it’s accompanied by a long arm wrapping around your waist from behind as kisses are pressed up the side of your neck.

“but, you—“ you try but you feel so overwhelmed, so full of love as gojo’s large figure drapes over you from behind. his face is stuffed into the crook of your neck and you can feel the way his crooked smile sits on his features as it presses against your skin. he feels warm, although you’re sure he’s more than smug right now when he pulls away with an exaggerated gasp that cuts off your sentence.

“as if you’re perfect, good looking boyfriend would ever forget. what do you take me for, hm?” you giggle at that despite the way he’s teasing you again, squeezing at your sides until you’re meeting his gaze and you’re sure you must look so in love when you notice the way his features soften slightly.

“happy anniversary, princess.” gojo grins as he leans into kiss you breathless, twisting into your mouth as his tongue pushes past your lips and you almost rock back with how dizzy he makes you feel. but his hands are on your hips, keeping you close against his chest with a stability that you’d always found in him.

another long press of his lips with yours and you whimper sweetly as he pulls away to look at you, pretty gaze glowing slightly from under the snowy peaks of his hair before he’s smirking again, maybe a little wider this time.

“you gonna laugh f’ me when i tell jokes again? i can feel the tears threatening to start again.” he’s like a professional when his cheeky grin twists into an exaggerated pout, making you laugh again— a little harder this time before you’re pinching at his cheeks playfully and bringing him in for another quick kiss.

“you’re such a dork.” you tease and gojo groans against your lips like he’s offended.

“mmm, no thank you? oh i’m hurt, sweet girl. what’ll i do with you now, hm?” the look he gives you as he pulls away is suspicious, a raised brow as his head falls to the side and he really looks like he’s considering it. until the next moment his large palm is coming down heavy on your ass before his next handful squeezes.

“satoru!” you squeal but that only seems to make him chuckle as he leans down to kiss you again, rougher this time despite the way you’re both smiling giddily into the shared, messy press of eachother. almost too quickly finding yourself pressed up against the wall in the hallway as he melts into you.

“let’s see! oh, i’ve got a few ideas.”

© 2023 GAROUJO. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[in-class-daydreams]

cw. a lil age gap, but everyone is well over 18 (Gojo and Reader are ~40, Yuta is ~30)

Imagine the way ex-husband Gojo's eye twitches seeing how Yuta Okkotsu treats you.

You and Yuta had only seen each other in passing over the years. In fact, you never even officially met until he was several years out of school on the account of your innate technique causing Rika to go haywire. So while there was always a possibility of you seeing someone after the divorce, Satoru would never in his wildest dreams have guessed who it'd be. He'd heard through the grapevine that you only started seeing more of each other last year.

Satoru has to see you at the biweekly joint staff meetings between the Tokyo and Kyoto schools, made especially awkward after not one, but two (2) post-divorce make outs. The last time he kissed you while you were fighting, you shoved him away and booted him out of the house using your technique. Granted, you kissed him back, but you're not exactly on great terms right now.

So, it's bad enough that he has to see you as much as he does. Even worse is now that everything's out in the open, he has to watch you fawn over someone that's not him.

"You're so sweet!" you cry when Yuta surprises you during your lunch break with takeout from your favorite restaurant. "Thank you so much, but you really didn't have to do all this for me."

Yuta places a hand on the small of your back and guides you towards the door to the courtyard. Adjusting the picnic blanket slung over his shoulder, he asks, "Why not?"

"It's so much effort," you reply.

"For you? Nothing feels like much effort," Yuta says with a cheeky grin.

Satoru just catches a glimpse of you covering your face with your hand - as you always do when you blush - and then the two of you are out the door. It takes all his effort not to gag at how cheesy that was. Never mind how genuine Yuta looked about it.

Of course Satoru had taken you out for lunch while you were together. All kinds of lunches. Mom and pop shops, food stands, upscale restaurants, you'd done it all. Your new suitor wasn't doing anything for you that he hadn't done.

Suitor. What was this, the 1800's?

Suguru appears at his side while he stares after you.

"Was that Yuta?" he asks. "I'm impressed. He's supposed to be at a week-long training in Ibaraki."

Ibaraki? The prefecture that's over two hours away? He came all this way to have lunch with you?

Alright, Satoru never did that. Not that he wouldn't have! He totally would've if he'd, you know, thought of it.

Suguru seems oblivious to the emotional bomb he just dropped on his best friend. "I'm starving. Let's hurry up and go eat. I'm good with anything except KFC," he complains.

It takes a couple tries to get his attention, but Satoru eventually pulls himself out of his thoughts. He comforts himself with the notion that Yuta would be gone by the time he returned.

Imagine that while Yuta himself may be absent, his presence damn near haunts ex-husband Gojo to death.

You're already back in the meeting room by the time he and Suguru return from lunch, only you now have a full water bottle (he noticed you pout when you drank the last of it earlier), a sleeve of oreos sticking out of your bag, and a cute travel mug full of some hot drink that you definitely didn't have before.

If Satoru wasn't so preoccupied with insisting to himself that, 'I totally did things like that back in the day!' and provided his ex-wife wasn't the woman in question, he'd be thinking, 'Yuta Okkotsu, I was unfamiliar with your game.'

Even more frustrating is how energetic you look. You have your notes out and are nibbling on an oreo, kicking your feet back and forth as if there's not another two and a half hours left of this meeting.

It's not that Satoru doesn't want you to be happy. Quite the opposite, actually, since he'd gladly give his life if he thought he could guarantee your eternal joy and safety. He's just not sure what Yuta has that he didn't. Or doesn't.

"What does she see in him?" Satoru murmurs to himself later, when a bunch of the staff members go out for drinks. You're at the bar laughing with Yuki and Shoko.

He regrets speaking out loud when Sukuna snorts from behind him.

"How much time do we have?" your coworker says with amusement. He slides into the booth, nursing his sake bomb with ice. It's a travesty of a drink, if you ask Satoru, but to each his own.

"Great, it's my least favorite person," Satoru gripes.

Sukuna seems to take great pleasure in Satoru's misery. "I think Okkotsu's earned himself that title."

Now, Satoru hates the taste of alcohol nor is it ever a good idea for someone constantly using a cursed technique to get drunk, but he can't bring himself to care at the moment.

He snatches the drink from Sukuna's hand and downs the whole thing in one go.

Imagine how baffled ex-husband Gojo is when his son delivers a cursed artifact to him instead of you.

"Where's your mom?" he asks.

Sen hands over the small box covered in talismans while his best friend, Nao, lingers by the office door. Rolling his eyes, he says, "We had a mission in the area, so Sukuna-sensei had us deliver this."

"Not what I asked you, kid," Satoru replies, leaning back in his chair. He gestures for the boys to have a seat, but neither move.

Nao, who has a tendency to stir the pot if he thinks it'll be funny, pipes up, "She's on vacation for a week."

Since when did you take vacations? And why hadn't he heard of this?

"What's she doing for a whole week?" he asks.

Nao replies. "Okkotsu finished his training and whisked her away to some onsen in Obanazawa."

Sen smirks. "That snowy place that looks like it's from Spirited Away? How romantic."

"Super romantic." Stir, stir, stir, Nao Zen'in.

Sen was not a fan of anyone trying to get close to his mom. He'd seen how the divorce hurt you, but so far, Yuta worshipped the ground you walked on, so Sen was at least willing to not be too hostile towards him if it meant antagonizing his father.

Sen and his friend quickly say their goodbyes and head out to do whatever it is high school boys do. Once they're gone, Satoru pulls out his phone and searches 'onsen obanazawa.' The results show Ginzan Onsen, a place with traditional Japanese architecture with a beautiful snowy landscape. But according to the reviews, though a wonderful and charming place, it wasn't from the best onsen in Japan. He wants to scoff at the fact that his supposed 'replacement' chose anything but the best for you, but then he sees where Obanazawa is, which is in Yamagata prefecture.

Where you grew up. Where you and Satoru met.

How had it never occurred to him to bring you back there?

When he mopes on Suguru's couch later that evening, he tells his best friend the whole story. Suguru's delicate features are twisted into a grimace the whole way through.

"Why are you making such an ugly face?" Satoru asks miserably.

"I've never been ugly a moment of my life, Satoru."

"You know what I mean."

Suguru sighs and clicks his tongue. "They're not official?"

"So she keeps saying."

Though reluctant to kick his friend while he's down, Suguru decides that Satoru needs to know so he can mentally prepare himself.

"He's taking her on a romantic trip to a beautiful resort in her home prefecture. They may not be official now, but after a trip like that, there's no way she's coming back without a label. Hell, if they were official, she'd most likely be coming back with a ring."

Hearing that, Satoru contemplates finding a nice spot in the cursed artifact archive and falling into a coma for at least the next thousand years.

The plot McThickens

Find the other installments of this AU [here] | Find the #gojo sentaro lore [here] | Ask stuff about Sen and the fam [here]

[kingtomura]

Good Girl

Summary: It’s not your fault that your boyfriend was hard for people to warm up to. God, your parents are so lame. But so were you. So you did what anyone else with strict parents would, and you cut him off. 

Bad idea. 

Word count: 4k

part two is here!

Content: Tomura Shigaraki x female reader, explicit content, kinda quiet sex, cunnilingus, praise, slight humiliation, unprotected sex, strict parents, toxic relationship with parents, AU - no quirks, no use of y/n, gets a little mushy at the end im sorry

You would rather be anywhere else but here. You would pay to be anywhere else but right here, right now being scolded like some teenager who had been caught sneaking out after curfew. But you were here and you weren’t going anywhere any time soon. 

“He’s just not good for you,” your father’s voice stressed. It dragged on, pulling you from your drifting thoughts. “You have so much ahead of you and we even agreed to this gap year so that you could figure out what you wanted to do, not so you could run around with some delinquent boy with no future–”

“He‘s not a delinquent,” You cut off, “you’re judging him without even giving him a chance.”

Your father sighs, knowing he’s fighting a losing battle, but knowing you inherited his stubbornness has never detoured him from taking your objections head on. He’s been on this earth longer than you, butting heads with others longer than you have. “Well, whatever he is, he’s not allowed to see you again. That’s final.” he says with a shrug of his shoulders. False air of nonchalance sending fury through your veins. 

There would be no more arguing and you knew it. You desperately look to your mother, who is in her usual stance of resignation and uselessness when it comes to his word. If she saw things your way, she would never say. And even if she agreed with you, there would be no change. It has always been your father’s way or no way. 

“I’m an adult, you can't tell me who I can and can’t see.” you try once more, not ready to end things here. It’s suffocating. 

He scoffs, bringing a hand up to count his fingers, “You live under our roof, you eat our food, you drive our car, you give me attitude when I agree to give you time to figure out your life when you decided to leave university after two semesters,” his voice is rising and you begin to feel your eyes burn with the threat of tears, your chest tightening as its harder to catch a breath. You can’t cry here, it would only make things worse.  “I don’t think it matters how old you are. I am done with this conversation. End things with him now or you won't have a pot to piss in by the end of the day.” 

This cannot be happening. You're still sat on the plush sofa of the living room as your father stalks off with your mother in tow. The latter only glancing back with an empty look of pity as you stare at where your father had just been. Words burned into your mind while hot tears finally break and run down your cheeks. This is really happening.

And Tomura was going to be upset.

In a perfect world you could meet up with him tonight, talk it over, or even run away together and leave all this behind, but you know better. You know the two of you haven’t dated long enough to warrant running away together, but it still crosses your mind. You’ve never felt this way about anyone before and it's painful to think you never will again. Tomura just made you feel so.. Alive. There was so much to him and his witty dry humor that keeps pulling you in. 

He’s cynical, he’s moody and sometimes he’s mean but god he could be so soft. Touch you in ways that felt like he reached your soul. Quiet nights where you would stay at his house and watch him play video games would turn into late night sessions of making love until the twilight of dawn peeked through the dark curtains of his room. There was no way you could let him go. But you had to. You had to. Your father had given you no other choice. So you take the coward’s way out.

You text him.

You send him a short text that would send you to the bathroom dry heaving, but you didn’t know what else to do. What more could you say other than your father had snapped at you and you both could no longer be together. It would hurt so much more facing him head on. You knew that if you had to speak to him face to face that you would crack, probably throw out your silly idea of running away together and then face the awkward rejection. This was all you could manage. You felt awful for it, finally forcing yourself off of the floor and dragging your feet to the bathroom to get ready for bed. 

It had been hours and there was no response from Tomura. You couldn't blame him. What could anyone say to a break up text? You hollowly hoped he would fight for you. Even a little. But the flat Read 14:57 showed you otherwise. This had now become a heartbreak you werent quite expecting. You couldn’t help but second guess every interaction you had with him before. If maybe you read into things a little too deeply. If maybe, some smaller, quieter part of you dreaded your father was right.

There was no use of dwelling on that now. No point in running through what you would never know. So, you sighed, and finished up in the bathroom. Slipping on your silk sleeping gown that stopped above your knees and adjusted the small straps on your shoulder. You had cried for hours after your argument – if you could even call it that– with your father was over and your face ached. The bags under your eyes showing the worse for wear state you had found yourself in. it would be okay, you told yourself. You just have to sleep it off. 

And that was your plan and you slid into your welcoming bed, soft comforter embracing you and your worn feelings. You feel more tears begin to sting behind your eyelids before there's a sudden tap at your window. 

A trick of the wind, you decide and return to your somber thoughts. 

You would have to move on eventually, but tonight? He was the only thing on your mind. His eyes, his hair, the way he would feign annoyance when you were overly touchy, craving closer contact. He always indulged you. Always gave you more, you knew he liked it as much as you did. You were lovesick. 

Tap. 

There was that noise again. Louder than before as if someone had thrown a rock right at your window. The room was still and quiet so you knew it hadn’t been your imagination. 

Jumping to your feet and shuffling towards the window in question you brushed your curtains to the side to see the possible culprit. And when you do, your heart drops and instant regret fills you. Stomach aching as you take in the sight before you.

It’s Tomura Shigaraki and he is pissed.

Tomura, your Tomura leering up at you with another rock resting in his hand, bigger and ready to be tossed at your window if the last attempt didn’t work. 

You look around, knowing no one is in your bedroom but yourself and the moonlight, then go to open your window, ducking your head out to get a better look at him. There he was, black hoodie oversized and so soft, red eyes burning in anger but you aren't scared. You’re relieved, it's him. He's here to see you, mouth turned down in a scowl and fists clenched in fury but he was here. 

You couldn’t stop your hushed whisper, “what are you doing here?”

“I came to talk.” Was his only reply before he dropped the rock and walked towards your window. It wasn’t terribly high up, but higher than he could reach without a bit of help from you. 

Now that he was closer you could see the anger in his posture much more clearly. All tense shoulders and narrowed eyes. It was enough to make your stomach turn. You couldn't help but worry your bottom lip as he pulled out his phone and took a step closer.

“Really? Over a fucking text message?” He hissed, rasp in his voice, uncaring of the time of night or who could hear. 

“Tomura, shh, please–” you tried, hands coming up to placate him, if only a little. Your father would have your head if he heard another man in his home, let alone Tomura Shigaraki. 

He huffed a sarcastic laugh, disbelief taking over his features, but he obliged, “I don’t care what your father told you. He can’t control who you talk to.”

You shake your head, the all too familiar sting of tears in your eyes threatening to fall, “I know. I told him that, but he threatened to kick me out, to cut me off. I’m sorry Tomura, but I can't.”

“He can't do that.”

You nod, knowing all too well that your father would go through with his threat. “He can. Technically. I'm an adult, so it’s his choice.” The tears fall now, seeing the rage dissipate from Tomura, slight drop of his shoulders showing disbelief and disappointment. It's too much. This is why you didn’t want to see him, couldn’t face him. “I'm so sorry,” you whisper, trying to hold in the sobs threatening to wrack your body and possibly wake your parents up. This could not have ended worse.  “I don't want it to be this way.”

“Wow, I didn't know you were such a good girl.”

Your breath hitches, caught off guard, “What is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs. “I didn't know you did everything daddy says. What a good girl you are.” The tone is one you’re familiar with. Condescending. Challenging. He’s testing you.

Your cheeks flushed. What could you say? That you’re not a good girl, actually. Then what would that make you? A bad girl? You would walk right into his trap. He’s watching, waiting for a response. Something to make you slip up. 

You don't have the chance to respond before he’s taking a step forward, lifting your chin with a finger so that you could look him in the eyes. Even in the dim lighting of the room those crimson eyes looked into your own. Like he was delving deeper, looking for the response that you can't seem to give him. Nothing else matters in this moment. It’s just him and you and the pale moonlight dancing between you. The air is tense and unmoving, like the smallest noise, the faintest blow of wind would ruin this moment. 

You couldn’t take it, couldn’t wait another minute before your body moved, leaning forwards onto the tips of your toes to give you more leverage as your lips pressed to his. His lips were still cold and dry from the cool air outside but that didn’t matter. Nothing matters more than knowing you needed more of him and you needed it now. Tomura’s hand came to rest at the nape of your neck, pulling you closer and the kiss deeper. Taking all of you in as his other hand gripped your waist. 

Your hands wasted no time burying into his hoodie – so soft and worn–  the faint smell of citrus and cedar being a comfort as the intoxicating kiss deepened. Tomura wasted no time, slick tongue entering your mouth, hungry, like it was the last time you would have him this way. It was too much. It was not enough. You broke the kiss, a string of saliva following the short distance you put in between. Air seemed sparse, like you couldn't get enough and Tomura spoke before you could.

“Get on the bed.” 

And you did, newfound vigor in your step as you eagerly did as what you were told. Energy ebbing through your veins as excitement overtook your previous anxiety. Tomura was a mere step behind, discarding his hoodie without care and joining you on the bed, caging you beneath him as he dove back in for another kiss, wet and warm, before trailing lower. Open mouthed kisses to your jaw, then neck, his hands, rough and warm gripping your thighs, taking in all he can. After leaving a particularly hard bite on your neck, Tomura lifted your gown up, smooth silk gliding with ease above your ass and resting below your breast. It was only natural for your legs to spread for him, cool air on your bare cunt making you shiver. 

“Oh?” An amused huff from the man above you makes your cheeks heat further than before. He’s seen you like this many times before, but he’s always had a way of making you feel shy. “No panties, huh?”

You push past your embarrassment. “You know i dont wear them to b– ah!” you're cut off by the feeling of his finger sliding between your folds, slick making it glide, and rubbing over your clit. The surprise of the motion makes you press your thighs closer together. Tomura grins above you, before bringing his wet finger to his mouth, a mocking shh following the motion, tongue flicking out and licking the digit as his other hand pushed your legs apart again. 

He bends down, bulge in his sweatpants pressing against your bare cunt. He’s so hard and that thought only makes you wetter. Tomura’s nose brushes yours, your eyelids fluttering shut as he dives to kiss you again. All open mouthed and wet. You could taste yourself on his tongue as well as feel the pressure of his clothed erection grind against you, rubbing against your bundle of nerves. You are sure your slick is dampening his sweatpants but Tomura doesn’t care. He’s grinding you into the mattress and you’re so close to begging him to get on with it you want to scream. But almost like he’s read your mind, he pulls away. 

The kisses he places along your body set your nerves on fire, anticipation eating away at your patience as he takes his time. Once he’s reached his destination, right between your thighs, he places one wet kiss onto the plush of your inner right thigh. Another teasing move. Another way to make you squirm in excitement. He looks up at you, ruby eyes gleaming in the moonlight of the room. 

“Be quiet for me, yeah?” 

Tomura huffs a laugh at your eager nod, grin growing wider. So quick to please. Dedicated. “Good girl.”

The praise makes you falter for a second, embarrassment threatening to make its way to the surface once more. There was no time for it now, Tomura enjoyed catching you off guard. Loved surprises. He wastes no more time, tongue licking a wet strip between your lips. The action causing you to moan louder than you intended. Your hand rushes to cover your mouth. If you were to be caught in this predicament by either of your parents it would be horrendous for the both of you. 

This doesn’t stop Tomura, though. If anything you were starting to think it encouraged him, because his relentless pace on your cunt was driving you wild. His long stripes simmered into just the tip of his tongue flicking your clit and  sending jolts of pleasure roaring through you. You were already close, pleasure and pressure building and building until you were so close to tipping over– 

Knock knock.

“Hey sweetie. I know it's late, I just wanted to talk for a second.” 

It was your mom. Holy shit it was your mom and there's a boy in your bed with his head buried between your legs and holy shit. If she opened the door, if she barged into your room in the familiar way she always had a bad habit of doing, you would be done for. With wide eyes and accelerated breaths, you clamped down harder over your mouth with both hands. Even Tomura stopped in his tracks, gaze lazily focused on the door with curiosity bleeding into his indifference. 

Your mother must have taken the silence as a sign of slumber, yet she continued. Voice muffled by the door between you both. 

“Your father... was harsh today. And I’m sorry for that.” She pauses, long enough for you to believe she would be giving up and going back to her bedroom. You aren't so lucky, surely at this point you were very unlucky and you dreaded whatever else she had to say. “I just want you to know that he just wants the best for you.” your heart drops as she carries on, unaware and unconcerned of the other pair of ears listening in to her words. “We don’t know him that well. We can't risk you getting involved in something you're not ready for and throwing your future away.”

At this, Tomura rolls his eyes, interest clearly lost and goes back to his earlier movements. The sloppy kiss to your clit catches you off guard and forces a whine out of you. It was small, but still a noise. Squeezing your eyes shut you prayed this would be written off as an odd sleep noise. Wishing to the sky that it wasn't noticeable and Tomura would stop. He didn’t. It was in that moment he decided pressing a finger against your entrance would bring out more noises. The digit slipping in with minimal effort and adding more pleasure to this mix as he sucked your clit. 

If your mother heard anything, she didn't make it known. The floorboards outside of your door creaking with the shifting of her weight. “Well, maybe we can get ice cream or something tomorrow. Have a little girl’s day?” The silence is palpable as she waits for an answer that won't come. “Okay well, goodnight sweetie. See you in the morning.”

You don’t know what you're more grateful for; the sound of her receding steps or that fact that Tomura wasn't cruel and waited until the telltale sound of a door opening and closing rang through the air before adding another finger and curling them. This time you couldn’t bite back the moan that escaped you, hands gripping the cotton of your duvet. 

“Aw, how sweet,” Tomura started, sitting up while adding a thumb to your sensitive nub and rubbing slow circles to replace his mouth. “She wants to have a little girls’ day with you.” 

His mocking tone would have gotten a reaction out of you any other time, but right now you were so close. On the precipice of an orgasm that’s been drawn out for far too long. You could only look at him with half lidded eyes as his fingers worked like magic sending you closer and closer, your breath hitching as you finally, finally reached the climax. Body shaking pleasure cascades over you like a tidal wave. 

“There we go,” Tomura whispers, giving your cunt a playful tap after letting you ride the sensation out. He pulls away completely to take off his sweatpants and underwear, cock already hard and leaking. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips at the sight and you hear his breathless chuckle. “I’ll let you have a taste next time, but right now, I can't wait any longer.” 

It was only when he began to line up with your entrance that you absently wondered about the lack of condoms you owned. You look up at him, question burning on your tongue but he only grins at you, and you swore in that moment he was a mind reader. “I didn’t bring any with me, sorry,” his voice was far from apologetic as he stroked his cock, rubbing the head between your folds and against your clit, slick soaking the head. “But don't worry,” he continued, leaning forward and you felt the pressure at your entrance, excitement buzzing through your veins. “I’ll pull out.”

Whether you believed him or not didn’t matter, you had no time to process a thought as he began stretching you to the limit with his size. A gasp escaped your parted lips as the sickeningly sweet feeling of being stretched too far too fast took over. He gave you a minute to adjust, even as his cock twitched in anticipation of movement. The grip he had on your hips was tight enough to bruise and you knew it was taking a lot of his self control to wait for you. 

He pressed on, figuring it had been long enough and bottomed out with a sigh. Your walls clenched around him and swore you could cum from the stretch alone. After giving you a second to breathe he pulled back, almost pulling out, only to snap his hips back forward into you. Your head lolled onto the pillow, hand coming up once more to mute the moans dragging from your body. Tomura hoists your legs onto each side of his shoulders,bending them forward and successfully folding you like a lawn chair as he started his aggressive pace, forcing your tight heat to clench around his cock. 

“Oh, fuck…” you couldn’t help but mutter as you struggled to hold off your already approaching orgasm. 

Tomura saw this as a challenge. “What? You gonna cum on my cock?” he mocked, pace wild and rough, leaving you gasping as you shut your eyes, not ready to admit how right he was. “It's okay,” he continued, leaning closer and allowing his dick to press deeper inside you. The drag hitting the bundle of nerves inside and nearly sending you over the edge. “Come on, cum on my cock like the good girl you are.” 

Those words push you over, hips convulsing as your legs shake and it takes Tomura slapping a hand over your mouth this time to quiet you. You couldn’t focus on anything else, let alone keeping quiet. Your body felt light and Tomura fucked you through it. His pace grew more erratic as his grinning face became one of focus, brows furrowing as his eyes shut and he focused on his pleasure. Your pussy squeezing around him making it harder for him to stave off his own nearing climax. You were worried that at this point you were both too far gone. The silence of the home would leave the messy noises between you both loud and clear for the entire house to hear. Tomura was great at keeping his composure but the soft groans coming from your lover only showed how much he was losing his grip. 

“Can’t– fuck, sorry–” you didn’t have time to decipher his strange words, your curious eyes meeting his face to gauge his expression before you feel it. 

His cock twitches inside you, seed painting your insides white as his thrusts didn't slow. He was hammering away at your insides, only pumping his cum further into you.  You feel so full, the warmth spreading over your body like a blanket. He came in you. Even though he said he wouldn’t, he did. The worst part about it? You don’t care. It's invigorating. You feel even more attached to him. Even closer. You want more.

Overstimulated and weak, you whimpered, thoughts swimming as Tomura finally came down from high. Slowing his thrusts and panting heavily. Your heart is drumming against your chest as he removes your sore legs from his shoulders. Shuddering as he slips out of your tight heat, feeling the cum dripping out of you and onto your sheets. 

The bed dipped as he took his place next to you. Out of breath and eyes focused on the ceiling. Your ears were ringing with the sudden quietness of it all. Things felt different, heavy. 

“You could always just not tell them.” It was Tomura who broke the silence first. “Act sad, mope around, and then come see me at night.” 

You glanced over, vaguely registering the sweat cooling on your body. You would need to get up and get cleaned up soon. “Yeah, but if they catch me–”

“They won't. I’ll teach you how.” he turns towards you, bringing a hand to your chin to make you face him. There’s a fuzzy feeling turning in your chest and the familiarity of heat rising to your cheeks is starting to drive you mad. His grin is enamoring, red eyes almost glowing with mischief in the moonlight. “I’ll show you the ropes.” 

There's an ache that tugs at your chest as you nod. “Okay.”

You are so fucked.

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 You Says.

Post prison Reid x Reporter!reader

Read part one here!

Summary: After a rough night and some misunderstandings, Spencer needs to do everything he can to make things right with you and get his relationship back on track. The problem is, things aren't so easy for you, and he's willing to do anything you ask, even take care of you when no one else will.

Words: 3,1k.

TW: mentions of crime and trauma (normal warnings in the serie. angst+comfort. the reader gets sick (nothing serious, just a normal cold). a little mention of spencer's past traumas. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: Ok, I didn't think of doing a second part before, but reading my own work made me so sad😭 the cat deserves happy parents (we are the cat) but I warn you that I do not believe in magic apologies.

As an interesting side note, both parts of this story are named after children's games. In this case, it's for "Simon Says," which I thought was pretty cool because in this part, Spencer literally does whatever the reader wants.

I also want to thank you for the support you gave to the first part and for the 300 followers💝 I could not say it before but it makes me very happy.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

Spencer had been losing his mind since the last time he saw you in person, and it was all his fault. From the moment the door to his apartment closed behind you and the oven beeped, he began to feel the broken pieces of his heart that you had once held together unravel and shatter even more. He hated himself for letting his insecurities get in the way of the one good thing he had managed to have over the past few years, and for pushing you away when you didn't want to. You had been his exception among all the bad things that had happened in his life for as long as he could remember, the only one that didn't seem to want to be temporary and left him when he least expected it. And he himself had forced you out of his life, even when you didn't want to, begging him with tear-filled eyes for a little remorse that he didn't give you.

Just a few hours after the incident, he tried to go to work as if nothing had happened to clean up the mess the leak had made and put the killer in jail. He brought Penelope the promised cookies and your computer for her to examine because it felt right at the time. Part of him needed her to find real proof of your betrayal so he could stop feeling bad about making you cry and saying such ugly things to you.

Then he found out that you were telling the truth and that your computer contained nothing but photos of the two of you, all the articles he had ever written or been mentioned in your searches, and a few writings in which you poured out all your love for him in the cheesiest and most poetic way possible. You loved him, you really did, and there was no evidence to the contrary, because even Garcia could later assure him that the information had come anonymously and had been bought for five hundred dollars. But it was too late, because he had given you a conviction without even knowing it.

That's when he started to fixate on making amends for what he'd done. Every time you left work, bouquets of your favorite flowers with notes asking for forgiveness and wishing you a good night began to appear in your car. He also made a point of stopping by to talk to you and repeat how sorry he was. You knew this would happen when he realized his mistake. You had told him before you left, and that's why you refused to see him. It was good that the security guards at your workplace didn't let him in, even with his FBI credentials. The tricky part was your building because the doorman already knew him and let him in normally thanks to the excuses Spencer made up, even though you said a thousand times that he shouldn't have.

And that was happening again, for the fifth or sixth time in the last few days.

“Please, just let me talk to you and tell you how sorry I am. Listen to me for a moment.” You could hear Reid's voice from the other side of the door.

You didn't say anything. You just sat with your back against the door and one hand on your heart, as if you were trying to hold it. It didn't even cross your mind that he was in the same situation.

“Just a few minutes, please."

Once more, you remained silent.

Silence was the worst answer someone could give. You knew it, and it hurt to have to do it with him. But you had no choice because you knew that by looking into his eyes for just a few seconds, all the bad things would dissipate and maybe you would even forgive him without thinking just because of the love you had for him. You didn't like being this vulnerable and having so many feelings for someone who didn't trust you.

Lately, you've been spending every waking moment wondering what you could have done to make him believe that you were really capable of betraying him in such a cruel and selfish way. You were the one who woke up in the middle of the night to try to comfort him every time he had a nightmare or couldn't sleep. You drove to his apartment no matter what time it was to make sure he was okay. You lost your breath repeating that he was safe with you. You drank many cups of coffee the next day so you wouldn't fall asleep on the job every time the situation repeated itself. That's why you started sleeping in his apartment, wrapped in his arms because he said it made him happy to wake up and see you. And even with all that, Spencer was able to believe that you didn't love him.

You were running your hands through your hair and sighing, trying to block out all the thoughts running through your head, when you heard his phone ring. You could tell it was important by the way he spoke and changed his tone of voice, so you got up from the floor at the same time he did to put your ear to the door.

“I really have to go now, but could you open up a little bit so I can take a quick look at you?” He asked in a pleading tone after hanging up the call. “Please, I know you can hear me. I can see the shadow of your feet under the door.”

You really thought he didn't know you were there, feeling like a fool for listening to every word he said.

“If you want to see me, turn on the TV.” Your voice finally reached Spencer, and it gave him a glimmer of hope. It was the first time you had spoken to him since that night, and even though there was a door between the two of you, you were talking to him.

“It's not enough.”

“And it's not my problem.”

That was more hurtful than your silence.

“I know, it's mine.” He replied after a couple of seconds, trying to process everything. “And I will do everything I can to fix it...I have to go now, but take care of yourself. The nights have been getting colder lately, so wrap up warm.”

You knew it was a bit silly to think of that now, but his attention to detail was impressive. Since you did the evening news, you used to get off work very late, and the change from air conditioning to the city cold was quite a lot. Spencer had cited scientific studies to you many times to make you aware and know what kind of clothing materials to use to avoid a cold. You missed that a lot.

If he had the same attitude as the night of the conflict, it would be easier. You could hate him and stop loving him so strongly.

“I love you, William misses you and so do I.”

You frowned because you didn't know anyone by that name.

“William?”

“Our cat.” He answered simply. “When we talked about how we would name him, you said that a lot of people name their pets after their favorite characters. You love the movie ‘Notting Hill’ and whenever we watch it, you always say you like Hugh Grant's character named William. It also means strong-willed warrior. I just thought you would like it.”

You didn't say anything at the time because you had to cover your hand with your mouth to keep from doing so, but you liked it and you liked it too much. Once again, he focused on the details.

“You can change it if you want because I don't know if he likes it, but what I do know is that he misses you. He lies on your blanket and starts meowing, and he also looks at the door. I certainly think that every time I come home he expects it to be you.” He kept talking as he received no response from you. “It sounds like I'm talking about myself. And it's true because it happens to me the same way.”

When he paused, a tear escaped and fell down your cheek. It wasn't fair for him to say those things now.

“If you want to see him and me not being there, you can send me a message...but I'd really like to be.” He paused again, as if searching for the perfect words.

What did it cost him to have searched for the perfect words the night he distrusted you?

“I must go, I love you.”

The last thing you heard before he left was Spencer's footsteps heading towards the elevator.

Just two weeks later, you realized that maybe you should have listened to Spencer when he said the nights were getting too cold. If you had, now you probably wouldn't be lying on your bed with an unbearable flu and no one there to bring you soup or a cold washcloth for your forehead because your mother was taking too long to get to city.

When you were younger, you thought it was a great idea to get as far away from your hometown as possible. Now, however, you realize that you need a familiar face to take care of you because you can't do it alone all the time.

You felt a sense of relief when you heard the door to your apartment open.

“Mom? I'm really hungry and the soup is all gone.” You spoke in a tired tone as you heard footsteps approaching. But at that moment, you watched as the cat you shared with Reid jumped onto the bed and started purring at you.

You thought you were hallucinating from the fever until you saw Spencer walking into your room with a couple of bags.

“I know you were expecting your mother, but we brought you soup and medicine.” He said, sitting up in bed to look closely at you and put a hand on your forehead. “You're burning up.”

“What are you doing here?” You asked, trying to pull away from his touch.

“Your mother called me because she couldn't find a flight today and was very worried. She asked me to take care of you.”

Of course she did, because she adored him and didn't know that things were bad between you two.

“I don't need you to take care of me.” You barely settled into bed and petted the cat. “Go to work, make sure no one leaks information.”

Oh, that was a low blow for him.

“I asked for a few days off because you have a high fever and someone needs to take care of you.”

“You don't have to...”

“I want to.” He said, interrupting you and putting a cold cloth on your forehead.

“Just because you're looking out for me doesn't mean I'm going to forget everything and forgive you.” You clarified right away, trying not to lose focus because of the relief you felt thanks to the cold compress.

“I know, and I don't expect you to. Just let me take care of you now, forget you hate me until you get better. I won't take advantage of this, I swear.” He looked at you with a serious gaze, as if he were swearing an oath. “Please.”

God, not puppy dog eyes now.

You used to love it when he looked at you with those sparkling eyes. Now, though, you felt manipulated by it.

“Fine, give me the soup.” You finally agreed, knowing you didn't have much of a choice. “Just a warning, please don't answer any calls near me. I can listen in and use the information to hire a nurse.”

He ignored the comment and didn't bring it up to make you uncomfortable. He sat on the edge of the bed, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. His touch was light, and his eyes searched yours as he spoke.

“Is there anything else besides soup I can bring you? More tissues, or maybe some medicine?” He asked in a soft, soothing voice.

You shook your head, still a bit dazed by the situation and your stomach rumbling. You watched as Spencer disappeared into the kitchen, and you could hear his footsteps echoing throughout the house, followed by the clatter of pots and pans and the sound of the stove being turned on. You could only lie back on your bed, feeling a wave of tiredness wash over you.

A few minutes later, he came back with a bowl of chicken noodle soup and sat down next to you on the bed, being careful not to spill anything.

“Are you planning to feed me soup?” You asked, with a hint of irony in your voice, as you watched me hold the spoon and watch you.

“If you wish, I'll be happy to.” He replied simply and brought the spoon gently to your mouth.

“I'm not a baby.”

Especially not his baby.

“You hate me, I know. But I really want to take care of you, and I won't leave until at least your mother arrives.” He paused for a second, as if to catch his breath. “If you don't want me around, that's okay, I'll just sit in the corner of the room or in the living room in silence. It hurts, but I'll take whatever you want.”

You remained silent for several seconds, dedicating yourself to stroking the cat to avoid Spencer's gaze.

“I don't hate you.” Was the only thing you could say at the time.

Something inside you was expecting a more exaggerated reaction for letting your guard down a bit, or maybe you were just too feverish. The thing was, he had only given you a small, almost non-existent smile.

“I know.” He finally spoke and gently adjusted the cold compress on your forehead. “And that's why I hate myself.”

At that moment, while you were trying to make sense of how things had changed so much in just a week, he was watching you.

Spencer was waiting for you to explode, to tell him how sorry you were for getting involved with him and his complicated world, that it was all one big mistake that you would regret forever. He was expecting disaster, pain, tears, and a lot of chaos.

But you didn't give him any of that.

Just a sweet nothing.

He could tell at that moment that even though you were in a feverish state and had many reasons to be cruel, you would not be. He realized that you would never yell at him or do anything to hurt him, that the most painful thing you could give him was your silence. And it was then that he confirmed that you loved him the way he thought he did not deserve to be loved: honestly and genuinely.

“Why?” You whispered after a few minutes of silence. “Why are you with me if you don't trust me?”

“I trust you.” He looked you straight in the eye as he spoke, trying to show that he was being completely sincere. “I just don't trust myself.”

You frowned and let out a groan from the discomfort in your forehead. You weren't sure if you were hallucinating because of the cold or if Spencer was really shivering.

“I don't think I'm good enough for you, or deserve you, or that you love me because you want to.” He finally admitted, his voice slightly shaky. He seemed to be in a worse state than you. “It's silly because you've never given me a reason to distrust you.”

“I know you thought I was going to leave. But I didn't want to leave until you asked me to.” You were close to crying, so you pretended to sneeze to hide your watery eyes. You didn't want to show how vulnerable you were. “It was easier to distrust me and blame me like I was just another bad person you catch.”

“Yes, but...” He replied, trying to answer your question.

“Don't talk. It's my turn.”

He nodded after a few seconds, watching you with concern. “Just be careful, you're still sick.”

You already knew how sick you were and how deplorable you probably looked, but you wanted to say it all and stop feeling a lump in your throat.

“You say you trust me, but you really don't, and I've been trying to understand you for almost a year, Spencer. It's been eleven months of trying not to invade your space, avoiding topics that make you tense or your eyes glaze over.” You had to stop to catch your breath and drink some water with his help. “And you think I don't understand you or really know you, but I do. I know how all your dishes are arranged, I know how you like to fold clothes and eat toast, I know that chess reminds you of someone because your eyes get watery every time we see a board, I know about the book signed by Maeve that you hide in your closet and about which you tense up every time I'm near, I know about your nightmares about prison that you don't like to talk about, and about your mother's favorite colors that change every day. I know so much about you, and yet you think I know nothing.”

Once more, there was a long, quiet pause.

“I'm so sorry.” He held your hands as he repeated the same thing, this time with a truly sincere tone. The whole room was still tense as his knees touched the floor, and the apology he gave you seemed like a plea. “I'm really sorry. I know you don't want apologies, you want trust, and I'm going to show you that.”

You didn't say anything as he sat down next to you on the bed.

“I trust you, that's why I always tell you about my cases. And I will tell you about all my past, if you want, because for me you are my present and my future...of course, only if you still want to.”

The eyes of both of you were fixed on the cat you shared, who was purring and lying very comfortably in the middle of the bed. It was nice to know that at least one of the three of you was happy.

“Tell me.”

And just as you asked, he told you everything because he wanted to show you that he trusted you.

This time he really trusted.

[ceesimz]

Wilted

Autistic Reader x Barça Femení

Another (13k wc) one shot, read the main story here!

Statistically, in your sport, you were one of the lucky ones. You had made it to 27 without spending more than two weeks at once out with an injury. Nothing too extreme, or painful. Just knocks here and there, a few minor muscle injuries, and the likes. 

Unfortunately, in this line of work, a bad injury was inevitable. In just one movement, it felt like your Champion's League dream was over.

Should you have signalled that you needed to come off earlier, when you took your first knock just halfway through the second half, maybe the game wouldn’t have ended the way it had. Maybe if you weren’t so naively determined, you wouldn’t have ended up face down on the grass hours away from home in Munich, writhing in pain.

The first leg of the Champion’s League quarter-final was bound to be a tough game, especially playing away at such a dominant Bayern team. None of your teammates could have expected it to be so physical though, it was uncharacteristically abnormal for both teams. The tussle you had found yourself in when you had received a sharp, fast knee from side-on against your thigh really should have been the end of your game. But you weren’t one to give up, especially when the score was still 0-0, the tension had to come to an eventual end for one team at some point and you wanted to be there to make that happen. You ignored the dull ache in your muscle and continued playing.

You were too eager though, playing with too much pent-up frustration to just get a goal, that you were involving yourself in unnecessary battles and making unrealistic runs. One of those occasions had to go wrong at some point, and it absolutely did.

With a long ball thrown over the top of the Bayern defence by Patri, you managed to outpace Eriksson and were comfortably at least half a metre in front. The ball was yours, you’d shrugged off the defender that had been on your tail relentlessly for eighty minutes so far, and this could be the deciding play of the first leg. This was your moment.

You wanted to show you were giving it your all, wanted to show how badly you needed this UWCL trophy after years of failure with another team in a different German town. You wanted to prove that you could do it all, leave nothing on the pitch, and come out on top with the iconic gold medal to show for it after getting your team to the final.

Except, with the harsh cold rain battering down, the ball glided after its first bounce out of your reach, causing you to overstretch. After that, you clattered heavily against the wet grass as a searing pain ripped through your leg. The excruciating cry you let out could be heard throughout the stadium, a grimace on everyone’s faces as it didn’t take a professional to know that the injury was a bad one. One of your hands fell to the epicentre of the pain on the back of your thigh, the other hand grabbing a fistful of grass as you sobbed in agony.

The ball was out of play anyway, allowing the referee to appropriately halt the game as players from both your team and Bayern came over. There were hands on your back and words uttered your way, but the panic rising through your chest and the ringing in your ears paired with the pain still running rife through you were too much to comprehend at once. The world felt so big and overwhelming, all you could do was squeeze your eyes shut and pray it all went away. The pain, the people around you, the fans watching with their eyes and their phones, the implications of what this injury meant. You couldn’t do this. 

“Hey, it’s me, it’s Ingrid, come back to me.” 

That voice broke through the brick wall of your thoughts, one gentle hand rubbing up and down your back as the other brushed a few damp wisps of hair out of your face. Vaguely, in the background, you registered an authoritative voice ushering everyone away before the brightness of the stadium floodlights dimmed behind your eyelids. Unbeknownst to you in that moment, your teammates had formed somewhat of a wall to save you from the view of the fans.

Another figure kneeled beside you, murmuring quietly with the person next to them before a soft, familiar hand took yours from the back of your leg and squeezed it comfortingly. It's quite clear to any player that you've got a hamstring injury, and the extent to which the discomfort you're feeling is concerning for everybody on the pitch. The hearts of the two people that love you most break for you.

“Cariño, we know you're in pain, but we need you to come back to us. We want to help.” It's Alexia speaking now; she's got your hand in hers and the touch brings you back down a little. “The physios will be here soon.”

You reply with a minute nod as that's all you can manage, your cries slowing not out of choice, but exhaustion. The adrenaline had kept you running all game, especially after the clash earlier, but now you had hit a wall, or the ground rather, and everything had come crashing down on top of you. 

Alexia and Ingrid notice your lack of noise and take it as a good sign, both of them shooting a glance at each other before the Norwegian takes the reins.

“Hey.” Ingrid said, her hand sliding from your back to your shoulder in an effort to roll you over, even just a little, so she could properly see your face. “What’s hurting? Something in your leg?”

You gave a pitiful nod, allowing the defender to lay you on your back, but you pulled the collar of your jersey over your eyes in a last attempt to hide away from it all. 

“Is it your hamstring?” Alexia asked, her free hand falling to your hip and stroking the skin available with her thumb where your shirt had been lifted. A final nod from you confirmed Alexia’s worst fears; you had most likely torn your hamstring. The severity of it would determine how long you could be out for, but it wasn’t looking good.

Before she could say anything else, she was surrounded by not only the Barça physios, but the medical team at the ground too, a stretcher placed down just in case behind her. She knew, realistically, you would end up having to use it, but she also knew the mental repercussions it would have for you.

There was a certain way you processed things, and it was obviously different to the majority of the world. In this moment, where you lay in agony on a football pitch, you knew you were injured. But you hadn’t accepted that fact yet, hadn’t processed it or allowed it to be the truth. You could still reject that fate for yourself - hide behind your shirt, try to ignore the medical staff all around you, the concerned looks on everyone’s face, and shut everything out. The second you were transferred to the stretcher, you would have no choice but to come to terms with what had happened to you. 

Alexia knew what you’re feeling now would pale in comparison to how you would certainly feel later that evening. In a hotel room in a different country from home, crutches by your bedside, a compression sleeve tight around your thigh, and ice atop that. Words of condolences fired your way, sorrow present in all the eyes that landed upon you, nevermind the throbbing pain that would persist. Constant reminders you couldn’t escape from would surely ruin you.

You still had time to reject it, pretend it wasn’t your reality. 

“It-it’s not that b-bad.” You tried to argue, abruptly sitting up and wiping your tears before prying people’s hands off of you. “Let me up.”

“No, you can’t get up. Let the doctors do their job first, you don’t want to make anything worse, okay?” Ingrid lightly pushes you to lay back down, only for you to shove her hands away.

“No! I’m fine, I can walk it off. Lea-”

“Cariño, listen to me.” Alexia shuffled up closer, softly holding your face in her hands so that you had no choice but to listen to her. “You are injured. You have torn your hamstring, and it is very dangerous for you to do anything on that leg now. You will make it worse. Listen to us, to the doctors, and let us help. We are all here for you and we are not going anywhere. Please.”

To some, Alexia’s words might come across as blunt and harsh, rather than caring with your best intentions in mind. But she did have your best intentions; the moment required some tough love, if she sugar-coated anything then it would only cause more damage in the long-run.

“It hurts, Ale.” You whimpered, clutching at her forearm as you cried into your other hand.

“I know, lay back and they will give you something for it.” You found comfort in her voice and touch, making you feel safe and secure enough to follow her words and allow the medics to do what they needed.

In the blink of an eye, it seems, you’re in the away team physio room. There’s a lot of hustle and bustle around you, but at the same time you’re alone. No one is holding your hand, no one is reeling off words of reassurance, there’s not a soul at your side. It’s just doctors wanting to get their job done for the day. You had no idea how much of the game was left, so you didn’t even know when you could get a reprieve. 

That horrible feeling of panic was rising through you like a tsunami wave. You felt trapped, claustrophobic, and to top it all off you couldn’t even see a light at the end of the tunnel, whose walls were quickly closing on you. 

Alexia had lied to you. She had said that her and Ingrid were there for you and weren't going anywhere. But nobody was here with you right now. You were alone.

Anytime one of the doctors tried to talk to you, their words weren’t registering. Anytime they tried to put their hands on you, you flinched, only causing you more mental and physical pain. None of them could bridge the gap to help you. And, considering they were doctors, not a single one could see the severity of your emotional distress. It only led to tensions rising as they got antsy and irritated, and you got more and more worked up.

Alone. Trapped. Hurting. Alone.

That mantra circled dangerously around your mind. Alone: nobody was here with you. Trapped: you physically couldn't walk, you didn't know the stadium, and you wouldn't know where to go if you did. Hurting: the doctors hadn't given you any pain relief, Alexia had lied once more. Alone.

Alone, trapped, hurting, a-

Alone only until some time later, the door slammed open, and this time someone in the room did have the right to be angry.

“What is going on in here? Why is no one helping her!?” Mapi cried out, rushing over to where you were borderline hyperventilating into your hands and everybody else stood, watching. “Preciosa, it’s Mapi, I…”

She didn’t know what to do with the state you were in, it wasn’t something she had ever come across before. How could she help you if qualified doctors couldn't? 

You seemed inconsolable and the panic running riot through you slowly began to seep into her, which wouldn’t help either of you. Mapi had no experience with anything of this severity, she'd seen Ingrid have panic attacks before but that was years ago, she hadn't had any in a long time. This didn't seem like a panic attack, and if it was a meltdown, she certainly had never dealt with one of those before. She'd only seen the aftermath of one, and it wasn't even her that had dealt with it.

It felt like all she could do was bide her time and hope that Alexia or Ingrid came in ASAP, but she knew she had to act sooner. By doing what, she wasn't sure. But she had to start somewhere.

“You’re okay, you’re okay.” Her eyes looked frantically around the room, noting that all the people that should be helping you were only staring with exasperated looks on their faces. “Hey, everyone out! Get out!”

They shook their heads as they left, filing out one by one and murmuring between themselves. Meanwhile, your state of mind hadn’t changed and Mapi’s concerns only grew. Cautiously, she tried to take your hands away from your face but somehow your strength was too much for her and they didn’t budge an inch. The worry Mapi felt grew tenfold and soon there was a tremor to her own hands. She felt like time was running out, as if you would implode the longer you spent in this detrimental state.

So, she decided on a different approach.

“Hey, sit up for me, preciosa. Come on, I need you to sit up.” 

To her relief, you followed her instructions easily this time, and she moved you to sit up and swing your legs carefully over the edge of the bed whilst being mindful of your injury. Once in position, Mapi clambered onto the bed and sat behind you, her arms coming up to wrap around your chest and hug you tightly. She had learnt once, from Ingrid, that pressure helped to ease anxiety, and if her assumptions were correct, that was the primary emotion screwing you up right now. 

“There you go, I’m here. Take some breaths now, in and out, it is just me and you.” She kept her embrace tight, baring her weight behind it and rubbing up and down your upper arms in a repetitive, reassuring motion. “We need to slow down, cariño, slow down that breathing. I’ll do it with you, hm?”

For the next minute or so, Mapi took exaggerated breaths behind you in an attempt to ground you, and it worked. At some point along the way, one of your hands had dropped from your face to Mapi’s on your left arm, covering it in a silent gesture of gratitude in a moment where you couldn’t verbalise it. It didn’t take long at all for you to come back to the room, but neither of you moved and instead opted to stay still. This was comforting, it was easy, and it was familiar. 

Even after five minutes had passed by, Mapi didn’t leave. Her next approach was to distract you from all that had happened, and luckily for her she was blessed with a skill that for the first time in her life actually came in handy. Mapi could talk forever, so that’s what she did. She spoke about what she’d gotten up to recently, the newest coffee shop that had opened near the training ground, and somehow she even started relaying memories from her childhood. She spoke about anything and everything, and it worked. 

Finally, you had removed both hands from your face and the tears had finally dried up. You were leaning back against Mapi, head resting on her shoulder as she showed off the many tattoos that were scattered across her hands and up her arms. Your physical pain had taken a backseat for all the mental torment you were going through earlier, but now it was returning in full force. You didn't feel able to talk just yet though, so failed to bring it up.

“You feeling okay now?” Mapi hummed quietly, you nodding somewhat uncertainly a few moments later. She gave a tight-lipped smile and kissed your cheek, tucking her chin over your shoulder and delving the pair of you into silence. There wasn't much else to be said or done.

Not so long after, commotion could be heard down the corridor outside the door and it didn't take a genius to figure out who it was.

“-should be in there, helping her!” The door swung open, revealing a confused Alexia. “Mapi, what's going on?”

“Come in and close the door. Leave them out there for now.” Mapi said calmly, squeezing your hand after sensing you tense up a little.

Alexia did as asked - she closed the door and came over to the pair of you. Her eyes roved all over you, noticing the way Mapi is holding you and how your eyes are red and puffy. She reached a hand out to land comfortingly on your uninjured knee, her thumb stroking the skin there in concern.

“What happened, cariño?” She wondered quietly, frowning at the slight shake of the head you give her.

“I think she had some kind of meltdown or panic attack thing. None of the physios or doctors were helping, they were just stood watching and making her feel worse. I kicked them out and calmed her down, we're okay now.” Mapi explained simply, looking at you as you kept your eyes averted from the woman in front of you and instead fidgeted with your hands.

Alexia blew out sharply, cursing in Catalan under her breath. Mapi can sense she's about to go off on an outraged tangent, so the defender stops her with just a look. The captain deflated immediately, shaking herself out of her frustration and taking a calming deep breath before focusing back on you.

“I'm sorry. I tried to come off with you but they wouldn't let me. I am so sorry.” Alexia said softly, raising a hand to wipe away the lingering tear tracks on your cheek.

“You weren’t here when I needed you.” You mumbled, a deep-set frown on your face that filled Alexia with guilt.

The pair of them share a glance over your shoulder. The captain looks hurt, really hurt, and Mapi can’t quite blame her for that. They understood your discontent, but they didn’t know how deep it ran. They thought it was possibly somewhat misplaced, and your judgement was just a little clouded by the day’s events.

Except, it wasn't.

When you trust someone, and you hand your heart over to them, what may seem to be the slightest mistreatment can lead to the biggest blowouts.

After years and years of discrimination, prejudice, and hatred all directed at your whole being, it's hard to trust people. Hell, only eight months ago did you tell your colleagues about your true self after being a footballer for what, thirteen years? Other people's foul behaviour in the past was not your fault, yet it's only you left facing the repercussions. And the current situation was a perfect example of exactly what that meant for you.

“Cariño, I…” Alexia started, but she quickly trailed off. She didn’t know what to say, where to go from here. She hadn’t really found herself in this scenario before, she was always the first person you came to for comfort, and not only had you had found it from someone else, you were annoyed with her too.

Her hands pulled away from you like she'd been burnt, a notion not lost on you or Mapi.

“Ale really did try, I promise. Jona wouldn't let her sub off.” Mapi tried to tell you, but you stayed silent. She tried to suppress her sigh behind you, but you heard it. Loud and clear.

“You can leave if you want to, Mapi. Thank you for helping me, I really appreciate it.”

You didn't mean for it to sound so apathetic and ungrateful. But that's how it came out. You couldn't change it now.

Mapi instantly pulled away with nothing but a nod, squeezing your hand before getting up and leaving. She gave Alexia an uncertain glance as she walked past her, the taller woman just nodding at her before the defender left. 

It meant the pair of you were left alone now. There was a hushed voice from behind the door, no doubt Mapi lecturing the doctors. That wasn't at the forefront of your mind now, in fact there wasn't really anything you could focus on apart from the way you were acting. You'd treated two of the people dearest to you in an unkind way, yet you couldn't stop.

“I don't get why you weren't here. I don't get how Mapi was the first one to come to me.” You stated, eyebrows raised up in an attempt to act unphased by everything that had gone on. The tremble to your hands and the quiver to your lower lip told Alexia exactly how you were feeling.

“I tried. I really did.” Still, she didn't know what to say. 

“Not hard enough, Alexia.” You looked up at her in what you thought was a disappointed glare, but really it looked forced with layers upon layers of hurt behind it. The use of Alexia’s full name too shouldn't have hurt her as much as it did. “You're the captain. You can bend the rules and get away with it. I mean, if it was the other way around, I'd be there for you in a heartbeat no matter the consequences. So why wasn't it the same for me? I really needed you.”

Despite your best attempts, you couldn't fend off the frown or the tears that forced themselves upon you. Regardless of how you'd acted towards her, Alexia instantly forgave you for it all. She knew, in this second, you were overwhelmed and assigning your anger onto everything in the world because of what it had done to you today. She'd take all the blame if it gave you a release. 

“I didn't want to let anyone down.” Alexia whispered, holding back her own emotions.

“Well, you let me down. In the end.” 

The words just kept tumbling out of you uncontrollably. Of course you knew it wasn't Alexia's fault, she most likely would have been sanctioned after all, but that didn't stop the dam from breaking and unleashing waves of frustration onto everyone. All Alexia could do was nod and take it, and hope that once you had returned to your normal mindset, this would just be water under the bridge. And it would, you already knew you were being quite irrational, but you were too far gone to stop now.

Hastily, the midfielder blinked back the tears in her eyes and reached a hand out to put on your shoulder. That one gesture was what cracked your demeanour; you leaned forward then, resting your forehead against Alexia's stomach and, for the second time that day, letting the tears flow freely from your eyes. Her arms immediately wrapped around your back as she ducked down slightly to place a kiss on your head. She squeezed her own eyes shut, trying once more to keep her cries at bay so she could help you through your own emotions.

Only the sounds of your sniffling could be heard in the otherwise silent room, your tears dampening Alexia’s jersey as she doesn’t move a muscle so she can uphold your peace. Every so often she’ll run her hand up and down your back as a sign that she’s still with you in the moment, even if her words didn’t convey as such. She waits patiently for you to feel able again, knowing that your mental health is so much more important right now than whatever was going on with your leg. In the back of her mind she could guess the physical pain was still high, and the fact that you hadn’t mentioned it once since she walked in was enough cause for concern in itself.

“I want to go home.” You muttered tiredly some minutes later, leaning back to wipe your face with the inside of your shirt.

“I know. The doctors need to check you out first though, and I’ll be right here beside you. I won’t let them do anything you don’t want them to do.” She reassured you.

“But what can they do? Nothing right now. We already know it’s a torn hamstring, so let me get back to the hotel. I know it needs, what, ice and compression? We can sort that easily. I’m tired. And I don’t feel comfortable here. Please, Ale, I need to get out.” You pleaded, looking up at her with bloodshot, teary eyes that near enough split her heart in two. 

She pursed her lips and nodded reluctantly, kissing your temple this time before whispering, “Let me see what I can do.”

—

Turns out, there wasn’t much she could do. The Barcelona staff wouldn’t let you leave without being looked over, so after a minor disagreement and some amendments being made to the staff who would do so, you finally gave in and let them do their job. Just as you expected though, they really didn’t do much but confirm your thoughts. Ice, compression, and rest, before getting scans for it done when you landed back in Spain. 

They were hopeful that it wasn't a full tear and it wouldn't require surgery, but you weren't going to give that hope a home in your heart. Your expectations were the lowest of low, it was the only way to prevent yourself from getting hurt more. After all, it is the hope that kills you.

And now, as you lay on your hotel bed, completely and thoroughly exhausted by everything, you feel helpless. Alexia is going around the room and tidying, her attempt at gaining back control of just something because she feels helpless too, and you're just there watching her. Sleep keeps trying to take over you, but you refuse to let it happen, instead focusing on anything that doesn't involve succumbing to your exhaustion. Because, really, you just want your Ale. But she can't keep still.

“Amor, I can see your eyes drooping, please try to get some sleep.” She comes around to your side of the bed and leans down to kiss your cheek, looking at you both pointedly yet softly.

“Don't want to.” You shook your head, hearing her sigh. “Only if you come to bed.” 

You're itching to comfort her - you were well aware of the emotional discourse you had caused earlier and were desperate to make up for it. 

“You promise? You really need some rest.” You nodded, suppressing a yawn, and saw her smile before giving in.

She had already helped you through a somewhat disjointed night routine before setting you up in bed. There weren't really any comfortable ways for you to sleep tonight apart from on your back, which really wasn't too comfy at all. The compression sleeve was uncomfortably tight and the painkillers you'd taken hadn't really done a thing, nor had the ice earlier. 

So, after quickly getting changed, Alexia slid under the covers and flicked the lights off with the switch by the bed, before moving onto her side and shuffling closer to you. From then on, the room was still and serene. It was the kind of quiet that was audible, it had weight to it that meant it could be felt in the way it settled in the bones of everyone experiencing it, and perhaps that was the catalyst for you. It wasn’t empty, no. Instead, the muffled hum of the world outside the window collided with the combined breaths of you both to make it feel a little too alive. 

To you, the silence was stifling and alarming. For Alexia, she was none the wiser to the sensory torment that was making you feel inexplicably worse. Every essence of the day - your injury, the aftermath, the future, the silence, your guilt - was hammering down on you now. Just like earlier, there was no escape. No reprieve. This was your present, though it didn’t quite feel like a gift, and there was no stopping it. 

There was enough of a gap between you and Alexia to allow the emotions to build. You could feel the warmth from her, but you felt separated by all the words that had gone unsaid by you. They lingered, taunting and menacing, as if you didn’t have enough on your plate already. 

But you didn’t give your girlfriend the credit she deserved. 

When your breaths became slightly stuttered, and your eyes clamped shut a hair too tightly, Alexia sensed it all.

“Cariño?” She whispered, gently cradling your cheek and turning your head towards her. “What's wrong?”

You tried to talk, you really did, but all that came out was yet more stuttered breaths and tears from your aching eyes. Withholding a saddened sigh, Alexia leaned forward to rest her forehead against yours. Her hand on your cheek wiped away any tears that fell and rubbed soothing circles on the wet skin. 

“I'm s-sorry, Ale. I r-really a-am.” You raised a hand to cover your mouth in an attempt to muffle the cries on their way out, but Alexia only shook her head and carefully pulled it away.

“No, cariño, don't apologise. You don't need to say sorry for anything.” Her lips pressed kisses against your nose, cheeks, chin, the corner of your mouth and your temple. She didn't need you to apologise, all she needed was for you to know she would love you no matter the circumstances.

“But I was so, so horrible a-” 

“Shh.” She cut you off gently, leaning your foreheads back together to calm you. Throughout all of this, she still managed to maintain the quietness of the room, somehow making it peaceful and serene like it should have been the first time around. “I understand. You do not need to be sorry, I know how you were feeling earlier and neither me nor Mapi are upset about what you were saying. Just shh, relax.”

You nodded and took in a deep, shuddery breath, clutching her forearm and doing your best to do as she said. Both of you let a few minutes pass by, giving you all the time in the world necessary to calm down, the close proximity and her comforting touch helping you to reach a stable state of mind.

“I just wanted you to know.” You told her in an insecure voice some time later. She smiled and tilted her head up to kiss your forehead once more, holding herself there for a couple seconds to emphasise her adoration. Then she went back to her previous position and looked into your eyes with care and love in her own.

“I do know, I promise.” She stated with such conviction that it didn't leave you with much else choice apart from trusting her wholeheartedly. “I wasn't nice to people around me when I first did my ACL. Mapi was there to see it all, I had to do a lot of grovelling afterwards. When I could move about properly again, she made me clean her whole apartment.” 

At that, you let out a wet laugh, only to suppress another yawn afterwards. Alexia smiled even more, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You won't make me do that, will you?” It was her turn to laugh now and the sound of it brings a genuine smile to your face. 

“Never.” She hummed. “I know how it feels to get a bad injury and I will never blame you for being upset. I will be here for you every step of the way until you're back on the pitch again, we all will. You're allowed to feel angry, sad, frustrated with the world, or however else you're feeling. It is unfair, but we will get you back.”

“You're sure?” You mumbled a few moments later. With her eyes gazing into yours and her thumb stroking your cheekbone lightly, she nodded. Then, to confirm her affirmation, she leaned forwards that bit more to softly leave a kiss to your lips.

“I am certain.” She murmured when she pulled back, lips brushing against yours. “We will get you there. The team will take us to the final, and you will be walking out onto the grass in Lisbon with not only the club, but the fans behind you too. I swear it.”

Her words were all the motivation you needed. 

They echoed around your mind as you tried to sleep that night, and throughout the whole of the next day. It was tough to cope with, this (albeit temporary) new normal, and you loathed the sympathetic looks on everybody’s faces as they watched you slowly hobble from place to place on crutches. The flight home was a whole other story; for the life of you, you couldn’t get comfy, and in the end you had to sit sideways in your seat to give you the space to rest your leg across the empty middle seat whilst your feet ended up in Alexia’s lap. 

Alexia tried to keep her face composed, knowing the effect everyone else was having on you, but it tore her apart to see the down-trodden frown on your lips and the constant furrow to your brow that conveyed exactly how you were feeling. For the duration of the flight, her eyes hardly left you, constantly checking to see how you were doing without trying to be too overbearing. This wasn’t even the trickiest part of the day, yet it was already proving to be a tough mental challenge.

However, there was one silver lining that came to light. Possibly, it was the best outcome of them all. It wasn’t even Alexia’s injury, but she felt like crying upon hearing the news. Even when she walked you into your apartment later in the evening, there was still an overjoyed smile on her face as the sentence played over and over in her head.

“It’s only a grade two tear, meaning the rehabilitation process will be easier, especially considering you don’t need surgery.” 

On the other hand, you weren’t so positive. No matter the result of the scan, you still had to deal with weeks off from the one constant thing that never failed you. Except, it had failed you this time, to the highest degree so far. It didn’t matter that your comeback might be sooner than you initially thought, time off was still time off. From now on, there would be physio sessions, lonely days in the gym, matches missed, and even with the hard work you would put in, you might still miss the possible Champion’s League final, should your team get there. There was no doubt in your mind that they would get there. To miss a game like that at the peak of your career would irrevocably ruin you in any and all aspects.

Yet, again, Alexia of all people understood this. And the moment that you fully broke down, was the time she understood you the most.

“What if I don’t come back? What if I don’t play the same as I did? There’s no guarantee for anything, Alexia, and I just-”

The anxieties poured out thick and fast, but the captain was there to catch all of them and secure each one in the back of her mind, for when you were ready to tackle each one. She was seated behind you on the sofa, the sky a midnight blue out the window and the only light in your home being the warm white of the lamp in the corner of the room. Her arms were tight around your torso, her chin hooked over your shoulder with her cheek pressing against yours. Each time another sob ripped through you, her hand would be there in an instant to swipe away each individual teardrop and the quiet reassurances in your ear never seemed to end. 

Your emotions subsided eventually, but the strength and security of the blonde behind you never faltered. With your head resting back on her shoulder and your sniffles sounding through the room periodically, she was running through every problem and solution that could come about in the upcoming weeks. Not a single possibility scared her away. She would get you through rehab and to Lisbon if it killed her.

Doubting you and your will-power was something Alexia would never do. In reality, she thought most people underestimated you. There wasn’t a single worry in her mind that you would work harder than anyone to be back for that one match you had dreamed of all your career. And if the team didn’t get there, well… for Alexia, she had never had a bigger motivation than the one in her arms right now.

And when she thought you had exhausted yourself once your sniffles had stopped and your breathing was even again, she voiced all that was on her mind. Just like the night before, her words were everything you could ever need. It was hard to be discouraged about getting your life back on track when such a prominent figure, who had been in a worse situation than you in terms of injuries, was so certain that you were going to get through this blip.

“We will get you back, I’ll make sure of it.” She began in the quietest whisper she could manage, though when her mouth was right beside your ear it wasn’t hard to hear her. “I will not leave your side, min engel, not for one moment. You are the strongest person I know, I’ve told you that before, but it’s true. I thought I knew what it meant to be strong, but you show me a new meaning of it every day I’m with you. I didn’t expect to fall in love with you, but how could I not?” She smiled to herself, flashes of all her favourite memories from the past eight months passing through her mind. “You give me everything I ever dreamed of. Being your girlfriend is the greatest honour of my entire life. Jeg elsker deg, cariño. Siempre.” 

You heard it all. You couldn’t ignore her.

“Since when did you know bits of Norwegian?” You asked her. She stiffened under you, feeling like she had been caught red handed. With a giggle, you sat up and turned the upper half of your body to face her, careful not to jolt your leg. When you looked at her, there was a pink tinge to her cheeks and a small, sheepish smile tugging at her lips. All it took was one teasing grin from you for her to groan and throw her head back against the sofa cushions in embarrassment. 

“I thought you were asleep.” She mumbled from behind her hands that had covered her face, only for you to laugh at her more. “Stoooop.”

Pushing through the pain, you gently flipped to lie on your stomach and, once comfortable, rested your chin on her chest. You gazed up at her almost in awe; it hit you, sometimes, that her love for you ran so much deeper than you’d ever realise. It ran through her veins, it had seeped deep into her bones, and filled her from head to toe. What she showed you on a daily basis was so much more than you could have dreamed of, but if you asked Alexia, she’d say it was only the tip of the iceberg.

“Why did you want to say it when I was sleeping?” You wondered quietly. She took her hands away from her face and looked down at you, her arms moving to rest atop your back.

“I just thought the moment was right.” She shrugged, her sheepish smile from earlier replaced by a soft one.

“You meant all of it?” You asked in a barely intelligible voice. 

“All of it. All of it and more, cariño.” The blonde replied with zero hesitation. “These upcoming weeks, we will just take it step by step, okay?”

“I know. It just worries me.” You sighed, dropping your forehead to her chest. “So much to do. So much I don’t know. I might get re-injured straight after. I don’t want to do it.”

“I understand.” Alexia murmured, ducking her chin down awkwardly to kiss the top of your head. “It will be worth it though. When you come back, you will fall in love with football all over again. You will find joy in the basic things, like just running or doing kick-ups. It changes your perspective on a lot of things. Sometimes these things come our way, no matter how much we don’t want them to, and they change us for the better. You will see.”

—

With this injury, you literally did have to take things step by step. The next day was a recovery day for the rest of the team, and you had to tag along so that you could meet with Jona and the staff about creating a provisional rehab plan for you. Week one was just rest. Nothing else. You were ordered to sit at home all day, waiting for Alexia to come home like a sad puppy. Honestly, that was probably the hardest part to get through.

You were an active person, not a day went by without you doing some kind of exercise or physical activity. Being stuck on the sofa or in bed twenty-four hours of the day was not appealing at all. Rather embarrassingly, when Alexia left for the first day of proper training since the Bayern game, you had watched her leave with tears in your eyes. She would only be gone for a few hours, but knowing your team was working hard for the second leg at the weekend was killing you. 

What you didn’t know though, was that Alexia had already planned the week out for you. 

Ten minutes after she had left on day one, Alba showed up with bags upon bags of stuff. Snacks, face masks, gifts, flowers, your favourite candle, the right equipment for her to give you a manicure, and more. It was hard for your thoughts to be clouded by negativity when the brunette was there to meet each millisecond of a frown with something to take your mind off of it. Whether that was with words or a hug or something else, by the time Alexia got home, you’d had a pretty good day. Upon stepping into your apartment, she dropped her kit bag and slipped off her shoes before joining two of her favourite people on the sofa to watch whatever movie was playing on the TV. Alba tried to push her away to shower, but the blonde just grinned before scooching closer to her sister and wrapping her arm tightly around her. The scene on display before you then was much more interesting than the film, the two bickering for what seemed like forever until Alba eventually had to leave.

On day two, Alba came to visit again, this time bringing her little dog and one of Eli’s home cooked meals for lunch. The day played out much the same as the one before it, but it was still just what you needed to get through this first rough week of recovery. When Alexia got home, her cheeks ached with the smile that grew after spotting you asleep on the sofa with the chihuahua in your arms. Alba rolled her eyes at the lovesick gaze her sister gave, only for Alexia to flick her forehead before carefully laying beside you and wrapping herself around your sleeping body. It took a matter of minutes for her to drift off, and she was less than pleased when she woke up to a plethora of… inappropriate drawings on her face whilst you were left untouched.

The rest of the week went pretty much the same way, until you’d finally gotten through it and, before you knew it, you were seated in the Johan watching the second round of the match-up that had taken you out in the first place. Fortunately for you, the team seemed hungry, and you were treated to a great game of the sport you loved. Even if you were a player for one of the clubs watching, it was thrilling to see both teams fight it out like they did. But ultimately, there was no stopping your blaugrana teammates that day. And Alexia, she seemed reinvigorated. In all the time you had been in Barcelona so far, the Bayern game was the best you’d seen her play so far. She was on another level, and as you clambered your way down to the locker room with your crutches to greet them all, you were swelling with pride.

You’re understandably a little slow when half your body weight relies on two metal sticks, so by the time you’re heading into the locker room, most of the team are already in there after making the rounds with the fans. The music is playing already, each of them buzzing after successfully making it one step closer to the final, but their faces light up even more at the sight of you. They hadn’t seen you in the week that you had been posted up in your flat, so they couldn’t help but cheer as you hobbled in.

“Ahí está!”

Jana smiled brightly at you, instantly walking over to hug you tightly. Others soon followed, and before you knew it, you found yourself at the centre of a group hug that was difficult to partake in when your arms were still hooked into your crutches. You laughed unabashedly at them all and their dramatics, greeting them one by one when they finally broke away. There were still some missing from the room, specifically the one person you were looking for, but you happily chatted along with them and joined in with their celebrations whilst you waited. 

“Back to work next week, sí?” Aitana grinned as you sat down in Alexia’s cubby, nodding up at her with a smile. “We have missed you in training, really!”

“She’s right, Mapi has been getting too big for her boots this week. You need to come back and start humiliating her in practice again.” Keira rolled her eyes with a huff, Aitana laughing beside her. 

“Tell her she should count her days.” You smirked, watching as that very woman strolled into the room with Alexia and Ingrid behind her. 

The three of them came over to you straight away, all with beaming smiles on their faces. Alexia sat down beside you and quickly pecked your cheek, managing to do so without catching the attention of the team members that would mock her. Everyone knew about your relationship, but Alexia didn’t feel like showing her utterly soft side as she would get teased for eternity.

“You guys played really well today.” You told the three of them, Alexia smiling to herself as she untied her laces.

“Almost like it is our job, preciosa.” Mapi poked your shoulder, only to receive an elbow to her side from Ingrid.

“Take the compliment, María.” She said, sending the pair of them off into a playful argument. 

It left you and Alexia somewhat alone, despite being in a room of at least twenty people, but some peace nevertheless. For a minute or two, you observed her silently, watching on as she took a moment of respite for herself after the game. Then, she turned to you, a content smile on her face.

“You okay?” She murmured, putting her hand over yours that rested against the bench.

“Mhm. What about you, player of the match?” 

Alexia rolled her eyes at your affectionate teasing, chuckling quietly. You grinned and bumped your shoulder into hers, resting your head there afterwards.

“Did you enjoy the game?”

“Yes, I loved it. You played so well. Honestly, your best game this season.” You told her, and the blonde woman's smile only grew. She'd been told countless times over her career how good she was, but there was something about you telling her that was just that more meaningful.

“Sí, and you know why?” Mapi butted into the conversation, looking pointedly at Alexia.

“Mapi, no-”

“Ale made the whole pre-game speech about you.” 

You heard a scoff from the woman in question as you sat back up and glanced at her. She had turned her head away slightly, cheeks bright red as Mapi laughed giddily at her reaction.

“Really?” You smiled sheepishly. Mapi decided to run off to the showers at that moment, leaving her friend to explain that one.

“Maybe.” Alexia grumbled, only for her grumpy facade to crack the second she turned back to look at you. “I did. I told the team from now on, in the Champion's League, we play for you. It wasn't about just you. It was about… other things too. But also you.”

“You are so cute, Ale.” You hummed, hearing her groan quietly and shake her head.

“I need to get a restraining order from that diablo.” She huffed. Then, she softened, turned back to you, and whispered, “I did play for you though today. Just for you.”

—

The second leg of the quarter final was luckily on a Saturday, meaning Alexia was freely yours for the Sunday afterwards that had been made a rest day. Thanks to the good amount of rest you (reluctantly) gave your leg, a week onwards it was feeling better than you expected. Alexia still demanded that you used the crutches and she didn’t leave much room for argument, but what you did fight for was the opportunity to actually leave the four walls of your flat properly. Not just for a game, but for actual human social interaction. She agreed, not without a seemingly endless list of do’s and don’ts, but nevertheless she agreed.

It ended up being exactly what you needed. You got back home early afternoon feeling rejuvenated and ready for the first week of rehab that was waiting for you in the Barça gym. Sure, it might have just been a breakfast date at that same spot with the same person as that day all those months ago, and just a sluggish walk around some of your favourite local areas, but it was perfect. 

Despite the ache in your arms and the slight heightened pain in your leg, you lay on the sofa back at your flat with a warmth in your heart, for the first time that week. Alexia found it rather amusing when she walked back into the lounge area to find you smiling to yourself with your eyes shut. Your sofa was pretty small, so when you lay down arm to arm it didn’t leave much space for anyone else. As she didn’t want to disgruntle you, Alexia decided it was best to sit on the floor in front of you instead. She put on the first football game she could find on the TV and watched it whilst picking from the bowl of fruit she had brought in. However, as you dozed off behind her, she couldn’t stop herself from glancing back every so often. Why wouldn’t she take all the time she could to gaze at the person she adored most? It was an easy conclusion for her to come to.

She looked at you with the same eyes as you walked in front of her into the locker room the next day. Even as you both went separate ways after changing, she didn’t dare look away from you until you finally turned the corner, despite it making her a tad late onto the pitch. The dreamy look in her eyes faltered a little, making space for concern, when she met you at the end of the training day and there was a frown on your face. 

“Still have to use this one stupid crutch.” You grumbled when you saw her questioning look as you approached her in the corridor. “And I hardly did anything today apart from listen and stretch and get poked and prodded.”

After only two sentences from yourself, the heart shape returned to her pupils as she nodded in sympathy and wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

“It’s only day one, engel. It will get better, I promise.” She whispered into your hairline, before leaving a kiss there. “Let’s go home and relax. My flat or yours?”

As it turned out, injury rehab was quite difficult. And slow, painfully slow. That first day was barely a drop in the ocean. Perhaps it was Alexia who was the naive one out of the two of you about this whole journey, but nobody could fault her, she just wanted the best for you. Once she took off her rose-tinted glasses, she could see that this was going to be so much more difficult than she initially thought.

The routine difference was hard for you to adjust to, and not only that, but the schedule you were given was susceptible to change at any moment. One second of work could alter every part of the month’s timetable. It was that structural rigidness that had you on edge at all seconds. 

Your temper was inexplicably short, you were snappy and blunt almost all the time, and it was as if one minor thing could trigger a meltdown if it caught you at the wrong moment. You wanted to work hard, yes, but with so much unknown, it was difficult to keep your concentration on the one goal you had. Everything else was getting in the way - your emotions, fears, anxiety, frustration - there were too many distractions. 

And whilst the mask came down around the majority of your teammates, it was Ingrid and Alexia that received the brunt of your uneasiness. Every time you thought things were getting better and you started actually feeling optimistic, something would come along and cruelly knock your confidence right back down.

As the days rolled on, you became more and more exhausted with it all. And that was not what you needed during rehab. 

Keeping up a facade that wasn’t true, forcing a smile that wasn’t there, and feigning determination that was dissipating by the day was so mentally damning. You nearly made it to the end of the week unharmed. Nearly.

“Snuppa, are you awake?” A voice called from outside your bedroom, followed by the third knock so far.

It was the first morning that you were waking up alone since your injury nearly two weeks ago. Apparently, your drained and morose mind was taking full advantage of that.

“Okay, I’m going to come in now, alright?” Ingrid gave it another ten seconds before she opened the door after getting no response. What she walked in on wasn’t so unfamiliar.

You hadn’t gotten out of bed yet. Getting up and facing the day ahead just wasn’t something you wanted to do. Thankfully, this wasn’t the result of a meltdown, but rather months worth of exhaustion built up to burn you out completely. 

“Hey.” Ingrid said quietly, coming to sit on the edge of the bed beside you. “What’s wrong?”

There were a million things you wanted to come out and say, but that wasn’t going to happen right now. Ingrid understood that.

“Do you think you’ll make it out of bed today?” You could answer non-verbally, with simple nods or a shake of your head, and here you just shrugged a shoulder. “Okay. I hear today is supposed to be a good day though, the physios think you can ditch the crutches altogether now.”

Oh. You’d forgotten about that. 

“You know, it doesn’t matter what time you go in. If you’re up to it, you can go in whenever you want, I will sort it with the staff. But if not, that’s okay too. It’s good to have a break every so often.” 

Maybe a compromise could work? Getting rid of the crutch would be a great step in the right direction. But a break also sounds good too. 

“Whatever works best for you, snuppa, we can do.”

It was planned for Ingrid to meet you that morning and take you in anyway, but to be honest you hadn’t expected to do anything but stay in bed, under the guise of darkness and a blanket for the day. A way to protect yourself from the world and all it could do. However, her proposal did sound easier to manage than what was originally planned for the day.

“If it’s too much for you at any time, either me or Alexia will be there to take you home.” She smiled sympathetically down at you, her hand coming up to hold yours that rested on top of the covers. “We just need to work out what’s best for you today.”

That was easier said than done. You did make it out of bed a little while after that, but only to eat breakfast and feel a little more human. At some point, Ingrid had messaged the staff to let them know that neither one of you would be in on time, and that it was currently a work in progress to get in at all. She also sent a text to Alexia too, who had a full morning of meetings before training, but she still somehow managed to blow up Ingrid’s phone a second later. 

Thankfully, you did manage to make it in. It was a challenge, of course it was, but you made it and that was a win in itself. And then the wins kept coming.

You were cleared to walk, cleared to start doing proper exercises and workouts in the gym unlike the boring borderline yoga you'd been doing all week, and the best of all, you were another step closer to being back on a football pitch. That was enough to restore the smile on your face. 

Though, you were still quite burnt out, that couldn't go away with just a bit of good news, so Ingrid had helped you make a plan with the physios over the weekend. The team was due to play on Saturday afternoon, with a day off again for the Sunday after it. Due to it nearing the end of the season where the schedule got more and more packed with high tension games, there were more rest days given to ensure all players were kept healthy, physically and mentally. For you, that meant you could take the whole weekend off without needing to go in for rehab - instead, the staff had given you strengthening exercises to do at home in the hopes that you would be able to somewhat relax and recover before Monday. That was more than okay for you.

Something had caused training to run a bit later that day, so despite your mishap in the morning, you were finished before practice was. So, with your newly restored ability to walk again, you carefully made your way from physio to the pitch. This was the longest you had gone in two weeks without seeing Alexia, and no matter how silly it seemed, you had missed her. 

It didn't take long for the blonde to spot you once you had reached the sidelines, sat on a cooler box watching them all, and her whole aura brightened immediately, as if seeing you with a smile was a weight off her shoulders. All day, she had been silently worried for you, guilty and devastated that she wasn't there in the morning. But now all that was gone, and her lovesick gaze had returned. 

Ten minutes passed before the end was called and the second it did, Alexia was jogging over. She wiped her face with the bottom of her jersey as it was a hot April day, then looked at you with a proud smile.

“Hi, amor.” She beamed, her eyebrows flying up in pleasant surprise at how easy you managed to stand up, unassisted. She gazed at you for a few moments, before gently wrapping you up in a tight embrace.

“Hi, Ale.” You giggled into her shoulder, your arms linking around her neck.

“I am so proud of you.” She whispered before sweetly kissing your cheek. Then she pulled back, her hands raising from your back to your neck as she smiled down at you. “So proud. Of you getting to work this morning, of your hard work. Of everything. So proud.”

You blushed and sheepishly averted your eyes to your shoes, only for Alexia to push your chin back up with her thumbs. 

“Yeah, I get it, you're proud.” You mumbled light-heartedly, watching as she chuckled and nodded.

“I am, would you like to hear me say it again? I am so pro-” You interrupted her by covering her mouth, preventing her from talking. However, she out-strengthed you, so she easily pulled your hand away and shook her head. “I'm proud, and I love you.”

Despite there still being some of your teammates and staff members around, she cupped your cheeks and kissed you fervently. All care flew out the window; she was overflowing with admiration, and she had to make sure you knew it. With the way her lips moved against yours and how her hands held you, it took barely a second for you to become aware of that.

It was a great day, in the end. And though you did need a weekend off like you were given, by the time Monday came around, you were more determined than ever. 

—

From that day onwards, time flew by. Weirdly, a dream scenario occurred. You grew hyperfixated on the progress you were making. Your doctors and the people around you were always there to ensure that it remained a healthy hyperfixation, which it did. Although there were a few situations where others had to gently intervene or check in with you, for the most part you handled your circumstance perfectly. 

You had eventually grown into a comfortable routine that you stuck to by the minute everyday. And with your happiness, came that of others. Alexia was honoured to have a front row seat to it all. Like she had predicted, you had rediscovered joy in the small things, and it was evident to her and the rest of the team when you were lacing your boots up for the first time in weeks whilst sat on the grass. The simple, awfully familiar act had caused a smile to show on your face. 

Your teammates were watching from afar, whilst Alexia and Ingrid were stood beside your trainers and chatting with them about the day’s plan. Today was the day you would be running on the grass again. It was the end of April, and tomorrow, Barça were due to play the second leg of the semi-final against Real Madrid in the capital. Nobody had said it, but they were all thinking it: watching you achieve this milestone was a huge boost in motivation for them to secure a place in the final.

Multiple of them had their phones out to record the moment, and you tried to school the giant smile that was fast on its way to forming when you took your first step of your run. It felt fucking good. A simple bit of running had never given you so much euphoria. There were no aches, no pains, no twinges or discomfort, everything was the same as it used to be. 

Once you had done your first lap of the pitch’s width, you went back to the physios with a shy grin. Ingrid gave Alexia a teasing nudge as the older woman had a certain gloss to her eyes, and she groaned under her breath before blinking suspiciously quick. The pair watched you conversate with the trainers before they gave you the all clear to get started on some basic running drills. 

By then, your other teammates were ordered to start practice, whilst Ingrid and Alexia wormed their way out of it a bit longer so they could be there for you. To your surprise, you grew tired quite quickly, though you supposed over four weeks of no cardio would do that to you. Yet, your leg still had no issues. It would be a bit longer before you went back to proper training, but you would happily take this. Because for now, you felt on top of the world. 

Ingrid and Alexia bid their goodbyes, hugging you and whispering their pride, before jogging away to get to work. On your way into the building for yet more physio, you had to pass the rest of the squad, and of course there was a certain Spaniard that was unable to keep her mouth closed.

“La reina de la reina is back!” She shouted, both arms in the air like a toddler. Your teammates cheered along with her, making it known just how happy they were for you. You laughed at their show of affection, pushing down the bubble of emotions it kicked off inside you. Nowadays, you were almost certain you belonged with them.

Later on, you travelled with them to Madrid, but not before they all congratulated you and made jovial jabs that had you laughing until your stomach ached. Ultimately though, the excitement of it all and the physical exertion had tired you out. Alexia was more than happy to let you sleep on her shoulder for the whole journey through Spain.

You weren’t even playing in the game the next day, but from the moment you stepped foot in the city, you were wracked with nerves. It wasn’t that you didn’t have faith in your team, it was that if for some reason they didn’t get to the final, it would feel like all your hard work was for nothing. Yes, you would be back playing football and it would be an incredible personal achievement, but… the thought kept you up that night. Alexia slept soundly beside you, not a worry in her mind about it, and yet you were so anxious that a deep feeling of nausea set in. 

Travelling on the coach to the ground was the same; that anxiety was still there, and whilst the rest of the team was pretty relaxed about it considering they already had a two goal advantage, your good leg was bouncing up and down rapidly. The blonde captain beside you noticed it when she looked away from her phone and she frowned, knowing it was a common thing you did when you were stressed. Mapi and Ingrid were chattering away between themselves across the table from you, none the wiser thus far.

“Cariño, are you okay?” Alexia asked quietly, her hand landing on your knee and breaking you out of your anxious trance. You gave her a tight-lipped smile and nodded, gulping and looking away afterwards. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Just nervous about the game.” You replied with a nonchalant shrug, which caught the attention of the pair in front of you. Mapi cut Alexia off before she could speak.

“Hey, after the final, why don’t we all go on vacation together in Portugal? Ingrid and I went last summer, it was perfect.” She suggested, Ingrid immediately lighting up and nodding excitedly.

“It really was, we should go together.” The taller woman bursted off into a ramble about the place they stayed in, Mapi cutting in every so often. It helped to keep you distracted and Alexia agreed on behalf of you both, the three of them delving into details. 

Despite all that, the second the coach stopped, it all came rushing back. Thankfully, you were going to be sitting on the bench for the game rather than in the stands, though there wasn’t really anything to make you feel better until the final whistle was blown. 

If circumstances were different and you were playing, chances are you probably wouldn't even be half as nervous. As a player, you have a certain amount of control over the outcome. As a fan, there's nothing you can do except watch. And bite your nails, and bounce your leg, and the sorts. Being around the team would surely be better than alone with the fans, so hopefully that would put you somewhat at ease. Yet, even if Barça scored ten goals throughout the game, until that whistle blew, you'd still be on edge.

That being said, the best thing about playing for FC Barcelona is that they're pretty fucking good at their sport. Granted, like Mapi said, it was their job (and yours too of course), but that didn't stop you from being blown away by the talent each player holds.

Being on the field with them is one thing, watching them is another. It's an art form, their style of play, and being in your position on the bench with Irene on one side and Jana on the other, the three of you have your jaws stuck to the ground. The game was flawless on the team’s behalf; zero goals conceded, zero yellow cards, and three goals to go with the two from the last game. Watching Alexia Maradona turn herself out of the triangle of las blancas players she'd been caught in might have been the most attractive thing you had ever seen. The free kick she scored, just like the ones you had seen her do morning after morning, topped that skill move as soon as it went in. 

Moreover, Cata’s triple save in the dying minutes of the game to save her clean sheet really was the cherry on the cake. The referee signalled the end of the game after that, Mapi having taken the ball to the corner flag to let the clock tick down, and you were near enough in tears.

You had made it. You were in the Champion's League final. And with the way you were progressing in rehab, it was looking more and more likely by the day that you would at least get some minutes in the biggest game of your career.

Vicky tugged you up out of your chair and pulled you onto the pitch, where the rest of your team were celebrating. Yes, you were in this team too. That display they'd just put on, you were part of it. The badge on their chests, you wore it too. 

It wasn't a moment of impostor syndrome like it had been in the past. Here, it was a moment of gratitude, disbelief. This was your team, and you were in the final of the most prestigious tournament for club football. 

The younger attacker at your side swung your hands between you both in utter elation as you jogged to the huddle of blaugrana in the centre of the field. You don't know who was where or what was going on, but without a care in the world, you ran up to them and jumped on the back of the first person you could reach. Looking down, you realised it was Esmee, so you hugged her tightly whilst still on her back before jumping down carefully greeting her properly.

For a little while, it was just a heap of bodies, laughing and cheering and dancing to whatever music rang through the stadium’s speakers. However, at some point, you ended up in the middle of the group. And with this team's record, it was only a matter of time.

“Hey, hey, put her down! She's still injured!” Alexia shouted as she ran over from her media duties to find you being thrown in the air by them all. “Dios mío, estáis como una cabra. No usáis el cerebro? Ojalá tuvierais tanto sentido común como talento!” 

“Cálmate, capi! Look how happy she is!” Jana slung an arm around Alexia's shoulders as the pair stood back and observed the chaos ensuing. Alexia huffed and crossed her arms. “You really did play for her, huh? You did it for loooove.”

“Vete al carajo, nena.” Alexia grumbled, leaving her side but not without a quick kiss to her cheek. “Oye, basta! Ahora!”

With you laughing away, the girls finally put you back on the ground as Alexia shoved her way through to you. You were none the wiser to her demands, so the second you saw her, you smiled brightly and went to hug her. The smile was immediately wiped away and replaced with a puzzled frown when her hands clutched your shoulders and her eyes roved up and down your body.

“Did they hurt you? Is your leg okay?” She questioned with a disapproving stare and a flare to her nostrils.

“No, it was just a bit of fun, I-”

“Good. I would have killed them if they reinjured you.” She mumbled, now giving you the hug you wanted in the first place. The tension in her muscles evaporated in your hold, and it was then you knew she wasn't actually angry. “We are in the final, amor.”

“We're in the final.” You echoed in a whisper, pulling back to gaze up at her with a childlike grin that failed to conceal the excitement bursting through you. “We're in the final!”

“Sí, a la final, min engel! Your final!” She met your giddiness with an intensity of her own, taking your hands in hers and intertwining your fingers. You went to step back from her, only for the captain to pull you back in until your noses were touching. Discreetly, hidden by the team around you, she kissed the corner of your mouth, knowing you were mostly out of view of the fans. Then, she moved so that you were cheek to cheek, her lips beside your ear. “That trophy is yours already. And I can't wait to play football with you again.”

The bashful smile you rewarded her sentiment with was far better than any accolade or achievement Alexia could ever get.

—

Life got pretty busy from that day onwards, it was full steam ahead to get the tail end of the season completed. By the end of May, you were back in full team training, and when you had completed your first session, your cheeks ached from smiling. Of course, once it had finished, a number of your teammates decided the best way to celebrate it there and then was to uncap their bottles and spray you down with sports drinks like it was champagne. If anyone asked what the teardrops on your cheeks were from, at least you had an excuse to cover your unwanted expression of joy.

And when the month of May was done and over with, it was time for the last game of your first season in Spain. What a game it was.

Stepping out onto the vibrant green grass in Lisbon for MD-1 training at the stadium was a memory you would treasure forever. Sure, when you were actually playing in the final the next day, that might overshadow it, but nobody could take that first step away from you. 

The plan for the game was that you would be subbed on at any fitting moment from the 60th minute onwards. You didn’t care that it wasn’t a full game, that was ample time to make your mark and stamp your name into the footballing history books. You’d make sure that would happen if it was the last thing you did.

Except, things don’t always go as planned. 

Being 1-0 down at halftime was not how the team wanted it to play out. 

Frustration was written on everybody’s faces as the locker room filled up, wondering how on earth it had gone wrong like it had. With the way the other team was playing, the game plan had to be reworked. And boy, was it. 

It was decided that you would be substituted on at half-time instead. Was it risky? Probably. But the trainers were okay with it, Jona was happy with it, and you were delighted at the change of events. Perhaps you shouldn’t say that to anyone else, considering your team was a goal down, but there was no hiding it. Alexia took one glance at your face and knew you were about to hold the opposition accountable for the tragic mistake they had made. Retribution was to be had, not just against the other side, but you were about to kick off your revenge tour. There was a sense of danger about you when you entered the field, and rightly so.

Within minutes of the second half, Pina scored to equal the scoring. Aitana was there to collect the ball from the back of the net and bring it back to the centre circle to restart the game. It was a one-sided affair from there. 

Barcelona Femení had inflicted damage upon most teams in Europe by now, they had a reputation. Nobody should count them out, put them down, and most of all, underestimate them. With you added to the team, a fatalistic striker that had a deadly right foot, there was no chance that that trophy wasn’t going your way.

A fair amount of pressure was all it took for the other team to crumble. Their legs were tiring as a result of the constant pressing they faced, and their defence was quickly falling apart. A sharp, direct through ball from Caro was everything you needed. One swift strike of the ball later, and the white squares of the net rippled in tandem with the blaugrana fans that decorated most of the stadium. 

Every low of the last two months suddenly didn’t matter when you were running off to one corner of the pitch, every member of your team following behind you. All the difficulties, all the meltdowns, all the sleepless nights, they were worth it. 

Since you had a headstart in the celebrations, you came to a stop just before your teammates did. 

For a split second, it was just you. You and the pride and the relief that pulsed through you at what you had achieved. There were still a number of minutes left of the game, but that didn’t matter. Not once in your life had you ever felt elation like it, you’d bottle it up if you could. Bottle it up, label it, and put it on your living room shelf as a constant, ever-present reminder of your ability. 

Oh wait, you could just use your medal instead.

That moment of awe and wonder was quickly interrupted by twenty screaming bodies crowding around you - the on-field players as well as the substitutes, the staff, and god knows who else. 

At the heart of the huddle? Alexia and yourself, just like it was in Madrid. 

The midfielder was speechless, there was a million things she wanted to say but not one came out. Instead, she simply looked at you with her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, before you put her out of her misery and jumped into her arms. She caught you with ease, holding you tight to her as your head span on a swivel looking at the thousands of Barça fans all celebrating you. 

Still in the arms of the woman you loved, Mapi grabbed your arm and shook you back and forth in admiration.

“Preciosa, qué coño?!” She bellowed, Alexia laughing as she gazed up at you.

The captain carefully lowered you to the ground, hoping to finally get a word in, when your best friend wrapped her long Scandinavian limbs around you and squealed directly in your ear.

“I am so proud of you, søster! I can’t believe it!” Ingrid stated in one long continuous squeal, squeezing you to death. 

The celebrations carried on probably far longer than they should, but soon you were making your way back to your starting position with Alexia almost glued to your side. When it had all calmed down, some softer emotions settled. Before, it was intense with adrenaline running fast and high. Now, a quiet, content sense of pride and disbelief draped itself, without much commotion, over your heart like a warm blanket. It was such a raw and strong feeling that, rather inconveniently, it brought tears to your eyes.

“Cariño, are you crying?” Alexia asked in an ever so slightly teasing tone. You shoved her away lightly, smiling when she gave a giddy laugh. “Come on, the game isn’t done yet! We might not even win.”

“Alexia!”

Playing the rest of the game after such an emotional high was probably harder than rehab itself. Your legs were about as stable as jelly, and everytime you thought you’d finally willed the tears away, your eyesight glazed over again. 

Evidently, the world was on your side today.

Hearing that whistle blow evoked that same bottled up feeling from before as you fell to your knees in relief. The word ‘surreal’ never felt more fitting than it did as you slumped over onto your back, the sky above you coloured with the pink and orange of Lisbon’s setting sun. Weirdly, there wasn’t much on your mind, it was more of a quiet hum that brought peace, like a distant radio or the pattering of rain against a window. The only thing that stood out to you was the fact you had accomplished the one thing that always seemed to escape you. But not anymore.

It was in this moment where you realised that this dream of yours was never just about achieving your end goal - it was about becoming the person with the strength to get there. This victory isn’t just about what you’ve gained, but who you’ve become. You’ve honoured your potential in a way you never could have imagined, and though the road to get here was long, dark, and uncomfortably bumpy, you were now able to reap the benefits of your determination that had certainly reached new heights. 

There was a phrase you first heard when you were younger: ‘it took a village.’ Back then, you would scrunch your nose up at it, unsure what it meant or what on earth a village had to do with anything. However, now as an adult with a support system that was built on an indestructible foundation of love, you knew that it truly did take a village to thrive. 

It was embedded in human nature since the first generation of life that having a shoulder to cry on and a soul to confide in, as well as people to laugh and share the joys with, were the most important thing anybody could need. Where you might have pushed that away in the past and claimed it wasn’t what you needed, there isn’t a better moment to acknowledge that without that, this moment simply would not have happened.

And when you raise the trophy, with a gold medal around your neck, confetti in your hair, and your newfound family around you, you stand firm in the assurance that you are capable of anything.

—

let me know what you think :) for now at least, this is the last idea i have for this world, if there is anything you wanna see in a story, let me know! i love this world and will never be able to leave it alone, so you are welcome to bombard me with any ideas, big or small. im very very very thankful for all the love this little universe has gotten so thank you for reading it, i couldn't have imagined it would go like this! but it's been one of my favourite things ive done and that is down to all the lovely people reading it. lotta love for you all <3