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reiderwriter · 5 months

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Happily Ever After

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: You have a big fat crush on Spencer Reid. And now you have to share his clothes, his hotel room and his bed for one special night.

Warnings: Day 31 of Kinktober - The End, vanilla sex, love confessions, p in v, pretty softcore compared to the other stuff. Fluff.

A/N: We did it! It's literally halfway to December, but I finally finished all of the kinktober fics! Thank you, everyone, for coning with me on this amazing journey. Thank you for all your support for thesr 31 fics, I literally wouldn't have done it without you 💖

It was hard being hopelessly in love with your coworker. This was a fact that you'd learnt upon entering the BAU and meeting Doctor Spencer Reid.

You'd never believed in love at first sight and to be truthful, you were still a sceptic, but there was something about him that had you leaning in, eyes sparkling as you hung on his every word.

If you were asked what exactly it was about him that you liked so much, you'd probably tie your tongue up trying to answer.

Maybe it was his intelligence. Maybe it was the complete obliviousness that went along with it.

It could have been the way he made sure to check in on you regularly, made sure you were managing the transition to the BAU well, and let you know that he'd be there to support you.

It was probably also because of how goddamn attractive he was. You swore that he was walking around like the female lead in a 00s rom com - he just didn't know how hot he was. In fact, he was so oblivious that he still didn't reconcile the fact that ‘Pretty Boy’ was less an insulting nickname and more the cold, hard truth.

You'd accidentally reminded him of that fact about a month into being deliriously into him.

“Pretty Boy…? Hey, Spencer? Doctor Reid? Nothing…” Morgan sat on the edge of your desk as he called over to the man just opposite him, sitting completely still bar his hand that was racing across a page as he read furiously.

“He's busy, Morgan. I'm sure if you just call his name Louder, he'll answer.” You sighed. Watching the two men quibble had become an interesting pastime, to say the least.

“Spencer, the office is on fire. Spencer, Hotchner, is naked in his office right now. Spencer, Rossi is naked in his office right now. Spencer, Y/N is-”

“Okay, that's enough,” you said, standing up from your desk and clearing your throat. You thought you'd just stand up and get Spencer’s attention the same way Derek had, projecting your voice just a little bit more.

“Pretty Boy.” As soon as the words fell from your lips, the man in question bolted upright, hitting his knee on the desk as he rose, locking eyes with you.

“Yes, Y/N?” Almost as soon as he was upright, Morgan was in fits on the floor, partly from the reaction, partly from Spencer's self injury. When he turned back to you and noticed your red face, the laughing fit only doubled.

Spencer joined you in perpetual embarrassment as Morgan slipped off, still laughing but seemingly no longer interested in whatever it was he wanted Spencer for in the first place.

“Y/N, did you need something?” He asked, clearing his throat as he sat down once again.

“No! No, actually, Morgan… it doesn't matter.” You smiled politely and sat back down, quickly pulling some paperwork together to make yourself look busy.

“Usually only Morgan calls me pretty boy.” He murmured from the other side of the desk

“That's because it's the truth.”

“What?” His eyes locked with yours as you suddenly realised he'd been talking to himself, not engaging you in further conversation.

“I… well, I mean, he wouldn't say it if you weren't actually pretty, Spencer.” He looked at you for a second, then relaxed, smiling softly as he continued his reading.

You could've sworn you heard a tiny thank you under his breath but you just continued your work and tried to calm your heart rate down.

After that, you made it your mission to out an arm's length between yourself and Spencer Reid. You were polite about it, of course, but you felt an awful lot like a teenager with a crush. Or maybe a pre-teen with a crush. Sometimes, to be honest, you were probably acting like a complete child.

Fate, or Aaron Hotchner, had other plans for you, though.

“If you can't make it, that's okay, but it's regulation to send two agents because of some prior interviews that have turned particularly violent.” He explained after he called you into his office.

“JJ has Henry to take care of, same for Kate and her niece. Morgan has a trial tomorrow, so he's unavailable as well, so I really only have you and Reid to ask. Can you do it?”

You weren't sure if it was some need to please the man in front of you as if you were his child who had scored badly on a pop quiz, or his perpetual state of exhaustion that had you giving in and nodding to the man, agreeing to five hours in a car with Spencer. But you did.

The ride wasn't all that bad, to be honest. In typical Spencer fashion, he'd bought along a few audiobooks to listen to, so most of the time was filled with The Faerie Queene and the sleep that you'd fallen into after listening to The Faerie Queene.

You couldn't fully escape conversation, though, and in between changing tapes, he started asking questions.

“How are you liking the unit?" He asked casually, his eyes on the road as you turned to stare at him.

“It's been good. The only downside is all of those field work fitness tests, though.”

“Be glad that you had to do those before you joined us. Morgan decided to be helpful and train me and Penelope.”

“That doesn't sound too bad,” you laughed at him as an honest frown coated his face.

“Have you seen the guy? He's like a walking weightlifting advertisement, I think he could bench press me. And it turned out that we didn't even need the training anyway.”

“Wow, and you fell for it? I thought you were a super genius, Doctor Reid.”

“Hey, that's discrimination. I can be very stupid, too. I contain multitudes.” You laughed and relaxed into the seat some more, memorising each detail of his face as you looked at him. There was a small awkward pause as he waited for you to say something else. Just as he made to turn and look at you, you straightened again and looked away before he could catch you.

“I'd love to see those multitudes some day.”

“I'd love to show you them.”

After that, you'd sat silently in the passenger seat, staring out of the window so he couldn't see the effect his words had on you.

You were thankful that the actual interview finished shortly, the death row inmate becoming rather chatty in his final days and gracious in the details he was willing to give out. The prison still put you on edge, though, so you were glad to have your gun back on your hip and fresh air in your lungs as you moved towards the car.

You were just waiting for Spencer to get off the phone so you could get back on the road and into your comfy bed.

“That was Hotch,” Spencer said, walking over. “We've got a case. We're closer than they are, so they want us to drive there and stay in the hotel for the night, and they'll see us tomorrow.” He smiled in sympathy as he watched your face fall.

The stuttering of your heart was so loud that you almost couldn't hear his words. Surely, that didn't mean you had to spend the night with Spencer Reid? You didn't know if you'd actually survive that.

“I-I don't have my overnight bag.” You said.

“Hotch said JJ is picking it up. She'll pass it to you tomorrow.”

“But it's winter, what am I going to wear tonight?” You practically whispered the words as your brain finished functioning once again.

“I have something you can change into. Of that's okay with you, of course!” You didn't trust yourself to talk, so you just nodded at the man and climbed into the car, ready for him to take you to your home for the night.

Fate didn't stop there, though.

“There's been some kind of mistake,” you heard Spencer mumble as you walked up to the front desk behind him. You'd been sat on a sofa in the foyer waiting for him to return with your key and his when you realised he'd been taking too long.

“What's the problem?” You asked as he turned around to look at you, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

“They only booked one room.”

“Sir, I'm sorry, but you're going to have to take up the issue with your company. But there's only one room here in your name, and we're otherwise fully booked for the night. We had two weddings and an academic gathering this weekend. Guests are still trickling in and out.”

“Okay, what about my name? Can you see if there's anything under Y/L/N?”

“I already tried that. They have Hotchner down, but only from tomorrow.” His jaw tensed again as he turned to you. If you knew him better, you'd probably be able to recognise his nervousness. God, how you wished you knew him better.

“It's one night?” You nodded and took the keys from the receptionist as you and Spencer walked towards the room you'd be sharing for the evening.

“Derek says I talk in my sleep, but that claim has never been substantiated with any real evidence. Also I prefer to sleep on the bed nearest to the window, is that okay?” Spencer rambled slightly awkwardly as you approached your new hotel room.

You smiled at him and flexed your hand slightly, trying to reach out to comfort him but holding yourself back from the casual physical contact.

“It's okay,” you said, grabbing the key card. “Let's go in.”

If that day had taught you anything, it was to expect something else to go wrong.

The room was wonderful, with a large window, a competent bathroom, surprisingly spacious for the usual FBI budget. There was, of course, only one bed.

“I'll take the sofa. It's right next to the window anyway.”

“Spencer it's not a pull-out. You're never going to get any sleep on that thing.” You stood your ground, dumping Spencer’s bag and your own small purse on the sofa so he couldn't take up permanent residence there.

You weren't sure why you were fighting so hard to get him in the same bed as you, knowing what effect it would have on you, but you didn't care to think about that right this second.

“Okay, let's just get ready to sleep, and we can talk about it again.” He said, digging you out an old pair of sweatpants and a caltech jumper and gesturing for you to use the bathroom first.

You quickly showered up and changed into the warm clothes. It was strange to be able to feel how much bigger than you he was since you'd never really considered it.

Spencer was tall, but you weren't exactly petites, and yet here you were, getting swamped by his college sweatshirt. And you knew for a fact that he'd been practically a child still when he'd last graduated.

“All yours, Spencer,” you said, walking from the bathroom and over to the bed where you'd left your phone on charge.

He didn't say anything, but you noticed he'd stayed stuck to the spot and sat at the opposite end of the sofa reading a book.

“Spencer? Did you hear me?” That seemed to snap him out of whatever trance he was in, and he finally diverted his eyes away from you.

“No pretty boy this time?” He pouted under his breath, but you laughed all the same, watching him grab similar garments from his bag again and travel to the bathroom.

You must've drifted off slightly between him going in and coming out, because when you woke, there he was again on the sofa.

“Spencer? What are you doing? Get into bed.” You blinked your eyes a few times, rubbing away the sleep in them as you sat up. Spencer had sat up on the sofa, reading his book again, his hair still slightly damp from the shower.

“I said I'm fine here, Y/N. I don't want to make you uncomfortable.” Sighing, you pushed yourself out of bed and walked around it to where Spencer was.

“Spencer, you're like 6’4. This sofa couldn't even sleep a five year old comfortably, let alone all of you.” You slipped the book from his hand, shutting it and placing it on the side table.

“I'm assuming you don't need a bookmark?” When he shook his head with a resigned sigh, you grabbed his hand and pulled him up.

“Y/N, are you sure?”

“Spencer, you already gave up your clothes for me, I'm not letting you give up the bed, too.”

“It's okay, I enjoyed giving up the clothes.” You couldn't really help the nervous goggle that slipped from your mouth at that statement.

“Sorry, I just meant I'd-”

“I know what you meant, Spencer. Let's just go to sleep now.” Grabbing his hand once again, you turned the main lights off, lamps lighting your way to the bed.

Turning Spencer around, you gently shoved him onto the bed. Though, expecting him to let go of your hand, you'd planned that only he would land there.

Instead, he doubled down on his grasp of your hand, and you fell with him, landing directly on top of him on the bed, mouths inches from each other.

You paused there for a few moments, not sure what move was the right one to make. His hips shifted upward slightly, but that was all the movement you needed for you to settle over his crotch rather than his legs.

“I'm sorry,” you whispered breathlessly as you felt every inch of him harden underneath you.

“I'm not,” he said, eyes searching your face for god knows what.

When he found it, though, he didn't hold back. His free hand slid up to the back of your head, slamming it down so your lips could lock together, a passionate joining that rid you of all the oxygen in your body.

“Spencer,” you gasped between kisses as he worked his hand lower, both hands free to wrap tightly around your waist as he continued kissing you with a passion.

“So beautiful,” he whispered as he finally pulled away again, holding you as close as he could before capturing your lips one more time.

Your head swam through the sensations blindly, both confused and considerably fused to him at the same time.

Spencer's lips, Spencer's hands, Spencer's everything pressed up against you as you sighed contentedly at his ministrations.

“Spencer… what are we doing?”

“I don't know. I don't want to stop, though.” His lips matched yours furiously as he pushed his sweater off your body, whining slightly when he had to break contact to get it over your head.

His hands were instantly exploring your chest, grasping your body like it was his lifeline, as your hips rocked against his own.

You knew you needed to stop this, and soon. Your body didn't agree. If you had sex with Spencer Reid right now, you knew there was no way in hell any other man would ever match up.

“Spencer, stop.”

To his credit, he did, hands dropping instantly as he created space between the two of you. Or as much as you'd allow, still sitting on top of him.

“I'm sorry, I took advantage, I shouldn't have kissed you like th-”

“I love you.” You blurted out, so desperate for him to shut up and listen to you. Which again, to his credit, he did.

“What?” He whispered, stars shining in his eyes.

“I told you to stop because I love you. If you don't feel the same way, that's okay, but I don't think I can do this if you don't.”

“You love me?”

“Yes, I just said that. Aren't you supposed to have an eidetic memory?”

“Individuals with eidetic memories often struggle with short-term memories, hanging onto older memories more vividly and recalling them faster.”

“So you want me to say it again?”

“Over and over, preferably.” He said with a grin, flipping you over so your back was on the bed as he hovered over you.

“I love you,” you whispered as he kissed your cheek.

“Again.”

“I love you,” you whispered as he kissed your neck.

“One more time,” he whispered, stroking your hair as he finally looked into your eyes.

“I love you,” you whispered as he kissed your lips once again, holding nothing back as he poured all his joy into you.

“I love you, too.”

Your legs tangled together in a blur after that, both hopelessly breathing each other's oxygen. You were giggles and moans, whimpers, and confessions as you found yourself pushing down the covers and your pants so you could slide into bed.

Neither of you stopped your confessions, still professing your love in each scrape of a nail, each lick, each bite.

When he finally entered you, your eyes rolled back in pleasure, drunk on him and every reaction he was giving you.

“I love you, Y/N,” he moaned. “I love how you feel wrapped around me.” His hips snapped softly into you, but he went deep, pushing in the entire way before even letting himself think of drawing himself out of that beautiful heat.

“I love how reactive you are for me. I love seeing each of your emotions cross your face. I love how you called me pretty. I love how intelligent you are. I love you.” You were overcome with emotions as you finally felt pleasure wash over you, tingling through your body in ripples as he grunted into your ear, close as well.

Wrapping your legs around him, you nuzzled into his neck and held him tight as he finally finished inside of you.

You fell asleep like that in each others arms, clinging to each other for dear life.

When you woke the next morning, it was with a start as you realised the sun was already awake.

Spencer, however, wasn't, and you jolted up in a panic as you rolled him off of you.

“Spencer, wake up, the others are going to be here any minute, it's 8:45.”

“No, they're not,” he said, pulling you right back into his chest.

“You said yesterday that they're coming today ready for the new case.”

“They started driving at 7am. Driving is going to take them 5 hours 34 minutes, give or take half an hour if there's an accident on the roads. We have plenty of time.”

You relaxed slightly into his hold, then feeling his warmth against you as he stirred slightly again.

“Of course, we could always do something else to pass the time.” You opened one eye and turned back to face him as his hand traced down to the parting of your legs.

“Nice try, lover boy. If you're awake enough for that, you're awake enough to get started on the case.”

“I preferred pretty boy,” he groaned but rolled away from you, as you both started getting ready for the day.

Within half an hour, the two of you were up and ready to answer an incoming video call from Penelope Garcia.

“Hello beautiful, how is upstate treating you?” She said as you picked up and beamed at her, somehow unable to control the happiness rolling off of you.

“It's been good,” you practically giggled, wiping a hand across your face as you attempted to clear away the grin there.

Spencer approached the laptop screen, too, greeting Penelope with a small squint as he looked down.

“Hey, Penelope. Do you have the case details for us?”

“I sent through the files to your emails, Hotch has a paper copy for you too, Reid, when he gets there. We've got a copycat or a resurfaced killer from the 80s. Rossi says the details are familiar to him, but he was going to ask you when he found you.” You both nodded and thanked her, but still, she didn't hang up.

“So, one hotel room, how was that?” Penelope asked from the other side of the screen, eyes dancing between the both of you.

“How did you…?” You squinted as Spencer hurriedly closed the laptop to the sounds of her laughing victoriously. Spencer's face flushed again as he brushed his hair out of his face, trying to discuss the files with you as he changed the topic almost expertly.

“Stop. Spencer, how did she know about the hotel room?”

“Penelope books most of our hotel rooms.”

“Spencer, what aren't you telling me?” He shifted uncomfortably and looked at you in the eyes.

“I may have asked her to book only one room.”

“What? But the receptionist said-”

“I slipped her a twenty before you came up.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to be closer to you. When Hotch said he had this interview, and he said he was sending you too, I was so excited to spend time with you, because you've been avoiding me, and I wanted to know what I did wrong so I could make it better, but I guess I didn't do anything wrong because you love me somehow, so I must have done something very very right to deserve that.” He was rambling, but you didn't stop him, smile spreading as you listened to his accidental declarations of love.

“And then I had to beg Hotch to take this case next, because then we'd have an excuse to be alone longer if we were so close.”

You tried to catch his attention then by calling his name, but he didn't listen, too intent on his confession.

“I was going to tell you later today, once we were off work, I didn't want to say something in the middle of the case because that would've been unprofessional and honestly I didn't want the others to hear because I want you all to myself.”

“I'm rambling, aren't I?”

“Yes, God just shut up and kiss me.”

“You're not mad?”

“I might have been if I weren't so damn in love with you. But lucky for you, I'm crazy for you.” He smiled at you again, pulling you in close for one more kiss.

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randombush3 · 6 months

Text

labor omnia vincit

alexia putellas x reader

words: 7538

summary: well, it’s how you meet your wife (posh + becks style)

content warnings: a little bit of drugs and alcohol

notes: HEY HEY HEYY. this is a TRILOGY and here’s the first part. enjoy the build up x

2015. London.

You groan at the thought of singing another word. The mug set haphazardly on the ledge reserved more for instruments than crockery, half in the air after the last time you returned it to its place, is now empty. There is no hot water left to soothe your burning throat, and there is no patience remaining in your finite store.

The girls, on the other hand, seem to soldier on. A harmony is incorrect? They sing it again. The producer, a fat old man called Dave whose taste in music might rely on his taste in women, isn’t a fan of a certain beat? They are thinking of ways to change it.

Ever since your single was released two years ago, this has been your life. Or, at least, the less glamorous side of it. The other side, consisting of sold-out arenas, exclusive clubs, and a world tour that only increased your total domination over the music industry, has been paused while you and the girls slave away on the second album. Apparently, you’re being uncooperative. You would call it boredom.

“It’s four in the morning, Dave,” Anya states, jabbing out her index finger towards his Rolex, paid for with the revenue from the last single you released. It topped the charts for days. Dave glances down at the clock face with a grunt. “Look, Y/n’s already left us and gone to bed.”

“Still here,” you murmur, rather unconvincingly, from your spot on the far-too-comfortable sofa behind the mixing desk. Sprawling out even further, you wrap your legs around the third member of your group, Gio. She squeals as you pull her on top of you. “I want to go home, though.”

“Don’t we all know it,” Gio giggles. She’s had at least six cups of coffee since you arrived at the studio for the second recording session of the day – a solid nine hours ago. That was only after a break for a late lunch or early dinner (whichever your dietician preferred to call it).

“We need to finish.”

“I need to sleep,” you reply. Gio scrambles off you in time to avoid the glare you are sent by your producer. “And I’m not sleeping here again. Last time it gave me a crick in my neck and I’m fairly sure the cleaner felt me up.”

“The sexy cleaner is mine,” Anya declares, jerking you upright. Your stomach lurches with emptiness. “Otherwise, I agree. Let us fuck off home. Please, Dave.”

He looks at the three of you, bags under your eyes, making long rubbed off (or cried away, in Gio’s earlier over-emotional state). You have changed out of the outfit the paparazzi pictured you in earlier, opting for the stained, grey joggers you folded away in your Birkin. Anya and Gio snuck in so that they weren’t caught in their pyjamas.

Dave sighs.

“Tomorrow, don’t go for lunch with any of your silly boyfriends. Come here for noon, and we’ll finish when we finish. We’re getting this album done, and you can’t fire me until it’s out.”

His sense of humour is appreciated, even if his work ethic is not, and you practically bolt out of the studio, friends in tow.

Anya grabs your hand as you rush down the corridor, making your way to the exit. “No lunch with your boyfriend,” she repeats Dave’s words, mocking his gristly voice. You roll your eyes, snatching your hand away from your friend before pushing open the back door of the studio, heading towards your new BMW i8.

You have been friends with Anya Kazi and Giovanna Bartoli since the age of two, meeting them on the first day of nursery, specifically after cutting one of Gio’s ringlets off with safety scissors. Though Anya happily clapped along, she did not defend you, and so you went for her hair as well. Your teacher, hoping to quell the budding animosity, placed all three of you in time-out, where a united front was formed. It hasn’t been broken since that moment, though a few years ago, you were terrified it would be. You, with a well-concealed preference for women, however, have managed to keep your friends. They assured you that they 1) already knew and 2) could not care less.

“You don’t even like cars,” Gio scoffs at the sight of your latest purchase, your last name printed proudly on the number plate. “Was this an ‘I’m famous’ buy or did your daddy get it for you?”

“He emailed me a few recommendations,” you answer off-handedly, sliding into the driver’s seat, switching on the ignition. It growls with a mean, menacing precision, the engine’s quality known and heard. “And don’t pretend that your family doesn’t have a Roll-Royce parked in the driveway of their million-pound townhouse.”

“You are just as much from Hampstead as I am, girl.”

You roll your eyes, stifling a yawn. Anya pulls out in front of you, no doubt speeding off to avoid the boy-racers you and Gio become at this time of night.

Your flat has progressed from that of the one you shared with the girls in Princess Park two years ago. It’s nicely decorated, you like to think, with most of the work being done to it while you were touring.

The walls are hung with artwork; some your own, some not. The canvases and frames adorn every room, dictating the vibe, declaring your individuality to any visitors who choose to admire the paintings and sketches. Then, if they were to look at the shelves dotted around the space, they’d see books with matching themes to the art. Your living room has a print of Van Gogh’s ‘Starry Night’, blown up in a gilded frame, hanging above your green leather sofa, adding colour to the white walls, and then a bookshelf filled with navy-bound novels about whatever you fancy. You’re quite chuffed with the design, though it was really the interior designer you hired who came up with the idea.

Without a second glance to any of the intricate details of your home, you stumble your way to the bathroom, going through the motions until it is time to get into bed. It’s a big bed – one that often feels too big for just one person – but the mattress is inviting and you dive into a deep sleep head-first, knowing you will not be getting up until someone calls you tomorrow morning.

…

Barcelona, seven hours earlier.

The bar is busy, as most are in Barcelona at this time of night, and the girls are out for dinner and a post-training drink. The wine glasses have deceived them all, though, because they have been emptied and refilled a few more times than Xavi would be impressed with.

A young, budding star does not drink during the season, the alcohol drought both self-inflicted and encouraged by every coach who promises to take her far. Her eyeliner must be smudged by now, but Alexia can’t leave yet because Jenni has promised that she can stay over at her place and she needs her to take her back.

The reason for her temporary relocation is that Alexia is fed-up with her mother’s pestering, seeing as it is only one week into the season and she is already being called a workaholic. She can’t stay in that house tonight, especially when her little sister is the complete opposite: sleeping with anyone who gives her a chance and never doing anything that will help her future. Eli Segura is baffled by the lack of balance in her life – two daughters, two extremes – but she is the most concerned with her eldest, angering Alexia to no end.

Alexia is also fed-up with this conversation. It’s all the girls seem to be talking about these days, utterly consumed with this new English girl group just like the rest of the world. 2sday has completely taken over all interesting topics of discussion, and Alexia doesn’t think she can handle being asked which one of their songs she likes the most one more time.

She likes them, she guesses, but so does everyone. Todo el mundo is in love with all three members.

The girls are discussing who their favourite is.

“She’s Italian though, and that’s cool of her,” Jenni argues, putting forward her case for Bartoli as if she chose to have parents from a certain country. Alexia hums in thought, thinking of the pictures she saw from the world tour – how long her legs are, tanned and sculpted and shown off nicely by the mini-skirt she wore. “Did you know that her little sister is a model? She’s called Cristina or something. The beauty is practically in her DNA.”

“Aren’t all three of them models?” asks Marta pointedly, finger tapping the photoshoot on the magazine cover.

“Well, all three of them are sexy,” Jenni replies, remembering just how enamoured the world is with the three break-out stars. “Ale, which one is your favourite?” The magazine that had sparked this conversation is slid towards the twenty-one-year-old, and she looks at the picture on the front page: you, Gio, and Anya, all dressed in oversized suits with nothing underneath, hair slicked back and eyes piercing, ‘girl power’ brandished over the bottom of the photograph.

“Y/n L/n,” Alexia answers easily, fascinated by the sculpture of your face. She thinks you are beautiful, in a less crass way than her teammates. “And you lot sound like men with the way you talk about them.”

“Ooh, Alexia is getting all high-and-mighty,” Jenni teases. “Looks like it’s time to take the baby home.”

“She��s cranky because she’s tired and it’s past her bedtime,” adds another teammate, though Alexia is too wound up to really care who.

They all make little pouty faces at her as she finishes the last of her glass of water, the clear liquid standing out against the deep red of most of the table. Jenni rolls up the magazine and swats her shoulder with it, before handing it over to its owner and finally allowing Alexia her rest.

In silence, they sit in her car – an old Ford in need of replacing but not on the footballer’s list of things she will buy with the money they are now getting. FC Barcelona Femení has become, at last, a fully professional team, and Alexia looks ahead to the future with a hopeful dream and the knowledge that she will need to work hard if she ever wishes to become the best. Jenni has become a good friend ever since she joined the club last year, and she brings a global ambition to the friendship that she knows Alexia does not have. Jenni is from Madrid, and plays for Barcelona because she can, not because it is her club. Her team is the same as her grandfather’s, and she often expresses to Alexia her wish to play for them someday, as well as scoring in every league she possibly can. Young Alexia Putellas has never once considered stepping foot outside of Spain.

Not only that, but her father died three years ago and here, in Barcelona, is where she feels closest to him. She cannot fathom a life past the plazas and the cobbled streets of her home. And she’s glad. She’s safe here, and she needs nothing more than her team, her family, and a football at her feet. What more could she possibly want?

As she settles on Jenni’s sofa, blanket pulled over her body, head resting on a plump cushion that smells faintly of Jenni’s dog, Alexia decides to watch whatever is on TV right now. Jenni, in an attempt to learn English, has found an English news channel that seemingly reports on ‘exclusive’ celebrity news. There you are, plastered on the screen, your picture zoomed in to the point of the pixels blurring.

The woman speaking has a high-pitched and critical voice, saying words that Alexia does not hear. She stares at your picture, considering the life you have, imagining that, one day, footballers like her have the stardom of Beckham and Messi and Ibrahimovic. Though she herself does not crave that exposure, well aware of her shyness, she thinks about the future with a wistful sigh, lost in her dream as the English woman narrates what she can see, judging how you have opened your mouth to take a bite of the food, listing the brands you are wearing.

And, in her weird, exhausted haze, she sees your face. It’s probably only because you’re on the screen and she’s staring at it, but you are there as she pictures the growth of women’s football. You’re there in the stands as she plays in front of a sold-out Camp Nou, cheering and singing along to Catalan chants she knows you’d never actually know in real life. Slowly, she falls asleep, and, just before she closes her eyes, you are there: back to her, dressed in a familiar shirt. Alexia. 11. Somewhere in a far-off fantasy land, Alexia Putellas marries you that night.

…

It’s Sunday.

You drive to your parents’ house in Hampstead, only twenty minutes away from the flat you now live in, to reluctantly attend their weekly Sunday Roast. Before, it was a condition of remaining on the booking list for the annual family holiday, seeing as you had declared university was going to wait until after your gap year and then had become a popstar instead. Now that both you and your brother can afford to come anyway, the tradition is there for sentimental value. A world tour made you realise how much you love them all, even your annoying older brother.

Your parents are lawyers who met at university and found love in a city that they never moved out of, both of them doing extremely well for themselves. They raised you and your brother to ski, horse-ride, and attend prep schools and public schools, although boarding school was not quite desirable. Your dad speaks in a booming voice, received pronunciation an act used for court, slight Mancunian accent lilting his words whenever he relaxes.

“Darling!” your mum exclaims, surprised at your attendance just like she is every week. “Come on in, come on in. Daddy has the footie on, and your brother is on his way. Don’t you have songs to sing? How come you’re here?”

Ushered inside your own home, you smell the brief scent of your family before adjusting to it all and fitting right back into the chaos. There’s beef in the oven, and the roar of the crowd playing faintly from the kitchen where your dad must be preparing the potatoes. He’s proud of his potatoes.

You slip off your shoes – a new pair of Uggs – and follow your mother to the kitchen. Dad is there, doing exactly what you’d expected, hands working instinctively as his eyes focus on the TV, mouthing along with the commentary as Manchester United take on their opponent. “Sit down,” Dad says as soon as you walk in, pointing at the stools tucked into the island. “We’re not doing too badly, and today should be an easy win.”

“I know. I do watch the football without you, Daddy.”

He tuts. “Yeah, but you don’t get the same level of commentary on your own. Plus, United isn’t even what I wanted to talk to you about. I have thought of a publicity move that you should definitely make – it would really help you guys out.” You entertain his suggestion, knowing that’s what dads do, sitting back on the stool with a smirk on your face, already thinking of an interesting way to tell him he is being stupid. “So, what I was thinking was that you guys do a half-time show! You love football, and the girls love footballers – what isn’t to like? Plus, I bet any club would jump at the chance to make some money from extra tickets sold just to see you.”

“And you haven’t already contacted our manager?” you check, finding your father to be quite unpredictable and rash. His ego is also far too inflated by clients who don’t see him for the kind but bumbling fool he truly is, and so he often takes it upon himself to put forward any ideas he has to your management team, much to everyone’s inconvenience (the last thing they need, amongst sorting out photos of you snogging girls and your friends in various compromising positions, is an old man telling them what he thinks will boost your image). “It’s a good idea, I must admit. I’ll bring it up.”

“Good stuff.” There’s a clang of metal as the potatoes go in the oven too, and the fridge opens with a pop as your dad begins to fish out the carrots and parsnips to complete your meal, Your mother is responsible for everything else. “Try to get it at Barcelona or Real Madrid,” he says off-handedly. “Imagine singing in the Nou Camp. That’d be crazy.”

“Not the appearance I dreamt of when I was little, but I’d still get to touch the grass,” you agree.

“Y/n, we knew you’d never be a footballer. You haven’t got the coordination for that.” They tried to support you, they really did, but then music lessons took over and the sport became a form of entertainment, not exercise. “Women’s football is really something, though. In twenty years, it’ll be good. Maybe you should invest.”

“I know zero women’s footballers, apart from – what’s her name? Kelly Smith. The English one?”

“The Arsenal player, yeah. It’s a shame we don’t have a proper women’s team.”

“Should I fund one?” you joke, but his face lights up and he has taken you seriously. “Okay, I know we’ve been successful thus far, but we haven’t raked in that much. Who knows! It could all go to shit and I could end up right where I started, in my childhood bedroom with no degree and no choice but to mooch off my parents.”

“I get the sense that you’re slightly stressed about this album,” Dad says slowly, smiling wide, proud to have worked you out. He has always been good at that; knowing what you are feeling. It is a wonderful trait for him to have, seeing as your mother struggles with emotional connection of any kind. She is too much of a corporate big-shot for that, anyway.

“It’s killing me.” You sigh, slumping on the stool. “It’ll be released and then we’ll hop on tour and I’m so tired. Anya has a crush and Gio’s dating someone and now all of our songs are about love and I just… I don’t know about that. I don’t know if I will ever know about that.”

And, though he hesitates, Dad walks around the island and places a hand on your shoulder, telling you that you will find the right man someday.

Deep down, he knows that the daughter who loved to watch football and never once commented on their hairstyles or pretty faces – the girl whose crushes on members of boy bands always seemed half-hearted and forced – is not a daughter who is going to bring home a man one day, with a smile on her face and a ring on her finger. He knows. It is quite possible that he has always known. Whether he is going to bring it up before you feel comfortable to talk about it is a different matter, especially since your mother has dreams of her daughter’s husband that she has whispered to him ever since they found out their second child was a girl.

Sunday is pretty routine, which you are grateful for. Your brother, also a lawyer, discusses his latest case, resembling the stories your father used to tell at the dining table: stories you’d both yawn at when you were younger. You dish out a few industry secrets, recounting your most recent trip to Cirque Le Soir. With disdain, your mother berates you for any possible drug-usage, scolding you for something you have not admitted to but somehow knowing that you are guilty of it anyway. It feels much like the family dinners of your teenage years, but you suppose that pop stars never really have to grow up and decide that it isn’t all bad. After all, you drive home in a very stylish car.

Then, the week starts with another gruelling, waste-of-time day at the studio, where you go inside before the sun comes up and emerge long after it has set. Dave is decently pleased with the vocals so far. There are another seven tracks to go, but most of those are being written by other people. Mark Ronson, you’ve heard, is open to working with your group. It’s all very exciting, even if you feel like you have run a marathon by the end of the day.

On Tuesday, you remember to tell your manager and publicist (she’s a woman of many talents) about your father’s idea. At first, her reluctance is extremely evident, but it later dissipates once she thinks about it, having promised you and the now-excited girls to see what she can do.

You are on a private plane to Barcelona before you can realise what is happening.

Bags packed with more make-up and spangled underwear than proper clothes, and sunglasses shielding your hungover eyes courtesy of last night’s consoling of a newly-single Giovanna Bartoli, you try your best not to vomit while in the air and even squeeze in a spot of light reading. The girls laugh (wincing at the sound) when they see you revisiting the Aeneid. You like Virgil, though, so you don’t mind.

“How many days are we here again?” Anya asks, equally hungover.

“Three,” replies your manager, not bothering to look up from her laptop. “Today, tomorrow, and the day after. Please check if the players are married before you do anything with them.”

“I’ve sworn off men,” mumbles Gio miserably. She stretches her legs out with a sniffle, and then draws them back in to protect her broken heart. “If I’d get off with any woman, I’d like her to be Spanish.” She clears her throat, the lump of tears disappearing as she retrieves her GCSE-level Español, giving it a shot. If not to be serious than to at least piss you off. “Hola. ¿Cómo estás? ¿Quieres dormir conmigo?”

“What? And then you’re going to shove your tongue down her throat?” Gio looks at you with a smirk. “That is not how you kiss a woman.”

“Hey, you can’t keep them all to yourself!”

You laugh, though your manager’s attention has been caught and she is already showing her disapproval. “It would be better that I did if that’s how you think it works.”

“None of you are kissing women.”

“That’s not fair,” Anya protests, upset that she didn’t even get to join in the conversation before it got shut down as swiftly as a rowdy houseparty in an American teen-movie.

“I agree. That’s not fair on Y/n, who actually needs to kiss a woman so her knickers aren’t in a twist all the time.”

“I’ll twist your knickers in a minute,” you threaten, fist raised to Gio in good humour.

“See what I mean? She needs to let off some steam.”

“Well, do it discreetly if you must. Do your shows, go out with the players, and bring whoever into your bed as long as they have tight lips and no vendetta against you. Gio, we’re going to have to say something about him ch–”

You gulp, not wanting your friend to cry again. “Wow, the view is really nice,” you interrupt, catching Anya’s appreciative nod in the corner of your eye as you splay your palm on the glass of the aircraft’s window, marvelling at Barcelona’s plazas and cobbled streets. Imagine this being your home, you think to yourself.

…

Jenni is squawking when Alexia makes her way into the circle of players during their drinks break. Alexia knows her friend is excited to go to the men’s game later on today, but she hadn’t realised it is to this extent until she gets grabbed by the forward and shaken as though she is a snowglobe.

“I got the golden ticket,” Jenni shouts in her ear, making their teammates around them laugh. “Me, you, and Mario are going to the match tonight!”

“I already knew that?” They don’t really get free tickets, but they can be heavily discounted. Tonight isn’t a super big deal, though Alexia may stand corrected. “Was I not supposed to know that?”

“Of course she doesn’t know,” Mariona says, squirting some of her water at the midfielder. She recoils from the droplets, but they land on her training top anyway, and Alexia is already pissed off with the entire world. “Alexia, do you seriously live under a football-shaped rock?”

Alexia takes a moment to brush off the teasing, picturing the bursting trophy cabinet that is almost within her grasp. “Yes, and it is very homely.”

“Madre mía, you are one of a kind,” Jenni says with a sigh, movements less aggressive as she drapes an arm around Alexia’s shoulders. “Guess who’s singing at half-time tonight. You’re going to drool so much that the people below us will think it’s raining.”

At this, Alexia knows exactly who Jenni is talking about, and she blushes though it could easily be mistaken for redness from exercising.

“I just think she’s pretty,” comes Alexia’s slightly defensive reply. They walk to the middle of the training pitch, rejoining the team as Xavi explains a confusing drill. Neither really listen.

“Is this your first celebrity crush?” Mariona jibes, overhearing the conversation and finding it necessary to join in. Any excuse to poke fun at the baby of the team.

Jenni ruffles Alexia’s hair, ruining her neat ponytail. “Alexia’s in love with a straight girl,” she sings.

It’s then that the whole team chooses to get involved, ears perking up at the mention of Alexia’s lovelife – a more or less forbidden topic. Their captain, Marta Unzué, even chimes in with a ‘we’ve all been there’. Like a stroppy teenager, Alexia folds her arms over her chest and turns to focus entirely on football, something that she knows she loves and loves her back. They leave her alone for the rest of the training session.

She even manages to forget about what comes after the first forty-five minutes of the match, sitting comfortably in a stadium that is her version of heaven.

You, on the other hand, cannot distance yourself from the nerves of performing in no less than ten minutes.

The players were nice when you accompanied Anya to speak to them, and they spent a good while fumbling their way through English to invite you all to join them tonight at Pacha. You took photos with Messi and Neymar to show your father.

The outfit, if you can call it that, is tight and could possibly show your entire bum to eight-five thousand Culers tonight if you’re not careful. Silver eyeshadow glistens in the mirror when you peer at your reflection, inspecting the bejewelled bralette and tiny shorts you are wearing.

Anya and Gio, who both look dazzling in their own silver combinations, tell you that it is time to get your microphones sorted. When you stand in the tunnel, ready to go out, you see that they have laid out a sheet on top of the grass so your heels don’t ruin it. Part of you wishes that you were in a football strip and boots. The music starts before you can get too reminiscent.

You sing with the same adrenaline you always get, and the crowd becomes a blur in your mind as you lose yourself to the melody. The bass hits your heart just like the lyrics do – especially since this song was written by Anya about her last boyfriend – and you hold back tears as the choreography leads your limbs in an energetic dance that must be entertaining to watch.

When it finishes, and your chest is rising and falling quickly as you try to catch your breath, Alexia thinks you almost catch her gaping at you. Your eyes seem to be scanning the stands. Maybe you see her.

Maybe that is why you, in your big, black hoodie and paparazzi-proof baseball cap are sitting in the stands of Estadi Johan Cruyff the very next day.

Alexia does not point you out to her teammates. You make it clear to all who recognise you that you are trying to be incognito, and either the fans at the stadium have no knowledge of popular culture, or they are granting you your privacy.

She is now the entertainer, shining under the spotlight of the bright sun, a ball at her feet like that is where all balls were made to be. And you watch carefully – she can feel it – but you do not stay long enough for her to even think about approaching you.

…

2016. Somewhere in the sky between LA and New York.

This time round, the tour has confirmed your hatred for all plane journeys, hotels, and sold-out concerts.

You’re dead on the inside, numb to the glitter and sparkles of your life, and your eyes are always halfway to being sealed shut in the deepest slumber humanly possible.

There are a few things that ease the disdain you have for your career, but none of those compare to the channel you have found that streams Barcelona Femení’s football matches. Your excuse, made to no one other than yourself, is that Manchester United has no women’s team. Of course you’d watch them instead, if you could.

“This is peak lesbianism,” Gio comments, her fifth time saying the exact same thing, prodding a napping Anya to alert her to your boredom-killer on the flight. You’re glad these planes have wi-fi. “We’re in America, which has all the women’s football in the world, and you still choose to watch your crappy little stream on your cracked iPad.”

“If you hadn’t decided to jump out at me, the screen would be just fine,” you grumble, transfixed on the way Alexia Putellas dribbles with the ball, turning and passing to Jennifer Hermoso who slots the ball right into the bottom-right corner of the net. The pitch looks damaged, and you really have researched how you can help out the sport, but it is hard to dispute anything the girls say about your crush on an unknown squad member when everyone knows you could get your football fix from the Premier League.

You’re yet to tell anyone that you have just bought this season’s Barcelona shirt. You’re not sure if you’d be invited on the family ski trip if your father were to find out.

“Sorry, sorry,” replies Gio, hands raised in the air, a gesture of surrender. In hindsight, your response was clipped. “Didn’t mean to distract you from such an important task. When will you tell us who it is that you fancy? We’ve been waiting for you to come to us, but, fuck me, you’ve got tight lips.”

“And, before you say it – we’re not nosy. We just care. And we find it cute.”

“And…”

“What?” you practically grunt, biting your tongue as a hefty challenge sends Alexia Putellas face-first onto the patchy grass. It makes your heart jump.

“Well, it’s not like she won’t want you, so make your move.”

“Just like you made your move on Justin Bieber?” She winces. “We did warn you, babe.”

“It’s alright,” Anya comforts with a small smile, though you are well aware of how funny she also found the situation. Being in LA, as a celebrity, is always an interesting experience. In Gio’s defence, she did not know about a certain model standing right behind her, and you are fairly sure she had run off to do lines with someone or other earlier. “But, yeah, seriously. Y/n, do you want us to guess?”

“Go on. Guess.” You smirk, because they’ll never–

Anya’s hand flaps as she puts her privately-educated memory to good use. “What’s-her-face?” she squeals, hand slapping down on her thigh as the name eludes her, the flapping resuming once she remembers. “Alexia Putellas!”

You rip your eyes from your cracked screen, widened in horror. “How did you know?” you ask, voice a whisper as you swallow your shock.

“You talk about her all the time. ‘Ooh, she’s the future’ this, ‘watch her grow’ that. Just talk to her. She’ll fancy you back.”

“She’s not a celebrity. Normal people don’t slide into people’s DMs like we do, and I have no clue whether or not she can speak English,” you reason, having said the same thing to yourself every time your finger hovers on that feature of Instagram. “And I don’t like her? You saw me kissing–”

“God, drop it. You know she kisses anyone with a mouth, and you also know that you’re lying your arse off. Whoever this footballer is, just talk to her. If anything, it’ll be good for you to spend time with someone who isn’t going to drag you right into their own closet.”

“Closets in LA can be very big,” you say with a sigh, having already received a lecture about the damage-control your publicist always seems to be doing. You don’t really think it’s ‘damage’ if a photo of you enjoying yourself with someone, but your publicity team deems any picture of you with a woman one to be locked away in some encrypted file and never released in the papers.

…

You: Hola! Congratulations on the win. :)

You cringe so hard, but you send it anyway, your friends leaning over either shoulder as they egg you on, wishing your closet gobbled you whole and spat you out somewhere further away than Narnia.

Alexia, in Barcelona, groans at the sound of her phone buzzing, wondering who on Earth is texting her this late.

And she drops the device on her face when she sees what the notification is.

Because it really does not make sense, and she is not used to the idea that women’s footballers could one day fraternise with celebrities like you without feeling out of place. (And she’s had a crush on you for about two years and you’re texting her at midnight to congratulate her.)

You, on the other hand, are gripping onto your phone with trembling hands, holding on for dear life. Anya, who claims her C in A-level Spanish was unjust and incorrect, is brainstorming your next message, adamant that you’ll seem cooler if you display some knowledge of her mother tongue. You don’t tell her that, of course, Alexia’s first language would have been Catalan, because you don’t want it to be obvious that you have done a little bit (a lot) of research.

Gio tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear for you – a comforting gesture. “Hey,” she says kindly, “what’s the worst that could happen?”

She tries.

She fails.

You have compiled a list within a millisecond. “I don’t know,” you start, but, oh, you do. “She could screenshot the conversation and leak it to Twitter? Or she’s not a lesbian and she is disgusted that I am? She could have a girlfriend? She could think my account’s been hacked and report me and everything’ll be deleted? Or all of the above?!”

The chat is still open on your phone, but you can’t see past your tidal wave of anxiety.

“I think you’re just nervous.” Understatement of the century.

Before you can make a snide remark saying exactly that but to Anya’s face, your message is no longer the only one present.

“She replied!” you shout, volume a concoction of fear and excitement and a thousand emotions in between.

Alexia: Gracias por ver :)

“Thanks for watching,” Anya translates.

You exhale. “Okay. Done. No more.” You ignore both of their facepalms with the sort of blissful ignorance you’re sure only delusional people possess, but it is better to have a healthy heart rate than to understand the lyrics to whatever ballad the two of them have in the works.

…

“Kiss her.”

“What?”

“Just kidding,” Jenni giggles, winking at Alexia and stealing her glass of something-not-too-strong.

The team has been invited to a party with the men’s team, all because their favourite girl group is back in town and are treating the club like a pit-stop on their way to Madrid for the European-leg of their tour. The album has been in the top ten worldwide ever since it was released.

Alexia looks good tonight, as said by Jenni who thought her wardrobe consisted solely of football strips and Barcelona merchandise, and she revels in her little secret. Your little secret. She hasn’t told anyone that you messaged her two months ago, even if the conversation ended with her response.

Which is why Jenni is set on teasing Alexia about her non-existent chance with you, especially when you have spent your entire night on the other side of the reception room, deep in conversation with Neymar Jr., who is not shameful about his appreciation for the plunging neckline of your tight dress. He has a girlfriend, but Alexia has seen enough tabloid headlines to know that most famous people don’t care.

Your glass is always full, though that is your own doing. Something about the way a pair of hazel eyes have been watching you from the minute you walked in makes the air around you feel heavier than it should, and alcohol helps to dull your fluster.

Anya and Gio have circled back a few times, adding to their persuasion each lap. When you see Gio heading your way, a small smile playing on her lips as someone or other trails behind, you excuse yourself from your conversation with your personal hero (who, sadly, would be able to describe your boobs but not your face if he were asked) and clasp your fingers around her forearm, pulling the two of you even further from a certain women’s footballer on the other side of the room.

“She’s staring,” says Gio in a low voice, leaning in to speak into your ear. “She’s staring at you like she wants to eat you.”

“I’d let her,” you reply, lips loosened from the champagne you’ve been drinking. “She is beautiful.”

“She is still staring.”

You decide to be bold. You stare back, and Alexia is trapped, frozen to the spot. “She is so beautiful.”

“Now you’re both staring.”

“I’m going to talk to her.”

“You should,” she encourages, slurring. The blur might come from your distraction, your drunkenness, or her own intoxication. You don’t care.

Absently, you nod. “Yeah.”

She presses her fingertips between your shoulder blades, cold hands making you shiver. “Go. You got this.”

“Yeah.”

She pushes you away from her, in Alexia’s direction. Your feet carry you on what feels like an inevitable path.

And you… walk right past her, out of the door, and into the warm air of the evening to have a smoke instead.

Behind you, Gio lets out a silent scream, turning right around and giving up on your happiness because what more can she do? And Alexia, who is confused about what just happened and bored of this event anyway, is glad to be given an excuse to leave.

Except, you are blocking her exit, cigarette pressed to your lips as you inhale the smoke like it is a lifeline. She frowns, lips a tight line of disappointment, really. “¿Tú fumas?” she asks, though she knows both the answer and of your incompetence when it comes to her language.

You let your eyes meet hers, and Alexia shivers, though she tells herself it is only because it’s November. “Hola,” you reply.

For some reason, Alexia is drawn in. She steps closer to you, and you don’t have anywhere to go, backed against the wall you are leaning on. You’re drunk, and the cigarette has burned down to a stub of orange and black. She’s also drunk – less so than you – and she has nothing to lose right now. She is no one, in her mind, and you are far from prudish.

She decides, once she is barely ten centimetres away from you, that your dress is provocative, but it only adds to your existing beauty. You push your chest out, standing up straighter.

The dance is very still, and very silent, but you can imagine what it feels like to kiss her and you know that she is thinking the same thing.

“You can, if you want to,” you whisper, hoping she understands.

Luckily, she does.

Alexia fumbles her way through the first tentative second, shocked that this is what she is doing, but she finds her footing and relaxes into the taste of champagne and cigarette smoke, the heat of your body sparking a fire within her. You pull her closer, pressing her body into yours, and you are now consumed by desperation. The kiss grows messier, and Alexia’s hands begin to roam, mind lost in a haze of desire. She is explorative but she is gentle, and you gasp into her mouth as her tongue pushes past your lips and a hand settles on the curve of your bum, the other cupping your jaw.

Briefly, she wonders how many girls you have done this with. You seem experienced. The thought, while a little disturbing, sort of spurs her on, feeding into her competitive nature. This will be unforgettable for her regardless of the outcome because it’s an interesting story to tell, but what about you? Are you even aware of what you’re doing? Are you straight? No, you can’t be. You messaged her, so you started this. She is only… finishing it?

You sense her distraction, pulling back with a blink and a deep intake of fresh air. She tries to move back, afraid of what comes next, but you don’t let her go, clutching onto the hardened muscles of her arms to hold her in place, ready to kiss her again.

The moment is spoilt by a voice – an English voice – and the theft of your attention. Your eyes, previously hooded and dark, widen as they flit towards the door behind her, terribly upset that your friends have developed the worst timing known to man. Gio shouts again, telling you that it’s time to go. You have to get to Madrid, and the pilot would be incredibly annoyed to hear that the flight was delayed because you were too caught up in snogging a girl you may or may not fancy.

“We really need to go!” Anya repeats, growing impatient with you as you debate giving up your entire music career. “Like, it is insane how badly you need to get your arse over here to say your goodbyes and then jump in the taxi to the airport with us.”

“Can it just–”

“No!” they both shout in unison.

You sigh, looking at Alexia, the proximity prodding at a feeling low in your stomach. She doesn’t squirm under the intensity of your gaze, instead sporting a lazy, blissfully ignorant grin. And you’re about to break her little heart.

“I have to go,” you say softly, forehead resting on her shoulder as you mumble your words out. You have a duty to your job, or, as Virgil puts it: labor omnia vincit. Work conquers all.

“You have to…?” she tries.

“Go.”

“Tiene que irse,” Anya translates, reminding you of her presence (and her much better comprehension of Spanish). “Ahora.”

“Ah.” Alexia’s hand cups the back of your neck as you raise your head, and she kisses you, though the kiss is short.

You pat your body down with a sudden haste, wandering past your alcohol-clouded thoughts to remember the location of your ticket, reaching down to grab your clutch from where you’d dropped it on the floor while having a smoke. It pops open as Alexia watches your movements, and you retrieve a pen and a scrunched up ticket (you have no idea why that’s in there, but you are grateful that it is).

“Here.” You hand her the ticket, pressing it into the palm of her hand and then sealing your goodbye with a quick peck to her lips.

Then, you are gone, running off at an impressive speed in those heels, chasing your friends into the building.

She pauses herself in time for a moment, drawing back her grasp on reality as her thoughts still and she breathes in your lingering perfume. And then she blinks – blinks her way back into midnight in Barcelona.

She opens her palm to see what your gift was, unfolding the piece of paper with an overwhelming curiosity that almost rips it at the edges.

A boarding pass from London Stansted to Barcelona-El Prat Airport, decorated in fresh, black ink.

Scrawled on top of the flight details is something much more valuable than the entrance into First Class the paper allows.

Eleven digits.

Twenty-two-year-old Alexia Putellas, the catalyst for change in women’s football as the world knows it, suddenly sees her future set right out in front of her. Because there you are.

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso #woso fanfics #barca femeni #fc barcelona

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kana-daydreams · 20 days

Text

𝐚 𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐧'𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 || 𝐙𝐨𝐫𝐨

summary: zoro decides just for your sake and his, for once, to allow himself to express a feeling he’d long buried inside him after Kuina’s death—and a feeling he’s only ever had for you. genre: mild angst, fluff cw: none wc: 3.2k

I love you.

Settled atop the crow’s nest dome- shaped roof of the Thousand Sunny, Zoro’s dark-brown eyes dart open to meet splotches of fluffy white painted across a canvas of endless blue.

A gentle breeze rustles his clothes and threads through his mint-green hair as he lays with his back pressed flat against the roof’s surface, head cushioned by his arms, while his gaze continues to follow the clouds lazily gliding across the sky.

I love you.

Zoro clicks his tongue when he hears the words teasing melody continue to play in his head.

Words that had repeated its haunting every daylight, and every nightfall.

Words you’d confessed to him weeks ago—and words he had thought would be your last.

Why did you do it?

Zoro still relives the moment when he watched your body go limp in his arms, crimson red trailing its way down in gushing streams from the wound in your torso.

Why did you risk your life to save his?

A question that lingered along with your confession deep within his mind during the couple of weeks you’d remained a victim of sleep.

A furrow lines Zoro’s brows, deepening as he unwillingly recalls the urgent scream of your voice calling his name, followed by the sound of steel tearing through flesh and then the painful sight of your body collapsing, motionless, in a pool of red.

After the tragic occurrence, day after day, Zoro would visit you inside the sick bay. It was a difficult task at first, seeing your comatose state, but he made it part of his daily routine to check up on you. And assisted Chopper where he could, sometimes spending the entire day by your side and wishing that you would just open your damn eyes.

And during that time he spent with you and without you, he prayed.

Zoro never believed there was a god but yet, for you—he did.

Like a devout believer, day in and day out, he prayed and hoped for a miracle.

Hoped that some god— any god—would hear his prayer and that you would awake from your seemingly endless sleep.

Though when a couple of weeks had flitted past and you showed no signs of waking up, the little faith he’d mustered started to wane.

Waned until like a flame drawn down to a single spark of light left with nothing to fuel its burn, it extinguished.

But today Zoro’s flame reignites.

At the sound of Chopper's crying voice, Zoro’s body bolts upright, his eyes drawing wide when he hears him announce in between sniffles and hiccups, that you’re awake.

And in an instant, he’s on his feet.

And in an instant, his legs carry him with desperate steps towards the direction of the sick bay, Zoro thinking to himself, despite his once wavering belief—for the first time—a god really just might exist.

“Nami, Robin— you guys are going to hurt her!” Chopper’s worried voice warns the two women hugging the life out of you—literally, Chopper thinks.

“Okay, just one more hug.” Nami snivels, long tears rolling down her cheeks as she gives you one last squeeze before she and Robin unwrap their arms from around you, moving to stand amongst the rest of the crew huddled around your bed.

Your eyes scan each of their tear-stained faces like your own, at the same time searching for the perpetual stone-cold expression of Zoro’s, your heart sinking when there’s no sight of it.

“I’m so happy to see everyone.” You manage a weak smile, brushing off the disappointed feeling at the swordsman’s absence, and instead focus on the wide smiles, happy tears and collective expressed words of happiness and relief of your long-awaited recovery.

For the next hour or so, the sick bay’s room is permeated with mirthful chatter and laughter until Chopper starts kicking everyone out, informing them of your much needed rest.

“I don’t understand? Why would she need more sleep?” Luffy who sits cross-legged at the foot of your bed asks with a genuinely confused expression. “She’s been sleeping for we—” he’s interrupted when Nami grabs a hold of one of his ears and forcefully starts dragging him out of the room, the scene making a small laughter bubble up your chest.

Luffy’s painful groans and complaining voice drowns out when the door clicks close behind them, and with solitude now your only company, your mind is left to idle.

To idle on the memory of Zoro.

To idle on the memory of his mortified features as he held your form, drenched in blood, close to his chest. And the prominent picture of hurt mixed in with other indiscernible emotions that crossed his face when you confessed your years-long harboured love for him, just before your vision turned dark.

You can’t help but wonder exactly what he thought during that moment of your untimely confession, as you absent-mindedly reach your hands under the hem of your shirt, smoothing it along the rough scar that lines across your stomach. A reminder of the small price you had to pay in exchange for the life of the one you’d always cherished with your whole heart, and the one your eyes longed to see the moment you’d opened your eyes.

A sudden rap at the door pulls you out of your thoughts and you rasp out a “You can come in!” wondering if Chopper had returned to check up on you.

However, when the door cracks open, instead of the doctor, it reveals the familiar figure of the man you’ve yearned to see.

You watch as he steps into the room, your eyes catching his steely expression which immediately melts at the sight of you.

Zoro closes the door behind him and wordlessly approaches your bedside, neither of your gazes unyielding from the other. That is until his eyes flicker down to your hand still settled on your exposed stomach, the muscles in his jaw becoming visibly tense.

There’s a silence that settles between you both. One that is equally tense and you can’t help but attempt to lighten the mood.

“Fell asleep again or forgot I existed?” You quirk a brow, a teasing lilt carried in your tone. “I’m placing my bet on the first one.” You chuckle.

“It’s none.”

Your laughter simmers down when you look up to see that Zoro’s features are void of any hint of amusement.

“Oh? Then…”

“I wanted us alone.” He explains and your head tilts in curiosity at his words.

“Alone?”

“Yeah. We need to talk.”

You ponder on what he says. On what the topic of discussion might entail that he didn’t want the others around. And in a second or two, when an answer suddenly dawns on you—that it might be about your declaration of love— you feel a faint touch of warmth caress your cheeks.

Shyly, you pat a hand beside you on the mattress. A motion for him to have a seat.

Zoro takes you up on your offer, joining you on the small bed after removing his swords which he settled in a nearby corner of the room.

“So, what you wanna talk about?” You ask as you feel the bed sink under you from his added weight.

Zoro takes his time to form an answer as his eyes examine you for a bit: the healthy gleam of your skin, the vibrant light in your eyes, and the way your lips curl into that beautiful smile he’d longed missed.

And the longer he takes to respond, the more your heart races in anticipation.

“How do you feel?” He finally asks.

You pout. It isn’t what you expected, but his concern for your well-being at the same time isn’t a surprise.

“A little woozy and tired. But Chopper said I’ll feel better with a little more rest.”

“Right…rest.” Zoro murmurs to himself.

He had been more than determined to see you as soon as he watched the others leave your room that he didn’t consider the toll their long visit had probably taken on you.

“Then you should get some.” He stands to his full height, ready to make his departure, only to be stopped by a sudden and gentle tug on his shirt.

He peers over his shoulder, looking down to see your fingers gripping onto its hem, your face creased with worry.

“Please Zo, don’t leave.” You plead. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

You’d noticed it in his tense expression—that what he wanted to discuss carried a heavy weight on his shoulders, though you weren’t exactly sure what it might be if not your confession.

“You need to rest.” Zoro urges.

“I won’t be able to unless you tell me what’s bothering you.”

Your persistence and stubbornness is no surprise to Zoro. He knows all too well that your words are true, and stands there conflicted with your hand still glued to his shirt, before momentarily releasing a deep sigh as he relents to entertaining your request.

You watch as he seats himself near you once more. “Tell me Zo. What is it?” You prompt when a lull falls, lingering between you two.

Zoro’s eyes sweep down to where your hands lay before flitting up to meet your worried eyes. “Why…” He pauses for a beat as if gathering his thoughts, before he pieces together the rest of his words; finally asking the question, though not in full, that has been long weighing on his mind. “Why did you do it?”

Your brows wrinkle, confused. “Do what?”

When his gaze leaves your own and you notice it drops down to your stomach, you immediately come to comprehend the meaning behind his words.

“Because I wanted to.” A smile pulls at your lips.

A smile that makes Zoro’s hands, unnoticeably to you, ball into fists.

A couple of weeks ago, you were on the brink of death because of him and now you’re here, smiling warmly up at him, saying that you didn’t mind that you’d almost die!

Zoro’s fingers curl, digging deeper into the palm of his hands.

He’s happy—overjoyed, though his features mask the feeling—that you’re okay and that he gets the chance to see your smiling face again. But what if he had lost you?

What if he had lost you, just like he lost…

Zoro shoots up to his feet, your fingers hold on his shirt, ripping away.

“You’re leaving.”

His sudden burst of words leave you to stare dumbfoundedly at him as he walks over to the side of the room where his swords lay, propped up against the wall.

“What do you mean ‘you’re leaving’?”

Zoro faces your direction once he’s finished securing his swords to his hip. “As soon as we dock at the nearest town, you’re getting off.” The tone of his voice hints that there's no room for an argument.

You gape up at him. “You can’t be serious.”

This wasn’t the first time, the second nor the third, that Zoro had tried to get you to leave the ship—and to leave their crew.

He’d wanted you long gone since the day Luffy’d recruited you and tried his earnest to get the boy to throw you off the ship.

Figuratively of course.

“I thought we were past that phase. Aren’t you tired of trying to get rid of me?”

“Not, exactly.” Zoro says and you purse your lips, brows knitting into a frown at his curt and honest reply.

“Well like I’ve told you countless times, Roronoa. I'm not leaving.”

Zoro gives a subtle flinch when you refer to him by his family name instead of the nickname you’d called him since you were children. He then releases a deep sigh meeting your defiant gaze. “Being a pirate isn’t child’s play.” He ends with your name. “It’s dangerous.”

“And, what? You think I don’t know that.” You cross your arms, eyes narrowing.

You were aware that like the others, Zoro was worried about you. But you were here because of your own volition. Not his. A fact you verbally express.

“I’m not a little girl, Roronoa.” You say, voice stern. “I’m an adult. Meaning, I make my own choices.”

Zoro scoffs, almost mockingly at your words. “Yeah, choices that almost left you in a permanent coma, sleeping beauty.”

“I was only trying to protect you.” You feel yourself becoming more pissed, for lack of a better word, at his retort. “You could have died if I didn’t—”

“I ain’t no weakling. I could’ve taken it.” He argues back.

“You don't know that, you arrogant seaweed!”

Zoro was strong. Inhumanly strong. A verifiable truth you’d always known. But like any other human being, he was still mortal—and all mortals bleed. All mortals die.

Seaweed?! Zoro’s brows furrow, the muscles in his face twitching. He then heaves a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look…” he starts, voice much mellow than before. “You’re not a pirate. You’re not me and you’re not Luffy—you’re not like any of us.”

Zoro watches as your expression morphs into a reflection of hurt at his words—and it aches him. But his words are somewhat of the truth. You aren’t like any of them. You don’t have raw strength or devil fruit powers to protect yourself nor are you cautious when faced with life-threatening situations, choosing to tackle those situations head on without much of a drop of hesitation.

And that’s what scared him the most.

“It'd be best if you just go back home where it’s safe.” Zoro finishes, eyes meeting anywhere but your gaze.

“So that’s the real reason you don't want me around?” Your fingers clench around the sheet wrapped around you. “Because I’m weak?”

“That’s not what I mea–”

“Then what do you mean, huh! Zoro Roronoa.” Your eyes well with unshed tears and your voice cracks as you choke back a sob. “Why is it that you keep trying to get rid of me?”

Your question is only met with silence, as Zoro continues to keep his mouth sealed.

“Is it because I’m a burden?”

You weakly voice a thought that’d always remained rampant in your mind since the day Zoro vanished a few years later after Kuina’s death, leaving you only a single letter explaining his aspiration and his pursuit of becoming the world’s greatest swordsman along with a stern warning that you never attempt to search for him.

You’d adhere to his wishes which brought with it many sleepless nights, especially when you thought you would never see him again.

Fortunately, by a stroke of luck, you’d managed to cross paths when you stumbled upon him wandering around like a lost puppy back in one of the towns you usually frequented for selling your goods. And after your fateful reunion, spurred on by what’ve been years of friendship blossomed into unrequited love, you decided to join Zoro in his ambition—and the rest of the straw hats who’d unexpectedly and without a doubt become your home: your family.

“...It is. Isn’t it?” You say when you notice him tense at your assumption.

“No it is’n—”

“Then what is it!” Your voice consumed by a mixture of anger, sadness and disappointment bounces off the walls of the room. “At least tell me why?”

Zoro looks across at you and a pained expression shadows his face when he sees droplets of tears rain from your eyes, wetting your cheeks, falling and seeping into the white sheets clutched in your grasp.

“Why do you want me to leave?” You continue. “Why don't you want me to be a part of your life?” Some of your words get caught up in an uncontrollable storm of hiccups and sobs. “... and I promise Zoro. Tell me why and I promise I’ll leave.”

Zoro was never one to be emotionally transparent. You know that. But you wanted to know why…

Why is it that he was so determined—eager to make you leave?

Why is it that he was so eager to drive you away like you were never a part of his life? And him, never a part of yours.

Silence permeates the room as Zoro’s lips remain sealed shut like before, and as it prolongs so does your impatience.

“If you’re not gonna answer, then go.” You breathe out a weak sigh, feeling new tears starting to emerge. “I’ll leave just like you ask, so just get ou—.”

“‘Cause I love you.” Zoro mumbles out in a rush, that you barely register what he says.

You blink away the tears, directing your attention over at him, more precisely his back. “What…did you say?”

Zoro’s face contorts into a frown, heat burning at his cheeks. “I said…” He grits his teeth, finding it cruel that you were making him repeat such cloying words. “...I l-love you, you idiot.” He stammers out and you notice his ears tinge a dark red.

Your heart stutters at his unanticipated confession, words you’d been longing and hoping to hear for years—and words which render you speechless.

“S-say somethin’” Zoro practically begs, growing increasingly embarrassed by your lack of a reaction, still keeping his body pointed in the opposite direction.

You shake yourself out of your surprised state. “You love me?” You ask as heat fans across your face. “Then…why do you keep pushing me away?”

“..Because you’re reckless.”

Your face contorts into a slight grimace, feeling somewhat offended by his words. “I am not reckless.” You retort, regretting it when he starts to recount childhood memories and those of late, that bear witness to his claim.

Though those events couldn’t compare to the one that almost made him lose you.

The room descends into utter silence when Zoro finishes, leaving you with your head drooped down in embarrassment which had seeped in bit by bit during his narration of your every rash act.

“I can’t…”

You raise your head slowly to look across at Zoro whose voice punctuates the silence. And your heart sinks when you hear the subtle crack of his voice.

“I can’t...” He repeats, pausing for a moment before continuing. “I–we lost her. You—” Zoro grits his teeth, clenching his eyes tightly from the growing pain in his chest. “I don’t wanna lose you.”

To Zoro, you are his everything.

The woman who holds the entirety of his heart in the palm of her hands; all he has that reminds him of home—and a reason other than his promise with Kuina to become the world's greatest swordsman.

Zoro’s hands ball into fists as he feels a burning sensation settle behind his eyes. “I can’t lose you t—”

The words that pained to leave his lips are cut short, when Zoro feels arms wrap, snug around his torso, a soft and familiar body pressing against his back.

“I’m right here, Zo.” You reassure with tears and soft whimpers. “I’m here. And I’m alive.”

Zoro’s heart pounds violently against his chest when you hug him closer to your body, as if trying to prove to him you were real and not just a figment of his imagination.

To your surprise, Zoro turns around and captures you in a tight embrace. “I know…” He presses a light kiss to your hair, letting it linger for a second, before settling his chin atop the crown of your head. “And about what’ve said before. Forget about it.” He says, as your soft sobs continue to fill the room. “I…I don’t want you to leave.”

“You mean it?” You quiver out.

“Yeah.” He replies. “Just please, promise me you’ll be more careful.”

Your eyes flutter close as you snuggle closer into his warmth. “I will. I promise.” You say, both of you, unknown to the other, making a silent vow to become stronger.

Stronger for each other.

#𓇻 kana's op ddrms #zoro x reader #one piece x reader #op fluff #zoro x f!reader #zoro fluff #roronoa zoro x reader #op angst #one piece angst #one piece x you #zoro angst

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sunflower-lilac42 · 5 months

Text

✧ 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥 | nico hischier ♔

summary: after seeing nico's interview, y/n freaks out at her new follower. then, they meet unexpectedly.

warnings: awkward/trashy/horrible writing, and y/n and nico being somewhat awkward

notes: ahh finally here is part 2 to fangirl. i kind of like it... a little? i'm not sure but let me know if i should make this a series of blurbs and stuff.

part one (fangirl) | nhl masterlist | main masterlist

Y/n didn’t know what to expect from the postgame interview with Nico. She had fallen asleep, tired after performing and hosting SNL so she wasn’t able to watch the game nor was she able to watch any of the interviews. However, when she woke up to her friends texting her and her social media notifications all over the place, it was the first thing she watched.

She laid in bed as she watched it, entranced with the Swiss man and then that was when she heard her name. Bolting upright, her eyes widened as she focused on her phone. “Yeah, well you know, I haven’t actually met her so I can’t say I like her but I do think she’s cute and that’s all I’m going to say about this.”

Nico Hischier. Like the Nico Hischier thinks she is cute like Nico Hischier of the New Jersey Devils. She was going insane. This wasn’t real.

She went onto Twitter to see her fans going crazy about the interviewer. She was sure none of her fans watched hockey, let alone knew who Nico was until she mentioned him in that interview. She thought she was 100% dreaming until she clicked on Instagram and saw the + follower symbol come up.

nicohischier followed you

She could die happy right there, her crush (her celebrity crush mind the fact) followed her on Instagram. Yep, this was her happy ending.

✧༺✎༻∞

Y/n has lived in New Jersey since she was born, always being somewhat of a hockey fan, learning things here and there from her father. So even when she became a famous singer, she still chose to live in New Jersey because it was home to her.

She didn’t really piece together the fact that she could potentially run into Nico Hischier and some point in time in her life. I mean the odds of her and him being even in the same state were low, but them actually running into each other, was even lower. New Jersey was the fifth smallest state in the US but there was still a high chance of them not meeting, like ever.

So when she was at a coffee shop near East Rutherford, planning to meet up with one of her friends who lived out this way, she didn’t expect the Captain of her favorite hockey team to be standing there, clad in a New Jersey Devil sweatshirt and some sweatpants. It was an off day for them in between homestands, so she could’ve only assumed that they were either done with practice or would have practice later in the day.

It was like her whole world stopped when she looked up from her phone. His following her on Instagram was enough to make her day, but she thinks this might have just been what made her year, maybe her whole entire life.

She stared at him for at least five minutes before his eyes looked up from his phone and locked onto hers. Her eyes widened at the eye contact and quickly diverted their gaze to whatever she was doing on her phone. Oh, that was not helpful.

On her phone were pictures of Nico, because, well she didn’t have a reason, but did she need one anyway?

She heard the screeching of the chair in front of her and hoped Lila was finally here so they could leave this place and escape her bubble of embarrassment. Looking up she saw the man looking back at her and he waved once she finally looked up.

She panicked and closed out whatever app she was on (photos, Instagram, Twitter, Pinterest, who cares? There were still pictures of the man in front of her on her screen.), and slammed her phone down on the table.

He waved at her and her cheeks reddened, “You’re- You’re Nico Hischier?” Her voice came out as more of a question than a statement, which wasn’t what she was intending to do.

“Yep, and you’re y/n y/l/n.” His voice was on the cockier side and she stared at him “You know who I am?”

“I’m pretty sure a lot of people know who you are. And what kind of person would I be if I didn’t know about the girl who publicly acclaimed her love for me?”

She stumbled over her words as she tried to talk and Nico cut her off, “It’s okay, I’ve seen and heard worse from fans.”

“That I can believe.” The two chuckled and looked at each other, not knowing what to say or do next.

“Look this might be a stretch but since I embarrassed myself, very publicly I might add, and might as well be doing it again, I should get a favor in return, right?”

Nico raised an eyebrow at the girl, “Depends on what this ‘favor’ is?” He lifted his coffee mug and took a sip of the liquid inside.

“Can I get your number? I know it’s really forward and all and it might be a little creepy but-”

She was cut off by a hand that touched hers, “That’s not really much of a favor. It’s more like common sense.”

Nico wordlessly took her phone from in front of her and turned it over, “Were you looking at pictures of me?”

His lips turned upwards into a smirk and she squeezed her eyes shut, “Maybe?”

“Don’t worry, I think it’s kind of adorable.” Just as her cheeks returned to a normal color again, they flushed a deep shade of pink once more.

Nico effortlessly typed his phone number into her contacts and texted himself so he’d have hers. They each had the same thing in mind when they pulled up their cameras and went to take a picture of each other. Y/n giggled as she saw Nico’s phone pointed at her, “I guess great minds think alike.”

After setting their contact phones, they talked for a brief couple of minutes when Lila barged in, “Y/n! I am so sorry I’m late, I feel horrible. But you’ll never guess what I found out- holy shit, that’s-”

“Hi, I’m Nico.”

“Yeah, yeah you are. When did- When did you two meet?”

“Like five minutes ago?”

“Oh, okay cool.”

“Listen if you two are supposed to hang out, I can leave-”

“No. no, you stay. I’ll leave. Have fun you two, but not too much!” Lila said calling after the two, exiting the coffee shop.

“We’ll she’s… interesting. In the nicest way possible.”

“I’m sorry about her, honestly.”

The two continued to talk for about an hour or two before Nico had to leave, “I’m so sorry my teammate, well friend, just texted me. Apparently, he and his brother are having an ‘emergency’. And by emergency, I’m pretty sure he just means they found a spider in their apartment.”

Y/n, not even bothering to conceal her knowledge of the team or the fact that she took time to put the dots together, blurted out, “Jack and Luke are afraid of spiders?”

Nico’s eyes widened, “You know them?”

“Yeah, I’m a huge Devils fan. Have been since I was born but also none of your other teammates are brothers…”

“Oh, right. Well, I hate to leave you alone, but when duty calls as captain.”

“Go, do your captain duties.” Y/n waved goodbye to Nico as he ran out of the coffee shop and smiled, she had just met Nico Hischier.

✧༺✎༻∞

Over the course of the next couple of weeks, Nico and y/n had hung out whenever possible. Whenever he had an off day they would hang out, he would invite her to lunch on game days if possible, he texted her when he and the team got back from their road trip and invited her over to his house.

They were, to put it in simple turns, obsessed with each other. They finally went on a proper date to one of y/n’s favorite restaurants. This pattern continued through multiple occasions and everyone could see the differences in their faces and lives.

Whenever y/n would hang out with her friends or go to an interview or something along those lines, you could see her glowing as she talked or just sat there. Nico’s teammates would eye him weirdly when he’d smile at his phone or was happier during morning skates. His smile was bigger and brighter whenever they won and even when they lost he still had a bit of a glow to him, much like y/n did.

On their fifth date, Nico finally asked the question, “Well we’ve known each other for about, how long has it been? Two months?”

Y/n nodded her head as she took a drink of the water that sat on the table in front of her. They were at Nico’s house and it was an off day once again for him. She waited for him to continue speaking, her nerves bundling up inside of her, “Well, I was just wondering if you wanted to make it official you know?”

Her eyes widened, not ever in a million years did she meet Nico Hischier, let alone him ask her to be his girlfriend, “What are you saying, Neeks?”

“Do you want to be my girlfriend?” Y/n nodded and hugged him tightly, you would have thought the two just got engaged. After talking for a bit they decided to quote-unquote soft launch. Her friends were begging for details about her glowiness, much like Nico’s teammates. They didn’t have to reveal it all just yet, right?

✧༺✎༻∞

yourusername

liked by nicohischier, yourbff, lhughes_06, and 213,039 others

youruserame i guess you were in need of a life update?

tagged nicohischier

*comments on this post have been limited*

yourbff do my eyes deceive me or is this a hard launch??

nicohischier 🫶🏻

⤷ yourusername @/nicohischier 🫶🏻

lhughes_06 mom!

✧༺✎༻∞

nicohischier

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nicohischier life recently

tagged yourusername, jackhughes

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yourusername ❤️🖤

⤷ nicohischier @/yourusername 🖤❤️

tmeier96 cap 🫡

vitacz15 @/yourusername it was so great to meet you

⤷ yourusername @/vitacz15 ahh i love you vitek!

yourusername awe, my boyfriend and his boyfriend!

⤷ jackhughes @/yourusername hey he was mine first

⤷ nicohischier @/yourusername @/jackhughes i have no idea what either of you are talking about

⤷ user07 even y/n knows

#sunny lune writes #hockey #nhl #nico hischier #nh13 #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier x you #new jersey #new jersey devils #nj devils #devils

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branded-rose · 7 days

Text

Adam bolted upright in bed, a shout on his lips that dropped off as his wings shot out, smacking his lieutenant in the head and nearly pushing her off the mattress.

Lute met the rude awakening with all the urgency it deserved, springing up and drawing her fists in front of her defensively as Adam let loose a string of profanity.

She quickly drew up the blind to let light into the room before she darted around the bed; her eyes scanning the room quickly for signs of danger even if she knew there shouldn’t be anything.

It was Heaven. What threats would there realistically be?

When she was satisfied she returned to the bed, about to ask her superior officer what sick joke he was pulling when she stopped.

Adam was pale, his hands trembling as he brought them up to wipe cold sweat from his brow. A string of curses still fell from his lips, albeit strained.

She tentatively reached a hand out, placing it gently on his shoulder.

“Uh… Sir?”

Adam flinched, turning his head to meet Lute’s concerned expression. He forced a smile and shrugged, trying his very best to play the whole thing off.

“What? Just a nightmare. Geez you’re acting like we’re being attacked or something. Relax.” He forced a laugh and wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

“I don’t get nightmares, Sir. When you wake up screaming, what else am I supposed to think?”

“Heh… right.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his shoulders dropping as he exhaled and looked up at the ceiling.

“You’re lucky then. Cause they SUCK.”

Lute fell silent a moment, examining Adam closely. It wasn’t often she saw him so… uncertain. So shaken. Even in times he was unsure of himself he covered it up with bravado.

She scooted closer, pushing on his shoulder to encourage him to turn so she could realign some of the golden feathers in his wing that had dislodged when he’d struck her.

“What was it about?” Her fingers very delicately and precisely moved over the wing, sliding the feathers back into place and easing any discomfort. Something that was visible as she watched Adam’s posture relax.

“Just human stuff. You wouldn’t get it.” He ran a hand through his messy hair.

“You haven’t been a human in over a millennia.”

“Yeah well-“ He rubbed the back of his neck. “-that stuff stuck with me. I guess.” He shrugged, waving his hand.

Silence fell between them, Lute uncertain how to respond and Adam lost in his thoughts.

The former finished straightening up his wings, noticing how Adam’s eyes were beginning to droop as he stared into space.

She got up and closed the blinds, allowing the room to fall back into darkness before returning to her spot. Her chin brushed against his shoulder.

“You should go back to sleep.”

“Hmm? Oh… yeah.” He waited for her to get comfortable before he drew close, his arms and wings wrapping around her small frame, almost protectively.

Possessively.

Lute settled into the embrace, familiar and warm as it was. She couldn’t help but smirk softly as she rested her chin on top of his head, his ear against her chest.

“Hey… Lute. You… won’t betray me or whatever, right?” He muttered softly, his tone laced with an uncertainty that was atypical of him.

Lute’s brows furrowed slightly, confused by the suddenness of the question.

“Of course not, Sir.” Her grip on him tightened ever so slightly, a small smile on her lips.

“…I’ll always be by your side.”

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

Idea/prompt from the amazing @kimik0hippie! Seriously, their stuff singlehandedly inspired me to come out of my 800000 year hiatus and actually do illustrations again. So please go check their art out. ;D

Adam & Lute © Vivziepop/A24

Artwork © Branded-Rose

#my art #hazbin hotel lute #hazbin hotel adam #guitarspear #adam x lute #brandedroseart #my headcanon is that exorcists are heaven born so they wouldn't get nightmares really.

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rafesapologist · 4 months

Text

the set up — rafe cameron; part thirteen

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: you've been one of the pogues since childhood, and your loyalty has always lied within your friend group, who is practically your family. when a threat by the name of rafe cameron begins to threaten the pogue's plans, they assign you to gain the trust of the dubious kook and keep an eye on what he's up to. however, now it's been six months since your friends set you up to spy on the kook prince himself, but what you didn't anticipate was to fall head over heels for the boy. your relationship had soon become inviolable shortly after your guys' first exchanges, much to your friends' dismay, and you two became practically inseperable. that was, until rafe discovers the truth.

warnings: angst, smut, jj being sad, unedited

You sat bolt upright on Rafe's bed, your fingers clutching the phone, your eyes fixed on a distant point as you absorbed Kiara's message. The color drained from your face as the words sank in. "Missing? How... when?" Your voice trembled with disbelief and worry. Your breaths quickened, a sharp pang of panic gripping your chest. You turned slightly away from Rafe, shielding the phone from him, grappling with the weight of this sudden and alarming news. The room felt stiflingly small as your mind raced through scenarios and possible courses of action.

"He's been gone since you left. None of us can get a hold of him."

Your heart began to race as Kiara's words sunk in. "What do you mean, gone? Did he say anything to you?" You asked, her voice tinged with concern.

"No, nothing. He was just acting weird before you left, and then he disappeared," Kiara replied, her worry palpable even through the phone.

Your mind raced through various scenarios, trying to make sense of the situation. "Okay, stay put. I'll be there in a few," You said, trying to sound composed despite the anxiety that clenched at her chest.

You ended the call, looking over at Rafe, mind conflicted about what to do next.

The weight of Kiara's words lingered heavy in the air as you sat there, grappling with the sudden and alarming news. Rafe sat nearby, his expression a mix of concern and confusion, unaware of the distressing conversation that had just transpired.

Your fingers trembled slightly, the phone clutched tightly in your grasp, its screen a stark reminder of the urgent situation. You turned slightly away from Rafe, shielding the phone, not wanting to alarm him yet, as your mind raced through a labyrinth of worries and potential scenarios.

Rafe's voice, laced with worry, cut through the tense silence. "Is everything okay?"

Your breath caught, and you struggled to compose yourself. "It's... it's JJ," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, eyes fixed on a distant point as you tried to process the magnitude of the situation.

Rafe's brows furrowed in concern. "What happened to JJ?"

"He's missing," you managed to say, your voice laden with worry and disbelief. The room seemed to shrink around you, the weight of the situation suffocating.

Rafe's eyes widened in shock and concern. "Missing? How?" His voice betrayed his worry, his concern mirroring yours as he leaned in closer, trying to understand the situation.

Your thoughts were in turmoil as you relayed the conversation with Kiara. "He's been gone since I left. Kiara and the others can't get a hold of him," you explained, your voice quivering with apprehension.

A surge of panic gripped your chest as Kiara's words echoed in your mind. "He was just acting weird before you left, and then he disappeared."

The gravity of the situation was undeniable, and your mind raced through a maze of possibilities, trying to make sense of JJ's sudden disappearance. The urge to act was strong, but a sense of helplessness settled over you, unsure of the next step to take.

Looking at Rafe, torn between the urgency of the situation and the need to involve him, you weighed your options, seeking a way to navigate this distressing predicament without causing unnecessary worry or alarm.

The air in the room felt charged with tension, the weight of JJ's disappearance hanging heavy between you and Rafe. As you contemplated your next move, a whirlwind of worry and urgency tugged at your thoughts.

"I should go and find JJ," you suggested, your voice edged with determination, though uncertainty gnawed at your resolve. "I'll figure this out."

Rafe's brows furrowed in concern. "I'm coming with you," he declared, his tone firm and resolute. His protective instinct surged to the forefront, a palpable insistence in his voice.

Your voice trembled slightly, a mix of worry and insistence threading through your words. "Rafe, I don't want you getting involved. This is my fault," you admitted, the weight of responsibility heavy on your shoulders.

Rafe's expression softened, his concern unwavering. "How could this possibly be your fault, y/n?"

"I don't know," you began, your voice filled with uncertainty. "I left, and now this happened. Maybe if I had stayed..."

Rafe's hand gently touched your shoulder, his touch a comforting anchor in the whirlwind of emotions. "You can't blame yourself for this," he insisted, his voice soft but resolute. "We don't know what happened that caused him to wander off, but it's not your fault."

The weight of his words sank in, a brief respite in the storm of worry and guilt. You looked up, meeting Rafe's understanding gaze, the weight on your shoulders lightening slightly under his reassurance.

"But if I hadn't left..." you trailed off, the what-ifs clawing at your thoughts.

Rafe's voice carried a sense of urgency, his words a gentle yet firm plea. "No, Y/N, don't do this to yourself."

Your gaze flickered from the floor to meet his, a swirl of emotions reflected in your eyes. The weight of responsibility and guilt tugged at your thoughts, threatening to overwhelm you.

"But maybe if I hadn't left..." You hesitated, the words catching in your throat, each syllable laden with self-blame.

Rafe's hand reached out, gently cupping your face, his touch warm and reassuring. "Y/N, you can't hold yourself accountable for things beyond your control," he urged, his voice earnest. "None of this is your fault."

His unwavering support and insistence penetrated the cloud of guilt shrouding your thoughts. His words, a beacon of reason amidst the storm of self-blame, nudged you to consider the situation more objectively.

"You did what you thought was right," Rafe continued, his voice soft but resolute. "Blaming yourself won't help us find JJ. We need to focus on finding him."

A flicker of resolve sparked within you, reigniting the determination to address the present crisis rather than dwell in the murky depths of guilt.

Rafe's unwavering support offered a lifeline, a steadying force amid the tempest of emotions. With his reassurance echoing in your mind, you nodded, a silent acknowledgment that it was time to redirect your focus toward the urgent task ahead.

"Okay," you murmured, your voice steadier, as you readied yourself for the search, the weight of self-blame gradually lifting, replaced by a renewed determination to find JJ.

The air was thick with tension as the two of you prepared to leave, the weight of the situation hanging heavy between you. Anxiety gripped at your chest as you thought of JJ, wondering where he was and what had happened to him.

As you made your way to the door, Rafe reached out, placing a gentle hand on your arm. "Y/N," he said, his voice soft, "I'm sure he'll be okay."

"I hope so." Your voice trembled slightly, betraying the fear and uncertainty that lurked beneath the surface. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself against the whirlwind of emotions.

You suggested to Rafe that splitting up might improve the chances of finding JJ. Rafe glanced at you, his concern mirrored in his eyes. "Are you sure?" he asked, hesitant to separate in such a tense situation.

You nodded, forcing a small smile to reassure him. "Yeah, we can cover more ground that way. I'll head towards the shipwreck, it's a spot JJ usually goes to when he needs to think."

Rafe hesitated for a moment, his worry evident. "Okay, just... be careful, alright?" he said, his voice laced with concern.

You nodded again, appreciating his concern. "I'll be fine, Rafe.. Let's just stay in touch, keep our phones on."

With that, you both went your separate ways, each consumed by the urgent need to find JJ. Rushing towards the shipwreck, your heart raced with worry and anticipation. The vastness of the island seemed daunting as you searched every corner, calling out JJ's name in the hope that he might be nearby.

As you reached the shipwreck, your pace slowed, your senses heightened in anticipation of finding JJ there. The familiar sight of the weathered wood and rusted metal struck a chord within you, reminding you of the countless times JJ had sought solace in this quiet spot.

"JJ!" you called out, your voice echoing against the waves crashing nearby. But there was no response. You scanned the area, your eyes darting from corner to corner, searching for any sign of his presence.

And then, to your surprise, you spotted him seated atop the old wreck, his silhouette against the dimming sunlight. His posture was slouched, his gaze fixated on the horizon, lost in contemplation.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. Relief flooded through you, but it was quickly replaced by concern. Approaching him cautiously, you called out softly, "JJ?"

He turned his head slightly, acknowledging your presence without saying a word. As you moved closer, a somber atmosphere enveloped the space between you. JJ's usual cheerful demeanor was replaced by a veil of melancholy.

"Hey," you said, a mix of relief and worry in your voice. "Are you okay?"

He hesitated before replying, his voice tinged with a hint of resignation. "I will be, I guess."

You nodded, forcing a small smile to reassure him. "Yeah, we can cover more ground that way. I'll head towards the shipwreck, it's a spot JJ usually goes to when he needs to think."

Rafe hesitated for a moment, his worry evident. "Okay, just... be careful, alright?" he said, his voice laced with concern.

You nodded again, appreciating his concern. "You too. Let's stay in touch, keep our phones on."

And then, to your surprise, you spotted him seated atop the old wreck, his silhouette against the dimming sunlight. His posture was slouched, his gaze fixated on the horizon, lost in contemplation.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. Relief flooded through you, but it was quickly replaced by concern. Approaching him cautiously, you called out softly, "JJ?"

"Hey," you said, a mix of relief and worry in your voice. "Are you okay?"

He hesitated before replying, his voice tinged with a hint of resignation. "I will be, I guess."

Your gaze softened as you sat down beside him, allowing a moment of silence to linger between you. The sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting a warm orange glow across the sea.

"I'm sorry for worrying everyone," JJ finally spoke, his voice carrying a heavy weight.

"It's okay," you reassured him gently. "We were just concerned about you, Jay. You know you can talk to us, right?"

He nodded, but his expression remained guarded, his thoughts seemingly elsewhere. The tension in the air was palpable, and you felt the need to break it, to reassure JJ that he wasn't alone.

"JJ, what happened?" you asked softly, your voice filled with genuine concern. "You know we're all here for you, right?"

He hesitated, as if wrestling with his thoughts, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. "I... I've been feeling... I don't know, things are just... complicated."

You nodded in understanding, giving him the space to open up at his own pace. "Take your time," you encouraged, hoping to offer some comfort in this moment of vulnerability.

"It's just... being around you and Rafe, seeing you both together, hearing about it... it's hard," he admitted, his voice tinged with a mix of emotions.

Your heart sank, understanding the weight of his words. "JJ, I'm sorry," you began, feeling a pang of guilt. "I never wanted to make things difficult for you."

"It's not your fault," JJ interjected quickly, his eyes meeting yours with sincerity. "I should have said something earlier, instead of letting it eat away at me."

A heavy silence fell between you, the words hanging in the air, pregnant with unspoken feelings. The setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, casting a warm glow around the two of you.

"Y/N," JJ started, his voice barely above a whisper, "I've... I've been holding back something for a while."

Your gaze met his, curiosity and concern evident in your eyes. "What is it, JJ?"

He took a deep breath, his expression a mix of hesitation and vulnerability. "I... I think I might have feelings for you." The confession caught you off guard, your heart skipping a beat at his unexpected words. The air seemed to grow heavier as you processed the weight of his revelation, unsure of how to respond.

A long moment of silence stretched between you, the tension thickening as the truth hung heavily in the air.

You shifted slightly, trying to make sense of his unexpected admission, to decipher the tangled mess of emotions churning within you. "JJ, I..." you trailed off, uncertain how to proceed, a part of you unwilling to admit the truth.

"I know," JJ said, a hint of sadness and resignation in his voice. "You and Rafe... it's pretty clear."

You struggled to find the right words, struggling to navigate the complex web of emotions. "It's not that I don't care about you," you began, the words catching in your throat, the gravity of the situation sinking in.

"It's not fair to either of you if I keep hiding it, right?" JJ asked, his voice edged with resignation.

The truth, laden with guilt and uncertainty, hovered between the two of you, threatening to tear down the wall that had protected the fragile bond between you.

You felt a wave of guilt wash over you, your heart torn between the two boys you cared about. A swirl of emotions threatened to overwhelm you, but in this moment of vulnerability, an understanding settled between you and JJ, the weight of unspoken feelings finally acknowledged.

The air between the two of you was thick with tension, but the raw honesty of the situation was a relief, the unspoken feelings that had hung heavy in the air between you finally brought to light.

"It would make things really complicated, JJ. You're my best friend, you know I can't-"

"But you can be with Rafe?"

"I love him." the words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the reality you were facing. The unspoken feelings that had existed between you and JJ for so long had finally been brought to light, and you felt an undeniable shift in the dynamic between the two of you.

"I can't say it doesn't hurt, knowing that," JJ admitted, his voice barely a whisper. The sound of his voice broke your heart, and you reached out to gently place your hand on his.

"JJ, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. You're one of my closest friends, and the last thing I want to do is lose you." He turned to look at you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"I know. And I don't want to lose you, either. I care about you, y/n. But it hurts, knowing that you don't feel the same way."

The weight of his words sunk in, and you felt an ache in your chest as you realized the depth of his feelings. "I'm sorry, JJ. I wish I could say otherwise. I wish I could make things different."

"It's not your fault," he assured you. "I knew the risk of telling you, and I still had to do it. I had to get it off my chest, to tell you how I feel."

You nodded, the weight of his confession settling on your shoulders. "I'm glad you did," you replied, your voice heavy with emotion. "I want you to know that I'll always be here for you, JJ. I don't want this to change things between us. I don't want to lose you as a friend."

He offered a small smile, a hint of warmth breaking through the sadness in his expression. "Me, too. I want us to stay friends. I want us to be okay."

You returned his smile, feeling a rush of affection for him. "We will be, JJ. We'll always be okay."

The conversation drifted to other topics, the tension gradually dissipating as the two of you reconnected on a new level, the weight of unspoken feelings finally lifted between you.

In the midst of the moment, your phone began to ring, lighting up with the name "Rafe Cameron" in a large font on your lock screen. Your heart sank for a moment, knowing JJ could see. You felt him tense up, as if the mere mention of his name had a physical effect on him.

"Hey, I'm so sorry, I'm going to answer this, just give me a minute," you explained, a hint of urgency in your voice.

"Hey, Rafe."

"Any luck? He asked on the other line, voice laced with genuine concern.

"Yeah, I found him."

"Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he's fine, we're going to head back." You reassured, looking back over your shoulder to see JJ sitting in the same spot as before, staring straight back at you with an empty look on his face.

"Okay, I'll meet you there."

You hung up the phone, slipping it into your pocket and approaching JJ. "Hey, I'm really sorry, but Rafe is going to meet us back at the chateau. Are you okay with that?"

JJ's jaw tightened, the weight of the situation settling on his shoulders. "Yeah, of course. I'm ready."

You nodded, the tension between the two of you palpable. With a sigh, you led him back toward the chateau, a heavy silence falling between the two of you. The air was still and calm, a stark contrast to the chaos raging in your mind.

The journey back was short but felt like an eternity, the heavy silence between you and JJ a stark contrast to the usual camaraderie and banter. You were both acutely aware of the weight of the situation, the reality of the feelings that had been revealed. You snuck a glance at him, the weight of his confession weighing heavily on your heart. You wondered if this was the end of the friendship that had meant so much to both of you.

Finally, the chateau came into view, and your stomach twisted with anxiety as you realized that the others would be waiting for you. You could already hear their voices drifting from the backyard, a mix of relief and concern.

You looked over at JJ, who seemed equally apprehensive. You wanted to say something, to reassure him, but the words wouldn't come. You simply gave him a nod, a silent communication that you were both in this together, and stepped into the backyard, ready to face the inevitable questions and concerns.

"Hey, everyone," you called out, a hint of forced cheer in your voice. "JJ's back."

The group turned to face the two of you, a mix of relief and worry on their faces.

"JJ, man, are you okay?" Pope was the first to speak, his voice tinged with concern.

"Where were you, dude? We were worried sick," Kie added, her expression a mixture of relief and frustration.

"I'm fine," JJ said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry I worried you guys. I didn't mean to cause any trouble."

"It's okay, JJ," John B said, his voice gentle. "We're just glad you're safe."

JJ nodded, his expression somber. "I'm gonna head inside, if that's cool," he said, avoiding everyone's eyes.

"Of course, man," John B replied, his voice full of concern. "Get some rest, okay?"

"Yeah, thanks," JJ murmured, heading into the chateau.

A tense silence hung in the air as everyone processed the situation. Kiara was the first to break the silence, her voice tinged with concern and confusion. "What happened out there?"

You shrugged, trying to remain casual. "I don't know, he was just gone. Maybe he needed some time alone."

"He seemed upset about something," Kiara persisted, her gaze searching your face for answers.

"He was," you admitted, the weight of JJ's confession still fresh in your mind.

"Is he going to be okay?" John B asked, his brows furrowed with worry.

You hesitated, unsure of how to answer. "I hope so," you finally said, the weight of the situation resting heavily on your shoulders.

Pope's concern was evident. "We're his friends. If there's something bothering him, we should be there for him, right?"

"You're right, Pope. I'm sure he'll talk to us when he's ready," you assured them, though the knot of anxiety in your chest told a different story.

"If there's anything we can do, just let us know," Kie said, her gaze meeting yours with concern.

You nodded, giving her a tight smile. "Thanks, Kie. I will."

You excused yourself, making your way into the chateau. Your footsteps echoed against the hardwood floor as you made your way down the hallway. You paused at JJ's door, the weight of the situation resting heavily on your heart. You contemplated knocking, but hesitated, unsure if your presence would be welcomed.

Taking a deep breath, you decided to knock gently on JJ's door, hoping that he would want to talk. After a few moments of silence, you heard a faint response. "Come in."

Pushing open the door, you found JJ sitting on the edge of his bed, staring down at his clenched fists. His shoulders were slumped, and his usual vibrant energy seemed to have been drained from him.

You closed the door behind you and walked over to sit beside him. The room felt heavy with unspoken emotions, but you knew it was important to break the silence. "JJ... I'm sorry about earlier. I never wanted to hurt you."

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with a mix of sadness and resignation. "I know, y/n. You don't have to apologize for not feeling the same way. It's just... hard, you know?"

"I can imagine," you replied softly, reaching out to rest a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of comfort. The tension in his body seemed to melt away slightly under your touch, and he leaned into it, craving the solace you offered.

"I've never felt this way before," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I don't know how to navigate these emotions. It's like a storm inside me, tearing everything apart."

You squeezed his shoulder gently, trying to convey your understanding. "Love can be overwhelming sometimes, JJ. It's okay to feel lost or confused. We all go through it."

He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "But why now? Why did I have to fall for you, of all people? It's so complicated, and it's messing with everything."

You sighed, knowing that there was no easy answer to his question. "Sometimes, love doesn't choose the most convenient time or person. It just happens, and we can't control it." Your fingers absentmindedly traced circles on his shoulder, hoping to offer him some comfort.

JJ leaned his head back against the wall, his gaze fixed on a distant point. "I never wanted to ruin our friendship," he murmured. "You mean so much to me, and I don't want to lose that."

"I don't want to lose our friendship either," you admitted, feeling the weight of his words settle heavily in your chest. "But JJ, we can't pretend that what you've shared doesn't exist. We have to confront it and figure out how to move forward."

He turned his head slightly, locking eyes with you. The intensity in his gaze made your heart skip a beat. "Do you think we can?" he asked, a hint of vulnerability in his voice you could never have imagined. The question hung in the air, both of you acutely aware of the precariousness of the situation. There was no guarantee that your friendship could survive the weight of unrequited love, but there was something about JJ's earnestness that made you want to try.

"I don't know," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "But we owe it to ourselves and our friendship to at least try."

JJ nodded slowly, his gaze searching yours for any signs of hesitation. "I'm willing to fight for us, y/n. Even if it means keeping my feelings at bay, I don't want to lose what we have."

A lump formed in your throat as his words settled in your mind. His selflessness in making this declaration stirred something within you, touching a deep chord. "Thank you, JJ. I'll make sure to always be truthful with you," you replied. A faint smile played on his lips and there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes

"I should get going, Rafe's outside waiting." You reluctantly ushered, realizing that Rafe was waiting outside for you. JJ's expression shifted from excitement to disappointment as he nodded understandingly. You could see a glimmer of acceptance in his eyes, but also a tinge of sadness.

"Yeah, go ahead," he said, his voice tinged with melancholy. "I'll see you later." His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions and unfulfilled expectations. It was clear that he wanted you to stay, but respected your decision to leave. You couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt as you turned and walked away, leaving JJ behind with his thoughts and feelings.

You stood up from the bed, feeling a pang of guilt as you walked towards the door. The weight of your decision to be honest with JJ tugged at your heart, but you knew it was necessary for both of your sakes. As you reached the doorway, you turned back to look at him one last time.

"Take care, JJ," you said softly, offering him a small smile before stepping out into the hallway. The door closed behind you, leaving JJ alone in his room with his tangled emotions.

Outside, Rafe stood waiting for you by the chateau entrance. His presence brought a sense of familiarity and comfort, momentarily easing the ache in your chest. But as you approached him, a nagging feeling tugged at the back of your mind.

"Hey," Rafe greeted you with a warm smile. "Ready to go?"

You nodded, but couldn't shake off the guilt that still lingered within you. The image of JJ sitting alone in his room, struggling with his feelings, haunted your thoughts. It was as if a heavy cloud had settled over your heart, dampening any sense of joy or excitement.

As you and Rafe made your way back to his car, you couldn't help but feel an overwhelming need to confide in someone, to share the burden weighing you down. You knew you couldn't keep it all to yourself; it would eat away at you.

"Rafe," you finally spoke up, your voice barely above a whisper. "Can I talk to you about something?"

He glanced at you with concern, his eyes filled with the genuine care that drew you to him. "Of course," he replied softly, pulling the car keys out of his pocket and pausing before unlocking the door.

"What's on your mind?"

Taking a deep breath, you glanced out at the chateau as it faded into the distance, the weight of your secret threatening to crush you. "It's about JJ," you began hesitantly, your voice barely audible. "He... he confessed his feelings for me."

Rafe's grip on the car keys tightened slightly, and you could see the flicker of unease in his eyes. "Oh," he said softly, his voice tinged with a mix of surprise and disappointment. "I see."

You turned to face him fully, searching his expression for any sign of judgment or resentment. Instead, you found compassion and understanding. It was clear that Rafe cared about your happiness, even if it meant setting aside his own desires.

"I didn't know what to do," you continued, your voice wavering. "I care about him so much, but not in the same way that he does. I don't want to lose our friendship, but I also don't want to lead him on."

Rafe remained silent, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. His grip on the steering wheel tightened even further, and you could sense the conflict within him. It was as if he was battling his own emotions, torn between what he wanted and what he believed was right.

"I don't want to hurt anyone," you whispered, feeling the sting of tears welling up in your eyes. "I never asked for any of this."

Rafe continued driving in silence, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel. You could practically feel the tension radiating from him, his internal struggle palpable in the confined space of the car. The road stretched out before you, matching the uncertainty that stretched out before your words.

Finally, Rafe let out a heavy sigh, his voice laced with a mix of empathy and caution. "I understand that you're in a difficult position," he said, his gaze still fixed on the road. "But you have to remember that you can't control other people's feelings. It's not your fault that JJ has these emotions for you. What matters now is how you choose to handle it."

His words cut through the fog of guilt that had consumed you, offering a glimmer of clarity. You wiped away the tears threatening to spill over, realizing that Rafe was right. You couldn't bear responsibility for someone else's feelings, no matter how painful it might be.

"But what if I can't avoid hurting him?" you whispered, your voice filled with a mixture of fear and vulnerability. "What if my actions inadvertently lead him on?"

"How would they do that?" Rafe's question hung in the air, heavy with implications. It forced you to confront your own intentions, to examine the way you interacted with JJ and whether you had unknowingly given him false hope. The car seemed to shrink around you, trapping your thoughts and anxieties in its confined space.

You replayed every conversation, every touch, searching for signs that could be misconstrued as encouragement. As your mind raced through these memories, you began to sense a pattern - a subtle kindness that had been interpreted as something more. But was it your responsibility to police every word and gesture?

Your voice trembled as you tried to articulate your doubts. "I've always been friendly towards him," you began cautiously. "But maybe my actions have been misinterpreted. Maybe I haven't been clear enough."

"He should have known better than to make assumptions. You and him are just friends, after all." He shrugged, seemingly blowing off JJ's feelings for you.

You bristled at Rafe's dismissive tone, feeling a surge of protectiveness for JJ. "It's not that simple," you argued, your voice tinged with frustration, "He's human, Rafe. We all make mistakes and misinterpret things. It doesn't mean he deserves to be brushed off like that."

Rafe sighed, the tension in the car thickening. "I didn't mean it like that. I just...don't want you to blame yourself for something that isn't your fault." You nodded, understanding Rafe's perspective, but still unable to shake off the guilt that gnawed at you. The weight of responsibility for someone else's heartache was heavy on your shoulders, and it seemed like no matter what you did, someone would end up hurt.

"I know it's not entirely my fault," you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "But I can't help but feel responsible somehow. I care about JJ deeply, and seeing him hurt because of me... it's difficult."

Rafe's grip on the steering wheel loosened slightly as he glanced at you, his eyes filled with a mix of sympathy and concern. "I understand," he said gently. "But you have to remember that you can't control how others feel. What you can control is how you handle the situation."

You took a deep breath, letting Rafe's words sink in. He was right, of course. You couldn't control JJ's feelings, but you could control how you acted moving forward. It was time to confront the situation head-on and have an honest conversation with JJ.

As the car continued down the winding road, you focused on gathering your thoughts, determined to find the right words to express yourself without causing further harm. The guilt still lingered, but with each passing mile, a newfound strength began to grow within you.

After what seemed like forever, you pulled up to Rafe's house, a massive white mansion looming in front of you. You and Rafe got out of the car and entered into the seemingly deserted house.

As you stepped through the front door, your eyes adjusted to the dimly lit entryway. The only source of light came from a single lamp in the corner, casting shadows across Rafe's face as he shut the door behind you. "Is it just you here, still?" you asked, taking in the emptiness of the house.

"Yep. Just us again," he answered with a slight shrug, his gaze fixated on your figure. You could feel his eyes scanning up and down, taking in every detail of your appearance. Despite the lack of company, his presence made you feel safe and at ease.

"Hmm," you hummed with a nod, taking a look around the room to observe all of the empty space that the two of you could occupy, "interesting."

A mischievous smile tugged at the corners of Rafe's lips as he stepped closer to you. "Yeah?" he replied, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. The air between you crackled with anticipation, and a surge of electricity passed through the room, drawing you both together like magnets.

You could feel the weight of the unspoken tension, the unexplored desires that hung in the air. It was as if time had frozen, leaving only the two of you to navigate this newfound intimacy. Rafe's hand reached out, brushing against your cheek, his touch gentle yet commanding.

In that moment, everything else faded away—the guilt, the turmoil with JJ—it all paled in comparison to what was happening now. This connection, this undeniable chemistry that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long—it was finally coming to fruition.

Your mind spun with a mixture of emotions as Rafe's lips hovered just inches from yours. There was a hunger in his eyes, a longing that mirrored your own. The world outside ceased to exist as your breath mingled, creating an intoxicating blend of anticipation and desire.

With a soft exhale, you closed the remaining distance between you. His lips met yours in a fervent kiss, and the world exploded into a symphony of sensations. The taste of him, the warmth of his embrace, sent shockwaves of pleasure throughout your body. It was as if every nerve ending had awakened, alive with electricity.

Time became fluid as you lost yourself in the rhythm of the kiss. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the connection you shared with Rafe. The weight of the past was lifted off your shoulders, replaced by an overwhelming sense of freedom and exhilaration.

As your lips parted, both breathing heavily, Rafe's forehead rested against yours. His eyes searched yours for any sign of doubt or hesitation, but all he found was a reflection of his own longing and certainty.

You nodded, speechless as the emotions inside you swirled. "Please, Rafe, touch me," were the only words you could muster.

As Rafe's hand found its way to your waist, you leaned into him, feeling his warmth enveloping you. The chemistry between you two was undeniable, and it only seemed to intensify with each passing second. You knew that this moment had been building up for a long time, and now that it was finally happening, you couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and gratitude.

His fingers tracing the curve of your hip, sending a jolt of desire straight to your core. Your heart raced as your breaths became shallow, the anticipation of what was to come threatening to consume you. But it was also a sense of peace, a feeling of tranquility in the midst of this whirlwind of emotion.

"We've been waiting for this, haven't we?" Rafe asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You looked into his eyes, a reflection of your own thoughts, and slowly nodded. The weight of the past began to slip away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of understanding and connection. This was the moment you had been waiting for, a moment that would define the rest of your lives.

With a deep breath, Rafe's lips brushed softly against yours, triggering a surge of electricity that seemed to radiate from your core. As his passion grew, so too did the intensity of your emotions. You felt as if you could read his thoughts, as if he had somehow become a part of you.

His hand, still gently resting on your waist, moved up to your shoulder, his fingers tracing the curve of your neck. The warmth of his touch sent shivers down your spine, and as his lips moved to your neck, you felt the same jolt of desire that had taken hold of your core earlier.

"I can't get enough of you." He murmured against your neck, his voice a low rumble that sent waves of desire through your entire body. You couldn't help but look into his eyes, the intensity of his gaze matching your own. In that moment, you knew that this was more than just a physical connection. It was a deep and powerful bond, one that had been building for a lifetime.

His lips trailed down to your collarbone, his tongue flicking against your skin. You let out a small moan, your breaths becoming shallower and more ragged. He was driving you wild, making you feel things you didn't know were possible. You could feel the pulse of his desire, the raw passion that he was unleashing upon you.

His hand slid slowly down to your hip, his fingers delicately tracing the soft curve of your body. The sensation was overwhelming, sending you into a whirlwind of emotion. Each touch, each kiss, felt like a bolt of lightning, igniting a fire deep within your core. He smirked as he felt your body press into his, aching for more of him. His desires grew untamed as he sensed your greedy longing for him, fueling his own insatiable hunger.

As the intensity of the moment continued to build, so too did the heat between you and Rafe. Your lips met again, this time with a fervor that reflected the deep connection you knew you shared. Your heart was racing, your breaths shallow and rapid.

His hand moved from your hip to your thigh, sending a shockwave of pleasure through your entire being. You couldn't help but let out a small gasp, the sensation overwhelming you completely. Rafe smiled, his eyes gleaming with the same intensity as yours. He knew that this moment was more than just a physical need; it was a deep-seated desire for one another that had grown over time.

His fingers traced the curve of your hip, the pressure of his touch causing you to moan softly. You could feel the pulsating rhythm of his heart, mirroring the desire that consumed you. His fingers trailed closer and closer to your inner thigh, before brushing against your core softly, sending a jolt of electricity through your entire being.

Your hips bucked involuntarily, your body crying out for more of his touch. Rafe couldn't help but chuckle, his eyes glinting with mischievous excitement. You felt a wave of heat crash over you as the intensity of the moment grew even greater.

"Rafe please." You begged, looking straight to him with pleading eyes.

"What is it, Princess?" He whispered, his voice thick with desire.

"I need you," you gasped, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

Rafe's eyes sparkled with desire as he slowly and deliberately reached his hand down and gently caressed the sensitive area between your legs. You felt a surge of desire course through your body as his touch sent shock waves through you.

"You know I can't resist you," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear.

You moaned softly, feeling helpless and powerless to his touch. His fingers moved with a skill that left you breathless and craving more. Each touch, each caress was more intense than the last, building the fire inside you to a fever pitch.

Your hips bucked again, this time more insistently, as Rafe's touch became more insistent. You knew that he could feel your urgent need, and it only seemed to fuel his desire further.

"Take me," you pleaded, your voice shaking with anticipation. "I need you to take me now."

With a smirk, Rafe lifted you onto the bed, the flames of desire still burning in his eyes. He positioned himself between your legs, his erection throbbing against you.

"Are you sure, Princess?" he asked, his lips hovering over yours.

You nodded eagerly, your eyes locked onto his. In one swift movement, he entered you, driving deep into your core. Your entire being seemed to ignite with pleasure, as if the fires of passion had merged with the heat of his touch.

Rafe began to move, his rhythmic thrusts causing waves of pleasure to crash over you like a storm. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, as if you needed to be as one with him in this moment.

"Harder," you cried out, urging him on. Your breath was shallow and your body trembled as you felt him pound into you, the heat of his skin against yours driving you wild with desire.

With every thrust, Rafe's eyes seemed to darken, his gaze locked onto yours as if he were the only thing that mattered in the world. The room around you began to fade, replaced by the intense passion burning between the two of you.

In that moment, your heart thundered in your chest, matching the rhythm of his hips. Every cell in your body seemed to chant, begging for release. You arched your back, your nails digging into his shoulders as you met each thrust, each stroke of his body against yours.

The air grew thick with wanting, the scent of sweat and skin mingling as you moved together in perfect harmony. The bed creaked beneath you, struggling to contain the force of your union. You cried out again, your voice a mixture of pain and pleasure.

"Take it, baby." Rafe whispered, his voice low and gravelly. "Take all of me."

You gasped, his words sending a shockwave of desire through your body. Your eyes locked onto his, both of you caught in the throes of passion. You met him halfway, lifting your hips to meet his every thrust, your nails digging into his skin, marking him as yours.

The room seemed to spin around you, the world melting away as you sank deeper into each other. Your bodies moved as one, a perfect symphony of lust and desire. The air grew thick with the scent of your mingled sweat, a heady perfume that intoxicated you both.

As Rafe continued to thrust, the room around you began to blur, until it seemed as if you were the only ones in existence. Time lost all meaning, the world reduced to the two of you, lost in a whirlwind of passion.

You cried out once more, your voice a fierce, guttural sound that echoed through the now empty room. Rafe's eyes were wild, his body tensed as he drove into you with a fierce intensity that left you breathless.

Your body shook and trembled, the pleasure and pain melding together into one overwhelming sensation that consumed you both. Your nails dug deeper into his skin, leaving red marks that would serve as a reminder of this moment for eternity.

And as the moments stretched on, you felt his hips start to shudder and quiver, the telltale sign of his release approaching. The creaking of the bed grew louder, struggling to hold the weight of your combined passion. Your own body felt like it was on the precipice of explosion, every nerve ending tingling with anticipation.

With one final, powerful thrust, Rafe let out a guttural cry, his body shuddering as he finding his release. The sensation of him inside you was unlike anything you had ever felt before – wild, untamed, and all-consuming.

You shook beneath him, your hands clawing at his back in a desperate need to feel closer to him. You could feel his hot breath on your neck, his words barely audible as he whispered your name.

As the last of his orgasm subsided, you lay there, heart pounding in your chest, skin glowing with the heat of your passion. The room was still, save for the faint sound of your heavy breathing and his soft sighs. You both lay entwined, our breaths mingling as the afterglow washed over you.

Slowly, Rafe started to pull out of you, the lack of friction leaving you both feeling hollow. He rolled off of you, leaving you to enjoy the sensation of his body against yours for just a moment longer.

You turned onto your side, facing each other, the warmth between your legs making you slightly uncomfortable. But it was necessary. Your bodies were sticky with sweat and arousal, but the connection between you was still unbroken.

Rafe reached out, brushing the hair from your forehead. "I love you," he whispered.

You smiled, knowing that he felt the same way. "I love you too."

A sense of peace washed over you both, as the weight of your desire seemed to dissipate into the air. The room remained silent, except for the occasional creak of the bed as it struggled to hold your combined weight.

As you lay there, entwined in each other's arms, you began to feel a new emotion bubble up within you - a feeling of contentment that you had never experienced before. It was as if the intensity of the passion had given way to a profound sense of love and trust.

Rafe's fingers continued to brush soothingly across your skin, his touch as gentle as the evening breeze. You could see the love he had for you reflected in his eyes, and you knew in that moment that you would do anything to protect and cherish him.

As you drifted off to sleep, you held each other tightly, your bodies still connected in a way that felt unbreakable. In the stillness of the night, the only sound was the rhythm of each other's hearts beating as one, a testament to the bond that had formed between you. The rest of the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in a private sanctuary of love and devotion.

taglist: @ellesalazar, @champomiel, @vadinaleme, @kys4-20, @gills-lounge, @allsmilesreally7, @sublimepenguinpeach-blog, @sp00ky-spr1te, @bibliophilewednesday, @haroldpotterson, @i-love-rafe, @ellesalazar, @calmoistorm, @abundantxadorations, @fals3-g0d, @gillybear17, @oiiviagrande, @hockeybabe87, @augustlikesdeath, @wpdailyminimeta, @palmwinemami, @loxleys-blog, @ikisscline, @flyestvenustrap, @ilovesteveharrngton, @ijustwanttoreadlols, @fastlovela, @wickedlovely121, @fals3-g0d

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justabigassnerd · 8 months

Text

Days Like This

Pairing - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x reader

Word count - 1,842

Warnings - periods, swearing, blood mentions, fluff, an ex is an asshole

Summary - your period striking at the worst possible time brings about revelations about your boyfriend

A/N - hey y'all I strike with another request! again, apologies for how long it's taking me to get through the requests and stuff but I am really trying for y'all I swear <3. I won't ramble so as per y'all please send in requests, feedback, and enjoy!!!

It was supposed to be a serene Sunday morning where you’d wake up in your boyfriend’s arms and just laze around until you decided to get up and make breakfast. When you did peel your eyes open, you felt an all too familiar feeling and sat bolt upright, silently grateful that Jake hadn’t had his arm around you. Pulling back the duvet you saw exactly what you were expecting, a red blood stain standing out against the white mattress topper you had on your bed.

“Shit.” You swore under your breath as you stared down at the stain. Usually, you knew when your period was coming, always coming at the same time each month but it decided to get the jump on you this month. You begin to formulate a plan in your head, getting out of bed and rushing to the bathroom with clean clothes and underwear where you change into them, making sure to put a pad on.

When you return to the bedroom, Jake was still sound asleep, face smushed against the pillow as soft breaths escape his lips. You felt awful having to do it, but you needed to wake him up so you could clean your sheets. You and Jake had only recently gotten to the point in your relationship where you slept around each other’s houses, and you didn’t want him to see this and run for the hills. Jake made you feel loved like no one else had. He cared for you. And he was the perfect gentleman. But you knew some men got weird about periods and you were terrified Jake was one of them.

“Jake, wake up baby. I’m going to get started on some breakfast.” You say, your voice no louder than a whisper as you run a hand through Jake’s hair, a small smile crossing your face when Jake’s eyes scrunch closed slightly before they flutter open, his bright green eyes looking up at you as a smile graced his face.

“Morning, darlin’. Bit early for breakfast, isn’t it?” Jake says, his voice raspy from sleep as he props himself on his elbow, the action shifting the duvet you had pulled up to conceal the bloodstain, making you move around to your side of the bed, pulling the duvet back up in the act of making the bed.

“Just woke up with a bit more energy than usual, felt weird lying in bed.” The lie came quickly. You did not have the energy you claimed to have but you needed to keep up the act just in case.

“Alright, I’ll get up.” Jake says, pulling the duvet back on his side as your breath hitched in your throat, hoping he didn’t reveal the stain. To your relief, he barely gave the bed a second thought once he got out, pulling the duvet up and crossing to you, resting his hands gently on your hips and smiling down at you.

“So… breakfast?” He says, his grin wide as he reaches to press a soft kiss to your lips.

“Breakfast.” You confirm with a nod when Jake finally detaches his lips from yours. Jake moves his hands from your hips and moves to head downstairs, suddenly stopping and turning to wait for you.

“You go on ahead. I just need to sort something quickly. You can pick what you want for breakfast.” You say sweetly, a smile on your face as Jake nods before leaving the room. You wait to hear him walking down the stairs before you rush to pull the sheet off your bed, tossing the duvet and pillows across the room so you could remove the sheet and replace it with a fresh one which you do as quickly as possible before making the bed again. You bundle the sheet and your dirtied pyjamas into a wash basket and carry it downstairs to the kitchen so you could get to the utility room. As you enter the kitchen, you’re greeted by Jake as he preps the various foods he’s selected for breakfast.

“I’m thinking bacon and pancakes.” Jake says, turning to face you as he sets a pan on the hob with a grin.

“Whatever you want to have. I did say you could pick.” You say with a grin as Jake nods, turning around to begin making the pancake batter. You use his focus on making breakfast to slip into the utility room and to put your sheets and pyjamas in the wash. As you begin to load everything into the washing machine, Jake sticks his head into the room.

“Did you want fruit or chocolate chips in the pancakes?” Jake asks, stopping when you hurriedly shove the washing into the machine, haphazardly chucking in a washing tablet as you go.

“Either is fine.” You say, hoping he didn’t see anything.

“You okay?” Jake asks, making you nod your head, maybe a little too eagerly.

“I’m good. Just needed to put some washing on.” You say, turning on the machine and moving to squeeze past him to get back into the kitchen with Jake following right behind. He noticed how you winced slightly like you were in pain and he watched your hand reach to your lower stomach, and it clicked in his head.

“Forgive me if I’m overstepping, darlin’. But are you on your period?” Jake asks as he crosses back to the bowl of batter, finding the chocolate chips in the cupboard and dumping some into the batter. You froze at his words, looking over at him in shock.

“How did you…?” You start, watching as Jake abandons the batter once again before turning to face you.

“Well you’re too perky to be sick, and I highly doubt you’re pregnant. I also have sisters and my ma taught me how to notice the signs so I could look after my girl in the future.” Jake says gently, leaning back against the counter as he watches you carefully, seeing you shift in embarrassment.

“It would also explain the washing at this time of the morning.” Jake continues, regretting his words when you look away from him.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s disgusting and-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, darlin’. Who said it was disgusting? It’s natural and it’s okay I didn’t mean to make you feel embarrassed about it. Come on, sit yourself down and relax while I make breakfast.” Jake says apologetically as he leads you to the sofa and lets you sit down, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before disappearing back into the kitchen where you hear food frying along with the faint sound of Jake humming along to whatever song is stuck in his head. It doesn’t take Jake too long to emerge with two plates of pancakes and bacon and hands one to you and places the other on the coffee table before quickly grabbing the coffee he had also prepared. When he returns, he sits alongside you and you both eat your breakfast quietly, the sounds of the tv being the only thing creating noise in the room. When you finish breakfast, Jake is quick to take both plates and mugs to the kitchen and load them into the dishwasher before returning.

“How are you feeling?” Jake says softly as he sits back alongside you, reaching out and cupping your cheek softly as you lean into his touch, eyelids fluttering closed at the action.

“Rough. I also just realised I forgot to stock up on snacks and painkillers for this.” You mumble, silently angry at yourself for living in blissful ignorance for even a moment. With a quick kiss to your forehead, Jake is back on his feet, making you open your eyes and look up at him.

“I’m gonna get dressed and do a snack run and grab some painkillers for you too.” He says and you quickly grab his wrist, making him stop in his tracks.

“You don’t have to, Jake. If you have plans or anything you can head out. I can take care of myself.” You say, smiling up at him as you try to convince him that you’ll be fine. You knew he often met up with his squadron or at the very least his friend Javy on the weekend and you didn’t want him to miss out on any plans he had.

“They were cancelled the minute I figured out what was going on. There’s nothing more important to me than taking care of my girl right now.” Jake says softly taking your hand in his free one and gently detaching it from his wrist before running a gentle thumb across your knuckle, finally getting you to let go of his hand.

“I’ll be quick. Your job right now is to sit there looking pretty.” Jake promises with a cheeky smirk before rushing upstairs to change before exiting your house. You lay across the sofa, curled up as another wave of pain runs across your stomach. You watch the tv in hopes the show playing will distract you long enough for Jake to return from his shop run.

Jake returned within record time, and had you convinced that he most likely sprinted around the entire shop to get you what you needed.

“Alright, I got some snacks, painkillers, and I picked you up a couple of extra packs of pads just in case.” Jake says as he eases himself down on the sofa. You sniffle lightly as Jake lays out the snacks he got on the coffee table, touched that he rushed out to the shops for you at the drop of a hat.

“Whoa, why the tears beautiful? Did I overstep?” He asks worriedly, tilting his head slightly when you shake your head, wiping the tears away.

“No baby, I’m just overwhelmed. No one’s ever done this for me before. My last boyfriend pretty much shamed me for having my period and barely gave me this kind of thought.” You say, smiling at Jake as he softens, moving closer and taking your hand in his.

“You deserve someone who takes care of you, darlin’. Especially on days like this. And I’m more than happy to be that someone for you.” Jake says softly, lifting your hand and pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles as you giggle lightly.

“I’ll grab you some water and you can take some of these painkillers and then I’m all yours for the day.” Jake then says, releasing your hand and rushing to the kitchen and returning with a glass of water. You take it while thanking him and then take the painkillers. You then curl up in Jake’s arms and watch the show on tv as Jake mindlessly runs a hand up and down your arm, each sweeping movement providing more comfort than the last. You always felt safe in Jake’s arms and to know he was someone who would stay by your side even when you’re not feeling great was such a relieving feeling. You got lucky with Jake. And you never wanted to let him go.

#justabigassnerd #justabigassnerd writes #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun fic #top gun maverick fic #hangman top gun #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman x y/n #jake 'hangman' seresin #jake 'hangman' seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin

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deskofninak · 2 months

Text

Unexpected Saviour // Mattheo Riddle x GN!Reader

Summary: Reader makes the reckless decision to rescue Mattheo from the Malfoy Manor during the War.

Notes: Slight angst and fluff, sort of hurt/comfort, Mattheo is a damsel in distress and reader in the knight in invisibility cloak.

Word count: 878 words

Masterlist

Happy reading! :)

You shivered in the dark, your breath coming fast and shallow. This was a terrible idea by all accounts and yet, you had to find him. You might not be best friends with Mattheo Riddle but after all these months of a tentative friendship, you knew he wanted out. So you would get him out. Although apparating into Malfoy Manor to do it was by far one of the worst ideas you’d ever had.

You weren’t entirely sure where you were in the Manor, somewhere in the grounds, but this was what you had stolen Harry’s invisibility cloak for. Harry would be very angry, and angrier when he realised where you’d gone, they all would be, but you’d apologise and they’d eventually forgive you. But you were not going to sit by and watch Riddle get involved in a war he did not want.

Gripping the cloak tighter around yourself, you headed indoors. This was mad, beyond mad, and you felt yourself trembling at the thought of encountering one of the Malfoys or Fenrir or, Merlin, even You Know Who himself. You steeled yourself with the thought of Mattheo’s tear-stained face, the one time he’d let you through his walls, and you let it fuel you enough to go up the stairs and to the bedrooms.

The Manor was quiet. It was night and they were probably asleep or maybe they were scheming somewhere. Nevertheless, the quiet made it easier to creep around and listen for anyone heading your way. Cringing as you checked each bedroom, you stopped short when you came to the door at the end. You hoped this one was his because you had not entirely prepared for the eventuality that you might not find him.

You didn’t need to worry though, for as you eased the door open and poked your head in, there he was: curled up in bed with his mop of curls sticking out of the blanket, one hand outstretched towards the astrology book you’d given him that now perched on the nightstand. You slipped inside, closing the door behind you, and surveyed the room first before pulling the cloak off yourself.

Walking over to the bed, you knelt and tugged the blanket just the slightest to reveal his face to you. His scar stood out prominently in the moonlight, stark against the soft of his face, delicate eyelashes brushing his cheeks. He looked paler though, and leaner, too, and your worry for him quadrupled. You reached forward, pushing back the curl that had dropped over his forehead and whispered his name.

It took a minute for his eyes to flutter open, latching onto your figure. He muttered your name, brow furrowing in confusion, sleep heavy in his eyes. That lasted only a moment though before he registered where you were and that you weren’t a dream. He bolted upright, panic evident in his eyes. “What are you doing here?” he whispered harshly.

The anger came quickly as he leapt out of bed, grabbing you before you could respond and pulling you away from the door further into the darkness of the room. “What-” His fury, warring with worry, kept the right words out of his grasp.

“I came to get you,” you whispered.

“Get me? Are you insane? Do you realise where you are?”

“Mattheo, let go of my arm. You’re hurting me.”

He seemed to snap back into himself and let go. “He will kill you,” he said, desperation lacing his voice.

“He will kill you,” you responded. “Come with me. I’ve got an invisibility cloak, we’ll disapparate, the Order will find you a safehouse.”

“This is insanity.”

“No, it isn’t! I am not leaving you here with them. With him.” Your hand reached up, ghosting over the scar on his cheek and he shuddered.

He whispered your name like a prayer. “He will be angry. He will hurt someone.”

“He’s going to hurt people irrespective of where you are.”

“Why are you doing this?” He looked at you, eyes brimming with tears that silently pleaded with you to leave.

There was no point holding your cards to your chest anymore. “Because I love you.” Damn the consequences, you surged forward and tugged his face to yours, lips meeting in the middle. It was a quick kiss but it seemed to freeze time. Mattheo had gone completely still and a tear escaped, running down his cheek.

“I love you,” you repeated, “and I don’t care what you say, I am not leaving here without you.”

He huffed and before you could continue with your pleas, he drew you to him, mashing your lips together. His were soft against yours and it eased something in you to know that he was safe in your arms. Your hands cradled his face as his wound around your torso, leaving not an inch of space between the two of you.

When you drew apart, there were tears on his face and you gently wiped them away. “I don’t think I’m that bad at kissing.”

Mattheo laughed under his breath, drawing you back to him again and burying his face in your shoulder. “I love you, too.”

You blinked back tears and ran your fingers through his curls. “I’m getting you out of here.”

xxx

Hope you enjoyed this! If you see a typo, let me know. Comments and reblogs are much appreciated. :) - Nina

#harry potter #mattheo riddle #x reader #mattheo riddle x reader #harry potter x reader #mattheo riddle hurt/comfort #x reader hurt/comfort #mattheo riddle x reader hurt/comfort #harry potter fanfic

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solarmorrigan · 1 month

Text

Requested by @westifer-dead (I think?? I hope that was directed at me)

This probably wasn't what you had in mind, but in my defense, it absolutely was not what I planned on writing. It sorta snuck up on me. I hope this is okay, though <3

🖤 kissing while crying / goodbye kiss / desperation

Prompt from this post

Tags/CW: transmasc Steve, fairly explicit depiction of menstruation, resulting mentions of blood, mentions of dysphoria, Steve's internal dialogue is rather unkind to himself in this one (soft ending, though??)

Steve’s first, horrified thought when he wakes feeling an uncomfortable amount of damp sticking his boxers to his skin is that he’s somehow managed to piss the bed.

The immediate wakefulness caused by that thought, however, is enough to give him a second one – particularly when he feels the ache low in his gut and spreading down his hips as he rolls over to toss the covers back and reveal the red stain on both his underwear and the sheets.

Fuck.

He’s early.

His period shouldn’t have been along for another couple of days, at least, and Steve hadn’t even thought about putting on a pad before getting into bed—he glances at the clock—two hours ago.

“Motherfucker,” Steve hisses.

He’d gotten home from the world’s most frustrating late shift sometime after midnight and had actually managed to get to sleep by one, and now his body is pulling this shit on him – waking him with pain and mess at three in the goddamn morning, days before it had any right to. And now his boxers are probably toast, and the sheets might be salvageable but he’s going to have to get up and change them right now, and he’s so fucking tired, and it’s three in the morning, and when he shifts to sit up, he’s caught for a moment by the sticky-slick feeling of blood drying against his skin.

He does his best to swallow back the feeling of nausea that creeps up on him at the sensation, but it’s something he hasn’t had the stomach for since being covered in Eddie’s blood after hauling him out of the Upside Down, and the cramps really aren’t helping.

It’s for all these reasons that he’s probably less gentle than he could be when he reaches over to shake Eddie awake.

“Eddie, wake up.”

Eddie groans and rolls over, curling up with his back to Steve.

Steve huffs and gives him a shove. “Eddie.”

“S’early,” Eddie grumbles. “G’way.”

Normally, Steve doesn’t mind Eddie’s steadfast refusal to wake up for anything less than three alarms and the promise of coffee. Sometimes he even has fun with it, seeing how quickly he can rouse Eddie with other sorts of promises. Right now, though, he has less than no patience, and he grabs his pillow and whacks Eddie in the side with it.

“Wake up!”

“Whatthefuck,” Eddie gasps, bolting upright and glancing around the room for his assailant.

Later, Steve might feel bad; for now, he only drawls, “You awake now?”

“Did you hit me with a pillow?” Eddie demands, eyeing the weapon in Steve’s hands.

“You wouldn’t wake up,” Steve says. “I need you to get up for a minute.”

“What? Why, what’s– oh.” Eddie much catch sight of the mess as Steve twists to shove the pillow back behind himself. “Shit.”

Steve’s face heats with embarrassment. “Shut up,” he snaps. “Just get out of the bed.”

Clumsily, Eddie moves to obey. “I didn’t mean–”

“It’s– never mind, I shouldn’t have snapped, sorry, just–” Steve sighs. “Just let me change the sheets.

He strips the comforter from the bed and rolls it up to toss it into the chair in the corner of the room to be put back on when he’s done, but he doesn’t make it much farther before his body betrays him with another wave of squeezing cramps and a dribble of blood sliding down the inside of his thigh from under the loose leg of his boxers.

He swears and lunges for the tissue box on his bedside table to catch the drip before it can hit the floor, and he can hear Eddie hiss a breath in through his teeth – it’s probably in sympathy, Steve recognizes distantly, but in the moment he still feels like he might die of shame.

“Let me– let me get cleaned up. Just a minute,” Steve mutters, balling the tissue up in his fist and making for the dresser. “Then I’ll finish with the sheets.”

“Why don’t you go take a quick shower?” Eddie suggests quietly. “I can finish the sheets.”

Yanking a pair of briefs out of the dresser, Steve slams the drawer shut. “I can clean up my own damn mess, Eddie.”

“I know you can, but you don’t have to,” Eddie says, much more patiently than Steve probably deserves. “I’m betting you’ll feel ten times better if you get the chance to rinse off, so go ahead. You know how much I love wrestling with the fitted sheet.”

Steve should probably say no. It’s stupid to make Eddie clean up after him when he’s perfectly capable of doing it himself.

He should say no, but he doesn’t want to.

He glances back at Eddie, who looks nothing but sincere in his offer, and nods. “Thanks,” he mumbles, and Eddie gives him a little smile and a nod in return.

In the bathroom, Steve makes the water as hot as he can stand it and pops two Advil before stripping and shoving his boxers straight into the trash. If he tried hard enough, he might be able to get the stain out, but he doesn’t have the mental fortitude to contemplate doing that right now. His t-shirt has been spared any blood, but he puts it in the hamper to be washed, anyway. It just feels dirty now.

There are some months where Steve’s period comes and goes without any fuss; it’s an inconvenience and a bit of a drain, but hardly worth comment. Then there are some months that shove Steve headfirst into ten different stages of dysphoria and various neuroses for no apparent reason.

This one feels like it’s going to be the latter.

Even once he’s standing under the shower spray, the blood already sluiced down the drain, Steve doesn’t feel like he’s ever going to be clean again. He knows it’s his shitty brain lying to him, he knows that the feeling will go away in a few days—a week, at most—but that doesn’t help him now.

He wastes an extra ten minutes in the shower, trying to convince himself he’s only staying in because the hot water is helping his cramps (only partially true; he’s so tense that they haven’t really abated, and in fact have crawled up his sides now, seizing on the scar tissue from his bat bites and yanking his whole abdomen in tight, but he’s hoping it will help with his cramps), but he does eventually manage to force himself out and dry off.

With the fuck-off-biggest pad he owns shoved into his underwear, Steve heads back to the bedroom and stops short inside the door.

The lights are still dim, and Eddie is waiting up for him, sitting against the pillows with his book. He’s not only changed the sheets and fixed the comforter, but he’s laid out a pair of pajamas for Steve – the exact pair he prefers when he’s having a particularly bad day. And for some reason, that’s it for Steve.

The tears hit before he can even try to choke them off, and Eddie must not be very immersed in his book, because the first ragged breath is enough to alert him to the fact that something is wrong.

He looks almost wounded when he catches sight of Steve standing in the doorway like a weepy idiot, and Steve would feel bad, but Eddie’s already up and out of the bed and coming towards Steve with his arms open in offering.

And with anyone else, Steve would shy away; this isn’t a part of him that anyone needs to see, this weakness and inability to cope. But from Eddie– even as stupid as Steve feels right now, he knows he doesn’t have much that he needs to hide from a man who will help him clean up his own blood and then offer to hold him while he cries about it.

He accepts the hug, allows himself to be led back over to the bed and sat down, and then lets himself be held.

Eddie presses his lips to Steve’s forehead and then swipes his thumbs over Steve’s cheeks, wiping away whatever tears fall and kissing him there, too, like he can replace the evidence of his distress with love.

And hell, maybe he can.

In a while, Steve will want to get dressed and they’ll both need some actual rest, but for now, Steve thinks he’s more than willing to sit and let Eddie try.

#westifer-dead #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #transmasc steve harrington #ftm steve harrington #stranger things #no I will not use consistent tags! apparently!#cw dysphoria #cw menstruation #let me know if there's anything else I should tag for that I missed!#anyway this one got super out of hand I am sorry #solar wrote #eddiesteve

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macabr3-barbi3 · 12 days

Note

can you do a fic of alastor comforting the reader after a nightmare? more fluff then smut please <333

I went full fluff for this anon, I hope this is what you were looking for! Super short but I had a fun time writing this cute little thing, please feel free to shoot me another ask and let me know what you think <3 (I should be sleeping but decided to write and post this instead 💕)

Tags: fluff; Alastor x Reader; nightmares; comfort; established relationship

Possible tw/cw for drowning? just in case

The darkness of the night is interrupted only by the crack of lightning across the sky, static in the air, your cries swallowed up by the boom of thunder somewhere nearby. You don’t get a chance to inhale, fill your body with one last sweet gulp of air, before the tide takes you under, chest burning with the effort of trying to hold your breath. You can’t hold it- it breaks free of your mouth with a rush of bubbles and a scream that no one can hear with your head underwater. Knowing that you shouldn’t, muscle memory makes you inhale once again.

You know that you’re dreaming, but that doesn’t make the intake of water into your lungs any less terrifying.

Your hands fly to your throat to try to stop it- a pointless endeavor since it has already entered you, weighing your body down. Glancing towards your feet, another crack of lighting illuminates the water enough for you to see the rope around your ankle before the cinder block tied to the other end starts to descend, dragging you deeper and deeper into the murky depths. The dark gray of the sky fades quickly from your view as you sink, mouth open in another scream for someone- anyone - to save you.

A hand grips yours, tight around the wrist, and you cling to it- drag it down against your chest, press your lips to the skin you find there like it can somehow push air back into your lungs. Relief floods your veins, the warm palm against your own a physical reminder that despite everything you were not alone- drowning but moments from salvation.

When it tries to pull away you resist, dig your claws into your could-be savior, pleading words on your lips that can’t travel on airwaves beneath the water as they are. They pull harder, out of your grasp, and your tears become one with the sea as you are pulled to the bottom of it without them.

Screaming is what awakens you, the ache in your throat violent and sharp enough finally that you bolt upright in your bed, Alastor’s crimson gaze settled on your face, his smile grim and tense. He’s crouched over your frame and holds both of your hands in his, your elbows and legs still fighting against water that no longer surrounds you. There are tiny rivulets of blood on his wrists from where you had grabbed him.

You force yourself to relax, deep breaths that do nothing to soothe the burn in your throat. You stop fighting Alastor, make your limbs go still against him and collapse back against the bed. Tears burn at your eyes, not just those leftover from your dream but new ones at the thought of hurting him while he tried to help you.

“I’m so sorry.” Your voice is a quiet rasp and your body goes boneless, Alastor finally releasing his grip on your hands and leaning back. Unlike the first time this had happened, there is no frantic pounding at the door in response to your screams- he had taken care of that problem after Charlie had shown up to your room in a panic, Vaggie with her spear at the ready before Alastor had explained that it wasn’t necessary. It was only ever when you fell asleep at different times; when he had other matters to attend to in the hotel or radio studio, or times when you feel asleep waiting up for him. He had been horrified to discover them at first, but since becoming accustomed to them he was quick to give you comfort in the aftermath.

He collects you in his arms, pulls you against his chest with a hand in your hair and the other in yours. “No apology necessary, dear,” he murmurs, pressing a small kiss to the top of your head. “I know it’s nothing you can control.”

“I hate this,” you whisper into his shirt. “I hate that it makes me so… so weak.”

You feel his head shake more than you see it. “Never,” he assures you. “You could never be such a thing.”

“You don’t have nightmares,” you say petulantly, and the vibration of his chuckle against you is something you could feel for centuries and never tire of.

“I have other terrors to face, I’m afraid. That doesn’t make the ones you handle any less difficult.”

You sigh, settling deeper into his embrace. “When you took my hand,” you say quietly, “it helped. It was like a lifeline- something to ground myself with. In the dream it felt like a rescue- I didn’t know it was you, I can’t get that far out of it to recognize that- but it helped me feel less alone.” You lower your gaze. “Less like I felt when I died.”

Panicked. Overwhelmed. Desperately, horribly isolated when you had been sent over the side of the ship all those years ago. There had been no cinder block- that part of the nightmare an unfortunate addition from your terrorized mind- your going overboard having been an accident, but the crashing of waves over your head as you tried to scream was always the same, the storm that raged overhead never ending as you had been left behind.

“Look at me.” He uses his hand in your hair to guide your face towards his, placing a chaste kiss on your lips before pressing your foreheads together. “I will never allow you to be in a situation like that again. Whether an external force or the horrors of your mind, I will always be here for you, darling.” With his other hand he gives yours a squeeze. “I will tie my hand to yours in the night if you desire, so I cannot pull away even by accident. So you always have that reminder that I’m beside you. I will not leave you behind.”

You fist your hand in his shirt, bury your face in the fabric so he can’t see the freshest tears. “I love you,” you say, and he brushes his hand gently through your hair once more.

“And I love you, dear. Rest easy now- I’m here with you. I always will be.” He hums something soft and gentle above you, and the low vibrations and the heat of him lulls you back into a blissfully dreamless sleep.

#hazbin hotel #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor the radio demon #x reader #alastor fluff #hazbin fluff

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whateveriwant · 25 days

Text

Choice

Summary: Simon forces you to choose. Him, your husband… or the other man he found in your bed.

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Word Count: ~2.6k

Warnings: ANGST

A/N: Forgive me.

“Simon!” you gasp, bolting upright in bed.

There, darkening the doorway to your bedroom, stands your beloved husband. You thought you'd spotted something lurking in the shadows of your periphery, but rather than it being a mere figment of your imagination like you'd hoped, you've come to find out that's not at all the case.

Simon’s brows are knitted tightly together, the lines framing the sides of mouth deepening as he begins to scowl. “Fuckin’ knew it,” he grits out. “Knew you were a fuckin’ liar.” His eyes flit back and forth between you and the figure lying beside you in bed, and if looks could kill, you'd both be six feet under.

“Simon, no, wait–!” You're quick to shoo the other male from your bed even as your husband storms away. Jumping to your feet, you chase after him, tugging your shirt into place from where it had ridden up. Simon’s just reached the living room when you manage to catch up with him. “Simon, please just–”

“When will enough be enough?” he cuts you short as he whirls around to confront you. You've never seen such anger rippling from him before, and it makes you recoil, stopping dead in your tracks. “When's it gonna end, huh? You promised me you were gonna fuckin’ stop this.”

“I-I-I know I did, Simon,” your voice trembles under the weight of your shame.

He's right. After the last time, you’d told him that was it, that it would never happen again.

So much for keeping your promise.

“I'm– I'm so sorry,” you try to offer him, for whatever it may be worth.

Apparently, it's worth very little as he proceeds to scoff right in your face.

“You’re ‘sorry’?” His expression pinches to show how he takes offense to that apology. “That’s three times this month I've caught you. Three. Let alone how many other times I'm sure have been behind my back.”

Again, he’s right on the target. You’ve been dishonest with your husband, been deceiving him more times than you can even remember at this point. Though you're in no place to feel as if you're the one that's been hurt in this situation, you can't help how his biting words feel like daggers plunging right into your stomach.

Simon sighs and brings a hand up to rub his forehead, the self-soothing gesture doing nothing to soften the lines creasing his skin. After a while, he asks, “Why?” his voice much calmer than it was a moment ago. “Why d’you keep doin’ this? Lyin’? Sneakin’ around?”

When he drops his hand to look at you again, you can see how quickly his emotions have shifted from fury to sorrow. The sight of his grief almost wrenches your heart in two, and you swallow the lump in your throat, your own emotions threatening to spill forth and choke you.

“I… I don't know,” you tell him, yet another lie.

You know the truth behind your actions, the real reason you can't break this bad habit. It's because you're selfish; because you're spineless; because you're fucking weak.

Your answer, the unconvincing slop that is, isn't good enough for Simon, and his shoulders rise in a show of perplexity. “Am I not treatin’ you right? I've been withholdin’ from you? Is that it?”

You're shaking your head before he even finishes the inquiry. “No, Simon. It's nothing like that,” you say.

“Well then, explain it to me.” He tosses a hand into the air, the frustration in his tone palpable. “Because I'm tryin’ to understand what makes him so bloody special. What is it about him that makes you treat me like a fuckin’ afterthought?”

“I don't–!” you begin, the accusation immediately putting you on the defense. But then you pause and intake a deep breath, trying to rein yourself back in. The last thing you want is to strike a match against this highly combustible conversation. If ignited, this powder keg runs the risk of taking you both out with it.

You take another moment to collect yourself before releasing an audible exhale. “Yes, he means a lot to me–”

“Oh, well, I'm bloody well aware of that, thank you.”

You ignore the derisive comment as you continue, “–but you're my husband, Simon. At the end of the day, I always want you,” you emphasize. You can feel a stitch forming between your brows as they slowly pull together. “I know you're upset with me – and I understand, truly – but I… I-I just…” your voice trails off as you consider your next words.

You know what you want to say, what niggling thought you want to express. But you're not sure if voicing it aloud is the right move to take. You're trying to cool down the tension here, not potentially add fuel to the fire.

But as Simon prompts, “What?” you realize there's no backing out of it now.

You sigh. “I just think you're blowing this whole thing out of proportion.”

The way your husband's eyes immediately widen tell you it was probably better to have kept your mouth shut.

“Blowin’ thi–?!” Simon blinks wildly in disbelief, his anger from earlier surging back tenfold. His voice is venomous as he spits, “I catch you lyin’ to me, catch you continuously goin’ behind my back.” He points an accusatory finger in the direction of your bedroom. “I catch you with that filthy shite in our bed–”

“Hey, don't call–”

“–see him lyin’ there, sleepin’ on my fuckin’ pillow, and you think I'm ‘blowin’ this out of proportion’?!” he's fully shouting now, his volume having risen alongside his fury. Simon lets out a dry chuckle that's entirely devoid of humor. “Do you even hear yourself? Do my feelings mean nothin’ to you anymore? Do you– Do you even really love me?” his voice peaks as a wave of despair washes over him.

“Wha–?” Now it's your turn to blink wildly as you're caught off guard by that last sentence. “Of– Of course I do, Simon! Of course.” How can he even ask you such a thing?

“You just love him more, then, right?” The question stings like a punch to the gut.

You shake your head vehemently, asserting, “No. No, of course not!” even as you feel a twinge of guilt pricking the base of your skull.

Just as you're slightly skeptical of your own words, so too is Simon, and he brushes you off with a, “Pssh, right.”

The heightened emotions of the last several minutes persist even as you and your husband lapse into a tense silence.

As you stand there, you watch as Simon begins to harshly run both hands through his hair, not sure what you should say – if there's anything to say in this moment. Though you and he have had this same argument more times than you'd like to admit, something about this time felt different to you, felt like there were higher stakes in the mix. And as you reflect on the quarrel, you can't help how one line in particular sticks out in your mind. ‘You just love him more, then, right?’ he'd accused, bluntly, bitterly.

The idea is ridiculous to you, loving someone else more than your own husband. It sounds like something only a fool could believe.

But if that's the case, why did Simon say it so assuredly?

And why does the thought of it make your stomach clench like there could be some truth behind the claim?

After another few moments of him tugging at his roots, Simon releases a billowy breath. He briefly closes his eyes and shakes his head to himself, before dropping his hands back down by his sides.

“I don't know how much longer I can keep this up,” his voice sounds as exhausted as his body looks. As he peels his lids open to once more lock with your gaze, you feel your own eyes narrowing in your confusion.

“What do you mean?” you ask, voice quiet, timid.

“I mean you need to choose,” he tells you. “Me or him.”

That statement has you balking, the cords that hinge your jaw shut practically snapping. “Si, you– you're not serious.” This has to be some kind of sick joke, right?

“I am.” He nods resolutely. “I can't keep doin’ this – goin’ back and forth with you, wonderin’ if you're really all here with me or not,” he says, frowning. “So you need to choose. Right now. Me… or him.”

It's like you've just witnessed your worst fears materialize before you. Simon, your loving husband, has just asked you to do something that was once completely inconceivable to you. He's asked you to make a world-altering choice: pick between him and someone else.

The decision should be easy – should be obvious – and yet, you find yourself frozen, unable to speak the words you know you should say.

Simon is your husband, the first and greatest love of your life. But this other man he's making you choose between is… well, he's something else to you entirely.

When you're having a rough day and feel like the world is collapsing in around you, he's the first one you want to run to when you need a shoulder to cry on. And conversely, when you're feeling on top of the world, feeling so high up you could reach out and touch the clouds, he's the one you want to call so you can share your joy.

From the moment you met him, you knew he was one of a kind. He's got a smile that could rival a thousand suns, a kiss that could warm the coldest of nights, and the way he looks at you – like you hold the entirety of his universe in the palm of your hand – you think it could keep your heart beating long after it's chosen to stop.

He's your best friend, your other half of a whole, your personal ray of sunshine that cuts through all the gloomy rain. Simon is your husband, yes, that’s true. But this other man is your soulmate, and you know that however long you both shall live, you will love each other until you take your final breaths.

Tears start to bead in your eyes as the answer to your predicament reveals itself to you. And as Simon eventually pushes, “Well? Who's it gonna be?” you know there's only one thing you can tell him.

“Him,” you mutter, feeling the first tear spill over. “H-Him, Simon. Him. I choose… him.”

It's like the planet ceases to spin for a moment as your choice floats in the air like a ghost. At first, you think Simon must assume you're bluffing, what with the way he has no immediate reaction to your response. But as the silence stretches between you and you've yet to renounce your decision, you watch as the realization hits him like a slug to the chest.

Simon's face falls, the color zapping from his skin, and as his eyes start to shine with tears, you find your cheeks flooding with your own.

Simon blinks rapidly, his nostrils flaring as he tries to keep his emotions at bay. His brow furrows like he wants to say something – to argue something – but when he opens his mouth to speak, no words escape. He closes his mouth for a second but then opens it again soon after, once more nothing leaving him but the sound of his breath.

Open then shut, open then shut, he repeats the cycle over and over again, never once managing to get a word out. Finally, after several minutes of waging an internal battle with himself, Simon eventually lets out a low sigh of defeat.

“Then go,” he mutters, gaze falling to the floor. “Just… Just go.”

Your own heart shatters at seeing the pain you've caused your husband. But you can't take back what you've said now, and even if you could, you both know it'd be a lie.

Thus, all you can offer him is a whispered, “I'm sorry.” Any louder and your voice would break from the strain of your cries.

The room falls quiet again as you both let everything sink in. Simon, your husband, the man you'd promised forever to, just put his heart on the line, practically flayed himself open for you… and you didn't choose him.

“I'm sorry,” you say again because you don't know what else there is to do.

Simon waves your apology off with a dismissive hand, still refusing to meet your eye.

Over the next few moments, you continue to sob softly, the sounds of your sniffles puncturing the otherwise quiet house. After a while, you feel the faucet behind your eyes gradually slow to a trickle, and you wipe your face with the back of your shaky hands, swallowing down the last of your tears.

You take another minute or so to compose yourself, still standing before your forlorn husband. Once you feel somewhat well again, you clear your throat, then tip your head back to let out a short, high whistle.

Almost immediately, you hear the telltale noise of feet moving against the hardwood floor. Then, not a beat later, you see the man you'd just chosen rounding the corner to the living room.

“Come here, pup-pup. Come here,” you encourage Riley, your fourteen month old shepherd-mix, forward.

Like the good boy he is, Riley trots closer at your beckoning. But before he reaches you, he makes a pitstop by Simon, shoving his cold, wet nose into the man's empty palm.

Riley gives him a couple boops to the hand, politely asking him for pets. And Simon, for his part, despite still being obviously disgruntled, obliges and gives him a brief, dispassionate rub to the snout.

Having received his desired scritches, Riley then continues over to you, and you crouch down so you can meet him at his level.

“You wanna go cuddle with me some more? Yeah? Do you?” you pitch your voice up in that babyish way Simon pretends to hate.

Riley, however, absolutely loves it, and his tail wags back and forth in a way that says he's all too eager to agree.

“Okay, let's go!” You wave him after you as you take off down the hall.

As you both walk back to the bedroom you'd been occupying earlier, you hear Simon speaking behind you, muttering angrily to himself.

“Mangy fuckin’ mutt. Knew he was gonna be trouble,” he murmurs as he makes up a spot for himself on the couch. “First he steals my bed, then he steals my cuddles, next he'll be stealin’ my fuckin’ car…” his voice peters out the further away you walk.

“Don't mind your daddy. He's just being grumpy as usual,” you stage whisper to Riley as you approach the door to your bedroom.

Letting yourself inside, Riley quickly follows after. You shut the door and then waltz over to the bed, patting the empty space beside you as you settle in.

Swiftly, Riley jumps up to join you, taking the side normally reserved for your husband. He moseys all the way up the mattress until he reaches Simon's pillow, where he proceeds to lay down.

You roll onto your side and start to pet him, scratching that spot behind his ears you know he loves. As you do, you see that infectious smile of his slowly take shape, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth as his eyes drift closed.

The sight of him so content makes your own lips upturn into a smile. He is so sweet, so perfectly innocent, that it makes your heart want to burst inside your chest.

And as you continue to cuddle Riley, making little kissy noises in his ear, you know you made the right choice as you grin and ask him, “Who's my favorite boy?”

__________

A/N: April Fools! Hope I didn't break your heart too much lmao!

As always, I'd love to know what you thought! Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley angst #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #cod mw2 #call of duty #modern warfare 2

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gaycentral · 29 days

Text

Secrets

Part One:

@reidcoffeemoon

You had known Spencer Reid for years now, back when he was a young, fresh-faced agent who struggled to speak to people his age and couldn’t beat Gideon in a chess match. He was thirty now, you’d both changed, unspoken feelings simmered beneath the surface, and you knew for a fact that Spencer was hiding something.

Your suspicions began a year ago.

Spencer was never late, and the few times he had been, it was always due to something strange. Years ago, it was his Dilaudid addiction that caused him to arrive late to work, other times it was migraines or nightmares. It was never for an innocuous, innocent reason.

A year ago, he showed up late to work with a black eye.

“What the hell happened to you?” You’d asked, eyes scanning over him for any other injuries. You wouldn’t have been able to find any with his purple cardigan and black slacks obscuring your view, but it didn’t make you worry less.

“I, er, accidentally punched myself last night when getting changed.” He visibly grimaced at his own poor attempt at a lie, suppressing a wince as he sat down, his muscles aching, every individual joint in his body collectively screaming from last night’s events.

Your brow raise told him you clearly didn’t believe him, although Morgan snickered loudly from his desk, having bought the boy wonders story. He was quite clumsy after all.

You were a profiler, you thought you’d be able to figure out what was happening quite easily. At first, you worried he’d relapsed, but ruled that out fairly quickly. Then you wondered if something was going on with his mother, but it wasn’t that either. It was frustrating, because you knew that something wasn’t right, but you had nothing.

The last thing you expected was for him to actually tell you what was going on, because if there was anything to know about Spencer Reid, was that he could keep a secret, and keep one very well.

Until he couldn’t.

It was one in the morning when he called, waking you up from the warm, cozy haven of your comforter as your phone buzzed loudly on your nightstand. With a tired groan, you reached over, a fumbling hand grabbing the phone and squinting at the harsh sting of the light in your eyes, fully expecting Hotch or Garcia to be calling you in for work.

You didn’t expect to see Spencer’s name on your screen, and you felt anxiety shoot through your veins as you sat bolt upright in bed, answering the phone.

“Spencer?”

“Hi,” his voice was a pained rasp, one you recognized as your heart sank. “I’m…I’m really sorry to be calling so late, but, can you come over? I need, uh, I need some help.”

He hadn’t even finished his sentence before you were scrambling out of bed, briefly getting tangled in the sheets and nearly face-planting on your floor before you managed to orient yourself.

“What happened? Are you okay?” You didn’t bother to change out of your pyjamas as you sped through your apartment, looking for your keys as simultaneously tried to put your shoes on.

“It’s hard to explain. It will make more sense when you get here, just…try not to freak out too much?”

“You can’t say that and expect me not to freak out, Spencer!” Your voice came out more of a shriek than intended as you all but burst out of your front door, making quick strides towards your vehicle as the cold night air rose goosebumps across your skin.

“I know,” he sounded exhausted, which didn’t help your growing concern. “I’m sorry.”

You would’ve told him not to be sorry, that he didn’t need to be while simultaneously chewing him out for worrying you but he hung up the phone before you could get a word in.

You definitely broke some traffic laws on your way to Spencer’s apartment building, and you were grateful suddenly that the roads were unusually quiet tonight or there was a good chance you’d have hit someone. But right now that was the least of your worries as you burst into the building.

For a moment, you considered taking the elevator, but you remembered how Spencer had made an offhand comment on his buildings elevator being slow.

Screw it. You’d take the stairs.

You hated the stairs, you soon learned, sprinting up several flights to get to his door. You weren’t sure where you’d gotten that burst of speed or endurance, but your lungs burned and your legs hurt like a bitch. But you made it.

Not bothering to knock, you tried the door, fully expecting to find it locked due to Spencer’s vigilance. Strangely, it slowly drifted open under your hand. He must’ve left the door unlocked for you.

“Spencer?” You called out into the apartment, shutting the door behind you as you entered. It was dark, the night and the deep green walls casting the space in darkness.

You didn’t get any sort of response back, but as you walked further into the apartment, you saw a light peeking out form under the bathroom door. Your stomachs twisted anxiously at the thought of what you might find as you slowly opened the door.

Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t that.

Spencer was slumped over on the floor, barely holding himself upright against the base of the counter. The bizarre blue and red suit he was wearing was torn in several places and cuts littered the exposed skin. He was covered in blood—his own, presumably.

“Oh my god,” you crouched down in front of him, not even sure where to start, your hands hovering aimlessly. “Spencer, can you hear me?”

He seemed to be straddling the line of consciousness, his eyes heavily lidded as he managed to lift his head slightly before it dropped back down. You reached out, supporting his head in your hands.

“Holy shit, Spencer. We need to get you to a hospital.” The words were barely out of your mouth before Spencer was firmly gripping your wrist. Not hard enough to hurt, but to get your attention.

“No,” the word came out a broken plea, his grip on your wrist loosening but not letting go. “No hospital.”

You remembered the last time he’d been in the hospital, it had been due to anthrax exposure a few years ago, and it had been an incredibly traumatic experience for him despite the rather fortunate outcome. You supposed you couldn’t blame him for not wanting to go.

“Spencer, you’re hurt. You need some kind of medical attention, you can’t just stay like this.” Your eyes flitted over his bizarre outfit. It looked sort of like a Spider-Man costume. You’d seen that vigilante around a few times. But you couldn’t help but notice how detailed it was for a costume, a little too high quality.

“Just…just help me up, please?” He managed to look up at you, his tired eyes pleading and soft, and any further arguments died in your throat as you cursed to yourself.

“Damn it. Alright, put your arm around my shoulder.” He did as asked, his arm draping around your shoulders as his fingers lightly gripped your bicep for support, leaning against you as you wrapped an arm around his waist and began to help him to his feet. You heard him wince, biting down on his lip as he struggled to stand with your help.

“Breathe through it, in through your nose, out through your mouth.” You instructed him, briefly pausing to let him catch his breath. He nodded shakily, hair hanging in front of his eyes before he tried to stand again. It took a fair bit of effort but he was finally to his feet, leaning against you for support.

“We’ll take it nice and slow,” you assured him, beginning the slow shuffle out of the bathroom. Your mind swam. What the hell happened to him? You’d ask later, you figured he didn’t want to talk about it right now, but you were going to get answers eventually even if you had to shake them out of him.

You were halfway down the hallway when he passed out. His feet had begun to drag until he slumped against you with a heavy breath, sending you both to the floor.

“No, no no no!” You barely manage to catch him as you sink to the ground, keeping him from smacking his head off the floor, your hands hooked under his arms and his head in your lap.

“Don’t you dare do this to me, you ass!” You felt your eyes burn with tears that you refused to let fall. “If you die I’m gonna kill you so much!”

He groaned incoherently, his breaths strained, but he didn’t wake. His brow was furrowed, face twisted in discomfort.

“Okay…okay.” You stand up, picking him up and adjusting him in your arms until you’re carrying him bridal style, surprised at just how light he is. You knew he’d be light, but even when he was dead weight he was relatively easy to carry as you rush to his bedroom.

Setting him down on the bed, you anxiously wring your hands as you try to get your thoughts in order. In the dim lamplight his face is contorted in pain, his skin paler than it should be.

You rush back to the bathroom, grabbing a hand towel from the cupboard under the sink and running it under the cold tap, grabbing the first aid kit on your way out.

He was right where you’d left him, but he was mumbling incomprehensibly now, his words garbled and incoherent. You place the cool, damp rag on his forehead to regulate his temperature and begin looking for some kind of zipper on his costume.

“How in the fuck do you get in and out of this thing?!” You huff, knowing you’re not going to get an answer. There’s no zipper in sight, and you want to yell in frustration. You were about to go look for a pair of scissors when your hand brushes the raised spider emblem over his chest, and the suit suddenly loosens enough to be taken off.

“What in the–“

Oh.

It wasn’t a costume.

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #x reader #spiderman #spider man #spiderman AU #spider!spencer #whump #?

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rotandguts · 1 year

Text

✶ ┄ CRAZY TOGETHER

danny (evil dead rise) x fem!reader

summary: during a quiet lull on that tumultuous night, danny realises this may be one of the last few moments he'll ever spend with his best friend.

word count: 2.9k

warnings: 18+ mdni, nsfw, sexual content, masturbation (fem receiving), mentions of loss of virginity, mentions of panic attacks, possession and death. praise kink if you squint, bittersweet best friends to lovers. mentions of underaged drinking.

A/N: helllooooo, so this is my first ever fic on this blog wowowowowow i'm nervous. i hope you all like it bc i am DOWN BAD for this mfer. pls let me know what you think!! DANNY IS 18 IN THIS.

✶

Through all the horror and dread that had inevitably arisen from the events of the past few hours, Danny would argue that despite the demonic presence lurking in the hallway - it was the guilt of his own actions that was currently feasting on his soul.

The noises from beyond the bolted door of apartment 85 had grown to a momentary halt, the initial attack keeping everyone still alive on edge. Bridget was in the living room temporarily calming her younger sister Kassie with promises of a doctor coming to help their mother, hesitancy evident within her voice as she struggled to believe the words coming from her own mouth. Her wound on her cheek - as much as she had tried to ignore it - was starting to ache. Beth had been raiding the apartment for something to help her hand that the quick relief of duct tape was unable to provide.

And all this because he found that stupid fucking book.

The thing that was making the empty sick feeling in his gut feel like a stab wound of his own, was your lingering presence in the corner of his room.

You were here because of him. Regardless of the book or not, if he hadn’t insisted you come over that night for pizza you would be sitting across the city in the comfort of your own home right now. You could’ve been with your family when the earthquake happened. Fuck, they don’t even know if you’re alive right now.

Beth could now be heard stomping around all the windows in the apartment, shouting to anyone that could hear her that they needed help.

“What the fuck are we gonna do, Dan?” Your timid voice snapped him from his internal ongoing panic attack. His gaze, still concerned, softened when you turned around to look at him. It had been the first time you’d spoken in a long while, your voice providing an almost immediate comfort to the blonde boy. He began biting his nails with furrowed brows, a habit you’d usually chastise him for.

“I don’t know.” He whispered, eyes still on you. Your hands were trembling. Your hands were fucking trembling because of him, the thought led him unable to look you in the eyes momentarily. Tears began to form as you clenched your fists, trying to fight the breathless in your chest as it began to truly sink in how much shit you were in. Your phone had long been out of battery, with Danny dropping his in the vault where he'd found that book. Neither of you had been able to comprehend the necessity of the devices a mere few hours ago.

You were both essentially isolated from the world as you knew it.

Danny sunk onto the bed, sitting upright with wide eyes and quick breaths. You couldn’t bare to see him like this. Sure, was there a part of you that was totally pissed off at him for tempting fate with that old vinyl? Of course. But hell, the worst thing you’d been expecting was tetanus, not satan herself cooking eggs in the kitchen.

You approached his hunched over figure, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. He still can’t look you in the eyes.

“It’s gonna be okay.” You spoke with the same hesitance as Bridget in the connecting room. Danny was grown up enough to know otherwise, and yet still for a brief moment took solace in your words.

The mattress sinks beside him and when he turns you’re looking at him through wide, concerned eyes. Your clasped hands are still shaking, despite your best efforts to stop them.

His own hand hovers over them. You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding when he finally clasps your hands with his.

Eyes connect in the moment, his own drop briefly to look at your lips. They’re a little bloody from you biting them. Your tongue skates across them, letting the metallic taste fill your mouth. The smell leaking through the damp walls of the apartment itself after the bloodbath caused by Ellie outside.

You might both die tonight, he thinks. This could be it. All those years of friendship over because of him. In fact, he thinks it might be even worse if he survives and you don’t, because he’d be haunting the earth still searching for you at every corner in his life. He considers it for a brief moment, mentally punishing himself with twisted thoughts for the hundredth time that night.

Danny’s stomach drops at the thought of the immense unsaid in your friendship. Every lingering gaze and hand hold, every hushed secret and late night embrace under covers. He lived for those moments, but it was starting to dawn on him that they may remain just that. Fleeting moments of will-they-won’t-they peppering your decade long friendship, the what ifs of tomorrow darkening overnight.

He thinks about the first time he knew he loved you. It was your tenth birthday, a milestone. Your mom had intended on throwing you a lavish party and inviting all the kids in class with the little money she’d had. You’d never been one for showing off or making a big fuss and insisted you just wanted Danny there. The night was spent huddled together in fancy dress costumes, he was a pirate and you were a princess, telling each other spooky stories from the safety of the pillow fort your parents had helped build. He wished this nightmare they were currently experiencing was just that, a spooky story told under the flashlight lit fort.

He could still remember the close proximity you both sat in. The quiet, different from the buzzing playground, had allowed him the opportunity to see you up close. There was something in your words that made his heart beat faster, and when your bright eyes lingered on him while telling your stories he knew deep down that he wanted you to look at him like that for the rest of his life.

You were looking at him like that now.

“Do you remember that night we got home from Oscar’s party?” Your voice was barely a whisper, he almost thought he had made it up in his head. All of a sudden he was very aware of just how close you now were.

Oscar, a classmate and barely a friend, grew up in the richer part of the city. Everyone jumped for a chance to go to his parties for his large pool and the flowing liquor, you had both jumped at the opportunity.

“Yeah.” Danny responded after a beat, still taking the opportunity to inspect your face.

That night you had partaken in your usual drunk hand holding and cuddling, nothing too different from what you’d do sober but with an added possessiveness. You had danced with him like you wanted everyone to watch you together, to know that you were his and he was yours. In those moments, lips had lingered for moments too long at ears and mouths. But ultimately, the night ended with your usual walk home.

If Ellie, Danny’s mom, had known you both weren’t tucked safely in bed in your house she would’ve called a search party to track you down through every nook and cranny in the city. Luckily, you both ended your night in bed by 4am.

“Do you remember what you asked me?” Danny spoke again after a short moment of silence. You were looking at the floor now, your feet occasionally grazing his.

“Yeah.”

“Why haven’t you ever kissed me, Danny?” You asked, he thought you were teasing him but you showed no signs of mocking. Pensive, you rolled to face him. He was frozen in place. The lights were out in your room and your bodies, undressed to different extents that you were both familiar with during an after party sleepover, radiating an addictive warmth that made him want to hold on to you skin to skin.

“I didn’t know that was something you wanted.” His fists were clenched, he was still waiting for this to be a big joke.

“I want it.” The light from the moon illuminated some of your face. He licked his lips.

“Why didn’t we like, ever talk about it after?” If tonight was it, he needed to know. He needed to tell her. He’d rather she hate him and be alive and know than be dead and have the wasted opportunity follow him forever.

“I was scared, I guess - I thought you didn’t like it.” You shrugged.

Soft lips on your own, hands gripping your waist under covers. You’re using all of your self control to not grind yourself into him. The only evidence left of your night together were various lilac bruises scattered on your necks. But neither of you spoke about it. So it was never brought up.

“I liked it.” For the first time tonight since the earthquake, Danny softly smiled. Your eyes lit up, returning the smile to him.

“You never said anything-“

“Neither did you!” He countered, the smile giving away that he wasn’t actually angry. You smirked and rolled your eyes, “Touché.”

As much as it embarrassed you to admit at a time like this, your thighs were pressed together at the thought of you and him that night. Both of you had been virgins prior to the encounter

His left hand tangled through your hair as lips danced, you can still remember how you thought you had a temperature from the summer heat and the sweat coating you both. From his gentle, wordless persuasion of a soft push, you were on your back and his frame was on top pressing into you. By instinct, your legs wrap around his waist and pull him in. His hips grinding to your core, it’s so messy and quick but you can barely think because his other hand is traveling to your thigh to pull you in even closer.

He breaks away from the kiss to trace his thumb across your jaw and your swollen lips. Eyes blown out and wide, jaw slack at the sight of him. You’re spread out under him, the material of your crop top and shorts seemingly oh-so thin now that you’re in this position. Your tongue appears to softly lick the digit of his thumb, his eyes almost rolling back at the sensation. He can feel your thighs clench together around him, seeking a temporary relief from the throbbing between them.

He thinks he might die if he can’t feel it, if only for a second.

Removing the thumb from your mouth, your face immediately portrays your disappointment with a slight pout. Danny lightly smirks, lowering himself down again face to face with you. He reaches down to your thigh, trailing the inside of your leg.

“Can I feel you?”

“I think I’ve been thinking of that night every day since it happened.” He admitted, soft smile lingering. You could feel something stir inside you. Here he was, your best friend, in his oversized shirt and silver chain. He ran his hand through his hair. “I dunno. I just know that I can’t stop thinking about it. And you.” Danny continues.

There was a fucking demon outside the apartment door and quite frankly all you could think about was how badly you wanted that silver chain in your mouth.

Your hand reaches for his jaw, which grows slack at your touch, his gaze seemingly possessed by the thought of you. The summer night heat from that encounter stirred inside of you again.

“I think I’m in love with you.” Apprehensive, you continue to trace your thumb over his cheek, until following his jaw and lips just like he had done that night. “I think I’ve been in love with you for a long while.”

He was hypnotised under the touch.

“I love you too. I’ve always loved you. You’re my best friend, man.” Danny felt like fucking crying and you could tell through his voice. Was this a dream? Was that demon back to taunt him for all the time wasted?

He felt consumed by you, like in this moment his purpose was to do anything he could to make it all better. He leaned in to finally press a kiss on your lips, slow and still hesitant. You chase him for another when he pulls away, noses still connected and eyes closed tight.

You wanted to stay like this forever. His fingers laced with the hair behind your ear, grabbing a section and softly pulling. The involuntary moan that left your lips sent a shiver through him, he wanted more, more, more. Your neck was on display for him to reach down and attack with sloppy kisses and light teasing bites. He pressed himself against you, moving your back flat onto the mattress. His lips and tongue messy with your own, clashing to remedy the thirst for each other. Danny’s thigh pressing against your covered core, subconsciously leading you to grind against him.

“Danny, please-” When you were saying things like that, knowing that you didn’t know how much time you even had left together, he had to comply. It had felt so natural, it almost made him feel that guilty feeling again. Why hadn’t they just been doing this all along?

Lifting your skirt to expose the wet lace of your underwear, he asked the same question he did last summer.

“Can I feel you?”

Without hesitation you nodded, guiding his hands through the waistband. “Shit,” He paused for a second, raising his fingers back up to his mouth, spitting on them before returning them to their previous position.

The electric feeling of him on her clit, foreheads pressed together and eyes connected could make anyone forget about the horrors happening beyond the sanctuary of the doors to his room. His fingers filling you, curling and strumming to a syncopated beat, reacting only to your stirring beneath him.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet babe,” He was amazed at the feeling itself, your slick softness. You choked out a gasp, you groping him in an attempt to give him the same ineluctable pleasure he was giving you. He was too preoccupied with you to worry about anything he might be feeling, not when he was the one that got you in this situation. And besides, hovering over you when you looked this fucking good with his fingers stuffed inside you, that was more than enough for him.

“You’re so good, such a good boy.” He quietly whines at your words, pressing rough kisses to your neck again.

You tug his hair back to grant yourself a better look at him. His other hand wrapped around your neck, not restricting your breathing but still lightly grabbing it. When he could tell you were about to make a loud noise, the same hand swiftly moved to cover your mouth. Your eyes wide with his, silently watching each other desperate to moan.

The silver chain resting on your chest, its cold metal grounding you in the moment. “So fuckin’ pretty,” He murmured, still so preoccupied with the feeling of filling you.

“Needed you for so long Dan,” He bites his lip as his pace grows quick, your fingers finally finding their way around the chain that was taunting you all night.

“Thought about you every night. Couldn’t stop thinking about how fuckin’ wet you were.” It was true, in the shame of their last encounter he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind. Not when he’d been thinking about it for half his life. “Still so so wet baby.”

Looking at his arms, his tattoos and veins. The way they moved in and out of you, the glint in his eyes as he watched his own work. The overwhelming view and feeling lead to the inescapable wave. “Fuck, Dan, I’m gonna-”

And with that, he holds you tight as you hit your orgasm. Your hands fly to his hair and shoulders, trying to remain grounded as your back arches. “Fuckfuckfuck-” You try your hardest to whisper, but your heart is pounding and all you can feel is the dizzying sweetness of Danny all around you. You have to remind yourself that this is real, you’re real.

He watches you, your heavy breathing providing the soundtrack to the moment. He pressed a light kiss to the top of your breast that was on show from the top you were wearing, before moving back up to place a kiss on your lips. Lying beside you, staring into your eyes with a warmth you’d always thought was unimaginable but realising that it had always been there. It has always been him.

So for that moment, you just lay there. And yeah, there was still so much unsaid regarding their long friendship. But for now, in the uncertainty of the night, they’d managed to say enough. For the first time since finding that book, Danny would feel optimistic about the future, despite all the shit going on with his mom. For a second it felt like they could really do this, they could really be fine. If only they could make it to tomorrow, then everything else could be resolved. He could apologise to Bridget, he could ask you out on a real date. You could let your parents know you were alive, you could fix the mistakes of last summer and go all the way again with Dan instead of pretending it never happened.

Unfortunately, as optimistic as they currently were, tomorrow would not come for either of them.

#morgan davies #evil dead rise #danny evil dead #danny evil dead rise #danny x reader #danny evil dead x reader #danny evil dead rise x reader #evil dead #evil dead smut

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scoonsalicious · 2 months

Text

Unwanted: Chapter 3, Unbidden - Pt. 3*

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mentions of violence/killing, mildly predatory!Bucky (but Dear Reader is INTO it), poorly translated Russian, mentions of past trauma, EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT -Minors: GTFO; I don’t serve your kind here- (fingering, protected PIV), bad jokes (it's me, okay?) As always, if I missed something, please let me know.

Word Count: 2.9k

Previously On...: You woke the morning after the party to find Bucky had already left for his first Avengers mission. However, he's left you a note promising to tell you something very important when he comes home.

A/N: WARNING! SMUT! THIS IS NOT A DRILL! The entire part is smut and I am not sorry.

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917

Taglist: (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @jmeelee @cazellen @blackhawkfanatic @les-sel @marcswife21 @buckybarnessimpp @mrsbuckybarnes1917

The mission was only supposed to last a handful days, a week, tops, but he'd been gone for close to two weeks, and you hated it. He was with Steve and Sam, off to God only knew where, doing God only knew what, and as there was no need for your tech skills, you'd been left behind. It was almost disconcerting how difficult it had been to be sleeping on your own again, and you found yourself sneaking into his room late at night after you'd been tossing and turning for hours, just to hold onto his pillow and inhale the familiar scent of cedar and leather.

On the thirteenth night, you were lying in your bed, staring at the ceiling. A glance at your clock told you it was almost 2am. You were debating whether or not you should go across the hall to Bucky's room to try to steal a few hours of sleep there so you wouldn't be completely useless tomorrow when there was a knock on your door. You bolted upright-- no good news came at 2am, and especially not in person.

You quickly padded to the door on bare feet, heart pounding and mind reeling at the thought of what could possibly be waiting on the other side-- had the mission gone horribly wrong? Had something happened to Bucky? God, you didn't even know what you would do with yourself if something bad had happened to him... The last thing you were expecting to find on the other side was the man, himself, leaning on the door frame, breathing heavily, tac-suit disheveled and bloodied.

You flung the door wide. "Buck?" you whispered. "What happ--" With a single step forward and without a word, his mouth was on yours, hands grasping your face and pulling you toward him in desperation. There was nothing gentle or romantic about the kiss-- it was ravenous and frantic, as though your lips were the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground.

You gasped against his mouth and pulled away, stumbling back a few steps to put some distance between you as you tried to make sense of what had just happened. He was staring at you with an intensity that made you feel the urge to squeeze your thighs together. There was a hunger in his eyes you had never seen before, and it was directed at you.

"Bucky," you breathed as his eyes roved over your body from head to toe and back again.

"Is that my shirt?" The corner of his mouth rose in a smirk. You looked down. You were wearing one of his shirts, having gone and pulled it out of his dresser one night when you were sick with missing him. Unfortunately, it was all you were wearing. You certainly hadn't gone to bed expecting post-midnight visitors.

"Yes?" you managed to squeak out. He stepped further into your room and, without even turning around, kicked your door shut in one fluid motion.

"Pocket," he practically growled --and dear God, why was the sound of his voice making you wet?-- "I missed you. So. fucking. much. You have no idea." He was on you again, this time his hands going under your ass and hoisting you up as he kissed you.

This is a bad idea, you thought as you found yourself kissing him back, opening your mouth to let in his tongue. This is a terrible, very bad idea. Yet you wrapped your legs around his waist and carded your hands through his hair as he walked you back to the bed. Future!Pocket can deal with the fallout tomorrow was your last cognizant thought before you let yourself give in fully to the sensation of your best friend's lips on yours.

When he got you to your bed, he laid you down, so gently you could scarcely breathe. He rested his body next to you, eyes never leaving yours as his hands gently stroked your face, your arms, your sides.

"Bucky," you moaned as his hands found their way under the hem of your shirt to caress your hipbone, "what is this?"

He leaned down, trailing feather-light kisses along your jawline, your neck, your collarbone. "Two weeks," he murmured in between kissing you. "Two weeks without touching you, feeling how soft you are. All I could think about was how you danced, with Sam's hands all over you. Thought I was going to go crazy. And then all that violence. Killing bad guys is still killing, and I still hate it. Needed to come home and feel something good. Needed to feel you." You felt him slide his hands under the waistband of your panties, skimming his way across your pubic bone until he was cupping your mound. You hitched a breath at the contact, hips inadvertently pressing up against his palm on their own accord.

"We're friends, Buck." You let out a low moan as his fingers began inching slowly lower, toward your center, just out of reach of where you were surprised to find you wanted him to be. You knew if you told him to stop, he'd do so in an instant, but the look of wanting in his eyes, of the absolute need he had for you had short circuited your brain, and you were willing to give him anything he asked for in that moment.

"Mmmm," he hummed as he slipped a single finger between your folds, teasing you, testing you, seeing how far you were willing to let him go as you squirmed beneath him. "Best friends. And we can still be best friends in the morning, but I need this now, Pocket. Pozhaluysta."

It was the please that did you in. There was something about the vulnerability in his voice, the desperation, that had you opening your legs to him, a silent invitation.

He smiled at you, so beautiful and pure, that you couldn't resist leaning up to kiss him again, and as you did, he ran a finger through your slick, coating himself in you, before plunging it inside you up to his knuckle.

You gasped at the unexpected intrusion, arching your back and pressing your chest against his. The feeling of his thick finger inside of you was exquisite. The number of times you had been intimate with someone simply because you wanted to be, and not because you were forced to, were few and far between, and if you were being honest with yourself, if you could have picked an ideal partner, it would have been Bucky.

"You're already so wet, doll," he whispered, nibbling on the soft skin of your neck, just at your pulse point. He was going to leave a mark, but it felt so good that you couldn't care. Yet, the feeling of having his finger inside of you paled in comparison to when he began pumping that finger, strokes long and slow, the palm of his hand grinding on your clit as he worked you. After a moment, a second finger joined the first, and then a third, and he curled them as he stretched you, hitting that soft, spongy part of you that had you seeing stars.

"Bucky," you panted, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and pulling him closer as you gasped for air. "I'm-- I'm--"

"That's alright, doll," he whispered, the pace of his thrusting increasing as he brought you closer to the edge. "I want you to come for me, okay? Can you do that? Can you come around my fingers? God, you look so beautiful. Prosto otpusti menya, kukolka." Just let go for me, doll.

You couldn't even form a coherent word for him right now if you tried, in any language, so you just moaned and writhed, letting your body speak for you until you were coiling, coiling, coiling-- snapping and breaking, falling apart into a million pieces of light, internal walls fluttering around his fingers as a wave of euphoria washed over you, pulsating through every inch of your being with a ferocious intensity.

He kept working you through your release, prolonging the sensations, drawing out your whimpers and moans as your limbs shook with the aftershock.

"Good girl," he whispered, standing up, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead. "Such a good girl for me, and so pretty when you come, too."

You laid there, motionless as you tried to catch your breath. Did that really just happen? Did you seriously just get off on Bucky's fingers?

Propping yourself up onto your elbows, you opened your mouth to ask Bucky what this was going to mean for your friendship, but before you could get a word out, you were struck dumb by the sight of him before you. He had stripped himself of his tac-suit and was standing on the side of the bed in just his boxer briefs. You'd seen him shirtless before, he'd slept in only sweats often enough, but this was an entirely different level. The man was built like a marble sculpture. Even the jagged scars on his shoulder where flesh met metal were beautiful.

Bucky seemed to be moving in slow motion, and you weren't sure if he was being deliberate in his movements, or if you were just so rattled by the orgasm he had given you that time had become distorted, but you watched as he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his boxer briefs and pulled them down over his thick thighs, until he was stepping out of them.

Your eyes followed his hand as it came back up and took a hold of his shaft, giving it one, two, three long, strong strokes.

"Yebena mat'," you whispered-- holy shit-- and he smirked at you; he always loved it when you spoke Russian to him. You'd always guessed Bucky was fairly well endowed, but you never imagined anything like this. He was long and thick, with a prominent vein snaking up the underside of the hard length of him as his hand traveled from base to tip, leaving a slick trail of pre-cum behind. His size alone was enough to make you shudder with need, and that combined with the way he moved around it -- like he knew exactly what he was doing and who he was doing it for -- made you feel as if you'd been thrown right back into that place of euphoria all over again.

Bucky closed the distance between you, his breath hot against your skin as he loomed over you. Your heart raced, anticipation coursing through your veins as he gazed down at you with intense desire in his eyes. You lifted yourself up, eager to explore every inch of his sculpted body with your hands and lips. As his hand ran along his length, you couldn't help but bite your lip in anticipation. "I don't know whether to be scared or excited," you whispered, aching for him in a way you'd never known.

With a soft smile, Bucky kissed the tip of your nose before retrieving a condom from your bedside drawer-- how did he even know where you kept them?-- and rolling it on his length. "There's nothing to be scared of," he reassured you in a low voice. "I promise, Pocket, I'm going to make you feel so good." And with that, he entered you, filling you completely and igniting a fire within you until you were begging to burn. His movements were skillful and deliberate, each thrust pushing you closer to an edge of ecstasy that seemed perpetually out of reach. With every stroke, he broke down your barriers until you were grinding against him in pure bliss, lost in a world of pleasure you could never have imagined he would create for you.

"You take me so damned well," Bucky grunted into your ear. "The perfect little Pocket for my cock to sit in."

He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head, pounding into you relentlessly, pushing past all your reservations and making you beg him for more. You never knew you could crave someone like this until now, and it was intoxicating. Pleasure coursed through your body as he took you to new heights, and you couldn't help but scream his name as he took you to the brink of ecstasy over and over again.

He kept thrusting until the very last wave of his own release was complete, before collapsing beside you. You laid there, breathless and panting, your head spinning with a million different thoughts and feelings. You couldn't believe that you'd just had sex with Bucky Barnes. You'd just had sex with your best friend.

Bucky shifted so that he was lying beside you, resting his head on the swell of your chest. "You okay, Pocket?"

You nodded, unable to muster up the words to express what you were feeling. Hell, you could barely process what had just happened between you.

"We don't have to talk about this if you don't want to," he said, pressing a kiss to your clavicle. "But I... Just... Thank you, Pocket. You have no idea how much I needed that. How much it means to me."

"We should talk about it, though," you said softly, almost regretting it as soon as the words left your mouth. But when it came to physical intimacy, you had too much emotional baggage to just act like this was nothing.

Bucky held perfectly still at your words. He wasn't looking at you, so you had no way of knowing what he was thinking, but you needed to be honest with him.

"That was..." you blew out a breath, "amazing. Seriously, well done. Five stars." You felt, rather than heard, him chuckle against your skin, and some of the post-coital tension between you dissipated. "But, I need to know what your expectations are going forward, Buck."

He tilted his head up to look at you, his eyes wide and open. "I don't have any expectations of you, Pocket. This can be a one-time thing, and we can pretend it never happened, or we can explore it. See where it goes. Whatever you want."

Whatever you wanted. What did you want? You loved Bucky with your whole heart. Probably more than you'd ever loved anyone, but did you love him like that? You'd never even stopped to consider it. You were attracted to him, obviously. You weren't blind, after all. But you were so damaged. You'd spent your entire adult life divorcing sex from your emotions, building a wall between the two. What if you tried this, and in the process, destroyed the best thing you'd ever had?

"I don't know how to do this, Buck," you whispered, and you knew he understood. Though your traumas weren't identical, they shared a foundation: forced into submission as your bodies were used for the whims and desires of others, against your will.

"Hey," he crawled back up to your face, planting small kisses along the tear stains on your cheeks. Shit. When had you started crying? "It's just you and me, okay? Just us. This," he motioned between your two bodies, "is something extra, a bonus. You told me a long time ago what your limits were, and I respect them. I understand them, and I'm not trying to make you go past them. We can have... what did Sam call it? A friends-with-insurance situation."

A snort escaped you as you swatted at him, relief washing over you at the knowledge that he knew you so well, that he wasn't pushing for more than you could give him right now. "It's 'friends with benefits,' you geriatric stooge." And then it hit you and you started to laugh.

"What?" Bucky asked suspiciously, propping himself up onto his metal elbow to look down at you.

"I just fucked a centenarian. Is that considered elder abuse?"

"I'm pretty sure I was the one doing all the pounding, so I think you're safe on that front," he said with a laugh.

That sound. God, you loved that sound. It was like a weight being lifted from your chest. You turned into him, resting your head against the hard planes of his chest.

"I don't want to ruin what we have, Buck," you confessed, your voice small and scared. "You're the most important thing in my life, and if I fuck up our friendship, I don't know what I would do."

He took a finger and placed it under your chin, tilting your face up until he met your eyes. "We're not going to fuck anything up, Pocket, I promise. This can be just sex, just another way for us to make each other happy." He ran his hand through your hair, cupping the back of your skull. "You always do such a good job of taking care of me, of making me feel good. Let me return the favor." He leaned down and kissed you again.

This kiss was softer, without the hunger he'd poured into the first time he kissed you, but no less consuming. You felt his tongue brush along the seam of your lips, so you opened your mouth, inviting him to deepen the kiss. He tasted like wintergreen gum.

"Just making each other happy," you whispered when you separated for air. "I can do that."

And in that moment, you actually believed it.

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