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star-girl69 · 4 months

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In A Good Way

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!AphroditeCabin!Reader

—-

sypnosis: basically episode two but if clarisse had a gf (so what should have been canon pretty much)

a/n: sorry dior is so fine i had to get the thoughts out this is kinda shitty also but anyways i hope you all enjoy!!

In A Good Way - Faye Webster

warnings: some violence, swearing, soft and ooc clarisse but only bc i wholeheartedly believe she is soft only for her gf and i love soft clarisse, also protective!clarisse my weakness, i’m insane, cringe, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

You watch Clarisse bump into the poor boy.

You’re sitting with your siblings, Tyla and Jackie, but your eyes were drawn to her even across the courtyard. Your eyes are always drawn to her.

She shoulders him hard, then immediately turns around and pushes him straight to the ground. Tyla gasps next to you as he crashes sharply into the dirt.

“Your girlfriend is a literal menace, Y/N,” Jackie scoffs.

“How do you think I feel having to deal with her?”

You really do feel bad for the boy, Percy, you think. Regardless of whether or not he really killed the Minotaur (Clar spent the entire night talking your ear off about how it simply can’t be true) it’s his first day at camp. He’s helpless, to say the least.

Feeling less than your whole life and then finally coming to a place where everyone else is like you, finally getting answers- it’s a shock.

You always feel bad for every new camper. Especially the young and tiny ones like him. Besides, you like his cute blonde hair.

“Oh, haha,” Jackie rolls her eyes. “You love her.”

You start to get up, faking a dramatic sigh, “I do.”

Tyla giggles as you walk away and come into earshot.

“Hey. Knock it off, Clarisse. It’s like his first day, come on.” Luke seems as unimpressed as he always does, slightly apathetic, as another Hermes cabin member tugs Percy up.

“Wait, so, this is the kid who killed the Minotaur. Is that right?” she takes a step forward, a misleading smile on her face.

“Yeah,” Percy says, awkwardly looking around.

“I’ll bet,” she smiles, her eyes lighting up in prospect of someone new to torture. “Look, you want attention around here, dummy? You better be ready for it when it comes.”

Her eyes meet yours.

“Clarisse!” you say in a sing-song voice, walking up to her and placing your hand on her shoulder. “He’s, like, twelve.”

“Oh, but he’s strong enough to kill a Minotaur?”

Your eyes lock, her hand brushes your hip, and you get those same cliche butterflies in your stomach you always do when you look at her.

You smile.

You see her eyes soften.

She turns back to Percy after a moment, faking forward, and he flinches so hard he almost falls back.

Her and her Ares siblings laugh, you roll your eyes, and push her away. She walks away, her siblings in tow, and you turn back to Luke.

On Luke, Thalia, and Annabeth’s last stretch to camp, they came across you. Your satyr protector had been killed by a monster protecting you, and Luke had held your hand and promised that all of you were going to make it to camp.

You’ll always have that bond with Luke, even though Clar hates his guts and his best swordsman in camp title.

You place your arm on his shoulder, he slings a loose arm around your waist.

Luke is pretty much the only person who can get away with touching you like this, or else they’ll receive a nice message from Clarisse in the form of a dagger barely missing their face.

“Ares kids,” Luke explains to Percy. “They come by it honestly. You got lucky today. If Y/N hadn’t come around, you probably would have gotten knocked over again.”

“Hi,” you say, sticking out your hand. “I’m Y/N.” Percy shakes your hand, smiling awkwardly.

“She’s Clarisse’s girlfriend and the only thing that stands between the camp and total destruction.”

“Oh,” Percy says, not quite able to hide his surprise and slight disgust. “She seems… nice.”

“Well, if you look like me, she’ll love you. But… I don’t think that’ll happen.”

Percy chuckles a bit.

“Why don’t they bother you?” he asks Luke.

“Ah, they know better,” he says, squeezing you closer to him.

“Yeah, Luke’s the best swordsman in camp,” one of Luke’s siblings says. You can see something in Percy’s eyes, a light that reminds you a bit of Clar.

“So, they stay away from you because, glory? So, if I get glory, Clarisse wouldn’t mess with me either?”

“Exactly,” Luke affirms. You look at him out of the corner of your eye. What the Hades is he teaching him?

“And people think I’m a big deal?”

“Well, sorta-”

“And my dad’s got no choice but to claim me.”

Oh. Your heart squeezes for him.

“You… you can’t force the Gods to do anything,” Luke says, trying not to hurt Percy too much.

“Well, yeah, but… it would make it a lot harder for him to pretend I don’t exist, right?”

“Maybe,” Luke concedes.

“Great. Where do we start?”

You laugh. “Ooh, I like the way you think.” You slip away from Luke, smiling at Percy. “Come find me if you wanna try your hand at some Aphrodite skills.”

—-

You find Clarisse sitting outside her cabin at a picnic table, polishing her spear, her favorite activity.

You sit down next to her.

“Hey, baby,” she murmurs, a bit too entranced with the gift from her father.

“I only have a few minutes before I go to archery, but… I think you’ll enjoy this.” She looks over at you for a second, then right back to the spear. “Don’t make me charmspeak you, La Rue.”

“Okay. Okay, sorry, what?” she sets the spear down in her lap, staring up at you with a smile as if she hadn’t been ignoring you a second ago.

“Percy Jackson wants to find glory so you’ll stop bothering him,” she snorts, “and so his father will have to claim him.”

She hums.

“Well, I like him. I think he’s cute.”

She shoots you a bored look.

“Don’t say horrible things like that.”

You play with a curl hanging over her shoulder. “We both know I’ll say whatever I want.”

“Oh, I know.”

—-

“What happened to you?”

You turn to look at Clarisse’s smirking face.

“What?”

She rolls her eyes. “C’mere,”

You lean forward, across the space between the Aphrodite cabin and the Ares cabin tables. Clarisse puts her hand to your face, thumb tracing along your cheekbone. She pulls back, and you stare at her dirt covered thumb.

“You’re covered in dirt, gorgeous.”

You hurriedly raise your hand up to your face, groaning when your palm does in fact come away covered in dirt.

“Percy is definitely not a child of Apollo,” you mutter.

“What d’you mean?” Clarisse asks, handing you a few extra napkins as you begin to wipe off your face, a spot on your shirt you had noticed.

“Luke’s taking him around, trying to figure out what he’s got a talent for. It was funny, actually, he shot the arrow over all of us on the side and we all went crashing into the ground.”

She doesn’t seem to find it as funny as you do.

“It was an accident, Clar!” you say, all sing-song again.

“Oh, I’m sure it was. Exactly why I don’t believe he killed that Minotaur.”

“Adrenaline makes even mortals do crazy things.”

“You don’t kill a Minotaur with adrenaline,” she hisses.

—-

Capture the Flag is held the next day. Clarisse and two of her siblings have been particularly pissed off all morning, and no matter how much you bug her, she only says “you’ll see” in this horribly nerve-wracking tone.

You have the same job you do every game. Sit in front of the flag, and charmspeak anyone who tries to come near it.

You’re decent with a bow, okay with a sword, but this is one area where you really shine, where you can really help.

After the first game, the blue team has learned to wear ear plugs when they come near you. But you’re like a siren, you come around and take out their ear plugs anyways. They’re scared to touch you, because one of the Ares kids will run right off to Clarisse, and she tells you all the time that she’d rather lose dessert privileges for a month then see you with one scratch.

Chiron stands imposingly on the large rock at the start of the small river that divides the two halves of the woods.

“The first team to retrieve the opposing flag and return it across the river shall be the victor.”

You know these rules by heart.

Ever since your first Game, the day you met Clarisse, you’ve loved them. You’re not the most violent person, nothing near Clar and her insatiable thirst for competition, but there’s just something about the game.

She walks forward through the sea of red-marked armor, digging her spear into the ground and glaring at what you can only assume to be Percy Jackson.

“Any magical items you may possess are permitted as well. Every camper who is not injured has to play. Prisoners may be disarmed, but may not be bound or gagged.”

You suppress a laugh at that rule. That one was only implemented a few games ago, right after the one where you had been taken prisoner and tied with vines to a tree. When Clar had heard, she actually almost murdered a few kids and maimed some more.

Although it made keeping prisoners a little awkward, Chiron had proclaimed it was in everyone’s best interests.

“Let the games begin!” he shouts, the conch blows, and the entire team screams in a terrifying war cry.

The blue team bangs their shields and weapons together, and now you have 20 minutes before game on.

Clarisse is the captain of your team, of course. She marches around barking orders to everyone, as if their positions aren’t already drilled into their heads.

“Hey Clar,” you say. You’re surrounded by a few Ares kids, a few other good fighters, ready to protect the flag and by extension you- with their lives.

Capture the flag games are taken seriously.

She looks at the red flag in your hands, smiling in that smug way she always does. She doesn’t smile this way when it’s just you and her, but you can still see the softness in her eyes even now. With Clarisse, her emotions are all about the eyes.

“You all know what you’re doing?” she asks. All the kids behind you nod. “Good,” she smirks, starting to walk away.

“Are you hunting in your usual woods today?” you ask, heading in the same direction as her.

She smiles, a full toothy grin.

“Oh, baby, I have something even better planned.”

Clarisse is not one to change the strategy.

You can’t get it out of your head what she’s been saying about Percy.

“If you kill someone, I’m killing you.”

She just smiles.

—-

One of the kids holds the flag from up on a rock, acting like a lookout. You lean against that rock, your armor digging into your thighs at the awkward angle, waiting for someone to come. Everyone else surrounds you in the flag, in battle stances.

The conch blew about 20 minutes ago, and you should be seeing someone soon.

“I think Luke’s coming,” Corey, the Apollo kid lookout says.

“Of course he is,” you mutter. He’s always in charge of getting the flag, because he’s not afraid to touch you. Clarisse knows he’s just your friend, or else he probably would have been dead by now. They emerge from the woods, not bothering to try for stealth, all in defensive positions.

Everyone lets you take the lead. You understand why Clarisse loves power. It’s addicting, it’s like lightening in your veins.

“Hi, Luke,” you smile.

He can’t hear you, but he returns the smile.

“You’re all going to turn around and walk 300 feet in the other direction.”

Luke sighs as one of the kids actually turns and walks away, heeding your command. Everyone else has their earplugs in tight, but it always gets one or two of them.

You roll your eyes. “You always make this so difficult, Luke.”

You walk towards him, maybe you can surprise him and rip the ear plugs out of your ear, but he suddenly springs his leg out so you trip, slamming into the ground and getting a face full of dirt.

“Bitch,” you mumble, ready to get up. Suddenly, a Hermes girl throws herself on top of you, slapping a hand over your mouth.

As soon as you hit the ground, the fight erupts around you.

“You can’t do this, Luke, it’s against the rules!” you screech, but it’s muffled through the girls thick leather gloves.

Matty, one of Clar’s siblings sighs heavily. “Fuckin’ hate this dude,” he mumbles. “Marjorie, go get Clarisse.”

The girl runs off, and Matty adjusts his helmet.

“Don’t know why you do this to yourself, man.”

Luke kneels down in front of you while you scream obscenities next to his name. He makes a big show of taking out his earplugs before ruffling your hair.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

He whips around and his sword immediately clashes with Matty’s, and they’re locked in a flurry of metal clashing and glinting in the sunlight. Matty is really good, probably bested only by Clarisse, but Luke is still the best swordsman in camp.

He puts up a valiant fight, but Luke disarms him.

Your back is really, really starting to hurt like this.

It’s whirlwind, but there were more blue team then red team, and sometimes sheer number beats out even the best of the Ares cabin.

They grab the flag and run for the beach.

The girl waits for another moment until one of the Ares kids points his sword at her.

“You’re really gonna want to let her go,” Matty says. She stands up and books it, following her team.

“Eat dirt!” you scream as she runs away, but she still has her earplugs in.

Matty helps you up.

“Clarisse’s gonna kill us all.”

“I hate Luke Castellan. I hate him, I hate him, I wish him nothing but pain and suffering.”

Matty claps your shoulder.

“Hey, at least we all get to watch Clarisse beat up the Hermes cabin at sword practice tomorrow.”

And you do like seeing Clar fight, the way she’s so focused and truly in her element, sweat making her skin glisten in the sunlight…

“That will be fun,” you concede. Matty laughs, and you all make your way down to the beach.

—-

The scream scares you.

All the kids around you jump up with their swords, thinking a monster had somehow made its way near camp, but you recognize that voice.

“Clarisse,” you mumble, feeling frozen.

“What?” Matty asks, his eyes scanning the forest. “What’d you say?”

“Clarisse,” you repeat, breaking off into a run towards the sound of it, towards the beach.

“Clar- wait, Y/N!”

But you’re already long gone.

—-

You make it to the beach a minute after the conch sounded, the blue team having won, making it just in time to see the blue trident appear over Percy’s head. You can barely even register the fact that he’s a forbidden child, your eyes immediately finding Clar’s siblings, the ones she was supposed to be hunting with today.

“Hey, hey,” you breathe out, almost slamming into one of them. “W-where’s Clarisse? I heard her scream-”

You love her so much it’s like your heart will break if you even think about her being hurt. It always seems like Clar is the one who loves you more, only because of her proud and overprotective nature, but really you love her just as much.

You just never have the opportunity to threaten to kill someone like she does for you. She does that all on her own.

“Oh, uh, she went that way,” he points in the direction of a barely there path, heading into the woods and back to camp.

“Great, thanks!” you shout, already running after her.

You catch up with her after a minute, your gaze landing on her practically stomping through the woods. She’s angry. She’s angry, why?

“Clar!” you shout, and she whips around, standing still while you sprint over to her. “Clarisse, Clarisse, are you hurt? I-I heard you scream-”

You run your hands up and down her arms, and after a tense second of her staring at the ground, she puts her hands on your hips.

“I’m not hurt, I’m fine.”

She looks like she’s about to cry. But you know she won’t ever let herself cry, won’t ever let herself be perceived as weak.

You wrap your arms and let her put her face in your neck. She’s almost shaking with how angry she is, her fingers digging into your hips, and she stops herself and lets go before she can hurt you.

“Oh, baby,” you murmur. You’re not sure what happened. But she screamed like that, not like she was scared, but like she had just lost something. ��Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” She says into your neck, simple, and you respect it.

“Okay, well, let’s go back to your cabin. You’re not gonna believe the day I had. Will it make you happy to know I give you permission to beat up Luke?”

She looks up at you with skeptical eyes. You both ignore the tears staining her cheeks. “Really?” she asks, slightly hopeful, even through all her anger and sadness.

“Come on,” you smile, letting go of her and sliding you hand into hers. She meets your pace and wraps her arm around your waist. She doesn’t tell you she loves you, but you know.

—-

You flop down onto Clar’s bed. As the head counselor, she gets the best bunk. On the second floor loft, where there’s only enough space for single beds, meaning she doesn’t have to deal with bunk beds, all the way in the corner for a little privacy.

She stands in front of you, slipping off her shoes, and your reach forward to work at the knots of her breastplate.

She stares at you until the armor is lose around her, and she lifts it up over her head and leaves it haphazardly on the ground.

You lay flat, stretching your aching back, and Clar leans over you to help you take off your armor. You probably don’t even need armor, but Clarisse is overprotective by nature, by blood. It makes her feel better, and it really doesn’t bother you much. She lifts it over your head, letting the metal crash into the floor before laying down next to you.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I’m supposed to be here for you but I’m so tired, and my back hurts so bad…”

She laughs. You smile, and it falls into comfortable silence.

“Can I really beat up Luke?” she says after a second.

You open your eyes and she’s laying on her side, propped up her arm and staring at you.

“Oh, you can.”

“Why?” she asks, still not quite believing you.

“Okay, so, Luke comes over, right. And you know, I try to charmspeak them but only one of them goes. I walk over to Luke and he fucking trips me! It was so embarrassing, baby, I literally ate shit.”

She smiles and puts her arm around your waist, tugging you closer to her.

“Then, some girl tackles me before I can get up, and puts her hand over my mouth so I can’t do anything. Which first of all, is completely against the rules, and second of all, it really hurt my back! Then, then, Luke has the audacity to say ‘Oh, thanks Y/N!’ and ruffles my hair, like? I swear to Gods, I just want him to… well, I don’t know. Suffer.”

“Don’t worry, gorgeous,” she mutters into the top of your head. “I’ll make sure he’s unrecognizable.”

You smile. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Clarisse. Who would defend my honor and fight my battles?”

She seems sort of placid, tired, like she’s just a still lake reacting to your body wading in deeper. It’s almost like she’s gonna fall asleep, and she’s always tired after capture the flag, so it’s not unusual.

“I’d be there,” she mutters, her eyes closed.

You’re both silent for a few more minutes, just the two of you together, her strong arm around you, the way it’s always meant to be.

“He’s a son of Poseidon. Did you see?”

“Yes,” you whisper. “I saw.”

“It’s not fair,” she says, like the child she never got to be. “I spend so much time, so much time trying to make him proud- it took months for him to claim me and he gets claimed on, what, his third day?”

Her head lands on your chest, your hands smoothing down her hair.

She touches the necklace she gave you months ago, bringing it out from under your shirt, the simple chain with the pretty charm that looks like a spear. More so an arrow, but it’s supposed to be her spear.

“He broke it,” she whispers.

“Broke what?”

She sits up a little higher, her hands reaching behind you and undoing the clasp on your necklace. You haven’t even taken it off since she put it on you, so of course she would be the one to take it off.

“He broke my spear.”

“Oh, Clarisse…” she stares at the necklace before folding it up tightly in her palm. She breathes out as she lays back down on your chest, her legs entwining with yours, your hand back in her curls.

“The Hephaestus kids can fix it, but it won’t be electrical anymore.”

You don’t say anything. Most people would say “it’s better than nothing” but you’re demigods with absent divine parents.

Clarisse didn’t tell you it was better than nothing to at least be claimed by Aphrodite when one of your siblings got a magic item from her. She didn’t try and tell you “maybe someday” when you cried in her arms.

Because more often then not, you’ll die before your godly parent even claims you. More kids die on their way to Camp Half-Blood then Chiron would like to admit.

And what would the Gods do? Nothing. They would do nothing about it, because they don’t care.

Clarisse doesn’t cry, but you know she wants to, and you let her know that she can cry if she wants to. She can, if she has to. You’d never turn her away.

If she hasn’t realized already, you’re in this for the long run.

—-

Clarisse fell asleep in your arms, then pulled you back when you tried to go back to your own cabin, and you figured Chiron wouldn’t mind this once.

She finally let you go after you screamed that she couldn’t kiss you before you brushed your teeth, mumbling about how you’re depriving her.

When you meet up with her again, she has her sword in hand and her armor strapped tight to her body.

It was just a great big coincidence that the Hermes, Aphrodite, Ares and Demeter cabins all had sword practice at the same times. Clarisse looked all too happy at being able to get out some anger from yesterday, because sparring is the only way Clar has to work out the intense feelings she inherited from her father.

“So, who should I metaphorically kill?”

“Ooh, big word,” you tease. She grabs your chin, making you look at her, but she’s smiling too much for it to be a threat.

“C’mon, baby, who?”

“Luke. And…” you point, “That’s the girl who tackled me. Oh, and that’s the boy who fought Corey and got the flag. I don’t know his name.”

“‘Cause he’s irrelevant,” she says. You hum. “You just wait right here, gorgeous, enjoy the show.” She winks before sauntering off in the girls direction, smiling in that misleading way, asking her if she wants to spar.

You beckon Jackie and Tyla over to you, who both seem unimpressed.

“Please don’t tell me you put Clarisse up to attacking the Hermes cabin,” Tyla sighs.

“I didn’t put her up to anything. She did it all on her own.”

“Oh, sure she did,” Jackie rolls her eyes.

“Don’t act like you all aren’t gonna enjoy it.”

Tyla meets your eyes, then Jackie’s.

“Sorry, Jacks, it’s, like, really entertaining!”

You all laugh as Clar leads the girl into the circle, laughing even harder when she disarms her after a minute. The boy who took the flag barely lasts 45 seconds.

When Luke walks up to her, she throws her sword down and tackles him. You give her a minute before you pull her off.

—-

clarisse, about to beat up percy

y/n: oh no no no no you don’t

clarisse: ok i won’t kill him rn 😍😍😍😍

—-

y/n: yeah like idk what i would do without you who would protect me and fight my battles

clarisse “i would be there” la rue: bitch our love transcends the laws of physics I WOULD BE THERE

—-

y/n giggling and kicking her feet watching clarisse beat up luke

—-

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x you #pjo tv show #pjo x reader #pjo x you

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outsideratheart · 29 days

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Healing (Alexia Putellas x reader)

A/N: This took me a lot longer to finish than I hoped but it’s done. Grab a drink and get comfy because it’s a long one, in fact I think it’s my longest fic to date.

The world had its questions and you were well aware of the headlines.

Y/N Y/L/N quits football.

Where is Y/N Y/L/N? Here's what we know.

The best in the world has vanished.

If you find Y/N tell her Sarina is looking for her.

The last twelve months had been the hardest in your life. You thought you could prepare for it, that it would easier because you knew it was coming but that wasn't the case. The day it happened was the day your heart broke and as you buried her you knew you were burying part of yourself too.

You left the world speculating as to why you didn't extend your contract with Lyon, why you never signed for another club and more importantly people were wondering where you had disappeared to.

Both your club and country team mates knew about your personal life and the tragedy that happened shortly after the euros.

You missed football, of course you did, but you also needed to take time away to process what had happened. A return date was never set but then the world cup happened. You watched your team mates cry after losing to Spain and you couldn't help but feel partially responsible. The game might have ended differently if you had played.

A decision had been made. It was time to return to the pitch. You had offers before and after the euros. The only question is what teams would still want you?

The sun was setting in Barcelona as the team finished up a late training session. Most of the players stayed behind to take advantage of the free food given they knew once they got home they wouldn't have the energy to cook themselves.

“Lucy your phone is ringing” Ona shouts over to where the English defender is filling her plate.

“Who is it?” Lucy replies.

Ona’s face floods with guilt. Almost as if she shouldn’t be looking at the phone. This sparks interest of those around her but no one more than Keira who sees the name on the screen.

“Y/N” Lucy all but ran back to table after hearing Keira say your name “is everything ok? Where are you? Yes I’m with Lucy. Before I hand you over promise me that you’re ok? Good”

Keira hands over the phone and watches Lucy’s face as she tries to figure out why you called and what you are talking about.

“Yes there are people around me. Ok, I’ll ask”

When you hang up the phone Lucy does as you ask or at least she makes the first step.

“Alexia” Lucy walks around to where the captain is sat with Mapi and Ingrid “Who would I talk about signing a new player?”

“It’s not our job to recruit players but if you know something that might help the club then tell me and I will ask” Alexia wasn’t stupid. She heard your name and now Lucy was asking this. It wasn’t a coincidence.

“I can’t. This is a sensitive subject”

“Vale. Talk to Jona and if he thinks the player is right for the club then he can set up a meeting”

Alexia left the training facility that night thinking of you. You were at the peak of your career, many people considered you the best in the world and if she is being honest she thought you would win the Balon d’Or, not her. That night Alexia watched your highlights for hours, even the ones in the games against her. You really were a once in a generation player which makes it that much harder for Alexia to understand why you walked off the pitch at Wembley and hadn’t been seen on one since.

The next day at training the energy felt different. Lucy and Keira had a sense of happiness that their team mates hadn’t seen before. They would gather around Lucy’s phone but then hide it when somebody came close to them.

Jona came walking into the gym with Xavi Puig right behind him and called over both Keira and Lucy. A couple of players watch the conversation unfold and tried their hardest to read their lips.

“Ingrid, what are they saying?” Mapi nudges her girlfriend.

“They’re talking about Y/N Y/L/N” Alexia was stretching on the floor playing no part in the eavesdropping.

“How do you know?” Ingrid asks her.

“She called Lucy yesterday and then Lucy talked to me about the club signing a new player. I can’t know for sure but that’s what I think is going on”

A couple of days later you landed in Barcelona, greeted by the warm weather and your two England team mates who kept a low key appearance in the arrivals hall. You stop when you are a meter away them. You didn’t know what to do, you hadn’t seen them in almost a year.

“Come here” Lucy throws her arms around you followed by Keira.

“We’re so happy to see you Y/N. We really have missed you”

You remain quiet as you walk to the car. Both of them fill you in on what the team is like and you make sure to remind them that you haven’t officially signed yet.

“Jona mentioned that. You want a trial training session?”

“It’s the right thing to do” you didn’t want any special treatment. You wanted to earn the right to play for the club and not just be handed the contract.

“You could have not played football for 5 years and still run rings round all of us” Lucy knows you the most having played with her at both club and country. You were too humble in her eyes so she took it upon herself to remind you of your greatness from time to time.

“I never said I haven’t played football. That has been the thing to get me through the past 10 months” you didn’t mean to be a downer, in fact you didn’t know what you were saying until it was too late.

“How are you doing?” Keira asks from the front seat and you see Lucy eyeing you up in rear view mirror.

“Some days are harder than others and no day has been easy. She would be happy that I’m here though. She always said that if I didn’t go back to England then she’d want us to come here”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say her name.

“She always did hate the french winters” Lucy laughs at the memories she shared with your wife.

Your mind goes back to just a couple of years ago. Lyon were playing at home and the weather was awful. You saw Natalia in the crowd shivering but still she cheered you on, she always was your biggest fan. Come rain or shine, your girl was in the audience. You hated the thought of playing without her being in the crowd but you also knew she wouldn’t want to give up your career.

“Y/N” Keira gently nudged your knee. It was obvious that you were taking a trip down memory lane and she didn’t want to scare you.

“Huh” you quickly wiped away a tear “Oh we’re here” you grabbed your backpack and jumped out of the car leaving them in the front not knowing what to do.

“Let’s leave her be. She knows we are here and will come to us when she’s ready”

You were in awe as you walked the halls of Joan Camper. The things the team has achieved were that of greatness. It was a club that created legacys and you found yourself feeling something that you hadn’t in a long time; excitement.

Lucy and Keira lead you to the locker room just as they were instructed to. The rest of the team were already out of the field which was part of the plan. There hanging in a corner locker was a training kit for you. You didn’t expect it and you definitely didn’t expect to have been given your number.

“You did this?” You ask the pair.

“Salma did. The team knows you called Lucy and when Salma heard to locker room rumours of you joining she insisted. Between us she is a big fan of yours, bigger than Luce”

“Not possible” the defender joked.

The boots were fastened and you were ready, well almost ready. There was one thing you wasn’t prepared for. You looked down at your necklace. It was a simple gold chain that held two rings: yours and Talia’s.

“I can’t do it” you slumped down in defeat and bury your face in your hands.

“Hey” Lucy crouches down in front of you “they let us wear jewellery for training, you can keep them on”

You walked out onto the field and all eyes fell on you. You felt like a spectacle and you hated the attention. They didn’t know the current version of you, they had only met the old Y/N so you channel her and introduce yourself to them during the next drinks break.

“I know some of us have met as opponents but this is different. I’m Y/N, it’s a pleasure to meet you all, I hope I can keep up” you make a joke hoping to avoid the elephant in the room.

“We’ll see about that. I’m Alexia” She is the first person to you.

“Lovely to meet you Alexia”

It’s hard to explain the feeling when you’re playing football. It’s as if you mind switches off whilst also been completely focused. It take a few attempts to get into the rhythm that is Barcelona football but you catch on quickly. It comes as no shock to the rest of the team that you play in complete sync with Lucy and Keira. The two of them even stay back at the end to work with you on some movements that you weren’t pleased with.

Some players go shower but a few stay behind, albeit out of sight, and watch you.

“She has a gift” Alexia says to nobody in particular.

“Nobody has seen her in over a year and this is how she is playing. Look, she is running rings around them. How is that possible?” Patri adds.

“Does anybody know where she was?” Pina asks the small group.

“No but I could ask Ingrid or Caro to ask Ada. They are best friends and surely you would tell your best friend where you are going” Mapi forms a plan in her head, one that she will soon find out to be a bad idea.

“Do it” Alexia tells the defender “We are a family here and if she joins us then we have a right to know where she has been”

When Barcelona posted a photo of you signing a contract on their socials the world went crazy. The media were relentless and the fans were quick to show their support for you even though some were skeptical about your sudden reappearance and new team.

You ignored them for the most part as they had no idea what had happened. You fit into the team almost right away and was enjoying every game with Barcelona. You scored on your debut and had been involved in a goal every game since. Months had passed and much to your surprise you had only been asked about the missing year once or twice.

Caro refused to ask Ada about you and Ingrid only did when her girlfriend became obsessed with finding out the truth. Ada’s answer was simple ‘I won’t tell you and if she doesn’t want you to know then you should respect her wishes’.

You remained a mystery though and for the most part the team seemed to forget about your missing year.

When the second international window came that is when things changed and you felt like you made a friend. Mapi still wasn’t representing her country so she reached out and asked if you wanted to meet up for a coffee.

Anybody could easily be intimidated by the blonde but you liked her. She had this energy that made you know accepting her invite was a no brainer. That and you had questions of your own.

“How did you know?”

Mapi places down a a small coffee in a glass; a cortado.

“I asked Keira what you ordered”

A comfortable silence took over as the two of you sipped on your coffees. You found it funny the way Mapi looked at you then her coffee and back to you again. You recognised the signs; you were making her nervous. Why though you had no idea.

You decide to make the first move and you get straight to the point much to the defender’s surprise.

“I spoke with Ada”

This got her attention. You had your suspicions but the look on her face confirmed it. Still, she played along.

“That’s nice. You’re very close, no?” Mapi tried her best to look innocent but you weren’t having any of it and the look on your face told her that.

“She had an interesting conversation with Ingrid. Do you happen to know anything about this?”

She did. You know she did.

“No” you got a sheepish look from Mapi and you wondered if she knew how unconvincing she was being.

“I think you did. I think you got Ingrid to ask Ada about me”

“Lo siento”

“Here’s the thing I don’t understand. I know you all want to know, you’ve been whispering about me for months yet not one of you has come to me and asked me directly. You have been going behind my back trying to dig up information about a time that I clearly don’t want to talk about”

Mapi dips her head. She truly thought that her and the team were been careful but obviously not.

“Maria, I want you to put yourself in my shoes. Would you want to talk about it with strangers when you barely talk to your best friends about it?”

The defender thinks about it for a moment. You had barely left Lucy and Keira’s side but she hadn’t really heard you talking, you were always listening to what they were saying and replying when necessary.

“It was bad wasn’t it?” She asks.

“The worse year of my life” you confess and you can your throat close at the thought of the months in question.

“We are in jail?”

You cannot help but chuckle at her words.

“No, I was not in jail”

“Did you kill somebody?”

“No, I did not kill anybody”

“So no crimes were committed?”

“Is that what you have all come up with? That I broke the law?”

“Most of us, yes. Aitana think’s you were in the hospital because you were sick”

Her response came at the worst time possible. You spit your coffee out when you hear the midfielder’s suspicion.

Technically she was right. You were in the hospital but you weren’t in the hospital.

“I wasn’t sick”

“Clearly. Look at you, you’re huge. I mean you are big. No, you are strong”

“Calm down Mapi, I know what you mean. Thank you”

The two of you stay in the cafe for another hour. You take this time just the two of you getting to know one another. You ask Mapi about her tattoos and she learn’s you have a few of your own which are hidden on your back. When she asks for their meaning you promise you will tell her the stories another time.

You both walk to the metro station and by coincidence you end up of the same train. You get off before her and just before the door opens, Mapi grabs your hand.

“I’ll get them to stop. You don’t owe us an explanation, Y/N”

“Thank you Maria”

You’re not sure what the tattooed defender said but the whispers stopped or so you thought. They stopped whispering in front of you but little did you know the speculations were still going on behind your back. It is early in December when things come to a head and you snapped.

“What do you mean she is staying Spain?” Alexia asked Salma.

“That she is staying her in Barcelona. She said she might go to Valencia for a few days but that’s it” the forward wasn’t sure what to say or if she should have said anything at all.

“And you don’t think that is strange? This is woman who used to love England. The fans called her Queen of England, por dios. How can she be apart of this team if we know nothing about her. She is lying to us” Alexia ranted on and who knew how much longer she would have continued if not for Lucy interrupting her.

“Alexia, that is enough!” Lucy slams her fist on the locker before turning to her captain “She has come to this team and done nothing but good. She plays well for us and gives it her all on the pitch. Off it she makes the effort and yes sometimes she says no to things but isn’t that her right? You stand there as our captain but look at you, you’re nothing but a bully. I am ashamed to say i’m your team mate right now. That girl has been through hell these past couple of years and since coming here all you keep doing is reminding her of what has happened. You are obsessed with her. Look around, no one else is digging for information. No one is making her uncomfortable on a daily basis”

“She is lying to us. She won’t tell us where she was for over a year. She is hiding something and that isn’t fair on us” Alexia tried to defend her actions.

“Isn’t fair? Are you really that self centred? You have no right to talk about what is and is not fair. I don’t care if you are my captain, I won’t stand by you while you treat my best friend like she has done something wrong. You, Alexia, are a —“

“Lucy” The whole locker room turns upon hearing your voice “I have given up on Alexia, it’s time you do too”

“No! I won’t let her talk about you that way. You don’t deserve this”

“No I don’t but —“

“Y/N” Lucy begs you to let her fight you case.

“Walk away Lucy”

A stare down takes place between you and Lucy. A few seconds later the defender grabs her stuff and leaves the room. To everyone else you are calm and collected but Keira recognises the look in your eye, you are furious.

“I want everyone to listen to me and listen good. My past is none of your business. To those who have let the obsession go, thank you. To those that haven’t” you look Alexia dead in the eye “I want nothing to do with you. I will remain civil on the pitch. Other than that I ask you to stay away from me. That’s if you can respect my wishes. I know it has been hard so far”

You quietly gather your things and try to ignore the multiple sets of eyes on you. With each second you can feel your chest getting tighter and you know it is only a matter second before you will no longer be able to control your breathing. You just needed to get out of there, away from prying eyes.

The hallway is the furthest you get. Your mind was filled of flashbacks, the moments that you tried so hard to bury. The past was not a pretty place, not the last year, but you know that it was only a matter of time before it came crashing down on you.

“Y/N, are you ok?” Mapi and Ingrid are by your side, clearly the couple had left just after you.

“Natalia, she, she”

Ingrid and Mapi shared a look, who was Natalia? They had never heard you mention a Natalia before. Both of them didn’t know what to do. Whilst you had become friends with the pair, they didn’t know you well enough to cope with this moment.

Luckily for them Keira appears out of nowhere. The English woman clearly equipped with what to do.

“Get Lucy, now!” She whisper shouted and Ingrid goes running hoping to catch the defender before she leaves.

“Keira—Natalia”

“I know, I know. We can talk about her later if you want. Right now, I need to focus on me. Can you do that?”

You nod your head as tears flow down your cheeks.

“What happened?” Lucy rushes over to you.

“We found her on the floor. She kept talking about Natalia”

“She told you?” Lucy asks shocked. She knew you wasn’t ready to tell them team but in a state of panic you might be let it slip.

“No. She only said her name” Mapi says. She couldn’t take her eyes off you. This wasn’t a panic attack, no she had seen one of those before. This was something much more intense.

A few minutes pass and Keira manages to keep your breathing under control but you’re still not ready to move. Lucy, Mapi and Ingrid stay close making sure to tell anyone who passes to keep moving.

“What is going on?” Alexia asks with concern, a concern that doesn’t reach Lucy in fact her asking is the worst thing she could have done.

“Get away from her” Lucy is up on her feet and pushing Alexia backwards. She would has fallen to the floor if not for the wall behind her “This is all your fault. You see this, you see her, this is what you have done to her”

“Lucy” you reach up and take her hand. The defender used her strength to pull you up.

You, Lucy, Keira, Mapi and Ingrid walk towards the exit of the stadium.

“Y/N” Alexia’s voice is soft and it is only now that she realises she might have taken things too far.

You turn around to face the Catalonian. For the first time since arriving you make no effort to hide the pain you have felt on a daily basis.

“I want nothing to do with you Alexia”

A week had passed and Alexia started to worry about you more so than she wanted to let on. Lucy and Keira were visibly worried about you and kept an eye on you at all times. She was confused at how things got this bad. Yes, she knew that maybe things had been taken too far but you didn’t show rage, your energy radiated nothing. You were numb. The Barcelona captain had no idea how to make things right with you.

You wore a smile on your face in front of the cameras and fans but behind closed doors it’s liked you switched your emotions off. Alexia asked Mapi about you but it seemed that even her closest friend was on your side. The zaragozian and her girlfriend had become close with you since the incident and Alexia didn’t understand why.

One night she found herself knocking on Mapi’s door hoping to find out how things got so bad.

When the captain was let in there is an evident scowl on Ingrid’s face which Alexia did not expect. The Norwegian excuses herself stating that she needed to go to the supermarket.

“Mentiroso” Alexia says to herself.

“Watch it Alexia. She has her reasons” Mapi jumped to her girlfriend’s defence.

Mapi leads Alexia over to the kitchen table and gets a glass of water for the two of them.

“You’re here about Y/N, aren’t you?” her captain nods “I don’t know what to tell you. What happened in the locker room was bad Ale. We didn’t leave the stadium when you thought we did. Y/N used everything in her to make sure Lucy didn’t do something she would regret. I don’t know what happened during those months but whatever we think it is, it’s so much worse. I shouldn’t be telling you this but she kept mentioning Natalia, I don’t know who that is but I think something happened to her”

Alexia thought she felt guilty about the way things went down with the two of you but that failed in comparison to how she was feeling now. To think that you were grieving someone and her questions were it worse for you, well it made her feel ashamed.

She knew that she hadn’t been the most welcoming. Yes, you and her got a long on the pitch and yes, you were ok at training but she hadn’t made the effort she should have to make you feel at home in Barcelona.

“I don’t know how to fix it Mapi. You know I like her, I think she is amazing—“

“You were her biggest fan” the blonde teased

“But what if I’ve ruined any chance for being friends with her? What if what I’ve done is undoable?” Alexia ignores Mapi comment seen as though she knows she cannot deny it.

Mapi was at a loss for words. She always has had her friend’s back but there was something about you which made her want to protect you and Alexia was someone that you needed protection from.

“You need to give her space Alexia. This week alone I have seen you walk towards her then walk away at least 6 times. Y/N even asked me why you were doing it. You’re making the girl feel uncomfortable”

Alexia mentally scolded herself for her behaviour which in her defence she did not think anyone noticed.

“So space?” Alexia asks.

“Space” Mapi confirmed.

Alexia found it hard at first because she wanted nothing more than to make things right with you but she did as suggested, she gave you space. She saw you start to come out of your shell a bit more as December rolled on. The day game before the Christmas break you were playing in Madrid and that is when Alexia heard you discussing your winter plans with Keira.

“Keira, that’s a sweet offer but I’m sure. I’m going to stay in Barcelona, it is my home now”

The Catalonian took a little comfort in knowing you had grown the love her city despite the hostile behaviour.

“Y/N, it’s Christmas. She would want you to be home for that” your friend asked.

“I don’t know if I can handle going back for Christmas. It would hurt too much”

It felt wrong for Alexia to eavesdrop on your conversation so she leaves out of respect.

“She wouldn’t want you to avoid England. The two of you spent years in France and both of you said coming home to England was your favourite thing to do”

“Keira, stop. It was our favourite thing. There is no more our, no us. It’s just me”

Keira could see your hands shaking. This is the first sign of your panic attack so she drops the subject. She does suggest you going away with them for new years and you said you would as long as it isn’t in the UK or France.

The team had one last recovery session before the winter break and it’s safe to say when it was done everyone was more than happy to go home. You wished everyone a Merry Christmas and without knowing it, Alexia is included.

“Feliz Navidad Alexia, por tu y tu familia”

“Gracias Y/N”

To Alexia this was a gift in itself. Maybe you were opening up to idea of forgiving her. After that you quickly grab your stuff and run off to where Ingrid was waiting for you.

After that interaction, Alexia couldn’t stop thinking about you. She also thought she was hallucinating when she saw your name appear on her phone screen. In the rush of leaving the training facility you picked up the wrong bag, only realising when got home a few hours later and your shirt had an 11 on instead of a 7. You texted Alexia asking if you could meet up to get your stuff back. Alexia, at that point was already at her mother’s house so she sent you that address and told her mum that you were coming over.

You tried to ease your nervous as you drove to your captain’s mother’s house. It was going to be awkward, this much you knew but regardless of the place you and Alexia were in, you wanted to make a good impression on her family.

The knock was gentle as you stop on the door step.

“Y/N, hola. Adelante”

You didn’t know that word meant but you put two and two together and guessing in meant come in so that is what you did. Eli leads you to the living room after telling Alba to go get her sister. Eli headed back into the kitchen and left you in the living room. You didn’t want to take a seat, it wasn’t that kind of visit so you looked around and a wall of photos gains your attention.

Alexia couldn’t have been more than 7 years old. She was adorable. Next to her stood her younger sister and behind her, her parents. You didn’t recognise the man so you assume Alexia’s father works away a lot as you have never seen him at a game.

“That’s Jaume, Alexia and Alba’s father” Your cheeks flush in embarrassment at being caught stooping.

“And your husband” you turn to face the woman “I haven’t seen him around, does he work in a different city?”

“Jaume passed away a little over ten years ago”

She is a widow, like you. That is the first thing you thought. In that moment you had so many questions for her but this is a woman you had only just met. It’s not exactly the small talk she would be expecting. The two of you go quiet and you guess she is thinking about her lost love, just as you are thinking about yours.

Alexia comes downstairs, your bag in hand but stops at the door was upon seeing you in conversation with her mother. Alba nudges her forward but she doesn’t move. The two of them watch you.

“Does it ever get easier?” The question was out of your mouth before you could stop it.

The two sisters share a look. They had no idea what you were talking about and by their mother’s response, she didn’t either.

“Que?” As expected, the question catches Eli off guard.

“Living without the person who promised you forever” you turn to face the older woman with tears falling down your cheek.

“Oh Querida, come here”

You feel comfort in her arms and for a brief few seconds you forget that she is a stranger. In this moment she is someone who understands your pain and that is more than enough for you. When you pull away you see Alexia and Alba, you feel extremely exposed.

“Hi. You must be Alba” you wipe the last of your tears and extend your hand towards the younger Putellas.

She swats away your hand and pulls you into a hug.

“So formal” Alba laughs “you’re even hotter in person”

“Alba!” Both Eli and Alexia scold her.

“What? I’m being honest”

“Thank you, I think. Is that mine?” You point the bad Alexia is holding.

“Yes. Sorry for the mix up”

“No, no. It was my fault. I was running late for dinner with Ingrid. I left yours in the hall as I wasn’t sure where to put it”

Alexia stared at you almost as if frozen in place.

“Was I not suppose to do that? I can go get it for you”

“This is the most you’ve spoken to me since joining” Alexia was honest with what she was thinking.

“It must be the Christmas air” you laugh a little “speaking of, you three clearly have plans so I will leave you be”

Eli tries to get you to stay but you can’t. The woman knew too much and even though shared the same pain, you knew it was only a matter of time before the pity eyes came. You also didn’t know how much the two sisters had heard.

Alexia asked and asked what the you and her mother were talking about but the woman refused to tell. The only answer Alexia got was to be careful with you and that not all is as it seems. It seemed to be enough for Alexia but she wasn’t giving up on you, not just yet.

She kept an eye on you over the Christmas break and just as you said you stayed in Barcelona. Alexia all but stalked your Instagram and even went as far as texting you some recommendations. You felt something towards the midfielder and it made you think that you might have been a little harsh on her. You made a mental reminder to speak to her once the break was over.

The first game back was away to Bilbao and it brought you the perfect opportunity to speak to Alexia as the two of you were roomed together. It was late by the time you got there so everyone went straight to their room.

“Oh Y/N I don’t know what happened” Alexia says as she swiped the room key.

“What are you — oh I see”

There was only one bed, albeit a large double bed.

You hadn’t shared a bed in almost a year and you wasn’t sure if you were ready for it. Now you had to find a way to explain this to Alexia.

“I’ll sleep on the floor” Alexia suggests and even though you weren’t ready, you also knew you wasn’t going to let her do that.

“Alexia you are one of the most important players on the team. I cannot let you sleep on the floor. Take the bed, I’ll take the floor”

“Y/N, you are important too. You are our highest goal scorer. I am taking the floor, don’t argue with your captain”

She refused to take no for an answer and you hated it. When you came out the shower Alexia was on the floor and it looked awful. It was almost funny and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Don’t say anything. Bed” Alexia laughed along with you.

The room was dark except from the street lights then peaked through the curtains. Sleep wasn’t coming easy to you and by the sounds of tossing and turning, Alexia was struggling too.

“Alexia, come sleep in the bed” The thought of having someone sleep next to you wasn’t something you necessarily wanted but Alexia sleeping on the floor wasn’t fair.

“I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable”

There was something in her tone. She wasn’t talking about sharing the bed with a team mate, she was talking about sharing a bed in general.

“She told you” Eli had to have told alexia about your conversation.

“Who?” Alexia asked even though she knew you were talking about her mother.

“Your mother. She told you about what I said”

“I asked but she didn’t tell me anything. I’m sorry that something happened to your friend”

You sat up upon hearing her condolences.

“My friend. What are you talking about?”

Alexia, now sat up too, looked at you as if saying you know what I’m talking about.

“Natalia?”

She said her name. Nobody had said her name. They knew it would cause too much pain.

In that moment you are brought back to the last time someone said her name. It was the 5 November 2023 in a hospice not to far from your shared home in London. Natalia was the strongest woman you knew and no one would ever come close to her in your eyes. Yet just after Euros she told you that her time was coming, that the cancer was starting to win. You begged her to fight, you weren’t ready to lose her but you knew that you had been on borrowed time for many many years. The last person to say her name was a nurse as your wife took her final breath before she was called home.

“She was my wife” you could feel your nose twitch as a ball of emotion built in your throat. You knew the day was coming when you talked about her but you didn’t think it would come in Bilbao with Alexia now sitting at the foot of your bed.

The Catalonian knew she heard you correctly but she still sat in disbelief. She had no idea you were dating anyone let alone you were married. Alexia could do nothing but watch as you bury your head in your hand as your body racks with sobs. She wants to hug you, to hold you and to tell you to let it out but you weren’t that close.

When you aggressively wipe your eyes you notice Alexia looking prettified and you cannot help but burst of into a fit of giggles.

“I’m going to go get Lucy or Keira or anyone else who isn’t me” your captain panics and makes a bee line for the door. She is stopped in her tracks as your hand grabs her wrist.

“You don’t have to”

She didn’t believe you and that was made obvious as her eyes dart back and forward between you and the door.

“Isn’t this what you have been wanting? To know why I walked away” you pat the side of the bed next to you.

You saw the hesitation is Alexia’s eyes. In that moment she wanted to respect your boundaries and you appreciated that but for the first time in a while the thought of talking about Natalia didn’t make you feel like you would break.

Once she sat down you turn to face you and you saw the look many people had given you. She felt sorry for you.

“I didn’t know you were married”

“Not many people did. We never hid anything. If you look you’ll see her in a lot of photos, she always supported me” you get comfy knowing that this is going to be a long conversation “I’m a private person and all I ever wanted to do was protect her”

In that moment Alexia understood for she too was a private person. She knew that she was in the limelight but she still kept herself to herself off the pitch.

“How did she—“ Alexia stopped talking as soon as she realised what she was about to ask “sorry, I shouldn’t have said that”

“Leukemia” you closed your eyes, took a deep breath and counted to three “she first got it when she was six. We used to take the day off school to go to the hospital. She would call me her emotional support friend” you laugh as you remember the way she made you wear a badge “she won the battle only for it to come back when she was 16 then again at 28. The third battle was the hardest for her and it was the one she lost”

Alexia caught the way you couldn’t look at her whilst you talked about the hardest times of your wife’s life.

“She sounds like a strong woman”

“Oh she was the strongest. She went through so much yet you never would have known it. Natalia had this heart that was big enough to like up the whole world. I wouldn’t be where I am today without her. She supported me in the youths teams, was in the stands when I made my Arsenal debut and moved to France with me when I signed for Lyon. She said she’s followed me everywhere because she knew I’d be lost with her”

When Alexia sees you laughing, she joins in too.

“Things got bad just before the euros. I was so close to withdrawing but she begged me to go. She wanted to see me lift that trophy and I did, I did it for her. I didn’t know how bad it was until afterwards and I made the decision to be by her side. We did all the things on her bucket list. A couple of months later she couldn’t fight it anymore. Her strength was gone and the light was barely there. I was able to be by her side as she took her last breath”

Alexia didn’t stop you as you got off the bed and made your way towards the window. She could tell by the way your hand went straight to your face that you were crying.

“You wanted to know why I walked about?” You turned to face her and in that moment, knowing what she did, Alexia felt guilty. Guilty for reminding you of the loss you had suffered.

“I walked away because I didn’t feel like I had a purpose. For so many years I played for her. I scored to see a smile on her face and I won my trophies so that I can give her my medals. I couldn’t return to Lyon without her and it felt wrong being in England”

“Y/N I’m —“

“Don’t tell me you’re sorry. You didn’t kill her, the cancer did”

You hated it when people told you they were sorry for your loss. Why? Why are they sorry? You heard it so many times that it made you numb.

Alexia could tell that you were feeling a lot right now. She wanted to be there if you wanted to talk more about Natalia but she also knew the importance of changing the subject when it’s needed.

“Can I ask you a question?” She looked at you with a sincere gaze.

“You can. Is it about Na—“

Alexia shakes her head.

“Why Barcelona?”

It is a question that she had been desperate to know. You have now told her why you weren’t ready to go back to Lyon but plenty of teams would have offered you a contract if you announced your return.

“I said it wasn’t about her but turns out it was. Talia loved Spain and Barcelona was her favourite place. I honestly thought I would retire at Lyon but she always said that if she could pick a team I play for them she would choose Barcelona. When I decided to come back, it felt right to sign for Barcelona. Also, Lucy and Keira are here. As you have seen, I have depended on them quite a bit and I knew that it wouldn’t be easy so having someone who knew made everything easier”

You could see Alexia processing what you had told her.

“I’m happy you don’t play for Lyon anymore”

“Yeah, you might be able to beat them now”

Alexia stared you down and you wondered what her next move would be. Turns out you didn’t have to wait long because a pillow soon smacked you in the face.

You both burst into laughter when the pillow fight turns competitive.

“We really should be getting some sleep” Alexia says as she stands.

You took a second to think.

“You can sleep in the bed Alexia. I won’t freak out you know”

“Y/N I can’t. Not now”

“Oh stop. I’m not some fragile little doll that will break if she shares a bed with someone. Now get in bed”

You pull the duvet back and pat the bed. It is only when Alexia gets in that you realise she is on your side and you are on Talia’s.

“You know this is my side of the bed” Alexia says as she gets comfy.

You had your reasons for sleeping on that side. You want to be closest to the door in case someone broke in. You wonder if Alexia has a reason.

“Got to make sure no one comes in and kidnaps you. Buenas noches Y/N”

You fall asleep that night with ease. You no longer feel the weight of keeping your emotions at bay and having Alexia knowing the truth makes you feel at ease around her for the first time since you joined the club.

From that day on things were different between you and Alexia. You found yourself spending more time with her than you did with Lucy and Keira. The two of them found it strange but didn’t question it. Whilst the defender was still very much protective over you, she did see a change in her captain which lead to her giving her the benefit of the doubt.

Life in Barcelona was finally what you imagined. Even in January the sun was shining and the sky was blue, unlike the weather you have been used to. The pain in your heart was still there but for the first time in a long whilst you felt happy or at least the closest thing to it that you could feel. Alexia has invited you to family dinner which happened after every other home game. Her mother and sister made you feel welcome. You had become rather close with Eli as she would often reach out to talk to you and check in with you. She didn’t need to say much, the fact that she could understand was more than enough.

Alba was quite the character and there was never a dull moment with her. She would relentless tease her sister and it had you holding stomach with laughter.

You had received some calls that made you think about a few things. You thought about talking to Lucy and Keira about it but you knew their decision would be biased so you confided in Alexia one night as the two of you walked Nala along Barceloneta. She helped you work though the feelings that the question brought up and by the the time you arrived back to your apartment, which you learnt was in the building opposite to hers, you knew what your decision would be.

During the game against Atleti there was a certain Dutchwoman in attendance. It was the second to last game before the Nations league semi final, a game that England has got to by the skin of their teeth. Barcelona came away with a 2-0 win and a lot of the players stayed out on the pitch afterwards to greet the fans that came to support them.

Sarina stood near the locker room and praised the team as they entered.

“Are you here for Lucy and Keira?” Aitana asked as she walked down the hall.

Behind her walked the two English women, along with Alexia. The latter knew to expect her, it made sense for her to come see you in person. The other two clearly had no idea that their national team coach was coming.

“She isn’t here for them”

Alexia’s words cause Lucy and Keira’s heads to turn in surprise.

“Y/N’s still out on the pitch. She is playing with Irene’s son Matteo, shall I go get her?”

“No, I can wait”

Just as three of them were about to enter they hear your voice followed by a child’s laughter. You walked down the tunnel with Irene and her little boy. Sarina saw just how happy you were and for a brief moment she regretted coming. She questioned whether or not this is what is best for you.

“Gaffa” you saw the look on your team mates faces and chuckled. Surely they knew it was only a matter of time before Sarina came knocking “Let me get showered quickly and we will go”

“But we’re going out tonight. It’s team night” Aitana sulked.

“I’ll meet you guys there”

Alexia and you shared a look. She knew what this conversation was going to be about and she was pretty sure she knew what the outcome would be and she was worried. You squeezed her shoulder and smiled before going into the locker room.

It was over 3 hours later that you finally enter the restaurant that the team were eating at.

All heads turned to you as you walked through the door. The seat reserved for you happened to be next to Alexia which you don’t think was an accident. Lucy and Keira were sat opposite you and you see the look of suspense in their eyes. They hadn’t officially been told what you and Sarina were talking about but they had very good guesses.

The rest of the team were having their own conversations and you didn’t want to make a scene so you nodded your head and that was enough confirmation for them.

“Yes!!” Lucy stood up suddenly and slammed her hands on the table.

“Holy fuck. Lucia, sit down”

Lucy does as her told.

“Our captain is back” Keira said to herself.

You tried your best to include yourself in the conversations around you but your mind kept wandering. You found yourself staring off into the distance. It is only when you feel a gentle hand on your thigh do you realise just how spaced out you were.

“Is everything ok? Did your coach say something because if she did then—“

“Stand down Ale” Alexia’s eye soften at the nickname. It wasn’t a new one for her but you had only just started calling her it and she loved it “I’m just thinking is all. What if I’m not good enough? What if I don’t have a place in that team anymore?” You lean into her and whisper.

“Y/N, they are your team. Yes you took some time away but you lead them for a long time and you told me they knew your reasons. It might take some time to get back into things but you will soon be back to how you were before. Besides if things go well for both of us then we will have a World Cup rematch on our hands and I want to see what might have happened if you played in the summer”

Oh you didn’t think about that. You hadn’t given your upcoming opponents a second thought. Alexia was right. If England beat France then they will face Spain in the national league final.

You thought there might be some awkwardness when you walked through the doors at the England camp but you couldn’t have been more wrong. Each player welcomed you with open arms and the players that you didn’t know as much treated you like everyone else did.

There were a few moments when you got pulled aside by Sarina for what she called her mental health checks. She promised that nothing said between you would be told to anyone else and you chose to believe her. You were honest about how heavy the shirt felt when it had the England badge on and you told her of the nerves you were feeling about playing for your country again.

Alexia had kept texting you to check in and for the most part you told her the truth. It was the day before the match when you got overwhelmed and instead of lying, you chose to ignore her. You knew it wasn’t fair but wanted to stay focused. You could bury your feelings for 24 hours. Alexia on the other had wasn’t going to give up on you.

“Alexia” Jenni nudged her friends leg “Earth to Alexia”

The woman in question had her eyes glued to the her phone as you sent you yet another message.

“What do you want!” Alexia snaps.

“Hey, don’t snap at me. Who you texting? Is it a girl?” Jenni peaked over her shoulder.

“No” Alexia pulled her phone closer to her chest “It’s Y/N”

“Y/N Y/L/N is a girl last time I checked” Jenni couldn’t help but tease.

“She but I don’t like her like that, well I do. Wait! I don’t” Alexia slumps down in her seat “Oh Jenni, I don’t know how I feel”

Jenni hasn’t seen her friend like this in a long while. Normally Alexia knows what wants and isn’t afraid to go for it. This though is different. It’s almost like she knows what she wants but she is hesitating and Alexia doesn’t hesitate.

“It’s ok not to know but something is clearly bothering you. What is it?”

“She is ignoring me”

“Last time I saw you you told me she didn’t want anything to do with you”

So much had changed since then and she didn’t know how to explain it. In the end she told her everything she could without going into the finer details. Alexia confesses her feelings and explains that she cannot get a hold of you and that none on your team mates were answering either.

“Alexia, I may not know why she stopped playing football but I saw the way she played, she loves the sport. Her playing for England again is a big deal. Everyone is talking about her press conference she did this morning, it’s all over social media”

Alexia wasn’t aware of a press conference. She never goes on social media the day before a match because it is quite often a distraction. Jenni picks up on her friend’s obliviousness and gives alexia her phone so she can see what is being said.

Jenni was right. You are everywhere.

Y/N Y/L/N makes her return but what does it mean? Why now?

Sarina Weigman confirm Y/N is the captain of this team despite turning her back on them.

Beth Mead ruled out for Semi final, should be back for final if England are successful.

World Cup rematch? Y/N says that Spain wouldn’t have won if she was playing.

Alexia read headline after headline, article after article. She was beginning to feel overwhelmed so she couldn’t imagine what you must have been feeling. The last headline made the Catalonian laugh because she too had thought about what the outcome might have been if you were playing.

“I think the last one is a stretch” Jenni mumbles.

“We will never know” Alexia is ever more determined to get a hold of you. Just as she was about to call you again, a message comes through.

Hi. Sorry I haven’t been around, it’s been a lot. Thank you for checking in on me Alexia, I promise you I’m ok. Good luck in your match tomorrow.

“She’s ok” Alexia tells Jenni as if the forward was the one who was worried about you.

The next day you wake up and are ridden with nerves. It’s not a familiar feeling and you know that you need to calm down before the game or things will end badly.

Despite protests from your team mates, you will start the game on the bench. It’s the right decision and you make sure to tell Sarina just that. Whilst the team’s recent performances have been spotty to say the least, you refuse to walk back in like nothing had changed. You know you need to earn your place on the pitch with the lionesses.

Spain’s game has an early kick off and finishes just after yours starts. The team get back to the hotel and have organised to watch it the hotel bar. Much to Alexia’s dismay she is called for Media seen as though Spain won and have qualified for the Olympics.

When she finally joins the team she knows that the first half is over but that’s it.

“What’s the score?” She asks anyone who is listening.

“2–0” Ona says.

“That’s—“ Alexia is cut off before she can finish her sentence.

“To Germany” Jenni knows that Alexia would have wanted England to win if for no other reason than you “Y/N is going on for Toone”

She cannot help the smile that tugs at her lips as your number goes on the subs board.

The world watches as Mary runs over to you and gives you the band.

“Welcome back skipper” Mary pushes the band up your arm before you can stop her because she know’s that is what you’ll do. She was there in the captain’s meeting when you told Sarina that you didn’t deserve the captaincy.

“Game on, Maz”

It felt right being on the pitch and wearing the three lions crest. You allow yourself to take in your return but only for a couple of seconds before you turn your attention to the game and the challenge that you face. 3 goals was a lot to ask for when Germany are playing as good as they are. It wouldn’t be easy and it would take everything you had but you never shied away from a challenge and you wasn’t about to start now.

After about ten minutes you found your rhythm and England were playing the type of football they are known for. It doesn’t take long for LJ to make a run and dance around the opposition. You have faith in her but follow her anyways in case she loses the ball. She doesn’t but Frohms does save her shot, she doesn’t save your rebound though.

“Get the ball” You shout to the Chelsea player.

When the match restarts, the lionesses are on the hunt. Shot after shot is taken but somehow the ball stays out the net. England get a corner in the 80 minute and you’re lurking on the edge of the box, ready to make your run. Popp is the one marking you because she has studied you new way of play since joining Barcelona. Chloe’s corner is pin point and no amount of research in the world could stop you from getting the second goal and tying the game.

Alexia finds herself up on her feet with Ona and a couple of your team mates when you get your brace.

“Vamos Y/N” she says.

“You do realise that we will face them if they win” Misa reminds her.

“Right now, I don’t care. She deserves this and I’m celebrating my team mate” Alexia didn’t care if she might face you in the final.

“She told you” Aitana whispers as she pulls her captain down to the sofa “That is why she doesn’t hate you anymore and why you’ve stopped interrogating her”

Alexia does nothing but nod. Her fellow midfielder didn’t need to know anything else and she doesn’t ask for it either. She accepts that the reason must be valid if Alexia has dropped her questions.

There are 4 minutes announced of stoppage time.

When you look up the the score board and see the number you get flashbacks on the euros final. You have been in this position before and came out victorious. Today was going to be no different.

It was huge mistake by Germany when Gwinn takes down Hemp about a meter outside the box.

In the past you have found yourself stood over the ball with Beth but this game it’s Alex who stands beside you.

With her hand over her mouth she gives you strict instructions.

“You’re taking it”

It’s not a question and you don’t argue.

“You have saved us tonight, now get your hattrick”

The amount of faith Alex had in you did wonders but it didn’t settle every nerve running through your body. Free kicks were your specialty, this wasn’t nothing new and the pressure was a familiar feeling.

As soon as you strike the ball you know it’s going in. It’s a hard feeling to describe but many call it shooters instinct, it had never been wrong and it wasn’t now. The ball floated over the wall and went in the further part of the top corner. The shot was unsaveable. You ran over to the bench, more specifically to Sarina, to celebrate with the woman who gave you space and welcomed you back with open arms.

“It’s like you never left”

Her words caught you off guard. For a brief moment you agreed with her but you got hit by the feeling of grief, you looked towards the family section and there was no one supporting you. Maybe some things hadn’t changed but a lot certainly has. When the full time whistle was blown your team mates ran towards you, all of the congratulating you on your performance and your first game back.

It was a weird kind of celebrations that night. The team was split, half wanted to celebrate getting through the final and the other half knew the job wasn’t done, they knew that the biggest task was yet to be faced. Spain had beaten them before and on the greatest stage, the UEFA national league final could either repeat history and England could rewrite it.

The team travelled to Madrid that night, only hours after the game. Upon arrival almost everyone went to their rooms but not you. You knew sleep wouldn’t come easy so you decided to wander the streets of Madrid. It had become a habit of yours, you would walk around and people watch. Every human had their own story to tell and it made you forget about yours.

You had no destination planned yet you found yourself stopping outside a hotel, the one you know from your text messages with Alexia, was the one the Spain team was staying at.

A lot of feelings were running through you and you saw this as the universe’s sign that maybe you should talk about them. You have confided in Alexia since Sarina first reached out to you, she knew more than anyone how you really felt about returning and you talked about this very moment, the hours after your first game when the past is very much present in your mind. You remember the words she told you ‘when that happens you call me’ so that is what you do or at least that is what you go to do.

“Y/N” you hear a familiar voice say. You turn to see Jenni, Irene, Laia and Misa walking towards you.

“Hi guys” your voice is quiet, shy almost and you cannot help the way your eyes scan for Alexia knowing full well that these are the people she spends the most time with.

“What are you doing here?” Misa asks you. The two of you hadn’t formally been introduced but you had scored a brace against her in the El Classico.

“I’m—“

“Here for Alexia” Jenni says with a knowing look and you cannot help but feel like she knows something you don’t.

You can only nod. Apart from Irene, you didn’t know these girls very well and the version of yourself that you show to strangers is very different to the one that your friends see.

‘I can take you to her. We are roommates” Jenni seems sincere with her words but you feel a pang of jealousy. Everybody knew that the two of them used to date, it shouldn’t bother you, you had no right to be jealous yet that is exactly what you were feeling.

You think about it and Jenni can tell you are thinking about it.

“She hasn’t stopped talking about you and I know she will want to see you. She was your biggest fan when we watched the game” Jenni added hoping to create some sense of comfortability.

“She watched my game?” You asked in disbelief. You thought you had no one but maybe you did, maybe Alexia was the someone that was cheering you on but instead of the family area she was cheering you on from the hotel you were currently standing outside of.

“She did. I think she forgot she was Spanish for a minute” Irene says which causes you to laugh.

“I doubt that but I appreciate the support. You know I shouldn’t be talking to you, you guys are the enemy now”

“Yet you came here for our captain, she will be your enemy too. Come on, I’ll take you to her. We wouldn’t want you to be spotted outside our hotel, just think of the optics” Jenni once again says.

“Ok” you nod your head a few times to solidify your answer.

The girls lead you through the hotel but only Jenni and Irene stay with you, Misa and Laia walk ahead. The longer you walk the more you begin wondering if this was a good idea. What if you are overstepping your boundaries. You had no right to be here and could easily be turned away at any point.

You enter the lounge area of the hotel which holds the majority of the Spanish national team yet your eyes search for only one. She see’s you before you see her and is walking over to you with a worried look on her face.

“Estas bien? What are you doing here?” Alexia’s arm rests on your shoulder.

“It was an accident. I was out for a walk and I ended up here” you explained.

“She was asking for you” Jenni says even though technically it wasn’t true. In her eyes she wanted to play matchmaker after it was made evidently clear that Alexia was hesitant to peruse things with you even though she had feelings for you.

“Is this true?” Alexia asks and you nod.

“We won, I returned, I scored, wore the armband and I didn’t have anyone is stands” you whispered so only she could hear you.

The look in your eyes changed. For the first time that night you showed your true emotions. Alexia didn’t need to hear anything else. She grabbed your hand and escorted you to the outdoor seating area. She sat down whilst your paced the patio.

“Y/N, come sit down” Alexia pats the seat next to her and you comply “Are you ok, really? What made you come here to me?”

“I’m not ok but I’m more ok than I thought I would be. It’s been quite a day, that game was —“

“Incredible. You changed the entire play”

“It felt right. I belong on the pitch with the girls, I should never have left” You didn’t register that you felt guilty about your absence until you said the words out loud to Alexia.

“You needed to. You had to process your loss and you returned when you were ready”

Alexia was very understanding, you had to give her that.

“That answers my first question but the second” the Catalonian didn’t want to push but there had to be a reason and until she heard the truth she was filled with worry. You had been walking the streets of Madrid, alone, at almost midnight.

“Why am I here?” You repeated it. Maybe you hoped that hearing the question again would help you figure out an answer, it did “I wanted to celebrate…….with you. I was surrounded by my team, people I consider family yet you were the one I wanted to call and tell about the game”

You dipped your head when you felt yourself getting emotional. You were suppose to be happy but with everything you were feeling you were overwhelmed. On top of what you were feeling you couldn’t ignore the way your heart beat twice as fast because Alexia was sat opposite you with her hand now resting on your thigh.

When you looked up Alexia noticed the the tears in your eyes and was quick to wipe away one when it fell.

“I shouldn’t be feeling this way Alexia, it is wrong” you met her eye as you made your version of a confession.

“You can be happy about playing football again Y/N. Natalia would have wanted you to be”

“Don’t say her name, not now” you shook your head and Alexia’s hand fell back to its prior place on your thigh.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep. I can give you space if that what you need” the blonde stands, ready to leave you be but you grab her hand and pull her back down.

“I don’t want space and that is the problem. I wasn’t talking about the game Alexia. I shouldn’t be feeling this way about you” you shook your head in disbelief. You were sure that your shot of happiness died with your wife but you have developed feelings for Alexia and could no longer deny it.

“Y/N” Alexia cupped your face so that you would look at her but when you did, her hand didn’t move.

“Ale” you melted into her touch. That very touch gave you butterflies and you enjoyed the act of intimacy.

The two of you went silent but each of your thoughts were very loud. Alexia glanced at your lips, you knew what she was about to do and you didn’t stop her. Maybe you should have, maybe you should have pulled away but you didn’t. You didn’t move when her lips hovered centimetres from your own, you let her kiss you. You froze in the moment, like a deer in headlights. It was only when you closed your eyes did you realise what was happening. The kiss felt like you were cheating, it felt wrong yet felt so right.

“You shouldn’t have done that. We can’t do this. It was wrong” you pushed Alexia away and stood up hastily.

You stormed away before Alexia had the chance to speak. All eyes were on you as you walked through the sea of Spanish players. Their eyes went from you and then to Alexia who was running through, trying to catch up to you. She was hot on your heels until you turned to face her. She waited a couple of seconds before taking steps towards you.

“Stop” you say but she doesn’t “No!” you held you arm out to further imply your seriousness.

After that she can do nothing else but watch you walk away from her. Her hazel eyes stayed on you until you were out the lobby doors and onto the streets of the Spanish capital.

Alexia was frozen in place. She has ruined everything by rushing but she felt something when she touched you, she felt a spark and that wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t feel the same thing she did. You told her that had feelings for her, you came all this way to see her. Those things meant something but maybe she had read it wrong, maybe it had all been in her head.

“Alexia, are you ok? You’re crying” Irene appeared in front of her. The woman in question was quick to wipe her eyes in hope that no one else would see her tears.

“I’m fine. It’s getting late, everyone should go to their rooms. We have a final to prepare for and we need to be at our best” Alexia walked away.

The two of you were very quiet in the upcoming days and were laser focused on the task at hand. Beat the opposing team and being the first even UEFA Nations League champions. Both of your team mates could tell something was wrong but they didn’t know what to do. Your team mates wasn’t aware of your late night adventures until Aitana texted Keira to ask if you were ok and told her that Alexia wasn’t after you showed up at their hotel. The English midfielder kept this to herself given that Lucy has only just got started talking to Alexia and there were a few players on the team who’s protectiveness could rival the defenders.

By the time the day of the final came around there was plenty of reason for concern but both teams knew that this is what you had been working towards. Yes, a trophy was on the line but it was the previous trophy that was the topic of conversation.

The first time Alexia saw you was when they arrived for the pitch inspection. You were near the goal with LJ, it has become a new pre match routine for the two of you. Well you did it the game a couple of days ago and you won that so the two of you gravitated towards the goal today.

Alexia wanted to go to you and that is what she was going to do until she felt a hand grab her wrist.

“Alexia”

She turned to face Keira.

“Leave her be”

“I didn’t mean to upset her. We were talking about feelings and then I kissed her, I couldn’t help it. It felt right in the moment” Alexia couldn’t stop talking. It’s like was making a confession and Keira would be the one deciding whether or not it was a sin.

Meanwhile the English midfielder couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Sure she had suspected something was going on between the two of you but she also had a strong sense that you wasn’t ready for anything knew. In her eyes you were still healing.

“You kissed her?” Keira whispered as not to bring attention to their conversation.

Alexia was about to explain further but Keira stopped her as she sure her other team mate coming towards them.

“Lucy is coming. I will talk to you about this later”

It was as if Keira flipped a switch. Her look of concern was replaced with a smile and she even put on a fake laugh so Lucy wouldn’t arrive to an awkward silence. Soon enough it was a gathering of Barcelona players yet Alexia could stay focused on what her friends were saying for you were beginning to walk towards her.

In your eyes you wanted to talk to Alexia and you knew you needed to. The other night was a lot for you to process but you did owe her an explanation for leaving, that much you did know. She looked good as you watched her enter the pitch. You let your eyes linger in the most discreet way possible.

“You and Putellas?” LJ asked you. She wasn’t aware of what happened, nor did she know you were married. In her eyes, you were hiding something and she wasn’t wrong.

“We are friends…..I think. It’s complicated” you admitted knowing that Lauren wouldn’t push you further.

“Uncomplicate it” she suggested.

“If only it was that easy. Let’s head in and get ready”

You felt the change in heartbeat again as you got closer to where Alexia was standing. Your head might have been all over the place but you heart was being very clear in what it wanted only you weren’t ready to admit it.

“Y/N” Alexia shouted to you as you walked past her.

“Hi” for whatever reason, you pulled her into a hug “Good luck today, you’re going to need it”

You both started laughing at the quick change of energy.

“I don’t think it’s us that need luck. We beat you in the summer” Alexia was cocky but she wasn’t confident.

“You didn’t beat me though” you couldn’t help but smile at her.

Your smile was genuine and that is something Alexia took great hope in seeing. Maybe you weren’t mad at her, maybe you just needed a little space.

What you said next doubled that hope.

“Come find me after the game”

Then just as quick as the hope was there, it wasn’t.

“We need to talk”

Those 4 words struck fear in Alexia but she didn’t have the chance to say anything because you were already down the tunnel by the time she came to her senses.

Your was brought up several times in the Spanish locker room and each time all eyes fell to Alexia for she is the one that knew you most. She had learnt how you think, what plays you are going to make before you make them. In her team’s eyes she knew how to stop you. Only it wasn’t that easy. Alexia did knew how you play but that style changes when you are hungry, like you have a point to prove and this game brought both of those things.

“Stop focusing on Y/N! If you focus on how to stop her then you’ve already lost. Focus on stopping her from getting the ball” That is the last thing she said before heading out into the tunnel.

The lionesses were waiting for her, she expected it. It was an intimidation tactic. You weren’t there and that was a surprise, she would have bet good money that you would be in the starting 11. Mary stood opposite her and smirked when she saw the look of bewilderment on the opposing players face.

Alexia wanted to say something, she kept looking back at the team. If she was paying attention she would notice that there was only 10 players on the England side of the tunnel. With her eyes now facing forward she didn’t see you walking towards the front of the line. The sound of your cleats fell on deaf ears.

Her head shot to the side when she caught a glimpse of you standing next to her with the pendent in your hand.

“Capital Y/L/N, nice to see you back where you belong” Alexia covered her mouth, her being well aware that there were cameras on her.

You shake your head at her greeting.

“Captain Putellas. You’re going to wish I wasn’t” you had one last attempt to get in her head.

“No I won’t. Win or lose today, this is something the world, myself included, has been waiting for”

You thought you would get a smart remark not a reply that was genuine.

“Alexia”

“Y/N”

Those were the last words spoken except from a good look after the coin toss.

You called a huddle before everyone got into place. This game was important, not only because of the trophy on the line but it was the lionesses chance at redemption. To prove that it was only one game.

“I want you all to do something for me. Play for right now, not for the past. You cannot change what happened in the summer, no matter how hard you try. Winning today won’t get you the star on the shirt but it can be the reset you guys have been wanting. That loss has been haunting you, I can see it by the look on your faces and I promise you here today that if you play with revenge in your hearts then you will fail. Yes, this is Spain but we are England. We don’t stay down, we get up and fight. We stand together as a team, a pride. We go out there and leave everything on the pitch”

Each player is hooked on every word as you give Mary the signal.

“England on three”

You all come together one more time before getting in position.

Alexia tries to do the same by most of the team is watching you.

“She is going to make it hard” Olga tells her captain.

“She is going to make our lives hell for the next 90 minutes but that’s not to say we can’t give it back. Look at that star on your shirt, we got that by beating this team. Yes, Y/N wasn’t playing but she is one player. As good as she may be, we are better. You’ve seen what everyone is saying, they are calling our World Cup win a fluke, that we didn’t win but England lost. We may have qualified for the Olympics but our job is not done. We have a trophy to win. Vamos Espana”

Just like England did, Spain come together before readying themselves for the game.

The game which starts in the worst possible way for the away team. It seems the your players might be a bit more nervous that they are letting on. Inside the first 15 minutes Salma gets through on goal and sends Spain up 1-0. It wasn’t ideal but it didn’t mean the game was over either. You were playing safe, as a way to get the most out of the team around you. When the first half is done with you haven’t take a single shot on goal.

Spain entered the tunnel happy and England entered it less so.

The atmosphere was eerie in the locker room and you could see the self doubt radiating off your team mates.

Sarina takes the floor and explains all sorts of strategies but nobody is listening. They are in their own head.

“Do you mind?” You walk up to Sarina hoping to have a talk with your team. The coach happily steps aside.

“How many of you are thinking about the World Cup? Raise your hand” nobody does and you decide to call bullshit “You’re lying and I won’t have that. You are telling me none of you are out there thinking of the summer? the picture of them lifting the trophy that should have been yours?”

One by one players begin lifting their hands.

“I can stand here and say I haven’t been good enough. I need to be better and I will be better. In 45 minutes we will be crowned champions. The question is are we going to do it in style or are we going to make it harder for ourselves? We know what we need to do and we will do it”

You leave the locker room and go back out onto the pitch. You are the first one out there and you take a minute to look at the score board. 1-0. You hated to lose but more than that, you hated to let people down. You made the decision to come back and you didn’t do that to come second. You returned to be a champion and to make Natalia proud, you wasn’t doing to let her down. You had spent the past couple of days trying not to think about her and maybe that was the problem. She was your greatest strength, your biggest supporter and she may be no longer with you, you may be beginning to move on but that doesn’t mean you have to forget about her. No, you need to play for her just as you always did.

The first ten minutes of the second half it was like a different team was on the pitch. England were pushing and pressing and Spain were struggling. In the 67 minute was when the game was made even once again. You and hempo were tiring out the defence and it made them vulnerable. On one counter attack they couldn’t keep up. Irene was the only player standing between you and Cata but she could see Hempo running up beside you. She found herself in a lose lose situation so she stuck with you in hopes that the pressure would work, it didn’t. You pull her in just enough to give hempo enough space. At the last minute you passed to your left and she fired the ball into the back of the net.

Game on.

Spain were beginning to tire and the one touch football that was known around the world began to work in favour of England. They were unable to play out from the back because you, Alessia, Hempo and LJ was pressing the defence. It was mind play and it was working.

It was during a corner where things got interesting.

“Keep going!” You clapped your hands to rally the team “we are in their heads, now we end it”

“You’re not in our heads” Alexia says as she chooses to mark you. It was a tactic they hadn’t done yet, so far Jenni had marked you.

“Just you saying that is proof that we are but feel free to prove me wrong” you had a minute to talk as the ref walk talking to Lucy and Irene.

“I will. Let’s make it interesting. You score right now and I’ll buy you a drink later”

“So that means I’ll be taking the trophy and your money? Oh you’re on”

Alexia followed you are you walked around the box as you got into position. You would end up in one or two places; front post or in the middle. Never did she think you would make a run for the back post and swap positions will Lucy. The change caught Alexia out and when the ball hit the back of the neck she shook her head in defeat.

She had played right into your hands. You had pulled her in with your words and left her hanging when you celebrated what would go on to be the winning goal of the game.

You had to take a moment when the game was over. Everyone was celebrating but you and Lucy made the effort to congratulate your club team mates of a game well played.

“Ay, Capi. You’re predictable you know that?” Lucy threw her arms around the Catalonian.

“Lucy!” You slapped her on the back of the head “What she meant to say is you guys played a good game and that we will see you in Paris”

“We’ll see them in Barcelona” Lucy tried to correct you.

“I mean on the pitch as opponents, idiot”

Alexia was to focused on what the defender said first to hear the bickering that was now taking place between the two of you.

“What did she mean?” Alexia asked you.

Lucy gave you a look before leaving the two of you be.

“You once told me that in order to see yourself as the best, you had to beat the best. Tonight you wanted to beat me”

“No, I —“

“You did and that’s ok. I wanted to beat you too. It’s our competitive nature. That need you had allowed us a way in. I didn’t know it would come from a corner, only that in at least one part of the game you will stick to me just so you could say you got the upper hand”

“I should have dropped you off, let Irene pick you up and followed Lucy” Alexia understands the error she made.

“You should have but don’t beat yourself up about it. That wasn’t our first plan or second. Our plan was for Hempo to tire Ona out and for Lucy to get inside Olga’s head. Without those two things happening, we wouldn’t have got the corner in the way we did”

Alexia didn’t know whether to be pissed off or impressed that you read her and her team so well.

“You deserve the win today. Go celebrate with your team”

“I will but remember you owe me a drink. I’ll text you the address of wherever we go. Invite the girls too”

Alexia watched you walk away but there was one more thing she wanted to tell you only she feared it would do more damage than good. In the end she bite the bullet and ran to you.

“Y/N”

“Hi again” you laughed “Do you want another explanation of our strategy? We can always watch the game back when we in home in Barcelona”

Home in Barcelona. There is something about the way you said it that made alexia feel warm and fuzzy inside. She quickly shook her head to rid herself of those thoughts and the overthinking that came with them.

“I just want to say that Natalia would have been proud of you today. Not just today but the other game too. I know it’s not my place to say that because I didn’t know her but you should know that. You—“ Alexia began rambling.

“Breathe. Thank you for saying that. I know she is looking down on me right now with a huge smile on her face and truth is if I think about her too much then I think I might cry so I don’t want to go into that right now. Thank you though”

Alexia couldn’t help but feel like she shouldn’t have said that.

The ceremony went by in the blind of an eye. One minute you are waiting for Spain to collect their medals, the next you are raising the trophy with Mary. Back in the locker room you find yourself staring at the medal on your neck. Never in your professional career had one stayed on your neck for this long and never has the gold felt so heavy. It felt like it was weighing you down so you take it off and stuff it into your back. You would talk about that means with your therapist if you had one.

Later on in the night you found yourself at the hotel bar with the rest of the team celebrating. You tried your best to be happy and part of you truly was but you life off the field was becoming more complicated and hard to ignore.

“Excuse me” you tell the group that included Leah, Georgia, Keira and Lucy.

“Should we be concerned?” Georgia asks.

“Yes but let her have a moment. These past ten days have been a lot for her” Lucy tells her friend.

They watched as you paced back and forth on the balcony. To the English it was warm outside but there was still a chill in the air and you weren’t wearing a jacket. Keira kept looking at her watch asking herself how long is long enough before she goes out to you.

Some of the Spanish team arrive about an hour after the lionesses. Some of them go to the bar, some go to friend but Alexia, well she only had one interest and she couldn’t it or more specifically couldn’t find you. Her eyes scanned the room one, twice and third time. She had her phone out ready to call just as she sees you.

Leah catches her walking towards you and wants to stop her.

“What is she doing” The blonde asks defensively “Y/N doesn’t want anything to do with her”

The Arsenal player has heard about you bust up when Keira visiting England over Christmas.

“Things are different now but I’m not sure this is the right thing to do. Alexia!” Keira shouts her club captain over.

“Hola. Congratulations again. You guys sure know how to party” she tried to be polite even though she had no interest in a conversation with anyone who wasn’t you.

“Thank you” Leah seems genuine “Were you going to see Y/N?”

Alexia nods.

“That might not be the best idea right now. I think she needs a minute to herself. It’s been quite the day for her”

“I know. That’s why I want to talk to her” Alexia knew that you might be been struggling but to her that was all the more reason for her to talk to you.

“She won’t even wear her medal” Georgia adds earning her a shove. As far as the English players are aware, Alexia didn’t know anything.

“That isn’t surprising. Every tournament until this one she has given her medal to Natalia” Alexia says as if it is the most obvious thing but your friends didn’t put two and two together.

“Wait” Lucy says “She told you about her?” Again, Alexia nods.

“When? She hasn’t talked about her since she passed” the defender added.

“After Christmas” Alexia explains but goes no further.

“That’s why she went to you the other night but then you—“

“Keira, I won’t talk about that right now. I just want make sure she is ok and I can’t do that if I am being interrogated by you”

With that Alexia leaves your friends speechless and makes her way towards the balcony.

As quietly as possible, Alexia slides the door open and closes it behind her. She didn’t want to startle you so she watched from a distance. Your face wasn’t puffy so you hadn’t been crying but your posture was stiff so you were stressed.

“They’ve spent the past hour burning holes in the back of my head from their staring yet you have come straight out” you turn to see Alexia resting against the door.

“I owe you a drink and —”

“And yet your hands are empty” you point to Alexia’s hand which as you stated aren’t holding a drink “You can come closer you know. I’m not going to blow”

“I know it’s just that—“

“The last time we were along I ran away crying” you laugh as you think back to that night. Things were going really well until they wasn’t.

“Are you going to let me finish a sentence or are you going to keep talking for me?”

You mumble an apology and signal for her to continue.

“Your friends know I know and I accidentally told keira we kissed”

“Figures. She has been hovering”

The two of you go quiet. It’s not awkward, it’s comfortable but even then it’s not what either of you wanted.

“You said we needed to talk” Alexia didn’t want to push things and you had told her this before the game.

“We do. What happened the other night it—“

“Shouldn’t have happened”

“Who is finishing the other’s sentences now”

“Lo siento”

“As I was saying” you send her smirk so she knows she isn’t in trouble “The other night was very overwhelming for me, not because I didn’t like what happened but because I did. I told you that I had feelings and those feelings are for you Alexia. You make me feel things that I thought I’d never feel again. I promised my heart and love to her Alexia and to feel these things for someone else is like an act of betrayal. It feels wrong but I don’t want those feelings to stop. You kissed me and I knew it was going to happen yet I didn’t to stop it. I shouldn’t have ran away like that”

“It was a lot for you, I understand that” Alexia tried to reassure you that it was ok.

“It was but I should have stayed. You wanted to talk to me and I didn’t give you the opportunity. Just because I lost someone doesn’t mean that it’s only my feelings that matter. I’m sorry Alexia”

Alexia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Since you said the words ‘we need to talk’ she has been trying to think of all the things you could have said, an apology was not one of them.

“Can I say what I would have that night?” Alexia asks and you nods your head whilst closing the distance between you.

“Those feelings you talked about, I feel them too. Things changed between us after you told me and I couldn’t ignore it, trust me I tried. I was also aware of your loss and that this might not be something you are ready for so I talked to my mum one night. She is the only other person I know who has experienced the same loss you have. I told her that I had fallen for you and that I wanted to act on my feelings. You know what she told me? She told me that time heals all wounds but no amount of time is the same. If I wanted to prove to you that I truly liked you then I would need to take it slow so that is what I am willing to do. If you want to pursue this then we will take it slow, as slow as you need. You said it feels like an act of betrayal and I respect that. I won’t push you into anything you’re not ready for”

Alexia reached out for you and noticed once again tears were falling down your face.

“I have made you cry again. I shouldn’t have said anything. Y/N I am so sorry”

“Alexia, these aren’t sad tears” you reach for her hand “I can’t promise you that this will be easy. When Natalia died she took a lot of my heart with her and I don’t know how much is left but I want to share what I have left with you. Please be patient with me Alexia because I don’t know how to do this again. For most of my life it has been her and I but now I get the chance at happiness again, with you. We can take this slow?”

“We will go as slow are you want. I have nothing but time for you Y/N”

Alexia knew what to say and for the first time in a long time you found yourself leaning forward. Just as you were about to kiss her she moves and kisses your cheek.

“Slowly Y/N” Alexia winked causing you to chuckle “How about we go for dinner when we return to Barcelona?“

“I would really like that”

“Me too. Now if I remember correctly I owe you a drink” Alexia holds the door open so that you both can rejoin the party.

“That does seem to be the case. Make it a double. It’s not every day you pull one over on La Reina to score the winning goal” you shoved her playfully.

#woso x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #alexia Putellas one shot #alexia Putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #barcelona femeni x reader #barcelona femeni imagine #barcelona femeni one shot #espwnt x reader #espwnt one shot #espwnt imagine

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cherienymphe · 3 months

Text

Escapism

Topper Thornton x Reader

Summary: Your brother always stayed up with you whenever you couldn’t sleep and nothing has changed now that his best friend is the reason for your late nights.

warnings: Dub-Con, stepcest, cheating, toxic relationship, semi-public sex, jealousy, secret relationship, side of Rafe x reader, lots of playing in Rafe's face, kook!reader, non canon ages

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

⭑

You were a shitty girlfriend.

Perhaps, in some ways, you were being too harsh on yourself because it wasn’t like Rafe would ever win boyfriend of the year. The blond came with a plethora of issues that could only be fixed with therapy—something you probably wouldn’t even be able to pay him to do—and he chose to handle every single one with one horrible coping mechanism after the next. When it was all said and done though, you really only had yourself to blame.

It wasn’t like you were a stranger to the man before you started dating him.

You knew Rafe well—you’d grown up with him—so was it really his fault that you chose to ignore every single thing you knew about him in the hopes that he would mature and change? Was it his fault that you forgave him time and time again with the hopes that he could still change? Was he the asshole for being him or were you the asshole for going into this with the expectation he’d be something he wasn’t?

“Come on,” Topper would say to you in the dead of night. “You and I both know what he’s like—what he’s always been like.”

It was usually after he’d listen to you cry over Rafe and whatever girl he’d kissed or whatever awful thing he’d said to you, pupils blown and alcohol on his breath. He’d pull you to sit back, hands rubbing over your arms in an attempt to calm you down. It was always well into the night when you both should’ve been asleep, but per your routine as of late, you’d be waiting up for Rafe to call or text or walk through the door.

Anything to let you know he wasn’t passed out drunk in a ditch somewhere.

“Rafe can take care of himself just fine.”

Or some variation of that would reach your ears, and you’d press your hands to your face in exhaustion. You’d never miss the bitterness—borderline malice—in Topper’s voice as he said something like that. You knew it wasn’t directed at you, but more so your relationship with the other blond as a whole and his frustration with it. Topper never wanted you to date Rafe, and you knew he took no pleasure in watching Rafe prove him right.

Rafe may have been his best friend…

…but you were ten and Topper was twelve when his mother married your father. He’d been protective of you since day one, having been an only child before that, and you knew that he hated having to let you make your own choices and mistakes with the guy you’d both once called a friend. If you and Rafe came out of this relationship intact, you doubted you’d ever call him ‘friend’ again.

He’d hurt you too much for that.

You weren’t a bad girlfriend for thinking such thoughts. Nor were you a bad girlfriend for trying to break up with him on several occasions, something Rafe would always talk you out of with promises of remorse and change. You didn’t even think you were a bad girlfriend for venting about your frustration and hurt to his best friend—your stepbrother.

You were a shitty girlfriend for allowing something to continue that should’ve ended years ago.

Fed up with talking about Rafe and how badly he’d hurt your feelings earlier in the day, Topper had pressed his lips to yours, effectively shutting you up with a kiss. A kiss that you returned, shoulders sagging and a weight lifting off of your chest as his arms circled around your waist. Rafe had called you a nag hours before, subsequently telling you he wouldn’t be staying over before hanging up without another word.

It had hurt you, but you were sure Topper was just relieved to have you all to himself.

Or at the very least, wouldn’t be tempted to fuck you anyway—Rafe under the same roof be damned.

You both were quiet in the dark living room—your parents asleep upstairs—and the longer you kissed him, the more you just wanted to forget about Rafe. The t-shirt you wore was bunching up under the blonde’s hands, and you gasped when his mouth trailed down to your neck. You could feel how much he wanted you, and any other night you would’ve loved to drag this out, but much like Topper…

You just wanted to feel him inside of you.

You never wore any underwear to bed, both for convenience and just because. It was something Topper had come to appreciate, and when you helped him pull his shorts down, cock springing free, you couldn’t slide down the couch fast enough. He hooked one hand under your thigh, helping you and dragging you closer, the other squeezing his cock with long strokes.

He rubbed the tip of himself against you a few times, coating the head in your essence, unsurprised at how wet and ready for him you already were. The feel made you bite the inside of your cheek, lifting your hips in an attempt to get him to sink into you even if just a little. You didn’t miss the soft chuckle that rang through the air.

“I’m sorry,” he huskily told you, pushing into you with one slow thrust. “Is that better?”

You hated his mocking tone, but not as much as you loved the feel of him stretching you out. You clawed at him, pulling him closer, sighing into his mouth when he finally kissed you again. The movements of his hips were slow, too afraid to do too much and make too much noise. The pace was enough to make your head spin and was definitely enough to make you squirm beneath him. When you started lifting your hips to meet him halfway, he groaned into the kiss.

Rafe was the furthest thing from your mind.

Sliding your hands up Topper’s frame, you threaded your fingers through his hair, nails lightly dragging along his scalp. By the way he shuddered against you, you knew that he liked that. Every snap of his hips into yours had you swallowing down every noise that threatened to escape. His cock stroked your walls in a way that made you squeeze your eyes shut.

Shifting, you felt his hand slide down to rest on the inside of your thigh, pushing it and spreading it until your leg hung off of the couch. At that, you did gasp, a choaked sound escaping your lips before you snapped them shut. His free hand was beside your head now, forearm resting on the couch cushion. You both were quiet, but your soft labored breathing could still be heard if you listened hard enough.

When you softly moaned his name, he shushed you.

“I want…” you fought to catch your breath enough to speak. “I want you to come inside of me.”

You felt another shiver travel up his spine, head falling into the crook of your neck at that. You knew he wasn’t close, but you felt like making that known. It wasn’t something you both made a habit of, but you loved the feel of Topper spilling into you, cock twitching as he coated your walls in his release. When you pushed against his hand, he got the hint, and you circled his waist with your legs, ankles hooking at the small of his back.

Topper took his time fucking you.

He often did, feeling no need to rush or no fear that you’d get caught. You didn’t know if he was just that confident in how quickly you could pull yourselves together or that it simply wouldn’t happen. Some part of you wondered if maybe he just didn’t care. You knew that couldn’t be true for several reasons, the most pressing being your boyfriend.

It was funny.

Rafe had probably cheated on you more times than you actually knew of, but the minute some other guy looked at you for even just a second too long, he was gearing up for a fight. You didn’t know if he was performative or just that skilled at compartmentalization, but you hated it. What good did it do for him to act so noble and possessive when way too many people knew how much he’d embarrassed you over the past six months?

You didn’t doubt that he’d try to kill Topper in some coked out rage if he ever knew.

Topper’s hand was cupping your breast under your shirt as he pressed kisses to your neck and jaw. He was whispering in your ear, telling you how good you felt and how wet you were, and how much he wanted to feel you coming around him. He knew what to say to send you over the edge, and at the first sound, he covered your mouth in another kiss to swallow your moans.

You squeezed him tight, walls clenching as he fucked you through your climax, cock plunging into your soaking cunt as he chased his own. His thrusts grew sloppy, and they weren’t as languid, and his blond strands kissed your forehead as they grew messy and awkward with sweat. Your legs had long fallen around him, and you pressed your hand against his lower back.

When he came, he buried his face into where your neck and shoulder met, groaning into the skin. You shuddered at the feel of him spilling into you, still clenching around him as remnants of your orgasm finally started to dissipate. His breathing was heavy against your skin before pulling back just enough to touch his forehead to yours.

You could only hear your efforts to catch your breath.

“I love you. You know that, right?”

You nodded, positive he could feel the action against his forehead. You fingered the top of his shorts, and you bit your lip. You didn’t say it back often—something you still had trouble accepting and admitting—but you told him enough so that he’d never doubt it.

“Can I stay in your room tonight?” you quietly asked him. “Rafe probably won’t come over until after noon…if he comes over, at all.”

You tried not to let your voice shrink at the thought, but Topper caught it anyway. Pulling out of you and sitting up, he grabbed your arm and pulled you with him. Righting himself, he pulled you to your feet, his other hand pushing his hair away from his face.

“You know you never have to ask,” he told you.

His hands were comfortably on your waist as he followed behind you, guiding you upstairs.

“What…? You got a problem or something?”

You knew it was coming when you were the only one who wasn’t laughing, unamused as he recounted his tale of how he’d cornered Pope. You’d never known the other guy to get into any trouble or bother anyone, and while you knew there would never be anything you could do about whatever petty rivalry your brother and your boyfriend and their friends involved themselves in, Pope just seemed like low hanging fruit.

He wasn’t even the type to fight back.

“I just don’t find it funny,” was all you said, squinting under the harsh rays of the sun. “You know Pope’s not even like that. I might’ve laughed if it were JJ or…I don’t know…someone who would actually put up a fight.”

Rafe’s entire demeanor clouded over at that, and you were prepared for whatever was about to come out of his mouth when Topper spoke.

“Rafe,” the other blond warned. “Chill.”

He seemed to anticipate Rafe’s ire just as much as you did, and Rafe paused, glancing at his best friend before huffing. He leaned back in his chair, eyeing you with that cold blue gaze of his. The sun shone off of his dirty blond strands, the tresses curtained along his forehead, and you watched him bring his hand up to rest against his lips before finally settling on a better response than what you both knew you almost got.

“So, what are you trying to say?”

Choosing to end this fight before it even began, you sighed, looking away.

“I’m not saying anything, Rafe. You can do whatever you want,” you murmured. “You always do.”

He heard that loud and clear, and the laugh he let out wasn’t humorous in the slightest. You heard him roughly get up from his seat, chair scraping against the wooden floor. You watched him snatch his glass off the table, mumbling something about needing a refill but not before making a comment to Topper that was solely intended for you.

“Get your sister, Top,” your boyfriend drawled, making you cross your arms over your chest.

You could feel the man in question’s eyes on you, and you avoided his gaze.

“Sometimes I swear you like fighting with him just as much as he does you.”

At that, you scoffed, looking at him in disbelief.

“I didn’t laugh because he beat up Pope Heyward…and that was apparently a problem,” you pointed out to which Topper merely shrugged, unable to disagree. “I apologize for not finding it funny.”

“Babe,” he softly said, reaching out and touching your arm. “He’s a Pogue, and you know how Rafe is.”

His excuse for Rafe’s behavior only made you roll your eyes, and you heard him sigh as you reached for your stuff. He said your name, trying to get you to sit back down, but you were only more determined to leave once you caught sight of Kelce walking up the steps to the restaurant too. Dealing with all three of them at once was enough to give you a coronary.

“Where are you going?”

You didn’t answer Rafe as you passed him on his way back to the table, ignoring Kelce too when he said hey to you. You hated to take it out on him when he didn’t actually do anything this time, but you knew his mindset was just as bad as Rafe’s, and so you figured it was preemptively deserved. You didn’t need to be a genius to know that Rafe was going to talk shit about you the second you were out of sight.

It was one of those days where you really felt emboldened to finally break up with him for good. Rafe hadn’t been good to you nor right for you since the beginning, and you knew that if Topper was a lesser person, he would’ve said ‘I told you so’ a million times by now. You were grateful that he didn’t make you feel worse for being naïve enough to ever believe in Rafe Cameron.

Although, some part of you wondered if having you crawl into his bed night after night was satisfaction enough.

It was hours later when he was softly apologizing for both his and Rafe’s behavior, fingers digging into your waist as you pushed yourself down onto him. Rafe had long fallen asleep, his light snores easing your worry as you’d snuck out of your room. Topper was awake—as you’d hoped—and it was true that you’d only intended to talk. Rafe’s attitude hadn’t been much better when you finally reunited again, something you were sure Topper had overheard.

“You really want to talk about Rafe, right now?” he’d whispered, hand sliding along your thigh.

“Topper,” you’d quietly hissed in warning. “Not…tonight. He’s…”

You didn’t need to finish that sentence, feeling no need to as you gestured towards his door. The blond had fixed you with a look that made your stomach flip, a hint of a smirk dancing along his pink lips as he held your gaze.

“That’s never stopped us before.”

You’d swallowed at that, feeling unsure, but that was a feeling that had never stopped the other man before either. The first time he’d ever kissed you, you’d felt unsure, but Topper hadn’t cared, holding you to him and fingering you on the back deck while his mother threw some grand party downstairs. You still remembered the way you came around his fingers, an admission of insecurities somehow leading to your first ever sexual experience—and with your own stepbrother no less.

“Topper,” you’d quietly warned when he brushed his lips against yours. “Rafe…”

“Do…not…talk about him, right now,” he’d slowly said, fingers grazing along your folds just as slow.

Despite your hand against his shoulder, he’d laid you down, lips finding the skin just under your jaw.

“He’s the last thing I want to talk about, right now.”

…and he’d meant it, curving his fingers into you while pressing open mouthed kisses to your jaw and throat and collarbone. Any protest you had was swallowed down and quickly forgotten at the slick feeling between your legs, Topper’s fingers sinking into your cunt with ease. Your own twisted into the fabric of his shirt, hips lifted towards his hand, fighting to swallow down a whimper each time his thumb circled your clit.

“Fuck,” he’d cursed into your skin. “I love how wet you get for me.”

It wasn’t long after that that he was hurrying to get inside of you, shirts and shorts discarded as he pulled you on top of him. When you sank down onto him, he’d sighed, throwing his head back and lifting his hips. With your hands on his stomach, you’d lifted yourself until the tip of his cock just barely remained inside of you before sliding back down.

You gently bounced on top of him, hyper aware of who was just in the other room. You could tell that Topper wasn’t a huge fan, feeling that you had to pick one between being on top and being gentle, but it couldn’t be both. When his hands slid up your frame, they rested on the sides of your neck before pulling you down. Your eyes fell closed when you kissed him, and you gasped into his mouth when he lifted his hips, driving himself up into you.

You mentally cursed, realizing you’d been tricked.

With his hands quickly sliding down to snake around your waist, Topper wasted no time in lifting his hips to push his cock up into you. The force of his thrusts had you squeezing him in more ways than one, lips parted and eyes tight as he roughly fucked himself up into you. His bed shook under his movements, and you couldn’t stop yourself from whining into his mouth, the sound of him sinking into you reaching your ears.

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he hummed, one hand coming up to rest on your cheek.

When his bed knocked into the wall, he halted his movements, using the moment to both catch his breath and listen. Your own heart stuttered, digging your nails into his chest because you’d literally told Topper so. Once Rafe was knocked out, it was usually pretty hard to wake him up, but it would be just your luck that this night of all nights he’d be a light sleeper.

You really didn’t want to imagine the chaos if he left your room in search of you only to find his best friend balls deep inside of you.

When no worrying sounds reached your ears, Topper took that as a sign to continue, knees bent as he thrust up into you again. You could tell he was close by the way his cock twitched inside of you, and something nagged in the back of your mind about that. When you attempted to pull yourself off of him, he held you tighter.

“Topper,” you gasped, a warning in your tone. “Don’t-.”

Your words were abruptly swallowed when he rolled you both, pinning you beneath him and jerking his hips into yours. The rough and fast pace had you momentarily forgetting your train of thought, weakly pushing against his stomach. You both knew why you didn’t want him to finish inside of you, but he didn’t seem to care about Rafe possibly sinking into you in the early hours of the morning with his best friend’s cum dried along your folds.

You yelped when you came, a roaring sound in your ears as you felt him do the same, filling you up with a grunt. His hips didn’t stop snapping against yours the entire time, fucking you through it and fucking his cum into you. He had you completely caged beneath him, and all you could do was quietly milk his cock, toes curling as you scratched at his back.

When clarity finally hit, the fog lifting, you roughly pushed him away. You didn’t miss his quiet chuckle, and you didn’t spare him a glance as you reached for your oversized t-shirt—his t-shirt.

“You’re such an asshole,” you mumbled, pulling it over your head and slapping his hand away when he reached down to slide his fingers between your sticky folds.

You didn’t spare Topper another glance before hurrying out of his room.

You kept your eyes on Rafe as he flew down the road, the loud music making his truck almost vibrate. He was ignoring you, preoccupied with his conversation with Kelce who was in the passenger seat. It was funny because the only one with a right to be mad was you, recalling the fight you’d had on the beach not even an hour ago.

“She was all over you, and you just stood there and let it happen,” you’d yelled at him, feeling humiliated for the umpteenth time.

“I barely remember what that girl even looks like,” was his reply, pupils blown. “It was nothing, baby.”

You had slapped his hand away when he reached for you, unmoved by the way his countenance darkened. The sounds of the party just down the beach only served to remind you how you felt when you walked up on him with his hand on some girl’s waist, her lips trailing kisses along his neck. You could tell she was drunk, and instead of pushing her away, Rafe just entertained it.

Your eyes had only met for half a second before you were turning away.

You didn’t even know why he chased you down the beach, and that was what you’d told him.

“You’re not sorry…you don’t feel bad, and you know what? You’ll probably do worse two weeks from now, so why are you even here?”

You’d shrugged at him, certain your confusion was evident on your face.

“Look, it was nothing,” he’d spat at you. “Once again, you’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

That had actually made you laugh, tears kissing your eyes.

“If you caught me cozying up to any guy with half the effort that she was with you…you would lose your shit, and you know it,” you’d sneered, watching his jaw tick. “I would love to see the look on your face if I fucked someone else.”

He’d gotten in your face, his finger almost touching your eye.

“I was barely touching her-.”

“That wasn’t the case three months ago,” you threw in his face. “…and I can only imagine what I don’t know about.”

Rafe’s nostrils had flared, and for a split second, you swore you saw some shame pass through his blue gaze. It was gone just as quickly as it came though, anger replacing it instead.

“You wouldn’t dare, you wouldn’t fucking dare,” he bit out, invading your personal space. “I said I was sorry, and you said you forgave me, so don’t think you can use that as an excuse to go fuck some asshole who clearly doesn’t value his life.”

His words had only made you angrier, and you had to bite your tongue to keep your face even, recalling the feel of Topper’s cock inside of you just thirty minutes before Rafe came to pick you both up. You and your boyfriend had stared each other down for a few moments more before he spoke again.

“I’d love to see you do that,” he finally said, shrugging. “I would love to see you try when you can’t even stick to staying broken up with me.”

His words had the desired effect, and you’d felt your face fall.

“Now, you’re trying to convince me you’d ever have the nerve to cheat on me?” he’d wondered, fingers grazing his own chest. “Don’t make me laugh.”

He’d left you with a scoff, and you hadn’t been able to stop your tears from spilling over. All you’d ever tried to do was routinely look for and believe in the best in Rafe, and you couldn’t believe that he threw that in your face like some insult. Maybe it was an insult though…because how many times were you going to let him show you exactly who he was? How many times were you going to let him play in your face?

The day after you’d confronted him about sleeping with some girl—only privy to the information because of none other than Topper—you’d cried yourself to sleep. It was always little things before that, but that incident was what broke you, allowing Topper to slip into your room and wrap his arms around you. It was reminiscent of a time where he used to sneak into your room almost every night, your parents none the wiser to what went on underneath their roof. You’d been eighteen then, Topper twenty, and you both mutually agreed to putting a stop to it.

However, that night, his mind had clearly gone to the same place yours had.

When he kissed you, you’d pulled him closer, and two years after you ended your forbidden dalliance, you resumed it again. For a few hours, you’d forgotten all about Rafe and what he did and just basked in the feel of Topper pushing his cock into you, embarrassingly turned on because of how much you’d missed him. You hadn’t paid any mind to the countless phone calls and texts that were blowing up your phone, no one else but Rafe and his vain attempts to fix what he did.

The day you forgave him, you knew you were making a huge mistake.

Rafe throwing the grace you’d shown him in your face had you stomping to his truck. You’d ignored the feel of eyes on you, knowing it wasn’t Rafe, opting to slide in the backseat without acknowledging him. Kelce—ever the standup guy—just pretended not to notice the tension between you and his friend as he slid into the passenger seat. The moment Rafe’s truck was on the road—music blaring through the vehicle—you’d grabbed Topper’s hand.

He didn’t protest at all when you dragged it across your thigh, pushing his fingers between your legs.

…and that was how you found yourself watching Rafe, keeping your eyes on him not because you actually wanted to, but because you didn’t need him looking over his shoulder. Even if he did, it was dark, but still, you weren’t exactly emotionless as Topper slid his fingers in and out of you. Your lips were parted, and your chest was heaving, and even though all that could really be heard was whatever rap song Rafe put on, you were still pulling your lip between your teeth.

You reached out to grip the door handle when Topper added another finger, his hand soaked in you, and you reached down to place your own hand on top of his. You spread your legs a little more, and you couldn’t stop yourself from lifting your hips a bit. You were thankful for the music, certain that if the truck were quieter, they’d be able to hear the wet sounds of his fingers pushing between your folds.

He pulled them in and out of you for the duration of the ride, just slowly stroking you and teasing you. Every time you started to tighten around his fingers, he’d stop, just letting them sit there long enough for you to come down from a high that quite never happened. Like clockwork, he’d start moving his fingers again, and he only fully pulled them out of you—underwear snapping back into place—when Rafe pulled into his driveway.

He'd sucked them clean by the time Rafe and Kelce opened their doors, and when your boyfriend saw that neither of you were moving, he paused. You crossed your arms over your chest when he glanced at you, throwing him a frown.

“I need to talk to Y/N for a minute,” Topper told him, and Rafe only scoffed.

“Please do,” he mockingly said, tone full of arrogance as he wrongly assumed what the conversation would be about. “…because I didn’t do shit, and I’m tired of your sister blowing things out of proportion.”

That last part was aimed at you, and you only coolly met your boyfriend’s gaze before he slammed the door shut.

“He’s such an asshole,” you mumbled, staring at his back as he walked away. “I’m breaking up with him. For good this time.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Topper’s tone was dripping with sarcasm, and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Yeah, we both know how much you’ll hate having me all to yourself again.”

The words were barely out of your mouth before you turned towards him, reaching to slip your hand down his pants the moment Rafe was inside of his house. Wrapping your fingers around Topper’s cock, you slowly stroked him, uncaring as to how risky that was. You were just angrier than you ever were at the realization that Rafe didn’t appreciate how gracious you’d been, and how many other girls would’ve dumped him months ago for everything he’d pulled. In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if Rafe respected you less for it.

That realization didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would…because you’d long stopped respecting him in return.

You moved to settle in Topper’s lap, facing away from him as he lifted his hips enough to only just pull his pants down. One hand was pulling at your panties, yanking them aside just in time for you to sink down onto his cock. You couldn’t stop yourself from moaning as he filled you up, throbbing inside of your heat. It was almost too easy, courtesy of his fingers and how wet he’d made you.

You lifted yourself slightly, moving over him and hanging onto the headrest of the driver’s seat while Topper lifted his hips too. His grunts and labored pants were a little loud, but that was only because you were alone. Rafe nor Kelce was going to hear anything from all the way out here in a closed vehicle. You clung to the seat harder as you thought about Rafe’s haughty tone and that challenging look in his blue eyes, so certain that you’d never do to him what he did to you.

So certain that you’d never have the guts.

Speaking of, it felt like you could feel Topper deep in your stomach as you rode him. His hands were tight on your waist as he bounced you on top of him, cheeks grazing his thighs with every movement. One of those hands slid around you, reaching under your dress and resting on you, fingers rubbing over your cunt.

“You’re doing so good, babe,” he whispered in the otherwise quiet truck. “Just like that.”

You knew that this couldn’t take long—and Topper knew it too—and feeling you come around him always sent him over the edge, so your eyes rolled when he started circling and dragging his fingers across your clit. He lightly pinched it, making you jerk, and the fact that you were fucking him in Rafe’s own backseat had you coming hard.

The broken moans that tumbled out of your mouth should have embarrassed you, but you were too concerned with sliding yourself up and down his cock, squeezing him tight and making him come too. Topper wrapped an arm around your neck, pulling you back against him as you came together. Knowing that you’d stayed out here long enough, he was gently pushing you off of him the second he started to soften.

You could feel him dripping out of you, and you hurried to put your underwear back in place.

“Did you talk some sense into her?” was the first thing Rafe greeted you with the moment you both made it back inside.

You ignored him, hearing the tone of Topper’s voice as he said Rafe’s name. You knew that it would just be another useless talk of him almost begging Rafe to do better. The older blond never listened to his friend though, and you knew it didn’t twist Topper up too much, always happy to make you feel better when your boyfriend fucked up.

He took advantage of it every time.

Like now, for example.

Your hands clung to the railing of the back porch, head bowed as Topper drove into you from behind. Rafe was asleep in his own room—Kelce asleep in a guest room—and you couldn’t help yourself. You needed him again, sneaking into his designated guest room and begging him to fuck you. He was never one to protest, pressing his lips to yours and pulling you against him while murmuring something along the lines of ‘not in here’.

There were too many people in the Cameron household for him to touch you on the same floor as everyone else.

You kept pushing yourself to your tippy toes, thighs squeezing together with every slow stroke of his cock. Rafe’s t-shirt was pushed up your back, and the light slap of skin against skin reached your ears as well as the wet sound every time he slid between your folds. When he leaned over you, chest pressed to your back, one arm curled around your waist.

“You love this,” he murmured, nipping at your ear. “You love fucking me right under his nose…especially when he really pisses you off.”

If you’d tried to deny it, the way you tightened around him would’ve exposed the truth anyway. You did. Rafe underestimated you, and you loved proving him wrong, especially with his best friend of all people. You moaned, pushing back against him at that. Topper only chuckled, twisting a hand at your roots and pushing you back down over the railing again.

After coming around him twice, the insides of your thighs were embarrassingly sticky, and when Topper eventually stilled against you, pumping you full of his cum, that only made your predicament worse. When he pulled out of you, you reached down to wipe away some of the mess, fighting to catch your breath and reminding yourself that you’d have to make a stop to the bathroom before rejoining Rafe.

Topper was silent the entire ride home, and unlike with Rafe, you had no one but yourself to blame in this situation. Whenever you happened to glance over, you’d catch sight of his clenched jaw, cold blue eyes—so much like Rafe’s—focused on the road. His knuckles were white from the strain of his skin pulled taut over them, a death grip on the wheel of his jeep.

You didn’t speak because there wasn’t much you could say.

So fed up with Rafe’s blatant disrespect—and the pitying looks the odd girl threw you at the party as he danced with some stranger—you hadn’t thought of who else you’d be hurting when you grabbed the nearest guy and pressed your lips to his. You were so far gone with the alcohol, and the satisfaction you’d felt only drove you to close your eyes at the feel of his lips moving against yours.

It had also caused you to momentarily forget about your boyfriend, a misstep that was quickly remedied when you found yourself covered in alcohol.

Several of his friends—Kelce included—had been struggling to hold Rafe back as he tried to make his way to you. His angry shouts could be heard over the music, and you suspected that the bloodthirsty glint in his blue eyes was what drove your poor unsuspecting victim to slip away. Watching him get further out of reach only drove Rafe crazy…until his angry gaze landed on you, as if just remembering your presence.

He was screaming at you, calling you every name in the book, and you’d taken a step back as his friends struggled to keep him from getting to you. Only one stood off to the side, and when you remembered Topper’s presence, you hadn’t been able to keep the sheepish look off of your face. Adopting the older brother role, he’d quickly stomped towards you, yanking your arm as he pulled you along and away from your enraged boyfriend.

“I think its time you call it a night,” he’d evenly said.

That was the last thing he’d said to you, holding you as you stumbled to his car.

When his phone rang again, cutting through the silence in the vehicle, he finally answered it.

“Rafe, she’s drunk,” Topper told him the minute he picked it up. “…and you can’t act like you didn’t have this coming a little.”

You shifted in your seat, thinking to yourself that you’d gotten back at Rafe many times over. You didn’t hear what your boyfriend—possibly ex-boyfriend—said on the other line, but it was loud, and you could pick up on his tone. Topper chuckled to himself, and if you hadn’t been looking at his face, you might’ve thought it was genuine. His frustration with both Rafe and you—mostly you at the moment—was all over his face.

“There’s a whole list of shit you’ve done while drunk or high. You can talk to her tomorrow,” he told his best friend, meeting your gaze. “I’m handling it, so if you come over, I’m telling you now I’m not answering the door.”

You looked out the window at that, swallowing at the venom in both his voice and his gaze.

Your parents weren’t home, out of town for the weekend, and you were never more grateful, certain you’d never been this drunk in your life. Topper was still ignoring you as he helped you inside, and when you stumbled away from him, leaning against the table by the entrance, you gave him an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

Before you could do it, he was dropping to his knees, angrily taking off your shoes. You flinched at the way he threw them across the room, slowly rising and staring you down. The house was quiet—too quiet for comfort—and you licked your lips.

“Topper-.”

“It’s already bad enough seeing you kiss him and be with him and fuck him,” he spat at you, pointing outside. “Even worse when he treats you like shit, and you just won’t leave.”

You frowned at him, tears kissing your eyes.

“I’m…sorry for just hoping he’ll do better…”

“He won’t!”

Topper’s voice bounced off of the walls, and you shrunk away from him as he got in your face.

“How many times does he have to show you that? Why do you still expect better from him, so much so to the point where you’re kissing random guys, now?” he wondered, rearing back away from you with a frown. “Yeah, you wanted to make Rafe angry, but we both know the truth.”

You looked away, pressing your lips together when Topper stepped closer. You could feel his breath on your cheek as he exhaled through his nose, the atmosphere tense.

“Rafe’s mad because you dared to play his own game,” he slowly whispered. “I love you, and we both know it’s me you’re really with, not him, and I’m fucking pissed.”

You swallowed with one look into his eyes, finally finding the strength to face him, and your heart skipped a beat at what you saw there.

Before you could say another word, his lips were on yours, fingers digging into your arms. The sequence of events happened too fast for your drunk brain to catch up with, only gasping when he reached down to press his hand into the small of your back, yanking you closer. If it wasn’t for him holding you, you would’ve tripped over your own feet as he forced you into the living room.

Topper’s teeth nipped at your throat while he pulled at your dress, something Rafe had bought.

“I fucking hate this dress,” he quietly confessed as if reading your mind.

The sound of tearing fabric reached your ears as he forced you to bend back, his arm around you keeping you from collapsing. He kept you against him as he laid you down on the floor, in a hurry to get you at least half naked. His other hand reached behind his head to yank off his shirt, and you only had the sense to hold onto his arms while he kissed along your chest. When his pants were pushed down just enough, he pushed into you with a grunt.

You scratched at his skin at the rough entry, but it took no time for each thrust to become as smooth as they always were whenever he got his hands on you. One of your hands clawed at the rug, and you moaned—loud—when he gripped the hair at the nape of your neck. You suspected that Top had done a line or two tonight, gasping at his uncharacteristically tight grip.

He was fucking you so good that you almost missed the sound of a vehicle in the yard. When you did, your eyes flew open, and you attempted to look around towards the window. You guys were too close to the couch to see over it, and when you whined, pushing against him, Topper only grabbed your hands and pinned them down beside your head.

“Topper, I think…”

You couldn’t get it out, groaning as he curved his hips against yours.

“Fuck him,” he breathed, pounding into you.

The harsh knocks on the door didn’t faze him, and Topper only let one of your hands go to reach down and reach under your thigh. He rested that leg over his shoulder, pushing it towards you as his nose brushed yours, lips parted as he thrust into you. You were dripping around him, teeth sinking into your lip as Rafe knocked on the door again, trying the locked handle. Somewhere, you could hear your phone vibrating…and then Topper’s after a while.

The man on top of you didn’t care, stretching you out, pushing his cock into your tight hole.

“Break up with him, or don’t,” he whispered to you, pressing a kiss to your lips and then your nose. “…but what you pulled tonight is not happening again.”

You drunkenly nodded at him, mewling as he slowed down his thrusts, the sucking sound of his cock plunging into you reaching your ears. You heard your phone vibrate again.

“You know where to find me when he pisses you off.”

#topper thornton #topper thornton x reader #topper thornton imagine #topper thornton smut #topper thornton fanfiction #obx #outer banks #obx fic #obx imagine #obx fanfiction #outer banks fic #outer banks imagine #outer banks fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron

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tripleyeeet · 9 months

Text

BLEED YOU DRY (1)

SUMMARY: When you awake to find Astarion attempting to drink your blood, you find yourself making a interesting decision.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader (reads as Gender Neutral but future chapters will be femme focused, just a heads up!)

WORD COUNT: 3,273

WARNINGS: Bloodsucking, that's about it?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, so I'm aware I'm way ahead of schedule for this Haunted Hoedown thing but I'm going to be gone for a few days in the middle of it so I figured I'd get a headstart now to make sure I get every day done but also to build the hype? Maybe?

Basically this is going to be a little twelve part miniseries based on prompts from this writing challenge. I'll make a masterpost either tonight or tomorrow with all the ones I chose, plus some other stuff, so you guys know what's going on!

The prompt for this particular day was "I want to watch you bleed."

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

The squirming tadpole behind your eye is what wakes you up. Its constant movement, wriggling from edge to edge quickly prompts you to groan and palm your eye, attempting to suppress the feeling as you blink through the darkness. It takes a moment to adjust —to feel that twitch of the creature die down— and when it does there’s a sigh of satisfaction that leaves your lips.

Despite how long it’s been, you’re not sure you’ll ever get used to the fact that you have a parasite living inside your mind. Even after experiencing the insertion firsthand, you often forget it’s there, looming behind your retinas, awaiting use every time you run into another. Normally it’s so still, barely inching out of place; sitting there, incubating within your thoughts. Tonight though, something’s urging its presence. Keeping it awake as you close your eyes again, scrunching up your face once it moves a second time.

Angrily, you sit up and turn your head, suddenly catching Astarion’s gaze, noticing the open-mouthed grin he offers in response.

“Shit.”

You narrow your eyes, focusing on his teeth. How bared they are; ready to strike at a moment's notice despite the only food lying around being you. “Were you just about to bite me?” you ask and almost immediately he attempts to play it off as if it were nothing, scoffing and rolling his eyes.

“I wasn’t going to hurt you if that’s what you’re insinuating. I was only going for a nibble.”

You can feel your tadpole squirm. He’s telling the truth, albeit for reasons that are more selfish than he lets on. Despite seeming otherwise, he only wants to drink from you for strength —for energy. His desire to kill you is minuscule, lingering in the shadows of his mind for a potentially later day but surprisingly such notions don’t scare you. Astarion may be a bloodthirsty creature but for now, he’s an ally.

“And you didn’t think to just ask first?” You raise a brow at him, watching his expression twist into something bordering between confusion and interest.

“I’m sorry, just ask?” he parrots, exploring your features and how they remain calm despite the context.

He was expecting you to be angry. To throw some kind of fit and deny. It’s what any normal person would do, but considering the circumstances, offering up a little blood to build up the strength of someone on the same side is worth more than the annoyance that forms across your face.

“Yes, like a normal person,” you chastise, taking in the scowl he offers in response.

His brows furrow at the sound of your words, angling upwards to appear as sinister as possible, and you can’t help but snort. Something about his constant disapproval is almost humorous at this point.

“Normal? Darling, I’m a creature of the night. A blood sucking fiend. A—“

“Vampire, yes, we’re all well aware given the teeth.” You poke at your own canine, tapping the enamel with open lips just as he swallows hard and narrows his eyes.

“Yes, well, obviously considering such details I thought it inappropriate to ask. People don’t typically agree to such perilous sounding terms,” he says, voice light and airy. Casual, you might say, despite the context.

“So instead you were just going to go for it?” You raise your brow, a smirk playing across your lips as he rolls his eyes.

“Seemed like the best possible option… at the time.”

You offer him a quiet ah, nodding your head as the two of you remain still, watching each other. Trying to gauge how the other is feeling without the use of your tadpoles.

Based on what you know about Astarion you assume he’s too stubborn to ask. Now that he’s caught, regardless of whether or not he needs the blood, he’ll never find himself in a position to be desperate enough to say those simple little words. Being a man of persuasion, he’ll most likely just talk his way into it —make it seem like the whole thing was your idea in the first place before diving right in.

It’d be respectable if you weren’t the victim. If it were Wyll or Gale and you were to bear witness to his deceptions, you’d fully support it. Encourage it even if he were to ask your opinion.

Since it’s you though, you can’t help but feel a bit frustrated. Astarion and you have never been particularly friendly. Having only been around each other for a few weeks, all you’ve talked about is the Illithid and how you plan to get rid of it —what you’ll do after it’s gone. But even the latter conversations hardly spark specific details. Mostly they’re just brief mentions of wanting to run away. To become hidden after the war is over.

You assume someone’s looking for him based on the way he speaks and carries himself. When you’re on the move he hides within the pack, using you all as a shield while he looks around. Always on high alert, his ears twitch at any foreign sound, his eyes dart to meet the faces of anyone you may come across. At night, he’s always the one to keep watch and over time you’ve come to realize it isn’t just because he doesn’t sleep. It’s because he’s looking for someone.

Even now, as he stands above you, you can see his eyes looking past you to focus on the underbrush. The way they narrow with focus, pushing past your face. He can sense something that you can’t —feel the eyes of some foreign presence staring at the two of you.

You’re tempted to use the tadpole to find out what exactly it is but quickly refrain once you hear the shuffling of branches behind you followed by Astarion’s breath of relief.

“You alright?”

His eyes shut for a split second. His chest heaves a single breath and in that moment you’re struck with an odd sense of sympathy. The feeling of pity laces throughout your thoughts as you imagine Astarion’s life before all of this. You imagine it isn’t great. Considering he’s a vampire, there’s probably at least an inkling of trauma there after living, dying and coming back as something other than yourself. No sane person would be the same after that, especially when taking into account all the symptoms. Before his transition, he could do mundane things. Enjoy the pleasantries of life like the sun and sleeping and food.

Nowadays, all it seems he craves is blood and power. Flesh of whatever he can get his greedy little hands on. The upper hand in any possible argument. Both make what Astarion is on the surface, but looking at him now, wondering what else lies behind that thick, defensive coat of first impressions, you know there are other things. Nicer ones he refuses to showcase.

They’re the details of his life before everything. Traits reserved only for himself, and for some uncharacteristic reason, you’re tempted to find out what they are.

“If you need to…” Trailing off, you feel your stomach twist at the realization of what you’re about to offer. The consequences are high, maybe even too high, but perhaps the benefits could be deemed higher. At this point, you’re certain no one else will give him what he needs. They’re all too noble or guarded to allow Astarion, regardless of his current allegiance, to drink.

They don’t trust him. And even though you find yourself in the same boat, feeling the skepticism of your words start to echo in the back of your mind, you know it’s the most logical thing to do. Sure, it may not be the right one. By a long shot, it’s probably one of the worst ideas you’ve ever had, but you know deep down that it’s necessary for your survival. To ensure that, when all this blows over and the potential of you going your separate ways occurs, Astarion doesn’t view you as an enemy.

“If you need to drink, you can.”

His eyes widen only a bit. Just enough for you to notice the slight shock that spreads across his features. “I can?”

There’s a reluctance you feel begin to bubble up but instead of acting on it you merely shut it down, nodding your head. “Yes, but only a little. Don’t want you bleeding me dry before this whole thing is all over.”

Somehow that makes him laugh. “Oh, darling, I wouldn’t dream of such a thing.”

You force yourself not to smirk as he lies through his teeth. Knowing him, he’d suck you dry if it weren’t for the fact that there’s safety in numbers. “Unfortunately for me this isn’t a dream.”

“Fair point,” he replies, taking a short step forward. After that he slowly begins to crouch towards the ground, watching you closely —focusing on the rise and fall of your chest as his face falls mere inches from yours. “For now though, I promise to do no such thing.”

“And you’re certain you’ll keep it?”

He hums, a grin pulling at his cheeks. “For now,” he muses. “In the future though…”

He’s so close you can feel his breath. Hot and heavy puffs pushed through a low, far too sultry tone of voice that has you pressing your lips together in a thin line.

Out of everyone, Astarion’s always been the most intriguing. The one you’ve had this constant back and forth with, debating whether or not to approach or run. Aside from the obvious vampirism, it’s quite obvious that he isn’t like the others. From what you’ve been able to piece together, he doesn’t have a cause. A God or some sort of leader he’s willing to lay down the law for. He’s not noble like Wyll or faithful like Shadowheart. He’s just Astarion. A bloodied wolf all by his lonesome, following the rest of the pack.

You’re sure he has desires like the rest of them. Wants and needs that’ll inevitably be gifted to him at the end of this —so long as you all survive. Like everyone else, he has a purpose in mind, but what that purpose is is unbeknownst to you thanks to the charm he offers in replacement of the truth. Because of this, he feels almost like a treasure chest. A trove of untold riches kneeling before you, tempting you to open.

“I’m sure the future will have us far enough away from each other where that doesn’t happen, so I won’t worry.”

Almost immediately, he can tell you’re fishing for information. The way his brow slightly upturns and the flirtatious grin across his face transitions into more of a smirk. It makes you internally curse, knowing that no matter how hard you try you’ll never beat him at his own game. His way with words is too precise. Too calculated, even for someone like you who grew up convincing people of your lies.

“You never know. Perhaps after this is all over I’ll follow you. Linger amongst the shadows until the time is right.”

You can’t tell if he’s kidding. His voice is too convincing to be completely certain, so you merely roll your eyes. “Yes, well, if you do decide to drink me to death, be sure to make it quick.”

He clicks his tongue, leaning slightly further in. “What would be the fun in that though?”

There’s an unfamiliar ache inside your chest. A rupture of pain that wreaks havoc against your ribcage, pounding. Now that he’s close to you, you can assume it’s always been there but because he’s so good at posing a distraction you weren’t fully aware of it until now.

“Fair point,” you repeat his words back to him, deeply inhaling just as the tadpole suddenly shifts in tandem with your chest. Ebbing and flowing across your inner eye in time with your shaky breath, you notice Astarion pick up on it, humming knowingly.

“You fear me, don’t you?”

Despite the answer being blatantly obvious, your lips remained sealed. Closed off, regardless of the truths the rest of your body spills.

“It’s quite alright, darling. It’s normal. Creatures of the night are hardly meant to be trifled with.”

He’s in your face now, a mere hair’s length away, once again baring his teeth. Against your lips, you can feel the movement of his words pushing through the air, coating you in further reluctance as the withheld breath inside you finally releases. As it hits his face, he blinks and pulls away. Ever so slightly giving you the space you need to recollect your thoughts and swallow back the fear.

He’s terrifying. Even you have to admit that. Unlike Lae’zel he’s more calculated in his intimidation, opting to pull you in —to make you feel comfortable— before he ultimately strikes. Because of this, his threats feel more authentic. Less like simple tactics used to get you to back off. They aren’t words of warning —they’re promises. Declarations of a moment he’s more than willing to make a reality if given the chance.

“Do you want my blood or not, Astarion?”

Your patience is thin. Your chest is in pain and while the tadpole inside unwittingly reaches out to his, driving you both closer as he instructs you to lie back down and get comfortable, all you can feel is temptation. Desire.

Upon resting your head, you feel the connection between you grow stronger. Inside, your head flashes with icy sensations that trickle down towards your neck. Small tremors of what’s to come as Astarion positions himself around you.

When he leans down, there’s a moment where you think of retracting. This is all too sudden, you think. A mistake made in hopes of gaining the upper hand. Just moments ago you were made unaware of the full potential of Astarion’s charms, but now that you’re lying beneath him, awaiting the moment he sinks his teeth into your flesh, you can feel the regret begin to build.

“It won’t last.”

Pulling yourself from your thoughts, you look to see him staring over top of you. Both of his arms are planted on either side of your head, bending at the elbow so that he’s low and close. “I’m sorry?”

“The pain. It won’t last long, I promise.”

Strangely enough, he sounds sincere. Not that that means much when a good portion of the words that exit his lips are lies. Still though, instead of returning to that previous headspace you merely breathe and nod, waiting for the moment the tadpole’s connection vibrates with confirmation and Astarion begins to lean in.

It’s a slow process. Above you, his shoulders shift, pushing his arm to cup the back of your head and expose your neck. Against your skull, Astarion tightens his grip to steady the endless thoughts that race through your mind as you share a glance. It’s small but important. A moment of recognition that tonight is not the night you die at his hand, but merely a preview of what might come if your paths wrongfully cross.

At the last second, you give him a curt nod and feel him dip, running the tip of his tongue along your jugular before the presence of teeth poke holes through your flesh. At first, it's painful. The blood that’s sucked through your veins pulsates through the open wound in stinging waves as you feign a soft groan. Then Astarion’s grip around your head tightens at the sound, pushing you further into his mouth. Further into the euphoria he takes as the feeling transcends into something numbingly cold.

Your eyes flutter shut at his continued feed. The feeling in your hands begins to fade even as you somehow find them moving to Astarion’s back, one of them pressing against his shoulder, the other finding purchase in his locks. At that point, you can feel Astarion moan against you, desperation filling his every cell as his teeth shift further into your neck, prompting your eyes to shoot open.

He’s going to kill you at this rate. To drink you drier than an insect's husk, so, through half-conscious pushes, you tell him to stop. To let go and to keep his promise as you grip the roots of his hair and pull.

As it happens you see his eyes shift to yours. They’re blown out completely, the whites of his eyes stained red to match his ruby pupils. For a moment, they remain locked to your half-lidded ones, honing in on the way they start to flutter again before you see them tightly close. Then he finds himself ripping away and gasping for air. Coughing through the thick blood that coats his tongue as he stares down at your neck.

The wound is only slightly gaping. Two well-defined puncture wounds sit side by side, but at the moment you can’t feel them. Instead, there’s still only numbness. A space of nothing that lingers between your head and chest, making you shift to sit up and place your hand there, finding more blood.

“See? Over before you know it, right?” He laughs but all you do is glare.

“You almost killed me.”

“Ah, yes, but notice the key word being almost.”

If you weren’t so heavy-headed you’d punch him in the throat. Maybe strangle him if you could get the right angle. “Yes, fine, you’ve had your fun. Now, do you need anything else or am I fine to pass out now?”

You expect him to say something else. To make some quip about the safety measures of post-bloodsucking, but he doesn’t. Instead, he merely inches closer, staring at you as he reaches for your bloodied hand and pulls it close.

Once again, your tadpole wriggles against your will. Throughout your skull, it practically dances as Astarion glances down, taking two of your fingers into his mouth with careful precision. If anyone were to see they’d most likely faint at the mere lewdness of it. Frozen in time, your body refuses to move as he laps the blood off your skin, staring at you through hooded eyes that make you want to scream.

You’ve never been in this kind of position before. Sure, you’ve experienced many kinds of intimacy, both sexual and not, but somehow this feels different. Forbidden, in a sense. As if sharing this moment is not only wrong but also against some sort of ethical code.

At first, you wonder if it’s because blood isn’t necessarily something that’s given. Always taken. In battle, it’s ripped from your skin through the means of injury. Punctured or sliced out of you at the hands of a sword. No bond goes along with it. No mutual agreement that any life will remain once the deed is over.

But then you begin to think of Astarion. The elven vampire now infected with the Illithid. Like you, he’s been changed. Subtly shifted into something new. Overall, your transformation isn’t nearly as different as his. Before the infection, you could still enjoy the pleasantries of being human, but still, there’s this connection that draws you towards him. It makes its presence known within the tadpole. Throughout the movements that echo in your minds as Astarion cleans the last of the blood away, looking at you with soft eyes.

“I consider this a gift, you know,” he says, dropping your hand, and moving away to stand without so much as a thought.

You blink back your confusion, trying your best to focus on the genuine-looking smile that appears as he takes a few steps backwards, never breaking eye contact until he telepathically adds I won’t forget it then stalks away.

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion series #astarion x reader #astarion x you #baldur’s gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fan fic #bg3 fan fic #haunted hoedown #writing challenge #summer writes

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downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le · 4 months

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As Brave As You Are (Newt x Reader) - A Maze Runner Story

As Brave As You Are (Newt x Reader) Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Word Count: 12,051 Warnings: death, bloody wounds, fighting, mental and physical torture, guns, suicidal thoughts and actions Spoilers: no spoilers because the books and films came out ages ago

After helping Newt recover from his ankle injury, Y/N and Newt formed an unbreakable bond that always had them looking out for each other. When they escaped the Maze, then navigated the Scorch, they always had each other’s back. It isn’t until Y/N is captured alongside Minho by WCKD and Newt contracts the Flare that he realises how he truly feels about Y/N.

Problem is, will he rescue her in time to tell her?

Note: I'm back in my dystopian future era thanks to the new Hunger Games film so of course I had to write for my original YA crush. This piece is based on the movie series mainly. Don't get mad at me, I love the books more, but I can appreciate the storylines that came out of the path they took with the films. And if there is one thing the TMR fandom can agree on, it is that the film cast was the best cast ever for the series. So enjoy - not sorry that it's horrendously long, Newt deserves it xx

‘Medjack! Medjack, now!’

Y/N recognised it was Minho was calling for help. Clint and Jeff ran out of the med hut to see what all the commotion was. It wasn’t long before they were hurrying back inside, carrying Newt of all people between them, Minho and Alby in tow.

‘Clear the table,’ Clint ordered, and Y/N quickly followed through, practically throwing off containers, bowls and medical instruments to get Newt on there as quick as possible. Once Newt was up, Y/N finally noticed the unnatural twist in his ankle and it almost sent Frypan’s sloppy sweet potato soup right back up.

She was still pretty new to her job as a Medjack, being the greenie and all. She was the only girl in the Glade of the current twelve residents, so she was intimidated at first as to what role she could play in the place. Medjack seemed the most suitable, and she seemed to have a knack for it, having stitched up some eyebrows and cleaned up knee scrapes with ease and precision.

But even though she’d seen blood, dealt with displaced bones and joints, she still got queasy doing her job. It didn’t help that Newt was hissing through clenched teeth from the intense pain, an occasional sob passing through.

‘What happened?’ Y/N asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Minho said. ‘We split up for only five minutes. I thought we could cover more ground that way. And we’ve run that part of the Maze like a hundred times already. I thought we’d be fine…’

Clint held Newt down as Jeff and Y/N took a look at Newt’s ankle. Jeff only pressed gently with his fingers around the bone, but Newt’s responding howls confirmed the severity of the injury.

‘The bone is completely shattered,’ Jeff said grimly. ‘We’re going to need to reset his foot first though. Y/N?’

‘On it.’ She rushed to a shelf that held bandages, then to a cupboard with flat boards about shin length. She grabbed two of those before heading back to the table.

‘You’re going to have to hold him down,’ Y/N directed at Alby and Minho, gesturing to follow Clint’s efforts. Then she turned to Newt, whose face was slicked with tears and sweat as he continued to writhe in pain. ‘Newt. Newt, can you open your eyes for me? I need you to focus on me.’

To his credit, Newt opened his eyes and he didn’t look away from her.

‘Good. Good, Newt,’ she said. ‘Now, we have to realign your foot. It’s going to hurt a lot. We’ll go on three, okay?’

In the short time Y/N had known Newt – which arguably was no time at all, as he ran every day and she was in the Medjack hut all day. They didn’t interact unless he or another runner got hurt, or at dinner if only to say hello. Even so, she had come to know he liked it plain and straight, no bullshit. So, despite his pain, he took two deep, calming breaths and gave her a nod to say he was ready for what they had to do.

Y/N nodded back, then looked to the others, who had their hands braced on all Newt’s limbs. ‘Ready?’ she asked, to which they nodded in reply. Y/N gently held Newt’s ankle, eliciting a quiet whimper from the boy. ‘Okay, on three. One, two…’ She cut herself off as she slammed her hands either side the ankle bone, causing a loud cracking sound as the ankle snapped back into place.

Newt’s wail of pain must’ve been heard from across the whole Glade it was so loud. He writhed and pulled to sit up, but the boys held him down as Y/N and Jeff bandaged the two splints either side of Newt’s ankle. Jeff then dabbed a small dose of chloroform in a cloth and pressed it to Newt’s nose. Soon enough, the boy was unconscious, finally pain-free.

‘You guys go have dinner,’ Y/N said to Clint and Jeff a little while later as they were cleaning up the hut. Alby and Minho had left soon after Newt fell asleep, but it was almost dinner time now. ‘I’ll stay with Newt tonight.’

‘You sure?’ Clint asked. ‘We can do shifts if you’d prefer.’

Y/N shook her head. ‘I insist. You guys rest up. I can do this. Consider this my final test to becoming a fully-fledged Medjack.’

Jeff chuckled. ‘You have much more to learn, Greenie, but suit yourself.’

‘We’ll bring you back some food, Y/N,’ Clint said as he and Jeff left the hut, leaving Y/N to idly clean up.

Newt woke up from a dull throbbing in his ankle, which turned into a harsh pain, causing him to sit up in alarm.

‘Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,’ a voice gently said as equally gentle hands pushed him back down.

‘My ankle,’ he said, voice hoarse and dry. ‘It hurts…’

The face of the voice finally came into view: it was the Greenie. Y/N offered him a small smile as he finally recognised her. In one hand, she held a needle with clear serum. Her other she offered to his leg. ‘May I? It’ll help, I promise.’

He hesitated for a moment, but the intense pain in his ankle broke his composure as he eagerly nodded. The painkiller worked immediately, and Newt sighed with relief as the throbbing eased significantly.

’There,’ Y/N said, wiping the needle. ’That should help for a bit. Sadly, we don’t have much left for me to give you more than once a day, but I’m hoping you won’t need it beyond the end of the month.’

Confusion clouded Newt’s mind as he tried to process her words. ‘What… What happened?’ But he answered his own question as images of the Maze flashed through his mind, and he remembered it all. How he bid farewell to Minho. How he climbed as high as he could along the Maze walls. How easy it was to let go.

Then the pain fully encompassed him, and then it was just a blur. How Minho found him. How Clint and Jeff laid him on the table he realised he was still on. How angry and embarrassed he felt having his friends see him broken and miserable.

Newt managed to pull himself into a sitting position, propping a pillow behind him to cushion the hut wall. ‘How bad is it?’ he asked glumly, eyes unable to lift from his injury.

He couldn’t be bothered with pleasantries. He was too tired, and, frankly, saw no point in keeping up appearances anymore.

To her credit, Y/N seemed to pick up on his mood, saying, ‘It will heal to a point you’ll be able to walk again. But it won’t ever heal properly.’

‘You mean I’ll have a limp?’

‘Potentially.’

’So I can’t be a Runner anymore?’ Y/N didn’t reply, finally drawing Newt’s attention away from the source of his pain and to her.

Newt had only interacted with Y/N on a few occasions. Mainly at mealtimes or the odd occasion he passed her by on the way back from a run, only talking as much as greeting and farewelling one another. As the only girl so far, of course he found her intriguing, but he never had time nor a reason to get to know her.

And while he’d come to think of her as the quiet and gentle Medjack in comparison to Clint and Jeff, he didn’t see an ounce of pity on her face as she looked at him. Only quiet contemplation, as if there could be any other answer but no to his question.

‘I guess that’s up to you and Alby,’ she finally said. ‘I mean, I know what I should say is no. I’m sure Clint and Jeff will say no. But it’ll more so come down to if you want to go back in or not.’ Her eyes flickered to his ankle, sadness glazing her eyes briefly before returning to him. ‘But I think I can take a guess as to what your answer will be.’

Newt’s gut twisted with guilt and shame that she’d figured it out, and his face flushed with embarrassment and anger. ‘So, you going to tell everyone?’ he asked, words thick with hopelessness. ‘I mean, that’s your job, right? Diagnose me, then tell Alby, then the whole glade how pathetic I am?’

Y/N shook her head. ‘I think you give me too much credit. I’m not an actual doctor, you know,’ she said, coming to stand beside him. She inspected his ankle for a moment, then turned her gaze to him, and it shocked him to see such intensity in her eyes. It was as if suddenly he was the most interesting person in the world.

‘I can say it was a running accident,’ she finally concluded. ‘You can tell your truth when you’re ready. It’s not my place to take away hope when the others are so full of it right now. That includes me.’

He stared, stunned, as she packed up the last of her things by a spare medical cot at the other end of the hut. It wasn’t until she let out a loud yawn that Newt noticed it was dark outside. The silence of the Glade told him everyone else had gone to bed so it was late. Or early, he couldn’t really tell.

Y/N fluffed a sad excuse of a pillow and put it on the cot. ‘Now that I know you’re alive, are you going to be okay if I get a few minutes shut eye? I can stay up if you’d like.’

Now that the initial shock and embarrassment of the day’s events had subsided, Newt realised how exhausted he was still. ‘No, that’s okay,’ he said. ‘I think I should rest a bit more anyway.’

Y/N nodded and swung her legs up to lie down fully. Newt went to slide himself and his pillow back down to do the same when Y/N spoke again.

‘And Newt?’ she said, her voice soft and almost hesitant.

‘Yeah?’ he called back.

She was silent for so long Newt thought she’d gone to sleep. But then she spoke. ‘For the record, I don’t think you’re pathetic. For wanting it all to end, that is. I actually think what you did was really brave. You might be scared and maybe out of hope, but at least you did something about it. The rest of us can only hope to be as brave as you.’

Newt’s breath caught in his chest as it swelled with a mix of emotions. Brave? What he did was the act of a coward. Tears streamed silently down his face, both from a deep shame, but also a warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time.

The rest of us can only hope to be as brave as you…

Newt had lost all hope after a year of searching for a way out and finding nothing. But she didn’t know that, and neither will the next Greenie, or the Greenie after that. Even some of the boys already in the Glade didn’t know that. That’s why they waited every day for the runners – for him – to come back with news, with a shred of hope that they’d get out of there soon.

Newt twisted himself so he could see Y/N, who was rolled away from him, her body rising and falling with the rhythm of sleep. Even if he thought it would all be hopeless in the end, some truly believed they would get out of here.

And maybe that was something worth fighting for.

Two years on and Newt and Y/N had managed to forge something akin to a friendship.

Y/N had kept her word and said Newt had had a running accident, and he’d agreed with her for the sake of his worried friends. Y/N had also been right about his ankle; it healed to point where he could walk and do a decent jog with a limp. But he would never run again.

He was transferred to work as a Track-Hoe in the gardens with Zart. But it wasn’t all bad. As more boys arrived – never any girls much to their confusion – Newt developed a knack for leading others, for diffusing hard situations, and for wrangling the boys into line. Because of that, he was promoted to Alby’s second-in-command, which gave him more meaningful work to do than just the gardens – stuff that might actually get him and the other Gladers out of the bloody Maze.

It also meant he had more time to talk to Y/N. He would make sure to drop by once a day (and not just at mealtimes) to check in on her. For a time, he convinced himself he did that because it was his job as second-in-command to keep up group morale, and he would visit everyone in the Glade. Eventually, however, he realised it was because he genuinely enjoyed her company.

Since that night, Y/N had come out of her shell more. Still a little shy and apprehensive at times, but she would openly joke and play along with the boys’ antics. She was more confident in her work as a Medjack too, not afraid to boss Clint and Jeff around if she needed something from them.

Newt’s visits became longer, as they talked about any and all things. Aside from Alby and Minho, Newt considered Y/N one of his closest friends. And she must’ve felt the same – or at least in a similar fashion – as she entertained his thoughts about life beyond the Maze, and the rants he would go on thanks to whichever stupid shank put the fertiliser in the wrong place.

It was a friendship built on mutual respect and genuine care for one another, something that helped Newt convince Y/N to come with him and the others when they finally decided to leave the Maze. But he couldn’t help but feel a deep dread and guilt as he waited behind Thomas, knowing that Grievers were right around the corner.

While the others caught up, Newt turned to Y/N – who’d been helping him through the Maze with his limp – and offered her a spare spear he’d been carrying.

Her eyes widened at his offering. ‘I can’t take that. I can’t fight.’

‘Well, you can’t just go in there without something to protect yourself,’ he said, this time forcibly handing the spear over. Y/N clutched the spear awkwardly, and Newt saw the uncertainty in her eyes, in her trembling hands.

Newt felt bad for making her hold such a violent weapon. All her hands had ever done were help people, save them at times. Now he was asking her to kill. It was for the greater good they both knew, but to kill, nonetheless.

Newt placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and locked eyes with her. ‘Hey,’ he said softly, ‘you stay with me the whole time, do you understand? I promise you won’t have to use that unless absolute necessary.’

Y/N bit her lip to stop it trembling too, but she nodded, steeling herself in preparation for the fight ahead. Newt reciprocated the action and gave her shoulder a final squeeze before turning to face Thomas as he explained the plan.

They fought the Grievers, taking down a few while some of them took down Gladers. The Gladers were backed against the door that Teresa and Chuck were trying to open with a code. Minho shouted numbers at them as he, Newt, and the others fended off one last Griever.

Before he could finish, Minho was caught by a Griever, and Clint ran out to save him. But the Griever’s tail caught him, sending him over the edge of the walkway they fought on with one flick.

‘Clint!’

Before Newt could stop her, Y/N rushed out from behind him, spear drawn back and flying at the Griever in seconds. Not being a fighter to begin with, let alone a good one, the spear bounced off its metal leg without much effect. It did, however, alert the Griever to her presence, turning all its attention to her. Minho leapt to his feet, finally free, and ran back to the group. ‘Y/N!’ he cried as he ran. ‘Run!’

Y/N seemed to finally realise her situation, looking up at the Griever frozen with fear. The horrible creature raised its claw to end her, but Newt moved faster.

He ran as fast as he could, limp be damned, past Y/N and threw his spear at the Griever’s head. It landed true, puncturing one of the creature’s bulbous eyes, drawing a painful screech from it. Newt didn’t wait to see what it would do next, as he grabbed one of Y/N’s arms and Minho grabbed the other and ran back to the group, practically throwing her behind the front line and against the door.

Teresa finally got the door open and the Gladers tumbled in, Thomas throwing one last spear down the Griever’s throat as the doors closed.

Lights flickered on to show they were in some empty room with a door on the wall behind them leading to a corridor.

Thomas looked at the group, taking heavy breaths. ‘Everyone okay?’

‘What’s left of us, that is,’ Winston said, his tone sad and regretful.

As Newt eyed the group, he noted how many they’d lost, how little their group seemed all of a sudden.

Minho stepped ahead with Thomas, pointing towards the door. ‘Well? It’s not going to open itself.’

As Minho and Thomas led the group to the exit, Newt turned to Y/N, whose eyes had a distant look glazed over them. ‘What were you thinking?’ he asked, bringing her attention to him. ‘I told you to stay behind me. You could’ve been killed.’

‘I-I know. I’m sorry,’ she stuttered out, tears teetering in her E/C eyes. ‘I just… Clint… It all happened so fast, and I was just kind of moving before I knew what I was doing.’ She looked down at her hands then, and Newt noticed a slight tremble to them. ‘I thought I could help, but I was too slow. And I put you guys in danger too. I’m just… I’m sorry.’

Newt’s guilt came back full force then. He placed a gentle hand over her trembling one, grasping her fingers to stop their shaking. When she looked up at him confused, he just said, ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pressured you into thinking you had to fight. You won’t ever hold a weapon like that again. I promise.’

Y/N opened her mouth to object no doubt, but Newt cut her off. ‘But you have to promise me something back. Promise me that you’ll let us protect you. You can help by keeping us alive, just like you always have. But you’ve got to listen to me, you got it?’

He used his authoritative voice this time, and it seemed to work as Y/N calmed down, her unshed tears now gone.

‘Okay,’ she said, quiet but strong. ‘I promise.’

Newt nodded. ‘Good that.’ He turned to see the others leaving through the door then turned back to Y/N. ’Do you think we’d be lucky enough not to face anything else beyond those doors.’

‘I think we should consider ourselves lucky for getting this far.’ To her credit, Y/N managed a small smile as she looked up at him. ‘But why should our luck run out now?’

There it was again; the glimmer of hope Newt had felt from her since the night he injured his ankle. Newt couldn’t deny that they’d made it this far – by design or by luck, they’d made it.

And who was he to deny that things might be on the look up for them now?

Together, Y/N and Newt followed the rest of the Gladers to meet their makers.

‘I never thought I’d say this… but I miss the Glade.’

The group around the fire grew silent at the implication Frypan’s words had, the memories they conjured up. Y/N couldn’t help but agree as she looked into the dark sky above her, peaking from behind the crumbling pillars they took refuge under.

The sky was always so clear back in the Glade, she recalled silently. But, just like their current situation, the sky was now obscured.

The people who rescued them from the Maze were actually WCKD – the people who’d put them in the Maze in the first place. The past twelve hours had seen herself, Newt, Thomas, Minho, Frypan, Winston, and a boy named Aris find Teresa, break out of the facility, and enter the deadly Scorch. In their search for supplies, they’d been attacked by crazed, infected people, driving the group to hide where they were.

The Maze was dangerous, but it was familiar and the only home Y/N recalled ever having. Out in the Scorch, safety wasn’t guaranteed.

She looked to Winston, who laid back, his shirt pulled up to expose the bloody bandage she’d wrapped his torso in. Y/N tried not to think about the infected scratch marks underneath, and more specifically what gave them to him. The Grievers were one thing, but the things that attacked them? They used to be people.

Not wanting to sit in her thoughts anymore, Y/N stood up, brushed off her pants, and grabbed knife from their pile of weapons they’d found in the abandoned mall. ‘I’ll take first watch.’

She didn’t wait to hear if anyone objected, already walking around the stone that covered them so she was on top. To her relief, the others let her go without argument, putting out the fire and quickly settling down to sleep.

After half an hour, Y/N decided to get up and patrol around the area, knife tightly gripped in her hand and her footsteps quiet despite the sand.

There was so much of it, the sand. The lady in white – Doctor Ava Paige – had said in her video that the whole world was just desert now. The thought made Y/N yearn for the Glade even more. For the grass, and the woods, and the bonfires they used to have, and the games they played. The boys – Clint, Jeff, Alby, Gally, Chuck.

Y/N wasn’t a hateful person, but she clutched the knife tighter at the thought of all the loss they’d all suffered at the hands of WCKD.

It’s why she didn’t hesitate to follow Newt when he’d found her in her room – for some reason, she hadn’t been allowed to stay with the other girls from the other mazes just yet. It’s why they were now braving the Scorch searching for people that Thomas didn’t know even existed. They wanted a better life out from under WCKD’s thumb.

The crunch of sand had her whirling around, awkwardly poising the knife as if to attack, but she relaxed at the familiar person standing there.

Newt raised his hands in mock surrender. ‘Whoa there,’ he said, the quirk of a smile on his lips telling her he was just joking. ‘You could do some real damage if you’re not careful.’

Y/N blew out in relief, the knife dropping to her side again. ‘Thanks, but we both know that’s not the case, Newt.’

Newt shoved his hands in his jacket pocket, shrugging his shoulders as he did. ‘I don’t know, I’ve seen you with a scalpel. Absolutely terrifyingly precise with that thing.’

Y/N chuckled softly, appreciative of the distraction. But her smile dropped as she looked out into the dark cityscape. The moon hid behind clouds so Y/N couldn’t make out anything. ‘Is it pathetic that I’m scared to see what the world has become?’ she asked, not daring to raise her voice above a soft mumble.

Newt stepped up beside her, his body radiating the last remnants of heat from the fire and it warmed her slightly. ’Someone once told me that I was brave for facing my fear,’ he said after some quiet contemplation.

Y/N looked up at him confused, but he looked down at her with a knowing, smug smile. Much to her chagrin, she couldn’t help but chuckle and shake her head at him. ‘I don’t recall saying that specifically. But if that’s how you saw it, who am I to tell you that wasn’t what I meant?’

Newt hummed in agreement looking back out at the dark expanse, contemplation scrunching his brows together. ‘I’ll be honest with you, I’m scared too.’

That surprised Y/N. Newt, second-in-command, casual, leader Newt was scared? ‘You are?’

Newt nodded. ‘I’m scared that we’ve made a mistake. That Thomas is wrong and there aren’t any mountain people.’ He turned back to Y/N, the most serious she’d ever seen him. ‘I’m scared we’re going to lose more of us, and then what was our escape for? But… it’s not my place to take away hope when the others are so full of it. Including myself.’ Finally, Newt’s smile returned, and it warmed that cold pit of despair Y/N had been falling into ever since they left the WCKD facility. ‘Or, at least, I think that’s what someone very wise once told me.’

Y/N stared at him, awestruck. Hopeful. Newt was hopeful again. And she didn’t want to read into it, but she thought the knowing smile he was giving her told her that she had something to do with it. The thought alone strengthened her resolve, and she looked down at the knife in her hands, less afraid of it all of a sudden.

Y/N held it out to Newt. ’Teach me.’

He raised an eyebrow in a silent question. ‘What?’

’Teach me. How to fight,’ Y/N explained, eyes unwavering from his.

Concern flashed across Newt’s face for a brief moment. ‘Y/N, I told you, you don’t have to fight if you don’t want to.’

‘If there is one thing I’ve come to know about WCKD is that it doesn’t actually matter what I want anymore. What any of us want,’ Y/N said, feeling the most certain she’s felt in a long time. ‘The one thing we have on WCKD is that we are defiant. We escaped, and are taking away the one thing they want most of all: a chance to find a cure. So, if we’re going to have any hopes of making it to the mountains alive, I’m going to have to know how to fight. So please – teach me.’

Newt contemplated her for a moment, and Y/N just prayed he wouldn’t say no. Or even worse, laugh. Instead of doing either, he took the knife from Y/N’s hand, his fingers brushing across her palm as he did.

‘All right,’ he said, moving his feet apart to get into a fighting stance. ‘First of all, you’ve got to have a wide-ish stance, and stay light on your toes so you can control when you back away from your opponent.’

He demonstrated the movement by quickly shuffling away, always keeping his feet a certain distance apart and the knife gripped tight by his hip. ‘…and when you go into attack.’ He moved so fast Y/N didn’t see his footwork, her eyes locked on his as they bored into hers, knife poised at her neck as if he’d strike.

He stepped away and gave her the knife back. ‘You think you can do that?’

Y/N nodded and took the knife, and for the next hour Newt taught Y/N basic blocks and manoeuvres that he’d picked up from Thomas and Minho and just from basic instinct. Just like she’d been with her Medjack skills, Y/N was a quick study, performing move after move when Newt asked her to.

She impressed herself. For a natural pacifist, she wielded the knife quite fluently.

They decided to finish the session on a quick sparring match. Newt took a swipe at Y/N, and she stepped back just like Newt had taught her. She then rushed in for an attack, to which Newt threw up his own knife in time to block. Y/N anticipated the pushback and twisted out of Newt’s way as he stumbled slightly forward. While he was disorientated, Y/N gripped his wrist that controlled his knife and pointed her own into his back.

‘Looks like I win,’ she said, breathless but proud.

Y/N didn’t like the carefree scoff he gave her, followed by, ‘Are you sure?’

She doubted herself for a moment, loosening her grip enough for him to twist out of her reach, knock her knife away and bend to sweep her legs out from underneath her. Y/N landed hard, groaning at the pain in her butt as Newt looked down at her and laughed.

‘I’m glad you find my pain amusing, Newt,’ she grumbled, rubbing her sore behind.

Newt laughed for a moment longer then calmed down. But his radiant smile remained on his face, brightening the darkness surrounding them. ‘I’m sorry, love,’ he said between remaining chuckles. To his credit, he held out his hand in an offer to help her up. ’But the surprise on your face was priceless.’

Y/N contemplated his hand for a moment, whether she should just push it away or take it. Instead, an idea came to mind, and she gripped his hand tightly then pulled him to the ground with her. He landed on his stomach beside her, getting a face full of sand.

Y/N let out a loud laugh before quickly covering her mouth to stifle the relentless laughter that wished to burst from her.

Newt spat and coughed out sand as he made to sit up. ‘Well,’ he started, spitting out more sand as he looked up at Y/N, ‘I should’ve seen that coming.’

That just made Y/N laugh even harder, using now both hands to quieten the giggles. Goodness, when was the last time she’d laughed this freely? When was the last time she’d felt such joy? After everything they’d been through, Y/N was worried she’d forgotten what was like to laugh.

When she’d calmed down, she looked down to see Newt propped up on his arms looking up at her with an odd expression on his face. Like he was in awe, maybe. Whatever it was, it made Y/N acknowledge how handsome Newt had become. His baby features had faded since she’d first met him, being replaced by a lean figure and a toned jawline from working in the gardens every day for two years. And with his big brown eyes, tousled blond hair and funny accent, Y/N wondered how he had changed so much without her realising it. How she hadn’t realised he’d grown up.

The intensity with which he looked at her brought a heated blush to her face, and so she turned away into the cool night breeze, willing the blush to cool down. Newt shuffled to sit up next to her. They didn’t speak for a minute, until Newt suddenly stood up.

‘Well, um,’ he started, and for the first time since Y/N had known him, he sounded uncertain about what to say. ‘I better let you continue with your shift. At least you know how to defend yourself now.’

Y/N hastily stood up as well, making sure there was at least a step between them. ‘Yes!’ she said. ‘Thank you for that. I’ll be sure to practice.’

‘Good that.’

They looked at each other for a moment, and even though Newt said he was leaving, he made no move to leave. Maybe he doesn’t want to, she thought, and the mere possibility of that being true warmed her heart.

But he took a step away, gave her a shy smile and a small wave farewell. ‘Goodnight, Y/N.’

‘Goodnight Newt,’ she said, those two words hanging in the air long after he’d left.

As she finally woke Frypan up for his shift, she clung to the knife and went through all the manoeuvres Newt had taught her until she fell asleep.

Newt was unable to sleep until Y/N woke Frypan up to take the next watch shift, and laid down to sleep herself. Newt opened his eyes to see Y/N laying across the pit they’d dug out for the fire. She faced him on her side, and Newt noticed with curiosity that she held the knife she’d practiced with close to her chest. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically, and paired with her heavy breathing, Newt figured she was completely asleep.

An odd sensation fluttered in his chest and stomach as Newt considered Y/N’s sleeping face. It was the same feeling that had fizzled in his chest when he’d looked up at her as she laughed. He couldn’t remember the last time any of them had laughed as freely as she had.

And he couldn’t help but admire how beautiful she looked doing so – hiding her bright smile behind trembling hands, eyes narrowed but sparkling with joy.

All because of him.

He rolled onto his back then, not wanting to give the thought anymore weight. There’s no point getting your hopes up, he reminded himself. But like a moth drawn to flame, Newt couldn’t help but tilt his head to gaze upon her peacefully sleeping. An ache carved itself deep in his heart. How had he not realised her growing up, changing? Being the only girl for a long time, of course he and the others found her pretty. But now that he looked at her – really looked at her, and wasn’t concerned with his life for just a split second – he realised just how beautiful she was.

It was in her features, but also in her determination to be better for the group. It both hurt and impressed him when she asked for his help. He promised her she would never have to fight again, but things have changed drastically since the Maze.

It was in her ability to still find the joy in things, to still be able to laugh despite their situation.

It was how she believed in Thomas, in Aris, in the mountain people, even if she was scared.

‘The rest of us can only wish to be as brave as you,’ he whispered into the night, a silent promise that he’d tell her that sometime.

And with the fluttering in his chest finally easing into a calm warmth, he finally fell asleep.

Everything exploded with chaos as Y/N, Newt, Thomas, and Minho navigated their way through the Right Arm camp as guns fired and explosions went off.

Teresa had betrayed them. Y/N couldn’t believe it when it was revealed in front of everyone, and she still couldn’t believe it as Minho pushed her head down, sheltering her from another explosion. Teresa truly believed WCKD could find a cure, but still at the expanse of Y/N and her friends’ pain. And just when Thomas was going to blow them all sky high, Jorge and Brenda had come in like a saving grace, and that’s when all hell broke loose.

‘This way!’ Thomas yelled over the din, beckoning them behind a weapons container.

However, Minho stopped suddenly and picked up a launcher. Keep going!’ Minho called over his shoulder as he shot at WCKD soldiers around him. ‘I’m right behind you!’

Thomas and Newt reached the container, but Y/N stopped and turned at the sound of a painful cry. ‘Minho!’ she cried as her friend fell, his body convulsing from a launcher shot.

‘Y/N, no!’ Newt called after her, but she was already running back to Minho, grabbing at his jacket to drag him to safety.

But Y/N was not strong like the boys, and certainly not strong enough to move Minho in any hurry. She looked up just in time to see a launcher fire at her, then her body felt like it was on fire.

She was sure she was screaming, but she couldn’t hear anything as the electricity struck every nerve with a vicious bite. After what felt like an eternity of pain, she was granted a moment of peace as her vision went white, then in a flash was swamped by darkness.

Newt’s heart stopped when he saw Y/N shot. She convulsed as Minho had, then collapsed beside their friend unconscious. The second Y/N hit the ground, Newt found his voice again, feelings of anger and desperation clawing their way through every vein in him.

‘Y/N, no!’ His cry came out broken as he made to run to her, but a strong hand gripped the back of his jacket and pulled him back.

‘No, boys,’ Vince shouted over the din, holding both Newt and Thomas back.

‘Let me go!’ Newt protested, struggling against Vince, eyes darting between him and Y/N. ‘I need to help her! Y/N!’

But WCKD soldiers were already picking up Y/N and Minho’s unconscious bodies, dragging their feet through the red dirt and into a berg.

‘I’m sorry, son,’ Vince said, and Newt thought he sounded genuine. But that didn’t stop icy terror gripping tight on his heart as the doors began to close on Y/N, Minho, and other immunes from the Right Arm.

Thomas called for Minho, and Newt called for Y/N, but neither could do anything to help their friends as they were flown away. Back in WCKD’s clutches once again.

When the sun rose, the remaining survivors came out of hiding and began scrounging up supplies. They were moving on, Vince claiming there was nothing they could do but keep going with who and what they had left.

Newt couldn’t accept that, and neither could Thomas apparently, as he claimed he was going after Minho, Y/N and the others. Without hesitation or any further explanation, Newt was the first to sign up and join him.

And so, they went on a quest to rescuing Minho, Y/N, and as many immunes as possible. The train hijack was a huge success with immune numbers, but no Minho and no Y/N. Even so, Newt refused to accept that he’d never see either of them again. Even when they almost got killed by cranks. Even when he, Thomas, Brenda, Frypan, and Jorge were almost blown up by turret guns.

Even when he found out he was infected with the Flare.

He could feel it, his mind slowly slipping away as the Flare ate away at his sanity. He was usually level-headed and rational – it’s part of the reason he became second-in-command in the first place. Guilt and shame ate away at him as he sat on the rooftop of their hideout in the outskirts of the Last City, explaining to Thomas why he just bit his head off about being in love with Teresa.

Not that I’m one to talk, he thought as he rolled down as his sleeve, silence wrapping around him and Thomas comfortably. Newt could feel Thomas didn’t know what to say, and Newt didn’t like long silences so he broke it.

‘The crazy thing, though is…’ Newt started, a soft but sad scoff escaping him, ‘I’m not scared of dying. I used to be, back in the Maze. Because it felt like my friends were dying for no reason, without purpose. But…’ Newt looked over his shoulder, past Thomas, and to the peaking spires of the Last City. To where Y/N was being held somewhere.

‘I have something to die for now,’ Newt said, eyes never wavering from the spires.

Thomas came to sit beside Newt, a sad realisation drawing his brows and lips down. ‘You’re not just talking about Minho, are you?’ he asked.

It was how gentle and matter-of-fact Thomas spoke that had Newt’s chest tightening with fear and an immense pressure he’d been scared, until now, to acknowledge. His throat threatened to close on him as he spoke, rendering his words tight and uncontrolled. ‘I failed to protect her, Tommy,’ he managed to get out. ‘I promised I’d always protect her, and I didn’t.’

It surprised Newt how simultaneously hard and easy it was to speak about his feelings, and now that he had started, the words just flowed.

’She’s just always been there, so I never saw it coming,’ Newt continued, a melancholic smile adorning his lips as he recalls the day he met you, how you helped him with his ankle. How, since then, you’ve always been by his side, growing with him, changing with him, supporting him and everyone else around you.

’Saw what?’ Thomas asked.

‘I never saw that I could have a future after the Maze, after all of this,’ Newt explained. ‘That I would want a future… with Y/N.’ And with that, his tears finally spilled over, the pressure in his chest bursting into sobs that wracked his whole body. Newt was vaguely aware that Thomas was now holding him, and so he wrapped his arms tight around his friend, around his brother.

‘I love her, Tommy,’ Newt whispered over Thomas’ shoulder, his words obscured somewhat by his tears and holding back sobs. ‘And I’m scared I’ll never be able to tell her before I go.’

‘Hey,’ Thomas said, pushing Newt to arm’s length. He kept one hand on Newt’s shoulder and used his other to grip Newt’s neck, forcing their eyes to lock. ‘We’re going to find her – and Minho, and the other immunes. We’re going to get you that serum that helps with the Flare – as much of it as possible – and you’re going to tell her. You’re not dying. No one is dying. You hear me?’

No one could replace Alby, but the way Thomas was taking control of the situation reminded Newt of his old friend. How kind yet stern he could be. How hopeful yet pragmatic he was. It was something familiar that Newt was thankful for. He quickly calmed down, wiped away his tears and nodded at Thomas.

‘Good that,’ Thomas said, a small proud smile gracing his lips at his use of Newt’s common phrase.

Newt couldn’t help a chuckle as well. ‘Good that, indeed,’ he agreed, and followed Thomas back inside the hideout to finalise their plan to get into the WCKD facility.

…and you’re going to tell her. You’re not dying.

There was a nagging voice in the back of Newt’s head that was telling him not to believe Thomas. That Newt was going to die, or worse, turn into a crank and hurt his loved ones. That voice had followed him from the Maze, to the Scorch, and now the Last City. It was the voice that had driven him over the edge of the Maze walls all those years ago. But not anymore.

Newt had to keep hope, just as Y/N had taught him. He just had to be brave.

Y/N sat in the corner of her white-walled cell, hugging her knees to her chest as she rested her head on top. She’d sat there for hours, perhaps days. Y/N lost track of time after her first month in WCKD’s facility.

There were no windows, and the lights never dimmed. She pressed her eyes into her knees in the hopes of downing out the incessant white light. Her eyes ached with sleep deprivation, but she refused to sleep. The nightmares were much worse to deal with, and they always came whenever she closed her eyes.

Images of her friends dying in the Maze and the Scorch, of Grievers chasing her, of her friends turning into cranks and attacking her. Images fed to her by WCKD.

She knew they weren’t real, but she could never wake herself up in time to escape them. So, she stayed awake, knowing that she’ll have no choice but to face her nightmares when the doctors and scientists come to test on her again.

Y/N shivered at the thought of seeing another needle, of seeing her blood drained from her while WCKD turned her mind against her. When will it be enough? She might’ve lost track of time, but Y/N knew she’d been in the facility for a while now. If they hadn’t found anything by now, something told Y/N that nothing she gave would ever be enough. That included her life.

She knew Thomas and Newt would be dumb enough to come after her and Minho – that’s just the kind of people they were. Her heart ached at the thought that their efforts would be in vain.

Y/N hadn’t seen Minho since they arrived, having been separated from each other and the other immunes. Something about how they were the most promising subjects, she overheard from a scientist one time. Y/N didn’t know if Minho was alive, and if he was, what condition he was in.

But Minho was strong, the strongest of all the Gladers in Y/N’s opinion. If he was being tortured like her, he would be able to hold on. Y/N highly doubted she would last much longer.

The rest of us can only hope to be as brave as you…

Y/N wasn’t sure if Newt knew she was actually awake that first night in the Scorch, but she’d heard him, his words so soft she thought she’d dreamt it at first. But it had been real; Newt thought she was brave.

She was too dehydrated to produce tears, but an ugly sob desperately tried to escape her aching chest. She bit her lips instead, hard enough to draw a little blood, and the sob died out, leaving her body quiet except for her mind.

I’m sorry Newt, but I am not brave.

Even so, Y/N refused to crumble to WCKD anymore. They’d taken everything from her. Her life, her memories, her loved ones, her friends. Even her hope – something she so naively believed no one could take from her. They would not take her dignity.

She raised her head at the sound of her cell door unlocking, blinking a few times as bright light flooded her vision once more. Two WCKD soldiers and two scientists stood by the door, and Y/N spied a gurney just behind them.

One of the scientists – young male, maybe in his early twenties – stepped forward. ‘Time for more testing, Y/N,’ he said in a cold tone. But he had the sense to look sympathetic as his eyes roamed over Y/N as she stood up, showing how pale her S/C skin had become, how dark the circles beneath her eyes were, how the cargo pants and grey t-shirt hung off her in areas where she used to fill.

Y/N knew it was useless, but still she ran for the door, pushing past the scientists with ease despite her weakened state. However, she hit the soldiers like a brick wall, unable to fight against them as they restrained her arms and pressed her against the wall. The male scientist recovered quickly and injected her with a serum that made her drowsy enough that she wasn’t in control of her body. She was conscious as the soldiers strapped her to the gurney and the four of them wheeled her down corridor after corridor, and all she could do was watch fluorescent lights pass her by as she stared at the ceiling.

Soon enough, she was in a familiar room: the test lab.

‘It hasn’t been that long since we last tested her,’ the other scientist – a female, about the same age as her co-worker – said, her words laced with worry. ‘We put her under again, we risk losing her for good this time.’

‘I didn’t make the call,’ the male said as he continued to set up equipment around Y/N. ‘When Janson says he wants a cure, I don’t question him. Do you?’

The female didn’t answer, switching her focus to helping her co-worker. Y/N could slowly feel the serum wearing off – it was obviously only a light dose, the scientists knowing they’d put her under when they began testing.

But just as they unstrapped her to move her to the nightmare simulator, the room shook, sending Y/N rolling to the ground as glass and steel broke around her.

Sounds were muffled briefly and her vision blurred in and out of focus. She couldn’t hear what exactly the soldiers were shouting, but she saw them run out of the room alongside other soldiers. That just left her and the scientists.

Y/N flexed her fingers, the serum completely wearing off. Before she could stand though, two hands roughly grabbed her arms and hauled her to her feet. ‘Come on, Y/N,’ the male scientist said, pushing her towards the machine. ‘Just one more trip under…’

Fear electrified Y/N’s every nerve. No, not again. With a desperate cry, she shoved the male into the utensils table, sending him and the tools scattering across the ground. Before he could get up, Y/N straddled his upper body and slammed his arms into the ground.

‘Get off me!’ he yelled, struggling violently beneath Y/N. He managed to twist them both around until she was the one pinned to the ground. Y/N struggled but to no avail. She was significantly weaker than she was when she was first captured and he knew that.

‘You little brat,’ he spat in her face. ‘Ungrateful, selfish immunes. Your duty is to save us all! You–’

He was cut off when he suddenly went slack, falling unconscious on top of Y/N. She scrambled out from underneath him, then looked up from the floor to find the female scientist with a syringe in her hand. She looked between her unconscious co-worker then Y/N, a scared and disbelieving expression morphing her delicate features.

‘Go,’ the scientist finally said, her voice shaky, but the resolve in her eyes told Y/N that she wouldn’t chase after her. The room – no, the whole building – shook again, and when Y/N looked out the window, she realised why.

The city outside was on fire. Buildings crumbled, and Y/n could hear the screams and cries of civilians through the broken windows. The scientist wouldn’t chase her because there was no point.

This was the end.

‘Go!’ The scientist insisted, and Y/N didn’t think twice. She picked herself up, ignoring the cuts and scraps of glass it caused her, and ran out of the room.

She ran into the corridor, ignoring the cries of soldiers and other scientists who recognised her as a subject. She didn’t know where she was going, but this was the most freedom she’d had in forever.

Then a thought came to her – Minho. She had to find him, he surely had to be alive. She would run through every floor if she had to to find him. So she ran, looking into every test lab, every storage closest, every break room on the floor.

‘Minho!’ she cried, uncaring at this point if someone heard her. She just wanted to find him. She didn’t want to die without a familiar face with her. ‘Minho, where are you?’

She rounded a corner, right into the chest of a WCKD soldier. He was caught by surprise, giving Y/N an opportunity to slam him into the wall. It was like her fear was giving her a boost of strength, as she kneed him in the groin, sending him to the ground. He dropped the pistol he was holding, and she quickly picked it up and smacked the butt over the back of his head. He fell to the floor in one last scuffle and laid unmoving as Y/N sucked in deep breaths.

‘Y/N?’

She whirled around at the familiar call of her name, only to find three other people had entered the corridor. Thomas, Minho, and Newt. Her eyes scanned over them all, heart aching with an intense relief it threatened to crush her chest. ‘Guys?’ Her voice was hoarse with disuse and exhaustion. She was surprised she even had a voice after all her screaming.

Newt stepped forward, a relieved smile gracing his lips. ‘Yeah, love,’ he said, sounding on the verge of tears. ‘It’s us.’

Y/N’s first instinct was to run into his arms, the only place she’d felt since leaving the Maze. But she took a closer look at him. He was paler than when she last saw him, almost sickly with how dark the circles under his eyes were. Crank.

She pointed the pistol at her friends, causing them to raise their hands in shock. ‘Whoa, Y/N, it’s us!’ Thomas exclaimed.

‘No,’ she said, her voice cracking ever so slightly. ‘How do I know I’m not in that simulator again? How do I know this isn’t just another test, another trial?’

‘What are you talking about, Y/N?’ Newt asked, worry crinkling his brow.

’She doesn’t trust her mind,’ Minho said, as if in explanation. ‘Boy, they really did a number on her…’

‘Shut up!’ Y/N unlocked the safety and pointed the gun at Minho. ‘You’re just trying to trick me. Make me think everything is all right. But it’s just a lie. You’re not here. You’re not here…’

Newt stepped into the firing line. ‘We are here, love. I promise, we’re really here.’

‘Newt…’ Thomas warned, but Newt remained, eyes locked on Y/N’s.

Y/N couldn’t look away from Newt. He sounded so genuine, so much more real than previous simulations. But WCKD couldn’t be trusted, and they were wearing soldier uniforms…

Her hands shook but her voice was strong. ‘Prove it,’ she said. ’Tell me something only the real Newt would know.’

Newt swallowed thickly. ‘Okay, um… You cut yourself when you tried out being a Slicer and had to have Clint and Jeff fix you up. That’s when you thought being a Medjack would be a good idea.’

‘WCKD was watching us the whole time. They would’ve seen that,’ she countered, using both hands to grip the gun.

‘Okay, okay,’ Newt said, looking away a moment to think of something else. When he finally looked back at her, he was calm once more, eyes genuine and sincere. ‘How about how I jumped off the walls of the Maze in an attempt to kill myself?’

The world around the four of them seemed to freeze, as if the world wasn’t collapsing outside. To Y/N’s knowledge, Newt had never told anyone the truth of what happened that day. It was the shocked and tragic expressions on both Minho and Thomas’ faces respectively that had Y/N loosening her grip on the gun slightly.

Newt took a small step closer, eyes never straying from her. ‘I had lost all hope of getting out of that bloody maze. So I did the one thing I could do to control the situation. But I failed.’ He stepped closer again. ‘I was embarrassed, ashamed. I was just a coward. But you healed me and told me something I will never forget. I have held onto it like a lifeline through the Maze, through the Scorch, and all the time I was looking for you.’

He took one final step towards her, unfazed at how the gun pressed hard against his chest. Now that he was so close, Y/N saw just how sick he was. He looked like the early stage victims of the Flare they’d seen in the decrepit city they’d lost Brenda and Thomas in temporarily. And while Y/N refused to believe Newt – her beloved, sweet Newt – was infected, his eyes were the same as always. Open, honest, and truthful.

‘The rest of us can only hope to be as brave as you.’

It wasn’t the fact that he knew the exact words – again, WCKD had cameras everywhere in that Maze, they would’ve heard it. It was instead the emotion tied to the words. She felt them, felt the lifeline they’d created for him in his darkest moment. He wasn’t lying, and that meant he was real.

Finally, she allowed the sob to break free as she dropped the gun and threw her arms around Newt’s neck. He breathed out in relief, bringing her closer to his chest, face pressed into her H/C hair.

‘It’s really you,’ she whimpered, grasping tighter to the person she’s always been able to rely on. The person who has always protected her and brought out the best in her. Her closest friend, her safety net, her home.

‘It is, love,’ he said into her hair, breathing her in deeply. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you before.’

‘It’s okay,’ she said, pulling away to look up at him then to the other two. ‘I can’t believe you came after us.’

‘I know right,’ Minho said, punching Thomas’ arm lightly. ‘Dumb shanks.’

‘You can berate us later,’ Thomas said, rubbing his arm. ‘Right now, we’ve got to get out of here before Lawrence brings down the whole city.’

Y/N went to ask what he meant but gripped onto Newt instead as the building shook again.

‘Come on, let’s go,’ Newt said, grabbing Y/N’s hand with one hand, and holding a launcher in the other. Together, the four of them ran to escape WCKD once and for all.

‘Brenda!’

Y/N didn’t care about the rain of bullets and walls of fire around her as she ran for the berg. After hearing Teresa’s broadcast, she needed to get the cure back to Newt fast. Leaving him was one of the hardest things she has had to do. He wasn’t in great condition, but Thomas insisted that he’d take care of Newt. But the medicine Thomas had given Brenda all those months ago didn’t just buy her time, it had cured her completely. It could do the same for Newt.

If she could make it in time.

‘Brenda!’ Y/N cried as she spotted her friend. ‘The cure! I need the cure!’

Brenda understood, immediately retrieving one of the extra capsules Mary had made from Thomas’ blood before WCKD raided the camp. ‘Here,’ she said, passing over the injector.

‘Thanks!’ Y/N said, already sprinting back into the war zone before anyone could stop her.

She could feel it, the exhaustion, the strain she was putting her body under. Underfed and under trained, she was struggling. But she refused to stop. Newt had come all this way to find her, risked his life to get her out of WCKD’s clutches when he could’ve been administered the temporary cure and been safe on the berg already. No, Y/N refused to let him die without trying.

Minho, Brenda, Frypan, and Gally – Y/N was still shocked about that revelation, but that was for another time to discuss - followed around her, covering her with guns and other weapons as they ran through the war zone.

After an eternity of running, the group rounded a corner to find a sight that made Y/N feel like she was back in the nightmare simulator. Newt was leaning over Thomas with a knife aimed at his chest.

‘Newt, no!’ Y/N cried, running towards the two boys without thought.

Newt faced her at the call of his name, and she froze as she saw his black eyes. Dark veins branched over his skin and black blood dribbled from his chin. He was a full-blown crank now.

He raced at her, snarling as he swung the knife at her throat. She ducked just in time and rolled away as he slammed the knife down where her neck was. She quickly jumped to her feet, and despite her fatigue, muscle memory took over her legs, then her hands. That first night in the Scorch came to mind, how her and Newt sparred. The injector was her knife, and Newt her proper opponent.

‘Newt, it’s me,’ she said, slipping into her Medjack demeanour – calm and steady. ‘It’s Y/N. Please, snap out of it for a moment so I can help you.’

She thought he would run at her again, but his brows crinkled with concern and he looked at the knife in his shaky hands. He looked back at her, and the voice he spoke with broke her heart. It was a mixture of his sweet accent and a gargled croak where blood clogged his throat.

‘Y/N…’ he started. ‘Run away… Before… Before I kill you.’

The scene reminded her of the time he came in with his injured ankle. How desperate he was to fade into nothing because he was scared and ashamed of what he’d done. But just like then, she refused to be scared of him.

Y/N shook her head. ‘I’m not leaving you, Newt,’ she said. ‘None of us will.’

Newt seemed to realise there were more people than just her and Thomas, turning around to see the others. The sight of them seemed to distress him, though, as he snarled angrily and charged at her. She shuffled back as he swung at her again and again, but as she stepped back again, she tripped on something. She fell onto her back, knocking the air out of her lungs. Before she could gather herself up, Newt was on her, straddling her similar to how he had Thomas pinned before. Newt raised the knife to bring down on her but was tackled by Thomas.

They rolled for a little, then scrambled to their feet as they fought once more. This was Y/N’s only chance. She pushed herself up and ran for the boys, injector at the ready. Newt was bringing the knife forward in a wide arc that would gut Thomas when Y/N threw herself in between them, slamming the injector into Newt’s arm.

Right as his drove the knife into her stomach.

‘Y/N!’

She wasn’t sure who called her name, because all she could focus on was Newt as some of the blackness in his eyes cleared and she saw some of his gorgeous brown eyes. She also felt her body finally giving up. As if it knew that this was the end. After all the torture and pain, she had stayed alive so long for one reason. To save Newt – the boy who had been there from the start. So much so she hadn’t realised until he wasn’t there how much he meant to her. How he’d wormed his way into her heart and consumed it without her even knowing.

She gripped his hand that held the knife in her stomach, unfurled his fingers from the handle, and brought them to her chest where her heart was slowly slowing down. Her weak legs gave out, and she brought Newt down to his knees with her. She could’ve been imagining things, but she swore she saw recognition in his half-black eyes which made her smile as tears finally fell from her eyes.

‘It’s okay, Newt,’ she whispered. ‘It’s okay because… I love you.’

Her vision blurred and she finally let go of Newt as the both of them collapsed to the ground. Her breaths were short and sharp as the pain made itself known. A rush of feet thumped around her, and she had the slightest awareness that someone was moving her, but she didn’t care. She was finally at peace as darkness, at last, consumed her.

Y/N woke to the sound of waves rolling over on sand. The first thing she saw was grey canvas, then rolled her head around to see she was lying on a cot in a small tent with tables and medical supplies similar to how her Medjack hut looked. But she wasn’t alone.

‘Oh my God.’ Brenda’s face came into focus as the girl crouched by Y/N’s cot, disbelief and relief morphing her gentle features. ‘You’re awake! You’re finally awake!’

‘Ow,’ Y/N clasped at her head at the sudden loudness. ‘Could you lower your voice please?’

‘Yes, right, sorry,’ Brenda said, but her lips split in a bright smile as she helped Y/N sit up. ‘I’m just so happy you’re okay.’

‘What happened?’ Y/N asked, all she remembered was being stabbed then falling unconscious. She pulled up her fresh linen shirt to see her wound bandaged. ‘I thought I was done for.’

‘So did all of us,’ Brenda admitted, her tone sombre as she pulled up a seat beside the cot. ‘We got you to the berg as quickly as possible and Vince got you stable, but you just weren’t waking up. It’s been a week.’

‘A week?’ Y/N made to get up but sat back down as her wound pulled in an unpleasant way.

‘Whoa, where do you think you’re going?’ Brenda asked stabilising Y/N back in her bed. ‘You’ve just come out of a coma induced by physical and mental torture. Not to mention you were stabbed.’

‘I’m fine. Trust me, I’m trained… somewhat,’ Y/N said, this time able to swing her legs over the side of her cot. Brenda didn’t try and stop her, but she did have to help Y/N when she stood. ‘Now, where is Newt?’ Brenda didn’t answer right away, and tears threatened to pool in Y/N’s eyes at what her silence could mean. ‘Brenda… Is he… Is he alive?’

Brenda, again, didn’t answer, and her face didn’t give anything away either. Instead, she just held back the flap of the tent and motioned for Y/N to exit. Y/N took cautious steps forward as she followed Brenda into a completely new place that had her staring in awe.

It was a bustling camp where sleeping quarters and other spaces were mapped out by canvas strung up on carved wood pillars and posts. Y/N spied a kitchen area where she swore she heard Frypan laughing with some others.

There was a gathering area where a giant stone stood in front of the seats. There were names carved into it, like what they used to do in the Glade. Y/N tried to make out if a certain blonde’s name was on it. She caught familiar names like Alby and Chuck, Clint and Jeff.

‘Y/N?’

She swung around to find Brenda smiling as she was joined by Thomas, Minho, and Jorge. The three of them ran at her, arms wide open to capture her in a hug.

‘You crazy shank, Minho said, laughter on his lips. ‘Look who finally decided to join the living again.’

‘And here I thought I was the lazy slinthead for sleeping for so long,’ Thomas said jokingly, pulling Y/N in for another hug. ’I’m so relieved.’

‘Welcome back, hermana,’ Jorge said, a warm smile gracing his lips as he gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder.

‘Good to be back,’ Y/N replied, smiling at the three males. ‘What happened after I thought I’d died?’

Thomas went to reply, but Minho cut in. ‘We’ll explain later. Right now, I think you should go say hi to someone else.’

Confused, Y/N followed Minho’s gaze to Brenda, who stood atop a hill and was staring over the other side of it. Y/N quickly reached Brenda’s position and followed her gaze to a large garden that people were working on. But her breath caught at the sight of a familiar blond at the edge of the gardens talking and pointing in all directions to people.

‘Hey, Newt!’ Brenda called out, causing the blond to turn around and look up. At first, he saw Brenda, but his gaze soon fell on Y/N and his whole face changed into disbelief.

With the other gardeners forgotten, he started climbing up the hill, and Y/N couldn’t wait another moment so she started walking down the hill.

They met in the middle, with Y/N standing at Newt’s height on the uphill. Neither said anything to begin with, both in disbelief and awe at who stood in front of them. Y/N looked over Newt, noting he still looked pale and somewhat sickly. But the dark veins were gone, as was the black blood and his black eyes. And the sun shone so brightly that his hair looked golden. It was as if he was never infected to begin with.

With a shaky hand, she reached out to rest her hand over his beating heart. ‘You’re alive,’ she whispered, too scared to voice it too loudly in case this was also another nightmare.

But he proved her doubts wrong as he rested his own hand on top of hers. ‘I am,’ he said, and the usual warmth of his voice truly convinced her he was real.

His face pinched suddenly with concern and guilt. ‘I’m so sorry, Y/N,’ he said, his hand tightening slightly over hers. ‘I hurt you. I almost…’

‘It’s okay,’ she interrupted, using her free hand to cradle is cheek and keep his eyes on her. ‘You didn’t. I am here, too. Looks like we both saved each other.’

To her relief Newt smiled. It was a genuine, happy smile, something she hadn’t seen on him in a long time. He nuzzled into her hand briefly, before bringing it down with his free hand so he held her hands between them.

‘Before I passed out,’ he started, ‘I remember you saying something.’

‘Oh.’ A blush heated upon her cheeks, but she refused to look away from him. ‘Right. I did say something.’

She was trying to play it cool, but as soon as his deep brown eyes fixed on her, she knew he could see right through her. But he didn’t smile smugly, he didn’t tease. He actually looked scared as his jaw clenched, fighting to find the next words to speak.

‘You said you love me,’ he finally said, words tight but hopeful. ‘Is that true?’

Y/N’s mouth dried up suddenly, constricted by all the things she wished to say but couldn’t say all at once. It’s not like she was scared, she just never thought she would live long enough to have a future, let alone one with love. One with Newt.

But she had – she had survived WCKD’s cruelty, she had survived the terrors of the old world, she had survived when so many of her friends hadn’t. And it was her duty to live her gift of a life to the fullest.

‘Yes,’ she finally said, and it was like breathing in fresh air after being underground for so long. ‘I love you, Newt. I don’t know when or how it happened, but I do. I love you.’

There was a second of hesitation, but then Newt broke out into a wide smile, and Y/N swore she saw tears brim in his eyes. He suddenly reached one hand up to cradle her neck as he pulled Y/N in for a sweet kiss that simultaneously knocked the air out of her and breathed new life into her. He held her neck and hip, and she pressed her hands against his chest, satisfied to feel his heart thundering beneath her hands. The heart that almost never beat again, the heart that had saved her over and over again.

The kiss was short but was no less breath-taking, and when they pulled apart neither could stop the smiles on their faces.

‘I love you, too,’ Newt said. ‘If that wasn’t already obvious.’

Y/N threw her head back in a hearty laugh. She slung her arms around Newt’s neck, a cheeky grin dancing across her lips. ‘I’m not so sure. Maybe we could try that again to make sure?’

‘Cheeky bugger,’ he murmured as he pressed his lips to hers again. Y/N sighed into the kiss, grasping the baby hairs at the base of his head.

They pulled apart at the sound of their friends whooping and clapping atop the hill. Y/N felt her face erupt with embarrassed heat, to which Newt laughed as she ducked her head into his chest.

‘All right, come on lovebirds!’ Minho called out. ‘Dinner’s almost ready.’

As they walked down out of sight, Y/N went to follow but was stopped by a loose grip on her wrist.

‘What is it?’ she asked as she turned back to Newt.

‘I just…’ Newt turned to the gardens below, then to the water, then to the sunset that bathed the whole camp in beautiful hues of orange, pink and purple. When he finally turned back to Y/N, she thought he couldn’t look any more handsome with that pure sunshine smile and sparkle in his eyes. ‘Thanks.’

‘For what?’ she asked.

‘For teaching me how to be brave,’ he answered.

Y/N gave his hand a squeeze. ‘You were always brave, Newt,’ she said. ‘It’s how I learned how to be brave in the first place.’

Newt squeezed her hand in return, then they walked hand in hand back up the hill and down to dinner to where their friend awaited them.

Where the lives they never imagined they’d get a chance to live awaited them.

#maze runner newt x reader #newt x reader #tmr newt x reader #maze runner imagines #maze runner x reader #the maze runner #minho #tmr frypan #tmr thomas #tmr minho #tmr newt #tmr gally #tmr brenda #tmr jorge #the death cure #the scorch trials #romance #angst #friends to lovers

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ellemj · 5 months

Text

Needs & Wants - Sex Pollen Trope Pt. 7

Bucky Barnes x Reader

**Read parts 1-6 first for the full effect!**

Summary: Bucky thinks you're avoiding him because you're worried that he caught feelings for you after the night you shared, but he couldn't be more wrong.

Warnings: mentions of previous smut, profanity, use of y/n, MINORS DNI!!!

Word Count: 5k

Author's Note: Where the hell am I going with this? Is it possible for it to get even smuttier before this ends? I think that's where I'm going, down a very smutty rabbit hole. I need to be stopped.

You expected to feel so guilty and distraught after the night that you had with Bucky. You slept with your partner not just once, but five times. All in the same night. Inexplicably, you feel almost completely fine, with your only issues being how sore you are now and figuring out when’s the right moment to give his dog tags back. You’re sure he didn’t expect you to keep them. You’ve barely managed to get along for the past two months that you’ve worked together. There’s no way he’d want you to keep one of his most sacred possessions just because you spent a night together. You’ll give them back sometime today, when the time is right.

You put the tags out of your mind as you finish packing up your small duffel bag. The team sent the quinjet to bring you and Bucky back home after confirming that you were both fine and that the chemical had seemingly cleared your systems. Banner initially wanted to have the two of you enter quarantine when you return to the compound later today, but after a brief conference call with a few biomedical experts in the field, he decided it was overkill. You probably would’ve fought it anyway. After the last 24 hours, all you want is to be back in your suite at the tower, to take a long, hot shower, and then to sleep for twelve hours straight in your own familiar bed. Bucky, however, is on a different page.

His mind hasn’t stopped doing cartwheels since the phone call from Sam that woke you both up an hour ago. You’d played the situation off well, telling Sam that Bucky didn’t answer his phone because he was showering. Sam didn’t question it. Why would he? Everyone on the team is fully aware of yours and Bucky’s working relationship. You’re just barely civil with each other when it’s paramount to the success a mission, or when your lives depend on it, but outside of that? Well, let’s just say that neither of you go out of your way to do any sort of partner bonding.

Bucky finished packing his duffel bag fifteen minutes ago, but he can hear that you’re still working on yours. He wants to walk across the hall and sit on your bed while you pack. He wants to just sit there and have a conversation with you, or if you don’t want to talk, he’d be content just to be around you at this point. He didn’t realize how starved he had been for human connection until last night and now he feels too alone sitting in this room by himself. His thoughts are too loud, the whirring of his vibranium arm is too noticeable, and there’s the looming threat of last night’s events replaying in his mind. If he lets himself think about last night and earlier this morning, he’ll end up with a hard-on. If he ends up with a hard-on, you’ll likely notice and he won’t be able to blame it on the fucking HYDRA chemical from hell this time. For the first time in a while, Bucky doesn’t know what to do with himself.

---

You’re definitely avoiding him. Bucky expected some kind of conversation on the flight back home, but you were quick to seclude yourself into a corner seat to work on typing out your mission report from the last 24 hours. He sat in the row of seats across from you and a little to your right, occasionally glancing over to see you still fully concentrated on your laptop screen, typing away. What were you typing anyway? He was sure that you weren’t going to be putting the full truth in your report, so why were you so concerned with getting it finished before landing in New York?

After the first hour of the flight, he was desperate for you to say just one word to him. Leaning forward in his seat, he rests his elbows on his knees and traces the lines of the palm of his vibranium hand with the index finger of his flesh hand. He could ask you if you slept well those last few hours this morning before Sam called. No, that just sounds like small talk. He could ask you something related to the mission, maybe something about the samples you’re bringing back for testing. That’s what he’ll start with. He sits back once again and focuses his gaze on you, clearing his throat in preparation for starting the conversation, when you suddenly sit up a little straighter and look right at him.

“You should read my report, see if it’s the story we want to go with or if I need to make any changes.” You say pointedly, your eyes meeting his. He looks surprised that you’re speaking to him. After a moment of silence, the two of you awkwardly staring at each other, you reach across the space between the two of you to pass him your laptop. He meets you halfway, reaching out to grab it, and then settles back into his seat. You watch him carefully as he narrows his eyes at the screen, reading everything that you’ve spent the last hour working on. You tried to keep it simple. You wrote the full truth of what happened in the lab, explaining what you did that triggered the release of the chemical into the air and how the two of you destroyed the entire facility before leaving via motorcycle afterward. The lies only start when you get to the point where your conference call with Banner and Stark ended. That’s where you write that you and Bucky locked yourselves in separate bedrooms and remained separated for the rest of the night. It's not a very long report, so why it’s taken Bucky more than three minutes to read it is beyond you.

“What do you think?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at him. He stares at the screen for a few more seconds before tearing his eyes away from it and looking over at you.

“It’s fine.” It’s the first time you’ve heard his standard grumpy tone in more than twelve hours. You should feel relieved that he’s acting like his usual self, but for some reason you feel bothered. You didn’t expect him to suddenly act like the two of you are close, but god, would it kill him to act like you weren’t the last person he wanted to be around?

As Bucky passes the laptop to you, he doesn’t miss the way you avoid making eye contact with him.

“So, that’s our story then.” You say matter-of-factly, saving the report and closing your laptop. You’ll finalize it and submit it after the debrief that you’re sure to have with Fury and a whole host of other SHIELD agents and admins later today.

“Guess so.” Bucky mumbles. You want to throw the laptop at his perfect face.

---

“What did you do?” Sam throws the question at Bucky with an overly accusatory tone as he enters Bucky’s suite without so much as a single knock in warning. Bucky had been unpacking his suitcase, but now he drops his folded tactical pants on the bed, turning to face Sam.

“I didn’t do anything.” He answers, though his face isn’t as convincing as his lie. Truthfully, he can’t think of anything that he did or said this morning to have pissed you off. But, in the back of his mind, he knows he did plenty of crossing the lines last night. Maybe you just thought things over in the light of day and realized that you made a huge mistake with him last night and early this morning. Whatever it is that you did between the time you both woke up and the time you boarded the quinjet for the flight home, it put you in a very untalkative mood. You were silent for most of the flight home, and then when you arrived back at the compound, you basically beelined for your room.

“Bullshit. The two of you couldn’t get along for just twenty-four hours? Actually, not even twenty-four hours, because the two of you were locked away from each other all last night. So, what did you do to piss her off?” Sam’s interrogation is the last thing Bucky wants to be dealing with right now. He wants to finish unpacking, shower your fucking intoxicating scent off of every inch of his skin that it seems to be clinging onto, and then get the mission debrief over with.

“We got along fine.”

“Fine doesn’t sound like you two.”

“Okay, we got along as well as we normally do. It was just a rough night, Sam. What do you want me to say? We were in a bad situation.” Bucky sighs, scooping his tactical pants up again and putting them away in a dresser drawer. Sam studies him closely as he moves around the room, putting away various personal items. He’d like to think that he knows Bucky well enough at this point to read his mind, but he doesn’t. Not most of the time, anyway. Maybe he’ll have more luck going directly to you and asking why you’re so off today. He knows he should give you both a break. It was probably a night filled with physical torment and anguish with that chemical compound running through your veins.

“Fine. I’m sorry, man. We really didn’t know what we were sending the two of you into.” Sam apologizes, uncrossing his arms and hoping Bucky will respond a little less defensively.

“It doesn’t matter. We made it out and now we’re back home and…it doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about it.” Bucky mutters. Sam knows that’s about as good of an acceptance as he’ll get from Bucky, so he takes it. As he leaves Bucky’s suite, he walks the few steps across the hall and knocks on your door. No answer.

---

This is one of those moments where you find yourself wondering how the hell you ended up in a situation like this. The current situation being you and Bucky, seated in Dr. Raynor’s office. There’s a wall behind you covered with an image of tall, skinny trees. You can tell that it’s meant to be relaxing, but it just makes you feel like you’re in a pediatrician’s office that’s decorated with nature scenes to keep kids distracted from the needles and physical exams. You pick at the fraying threads on the knee of your distressed jeans, trying to occupy your mind before it occupies itself with thoughts of the man sitting next to you. Bucky sits a mere foot and a half away from you. Both of you are seated on opposite ends of the small gray couch. Why does it feel like you’re about to start couples therapy?

Bucky feels even more on-edge than you do. Dr. Raynor knows him too well. She can see straight through him most of the time, and now that he’s sitting here next to you, he’s scared to death of what she might see. His heart is racing in his chest, threatening to break through his navy blue Henley tee and dark jacket. The two of you rode here together, Bucky offered to drive as a small act of kindness, a peace offering, if you will. He also didn’t want the two of you to arrive separately and set off any alarms in Dr. Raynor’s head. She reads too far into everything. On the ride over, Bucky asked if you were still going to keep up the story about what happened three nights ago in the safehouse. You said yes, and that was that. You would both be lying to Dr. Raynor today.

“Sorry, I had a little situation I had to handle downstairs.” Dr. Raynor says with a sigh as she enters the room quickly. Neither of you turn to look at her as she closes the door behind herself and makes her way to her chair across from the couch. This is your first time meeting her. You’ve never been sent to therapy like this before. Sure, you’ve had routine psych evals, and once after a bit of a missing-in-action situation you had to go through the mandatory ten sessions with a shrink. But now? You really don’t even know why Fury sent the two of you here for this. You and Bucky have never really been close, why is that lack of closeness a problem now? “I appreciate the kind greetings.” Dr. Raynor quips sarcastically. She seats herself in her chair, settling her notebook and pen on her lap, before studying you both. You feel the tension in the air rising and Bucky shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Do you know why you’re here?”

Unsure of which one of you she’s directing the question to, you both stay silent.

“I didn’t expect your partner to be as quiet as you, James.” Dr. Raynor says, focusing her gaze on him. This relieves you a little. You don’t feel like you’re the one under scrutiny if she’s addressing at him, even though she’s talking about you.

“She’s not quiet.” Bucky huffs, tracing the lines on his vibranium palm. You’re starting to notice he does that when he doesn’t have much to say, or maybe it’s when he has a lot to say but doesn’t want to say it.

“Oh?” Dr. Raynor turns to you now.

“I don’t know why we’re here.” You answer her previous question, making sure that you don’t sound as moody as Bucky.

“The fact that neither of you can get along, and everyone that you work with knows this about your partnership, you don’t think that that might be the reason why you were sent here today?”

“We’ve been partners for two months and we’ve never been sent here before.” You point out. Bucky’s gaze is flitting between you and Dr. Raynor. He almost seems amused by the exchange. It’s a bit exciting for him to see someone else under Dr. Raynor’s microscope, and it’s especially exciting to him that’s it’s you.

“Right. So, what change happened this week that landed you both in my office?”

That’s a loaded question. You turn your head to steal a glance at Bucky but find him already looking over at you. Somehow, the two of you communicate with just a look. A look that says something along the lines of we both know what changed, but we aren’t going to say a damn thing about it here.

“Nothing.” You both say at the same time, breaking eye contact. Dr. Raynor is immediately interested in the exchange that she just witnessed.

“What was that?” She questions.

“What was what?” Bucky plays dumb, scrunching his eyes at her. She waves her pen between the two of you.

“That, that look.”

“It was just a look, doc.” Bucky lies.

“Okay, we can do this one of two ways.” Dr. Raynor straightens up in her chair, once again resting the pen on the notebook. “You both tell me what really happened on the trip to the HYDRA lab three days ago and I help you fix whatever rift it caused in your working relationship, or you continue acting like nothing happened while this thing festers like an open wound.” You kind of like her. She gets to the point, and though you don’t know her at all, she does seem trustworthy. Still, you can’t just tell her that you and Bucky slept together. That’s a fast track to getting your partnership suspended. Wait, since when do you care so much about your partnership? A week ago, you would’ve happily traded Bucky for a new partner, or even gone back to working solo missions if you were given the option to. Why does the idea of working without Bucky bother you now?

“Did Fury give you a copy of our mission reports?” You ask, drawing Bucky’s attention straight back to your face. He wonders where you’re going with this. Dr. Raynor nods slowly, analyzing you both before speaking.

“Yes, and I feel like they’re missing about twelve hours worth of details.” She responds. She’s good.

“You don’t think we locked ourselves in separate bedrooms.” You make your words a statement, rather than posing another question. Dr. Raynor shrugs.

“I think your reports lacked detail, especially compared to any of your previous mission reports. What possibly could have happened that night that would make you both want to be as vague as possible in a mission report?” Her question isn’t for either of you to answer, but you both know that she knows. You swallow hard and clasp your hands together in your lap, fighting the urge to get a running start and jump out of the window that’s on Bucky’s side of the room. “Let me pose a hypothetical. Let’s say that you both were exposed to a chemical agent that’s designed to make super soldiers reproduce. You get exposed, you both go back to the safehouse, and you lock yourselves in separate rooms like you said. Y/n, with your medical background, how long do you think either of you would be able to stay in a locked room before having to at least use the restroom? According to your reports, you locked in around 9 pm and didn’t leave your rooms again until at least 7:30 am.”

“I don’t like hypotheticals.” You retort, crossing your arms over your chest like a child. You feel silly. You know you look ridiculous sitting here with a frown on your face and your arms crossed, you know that you do. But her line of questioning is quickly approaching the truth and you don’t want to give her anymore fuel than she already has. She sees you shutting down and turns her attention to Bucky.

“James?”

“I didn’t have to pee.” He mumbles.

“You had sex.” Dr. Raynor states. There isn’t a hint of questioning in her tone now. Suddenly, the room falls silent. So silent that Bucky can hear the way your heart is pounding in your chest and the way you’ve suddenly began holding your breath.

“That doesn’t sound like something that two people who can’t stand each other would do.” Bucky responds on your behalf. Mentally, you’re thanking him. You didn’t have a single word in your mind to use to formulate a response.

“Right. But if you think about it, it does. And not only does it sound like something those two people would do, but it sounds smart, if you think about it.”

“Smart?” Bucky’s confused now. Is Dr. Raynor trying to say that it was smart of the two of you to fuck?

“Let’s say that two people who don’t get along are stuck in a situation where they have these primal, innate biological feelings to reproduce. They decide to have sex to lessen their suffering at the hands of the chemical that they were exposed to, knowing that because they don’t get along, they aren’t risking much by crossing that line together. They wouldn’t have cared if they were found out and their partnership was terminated, because they didn’t like working together in the first place. And if no one found out and their partnership remained intact, neither of them have feelings for each other so it wouldn’t matter anyway, they could continue working together like they normally would. That makes it sound like the smart thing to do, don’t you think?”

It does sound smart when she words it like that. But you and Bucky both know that it’s not an accurate representation of your situation. No, you don’t really get along and you never have, but you didn’t have sex while simultaneously not giving a shit about what happened to your partnership. All you could think about at first was how it would ruin your partnership. Then you had a night full of sex that was so good you’ve been thinking about it nonstop since, which led to you avoiding Bucky in the compound so you could give yourself a chance to stop thinking about him in such a non-platonic way. That’s what landed you here, on Dr. Raynor’s little therapy couch in her little therapy office. Fuck. It’s your fault that you’re both here.

“I’m not necessarily accusing the two of you of anything. No one knows what happened that night except for you, though I have my suspicions. I’d like you both to feel comfortable enough to tell me what happened, but if you don’t feel like you can do that right now, I’ll respect it. However, I do want to observe the two of you interacting in the field over the next few missions. Fury is sure that this partnership is the best thing he’s ever created. After reading through each of your files, I’m not as convinced.”

Great. Now you and Bucky have a babysitter.

---

After finishing your very brief and unproductive session with Dr. Raynor, Bucky drove you both back to the compound. The silence was a little more bearable this time. Neither of you wanted to talk about what had just happened in the session or about how Dr. Raynor seems to know that you fucked. When you arrived back at the compound, you went your separate ways. Bucky went upstairs, presumably to skulk around in his room until dinnertime, and you hit the gym. You gave yourself a rest day after coming back from the mission-from-hell, but now you need the high that you get from a good workout. You need it because your thoughts are still consumed with Bucky. With the way he fit so perfectly inside of you, with the way he looked at you with so much awe when you were coming undone on his cock in front of the mirror, and for fuck’s sake, the way you felt like he owned you when his dog tags were around your neck. You want it. You want him. Bad. You’ve been taking a lot of cold showers lately. Now, you’re turning to the gym to try to get him out of your system.

After a nice four-mile evening run and a core workout on the mats in the gym, you decide to take a shower in the gym downstairs instead of going up to your room and risking running into Bucky. You don’t want to ruin your current streak of one hour without thinking about him naked. “FRIDAY, play my workout playlist.” You call out as you enter the shower room and grab a clean towel from one of the shelves by the door. You sling the towel over one of the shower doors and step inside, stripping your clothes off and tossing them over the door before turning the water on. FRIDAY begins playing your playlist at full volume, which is how you always like to have it when you’re showering down here after a workout. With the music blasting and hot water streaming down your skin, you’re safe from any thoughts about Bucky. You wash away all of the stress of the day, imagining all of the bad things in your life flowing down into the drain at your feet.

Suddenly, you hear the door to the shower room swing open and then fall shut again with a resounding click. You continue lathering your skin with soap, listening intently for an announcement of some sort from whoever is intruding on your personal time.

“FRIDAY, turn the volume down to 10%.” Bucky’s voice rings out and you take a deep breath, feeling your bad mood crawl out of the shower drain and back up into your body. How dare he? His next move only further pisses you off, as your towel quickly disappears from the glass door of the shower.

“Barnes—”

“I want to talk.” He interrupts you, and you can see the silhouette of him pacing slowly back and forth through the distorted glass door.

“You have until I finish this shower.” You say through clenched teeth. “Then, I’m getting out and strangling you with that towel.”

“You’re going to get out without a towel?” You see his figure pause as your words still him.

“My naked body will be the last thing you see. You have sixty seconds.” He chuckles at your words, and you can hear the movement of him slinging the towel over his shoulder as he stands outside of the shower, clearly amused.

“Dr. Raynor knows.” He states.

“Yeah, no shit.” You say sarcastically, truly dumbfounded that he felt the need to say it out loud. Obviously, she knows.

“She’s going to be analyzing us on every mission until she confirms it.” He continues. Does he think you were totally zoned out during the session in her office earlier? You know she’s going to be babysitting the both of you in the field for the forseeable future.

“Is there a point to this conversation?” You ask, rinsing all of the soap bubbles off of your skin and watching them slip across the shower floor. Bucky audibly sighs. What is with your fucking attitude tonight? You avoided him all day yesterday. He knows you had some errands to run at SHIELD’s headquarters, so you were there most of the morning, but even when you came back to the compound around lunch it was obvious that you were doing everything you could just to stay out of his sight. He’s fucking sick of it.

“Yeah, I want to know when you’re going to stop acting like fucking made me fall in love with you.” Bucky says flatly. On the inside, he’s angry. That’s why you’ve been avoiding him, right? Because you’re scared that he caught feelings for you somewhere in the midst of all of the mind-blowing sex. That’s the only reason he can imagine that you have for avoiding him the way you have been, and for the way that you’re talking to him now. He, however, couldn’t be more wrong. You were scared that you were catching feelings. It’s why you didn’t want to say his name or kiss him when you fucked. You knew that if you did either of those things, it would feel too real. It’d be too hard to pretend it meant nothing to you.

When are you going to stop acting like fucking made him fall in love with you? Jesus, he thinks he has you all figured out, doesn’t he? You catch yourself laughing. You reach over and turn off the water. You’re just about to tell Bucky that he can fuck off with his demands to know anything from you, when you hear the shower room door open once again, followed by a set of footsteps.

“Hey, Y/n, dinner is going to be ready in—” Sam stops short when his eyes fall on Bucky, who stands outside of your shower door, holding your towel in his vibranium hand. “What’s…are you holding her hostage in the shower? Give me that damn towel, man.” You hear a soft commotion that you can only assume is the two men scuffling over your stolen towel. The towel finds its way back over the glass door, courtesy of Sam, and you quickly snatch it up, patting yourself dry before wrapping it around your body. “Dinner is ready in fifteen minutes, if you two want to eat.” Sam announces. Bucky gives him a steely look for returning the towel to you, but Sam ignores it, turning on his heel and walking out. You’re surprised that he didn’t have anything to say about the unusual situation he stumbled into here. Maybe he’s saving it for later.

Bucky’s just about to ask his question again, the one about when you’ll stop acting like he’s in love with you, when you push the shower door open and step out in front of him. Covered only by that damn towel. He wants to pretend like he’s unbothered, but the way a tent is forming in his jeans throws that plan out the window. You have an effect on him and you’re fully aware of it.

“Fucking didn’t make you fall in love with me?” You ask innocently, standing just six inches in front of him and looking up into his eyes. His eyes leave yours for a moment, his gaze raking down your body and leaving heat in its wake. He takes in your messy bun, the way the towel is so tightly hugged around your curves, and the way water is dripping down your legs. Fuck, he wants to lick every single drop off of your skin. He wants to start at your ankles and kiss, lick, and suck his way up to your inner thighs. When he meets your stare once again, you’re smirking at him. “Answer the question, Barnes.” You use a specific tone of voice this time, one that you usually reserve for seductive purposes in the field. It makes him swallow hard and you note the way his jaw flexes. Hmm, you’ve seen his jaw flex like that before. You take one step forward, closing the minimal space between the two of you, letting your towel-covered chest lightly brush against him as you begin trailing your fingertips down the right sleeve of his Henley tee. He’s temporarily frozen in place, his eyes watching the movements of your hand closely, before he quickly steps back and tsks at you. He shakes his head as annoyed look takes over his features.

“Don’t fuck with me, Y/n. Dr. Raynor isn’t here to supervise the tension.” His words send heat rushing through your body, a heat that settles in your cheeks and between your legs. You hate how the threatening tone of his voice combined with his choice of words makes you long to be underneath him again, but you’re sure he’s just playing a sick game with you. You wish the horny part of you would remember that, that this is just a fucked up game. It isn’t real. But you know what? If he wants to play this fucked up game, you’ll make sure you win it. He can act like he doesn’t want you, but his reactions to everything you do sends a different message.

You’ll just have to play this game until he admits that he wants you as much as you want him. Maybe you'll give him his dog tags back as a consolation prize when you win.

Next Part

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier #winter soldier #bucky barnes x you #marvel #mcu #bucky barnes smut

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hangmanssunnies · 6 months

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Summary: After a failed Tinder date, you go to hang out with your friend Jake "Hangman" Seresin. When you get to his house, you unexpectedly find him with a baby, and it is a sight that rewires something in your head. Jake needs a baby of his own. Right now — like yesterday, actually. And that is a task you would be more than willing to help with; now, you just need to find the courage to bring it up.

Pairings: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Word count: 9k

AO3 Link

Warnings: 18+ Only, Friends to lovers, baby fever, smut, P in V, Oral, Hangman with a baby (deserves its own warning)

Author's note: The attorneys at work keep bringing their babies in and letting me hold them, and @top-hhun has done absolutely nothing to discourage the subsequent baby fever I've been dealing with. Anyways, that's where this fic came from. I hope you enjoy this. My inbox is always open if you want to let me know your thoughts. Reblogs with your thoughts, opinions, and tags are gold to me. I love reading through them.

You had become friends with Jake unexpectedly some years ago, hitting it off at your mutual friend's wedding. Part of you had, of course, hoped the attractive blonde aviator would be interested in you, maybe in a romantic sense, but it never came to fruition. He shipped out the week after the wedding, but the easy rapport you carried with him started with sharing jokes about how trashed other people got at the reception, and eventually developing into a true and close friendship.

It was for the best because the more you got to know Jake, it became clear to you that he didn't want the same things that you did. He was focused on his career and didn't have time for a partner. When he did talk about settling down, it was never in an authentic way, more joking that he was waiting to swoop in if Coyote's marriage fell apart or that his Mama would set him up with a nice southern belle who wanted to give her twelve grandkids. Jake would claim he was too busy for a relationship, away from home too much to be steady. However, none of that seemed to stop him from finding time for you, which is probably why you hadn't been able to completely repress your feelings for him despite some valiant efforts.

Just today, after a failed lunch date with someone from Tinder, you texted Jake disheartened. He hadn't hesitated first to ask if you were okay and then invited you over for dinner to tell him all about it. He had even promised to cook you whatever you wanted. A special treat guaranteed to make you feel better, considering Jake's superb culinary skills.

You walk into Jake's house without knocking or ringing the bell, knowing he left the door unlocked in anticipation of your arrival. After securing the front door's lock into place, you toe off your shoes, making sure to set them neatly in line with the others there. Jake's home is clean and tidy, just like it always is; the organization of the entry is no exception. You know from the smells and sounds wafting towards you that he must still be cooking, which is odd because he's almost always done by the time you show up.

Venturing further into the house you see him, standing in the kitchen, with a baby strapped to his chest. It's an unexpected sight, and you're frozen by it. Jake's in a casual white teeshirt, jeans, and a dark navy blue sling with a camo pattern wrapped tightly around him, securing a tiny infant in place against his broad chest. His hair is fluffy like it often is on his days off, and the golden strands fall across his forehead. Seeing it like this always creates an instinctual desire to run your fingers through it. However, you can hardly even process that thought because you're so distracted by the bundle on his chest. Music is playing on his record player, and he is humming along.

Jake suddenly stops the humming, and the prep he is doing, looking down at the baby. After a pause, a smile pulls at the edges of his lips, his eyes crinkle before he drops a kiss on the infant's head. And it's like everything is right. Jake with a baby seems so natural. The fact that he exists any other way than with a baby in his arms every day feels wrong. Your heart starts beating harder in your chest, and a thought pops into your head, instantly taking deep root: Jake needs a baby of his own. Right now — like yesterday, actually.

You don't know what sound you must have made, but Jake looks up and finally notices you standing in the hallway. He doesn't appear at all startled as a wide grin spreads across his face as he greets you, "Howdy there, Doll!"

"You have a baby," you say stupidly in an entirely delayed response.

"Yeah, this little guy is Jackson. Coyote and the Mrs wanted a date day, so I offered to watch the baby for them. They were supposed to be here two hours ago to pick him up, but I'm sure they just got caught up." Jake laughs and presses another kiss to Jackson's head. Before continuing on, "I hope you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind," you manage to breathe out, unable to tear your eyes off Jake or even pretend you're not staring. He quirks an eyebrow at you but otherwise doesn't comment. After he gestures for you to join him, he returns to the cutting board in front of him. You are transfixed; when you sit down at the bar in the kitchen, it occurs to you that you should probably say something and not just stare like an idiot. "Do you want me to take him?"

"I think he is just fine here," Jake says, examining the sleeping baby strapped to his chest again. Jackson has hardly moved since you showed up, clearly passed out, not disturbed by the music or any of the kitchen sounds.

"At least let me help finish cooking then?" You request.

"No, Ma'am. Bubba and I have this dinner taken care of. I did pick up that wine you like from the store. Maybe you can open it up for us?"

Entering the kitchen, you pull out two wine glasses from a cabinet. Opening the fridge you see your preferred wine stocked, as well as a few of your other favorite drinks stored there. Warmth blooms in your chest that Jake picked up things for you when he was at the store last. It was touching that he would take care to buy something he would never touch but getting it anyway just to have beverages you prefer on hand. After pouring the wine, you set one glass next to Jake's cutting board, making sure it's in easy reach for him.

"Thank you," he says appreciatively. You sigh and lean against him, pressing your face into the bicep of his arm, careful not to disturb Jackson or the sling as you do. Closing your eyes, you breathe him in, looking for the subtle cedar scent of his cologne to soothe you. However, only a hint of it tickles your nose, the cedar not as strong as it usually is. Today, Jake smells more like clean laundry and his natural musk than anything else. You are surprised to find it still does the trick in helping settle your nerves, though. Jake hums but doesn't protest your closeness, instead asking, "Long day?"

You don't answer with words, just humming noncommittally against his arm. You leave your face pressed there for a moment longer. "Not enough wine to talk about it yet," you eventually say into his arm before pulling away. Settling on the other side of the counter again, you take a long drink of the wine you poured. Deciding to admire Jake again, you ask, "How was your day?"

"It was pretty good. Javy dropped Jackson off this morning. We had tummy time, went on a walk, and to the grocery store to get things for dinner. Then we got a little cranky, so we rocked in the lazy boy for a while." You took a moment to picture Jake doing these activities and can't decide which is most swoon worthy. Jake is always swoon worthy, of course, but knowing that he was caring for a baby while doing it feels like an extra kick to the stomach or maybe ovaries.

"And?" You ask him, taking another drink of your wine and pillowing your face on your palm.

"And what?" Jake asks.

"What else did you and Jackson do today? I want to hear every detail."

Jake gives into your request easily. Starting his description of the day over, he tells you how even though he has babysat before, the Machados were still anxious to leave Jackson alone here when they dropped him off that morning. Jake told you about tummy time, which toys they liked and which were uninteresting. How long their walk was, and what they saw. He told you about the old woman who fawned over them in the store and how they helped her with getting her groceries to the car. It was endearing that Jake used the first person plural 'we' as if he and Jackson were a team with equal agency in their day's activities. It was especially cute when Jake told you about the tantrum they had thrown earlier in the afternoon as if he had been crying right along with his godson.

Just as dinner was finished and you were setting the table, Jackson woke up and started to get fussy. Jake cooed to the baby affectionately, leaving to the guest room, where Javy had stuffed almost a car full of supplies for Jake to watch Jackson. Some of the just-in-case supplies included toys and clothes Jackson wouldn't even be able to use until he was at least a year old.

When Jake comes back, both he and Jackson are wearing different clothes. Jake is in a soft green shirt and sweats, while Jackson is now wearing a giraffe onesie. He has the baby propped on his hip and doesn't offer you any explanation aside from that they had an accident. Then he sees that you have plated and set everything for dinner at the dining room table, and he offers a soft thank you.

You watch as he balances Jackson on his hip and starts following the written out directions for making a bottle that's taped to his fridge. Jake isn't someone who struggles, and you know that this is something that he is fully capable of doing, but you also can't help but think that it would be easier for him if he had two free hands. So, you gently pull Jackson from his arms and into your own instead.

The baby blinks up at you, his eyes still soft and sleepy. He babbles a bit of nonsense but otherwise makes no protest at you. Jackson has the same brown eyes and skin tone as his father. Even with his chubby cheeks, you can tell that the little boy is going to be Coyote's mini-me. The similarities in their appearance are so close it's like the universe had just hit copy and paste.

He is so cute you can't stop the grin that stretches across your lips when Jackson snuggles into you. One of his hands starts grabbing at your shirt's fabric while he absently gnaws at his other one. The little boy completely steals your attention as you walk around the living room and dining room with him. Asking him how he feels about his day with his Uncle Jake, pausing for his babbling like they were real answers. Jake comes up behind you several minutes later, setting a steady hand on the small of your back.

"Here, let me take him," Jake mutters practically in your ear while reaching for Jackson.

"No," you protest, turning away from Jake's reach. "You've had him all day. I've only gotten to hold him for a few minutes."

"Now, darling," Jake drawls.

"Don't darling me."

"Doll," He says

"Don't Doll me either." You snap, though the aggression of it is completely manufactured.

"Fine, fine," Jake says, holding his hands up. "You can have him for a few more minutes, but then it's my turn again."

"How is that fair?"

"It's fair because he is my godson."

You pout at Jake, and he pouts back." I can't believe you're going to be a baby hog like this. Don't you know sharing is caring?"

"Jackson isn't a rental car, sweetheart. Can't just hand him out to anybody."

"So what? You don't trust me with him?"

"No," Jake says, suddenly dropping all of his dry, teasing tone. "Of course, I trust you with him. Of course, I trust you."

Jake steps closer when he says this, crowding a bit into your personal space. His sea glass green eyes hold you in place, and you don't think you imagine that they flick downwards, that he has his sights set on your lips, that Jake could be considering kissing you. However, a breath later, he is swooping Jackson out of your arms and into his own, quickly back peddling.

"You can have the baby back after I feed him, okay? I don't want to risk him throwing up on that pretty blouse you've got on."

"Kidnaper! Baby Snatcher!" You half gasp, half yell, and start to chase after Jake as he runs away, holding Jackson close and carefully but still managing to evade you.

You're both laughing, and Jackson has started joyfully screeching as well when the doorbell rings, startling all three of you. Jake hands Jackson to you wordlessly before going to check who's at the door. It only takes a minute for him to come back with Coyote in tow. Who immediately rushes to sweep his baby from your arms and press kisses all over his cherub face.

After Javy examined his son to ensure nothing was out of sorts, he handed Jackson back to you to hold while he and Jake packed up all of his stuff and moved the car seat. This was only after he made a sly comment about how good you looked with a baby in your arms, though.

When you are alone with Jackson again, you take a moment to admire yourself in the mirror hanging on the wall. It wasn't such a hard thing for you to imagine holding a baby, and it looking normal, like something right, especially when you start to picture one with Jake's features or one that would take more after you, possibly even some sweet mix. The feeling of casual want that started from seeing Jake when you first arrived suddenly twists into an unexpected ache and intense need.

You expect it to let up, but it doesn't. Rather, the feeling smolders in you, burning hotter and hotter until it feels slightly consuming. Seeing Jake hug and kiss Jackson goodbye, promising they would spend another day together soon, nearly does you in. Heating your feelings from a low simmer to a roaring boil.

When you and Jake finally sit down to actually have dinner, it gets a little hotter with every sip of wine you take. Every time that Jake smiles and his eyes crinkle around the edges, the way he asks about your failed date with the perfect mix of sympathy and care, even the way he reheated dinner, all adds to the fire. As Jake is starting to put away the leftovers from dinner, refusing to let you help, you can't keep it in anymore, and you boil over.

"Jackson was so precious," you say, casually swirling the bit of drink you have left around in the glass.

"Little mans is so fun. I love him. It's always a treat to babysit,"

"You were really great with him today."

"Aw, thanks Doll. Now, what do you want to do with the rest of the night? Play a game, watch a movie? We can do anything you want."

"Anything I want?"

"Yes, ma'am," Jake says easily as he pops the lids of his pyrex container into place.

"I want a baby." You say in a quick breath. You nearly slap your hand over your mouth in horror that had just jumped out of your mouth. You really haven't had enough wine to be this bold, but then again, maybe you were a little intoxicated on having seen Jake be so domestic.

"What?" he asks with a laugh, probably thinking he misheard you. You grip the edge of the cool countertop trying to steady your nerves and prevent your hands from shaking.

"Jake, I want a baby," you tell him more slowly, making sure each word comes out clearly.

"No, you don't," he laughs, shaking his head. He starts tossing dirty dishes into the sudsy water of the sink and stacking up the food containers to put in the fridge. Jake turns away from you before saying, "I thought you've said you didn't want kids."

"It's complicated," you explain softly. "Are people not allowed to change their minds about things anymore?"

"Oh, so are you debating or like —"

"I don't really know how to say this more clearly. I want to have a baby with you, Jake."

He freezes. You see his shoulders tense, and he stares into the fridge for a long moment, slowly finishing storing the leftovers. When he closes the fridge, he still doesn't look at you immediately.

"You want me to be the father of a child you have? You want to have my baby?" Jake asks you incredulously. You gulp, now feeling entirely too vulnerable to speak, so you just nod in agreement instead. Jake's eyes are piercing, and his body language is tense as he stands in front of the sink again. He heaves a heavy sigh, his lips flattening into a tight line. Then he scrubs his hands over his face before narrowing his eyes at you, "This is not a very funny joke."

"It's not a joke, Jake. I want a baby, and I know you would be a good father." When Jake's demeanor still doesn't change, you continue on hurriedly. "I think we could do the whole platonic coparent thing easily enough. We get along so well, and we're already such good friends."

There is a long pause where he does not say anything, turning on the sink, waiting for the water to heat, and sudsing up a scrub daddy sponge. Only once this task is started does he answer you in a very stoic, perfectly level tone, "No, I don't think I can do that. I can't just sleep with you."

"Oh, well. I see. Forget that I asked, please." You mutter, embarrassed but trying to not let the sting of rejection affect your tone. You knew that this could backfire, but you didn't think it would feel this bad. Feel like the pit of your stomach falling so low you are almost nauseous.

"I'm sorry, Dolly."

"It's okay, Jake, really. It's just the wine getting to me."

"Are you going to ask someone else?"

"What?"

"Are you going to ask someone else to give you a baby?" Jake asks in a gruff tone.

You wouldn't actually, you wouldn't want one without Jake. In fact, this urge to have a child came from seeing him. However, you didn't know how else to play off your out-of-pocket request than to commit to the bit. Nonchalantly, you say, "Maybe."

"I could help you find someone," he offers.

"Please, Jake. It's okay you said no. You don't have to try and fix my situation."

He practically ignores you, asking, "What about Rooster?"

"I'm sure that I would have fun with the process," you say. Jake, who has focused himself with dedication on the dishes, looks up at you sharply. He quickly looks away again as you continue, "I'd be worried about having a baby that's born with a full mustache, though. So, no, thank you."

"I'm sure Fritz would be happy to help you out."

"No —"

"Harvard—"

"No Hangman. Stop," You say much harder with emphasis, cutting him off and leaving no room for argument.

"I tell you no for one thing, and suddenly I'm Hangman to you?"

"No, you're Hangman when you disregard the people around you, no matter what they say. You're Hangman when you decide something's a mission objective, and you refuse to let it go. This isn't your problem to fix or one to pawn off on one of your friends."

"You made it my problem when you just asked me to give you a baby," Jake says, frustrated. Roughly scrubbing the dishes, rinsing, and setting them in the drying rack.

"Well, the moment you said no, it's not your problem anymore. I'm absolving you of responsibility. It's my problem, and I will find someone for myself to put up with me, at least for a night." You joke, trying to lighten the mood again, not wanting to ruin the whole night from this mishap. Jake doesn't react more than his face darkening significantly, a deep frown pulling at his lips as he rinses the last dish and closes the dishwasher.

"Put up with you?" He asks, his eyebrows knitting together. Jake reaches for a dish towel to dry off his hands, and you're momentarily distracted by the thick fingers and web of veins tracing up his arm. It's a better sight than meeting Jake's intense eyes, those eyes that can stare you down and leave no room for you to hide.

"I mean, I know I'm a lot, but I think even I can get someone to fuck me once or twice. If I want and am very lucky, I'll only need one night. There are also other options, of course, like sperm banks and adoption. Let's just let it go. Okay?" When you don't get an immediate response, you glance at Jake once more. He is staring at you, but it's not a look you like. He's looking at you like you are a problem to be fixed, a puzzle to solve, an item to take off his to-do list. So you force a chuckle out and smile.

"I don't think I want to. Actually, I can't let this conversation go."

"We have to," you insist.

"Why?"

"Because Jakers, it doesn't have anywhere else to go. I expressed a stupid desire without thinking. It was awkward, and that's okay. It doesn't have to stay that way, though. Now we laugh and forget it. There is no other option."

"A lot. Put up with. Stupid desires," Jake scoffs the words as he rounds the kitchen island. He spins the bar stool chair you're sitting on by the back, turning you to face him. Then he sets his hands on the marble countertop on either side of you, effectively boxing you in. Even sitting on the tall bar stool, you have to tilt your head a bit to look up at him. When your eyes meet again, the green isn't as soft or kind as you're expecting. "I don't like how you're talking about yourself right now."

"I'm just being honest. I'm taxing to deal with; people get tired of me. My past relationships have certainly taught me that I'm only desirable under the right conditions. And I am stupid. I just ruined our whole night because I couldn't keep my mouth shut. What kind of normal person asks one of their best friends to fuck a baby into them unprompted?"

"Oh wow, I'm not even sure where to start with all that." Jake breathes. You can't take seeing his furrowed brow and disappointed frown. So instead, you examine his right arm that's stretched by you, mapping out the moles and freckles there. "You've developed a warped sense of the truth, Doll."

It's your turn to scoff and roll your eyes. When you do, the arm you've been studying shifts, and Jake cups your cheek. Gently, he urges your face to turn back towards his, and a calloused thumb sweeps across your cheekbone. "Listen to me good now. The things you want and desire they ain't stupid, and neither are you. You're not too much. You're just enough."

"Thank you, Jake." You whisper. And while his words are kind, you don't really believe them.

"Don't say thank you."

"What else am I supposed to say?"

"Say you believe me and mean it," Jake urges you.

"I don't want to lie to you. That's not who we are, that's not our friendship," You say. Jake's hand drops from your cheek, and he steps back quickly as if he's been burned. After you had been so surrounded by him, you nearly reach out to urge him close again. Running a hand through his hair, you can tell he's resisting the urge to pace.

"Is that our friendship, one built on honesty?"

"I thought so."

"Then I've failed you, and I've failed us because it's not."

"Jake, what are you talking about?" You ask him, confused. He shakes his head at you and doesn't respond, instead backing away further until he is abandoning you in the kitchen. Swiftly, you stand to follow him, "Where are you going?"

"I'm leaving."

"And going where? This is your house," you remind him. You've caught up to him in the doorway of his bedroom, where he's grabbing a hat and his wallet. "I'm sorry I ruined tonight, and I'll leave. You have to be honest with me before I do, though. I have to know we're going to be okay tomorrow."

"I can't," Jake says tersely, not meeting your eyes and attempting to sidestep you in the doorway.

"I was wrongly under the impression there wasn't anything you couldn't do, Hangman. But I guess we are finding a lot of things you just can't do tonight, aren't we?" You aren't expecting the little lash out of a taunt to get you anywhere. Jake is normally always calm, cool, and collected, acting with decisive precision. However, nearly as soon as you've finished speaking, Jake's hands are on your arms, and he backs you up until you gently hit the wall of the hallway across from his door.

"You're asking for more self-restraint than I have, Doll." He warns roughly. The sudden movement doesn't make you back down like he was probably expecting. Instead, the rush makes you feel emboldened.

"I don't care. I can accept you don't want a baby with me, that you don't want to fuck me. I can accept that you want to force me to talk, but I can't accept you making me question our friendship."

"Oh god. You really don't understand. My honesty is not going to make this better," he warns.

"Yes, I do. Whatever it is, please tell me. I can think of many things you could be referring to, like that I'm not attractive to you. How I would make a terrible mother. Maybe I'm not a good friend. Or you don't actually like spending time with me. Whatever it is, you have to tell me. I've never thought you would lie to me. So, I need to know, or it's going to drive me crazy."

"There you are, all twisted up again," Jake sighs.

"And whose fault is that?" You snap back. Jake still has you pressed against the wall, so you set your hands on his broad chest with the intention of pushing him away. However, he doesn't budge; in fact, he does the opposite, coming even closer so he is flush against you. You refuse to tilt your chin to look up at him as he looms, rather only lifting your eyes in a cold stare. "I shouldn't be surprised that you're going to leave me hanging to dry, but you could at least —"

You don't get to finish the thought because a hand has snaked to hold the side of your neck, thumb tucking under your chin, turning your face upwards to Jake's waiting lips. The first brush of his lips on yours doesn't line up quite right, but that doesn't stop your breath from catching. Shifting to get a better angle, Jake applies two more feather light kisses. Your hands, which are still resting on his chest, creep up, and you loop them around his shoulders, using the leverage to lift higher on your toes and get closer to him.

This prompts him to deepen his next kiss, lips moving harder against yours. When you open your mouth wider in invitation, Jake's tongue traces along your bottom lip but doesn't dive in. You whine when Jake pulls away to take a breath.

"Forgive me, Doll, I should've asked first."

"Asked what?" You wonder, not moving your eyes away from his lips and strategizing how to get them back on yours. You think if you could just get a little higher, you would be able to kiss him without Jake needing to bend down so much.

"May I kiss you?" He asks.

"Yes, please." You answer immediately. You tug your hold on his shoulders, hoping it will urge him to get right back to it. Jake doesn't, though. His hand shifts from your neck to cup your cheek again, his other leaving the wall to settle on your waist.

"Can I touch you?"

"Yes, Jake." His hand traces up your side from your waist and back down again in what is a soothing motion. It's too soft and delicate for what you want right now, though, so you tug on his neck again, pressing your chest into his. He gives in this time, molding his lips to yours once more.

When his tongue meets yours, a low rumble emulates from Jake's chest, and the sound sends a new wave of arousal coursing through you. Reaching up, you push off Jake's hat, not caring where it falls, only that it's no longer in your way. When you thread your fingers into his hair, it's smooth and silky, providing no resistance when you tug it.

"Tell me what you want, Doll," Jake says when your lips part again.

"You. I want you," you whimper, tugging his hair again. A wide grin breaks across Jake's face, and his eyes crinkle around the edges. He tucks his face into your neck, and you can still feel him smiling.

"What else do you want?" He questions. When his lips brush a spot that makes you stretch your neck to give him easier access, he nips it lightly. You stumble, coming up with a response, just sighing his name as he finds another spot to bite. "Come on now, you said it so pretty earlier. Tell me again."

Once his request processes through your lust filled brain, you push on Jake's shoulders once more. This time, he doesn't resist, backing away from you and creating some space between your heated bodies. Sagging against the wall, you try to catch your breath while examining Jake. His hair is disheveled now, some of it falling across his forehead.

"You said no, you don't want that with me. You don't want this with me," You answer, finally dropping your gaze to examine the grain of the hardwood floor near your feet. Confusion at this sudden turn in attitude from him settles over you as your head clears. One of Jake's hands enters your field of vision, turned upwards in an offering. "Come sit, we need to set some things straight."

Taking Jake's hand, he curls his fingers with yours and gently tugs you back through the doorway of his room. With his direction, you perch on the edge of his four poster bed. Jake presses a kiss to the back of your hand and lets it go to settle on the accent chair that's in the corner.

"We'll be honest, right?" You say hesitantly, already missing the feeling of Jake's hand in yours.

"Yes. I'll be honest." Jake answers reassuringly before continuing, "From the beginning, I never wanted to be friends with you.

"You didn't?"

"Nope," he says, popping the p. "I never wanted to be friends, and then once we were friends, I was stuck. You didn't seem to want the same things as I did, and I'm not the kind of man to complain about the friend zone."

"I haven't friend you zoned you," you say, scandalized at the suggestion.

"Just earlier tonight, you asked me to have a baby with you, platonically," Jake deadpans.

"Because I can't conceptualize you wanting me any other way."

"I want you. I've always wanted you, but not platonically, baby."

Baby. Jake was a casual sweet name user, there was doll, sweetheart, honey, darling, those all were commonplace, but baby was new. Hearing it makes butterflies erupt in your stomach. He called you baby, and he has wanted you. You could have had him from the start if your fears and insecurities hadn't held you back.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

"I don't want you to be sorry. I want you to need me, to love me," Jake explains with more hesitation than you've ever heard from him as if he is tip-toeing through this conversation. Worrying your fingers together, you have to take a calming breath to settle your own hesitation before answering him, "Well, that's easy because I do."

A gleeful grin stretches across his face, and it's so bright you feel a matching one appear. He rubs a hand over his face, hiding it from view for a moment, and when you see his face again, he is still smiling. He looks as if he is trying to bite it back but can't quite manage.

"Well, alright, a few more things we have to iron out then. I love spending time with you. You've never not been desirable to me." You can't help a disbelieving laugh when Jake says that, and the look he gives you is disapproving. "I mean that. I was thinking about it even the time I came over to bring you soup when you had the flu. Wanted to bundle you up and crawl into bed with you."

"Oh, come on, that can't be true. I was so gross."

"It is. I promised I would be honest, and I'm not going to be breaking any of the promises I make to you. Can you believe that?"

You study his face, tracing over his nose, and jaw. He still has the hint of a grin that hasn't slid off his features yet, and he looks so very earnest. You can't imagine that Jake would be in the business of lying to you, and the openness he is offering makes it feel like you can believe him. That you can keep trusting him just like you always have. "I can believe that."

"Great. So, baby —"

"Yes?" You say entirely too breathily before he can even finish the sentence. It was really a surprise how much hearing him say that already turned your brain to some form of liquid.

"I want to sleep with you," Jake says plainly.

"Then why are you all the way over there?"

"I didn't want you to feel any sort of pressure while we were talking, and wasn't confident I could keep my hands to myself."

Standing up from his bed, you walk steadily over to the chair Jake is sitting in. Crawling into his lap more confidently than you truly feel, his hands automatically slip around your waist, steading you against him. Holding eye contact with him, you say, "I don't want you to keep your hands to yourself."

"Fuck, you're going to kill me," he sighs, tightening his hold on you. You go to kiss him again, but when you do, he blurts out, "I don't have any STDs or STIs." His cheeks stain a little pink, and he looks as surprised by the declaration as you are.

"That's good to know. I'm clean too," you inform him.

"Good to know. I just thought it was important to put it out there. Got to do safety checks first and everything. I don't want us to have any questions or be unsure about anything, and it's important to consider all the factors involved with —" Jake's rambling comes to a halt when you dip your face into his neck, kissing at the underside of his jaw softly.

"Jake," you say, linking your arms around his neck and playing with the short hair there. "Will you give me a baby?"

"Fuck, Doll. I promise to give you anything you want. The ring, the house, the baby. It's yours."

You don't waste any time kissing him. When your lips meet, all the hesitancy and nervousness that Jake had while you were talking melts away. His mouth confidently teases yours open for his tongue to quickly follow. Your hands thread into Jake's hair again as his start to roam your back, sides, and arms. When you wiggle closer on his lap, he groans and grabbing a handful of your ass, lifting you up. Jake stands easily and walks you back to the bed.

He doesn't drop you on the bed like you're expecting. Instead, he sets you down gently, one of his hands cradling the back of your head as he does. Laying on your back with Jake standing over you reminds you just how large and broad he is.

With surprisingly little fanfare, he pulls off his shirt and tosses it to the side. Jake shirtless is not a new sight; in fact, it's a tantalizing one you've seen too often. He has every right to be proud of his body, you know how much time he dedicates at the gym. So it shouldn't be a surprise that, never one to be self conscious, Jake hardly could be found wearing a shirt if the situation didn't require it. However, you realize this is the first time that you don't just have to look but can also touch.

Wanting to get the nervousness of undressing out of the way, you sit up, quickly discarding your shirt and tossing it aside. Before you can shimmy out of your bottoms, Jake's large hands are on your wrists, stopping you.

"You're doing my job," he chastises huskily. Jake is slow and meticulous in removing your clothes, running his hands over all the skin that's exposed to him. When he pulls off your bra, leaving you only in your panties, he just sits back and stares for a moment. Such intense scrutiny from his gaze has you covering your chest, crossing your legs, and looking away.

"I wasn't planning on sleeping with anyone tonight," you mutter, knowing that you don't have the sexiest underwear on and perhaps were not as physically prepared for this intimacy as you would like.

"Good," he says lowly. "No one else is going to get to see you like this anymore." Grabbing an ankle in each big hand, he spreads you out for him. He slides off your panties so you're completely bare, and takes up his staring once more. "Ain't you fucking gorgeous?" Jake mutters and you realize he ain't talking about you necessarily; he's talking to your pussy. Whining his name gets Jake to shove off his sweatpants, leaving him in a pair of dark grey boxer briefs as he crawls over your body.

As he kisses you again, your hands greedily explore his exposed skin. His chest hair proving to be much softer than you had imagined it, and his shoulders are taut as he holds himself up. While Jake's lips move with yours, you use a leg to encourage him to ease more of his weight into you, seeking friction. Kissing down your neck he lavishes attention to your breasts, licking and sucking his way across your skin.

"You know, I was too busy to make dessert," he says when he reaches your core. One of his hands teasingly traces all around the skin. Placing a kiss on your inner thigh, he asks, "Do you mind filling in?"

"Jake, you don't need to." You say, trying not to squirm when his fingers dip between your lips.

"I want to. Do you not want me to?"

"I know it's not everyone's thing," you answer, giving him an out.

"It's my thing," Jake says. His eyes lock onto the cleft of you, and he licks his lip, biting at the bottom one. Reaching up, he grabs one of your hands and brings it up to his hair, encouraging you to thread your fingers there. His fingers that are teasing you spread you open more, and he groans, "Oh yeah you're my thing."

Jake's tongue traces over you, probing until he finds the spot that makes your hips jump. Once Jake finds your clit he doesn't waste his time. Widening his mouth, he latches on and sucks. While he starts gently, he ramps up to sucking hard and twisting his tongue as he does. When you pull at his hair, he moans encouragingly.

"More," you request tugging his hair gently. Jake listens, sliding a finger into you. Whispering praise into your thighs about how pretty you are and how good you taste. You don't know how long Jake spends between your thighs, but he doesn't seem to be in any hurry. He sucks and licks, fucking his finger into you until the sound is sloppy and wet. He slips a second finger in, stretching you, occasionally scissoring them wider open in you.

Even when you are whining and gasping, working against Jake's tongue, he doesn't let up. You don't have the mind to worry how you're trying to suffocate him with your thighs, which he keeps pushing back open with no complaints. All that you can focus on is Jake, how good he is making you feel, and how close you're getting. It's a matter of time until you're shuddering and falling apart for him.

Continuing to lavish attention even as you jerk with sensitivity, Jake seems content to keep eating you out. You try to pull him away by his hair, but he just licks into you harder. "Jake, enough," you whine, trying to wiggle away from his mouth.

"I haven't had my fill yet, Doll," he says, pulling his mouth off you but not going far, pressing wet kisses to your thighs.

"I haven't even seen your cock yet, and I don't know why it isn't in me." You say, trying to reason with him. It doesn't come out very strong, though as Jake's fingers curl in you, making your cunt flutter.

"Patience is a virtue," he teases.

"Being virtuous isn't really at the forefront of my mind at the moment."

Jake sighs dramatically and presses one more kiss to your pussy before sitting back on his haunches. You can see the hard outline of him in his briefs as he gets off the bed. You watch his every move closely, more than ready to finally see him naked.

However, Jake is clearly taking some sort of joy from making you wait, because he detours to start picking up your hastily thrown clothing. As he is laying them out on the chair, you lose your patience. Grabbing one of his decorative pillows, you throw it at him. It smacks him between his shoulder blades before dropping to the floor with a thunk.

Spinning to face you, Jake crosses his arms over his chest, making his biceps bulge, his eyebrow raised. "Did you just hit me with a pillow?"

"No, I wouldn't do that," You deny trying to look innocent. Jake tsks at you, picking up the makeshift weapon and setting that neatly on the chair as well.

"Being desperate for my cock isn't an excuse to misbehave, baby."

"Big talk for someone who still hasn't shown it to me. It's okay if you don't have a pretty dick, Jake. It won't change how I feel. I'm still going to want you to fuck me."

Goading someone into action was a wonderful tactic you had learned over the course of your friendship with Jake. Something he easily did with others, and something tonight that it proved was just as effective against him because he doesn't even respond to your words. Sliding off his underwear, his dick springs free. He's hard from eating you out, and just from the first glance you get, it's clear there isn't one thing for him to be self-conscious about.

The fleshy pink length is nestled among dark hair, and the size of him is nothing to dismiss. It's a very symmetrical cock, lining up nicely with his balls and adonis belt. Bouncing a bit as he gets back on the bed, you can't bring yourself to look away. You know he is going to fill you so deliciously. When he's finally close enough for you to touch, you hesitate though.

"Speechless?" Jake wonders, with no ounce of shame or self-consciousness present.

"Can I touch?" You ask. Jake nods, taking your hand and bringing it to your mouth. You suck a few of your fingers in, wetting them with your spit. Then he guides your hand to his dick, encouraging you to wrap it around him. Jake's hand covers yours for the first few strokes, showing you what he likes, but then it falls away, letting you explore. He grunts when you trace one of the veins that runs along the side, following it down to cup his balls. He allows your teasing for a few more strokes before he pulls you close, kissing you hard.

The hard planes of Jake's naked body pressed against yours is nearly too much. He is so close and yet not close enough. With some gentle maneuvering, Jake is in between your legs and checking that the position is comfortable for you. Jake runs his length through your lips, the head bumping into your clit. Despite all the encouragement and build up, he's still not in a hurry. When his cock is wet from you, it starts to slide effortlessly. Losing your patience, you cup Jake's face, making him look you in the eyes.

"Jake, fuck me now. Please." You say. He nods, kissing you slowly. Then finally, he grabs his cock lining himself up and pushing the tip into you. When his pelvis meets yours, he holds himself there, your breaths mingling together in light pants as he stretches you out. The time he gives you to stretch and adjust is necessary, but once you have, Jake fills you deliciously.

"How're you feeling baby?" He asks. Your thumb moves across his cheekbone, soothing until the worry lines between his eyebrows disappear. Only responding when you know you're okay and so is he, "Perfect. Feel so full of you."

"I'll fill you up," Jake promises.

"Yeah?" You ask. He hums his agreement and rocks his hips against your experimental, drawing a small gasp from you.

"Promise," he says, starting a lazy punctuated rhythm, moving his hips against yours. Your hands explore the skin of his back as he thrusts into you. You hike a leg up on Jake's hips, letting him get a little deeper in you. The action makes him moan, and he pulls your other leg up around his hip, too.

Hooking your ankles together, you use the leverage to encourage Jake to fuck into you faster. Digging your heels into his ass and lifting your hips up to meet each of his thrusts increases the heat boiling between you. His face falling into your neck, Jake starts whispering dirty praise about how good you feel around him and how long he's been dreaming about this.

Stamina clearly isn't something that Jake is lacking in. He fucks you until you are both dripping with sweat, and you are begging for him noncoherently, unable to process anything but how good his cock feels. He maintains a steady rhythm, snapping his hips to meet yours the whole time.

"You feel so good. Want to get you there again. What do you need?" Jake pants huskily.

"Harder," you answer shakily, snaking your hand to play with your clit. You're close, and you know it's not going to take much more for you to get there with how long Jake's been building you up. He listens, slamming his hips more pointedly into you, grinding his pelvis every time he bottoms out.

Huffing, Jake pulls out of you a few minutes later. Making you cry out wantonly, reaching for his retreating body. He takes a moment to kiss both your hands that he unhooks from his neck. Then, shushing you gently, he grabs a pillow and lifting your hips, he slides it under them.

"It's okay, just a little better angle." He explains to you. You flop back on the bed, content to have Jake manhandle you any which way he wants if it means he'll be in you again.

"Oh, you're such a needy thing, aren't you?" He asks, as your cunt clenches around nothing, empty and wanting him. His fingers dipping in to play with the wet dripping from you. A flash of shame passes through you as he asks that. You drop your arms that had been reaching out for him back to the bed, and you screw your eyes shut, turning your face to the side looking away from him.

Jake had already got you to cum once, and it was possible he didn't want you all over him as he was trying to get off now. Preferences were probably something y'all should have talked about more in depth before jumping into intimacy. You didn't want him to think you were overly needy or hard to please. You didn't want to ruin what you and Jake could have the very first time together. Noticing the shift in your enthusiasm Jake immediately stops pressing his cock into you, worriedly asking, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," you answer, staring up at the ceiling looking for patterns there. It's easier to play this off if you don't have to look at him; easier if you don't have to acknowledge the unexpected, unwelcome swell of emotion that's overcoming you.

"Doll, look at me." He orders you, but you shake your head, refusing. Jake grips your chin, tilting your face to meet his eyes. They are intense studying you intently, completely focused on you. "The honesty we just promised each other needs to extend to sex nearly more than anywhere else going forward with this relationship," Jake says seriously. His hard dick is pressed against your thigh, and you don't know how he's able to have such a level-headed conversation considering the circumstances, just having been balls deep in you a minute ago. "So, what's wrong?"

"I don't want to be too high maintenance or needy," You sigh, trying to work through your words. Knowing this conversation is important, but also not completely sure how to express what you're feeling. "Sometimes I might seem needy, or maybe I could take a while to cum or not at all, which wouldn't be a reflection of you. I don't want you to think, well, I don't want to be too much for you to change your mind about this, and now I'm ruining the mood with a dumb fucking insecurity."

"Stop," Jake says gently, but leaving no room for argument. "You haven't ruined anything. I'm sorry I called your pussy needy. I didn't know it would make you feel this way. Can I tell you something, though, Doll?" When you give a hesitant nod, Jake's voice drops so low it's nearly gravelly. "I want you to be needy. I want your pussy desperate for my cock, desperate for my cum. I want you as desperate for me as I am for you."

"You're desperate for me too?"

"Frantically and wildly so." He answers easily. Then he asks with his thumb ghosting over your nub, "Are we okay? Is this still okay?"

"Yeah, this is good," You sigh, enjoying the zing that runs up your back when he nudges your clit more pointedly.

Jake grabs his cock, giving it a few languid strokes before he guides it back into you. You push your hips up to meet him. The new angle that the pillow gives him leverage to hit somewhere that's just a delicious feeling. As he rocks into you, his thumb maintains its place on your clit. Your fear of the mood having been ruined proves wrong as the coil in your core quickly builds, pushing you near the edge once more.

"Cum in me, Jake, please. Give me a baby," you request, your thighs quivering as you near your orgasm.

As his hips snap nearly frantically, Jake rolls your clit over in nearly the same rhythm. He moans your name a minute later, falling over the edge and spilling inside of you. Though his hips stutter to a stop leaving himself fully seated in you, he continues working over your clit. It doesn't take long until you're dissolving into pleasure along with him.

The ripples run through your body, and you feel every muscle tense and relax, turning into jelly. Jake grunts when you spasm around him but doesn't move or pull out until you've fully melted into the bed on the downward crest of your peak.

When he does pull out, he doesn't go far, shifting enough to spoon you. Settling behind you, Jake pulls you close to his chest, wrapping you tight in his arms. His hand is tracing lazy patterns on your hip and occasionally venturing to the soft skin of your belly. You don't have the mind to be self-conscious at the moment, still a little too blissed out. It takes significant brain power to process his question when he asks, "Do you actually want to have a baby?"

"Do you?" You wonder.

"You can't answer a question with a question," Jake chastises you. Turning in his arms so you are sprawled against his chest, you snuggle close, nuzzling him affectionately.

"Do you know how it was seeing you with Jackson today?" You ask him.

"If it was even half of how it felt seeing you hold him, then I'm sorry."

"Whatever you felt, double it. Triple it even." You say lightly. "It was enough for me to ask my friend, who I thought could never want me, for a baby."

"I do want you," Jake immediately reassures you.

"Thank goodness for baby fever, then. Because at least now we know we want each other," you reason, slowly starting to draw mindless patterns of your own against his skin.

Jake heaves a sigh and strokes his hand down your back, wondering, "Was this just baby fever?"

"No," you answer after thinking about it for a long span of silence. "I would have a baby with you. It seems right. I want that, I think." You can feel the relief in his body, hearing that, all his tension easing into relaxation.

"Good," is the only response he gives you, kissing the crown of your head. You expect more but don't get it. Rather, Jake seems content to just bask in the afterglow. That doesn't seem to be too bad an idea, so you close your eyes, listening to his steady heartbeat.

When you wake up from your impromptu nap, you're not alone in bed. However, you are now under the covers of a different comforter than there was before, and Jake is no longer acting as your pillow. He is on the other side of the bed, but his hand is stretched out, grazing the middle of your back.

Rolling to face him, you admire the sight he makes stretched out on the bed, leaning against the headboard. Jake's got a book open, folded in half, clearly abusing the book's binding just so he can have one hand on you. When he notices you sleepily admiring him, Jake shoots you a soft smile.

"Hey baby," he whispers.

"Hi," You whisper back scooting closer to him and grab the hand that had been touching you, threading your fingers together.

"Let's go on a date," Jake suddenly springs on you, squeezing your hand.

"I would love that," you respond, feeling giddy as butterflies erupt in your stomach. "Want something first, though."

"I already told you I would give you anything you want, and I meant it," Jake says, setting his book on his bedside table and giving you his full attention.

"Good, because I want round two and a shower, which hopefully has round three involved."

"Your wish is my command," Jake says easily. You move even closer to him so your lips are only a breath apart. "I meant it, the ring, the house, the baby. I can make it all happen by tomorrow."

"Let's start with breakfast in bed," you say, kissing him hard. When your lips hardly touch because you're both smiling too wide, well, that actually makes it feel all the better.

#jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #hangman x you #jake seresin x you #hangman imagine #hot hot hot!#hoeing for hangman

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stylesharrys · 5 months

Text

love me like you do

summary: harry’s never had someone take care of him the way that y/n does.

word count: 2,361

a/n: here's another old exclusive guys. there are lots and lots of fics lined up for you for the next couple of months while I work on a 20k realtor!y/n and a 20k ex-boyfriend!harry so enjoy!

At first, Harry thought nothing of it.

The honeymoon phase, he told himself. It made sense, it was expected. His past lovers had all been the same during that time — always obsessed and seemingly in love. Seemingly.

But after a few months, they always started to change. They’d distance themselves first, take a while longer to reply or to get in contact with him. Then, they’d get blunt and annoyed quickly with him. They wouldn’t want him close, wouldn’t shower him in affection. Wouldn’t let him touch them.

And then, eventually, they’d leave. Maybe on the odd occasion, they’d butter him up and get a little splurge on his card, or go to him just for their release. A few had cheated, some just left. Nothing for Harry has ever lasted past a year and a half, and now it’s nearing the two-year mark and he’s confused.

Y/N is a lovely woman. She’s kind, funny, smart, gorgeous. Harry thinks her kindness and wit is what attracted him to her in the first place, and in the two years he’s known her, he’s only started to love her more.

It’s not like he thinks deep down she’s a horrible person, but Harry has grown accustomed to how things typically work in his relationships, and none of the above has yet occurred.

Currently, he’s lying on his stomach with his face smushed into Y/N’s pillow. She’s straddling his lower back, her bum on his bum and his shirt is long gone as she massages the tender knots out of his shoulders. She’s been doing it for thirty minutes now. Harry’s been watching the clock.

He’s been feeling a little ill the past few days. Migraine, sore muscles and the occasional fleeting moments of nausea. He lost his appetite and strength pretty quickly and Y/N has been on the ball with it — at his feet with a sick bucket, coddling his head to her chest with a cold compress against his skin. She’s done it all and Harry can’t quite understand it.

From past experiences of being ill or caught with the flu, the only person to have ever taken proper care of him had been his mother. And now, his lover is doing what past lovers didn’t, and Harry’s confused.

It’s not that Y/N isn’t an overwhelmingly kind and compassionate person, because she is. Her caring and nurturing behaviour is nothing out of the ordinary for Y/N, but Harry has never experienced such care from a romantic partner before.

It’s like Y/N has forgotten about the gruelling twelve-hour shift she just got home from, but Harry hasn’t ,and although he’s the one that’s sick, she’s the one that’s been on her feet all day.

“Come on, I’ll do you.” His words come out gruffly, muffled slightly by the pillow that restricts the fluid movements of his lips. He can feel Y/N shake her head from above him. She sinks the balls of her palms into the backs of his shoulders.

“You need to relax and rest.” She argues, thinks her reasoning will be enough for him not to ask again.

Harry shakes his head and shuffles beneath the weight of her body. Y/N lifts to her knees, allowing him to turn beneath her and onto his back. Harry’s eyes are bleary and sleepy as he blinks to gain his bearings. He stretches for her hips, hands finding them with ease.

She’s sitting on his lower tummy, dressed in a pair of cycling shorts and one of his old Rolling Stones t-shirts that she changed into the second she got home. There’s dotting of mascara smudged below her eyes and a couple of pimples that are starting to show through the worn, minimal makeup.

He knows she’s had a long day, could tell the second she got in and pretended that she was okay for his sake. Her hair is tied back low on her neck, stray strands wildly framing her face. She looks tired, burnt out. Harry just wants to look after her.

“Bad day?” He finally asks.

Y/N blinks twice and shrugs, head rolling as her shoulders raise and her cheek meets it. “Busy,” she tells him. “Nothing I’m not used to.”

Harry squints.

He knows she’s used to it — the long days with early starts and late finishes, the ones without a break in-between, where she doesn’t get to eat, save for a few grapes she manages to steal every now and then. He knows she’s used to it, but that doesn’t mean it’s not exhausting her.

He squeezes her hips gently. “Know you’re used to it, pet. Don’t make it any easier, though.”

She doesn’t say anything. Her hands are on his, encouraging them to sneak up her shirt to feel her skin. She’s warm, soft. Y/N pouts down at him. “Want a kiss.” She says, eyes glassy with affectionate need.

Harry copies her expression, reaching up to caress the side of her face. “Can’t let ya get sick, babe. Why don’t you let me run you a bath and you can relax?” He offers, eyes gentle and she lets hers flitter closed for a moment, like she’s pondering over her answer.

She shakes her head.

“You’re the sick one. I’m going to run you a bath, and then I’m going to make you some soup for your throat. Know it’s still been hurting you.”

Harry doesn’t say anything — knows that whatever he argues, she’ll bite back better. His body sinks into the sheets, head in the pillow as a heavy huff of annoyance and adoration slips from his mouth.

When Y/N said she’d run him a bath, Harry didn’t expect it to be overflowing with bubbles or for every possible available surface to be littered in glowing candles. But the bathroom wasdecorated with such and Harry was overcome with an overwhelming amount of love for his girl.

She let him take his time in there, relaxing and soothing his muscles while she cooked up some magic for his throat. Getting out of the bath, Harry most definitely does not expect to wander into the kitchen to see what he does.

Y/N behind the stove, dishing up the soup with two fresh rolls from the bakery a mile from them. She’s got the lights dim for him — knows they’re hurting his head — and there are more candles around the living room.

The coffee table is littered with them mostly, Netflix is up and ready on the TV and as he looks to the sofa, he notices she got out her favourite blanket — the soft one that Harry swears is made from angel wings.

And he looks at her, starry-eyed and all. She’s got a gentle smile on her lips when she notices his presence and Harry is fucked.

He can’t stop the rush of emotion that consumes him. His eyes turn glassy, nose tingling and heart aching. Harry reckons he’s easily the most loved man in the world and he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

He can’t help the single tear that slips down his face but he wipes it before she notices.

Harry approaches her, arms wrapping around the middle of his love and he nuzzles his face into the crook of her neck. “Thank you, for all of this. Love you so much.” He rasps into her skin.

He can feel her body warm against his touch and she smiles, rashes down to hold her hand over his. “Love you loads, too. And you haven’t got to thank me, this is just what you do when you love someone.”

When you love someone.

She shrugs her own words off like they’re the most obvious thing she’s ever said, but Harry can’t stop falling harder for her.

He’s loved people before, he knows that. But now, looking back, he wonders if anyone has ever loved him before her.

Harry doesn’t remember a time that a previous lover put him before themselves. Where they cared for him and put his needs first. Where they showered him with care and adoration just because.

No ones ever loved him as she does.

The tears start to pool again as he pulls away and helps her carry their bowls and drinks to the sofa. They sit close, dipping pieces of bread into the creamy soup Y/N prepared and keeping their eyes on the TV.

Harry is struggling to focus though when Y/N takes a glance at the clock and carries their empty bowls to the kitchen. He cranes his neck across the back of the sofa to see what she’s doing, but her back is to him as she runs the sink tap and rummages through the cupboard.

What he does see is her shuffling back to the living room with a small glass of water and a curled open palm carrying three little white tablets atop it.

Y/N settles beside him, handing him the glass with a tired smile and offering him the pills. “They’ll help with your head and throat, hun.” She curls into the sofa, her knees to her chest and close to Harry’s side. Y/N props one arm against the back of the pillows and her fingers find the long hairs at the nape of Harry’s neck, gently craving through the soft locks.

He watches her for a moment, completely dumbfounded and speechless if he’s honest.

Something like Y/N taking care of him when he’s sick shouldn’t have him feeling so fucked and in love, but it does. He’s teary-eyed because his girl is taking care of him off her own back. Because she isn’t complaining once or making anything about herself.

Because she’s loving him beyond the words of saying it.

And he cries.

Y/N’s stunned at the sight, thinks maybe he’s about to sneeze, but his body starts to tremble and she realises what’s going on. So, gently, she pries the glass and pills from his wanton hands and places them blindly on the coffee table before reaching back for him.

“Hey,” she coos.

Her hands caress the damp and flushed skin of his cheeks to bring Harry’s gaze to meet her reassuring one. “Why are you crying, H?” Her words are asked in a light and airy voice, one that isn’t serious as she chuckles softly, but he still knows she’s concerned for him.

He shakes his head and pulls her into his side, laughing at himself too because, why is he crying?

“Just never had anyone look after me apart from my mum before. Really fucking lucky to have you, love. No ones ever loved me like you do before.”

Her hand is sprawled across his gently heaving chest and she kisses his neck with a soft peck, offering a squeeze. His hand is brushing comfortingly up and down her arm but neither of them really know why he’s the one trying to comfort her.

Y/N swallows, reaching her right hand across her chest to find his hand that lingers over the front of her shoulder, and she interlaces their fingers, squeezing. “I wish I could show you how in love with you I am… no words can describe it.” She admits, bashfully.

Harry squeezes her hand, using his other to wipe his face and he laughs again, because he’s so in love that it hurts. It hurts so fucking good because he knows this is it for him. She is it for him. Together against the world. Their future, their everything.

“I know, baby. S’the same for me.”

His raw voice sends a shiver through her spine and her own eyes are watering with salty drops of emotion. It hurts her too. More so knowing nobody has ever treated him right, nobody has ever taken care of him and loved him like he’s always deserved.

“I’m always gonna love you like this, H. Always gonna put you before me. Put us before anything else. You’re it for me, hope I’m it for you, too.”

He grins, cranes his neck to look down at her through hooded eyes. “‘Course you’re it for me. Been my future since I fucking laid eyes on ya, pet. It’s us forever, yeah?”

She breathes, tears slipping but she nods her head. He doesn’t get the chance to stop her before she’s leaning up and smacking a kiss to his lips, eager and sweet. He doesn’t pull away either, as selfish as it is.

Y/N reads his mind, knows what he’s thinking. “Don’t care if I get a bloody cold. You’re worth it.”

“God, I fucking love you.”

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #imagine harry styles #harry styles x you #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagines #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst

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strawbeerossi · 7 months

Text

Grading Papers

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: You are Dr. Reid’s TA. One night, he asks you to stay late and help grade papers, only to see you worked up. It’s a good thing he has the perfect solution for that.

Content/Warnings: Power imbalance, age gap (20s/40s), sexual tension, thigh riding, praise.

Word Count: 1.2K

Kinktober Day Twelve: Thigh Riding

Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3

Whenever Dr. Reid had approached you about staying a little later after your class to assist him in grading papers, you reluctantly agreed. It wasn’t like you were uncomfortable with him, in fact it was the complete opposite. Ever since you’d been placed as a TA for his class, you had a massive crush on the older man. Every person in your class did, honestly. There was a reason he had the most students auditing his classes, he was very attractive and his dumbfounded reaction to learning so many students used the class just to look at him just added to his charming demeanor.

He was an understanding man, always willing to listen and work with any student who needed his assistance. It didn’t help that he had a million dollar smile, one that made your heart flutter when it was flashed in your direction. You were in love with a man who was surely old enough to be your father.. Yet you felt no shame.

You’d had vivid fantasies, ones where Spencer would call you in his office and push you against the wall, taking you right there while proclaiming how he’d had his eye on you since he met you.

You could admit you were a little delusional but nobody could blame you. Who doesn’t want professor Reid to bend them over his desk and-

You were cut off by a throat clear, making you snap out of your thoughts. “It’s good to see you, thank you for coming by. I appreciate you coming to assist me tonight.” He could’ve done it by himself, in all honesty. The papers were quick and easy to blow through, especially with the ability that Spencer had when it came to reading. Instead, he’d invited you here for something else..

“Oh, it was no problem. I didn’t have much else that needed to get done and it is my job to help you when you need it.” You spoke while offering a smile, discarding your backpack before putting it on the floor by his desk. “I’m so glad to hear that. I went ahead and split up the assignments equally.” He assured while passing over a stack of typed up research papers. “I have a chair over here that you can take. My desk is big enough to fit both of us.” He chuckled and gestured to the chair pulled up beside him.

The idea of being so close to Spencer had your cheeks heating up, head nodding as you approached his side and pulled out the chair to seat yourself. It was like you were a horny teenager who was getting worked up just by having your knee touch his, the warmth of your body and the tension bubbling over. “You alright?” Spencer soon asked, an eyebrow raising at how fidgety you were. He was a profiler and you knew that, you’d learned he could see all the tells and read you like a book if he really wanted to. Still, you lied. “Oh! I think I’m just a little scatterbrained tonight.” You tried to save yourself the embarrassment of telling the older man your perverted and sinful thoughts.

There was a huff that fell from Spencer’s lips, his hands coming out to gently grab your hips before tugging you into his lap. The sudden action had your eyes widening, propped up in the male’s lap as you quickly turned your head to look at him. “Dr. Reid!” Your voice came out in a squeak, making the man shrug his shoulders nonchalantly. “You’re free to get up but given your body language, I can tell this is much more than being scatterbrained. Believe me, I know the signs of someone being turned on. As much as most won’t believe it, I’ve been around enough women to know the signs.”

He was chuckling as he brushed your hair off of your shoulder when you made no effort to move. “I have an offer to make. Don’t worry, you won’t be penalized for saying no, I’ll just back off.” He had to preface his point of not wanting to push things too far beyond your comfort zone. The idea was crazy, the man could lose his license to teach and be blacklisted from teaching. However, you felt just a little desperate. That was what made you nod your head slowly. “Y-yeah, okay.”

His large hands were resting against your hips while helping you stand, his hands moving to your pants to get them unbuttoned and tugged down your legs. “You seem so desperate. I bet you think about this a lot more than you’re letting on.” His tone was like velvet, his gaze on the panties that hugged your waist.

“How desperate are you though?” The question made you shiver as his hands were ever so gently lifting you up before perching you on his thigh with a soft smirk. This was him expecting you to crumble, to melt while rubbing yourself on his thigh..

You fed right into it, hips rocking steadily against the clothed thigh. The friction of the creases in his slacks against your clothed clit had electricity shooting through your body, mouth agape. “There we go. Does that feel good? Desperate little bunny.” He cooed, his hands guiding your hips as he was fixing the position of his thigh and pushing it up to apply pressure to your needy pussy. “Surprised you’ve lasted this long. You know, you aren’t exactly subtle with the way you look at me.”

Your face was heating up as he’d caught you, calling you out on your shameless fantasizing whenever you thought he wasn’t paying attention. “You’re so precious.” He began while chuckling softly, his words making your hips speed up on his thigh as you were rubbing your cunt along the creases of his pants, the delicious friction making you roughly grip his thigh.

“Gonna cum on my thigh and soak your panties with your cum?” He questioned, lips now pressing kisses along your shoulder. “Fuck, yes.” You whined, the slick arousal from your panties already seeping through and causing a small wet patch on his right thigh. “Well, what are you waiting for? These papers aren’t gonna grade themselves.” He mused, words dripping with amusement at you, one of his best TAs, left to a whining and whimpering mess while your desperation had you humping his thigh for relief.

The warmth spread over your body, a thin veil of sweat decorating your forehead as you let your head tilt forward, mouth agape while ragged breaths escaped your lips. The rush of arousal shot through your body, nails digging into the part of his thigh that you held as you were hitting your peak, a whine leaving your lips as you could feel the slick seep through your panties, leaving you with uncomfortably wet panties.

“There we go!” He cooed, gently rubbing your lower back as he was letting your shaking body lean back against his broad chest. “You can sit there as long as you want,” He commented with a chuckle as he was scooting his chair up to the desk while he was getting a few papers from his desk to read them.

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miraclewoozi · 3 months

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DO YOU DREAM OF ME? - c.hs

the first time you kiss your soulmate, you’ll open your eyes to a world of colour. the problem? vernon hates the thought that he might pull away from you and still see in monochrome. or, five times he wanted to plant one on you, and the one time you beat him to it.

pairing ; vernon x gn!reader. content ; all the tropes. 5 times fic. soulmate au. slight college au if you squint. f2l. fluff, some angst. pining. one (1) hint of suggestiveness if u squint. MINORS STILL DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT. content notes ; mentions of reader having a(n unnamed) partner & thereafter, going through a breakup due to said partner cheating. reader is maybe implied to be shorter than him but hopefully not too obviously or frequently. alcohol is mentioned & is a key theme in scene #3. pov switch for the final part (necessary for logistical reasons.) PLEASE let me know if i've forgotten anything. w/c ; 9.6k note ; welcome to thee most self indulgent fic ever lmao. i hope u enjoy this slight break away from what i usually post here (as if my entire brand isn’t writing losers in love. ANYWAY) -- this was very fun and a little bit special for me! <3

“What was your first kiss like?”

Initially, Vernon swears he just didn’t hear you right. It’s dark up here, where you’re hiding away from a party on the roof of his university accommodation and he’s starting to get tired. There’s some sort of siren wailing away in the distance to his left, and on the street below, a gaggle of freshmen are cackling as they walk past the building. His ear closest to you is currently listening to your favourite song.

All the signs suggest that he simply got it wrong.

But he doesn’t know if he believes those signs, especially not seeing as when he looks over at you, you’re staring pointedly up at the stars overhead. He doesn’t doubt that you’re giving yourself an ache in your neck in the process, too.

“Hmm?” He asks, taking out the earphone that connects him to you. The other one is still nestled away in your ear and he reaches to gently pull it away. “What was that?”

You still don’t look at him, but you do repeat yourself. Quietly. “What… was your first kiss like?”

“Oh.”

He was right.

“You don’t have to tell me,” you hurry to say, hugging his jacket tighter around yourself to block out the cold air that blows across the rooftop. He shrugged it off and told you to take it the very moment your teeth started chattering — almost an hour ago now. His arms are bare, shoulders and biceps only covered by a t-shirt so thin it’s practically sheer, but he isn’t cold. He’s always run hotter than most. “Sorry.”

He nudges you with his knee, silently telling you that you don’t need to apologise. He doesn’t mind — you just caught him off guard; Vernon hasn’t given this any thought in a long time, and he has to really put his mind to coming up with an answer. It was forever ago — when he was eleven or twelve, maybe, with his first ever girlfriend. They dated for a whole two and a half weeks. He doesn’t know if it really counts: the kiss was a dare, after all.

“Kinda…” He starts, trying to follow the line of your sight, wondering if he can find the exact stars you’re looking at. “She’d just put this weird lipgloss on. It was real tingly. And like, neither of us knew what we were doing? So it… got everywhere. I think I ended up swallowing some, I don’t know. My mouth felt weird after. Thought I was having an allergic reaction.”

You laugh softly at him. “I think that would put me off for the rest of my life,” you say.

“It almost did,” he chuckles. You hum at him and lean back on your elbows, leaving Vernon more than a little bit confused. He readjusts his hold on his knees, bringing them closer to his chest as he tilts his head down at you in your new position.

“…why?” He asks, just as you close your eyes and take a deep inhale of the cool air.

You just shrug. “I guess I just… wondered.”

He nods, and it’s his turn to fall short of a response, but that’s okay. You’ve known each other for too long for these silences to feel uncomfortable. He grew up with you. In fact, he’s reasonably sure he’s told you this story before. He must have done.

Then he realises, maybe he hasn’t. Because he doesn’t know the story behind yours, and maybe that’s just a line the two of you never came to crossing. He knows he told his other friends, back then, because he was the last one in his circle to have a first kiss and he felt like it made him more grown-up, or something. Naturally, he left out the more embarrassing details. But maybe you just told your other friends who weren’t him, and went on with your life. Maybe yours was just… normal.

Either way, he’s interested now. And there’s no time to ask like the present.

“What was yours like?” He asks, fiddling with the strap on his wristwatch. You don’t answer straight away; he doesn’t think anything of it, because neither did he, but when he’s still waiting for you to speak a small eternity later, he prompts you again. “Hey, it can't have been worse than mine.”

You snort.

“You’ll laugh at me,” you say, shaking your head. Vernon furrows his brows and drops his legs flat, twisting to one side to look at you.

He doesn’t know where you’d get that idea from, but he’s… almost a bit offended by it?

“No I won’t,” he tells you softly. Maybe at first, he might’ve laughed with you, if your story happened to be as dumb as his own. But not at you. Never at. Not when he’s been the butt of the joke in too many friendship circles, for about as long as he can remember.

You take a shallow breath, pursing your lips. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not…” you start to say, before you clear your throat and try again, this time heading in a different direction. “I don’t know. It’s dumb, I guess.”

“Don’t make me come down there,” Vernon threatens playfully, poking you in your side. You squirm, giggling despite yourself, despite the serenity of the sanctuary you two have found, despite the fact that you, too, were on the edge of falling asleep before your question came out of nowhere.

He pokes you again, and again, and then starts to tickle your ribs instead. You squeal, swatting his hands away to no avail and you move to sit up, grabbing him by the forearms to physically make him stop. The grin on Vernon’s face is wide and heart-shaped. A warm feeling spreads through him: it has everything to do with the sweet sounds of your slowly dissolving laughter.

You sit cross-legged across from each other like this for a moment or two. Your knees are touching. Your hands move down his arms until you’re holding him firmly by the wrists. Your eyes lock together: his crease with the sheer force of his boyish smile, while yours are narrowed, daring him to try and wiggle free and attack you again.

He doesn’t, but for the first time ever, he’s struck with the urge to do something maybe more scary.

The urge to just… lean in to you.

It makes his heart do a backflip, in a way that it hasn’t done since he had his last crush. His head goes empty, and he forgets what he was even asking you before: the only thoughts he can muster are ones regarding what your lips taste like, whether they’re half as soft as they look, if you’d lightly touch his shoulder or his arm or his chest or his cheek—

Do you smile when you kiss?, he wonders. Do you sigh? Do you—

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” you answer, looking away now and letting go of him. He’s gone so loose in the moments since you grabbed hold of him that when you’re not supporting their weight, his arms fall like two cinder blocks onto his knees.

True to his word, he doesn’t laugh. He’s surprised by your revelation, sure, but in no way humoured; actually, he feels a little saddened by it, for a reason he can’t put his finger to. He ends up not saying anything, just biting the inside of his cheek; he wants to ask why, but knows maybe that’s a bit of a dick move, and if it’s something you’re sensitive about he doesn’t want to risk hurting you.

But he’s watched people fawn over you for years, and he doesn’t think you’ve ever been short of attention from those who have thought you were attractive. So it can’t be that you’ve been lacking in chances? Surely?

“I thought… maybe I should save it,” you go on to explain. Your hands keep busy by playing with a thread at the cuff of his jacket sleeve, wrapping it around one finger until the skin beneath it pinches before you unravel it again.

“Save it?” He asks. You nod your head.

“For when I thought I’d found them.” You pause, swallowing hard. “Like I said, it’s s—.”

“No it’s not,” Vernon says abruptly, shaking his head. He holds onto you now, one hand slipping around your back until it rests on the shoulder furthest away from him. You scoff. He squeezes you into his side. “Hey. It’s not stupid.”

He doesn’t like how this admission has, somehow, made his desire to kiss you stronger. He hates that he feels even more drawn to you, a magnet finally finding its opposing pole. It freaks him out a little. He’s never wanted to kiss anyone this badly.

Red button theory, he tells himself to try and get back on the straight and narrow. If you hadn’t said anything, none of this would be happening.

“It’s romantic,” he says finally, swiping his thumb in small motions over the top of your shoulder. You nod, mumbling a ‘thank you’ (for what, he isn’t sure), and shiver. Vernon doesn’t know if that’s because of his proximity to you or because you’re finally starting to feel the cold. Either way, he takes the initiative to stand up and holds a hand out for you to take so he can tug you to your feet too. You get up with a little hop.

It’s… devastatingly cute.

“Where are we going?” You ask, brushing off your jeans before shoving your hands into the jacket’s pockets. He’s already on the retreat, walking backwards towards the door that took you up here.

“To get food,” he tells you, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “That party was dead, anyway.”

It doesn’t cross his mind again until your twenty-first birthday.

He’s not your soulmate. He couldn’t be. The thought he had on the roof that autumnal night was little more than a passing fantasy; besides, he doesn’t have a thing for you. He doesn’t want to kiss you, or date you, or have you be his soulmate. The reason you work so well together is because you’re just friends; he thinks you’d drive each other crazy if things ever went romantic between you. You bicker with him for sport. He drowns away hours at a time with his headphones clamped over his ears and forgets to answer your texts. It would be a nightmare.

Not that he’s ever thought about all that. Not actively, or even passively. Not when he should be listening to college lectures instead, for example. Not awake, nor in his dreams. He hasn’t. Not once.

He swears.

“You can save it ‘til tomorrow, if you want.”

Vernon bounces his leg nervously, fidgeting with the edge of your comforter as you sit on the floor in front of him, styling your hair for your party. He arrived half an hour ago while you were still waltzing around in your bathrobe, holding a small, neatly wrapped box in both of his hands. It’s several degrees too warm in your bedroom. He feels a bead of sweat roll down his back as you grumble what seems to be a threat at a strand that won’t cooperate. Thankfully, you don’t seem to notice his discomfort. (If you do, he’s grateful that you don’t say anything.)

“But it’s my birthday today,” you pouted, taking the box from him. “Let me finish getting ready, then I’ll open it. Come on.”

His wrist still aches with the pressure you held onto him with as you dragged him up the stairs. Your parents are away for the weekend and the house is all yours, so there’s a speaker blasting your favourite playlist full volume on your nightstand and there’s nobody to tell you to turn it down. He flits his attention between his phone and watching you, but he can’t fully concentrate on either; he’s too nervous that maybe you won’t like his gift, and he’s never been the type to splash out on birthday presents before but this… well, it burned a hole in his wallet, that’s for sure.

“Okay. Wait here,” you tell him as you push up off the floor, limping on the leg that had started to fall asleep thanks to the way you were sitting.

“All right,” he says back. As if he’d go anywhere, anyway.

You grab a hanger from inside your closet and scurry off down the hall to the bathroom. For the first time, Vernon feels like he can actually breathe. He drops his phone onto the comforter between his crossed legs and cradles his head in his hands, telling himself that he needs to get it together. You’ve never not liked anything he’s given you, and you’ve known him now for more birthdays than you haven’t.

Your friends said you’d love it. So did your mother, with a sparkle in her eye as she held it delicately in her fingers. He has nothing to worry about. It’s only you.

And yet—

“You’ll be honest if it looks bad?” You call from the other side of the door, interrupting how his lips move wordlessly in an endless mantra of self-reassurances.

Vernon snaps his head up and he clears his throat, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “Aren’t I always?” He answers.

You click your tongue, evidently disagreeing, but you pull the handle and take a step into the room anyway. When you see him, he looks exactly as he did when you left, no trace of his anxieties anywhere to be seen on his face or otherwise.

When he sees you, he feels like the world could end any moment and he’d be okay with that.

His mouth runs dry and his eyes seem to be stuck open, unblinking, fixated on you in your all black outfit as you stand still as a statue with your hands behind your back. You cough quietly, waiting for some kind of a response other than a dumb stare, but it doesn’t come.

Eight seconds later… still nothing.

“Do you hate it?” you fret, because Vernon is a very good hype-man and you’ve never known him struggle to find something positive to say. “All right, uh— okay—”

“No!” He rushes, almost shouting in his urgency to assure you that that’s not the case at all. He scrambles up to his feet, taking a breath, and pushes a hand through his hair. He’s been growing it out lately, and he kind of hates how his fingers catch on a tangle even though he brushed it meticulously before he left his apartment. You keep telling him it looks good, though, so he hasn’t been to get it cut. “God, no. I’m sorry. You look amazing.”

It doesn’t sound like much to the untrained ear, but the warmth of his compliments comes less in the words he says and more in the sincerity he says them with. Your face softens, and Vernon can see the way the thoughts of changing into something else fizzle out behind your eyes. He takes a backwards step to try and tempt you further into your own bedroom, and you move in tandem with him, closing that space and coming better into the light.

“Wow,” he says, swallowing hard and looking you up and down. “I-… wow.”

It’s your turn to clam up, now. You look down at the floor, kicking at the carpet with your toes. “Shut up,” you say. “I’m not...”

“Yes, you are,” he protests, leaving no room for argument as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t know who you’re trying to impress but… yeah, it’s gonna work.”

You walk past him with a scoff, barging against his shoulder on your way; he dramatically staggers to the side, rubbing at the impact site, laughing. When he faces you again, you’ve picked the gift up from the end of your bed and are moving to sit on the mattress yourself. Your eyes flicker between Vernon and the empty space in front of you. He takes the hint, settling back down with one foot tucked beneath him, the other still planted on your rug.

His heart shoots back up into his throat and he stares down at the box, licking over his lips and frowning at how dry they feel. He glances away, lifting a hand to his mouth, running his fingertips over his lips. What would they feel like pressed against yours? He thinks, and then he cringes again.

You misread his reaction and hesitate with your finger pressed underneath a strip of tape, tilting your head at him. “What’s going to jump out at me when I open this?”

“Nothing,” he says, rolling his eyes at you. “What do you take me for?”

“The kind of guy who puts glitter in birthday cards because he thinks it’s funny,” you retort, earning a click of his tongue.

“That was one time!”

“One time too many.”

“I swear,” he laughs, tight shoulders easing, both hands falling to his lap. “No sparkles, no loud noises, nothing jumpy. Cross my heart.“

You eye him a little suspiciously but eventually tug your finger beneath the wrapping and make the first rip in the paper, allowing you to tear into the gift after keeping Vernon on edge for almost an hour and a half. You peel it away and it falls to the bedsheets, in your hands now a small, square box not too dissimilar a shade to your comforter. You look from it, to him, and he thinks you notice how his cheeks are a little darker than they were before.

He nods at you once and you slowly pull it open. On a plush, velvety bedding sits an elegant, dainty bracelet. A small gemstone is set in the metal of the bar in the middle of the chain. You skim a thumb over it, your breath held.

“Vernon,” you murmur, tearing your eyes away from the bracelet to look at him. Now, even the tips of his ears have grown flushed, but you’re kind enough not to comment on it to avoid spoiling the moment you’re in. “This is…”

“The lady in the store said it was your birthstone,” he says, twiddling his thumbs. “I mean… I’m really just taking her word for it, ‘cause they all look the same to me, but—”

He’s interrupted as all of your weight topples against him, arms thrown around his neck in a hug. He hesitates a moment before he wraps his own around your waist, drops his head to your shoulder and he smiles wider than he thinks he ever has. “Happy Birthday,” he says, dragging his thumb up and down over your hip.

“Silly,” you scold him playfully, still pressing wholly against him and showing no signs of moving. Your voice sounds thick, a little like you’re tearing up, so Vernon squeezes you tighter.

“I know you are,” he chuckles. “But what am I?”

You swallow hard, finally now pulling away from the hug but sitting entirely too close for comfort, one knee pressing into the outside of his thigh.

Your surprise attack has left him dishevelled. With a quiet apology, your fingers innocently try to smooth everything back into place, but Vernon doesn’t hear you say you’re sorry. His pulse, thundering in his ears, drowns it out while also skipping a beat with each little touch. You’re not looking into his eyes as you shyly put him back to rights, too busy working to tame his — at the best of times — unruly hair.

He’s looking into yours though, and he can’t stop.

Your eyes, which dart all over to find strands out of place, so your hands can move them to where they ought to sit and lay them down flat. Your eyes, that drop down the length of his throat as you realign the neck of his t-shirt over his broad shoulders.

Your eyes: the ones crinkled at the corners as you pick the bracelet back up from your bed and admire it under your bedroom light. Your eyes, landing on his, finally, in a silent plea for help.

“The best?” you answer, now, extending your wrist to ask him to put it on you. He takes the chain from your fingers and unclasps it, slipping it beneath your hand and holding it in place.

“I know you are,” he says again, but it’s quieter now as he concentrates on trying to reconnect the two pieces. “But what am I?”

When he successfully fastens your gift onto your arm, he looks up to see your watery eyes still staring down at it. He decides this is the time to reveal part two of the surprise. Pulling up the sleeve of his t-shirt, he reveals his own wrist to you, and you now see there’s a matching chain hanging off it. A little stone set in the metal. His stone, presumably. You choke out a laugh around your tears, shaking your head.

“You got us friendship bracelets,” you giggle, holding your hand next to his and admiring them together. Your skin touches and he feels butterflies erupt in his stomach, which he hasn’t felt around you since…

He nods, breathing a chuckle too. “Yeah,” he says. His heart is pounding. “I guess I did. Is… that okay?”

“I love them,” you insist, leaning forward to affectionately press your lips to his cheek. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”

Your doorbell sounds downstairs and Vernon’s words die in his throat. Maybe that’s for the best, though; he’s got so much nervous energy rising up inside him and he’s scared it might accidentally force up something he’ll regret saying. You spring off the bed again, fussing in the mirror, and he watches you rush out the bedroom warbling about how you’re not ready for anyone to be here yet. It’s too early. What’s going on? Who is it?

He shifts his legs so both his feet are planted on the floor, letting out a breath he doesn’t remember sucking in.

I love them. Thank you, you said.

It’s perfect.

He groans when he stands up, too, tugging his sleeve back down as he starts to follow after you.

“I know you are,” he mumbles under his breath, hearing your relieved laughter at it just being the FedEx man on your doorstep. It makes him feel warm. Everywhere. “But what am I?”

Five hours later, Vernon is seeing double.

He has Seungkwan’s hands massaging the tops of his shoulders and there are two Juns sitting across from him at your dining table. He remembers feeling fine around 9pm, distinctly: like nothing he drank was having any kind of effect on him. Like he could walk home on his hands — like he was invincible. Now, after spending exactly five minutes out in the fresh air, he’s blinking four times for every breath he takes and his friends’ voices keep phasing in and out of focus.

“But what if they’re not?” Vernon stresses for the eighth time, fingers clumsily peeling at the label on his bottle.

“And what if they are?” Jun tries. Again. Also, for the eighth time, because apparently when Vernon gets tipsy, his skull gets really really thick and nothing in the world can penetrate it. “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

Vernon shakes his head, sitting back so heavily that his chair tips and he sends Seungkwan stumbling into the wall behind them. His friend gives up trying to rub the stupid out of him and settles into the chair at Vernon’s side instead.

“I don’t know-…”

“If you’re about to say you don’t know what you’ll do if it isn’t them, I’m putting you in an Uber and sending you home.” Seungkwan claps his hand down onto Vernon’s knee for good measure. “It’s not even been a day.”

Vernon groans, threading his fingers into his hair and tipping his head back. “It hasn’t, though,” he whines. “What if it’s been like this since… and I just kept ignoring…”

Jun and Seungkwan exchange a look. An exhausted one. They both know Vernon turns into a complete baby when he’s had a drink and can just about manage a trip to the bathroom without somebody holding his hand, but neither of them have seen him like this before. Neither of them want to see him like this ever again.

Hell, neither of them want to be dealing with him like this right now.

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Jun’s (remarkably) calm voice repeats as he pushes up from his seat and glances towards the doorway. His ears lock onto a voice just beyond it, and in an instant, the older man recognises his chance at an exit. He casts an apologetic glance at Seungkwan, who has resorted to rubbing Vernon’s earlobes to try and get him to stop stressing, and he dips out before either of them can argue.

On his way, though, he throws in a sly little remark. One that raises Vernon’s– and Seungkwan’s– blood pressure to a level that would get them prescribed a week of strict bed rest.

“Besides – everyone can see the two of you were practically made for each other.”

Vernon whips around to face Seungkwan with shock written into every line of his face. It paints perfect full-signal WiFi creases on his forehead; it makes his jaw hang loose.

“I– what?” Vernon splutters, shooting a hand to the back of his head. Seungkwan hasn’t taken his eyes off the doorway since Jun slipped through it. Vernon doesn’t notice the fact that his older friend’s full genetic line is currently being cursed out. “What does he mean?”

“You don’t have to do anything tonight,” Seungkwan tries, now acutely aware of the fact that Jun has just given Vernon a nudge he should never have. There’s a fine line between bolstering a friend and straight-up causing chaos. This could get messy. Seungkwan doesn’t like messy.

But… It's too late.

Before Seungkwan can wrangle him back into his seat, Vernon has broken away from the table and is on the hunt for you. Seungkwan follows behind, doing his best to summon Vernon back, but he can’t. He’s on a mission now. And maybe that mission involves giving in to the thing that eats away at his brain when he should be waist-deep in music theory assignments. Maybe that mission is to finally, after two years, know what it feels like to kiss you. He’s going to find you, so help him God. He has to.

And yes. He does. He finds you, eventually. As soon as he reaches the top of the staircase, there you are.

Being pressed into the wood of your bedroom door, wrapped up in the arms of some pretentious looking art student in an oversized button-down and baggy, ripped jeans. Your mouth is covered by theirs, your fingers are threaded through those glossy fucking locks, both of you are laughing breathlessly as you drop one hand and it fumbles blindly to reach for the doorknob.

Vernon spins away, turning his back as he hears the door click. At this exact moment, Seungkwan comes stumbling up the stairs too and plants his forehead into Vernon’s sternum.

But his good friend’s skull is not the only thing Vernon is struck with, not the only thing knocking the wind out of him.

Simultaneously, he’s swept up with the sobering realisations that either this guy is your soulmate, or you’re not the same person you were when you were nineteen.

It’s eleven o’clock and two years later when he hears your secret knock on his apartment door.

Maybe it’s luck. Maybe it’s fate. He only took his noise cancelling headphones off a few minutes ago before he washed up and settled into bed; his head has hardly even had time to make a dent in the pillows. But whichever force is at play, the thing that matters is that he hears you and he knows it’s you, straight away. He doesn’t remember how it started, exactly. He thinks it might have been while he was in his exam-season hermit stage in his first year of university and refused to come to the door unless it was something important.

You’ve been knocking the same way for years now though, and he slides out of bed with creased brows at how desperate your fist sounds as it pounds against the wood. He pulls on an old t-shirt and perhaps the loosest fitting pair of shorts anyone’s ever owned, at least making himself decent before he answers. He’s still tying the drawstring when he gets to the door.

When he looks through the peep-hole to make sure he’s right, you’re drying your eyes on the back of your sweatshirt sleeve. You’re shivering quite violently, and you’ve got a bag on your shoulder that’s weighing you down on one side. Vernon’s heart sinks. He unbolts the door, pulling it open just as you lift your hand to knock again; your knuckles punch the air between you as your eyes land on him, and your bottom lip wobbles in despair.

You fall into his chest with a sob. Tears start to soak their way through his shirt until it clings to the skin underneath.

“Hey,” he soothes you, locking his arms so tight around you that there’s a strong chance they’re the only thing holding you upright.

“I didn’t— know where else to go—” you choke out, your arm trapped between your chest and his as he rests his head on top of yours and pats your back softly. “I’m s-”

“Don’t you dare,” he murmurs, tilting his chin down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head. “It’s okay. I’m here. You can always come to me.”

He holds you until your shakes start to subside, trying to talk you through whatever this is with soft reassurances and gentle shushing sounds. When you pull back from him, Vernon guides you into his apartment, flicking on the lamp in his living room so he can see to settle you down on his couch. He throws a blanket over your legs before he sits down himself, pulling your hand into his lap and holding it between both of his own, his thumb moving absently over your knuckles. You’re still crying, but when you shuffle against the seat to be a little more comfortable and finally turn to face him, he finds his voice long enough to ask you what happened.

“He kissed— kissed someone else,” you tell him, sniffling and shaking your head.

His blood reaches boiling point in what must be record time and he knows he accidentally starts to grip your hand tighter, but he can’t stop.

“He what?”

Vernon knows this guy wasn’t your soulmate. You told him, a few days after your birthday. You said everything was still black and white when you pulled back from the first of — what you spared no detail in explaining was — many, many, many kisses with him that evening. But you didn’t care. Not then, and not for the whole time you’ve been together.

He asked you about it once. About four months in (when he figured things were starting to get serious), late at night, if it bothered you. Whether you were going to keep seeing him. If you still thought about finding your soulmate. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget what your replying message said.

I mean, sure, I’m curious. But maybe I don’t need to see in colour. I think being in love is enough :)

So… you were in love.

With someone who wasn’t him.

He didn’t speak to anyone — not even you — for two whole days after that. He felt like he’d gone ten rounds with a peak-form George Foreman. He felt like he’d never be able to get rid of the pit that had developed in the depths of his gut. He couldn’t sleep, he could barely eat, he couldn’t focus: it was the worst he’d ever felt. And, well… Vernon knew it was immature. He knew he was acting like a child. If he could’ve shaken it off, the way he’s always done with so many of the things in his life that have bothered him, he’d have loved to. But he couldn’t.

Besides. Only about four people noticed his silence, anyway. You weren’t one of them; your boyfriend was keeping you plenty busy.

“He went to a club and got completely wasted and he— he—” you say, squeezing his hand even tighter than he’s holding yours. “But-… he says he-…” Hiccup. “Everything. Straight away — his…”

You don’t need to say it out loud; if anything, he’s a little disgusted with himself that he didn’t figure this out sooner. “His soulmate,” Vernon ruefully finishes for you. He groans the words out, feeling rotten to his core. “I’m so sorry…”

Your shoulders start to shake and he wastes no time in pulling you sideways against him, both his arms locked around you again, just like before.

“It’s so stupid,” you cry, laughing emptily. His stomach turns; he hates this. Your anguish is an assault on his eardrums, especially when he’s got you so close, but he tries so hard not to flinch, not to move away. You need him, no matter how agonised it makes him feel. “I knew he wasn’t mine, but I thought-…”

Your voice fades away to nothing. You shake your head.

“You thought he was happy the same way you were,” he finishes again. You just nod, sobbing harder. “That's not—… stop saying the way you feel is stupid.”

Vernon doesn’t understand how that loser could ever not have been happy with you. How could he dream about going out in search of something more? Hell, Vernon doesn’t think there’s a soul alive better than you — how could anyone stand to just throw you away?

He wonders briefly if you can hear his heartbeat, thundering in his chest with the rage he feels all the way into his bones. You’ve always told him that you admire how chilled out, how collected he is, but Vernon has never felt less calm in his entire life. It’s only as he acknowledges that he has no right to feel like this, that he takes a few deep breaths in an attempt to bring his fever down. You mimic him, trying to do the same, and by the time his pulse starts to settle, you’re back to just sniffling against his shoulder.

“Stay the night here,” he tells you. It isn’t a suggestion, or really even a request. It’s an order. There’s no room for negotiation. “We’ll go get your things in the morning. I’ll be right there with you.”

You open your mouth to speak, but Vernon gets there before you do. Before you can protest the offers he’s made. Before you can ask him if he’s sure. He knows you, a little too well: he knows these are the words that are going to come out of your mouth next. “I’m with you, okay? Always.”

You sit back from him with a quiet chuckle, wiping your eyes again on your damp sleeve. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you,” you murmur. “You’re the best— the best thing that ever happened to me.”

He just rolls his eyes at you and shakes his head, standing up from the couch. (I know you are, he thinks. This isn’t the time for jokes, though.) He wishes you knew what you mean to him; how, in his eyes, you deserve the world, presented to you on a shining silver platter. Wishes you knew that he’d give it to you if thought he could carry it.

“Go wash up,” he says, ignoring the ache in his chest at the way your watery lashes flutter when you look up at him. “I’ll find you something to sleep in.”

He locates a spare toothbrush from a travelling kit he’s never used and sets a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants on the heated towel rail, leaving you alone in the bathroom to go about your business. You emerge some fifteen minutes later to find Vernon perched on the edge of his bed, scrolling through an app on his phone. He can’t help but swallow at the way his clothes fit you. How the steam from your shower clings to your skin, casts a heavenly haze around you. He hopes it isn’t obvious. This is about more than his dumb little crush.

“Were you asleep?” You ask him, nodding towards his comforter, still pushed back on one side. He turns to glance over his shoulder, following the line of your sight, before he looks back at you and shakes his head.

“Not even close,” he says. “I’d just got into bed when you got here.”

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth and nod. Vernon doesn't think you look totally convinced, but he can’t force you to believe him, even if it is the truth.

It’s unspoken but accepted that you'll sleep in the bed with him; he’s never let you stay on his couch when you spend the night, and you never agree to displacing him even though he always tries to insist he doesn’t mind. You’ve been friends for enough time now that it’ll never be weird to crawl beneath the sheets with him, anyway. At first, he didn’t really like sharing (he’s a bit… particular with how he sleeps, after all), but he got used to your weight on the mattress beside him quite quickly and makes a point to say he always sleeps better with you.

He hasn’t curled up next to you for the night in over two years. It’s awful, that that’s what he thinks about now as he turns off the lights and you settle down, shuffling under the comforter until he slides in next to you in the dark and you can lay your head on his chest. He knows it’s selfish. He thinks it probably makes him a bad person, too.

“Do you think—” you start to say, cut off by a long, vocal yawn. Your breath feels so warm through his t-shirt. “If you fall out of love with them… do the colours go away?”

With his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling he can’t even see, Vernon feels his heart shatter beneath the soft cushion of your cheek. He’s suddenly grateful he’s still fully clothed, as if the cotton barrier is the only thing stopping you from getting scratched by the splinters beneath his skin. He wonders if you hear it. It would be an easier explanation for why he doesn’t say anything than whatever his mouth could come up with, that’s for sure.

“I don’t know,” he says after a few seconds too long. The arm wrapped around your shoulders slips down to your waist and he squeezes you. Briefly, he wonders if it can force your broken pieces back together.

Vernon knows he would never do this to you. He’d never hurt you this way. Out of everyone he’s ever met, he thinks you’re the sweetest, the kindest, the most thoughtful of them all. The last person he’d ever wish a heartbreak upon. He even used to joke that he’d go to war with anyone who dared to try.

But now he’s seeing it happen? He feels as if he really could.

“I just hope you never have to find out,” he follows up, blinking back the thoughts that start to bubble away as your breaths slow down.

He wrapped a band-aid around your finger when you got a papercut once and you asked him, then, if he would kiss it better.

When you bumped your head in the playground, the same.

He’d kiss it all better now too, if he could. He’d show you how you deserve to be loved.

And he doesn’t just think it, anymore; Vernon knows that this makes him a terrible person.

“I hope you don’t, either,” you mumble back. “... and I hope we find them soon.”

He’s so proud of you.

Okay, it never took much. He’s been proud of you for every good grade you’ve ever achieved, every doctor's appointment you booked for yourself, every trip to the dentist you stressed over. He’s been proud of you for finishing projects you were struggling with. Proud of you for learning new recipes. For every milestone, personal or professional, it’s the first thing he makes sure to say.

[ hey, look at u go!!! proud of u :) ]

Now? He’s seen you crawl from rock bottom to the top of the world. It hasn’t been easy. There have been hurdles and barriers and sometimes, sixty foot high walls you’ve had to climb up and over, but you’ve done it. You’re thriving. Every time he looks at you, these days, if you’re not wearing a smile there are at least traces of one in your eyes, on your face, in your voice. Happiness suits you, and he’s so, so proud of you for getting here.

He knows you’re doing better, because between Christmas and New Year, you asked him if he wanted to come to a party with you. At first, he wasn’t sure; the holidays left his wallet feeling a little light and he’s been on a really good streak of not drinking anything lately, but when you promised that you’d stay sober too, he kind of couldn’t say no.

[ i just wanna see in the new year with my favourite person ever <3 ]

[ ha. flattery will get u everywhere ]

So here he finds himself, out in the backyard of somebody he’s never met, a can of Coke in one hand and your gloved fingers holding tightly onto the other. You dragged him outside at five minutes to midnight and — though he doesn’t know why — you decided you didn’t want to let go. Vernon certainly wasn’t going to be the one to make you. Your warmth down his left side is settling the slight unease he’s felt all evening while also making him feel tipsier than he’s ever been under the influence of any amount of soju; he thinks maybe this should scare him, but he’s just… so glad he came.

With sixty seconds until the clock strikes twelve, somebody stands up on top of the picnic table in the yard and starts to try and coordinate a countdown. With forty-five, Vernon squeezes your hand, butterflies where his stomach ought to be. With thirty, he takes a long drain of his drink, finishing it as if it’ll give him some courage, maybe, or… he doesn’t know. Zero sugar, zero caffeine — there’s no logic behind his process, just a lot of bubbles and artificially sweetened syrup. All the same, he crushes the can against his thigh and slips it into his pocket to throw away later. That alone relieves a bit of his adrenaline.

Not enough, but some.

With ten seconds remaining, the first shout drowns out the white noise in his ears, the chaos of his thoughts. 10. He joins them. So do you. 9. 8. Your voice is the loudest, the most excited sounding. You want this year to be over. You want the rest of your life to begin.

7. 6. 5.

The crackers are set. Flames dance at the end of the garden on fire lighters, ready to send rockets shooting into the sky.

Some people here are going to see them as they truly are. Brilliant and vibrant and colourful against the black canvas of the midnight sky. Vernon won’t. Neither will you. But what was it you said to him once?

4. 3.

Maybe I don’t need to see in colour.

For the first time, he thinks he agrees. The feeling of loving you, even if he never knows green from red, blue from orange? He doesn’t care. He has you. He loves you. That’s enough.

Happy New Year.

As if dawn has broken early, the world becomes impossibly bright, pyrotechnics bursting not only over your own heads but everywhere, as far as his eyes can see. After the first few, he permits himself a glance over at your face: there are tears running down it, and his heart stutters, but then he hears you laugh. Brightly, wetly, more resonant than any of the booms and crackles and cheers he can feel all the way down to his toes.

For whatever reason, Vernon starts laughing with you.

You pull him closer into a bone-crushing hug and blink your damp lashes against the side of his neck. “Thank you for being here with me,” you say to him, practically shouting to be heard. “I love you so much.”

“I’m always gonna be with you,” he says as you pull back a little. Your arms are still around him. The chain of the bracelet he bought you all those years ago is bitterly cold against the back of his neck. He can’t feel his fingers anymore, all he knows is that they’re resting on the curve of your spine. He thinks he can see something in the way you look at him, so softly and tenderly and yet, in the twitch of your brow…

Like you’re searching for something that might not be there.

He knows his gaze moves in a perfect triangle — from your left eye, to your slightly parted, wind-chapped lips, to your right. He knows he stops breathing. He swears you do, too. Something builds — a spark catches, an energy festers, egged on by the curious murmurs of the people around you.

You could do it, his brain tells him.

So what if he’s a few minutes late for it to be traditional? Does it really matter?

But he’s reminded, again, this time with a whizz and a boom and a crackle, that you aren’t his to have this way. His storybook moment fizzles out, the final firework bursting into sparkles overhead. He sees every one of your perfect features brighten in wonder as you tilt your head back to look up at it. Sees it beautifully reflected in your glassy eyes. He has about enough time to commit the image to memory before you clear your throat and finally step away from him, losing all touch for the first time since you came outside.

One of your friends comes and pulls you into an embrace, before passing you along to someone else, and then someone else again. He loses you in the crowd that rushes to get back in the warm, but he makes no effort to move with them. He just stays out in the dark for a while with his own thoughts for company, shoving his frigid hands into the pockets of his jeans.

He’s happy, though. It’s like you said.

Being in love is enough.

“There’s just one more thing,” you say as the waitress returns with your bank card and a receipt. Vernon slides you a look as he stands, picking up his jacket from the back of the chair he’s been sitting in.

He shakes his head at you. “Whatever it is, it better not be edible,” he laughs. “I think this is the most full I’ve ever been.”

In other words, you’ve done enough already. Stop spending money on me. Please. Thankfully, your final surprise is in-keeping with his unspoken rule.

His birthday rolled around way too quickly. The start of the year has been so chaotically busy; you swear, you’ve hardly seen him since he dropped you off home after the party. You moved out of your parents’ house for the second time a few weeks ago and settling in, unpacking boxes, sorting through clothes and belongings and trinkets has taken you much longer than you care to admit. You’ve been busy at work, too. So has he. Your social calendars have barely lined up at all.

But you were determined to make plenty of time for him on his birthday.

To Vernon, this has always just been another day. He’s never cared too much about big celebrations: as long as he can spend some time with people he cares about, he’s happy, and this year he’s managed exactly that. He saw his family this morning, had some friends drop by his apartment later in the day, and now, he’s with you.

You’ve never been great at the laid-back approach, though. Not with him. How could you be, when he does so much for you, always without even batting an eye? When he deserves to be doted on, and adored, and thoroughly spoiled? It’s the same every year. You make a fuss, he playfully scolds you for it; you and he are creatures of habit. It’ll probably never change.

This year, you invited him to your new place to open the gifts you’d bought him: the new speaker he kept saying he couldn’t justify buying, a record he looked at in the store a few months ago but never bought, a sweatshirt to replace the one you stole off him on New Years Eve. Some candies he likes. Then, after he finally stopped pouting and sighing that you really didn’t need to go to all this effort, you took him out for dinner, making a reservation for two at his favourite restaurant.

The pouting continued.

Only up until your appetisers came out, though. The moment your food was placed down in front of you, his eyes doubled in size and his lips became a little too busy to stay pursed. Your own dinner almost went cold with how fondly you sat and watched him. This year, you even spared Vernon the embarrassment of having the restaurant staff sing at the side of your table.

All right, you have an ulterior motive, but… it’s the thought that counts, right?

He holds the door open for you now as you thank the waitress who served you one last time and without him lowering his arm, you step into place beneath it. Tucked up into Vernon’s side, you’re as happy as you’ve ever been. Nervous, too, but… you have a good feeling.

“Where to?” He asks as you fall into step together.

“This way.”

You emerge from the shelter of the canopy outside the restaurant’s front door and immediately feel the cool tickle of a snowflake landing on your cheek. They started to fall while you were eating and Vernon couldn’t stop watching through the window, small specks that grew over the hour into big clumps that tumbled towards the ground. He’s always loved the snow, and there’s no real destination for this gift, anyway. You guide him to the left and watch as peace takes its rightful home on his beautiful features.

“We’ve walked in a perfect square three times now,” Vernon says after a little while of meandering about in the dark, making comfortable small talk and laughing as the champagne bubbles in your stomachs continue to fizz away. “Where are we supposed to be going?”

You wondered how long it was going to take him to notice, or even if he was going to realise at all. Looking up and down the street you’re on, you stop in your tracks, standing beneath the same flickering street lamp that you’ve passed twice already. Your footprints trail both behind and in front of you, neither quite covered yet by the snowfall. You break into a laugh when you notice that the convenience store on your left has closed since the last time you came down this road.

“I can get a map open, if…” Vernon starts, reaching into his pocket. You stop him, stepping out from under his arm and wrapping your hand around his wrist instead.

“I might’ve told a little white lie,” you confess,

He halts with his phone only half pulled out, pushing it into his hip for fear of it falling if either of you let go. “What do you mean?” He asks.

You know he’s probably thinking back to your earlier conversations, trying to figure out which part exactly is the mistruth you’re now admitting to. But whether he gets there on his own or not, he waits for you to answer.

“I had it with me this whole time,” you explain, readjusting your hold on his covered forearm. His eyes dart downwards, looking at the site of contact, but he quickly lifts them back up to your face. “I was just… waiting for… ”

“What are you talking about?” Vernon asks.

“Close your eyes.”

You know.

Unfortunately for your best friend, as hush-hush as he’s managed to be all this time, the same can’t be said for the other person he entrusts all his secrets to. A few weeks ago, when you’d called Seungkwan to coordinate timings for Vernon’s birthday plans, he’d accidentally let something slip. It was your suggestion of taking Vernon to dinner that did the trick.

“Oh, he’s going to love that,” Seungkwan had gushed. You could hear the breadth of his smile down the phone and felt yourself growing hot at the compliment.

“You really think so?”

“Pfft. You could take him to the Eiffel Tower or to a drive-through KFC, and he’d still have hearts in his eyes – because it’s you.”

Of course, he attempted to do some damage control immediately after. Make out that he meant it in strictly platonic terms. But once the idea planted itself in your head, it sort of… made sense. You mulled it over for a couple of days but when you finally asked Seungkwan, deathly serious, if he really thought you stood a chance with Vernon?

He practically screamed ‘yes’ down the phone.

“The last time you asked me to do this, you killed me at laser-tag,” Vernon says, narrowing his eyes. He surely doesn’t think you’re hiding a plastic gun underneath the coat he literally just watched you don, but he doesn’t do as you ask and you suck your front teeth at him.

“Luckily for you, I left all my weapons at home,” you counter. “Come on, please. Just… trust me.”

“Said that last time, too,” he snickers. But, to his merit, he finally does it. He takes in a breath and follows your instruction. “I swear to God…”

Selfishly, you take a moment to bask in how handsome he really is. His eyes twitch underneath his lids and snowflakes cling to his lashes, moving with them. It’s in his hair, too. On his shoulders. Melting on his cheeks, leaving small wet spots on his face. One lands perfectly on the tip of his nose. You would immortalise this moment, if you could.

It made sense, when you found out, because thinking back? Nobody has ever loved you how Vernon does. He shows it in so many ways – he sends you the songs that he hears and thinks you’ll like, the pretty photographs that he takes when he’s away for work, some variant of a ‘good morning’ text, almost every day. He massages your shoulders, lets you fall asleep on his lap, follows you around like an obedient puppy when you have errands to run just so you don’t have to do them on your own.

He tries, and often fails, to cook you breakfast when you stay over. He brings you coffees, or lunch. He looks at you like you’re the moon and the stars. People have teased for years that you could be psychically connected. That you were cosmically united. That it was fate for Vernon to move into the house down the street from you when you were nine. To be the only other child your age on the block.

Two people, perfect for one another, lives intertwined eternally by fate. Or, in other words…

“Are you…?” He asks, breaking the quiet that has only been filled with your cloud-forming breaths.

“Give me a second,” you breathe. There’s no doubt in your mind.

One.

You lean forward to kiss him softly, free hand settling against the side of his neck. In the February chill, Vernon freezes, no part of his body reacting to you except for his lips. Though they twitch in a gasp, they press back against yours as if he isn’t even thinking about doing it. As if it’s instinctual. As if he was always supposed to kiss you – as if he’s your…

There it all is, when you finally pull away.

Brown eyes, framed by fluttering lashes that untangle from one another to finally see you, too. Brown, you know, because when you asked your mother to tell you about Vernon’s colours when you were younger, that was the only one she told you, saying everything else might change when he got older. Warm, brown eyes. Glistening with every blink, blink, blink of the bulb above you. Pupils slowly dilating, drowning the colours out of view. You see his lids shoot wide as he realises, as he glances left and right, as he takes this new world in for the first time, too.

“I knew it,” you say on a stuttered breath, so overwhelmed you could cry. “My soulmate.”

A brilliant smile threatens to split Vernon’s features in two as he cups your cheeks and pulls you back to him, kissing you again, and again, and again.

“I know you are,” he says against your lips, his bare thumbs pink and cold as they press into your skin. And, before you can kiss him quiet – “but what ‘m I?”

thank u so much for reading, i really hope you enjoyed this. as always, your likes/reblogs/comments and feedback are always deeply appreciated.<3

#vernon fluff #vernon x reader #vernon chwe fluff #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #hansol x reader #hansol fluff #kpop fluff #j writes.#*#so nervous ab posting this. anyway. i wrote this for meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee and my deluded ass is gonna go jump in a hole now GOODBYE <3 #vernon fanfic

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