#anyways i want to write a one shot about this tbh | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

safyresky · 9 months

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Something Angry This Way Comes...

(Jacqueline Dies AU: Part 2! Finally! Read Part 1 HERE >:)

---

Somebody was at her daughter's grave.

This, of course, was a possibility. Winter knew that. Of course it was. After all, she had had aunties and a grandmother and a few little friends here and there. And her father came frequently, too. He always left fresh flowers. So did she. She liked to see them. It gave her a minute sense of relief to know that he was still on this earth with her.

Even if they hadn’t talked in centuries.

She hoped he felt the same when he saw her own offering at the base of the monument that bore the name of the little girl that was taken from them far too soon.

But Wednesday was her day to visit. Wednesday was open court at city hall, which meant that everyone who would visit would be tied up in politics and stuffiness and inquiries and all sorts of bureaucratic nonsense that would keep them busy for the day. And the only other person who would visit was locked away.

Nobody was around.

That’s why she had chosen Wednesdays.

Nobody would be.

But somebody was at her daughter’s grave.

The season sped up, her brow furrowing through a layer of ice as she got closer and closer to the marker. The figure became clearer. A woman. Standing in front of the monument with her hands on her hips. Something gold clutched in her right hand. Clothed in a familiar shade of dark blue. A pile of snow-white hair, perhaps meant to be curls but not quite curling, down to her mid back. Windswept, as though she had just met the wrong side of a north wind on a particularly stormy night.

She was within shouting distance. Winter hadn’t spoken in…quite some time. Not loudly, at least. But she tried. She inhaled; she opened her mouth, about to say EXCUSE ME quite loudly and forcibly and sternly, when something snapped under her foot.

The woman’s shoulders went up; she turned slightly, staring at Winter.

She gasped. The eyes, same colour as hers but a shade or two darker. The nose, an equal mix of hers and Blaise’s, like both kids had had, but not as crooked as his. Her chin, her lips, her hairline—she knew exactly who this woman was. But how? How was it possible—it wasn’t. Not in April, and certainly not this early in the month.

The bouquet fell to the ground; Winter’s hands flew to her mouth, eyes pricking and heart racing as all the pieces clicked into place.

Her daughter was standing at her own grave.

---

This was NOT how her day should have been going. She had not expected to be standing at her own fucking grave when she woke up very much alive this morning.

She was SUPPOSED to be doing a favour for Myles. He had needed a pot to trap some kind of chaos-y shade in because he had accidentally freed it and then promptly broken the pot when he tried to trap it again. The other Legates were preoccupied and he was trying to wrangle it and couldn’t grab a pot while he was chasing the thing, and she had, of course, offered to help. After all, she wasn’t doing much else; it was April, wintery things were tapering off, there were two weeks left before Summer and Winter went on this year’s vacation, and for all intents and purposes she and Jack were done for the first part of the year and quite relieved about it, too. It had been a nasty March and Winter was presently brewing a nasty ice storm for April that Spring was sure to be very, very mad about.

So she started ransacking the manor to find a pot that looked similar enough to the one Myles had described, hoping to finish up fast because it was date night and Dite was taking her to the KEG which, yes, a totally regular ordibeing restaurant, but she loved it. The steak, the atmosphere, and how FANCY it tried to be when it really wasn’t a FANCY restaurant, when you thought about it. She thought it was hilarious (and enjoyed the steak); Dite thought she was hilarious (and enjoyed seeing her ham it up whenever they went).

While she tore through the gallery, Jack had shouted about needing to do a thing for Father Time; she shouted back a see ya, wondering if maybe there were some old vases and such in the basement that would work.

Ten seconds later, a time splinter had appeared in her room, trying it’s very best to kill her, Jack saving her ass in a nick of time, and promptly roping her into the time-related debacle he had found himself dealing with that, SURPRISE, is your problem now too, little flurry!

So off she had gone with him, into the endless expanse of timelines and alternate universes, chasing the time splinter from one universe to the next, trying to lure it to the universe that had created it so they could finally destroy it.

But the stupid sliver had gotten smart.

It had managed to separate the pair, shooting them out in two different universes. They had tried to grab each other before being shot right out of the timestream, but unfortunately both of the frosty Frosts were a little bit on the shorter side and the last thing she had seen before nearly SPLATTING on the frozen solid tundra was her fingers slip right out of her brother’s as he was dragged into a deep purple portal opposite from her, disappearing as she was sucked into her own time portal with a disgusting sounding SLURP.

She had just barely made enough snow to cushion her fall before she was unceremoniously dropped into this freezing cold universe, the portal snapping shut above her.

In her hand, the timepiece had started cracking.

“Oh no. No, no, NO, not THIS shit again,” she said desperately, hoping that when she looked at the time piece it wouldn’t be doing what she thought it was doing—and it was, yep. The purple chrono-quartz below the intricate golden lines snaped and cracked into three pieces, phasing through the time piece with a deep glow and a low thrum to match. The three pieces floated way up into the sky, then blasted forward, much to her dismay.

She watched them disappear over the horizon with a sigh, leaving a trail of purple dust in its wake.

She knew the drill. Something in this universe needed to be fixed before she could try to escape it.

So, with a sigh, she started forward, following the time trail before it disappeared completely.

---

And that’s how, an hour later, she found herself face to face with her own bloody grave.

It was a nice marker, for sure. Blues and yellows with snowflakes etched all over it, a fluffy blanket of the stuff sitting on top of the three peaks a foot or two above her head. Her name was etched into the stone, as clean as though it were carved yesterday, but the date on the stone showed otherwise. She felt her breath hitch in her throat when she read it.

556 CE.

The Day of Darkness.

She had died.

Jack had killed her dead.

“Oh,” she said, quietly. “Fuck.”

She glanced around, awkwardly; it was quiet. Empty. A wind briefly ruffled the vines and ivy twirling up the side of the monument.

The chrono quartz had gone this way. The trail, now gone, had ended right above the monument. Her monument. Her fucking GRAVE.

If she was dead, she was dead. There was no fixing that.

But there was something she did need to fix, and quite frankly, the less time she had to spend in THIS timeline the better. Timelines where she didn’t exist were one thing. But a timeline where she had died? Heebie-jeebies galore.

So, she got to work.

She walked around the monument a few times, careful not to disturb the flowers that had been left at the base. She scrutinized the thing top down, feeling more and more unsettled the longer she searched—but nothing.

The pieces weren’t there.

“But the trail...” she mumbled to herself.

With a sigh, she ran her hands through her hair, resting them on her hips. Trail had gone here. Time pieces were not here. Where had they gone, then? Had someone come by and taken them in the hour it had taken her to walk up here? Although, the time pieces could phase through objects. And planes, too. Did the pieces maybe—

There was a crunch; she jumped, startled, her shoulders shooting up.

Someone had joined her.

She turned her head, gasping when she saw who was steadily rushing up the slight incline towards her.

“Winter?!”

The woman, now in front of her, certainly looked like her mother. The small gasp sounded just like her; the height checked out. But her eyes were cold as could be, even colder than she had ever seen when her Winter had been frozen. There was no warmth on her face; her hair, usually thawed and perched in a sort of snowman esque double top bun Jacqueline couldn’t ever figure out, was frozen stiff. Her body was shaking, but her hair did not move. It was in one big, sleek bun; even the sticky-outties she had that Jacqueline had to deal with too were somehow smoothed back and in place (a miracle if there ever was one. There was a reason Jacqueline called them her hair sticky-outties).

“Oh my word,” the woman croaked. “It is you.”

She collapsed to the ground, straight up sobbing, and Jacqueline had never felt so uncomfortable in her entire life. She sighed, gently sitting down on her knees and placing a hand, very carefully, very softly, on her Mother’s knee.

“Well, yes, but also, no.”

Winter’s face shot up. “Of course not. It’s not a convergence date.”

“I gathered. I’ve never seen this place so empty in my life.”

“And you—she—you. You were little when you. When you.”

“Died.”

Winter nodded.

“Yeah, I noticed,” she said, gesturing back to the date in the stone.

“I don’t understand—”

“That makes two of us,” Jacqueline said. “You don’t happen to have three pieces of chrono quartz on you? Time crystals, I think they’re also called? They would’ve appeared very suddenly about uh,” she reached into her pocket and pulled something long and flat out. “An hour or so ago?”

Stunned into silence still, unsure what to even do or say, choking on all the emotions in her throat, Winter shook her head no.

“Dang. That would’ve made this way easier.”

“Made what easier? I don’t understand,” she said, smothering the emotions and finding her voice. “What is going on? I’d thank you kindly to explain it to me,” Winter snapped, still shaking a bit. “Who are you?”

“Jacqueline. Jacqueline Frost. Your daughter. That’s who I am. But I’m not from this timeline,” she answered, thrusting her hand back into her pocket and rummaging about. She pulled out a long, light blue, leather wallet, and cracked one of three sides open. She slid it onto Winter’s lap, pointing at the photo in the clear pocket on front, usually reserved for a licence. “This is the timeline I’m from. See? There’s me. And you and Dad,” she said, pointing to the couple above her.

Hands shaky, Winter reached out and brought the wallet up to her face. She could scarce recognize the couple in the photo. Blaise was laughing, his eyes crinkling in the corners. He held her tightly, his suit molten, his hair living up to his namesake (she missed his fiery locks). The woman beside him was even more unrecognizable. Warm. Not frozen at all. Her hair a messy double bun, with her own laugh lines to match his. They held onto each other tightly. She could almost feel the ghost of his warm embrace, the surety that came with one of his hugs.

And there was the woman in front of her. Her daughter, her baby girl. Grinning with snow falling down her face, a pale hand having smooshed a snowball right onto the top of her head as the photo was snapped. Winter glanced over, briefly, to the figure beside this Jacqueline.

That was her baby boy.

Beside her. Alive and well. Both of them alive and well.

She looked up at Jacqueline, her eyes wide. “It is you. But it isn’t. And this is how we are, where you come from?”

Jacqueline nodded, gently pushing Winter’s thumbs down. “And there’s more of us.”

Winter looked back down, moving her thumbs the rest of the way. “Oh.”

Below the two eldest were a pair of twins, most certainly. Both took after Blaise; both had fiery hair, and both were making the silliest faces you could possibly imagine. Fingers stretching the mouth of the girl, her tongue sticking out. The boy blowing a raspberry, making little bunny ears behind the girl’s head.

“Oh, look at them. Little spitfires. We always wanted to have more kids.”

“I shouldn’t ask. I shouldn’t get involved, I should just find my shit and get out of here, but holy shit, I need to know. What happened to you?” Jacqueline asked, gently sliding the wallet out of her mother’s hands.

“I—we—oh. Oh, I don’t quite know, come to think of it. Nobody’s ever asked,” she said, another sob escaping. “I—we. It. Everything was so—” she flailed her hands in the air a bit, trying desperately to find the words she wanted to say.

“It’s okay, take your time. I’m not going anywhere. Not until I find those crystals,” she said, glancing surreptitiously at the monument behind her with a frown.

“He killed you,” she finally said, her breath hitching. “You died in my arms. There was nothing we could do. The storm…it…we couldn’t get to the Springs in time and you. You died.” She pressed the base of her palms to her eyes with a shaky inhale. “He ran. Your Father and I laid you to rest. We watched your little tiny body pop off into Rosehaven. And then we had to face what would come next.”

“Both kids gone in different ways,” Jacqueline mused, looking thoughtful.

Winter nodded, without looking up. The icy white dress she wore blurred beneath her tears. She sniffled. “Yes. And your father, he had to find your brother. But he couldn’t bring himself to start, he was feeling so much—and he hardened his heart not long after I did the same to myself.”

“Oh,” Jacqueline said, realizing what had probably happened. Blaise was a very dutiful sprite, though very emotional. And she had heard the stories from the both of them, about the war of succession, and how Blaise had tried, fruitlessly, to reason with him, not wanting to hurt his brother—but learning that if he wanted to end it, do what needed to be done…he’d have to put aside those feelings to focus on the task at hand.

And so he had.

“We drifted, I suppose. We didn’t talk; he threw himself into trying to bring you justice,” Winter said, gently laying her hand on Jacqueline’s cheek. Her breath hitched again; Jacqueline brought up her shoulder, squishing Winter’s hand between it and her cheek with a soft smile.

“That wasn’t going to bring me back,” Jacqueline said softly.

“That’s what I told him!” Winter said with a huff. “He didn’t reply. A conversation with him was rare. So, I found solace in the mountains. And eventually I made them my home,” she said, with a helpless little shrug.

“So I died, and you ran off to the mountains and became the new Snow Queen.”

"I suppose...yes. I did.”

“Why not come see me on a convergence? They aren’t rare. They happen once or twice a year.”

“I couldn’t bring myself to. Neither of us could.”

Jacqueline stood up. “So let me get this straight,” she said, her prior annoyance coming right back, with a slight pinch of anger dusted on top. “I died, and instead of supporting each other and sharing your grief, you and Blaise both decided to harden your hearts and run away from home? And you didn’t come to see me?!”

“Your father didn’t run away from home,” Winter said, standing up gracefully and folding her hands in front of her. “He’s still there.”

“But he ran away from his home,” Jacqueline said, pointing at Winter’s heart. “And so did you. All the way up in the mountains! And you left me alone, waiting?!”

“I visit you every week!” Winter snapped. “So does your father!”

“You visit my MARKER! NOT my ME! I can guarantee you, Winter, that that little girl sat and waited on the other side for the very first convergence after she passed, hoping to see her Mom and Dad and Brother again.”

“HOW could you KNOW that?!”

“BECAUSE I AM HER! And I may not have died, but when this,” she said, gesturing violently at the date on the stone, “happened to me, and I recovered BECAUSE you and Dad worked together to keep me stable UNTIL you could blaze a trail to the springs, I waited! Every day, for so long, I sat and waited and hoped that he’d come back but he didn’t. And now, now, I’m learning, that not only did he not come back, nor did my PARENTS?!” Jacqueline let out a little squawk of rage, stomping around this version of her Mother. “She’s still a little four-hundred-year-old girl over there! Do YOU think she understands all THIS?!” Jacqueline said, gesturing at all of Winter. “NO! SHE DOESN’T because I DIDN’T until I was like, fourteen hundred! And she doesn’t get that luxury. She doesn’t get to grow up and figure it out herself, so the LEAST you COULD’VE done was gone to visit her during a goddess damned convergence!”

Winter was stunned. What horrible things to say, she thought. But they were true. And Jacqueline was right. Winter felt…lost. More so than usual. A lot of. Things. Were coming to the surface and she was utterly speechless.

“Nothing to say? That’s not surprising, you’re about as frosted up as they come, eh Mom? I’ll leave you to your fake visit, then,” Jacqueline said, stomping back down the way Winter had come up, a trail of frost sprawling out from her boot every time one hit the ground.

“Wait! Jacqueline! Where are you going?!”

“HOME,” she said angrily, flashing one last frustrated look back up at Winter before disappearing on the spot.

Winter was left to her solitude once more. Alone. She should have been relieved.

But she wasn’t.

“Home…” she murmured to herself. She gasped, eyes growing wide. “Oh dear,” she said, setting off after Jacqueline.

---

How had this day gotten so out of control?!

She couldn’t believe what she had seen. First her own grave, then a mother so far lost in her grief she was barely recognizable? And learning what had happened? The Convergences existed for a reason—to see the loved ones you had lost, if only for a brief night. It was a nice time! It was fun! Roseterra glowed and would be filled with both the living magibeans and the dead, laughing and catching up and talking about what they had missed on both ends of the things, and god if she had died, she knew she would’ve waited in the hopes she’d see Mom and Dad and Jack again and—

“Oh my gods. Jacqueline. FOCUS,” she said to herself, as she pushed open the rusty gates and stomped up the pathway. The roses were sad. Wilting, but not dead. The ground looked weird, not covered in snow but frozen solid. The Manor loomed ahead. Pristine as the day it was painted white. Not a scorch mark in sight. The windows were dark and cold; not a single light was on. Her home, usually cheery and loud and happy, was cold. Cold, dark, and empty.

“This is all sorts of fucked up,” she said out loud.

What was she going to do today originally? Oh yeah! Find a pot, trap a. Thingy, then enjoy a steak at the Keg with the love of her life. Perfect day! Would have been a PERFECT day!

But now she had seen her own grave, confronted her lost in grief mother, yelled at her for ignoring her daughter even though she was dead, and was now stomping up the derelict stairs to the front porch of Frost Manor, the wooden deck boards greying, not a single piece of colourful mismatched patio furniture in her sights. What even was this place?

She didn’t bother to knock; she tried the door.

It wasn’t locked.

The door swung in with a creak, a cold gust of wind blowing down the hallways. It echoed, a low hum throughout the empty halls. The ghost of what could have been. The windowpanes rattled; the cobwebs, built up over time, gently waved in the draft. She ran a finger along one of the shoe racks as she closed the door, a trail left in the dust.

She walked in, the metallic clink of her boots echoing throughout the cold marble hall. The door to the front room with the window she waited under was closed shut. Ha, she thought, the symbolism not lost on her.

The blue parlour was closed, too; she tried the handle. Locked. Made her way into the kitchen.

It looked lived in. It was cleaner than the rest of the house. The plants that Spring kept giving them still sat in their perches, but they had seen much better days, most certainly; and there were less of them than she remembered. She stepped around the table (noting that the leaf had been taken out and it had been brought down to its smallest possible size) and poked her head into the living room.

Empty. Pristine. Dusty. Cobwebby. Severe lack of throws and cushions.

“Oh, Dad. What have you done,” she mused, leaving the doorway and heading back out into the hall. She glanced up the stairs. It was dark as ever up there, the draft howling down the steps. She shoved past, beelining to the other side of the steps.

Ballroom. Library. Closed. No light.

But the office…the dullest glow under the crack.

She stepped carefully; lightly, like the first few snowflakes that slowly drifted in on the wind, landing on the ground softly. Quietly. She placed her hand on the doorknob. She frowned. Maybe…just to be safe.

She knocked; her fist flattening, splayed out on the door.

There was no answer.

She turned the knob, opening the door a crack. Peeking one eye in, she glanced around.

The fireplace was on, but not roaring. The embers softly cackled, the fire out of food. Jacqueline stepped through the door, glancing around the office. The firewood was right where he kept it, back at home.

She grabbed a couple of smaller logs, not quite twigs but not quite sticks, and gently lay them in the fireplace. She may not have been able to create fire, but Blaise sure as shit made sure his kids could start fires regardless of their elemental backgrounds.

The flames licked the logs hungrily, the simmer becoming a crackle. Satisfied, Jacqueline moved away from the fireplace, trailing her fingers on the solid mahogany trim of the desk as she surveyed the office.

It was certainly lived in, that’s for sure. The chair was worn, the cushion in dire need of reupholstering. The desk was a tidy mess, piles of paper stacked neatly. Orderly. It was a stark difference from her dad’s office back at home, with papers laying around all over the place, pens and quills beside half written notes, the coaster sporting rings from numerous warm drinks.

The coaster on this Blaise’s desk was too clean. Far too clean.

There was a thunk out in the hall. The door slammed shut; a heavy footfall approaching. Jacqueline gasped, turning quickly to face the door. The coaster went flying, hitting the mantle as loud as it possibly could, and falling to the ground with a clatter, making sure to do three flips before settling for MAXIMUM NOISE, of course. Just her luck on this fine, fine, day.

“Who’s there?” a voice said. It was familiar, but also…not. It was gruffer than usual; a little hoarse. And there wasn’t much warmth. Yeah, a weird sentiment, but when her dad spoke, you could just feel a sort of warmth, usually. She backed up, behind the desk, finding herself shifting into a defensive stance and unsure why.

“I heard you drop the coaster,” he said, his footsteps coming towards the office. “Final warning. Who’s. There.”

The door was shoved open, and Jacqueline gasped once again, this time, in surprise.

“What the fuck happened to you?!” she said, equal parts confused and almost…disgusted, the same time that Blaise growled and said, “Who the hell do you think you are?!”

It wasn’t that he looked bad. He just didn’t look like Blaise. Like, he did but he didn’t. Granted, Jacqueline had never actually seen what a frozen summer sprite looked like. Or I guess stony, she thought, as she quickly eyed him up and down, still in her defensive stance.

His fiery hair was out, but not the usual greying-orange. It was dark. Ashen. Grey flakes drifted down every so often. It was a fire that had burnt completely, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake. His usual molten suit was dark as obsidian. Like lava that had rapidly cooled. His face was lined, but not in the way she was used to; he looked frownier than he did at home, his smile lines faint as could be. Though she could make out the faint crinkles of crow’s feet still near his eyes. It should’ve been a welcome sight, you know? Like, maybe her Dad was still in there somewhere.

But it was not. It only made her feel more unsettled.

“Like, did someone like, set you on fire with fire that wasn’t like, fire you’re fireproofed to? Is that ash coming off of your HEAD?!”

“I don’t answer to you,” Blaise said, taking another step into the office. “You answer to me. You’ve broken into my house.”

“You left the door unlocked! I’d hardly call that breaking and entering.”

“Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?”

“You don’t know who I am?”

“I know who you look like, but that’s not possible. There’s no way. Tell me, is this a trick? Is he trying something? Centuries without a peep, and now this? Was he biding his time? You sound just like him.” He took a step closer with each question, Jacqueline stepping back with each of his steps. He rounded the desk as she rounded the other side, the door now behind her. “You have ten seconds,” he said, with a fierce air of finality.

Jacqueline inhaled, shoved her hands in her pockets, and spoke very, very fast.

“I am exactly who you think I am but also not quite! I’m not from this timeline, I’m from a different one and I have proof, here you GO,” she said, tossing her wallet at the ashen man in front of her. “And please don’t burn it. It has all my ID in it. Which is kind of important. I still get carded at the LCBCS.”

Blaise looked up at her, his orange eyes stony. Suspicious. His lips were pressed together in a tight line, but he humoured her; he had been presented with evidence, after all. Fair is fair. He watched her wearily, cracking open the wallet without looking.

“Clear pocket. Right on the first fold.”

“Hands where I can see them,” he growled.

“Alright, alright, chill,” Jacqueline said, putting her hands up and glaring right back. “Take a looksie. See for yourself.”

Only when her hands were above her head did Blaise glance down at the photo.

His breath hitched. He tried to take it all in at once; all six figures. He glanced back up as he reached the middle, matching the young woman in the photo below him with the young woman looking a little more pissed off with each passing second in front of him. The Jack look, as Winter once called it, when he saw his eldest beside this version of Jacqueline. And below them, below the frosty pair, was a fiery pair, making goofy faces. Summer sprites. Like him.

Twins.

“They get along?”

“Too well some days, which would be worrying if they didn’t occasionally tackle each other down for a quick little fistfight. But like, they’re not going to start a war, since we both know that that’s what you’re thinking about, eh?”

Blaise didn’t reply. He glanced back down at the photo. He snapped his fingers, a little flame appearing on his pointer finger. He touched it to the wick of the candle beside him, surveying the photo in better light. Winter. His darling wife. Toasty warm and laughing, looking up at him with all the love in the world. The flame flickered; he looked at the man beside her. Lit up like the goat in Sweden during the holiday season, all smiles and laughter. He tilted the photo. The glare from the candlelight obscured it, his own stony face looking back at him instead.

He fell back into his seat, shoving the wallet across the desk as he collapsed, holding his head in both hands, completely messing up his ashy hair.

“What is going on here.”

Jacqueline put down her hands, heading over to the east side of the office. “Well, in the timeline I’m from, I survived,” she said, dragging over the spare chair. “You and Mom staunched the bleeding and stabilized me. Kept a close eye on me until you could get to the springs and finish the healing process. You, mostly. Once the wounds were taken care of, Mom passed right out,” she finished, the chair stopping in front of his desk. “But right when it happened, you worked together. And you both saved me. Amazing what happens when you work together, instead of, you know, hiding away from one another and hardening your hearts and not talking ever at all and ALSO, not VISITING ME!”

“HEY. I visit you every day! Except Wednesdays. Town Hall is on Wednesdays.”

“And convergences,” Jacqueline snapped, slamming her hands on the desk before sitting down on the chair, surveying Blaise with a very, angry look. “You don’t come on the one day you could actually see me. What the fuck, man.”

“Watch your language, missy. You may be from a different timeline, but I’m still your father.”

“You’re actually nothing like my Blaise,” Jacqueline said with a sniff, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. “He—”

“SAVED you. I get it. I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

“No. I mean yeah, he did. But no. He was there for his family. Looks to me like you haven’t been. They needed you, Blaise. And you did this instead. And I know for a fact that you needed them, too.”

“I—” Blaise stopped, opening and closing his mouth. He frowned, clasping his hands together and placing them in front of his face, lost for words.

“Mhmm. Yeah. That’s what I thought,” she said, shifting in her seat. “Look, I won’t be all up in your, uh, ash for too long, Blaise,” she said. “I came for one thing. Well, two things, actually.”

“What, to yell?”

“No, that just comes with the territory. I am a very angry sprite. It’s very inconvenient most days.”

“You inherited my temper, I see.”

“Regrettably,” Jacqueline said, scrunching her face. “But that’s not important right now. What I need to know is why the hell. This!” she said, gesturing to him. “Why did you do this?”

Blaise’s posture, up until then, had been immaculate. But when the ghost of his daughter demanded to know why this had happened, his shoulders fell; his back slouched, his stony façade turned sad. “You were murdered,” he simply said. “By my son. Your own brother. I couldn’t let him go unpunished! You died. But he was—he is my son. But you were—are—my daughter! My emotions were blinding me to what needed to be done, once again, and so I—”

“Got stoned.”

Blaise frowned. “Har-har,” he said, unlaughingly.

“I don’t like puns,” Jacqueline clarified.

“A shame,” Blaise said back. “That was a good one.”

“I never would’ve guessed,” Jacqueline snapped back. “So you did this, and then went on a whole catch me if you can kind of journey with Jack?”

“He needed to be brought to justice! You needed justice!”

“DID I?” Jacqueline demanded, shooting out of her seat. The chair teetered behind her briefly, choosing not to fall over. “Because I am DEAD. I don’t need ANYTHING when I’m DEAD, Dad. And here’s the thing, right? We’re not ordibeings. We’re MAGIBEINGS. And our afterlife actually lets us VISIT WITH THE DEAD ON CERTAIN DAYS! YEARLY! SOMETIMES TWICE A YEAR! So instead of going to see me on a convergence, you decided you knew what I needed and just, just, became obsessed with this chase and for what? I’M not the one who needed justice. You thought that I did. That you did. But that’s not what you needed and we both know that, don’t we?”

“How could you know all of this?”

“Because I AM Jacqueline! I am that little girl who died in her mother’s arms, but I didn’t die! And do you know what I did when I got better, Dad? Hmm? I WAITED. I waited for my brother to come home, and he never did. So I can guarantee that your little girl waited convergence after convergence, hoping to see you and Mom and even JACK, but none of you came! None of you came! You left her waiting. Left ME waiting!”

“We couldn’t—I couldn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to go and face you after all that had happened—”

“Save it. I’m not the one who needs to hear it. She is. And she’s not here. I am.”

She took a deep breath in, composing herself, pushing off the desk and heading towards the door.

“I’m going to go now before I EXPLODE. Just one more thing before I go,” she said, turning around. “You wouldn’t happen to have come into possession of three time crystals about, oh, an hour and a half or so ago?”

“Some what?”

“That’s a no, then? UGH. Lady damn it ALL,” she said, stomping down the hall.

“Jacqueline, wait!” Blaise called after her, rushing to catch up with her. “Where are you going?”

“I have one more place to check for those time crystals. You and I both know where I’m headed next,” she said, a literal icy undercurrent in her voice. “Tell me where you put him.”

“I—you can’t. It’s too dangerous.”

“Like hell it is! I can handle myself, and you know that if you don’t tell me I’ll find out one way or the other, Blaise. So tell me. Where. Did. You. Put. Him.”

Blaise sighed. “We built an entire prison just for him. The rehabilitation programs at the Pen did nothing for him; he refused to even try. He escaped multiple times, and each and every time I was there, ready to find out how and stop it from ever happening again. One too many escapes later, and the Assembly decided to fund a whole new prison just for him. A solitary. That’s what we’ve called it. The Solitary. It’s in the East.”

“Oh my goddess of the springs. A whole ass prison just for him? This is the worst timeline I have been in today. I hate it here. Right, I’m gonna head out and do that, and you know what you’re going to do? YOU’RE going to go to your wife and give her a hug, for Frost’s sake! You need your loved ones, Blaise. Stop being stupid.”

And before he could reply, she stomped out the front door and poofed into a shower of light blue sparks and snowflakes, disappearing.

“Jacqueline!” he shouted, though he knew his efforts were in vain.

She was long gone.

The shout echoed. But it sounded…off. It sounded…

It wasn’t his voice.

He stepped out onto the porch. A figure stood by the gates. Graceful; shapely.

He’d recognize her anywhere.

“Winter?” he said, quietly.

“Blaise,” she replied, just as quietly.

Something had changed. Something shifted. They both stared across the path at each other, the winds howling.

They ran.

They both ran, beelining down the path, crashing into a familiar, comforting embrace. She still smelt the same; Blaise pressed her head close to his chest, breathing her in deeply. And he was still so sturdy; his hugs were still so very comforting, Winter was happy to learn, as she pressed herself against his chest, her ear on his heart. Hearing it beat.

“I’m so sorry,” they both said at the same time, still hugging one another.

“I don’t know why I didn’t open up,” Blaise said. “I’m sorry. I should have shared with you. I should have supported you.”

“And I you,” Winter said, squeezing him tighter. “I’ve had the strangest encounter today, and I... I needed you. Need you. Miss you.”

Blaise sighed, content, squeezing her tightly. “And I you. Tell me something, Winter. Did you see an adult Jacqueline today?”

“I did,” she said, pushing herself off his chest to look up at his face. She placed her palm on his cheek, rubbing it softly with her thumb. She smiled. “Did you?”

“I did, too,” he said, placing his chin on top of her head. The tinniest peck pressed onto his neck. His heart fluttered; sparks drifted up from his head. “She yelled at me. A lot.”

“She yelled at me, too. But she said some things that got me thinking, and brought it all back. As if seeing our fully grown dead daughter wasn’t enough, she was also. Oh. There’s this phrase the winds have whispered to me...ah! Yes. She was spitting facts, and all of that brought everything back. I don’t know why I shied away from you, darling. I needed you. I need you. I love you. And I’m sorry.”

Now Blaise pulled away, his large hand on Winter’s small face. He gave her a warm smile, rubbing her cheek as well. “Not as sorry as I am. I need you, too. So much. I love you,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “And I’m sorry for pulling away and throwing myself into the stupid game of cat and mouse Jack and I played—oh. Oh shit,” Blaise said, blanching.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Jacqueline. She's heading his way,” Blaise said, squeezing Winter’s arms. “We need to hurry. I don’t know what she’s planning on doing, but if she’s headed towards him...”

“There is no way that could possibly be good,” Winter agreed, rushing after Blaise, the two heading east as fast as they could.

---

Deny it all as he might, she’s still always just there.

It was very irritating.

She’s stopped giggling; there’s no whispers of whoops or silly sounds anymore. She’s just there, looking sad, and he brings the book closer to his face so he doesn’t have to see the ghost he trapped in the Solitary with him. The Solitary. He really oughta think of a better name.

But he just doesn’t have the energy, the drive, the…whatever.

There was a reason he froze the place solid and stayed put.

He tried to focus on his book. Reading the same sentence, over and over. He exhaled, annoyed, putting the book down and expecting to see her in front of him.

But she’s gone. There are no flickers of white or quick wisps of messy dark hair turning a corner.

It’s empty. The wind blows through the area, mournfully. Even with the furniture he had gotten, the other odds and ends, it is still loud and echoey. He sighed.

Creak.

What was that?

He strained his ears. The creaking was getting louder, shifting into a loud CRACK, somewhere above him. He looked up so fast he almost gave himself whiplash.

The ceiling was splitting.

“What?” he croaked, his voice not as hoarse as you’d expect.

Down the hall, there was a smack. A bang. A shink or two. A thunk against the wall, and a low groan.

“Marcel?” he called out.

Footsteps were approaching, but they didn’t sound familiar. They’re boots. There’s a weird metal click to them. He shot up, hands aglow, ready for whatever. Whoever was coming his way.

But nothing could've prepared him for who stepped through the tunnel.

She was an inch or two shorter than him; very much most definitely a winter sprite. She stopped in the doorway, looking at him unimpressed, an eyebrow raised. He found himself backing up; he could see the similar features, and his thoughts drifted back to the ghost of the small girl he was always seeing. Add a touch of roundness and a bit of baby fat and unfreeze the hair, and, well.

It’s her. It’s one hundred percent her.

“Marcel’s DEAD,” she said.

“What?” Jack asked, what little colour there was in his face draining.

“Ha! I’m kidding. He’ll be fine,” she replied with a small, impish smile. It dropped suddenly; she squinted. “Probably. So quick question for you, Jack,” she continued, walking right up to him without a care in the world. “Was the several meters of ice to keep people out? Or keep you in? Because let me tell you, it was a shit job. I cracked through it easily.”

“You can’t be here,” he heard himself saying. “You shouldn’t be here! You…I…”

“YEAH. I am AWARE. You killed me dead. This is the FOURTH TIME TODAY someone has REMINDED ME, as if you can easily shake coming face to face with your own damn grave marker,” she said with a huff. “So what’s you’re deal? I’m surprised you let yourself get captured. My GOD you look frosty,” she finished, right beside him now. She knocked on his frozen spikes.

“Hey! Cut it out,” he snapped, pushing her hand away.

“No need to be nippy,” she sassed back, hands on her hips.

Jack straight up recoiled. He was pretty damn positive now: the sprite in front of him was his long dead sister. A little younger than she would’ve been now, had she survived. Had she lived. Had he not…killed her. He backed up a few steps, the edge of the plush seat hitting the back of his knees.

All the thoughts, all the feelings, all of the things he had wondered that he had pushed down down down came screaming up to the surface as he collapsed into his chair.

For once in his life, he found himself utterly speechless.

“Okay, so I’m going to guess you’ve just been living in denial,” his sister said, not a ghost but actually real, and alive, and in front of him. “You sit there and process, I don’t plan on being long. I’ve about HAD IT up to HERE,” she half yelled, putting her hand high above her head, “with this AWFUL timeline. You know how my day started, Jack? I just needed to find a pot for Myles. That’s it! To trap a little chaotic shade! And NOW I’ve been pulled into yet ANOTHER alternate universe, and goddess above, I thought the one where Bernard and I were a THING was bad, this one is by FAR worse!” she said, her arms crossed at her chest briefly before she dropped them, the ground around her cracking in response. “I’ve already tried Mom, and Dad, and if you don’t have what I need then I am going to have to do something very, very crazy that only one other person I know of has done before and lived to tell the tale. Did three time crystals, little purple-ish quartz looking things, appear around you about, uh,” she pulled something out of her pocket and squinted at it. “Three hours ago?”

Still speechless, Jack shook his head no.

“Goddess damn it ALL!” his very alive, very angry little sister said, throwing her hands down and stomping her foot. The cracks below her deepened. “I have a GIRLFRIEND, I don’t have the option to seduce a powerful castor right now!”

“You have a girlfriend?” Jack found himself asking.

“What, you got a problem with that?”

“No, of course not, I—”

“Yeah, I know dude. I’ve met some of your partners,” she said with a smirk that made Jack blush a bit and clear his throat. “Some of them are real cool. There’s one that Fiera’s like, determined to fight for some reason that’s very baffling to all of us—”

“Who’s Fiera?”

“Oh. Right,” Jacqueline says. “I died so the twins never came around, right. Here you go,” she said, throwing a long leather object his way.

Snatching it clean out of the air, he flipped open the unbuttoned side, coming face to face with a wallet sized family photo.

“Fiera’s the girl on fire, and Fino’s her twin, the boy who is also on fire. The universe I come from, where I survive, they exist.”

Jack stared at the him in the photo, happily smooshing a pile of snow on his Jacqueline’s head, their younger siblings below them making funny faces, and their parents above them, together, lost in each other’s eyes. He felt a pang in his chest as he came to the quiet realization that, oh. He kind of. He kind of missed them.

A pale hand stretched out in his peripheral. He glanced over; Jacqueline had her hand out, looking unimpressed. “Wallet please,” she said.

He snapped it closed, passing it back to her.

“Thank you,” she said, shoving it back in her pocket. She turned on her heel, heading back out the way she came.

“Wait! Don’t. Don’t go yet,” he said, unsure why but knowing he couldn’t let her leave just yet.

She stopped in the doorway, standing still; head tilted.

“I didn’t—I never meant to. It wasn’t my intent—” he took a deep breath. “You know, right? You know it wasn’t. That I didn’t. That I—”

“Never wanted to hurt me,” she said softly, still not turning around. “It was an accident. You were having a big emotions night and your powers were going crazy, and your hand slipped. Yeah. I know. You told me. That is, my you told me.”

His shoulders sagged; he could feel something...wet trailing down his cheeks. He touched his cheek, brushing away tear tracks of all things.

His sister watches. For the briefest of moments, as their gazes meet, the fury falls away. She looks so very concerned, and he can see her hands twitch upwards, not in defence or offence but as though she wanted to reach out and give him comfort.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, voice barely a whisper.

And then it’s gone. The fury is back. She took a deep breath in, nostrils flaring. “It’s not me who needs to hear that,” she replied, rage withheld. “It’s her.”

And for a moment, he feels her. The little ghost he trapped in the solitary with him. He whips around.

A flicker of white.

A tress of dark hair, disappearing round the bend.

He turns back around.

The other ghost, the real one, is gone.

---

Stepping over the unconscious guards and hopping out of the Jacquie-sized crack in the ice she had made, Jacqueline stopped, bending over, hands on her knees.

She could feel herself breathing very fast. Her heart was racing; there was a nasty heat behind her eyes. She wanted so badly to just stop, and cry, and sob, because holy shit. Holy FUCKING shit. This day is so. What the fuck. This TIMELINE is so. What the fuck.

“OKAY Jacqueline,” she said out loud, snapping back up. “Focus.”

Her voice sounded heavy. She took a deep breath in; held it a bit, staring at the tips of her fingers before finally exhaling. “We can have a nice long frustrated cry later, when we’re NOT trying to escape the JACQUELINE DIES timeline.”

Another deep breath. Her hands pressed together, in front of her face. Her nose scrunched, forehead wrinkling as she thought of her next steps.

“I need to break into Rosehaven,” she mused, tapping her lips. “Which means, off to the east I go! I’ve got a wicked old witch to see. But first!”

Turning around, Jacqueline rested her palms on the icy walls beside her exit. With a fierce look of concentration, hands aglow, the ice beneath her grew, covering the dent she made, a smooth patch appearing right over the jagged, pointy, inside out job.

“There we go,” she said, surveying her work, hands on her hips. “All patched up! Now onto the hard part,” she thought out loud, turning to face the mountains in the distance.

Two sharp peeks protruded in the night, a little structure on the tip of each one. The cliffs below them were dotted with hundreds of other huts and shacks and cottages, windows glowing in the dark, foliage twirling all over the settlement.

She took a step towards the skyline. Then another. On the third step, she disappeared, a bright flash of light blue light in the quickly darkening evening.

---

Something felt...different.

Jack tried to go back to his book and his plush chair, but found that for once, he was unable to shove all the feelings deep, deep down and go about his not-so-merry way. They were coming up; his insides were on fire. His cheeks wouldn’t stop getting wet.

Everything he had held back for years was coming up, and he couldn’t do anything about it.

He stepped out into the hall. Tentatively. Sort of surprised but not quite when nothing happened.

The barrier seemed to be down.

The guards were slumped against the walls, carefully placed in somewhat comfortable positions. Their weapons were abandoned; Jack waved his hand, a north wind billowing through the hall. It picked up the weapons, and, at his command, tossed them deep, deep, deep into his personal quarters.

A quick scan of the guards. They seemed okay; a little worse for the wear, but Jack didn’t see any blood or broken bones.

“Marcel?” he asked, crouching beside the guard closest to the door. He waved his hand in front of Marcel’s face.

The man groaned, unmoving.

Fine. Probably. Just like she had said.

Standing back up, Jack frowned, deep in thought.

He needed to move, to act, to do something.

But what?

He figured he had a few minutes, if he was lucky, before the guards get back up and were able to recast the barrier again. He stepped back; something rolled under his heel, crunching.

Marcel’s wand, snapped in two.

Well, so much for the barrier, then.

Alright. Good. More time to, to think. To decide. To figure something out.

He thinks back to the angry ghost. Something she had said. There was something there that had his fae senses screaming. A quick run through their conversation until—

I have a GIRLFRIEND, I don’t have the option to seduce a powerful castor right now!

“Oh no,” Jack said, paling.

He knew exactly what she was going to do.

But she’s dead! If this version of her were to try it...

“She’ll be trapped,” Jack realized.

With that in mind, his decision was easy as could be. He couldn’t save her then.

But he could save her now.

He straightened. Shook out his arms; his shoulders. His fingers crack. He lifts a foot, then slams it into the ground.

Around him, the prison shuddered. It began to shake. The fault lines she had left grew larger. Chips of ice rained down around him. He sliced a hand through the air. The walls on his right began to splinter and fracture, the light within growing dim as the place rumbled. He sliced his other hand through the air, the walls on his left mirroring their reflections.

He moved both arms up again, and sliced them both down through the air with a whoosh.

The walls didn’t just break.

They shattered.

The ceiling came down, the ice chunks bouncing off of the air above Jack, slamming into the ground around him.

In seconds, the entire icy exterior crumbled, the walls he had frozen so long ago coming down with it.

Outside, the sky is dark. Reddish purplish. The sun is going down in the distance. The air is fresh, if a little cold, and sharp. He inhales it, deeply. It’s wintry. Quite odd for the Eastern Province, but Autumn was known to have a bit of a chill, and Jack was certain that his presence here had effected the weather patterns a good amount, too.

Besides, what was a little more oddness? This whole day had been weird already, and it was only going to get weirder.

He stood still until the prison finished crumbling around him. The guards were unscathed; chunks headed their way magically redirected themselves, landing away from them. It’s the least, Jack thought, that he can do for them. After all, they had been very kind to him, and they hadn’t needed to be at all. Not for him. a criminal; a murderer. Of sisters. His own sister.

"Snap out of it, Jack!" he scolded himself, shaking his head and turning on the spot.

Onto business, he thought, straightening his jacket. Doing up a button and readjusting his cuff links. Glancing wearily at the pointy mountains in the distance.

There is only one castor he knows of that will happily help Jacqueline.

The same one who had helped him centuries ago.

Ice and dust drifting about, the Witch's Peaks in his sights, Jack made his way forward, determined.

But three steps in, a tiny gasp reached his ears.

He stopped dead in his tracks, tilting his head; listening.

Something…someone was there.

And though it was just a tiny little gasp, it rang familiar. So very familiar.

But that wouldn’t make sense, Jack thought. She wouldn’t be here. It couldn’t be…

“JACK!”

Him too?

Okay, now he was a little scared.

He turned on his heel, looking behind him. Two figures stood together in the distance. One was calling for him; a loud, recognizable voice. He could make out the shape of his palm up against his mouth, his other hand clasped tightly in the hand of the woman beside him. A whole head or so shorter than him, her other hand was in front of her mouth, gently hovering above a shocked ‘o’.

“JACK!” he called again.

“Dad?” Jack said, quietly. “Mom?”

The dust rippled between them. The air finally cleared, revealing Blaise and Winter, his parents, standing hand in hand a short distance away, staring at him with unreadable expressions, as rooted in place as he was.

---

“Look. Gwen. I already TOLD you, I don’t know WHY there’s such an uptick in chaos right now! NOR do I know WHY the air tastes like dark magic!”

“That is BULL and you know it, Cheri.”

“I would LOVE to take credit for this, but I have no idea what this is, girlie. And you know I’m telling the truth! Your goody-goody magic can sense it.”

“Okay, yes, but you’ve messed with it before! and you LOVE lying it's one of your FAVOURITE things!”

“It really is, but listen. Gwen. I’m using your name. not your little nickname. Obviously, I’m being legit right now. Look, don’t get your tutu in a twist, alright? I’ll look into it and if it’s bad bad, I’ll take care of it!”

The door to a small room opened, a witch swathed in black and red waltzing in, huge fuck-off combat boots clunking on the hardwood floor. With a roll of her eyes, she tossed her hat onto the mantle and stopped dead in her tracks when she noticed the woman perched on her desk.

“Your Grand Darkness,” the woman purred, saccharine, miming a curtsy while staying seated.

Cheri recognized her instantly. She smirked. “Ou. This is gonna be good.”

She turned on her heel, Gwen smacking right into her chest.

“CHERI!”

“Sorry Glenda, I’m a bit busy right now,” she said, shoving the tulle covered witch out the door. “We’ll chat later, a-buh-bye,” she finished with a wave, the door slamming shut behind her.

“CHERI!” Gwen shouted from the other side as Cheri cackled, sliding her broomstick through the door handle. She turned around, a feral grin on her face as she surveyed the woman perched on her desk, ignoring the jiggling of the handle and frustrated yells from the other side of the door.

“So you're my little trouble maker today, aren’t ya?” she asked, sauntering up to the desk and surveying the sprite, chin resting on her knuckles.

“Guilty as charged,” the sprite said, hopping down off the desk. Oh, she was tiny. “Look, your darkness, I don’t have much time. And I’m in a very happy, committed relationship with a literal goddess, so seducing you for help is like, out of the question.”

“Oh shit, a goddess? Which one?”

“Pleasure,” the sprite replied, lickity-split. “Greek.”

“Ha-HA, nice one! Up top,” Cheri replied, holding up a hand.

The sprite flushed, but, grinning, high-fived her back.

“Thanks for not leaving me hanging there, girl,” Cheri said, walking around the sprite and looking her up and down. “That would've been awkward. Would’ve had to cover by turning you into a toad or something,” she added, throwing herself into her seat, her feet landing on the desk. “Now I also don’t have much time. The chaos in the air today is ripe for the picking and I have yet to do that, thanks to politics, yuck. So, cut to the chase.”

“I need to break into Rosehaven,” she said.

“Deja vu!”

“Yeah, I know, don’t remind me. Short and sweet or long and complex?”

“Short and sweet baby.”

“Great! I’m from another timeline, and I’m trapped here until I can find the time crystals that power my way home,” she said, shaking a small, golden object in her hand. “Rosehaven is the last place I could think of them being, and I need to get in there and get them back because let me tell you, your Darkness, if I have to stay in this timeline for one second longer? I am going to burst into flames and just EXPLODE.”

Cheri laughed. “You're cute,” she said, recrossing her feet. “I can get you there. But what do you have to offer in exchange?”

“Even more chaos than is presently brewing,” the sprite said with a clever smirk. “In three hours I’ve managed to completely throw off every single Frost, leading to the chaos you’re sensing right now. If I’ve played my cards right, and if I manage to pull this last bit off, the chaos will straight up triple.” She frowned. “That is, if I remember magical chaos theory correctly. I didn’t pay much attention in world magics class,” she admitted with a silly little grin, scratching the back of her head. “And, it’ll piss off a lot of magibeans.”

“Glenda too?”

“Oh, her lightness especially.”

Cheri cackled. “Count me IN,” she said, hopping up and rummaging around the shelves packed FULL of ingredients and artifacts. “One plane shift coming right up.”

“Thank the fucking goddess,” the sprite said, relieved.

“Fair warning, though,” Cheri said over her shoulder, lobbing all sorts of shit into her cauldron. “You're already there, technically. There's a good chance you may get stuck. Rosehaven will let you in, but getting out? Hmm.”

“I’m hoping the time nonsense helps with that,” the sprite replied nonchalantly. “And honestly? Given the choice, I’d rather be stuck THERE than HERE in this timeline. I’ll take my chances, your darkness.”

Cheri laughed. “A sprite after my own heart.”

---

Time passed.

Maybe minutes, maybe seconds; maybe hours.

The parents stared at their son. The son stared at his parents. The dust cleared, exposing them all to one another. Mother and father looking particularly icy and ashen; son looking just as icy, if not more, than mother.

It’s Jack who speaks first, unsurprisingly.

“I know what this looks like, but it’s really not,” he found himself saying, trying very hard to keep the desperation out of his voice. “We can play chase later, you can bring me in again or whatever, I literally do not care, because there is something WAY more important that I need to be doing in a general that-away direction,” he said, pointing towards the rocky crags in the distance that hid Roseterra. “I don’t want to do this the hard way, but I will if I have to!”

“ARE YOU OKAY?!” Blaise shouts across the way.

“I—wait. WHAT?”

The tension, the readiness for battle, the urge to run away, all of it leaves at once. Jack stood, dumbfounded, unsure what to do with himself.

Blaise and Winter shared a look and, with a slight nod, gently walked towards him hand in hand.

Run says his brain.

Don’t, says his heart.

He stays.

Soon enough, they’re face to face. My god they’re old, Jack thinks.

Blaise and Winter think the same thing as they come face to face with their son.

Jack blinks.

They blink back.

Winter opens her mouth to speak; the words die before they can even come out. Unable to say much of anything at that precise moment, she squeezed Blaise’s hand. He nodded.

“Are you okay Jack?” he asked again.

“I—uh.”

Jack looked around, the remnants of the icy walls crystallized around them. The guards have yet to stir; his furniture and possessions are littered about as the wind blows, papers fluttering. The Solitary has been obliterated.

“Mostly.”

“Oh, thank heavens,” Winter finally says. Her eyes are shiny.

“I—okay. WHAT is HAPPENING.”

“We were worried about what she might have done.”

“She—Jacqueline? You guys saw her too?!”

They both nodded.

“Thank the LADY. Look, we don’t have time right now to unpack all of this. We need to go,” Jack says, starting forward.

“Jack, wait.”

“Go where?!”

“To Roseterra!”

Now it’s their turn to be dumbfounded.

Annoyed and short on time, Jack let out an exasperated sigh.

“I know you won’t believe me and that’s fine. But that was her! It was Jacqueline! And she’s about to do something so incredibly stupid and if I don’t go after her right now, immediately, she’s gone! And I can’t…I can’t let that happen again,” he says, voice cracking. “I couldn’t save her then, but maybe I can now!” Jack admits. “I…I didn’t want…I never…I didn’t mean to…”

And he feels tears running down his cheeks. How embarrassing, he thought to himself, sniffing and trying to dry the corners of his eyes.

Suddenly, he’s warm. Very, very warm.

“I know,” Blaise says, quietly, in his ear. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“I loved her,” Jack finds himself saying into his dad’s chest, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice. A usually effortless task that’s really not working for him today. “I never wanted to hurt her and when I did, I—”

“Shh, it’s okay, darling,” Winter says. Jack can feel her arms around him now too. “It’s alright. What’s done is done,” she says, soothingly. “We can’t undo it.”

“But we can help you now,” Blaise said, letting up from the hug. “Whatever you need. We'll help. We're here with you.”

“Winter’s right,” Jack said, lifting his head off of Blaise. “We can’t bring her back. I wish I could! I’d give anything to make it right. But there isn’t anything I can do. In fact, I think it’s safe to say I’ve done enough,” Jack said.

Blaise chuckled, his hairline glowing.

“But what I can do is this. Because somewhere out there is another Jack, who has his Jacqueline; another Winter and Blaise who have her, too! And I don’t want them to lose her. I don’t want them to go through everything we’ve gone through,” Jack said, gesturing around him.

“What is she planning on doing?” Blaise asked, bewildered.

“The thing she travelled with, it has pieces. She was looking for them, and if she visited all of us and we didn’t have them, then there’s only one place left to look.”

Blaise paled. “She’s going to make the jump?”

“One HUNDRED percent. She means business, I mean, look what she did to the guards! To MARCEL!”

“She did that?” Winter asked, eyes widening.

“Uh, yeah,” Jack said, the duh left unspoken but in the air.

“Is it weird that I’m proud?” Winter asked.

“No,” Blaise said. “I am too.”

“It’s impressive,” Jack agreed. “RIGHT! WE HAVE TO GO,” he shouted, rushing forward. "We've wasted enough time as is, best to try and head her off at Roseterra! Cheri's probably already gotten her everything she needs—"

“Jack, wait! Hold on a second—how does he still have this much energy,” Blaise asked Winter, exasperated.

She laughed. “I’ll grab him,” she said, lifting a finger.

A pile of snow shot up in front of Jack. He slammed directly into it. It pushed him back gently, spinning him around to face his parents.

“What,” he snapped.

“Just don’t move for a second,” Blaise said, lifting his palms. They glowed; between them, his staff appeared. He placed it on the ground, uttered a few words, and boom! A circle appeared around Jack.

He glanced down at it, watching the runes and sigils appear in the circle. There were a lot. He grimaced.

With one last incantation, Blaise lifted his staff and slammed it into the ground. The small symbols and shapes cracked, disappearing until the circle was empty. It faded into the ground, Jack feeling lighter than he had in centuries.

“What was all THAT?!” he asked, equal parts offended on his own behalf, and impressed that it took that many enchantments to keep him imprisoned.

“Don’t worry about it,” Blaise said, a couple of sparks popping off of his ashen head. His roots seemed to be glowing now too. “Let’s go save your sister, yeah?”

And with that, the trio rushed off.

---

They made it, but not soon enough.

They slid to a stop, dust flying as Jacqueline turned to level them all with the same icy glare. Below her, the ground was shifting, shimmering and glittering. In her left hand, she held a glass object. In her right, a piece of chalk.

“Jacqueline, don’t!” Jack said, stepping forward.

She let out one single, sharp HA. “I do what I want, Jack,” she said, coldly. Looking them all dead in the eye one at a time, she dropped the glass ball onto the ground, right into the shimmering circle.

It shattered, and a pink cloud poofed up. The writing on the monument blurred, a small portal opening up, wider and wider until it was as tall as she was. A bright light surrounded her. Jack held up an arm, shielding himself from the light while still trying to keep a visual on Jacqueline. Behind him, Blaise grabbed Winter. She hid her eyes in his chest, while he, similarly to Jack, shielded his own.

They stood, watching helplessly, as the silhouette of Jacqueline stepped into the portal, disappearing.

It snapped shut, the glow diminishing.

All three of them moved forward, only to be stopped by some sort of unseen forcefield.

“Oh dear,” Winter said, as she watched the two men try and break through it. She tilted her head, the north winds blowing. “I’m afraid that won’t work, dears,” she said.

“What do you MEAN it won’t work? We gotta do SOMETHING!”

“We’re going to lose her AGAIN, Winter!”

“Rosehaven has placed the barrier there. It doesn’t want us to interfere. It’s up to her now.”

“And what, we’re just supposed to stand here and wait?!” Jack asked.

“Precisely,” Winter said, the winds blowing happily behind her.

“And what do we do in the meantime? Talk?!” Blaise asked.

“I don’t see why not,” Winter said, chipper.

Both men looked at each other, distraught.

---

The light was very pink. Blinding, nearly. It smelt like flowers. It felt…amazing. Like she was safe; like everything would be okay. She was home.

Her anger, frustration, annoyance, and fear all disappeared as she came to a very sudden stop.

She opened her eyes.

It was still very pink.

She seemed to be in some kind of large, stone gazebo. Vines twirled up it, a leafy canopy hanging down around her. Flowers bloomed. A fountain trickled somewhere nearby. In front of her stood a podium.

“Welcome to Rosehaven,” said an ethereal voice. “Name, please?”

“Jacqueline Winter Frost,” she said. “Here to see one Jacqueline Winter Frost, if you please.”

The hooded figure looked up, perplexed. Their head tilted under the hood; the material gently creasing. “How curious,” they said, gliding over to Jacqueline. “You are here again, and yet, you are already here.”

Jacqueline looked right into the darkness within the figure's hood. She pulled the time piece out of her pocket.

They recoiled. “Well now, that explains it,” they said. There was a swirl of petals and their hood fell back, revealing a pale face, messy dark hair in a pixie cut of all things, and very familiar brown eyes. They danced with all sorts of warm hues. Red. Orange. Yellow. Like fallen leaves. “May I?” they asked gesturing to the time piece.

Jacqueline nodded. She placed it flat in her palm and held it out for the Hollow.

“Time magic. Well, the good news is you’re safe from being stuck,” they said with a knowing smile. “Here, hold onto that.”

“And the bad news?”

“Hmm?”

“You said the good news. Usually that means there’s bad news to follow?”

“Yes. Well, as the Hollow charged with guarding the entrance, I can’t just let you in, of course.”

Jacqueline sighed. “Oh, gosh. Is it riddles? I am very bad at riddles. I hope it isn’t riddles. I’d say combat but we’d be locked in combat forever, wouldn’t we? Cant fight to the death in the afterlife, can we?”

The Hollow laughed. “Nothing so severe and no riddles for you, snowflake. I have a very simple question you must answer for me.”

“Oh. Uh. Okay.”

“How’s Autumn?”

Jacqueline blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Autumn? Your Aunt? How is she.”

“I don’t know. This isn’t my timeline. I have no idea how any of my aunts are—”

“I only need to know about Autumn. Your Autumn.”

“My Autumn?”

The Hollow nodded. “I committed a crime, you see. I brought the light life that gave your aunt breath over to Harvest. That is not the duty I was charged with by the goddess. I was supposed to take life, not give it. So, I was punished with door duty.”

“Door duty? For such a steep crime?” Jacqueline asked.

“It was fated,” the Hollow said with a wink. “I am Hollow Eve. Autumn is as much my daughter as she is Harvest’s. We like to know how she’s getting on, in every timeline.”

“This happens a lot then?”

“Nope! Not at all! This is the first time a Frost from another timeline has found their way in here. Carpe diem,” she said with a knowing smile. “How is she back at home?”

Jacqueline blinked. “Oh! Well. She’s doing quite alright,” Jacqueline said, recalling when they last talked. “She recently got into Bones. It’s a show, not the actual bones. That only happens around Halloween. Anyway, she binged that and loved it! She’s still trying to see if she can yield anything from the scar, but no luck yet. She thinks she’s getting close, but she thinks that every year,” Jacqueline said fondly.

“Bones. I shall look into that show I think. Come then, Jacqueline. I will take you to see Jacqueline. We can walk and talk,” they said, gliding over to the exit. “I will grant you safe passage throughout Rosehaven, and back again.”

“Huh,” Jacqueline said. “This was easier than I thought.”

“She was expecting you.”

“That rambunctious little bugger, I knew it. It’s just what I would do.”

Eve laughed. “Fated,” she said, once again. “Come along then, snowflake. Right this way. It’s tea time. Impeccable timing.”

“Fated, even?” Jacqueline teased back.

Eve laughed. “Indeed! Now you're getting it. Let’s get a move on. And tell me more about my child, if you please.”

“Sure,” Jacqueline said, more than happy to talk about her aunt, though it was harder than she had expected.

Not that she didn’t know much about Autumn; they talked regularly, as she did with all three aunts. No, it was just…Rosehaven was beautiful. And as they walked, Jacqueline was enthralled with it, trying to take it all in while sharing all her favourite Aunt Autumn stories. Her multi-tasking skills were not to be found today.

The hills rolled out, impossibly far; the pink sky was bright. Flowers were all over the place, blowing in a breeze that smelt like all of her favourite things: freshly baked cake. Snow. Dite. The beach. Trees towered high, the oddest creatures popping in and out of them, flitting through the sky, over branches, and winding between their feet. Fun little houses dotted the landscape, dwellings matching each magibean that sat, lounging; basking. Playing instruments, working with magic both alone and with their neighbours, explosions of sparkles happening both near and far as magic sprouted up all around them. The pathways sprawled out in the distance, leading to lush forests, jungles; desert, even! And far off in the distance, mountains; a tall, lonely castle, a sharp contrast off in the horizon to the warm and cozy dwellings that surrounded them.

Jacqueline had actually stopped to frown at it for but a moment, as Eve told her not to dwell for too long and come along, if you’d please. And tell me more about Halloween, if you’d be so kind.

And so, the pair continued on through Rosehaven; Jacqueline trying fruitlessly to take in as much detail as possible while telling Eve all about her daughter. Aunt Autumn. They delighted in all the stories Jacqueline shared, as they wound through the lush expanse, Eve practically sparkling the more she heard of Autumn.

Finally, the path widened, the trees growing taller and wider, covered in vines, flowers all over the place. Water trickled in the distance; they walked under a natural stone archway, coming into a beautiful garden. Butterflies fluttered about, the sweetest of scents tickling her nose. The woods and stones and vines and flowers wound together tightly, forming all natural furnishings. At the centre of it all, a stone. A stone that was both devoid of colour and all the colours at once; sparkling faintly, magic shimmering around it.

Just behind this stone was a table. Made of wood and bark, and surrounded by stumps shaped like chairs, a beautiful spread of treats and sweets sat. A teapot glinted in the light, steam coming out of the spout. Four cups sat in saucers, two filled, two more waiting. At the top of this round table sat a woman.

She looked old; ancient, even. Her hair was long, the green still making itself known through the grey. Leaves sat at the top of her braids, turning into flowers, then back to leaves again. Colourful leaves, trailing into frost at the very bottom. Her multiple braids clinked together as she nodded along, green eyes soft, paying rapt attention to her small companion, a soft smile on her dark face.

Her companion stood on her stump chair, talking animatedly and bouncing in place as she used her whole entire body to describe something. Her pigtails bounce as she grinned, blue eyes sparkling, flyaway hairs decorated with snowy beads, a little flower tying each braid off at the end.

Eve cleared her throat.

Both figures stopped talking, turning to look at the pair. The little sprite grinned, bouncing in place once again. The old woman smiled, head tilted.

“Hello, Eve,” she said, her voice soft and loud, sounding like rushing water but also like a soft breeze. It hit Jacqueline, then, exactly who she’d come face to face with. The little gasp slipped out, much to her dismay. The tiny sprite giggled about it. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Mother Gaia. Mistress Frost. You have a visitor,” they said, bowing deeply, and gesturing towards Jacqueline. Flushing, Jacqueline curtseyed deeply. “One Mistress Frost,” Eve said.

“Mother Gaia, it’s an honour,” Jacqueline said, reverent, not sure how long she should bow for.

The woman chuckled. “There’s no need for formalities, dear. Up you go. There we go. Now, I don’t think I have to introduce my companion to you, do I?”

The child giggled. So did the young woman.

“No,” she said.

“We’re good! We know each other!” the child said, bouncing in place. She turned to her older self, meeting the woman’s fierce gaze with one of her own.

“Do you have them?” Jacqueline asked.

With a small smile, she opened her little fist. In it, three pieces of glowing chrono-quartz sat, charged and ready to go.

“Oh thank the goddess,” Jacqueline said, relieved.

“Did you bring me what I wanted?”

“I think the heck I did,” Jacqueline replied, grinning. “May I sit?”

“Please do,” Mother Gaia said, gesturing to the stumps. “Eve?”

“I’ll float, thank you.”

“Have some tea, darling,” Mother Gaia said. Not waiting for an answer, she waved her hand. The pot poured out a cup, cream pouring in along with some honey. The saucer and cup floated, then, landing right in front of Eve’s outstretched hands.

“Thank you, Mother Gaia.”

“Of course. Now then. What have you been up to, my dear?”

“All sorts of nonsense,” Jacqueline said with a sigh, slumping in her seat. Elbow on the table, she held her head, taking a moment to rest. “Chased all three of them down to find those,” she said, pointing lazily at her child self’s hands.

“Are they coming?” the child asked, hope glinting in her big blue eyes.

“I did you one even better, Jacqueline,” she replied, selecting a brownie off the snack tray. “They’re here.

“HERE?!”

“Like, outside, but yes, they are. All three of them.”

“ALL of them?”

“Even Jack.”

The little girl brightened at that, bouncing in her seat again. “Yay! Thank you,” she said, earnestly.

“Of course. Riled them up real good, too,” she added, taking a bite out of her brownie.

“Very much so,” said Gaia. “I can feel the chaos from here.”

“Well you gotta do what you gotta do,” both Jacquelines said, one around a mouthful of brownie. They stopped and looked at each other, blinking, and immediately laughing.

Gaia smiled. “I hope the little one didn’t cause you too much trouble,” Gaia said, booping little Jacquie’s nose fondly. The child let out a teehee.

“She absolutely did,” Jacqueline said, her child self giggling fully now and plopping down in her seat. “You sent me on a goose chase and a HALF girl! Dang! And this on top of the day I have had,” she said, grabbing a tiny cupcake off the platter and peeling off the wrapper. “I was supposed to help a friend find a thing, and then these time shenanigans happened and then I found myself looking at my own GRAVE! I’ve had to yell at my parents and visit my brother in PRISON for KILLING me,” she said, eating the cupcake whole. “I mean, I figured I’d probably visit him in prison more than once in our lifetimes, BUT FOR MURDER? OF MY ME? Would much rather do that visit ALIVE, thank you kindly. Uh, no offence,” she said, embarrassed, glancing around the table as she swallowed the cupcake.

“None at all,” Gaia said.

“I’ve no concept of life,” Eve said. “I simply exist.”

“I’ve been like this for FOREVER! It’s allllll good, Jacqueline,” said the kid, patting her hand.

“I just. I have had a very long day and really want to go home and get a hug from my girlfriend and—”

“WE HAVE A GIRLFRIEND?! WHO? WHAT’S SHE LIKE? IS SHE PRETTY? STRONG? CAN SHE THROW ME? CAN SHE THROW YOU?! CAN SHE THROW US BOTH?”

“Yes to all of that,” Jacqueline said.

“I’m so cool,” kid Jacqueline said, grinning at Gaia.

“The coolest, I'd say,” Gaia said, grinning back. “Now then. Finish up your tea. Have some as well, Jacqueline; you’ll need this particular blend for the journey ahead.”

“Oh?”

“Special properties. They’ll make the planar shift less…cumbersome on the way out.”

“Cumbersome?”

“It was nice coming in,” Eve said. “But it’s quite the opposite going out. This should help. And since you told me what I needed to know, you have my blessing to take as long as you need. I’ll make sure the portal closes when you’re ready,” Eve added, directing the last bit at tiny Jacqueline.

“Got it,” she said, with a determined nod. “Are you coming too, Gram?”

“No child. I’m much too old to be making these planar shifts. I’ll be right here waiting for you to get back and tell me all about it,” she said, eyes crinkling at the corners when she smiled.

Tiny Jacqueline smiled, hopping off her seat and right into Gaia’s arms in a hug.

“Thank you,” she said, squeezing the matriarch.

“Of course,” she said, squeezing back.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Eve said. “Both of you.”

And so, finishing their tea, the two of them got up. Thanking Gaia once again, Jacqueline waited beside Eve, hand outstretched to her child self. “Shall we?”

“Yes please,” Jacqueline said with a grin, taking her hand.

“Then let’s go,” she replied.

Hand in hand, the two sprites started forward, Eve gliding in front of them, leading them back to the lobby, as they called it. Once they had gotten under the gazebo, the vines snapped, cascading down from the roof and blocking the entrances. With creaks and groans, the vines grew larger and larger, entangling amongst themselves to keep from easily being breached.

“Not to worry; this happens with break-ins. I’ll take care of things here. The two of you,” she said, placing a hand over the spot Jacqueline had appeared in upon her arrival, “Do what you need to do, okay?”

“Sure,” Jacqueline said. Beside her, kid Jacqueline scooted closer, grabbing her arm with both hands and tugging.

“Psst,” she said. “Down here.”

Jacqueline sunk down, worry creasing her face. “Yes?”

“What if…what if they’re not there no more? What if we go out there and they’re gone? I…” she sniffled, her lips wobbling.

“Oh, hey now, kiddo. It’s okay,” Jacqueline said, picking herself up and seating her on her leg. “They will be there; I promise. And if they’re not,” she looked left, looked right, and came right up to her ear. “I’ll hunt them down for you myself. Just for you. Okay?”

Eyes wide and teary, the child nodded. “Okay,” she said. Reaching over, she grabbed Jacqueline’s other arm, pulling her hand up to her face. In her palm, she dropped the chrono-quartz. “I’m ready,” she said, sliding off of Jacqueline’s knee and grabbing her hand.

Behind them, there was a sort of fwoom. A bright light filled the lobby, the portal home opening up for them. Glancing back down at her younger self, Jacqueline stepped forward.

“Ready? For sure?”

“Yeah!”

“Then let’s go.”

And, keeping her younger self behind her, Jacqueline stepped back through the portal.

---

Tuckered out, the three sprites sat, backs against the barrier that would not drop. It had been nearly an hour; they had talked. They had waited. They had come to the realization that they hadn't had to run all day. They could've poofed.

Suddenly, a low thrum.

They shot up, Jack throwing himself in front of his parents and watching as the portal that had closed up opened once again. A silhouette appeared; tall. A mess of hair. She stepped forward. Behind her, her arm still in the portal, she gave something a gentle tug.

A second silhouette popped out. Shorter; smaller. Hair braided.

All three gasped.

The light cleared. Looking a lot less angry now was the older Jacqueline they had come across today, hand in hand with the little girl they thought they had lost, looking as perky and happy as she always had, if a bit translucent and shimmery.

They stared at her. Jack wide-eyed. Winter crying behind her hands. Blaise tearing up.

It was Jack who, yet again, broke the silence.

“Jacqueline?”

The little girl ran, then, closing the distance very fast. She hopped up, slamming right into her brother’s chest with enough force to knock him down. He barely had time to recover before her arms were around his chest, squeezing the life out of him with a hug.

“I missed you,” she said, squishing him very tightly. Jack blinked for a moment, before squishing her back just as tight, if not more.

“I am so, so sorry Jacqueline, I never meant to hurt you! To, to kill you! It was an accident. I love you. I’d never hurt you, not. Not knowingly. Not like this.”

“It’s okay,” she replied, still holding on tight. “I forgive you. It was an accident,” she said, finally letting Jack go. “But what I DON’T forgive you for is NOT coming to SEE ME!”

Still sitting on Jack’s legs, she huffed, crossing her tiny arms. “I waited! I waited the whole time to see you guys! Every single converse-convert-converge—”

“Convergence,” Jack and not dead Jacqueline both said at the same time.

“Yeah! That! I waited for you and mom and dad, but you never came,” she said, turning to look up at her parents. “None of you came. Why’d you leave me all alone?”

When Jack and Blaise didn’t respond, Winter spoke up.

"We messed up," she said, sinking down to the floor, looking at her little baby girl. She reached out, gently caressing her baby’s face. Rubbing away the tears with the pad of her thumb. “We made a very big mistake. We tried to save you, and when we couldn’t…”

“We turned away from each other,” Blaise admitted, sinking down now too.

“We ran away,” Jack added, frowning at the floor. “I…I don’t know about mom and dad, but it seemed easier to run than to face up to what had happened. To deal with it. And, and thinking of going to see you…what would I have even said?”

“Well I think you’re doing okay right now,” Jacqueline said, softening a little.

Jack grinned. “Thanks, Jacqueline.”

“Anytime, boss,” she said, saluting very silly like. Jack chuckled.

“I think we all hurt you a little bit, didn’t we?” Winter asked. “Not coming to see you. Doing what we thought best.”

“What we thought you’d want,” Blaise added.

“All I wanted was to see you guys. I didn’t want you to run away from each other. I just wanted to see you all together and maybe sometimes still be there too,” she admitted, poking her lil’ fingers together. “I’m DEAD. You can’t change that. Not by running away or playing chase or anything silly like that.”

“I know,” Winter said, swooping Jacqueline up off of Jack’s legs. "We know." Pulling her in close, Winter gave her child a big squeeze. “I’m sorry, dear.”

“It’s okay, mommy,” she said, hugging Winter tightly. She looked up at Blaise over her shoulder. With a smile, she stuck her little arms up.

Blaise grabbed her so fast, crushing her against him. “I’m sorry, too,” he said, gruffly. He let out a sob. “I thought I knew what you wanted, but it wasn’t about what I thought. I was wrong. We were wrong. I’m sorry, Jacqueline, so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay daddy,” she croaked, enjoying the warmth that came with the territory. “I’m just glad you were all still here when I got here. I was afraid you’d all have left. That maybe you didn’t…you didn’t want to see me.”

“What?”

“Jacqueline Winter Frost!”

“We’d never!”

“Well you all did a very bad no good awful job showing that,” she said with a pout, wiggling out of Blaise’s arms and plopping on the ground, crossing her little arms. “Do better.”

Up by the grave marker, Jacqueline chuckled. Get their asses, Jacquie, she thought, pulling out the empty time piece. It had a slight glow to it. She pulled out the chrono-quartz. They also had a slight glow. Almost there, she thought, placing them into the face.

“Don’t you worry your little head off,” Jack said, grandly, poking the very top of said little head. “We’ll do better now. I’ll make sure of it.”

“You promise?”

“I promise,” Jack said.

“We all do,” Blaise agreed, Winter nodding enthusiastically beside him.

The tiny sprite’s eyes grew big, her lip wobbling before breaking out in a huge smile. “YAY!” she said, jumping around, trying to hug all three of her family members at once.

“How have you been?!” Winter asked suddenly, grabbing Jacqueline and squishing her tightly. “Are you okay?”

“I am now,” she replied, hugging back. “It’s very nice where I am! Very pink though. I stay with Gaia. She’s real nice and looks lots like Mother Nature and lets me call her Gram. She makes really good tea and always has sweets and...”

Jacqueline sighed, relieved as she watched her child self go on and on about Rosehaven and how everything had been for her on the other side. There was a click and a whir; she glanced down. The watch was ready. The cracks had sealed, the time chunk once again in one piece. Clicking the knob at the top, she watched as the arrows whirred, and the purple turned blue.

“Got him,” she said to herself, relieved, pressing down on the face of the timepiece.

In front of her, a deep purple portal opened. Shoulders sagging, she stepped forward, glad to leave when all of a sudden there was a tug on her skirt.

“Hmm?”

She looked down. Kid Jacqueline stood beside her with a soft smile, hands behind her back.

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” she said, rushing forward and hugging her legs.

“Awwh,” Jacqueline couldn’t help but say. She bent down, squishing her dead self tightly. “You’re welcome. Give them hell, okay? And one more thing.”

The child blinked, letting herself be picked up by herself. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry you died,” she said, face falling.

The child in her arms giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. “It’s okay. I can’t change that. And you can’t, either. Nothing can bring me back completely. But you did me a big help,” she said.

“A big help?” Jacqueline asked, the corner of her lips twitching.

“Yeah! You helped me help them and now we can make a difference. Look! Lookit!”

Tightening her grip on her kid self, Jacqueline looked down at her parents and brother. They were chatting, standing up now; waiting patiently for Jacqueline to head back their way. Blaise and Winter were deep in conversation. Jack said something; the pair laughed, Blaise’s hair actually smouldering. Jack glanced up their way, head tilted.

“GIVE ME TWO MORE SECONDS!” the tiny child yelled, turning back to her adult self. “This is all I ever wanted,” she said, throwing her little arms around Jacqueline’s neck.

“I know,” Jacqueline said, squishing her tight. “Me too. I’m glad I could help.”

“Me too!” she said, pulling out of the hug.

“And if they EVER act out of sorts again, let me know. I’ll knock some sense into them.”

The child laughed. “Okay!”

“Alright,” Jacqueline said, and, with one last squeeze, released little Jacquie. “Off you go,” she said, watching as little Jacqueline ran down the incline, waving at her.

“BYE JACQUELINE! TRAVEL SAFE! I HOPE YOU WIN!”

“Me too,” Jacqueline said, waving back and stepping foot into the portal. The watch was ready; and so was she.

She glanced behind her once more. Jacqueline hopped up into the air, throwing herself at her parents. Blaise was teary eyed; she latched onto his neck like a little koala, Blaise, grabbing his wife and son and squishing them, too. There was cracking; a pop. Blaise’s hair lit up.

With one last deep breath, Jacqueline hopped into the portal, watching as it slowly closed on the four Frosts hugging one another very tightly, basking in Blaise's firelight before she was yanked into the time stream, the watch glowing and pushing her through to the proper timeline.

---

The portal shut; the angry ghost was gone, leaving them with the ghost they had missed the most. Jack watched it shut, wiggling his way out of the hug.

Or at least, trying to.

“So, uh. Not to ruin the moment or anything,” Jack said, Blaise not letting go. “But um. What now? Where should I go?”

“House arrest seems our only recourse,” Blaise said, sternly. “Your Mother and I can keep a close eye on you there. What do you think?”

Jack blinked, taken aback. He smiled; small, soft. "I think I'd like that."

#this is 15k lmao. sorry not sorry ;)#oh and translator's note: LCBCS stands for liquor control board crystal springs #it is 100% a play on the ontarian LCBO >:)#dani writes #the one where jacqueline dies #jacqueline dies au #jacqueline dies au part 2 #frowny shots #tho tbh this thing is so comfort idk if i CAN call it a frowny shot #it's also long enough that tumblr is having a time with it lmao. so my edit was FAST #ANYWAY. SORRY. FR. ABOUT THE LENGTH! I SHOULD;VE SPLIT IT BUT RLY WANTED IT OUT ALL AT ONCE #crystal springs #time splinter bits #ocs #tsc #tsc3

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savrenim · 1 year

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shameless patreon plug, bc we are nearing the end of the month: I am currently doing a Thing where I am writing [monthly income]x10 words each month on the open project of mine that wins the poll of all current open projects.

as of right now, I will be writing at least 710 words of the next chapter of it feels more like a memory, as that is winning the poll. everything that comes from these polls will be posted on patreon as an early release, but won't be posted to the public until they are finished and edited.

if you would like to contribute to More Words Being Written and have access to the snippets, join the $1 access to everything tier! if you would like to vote in the polls, join the $5 (or any higher) tier!

#my life #my writing #I'm still writing different things than the poll and tbh I will probably end up writing a bit over #I also think for things like novels I will show wordcount change and some Good Quotes but those given I both Care About Spoilers #and Huge Structural Changes happen will probably not have direct work posted #but fanfic chapters are linear and contained in editing enough that I feel comfortable pasting the draft straight #anyways other things likely to be on my patreon soon: bnha fanfic is inching towards next chapter done #ttbotr has like Three More Scenes then it is Done #and there are a bunch of Long One Shots like lesbian hadestown in space and trash novel stars wars crossover that I could just. finish.#anyways. I want to do more writing and less making shitty online tutoring videos.#and I can only do that with Money

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janaispunk · 4 months

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28 "No one ever cared about me like you." for Joel or Marcus Pike, please?? Thank you for writing all this amazing stuff for us <3

no one can hurt you now

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

word count: ~1.2k

summary: You’ve been traveling through the country with Joel and Ellie. After finally arriving in the safety of Jackson, you realize how much Joel means to you.

tags/warnings: post outbreak, mentions of infected, fighting and blood, reader doesn’t value her life that much tbh, angst, anxiety, comfort, able-bodied reader, no use of y/n (please let me know if i missed something <3)

a/n: dearest anon, thank you so much for your kind words and for sending this prompt in! this started out as a drabble but got out of control, so i hope you enjoy this little fic 🫶🏻

dividers by @saradika-graphics who is amazing <3

full masterlist here / follow @janaispunknotifs and turn on notifications for fic updates!

The clicker’s teeth snap at you inches away from your face, your arms straining desperately to hold the creature off. A shot rings through the air and the clicker stills as blood splatters across your face.

You push the now lifeless weight off of you and try to stand back up, your shaky legs underneath you barely cooperating.

“Thanks,” you mutter, gasping for breath.

“The fuck was that?” Joel barks, the gun still grasped so tightly in his hand that his knuckles are turning white.

“It was- running at Ellie, I just-“

You’ll admit that you hadn’t really thought it through when you lunged at the clicker that had charged in the girl’s direction without any weapons in your hands. Not her, had been the only clear thought in your head. She wasn’t replaceable.

You were.

“You just what? Thought you’d get yourself killed?”

“No! I don’t know, okay? I still bought us time, and you got it, so-”

You don’t like the way he’s glaring at you, like you did something fundamentally wrong. You took a risk, yes, but his main objective is taking the girl across the country. You’re just… there.

“So?! Fuckin’ stupid, is what it was,” he snaps before he turns around abruptly and stomps further into the abandoned house that you’re hoping to spend the night in. You wait until your legs finally stop trembling before you follow him.

It’s the middle of the night when Joel finally speaks to you again. You had settled down in one of the bedrooms on the upper floor, not before searching the house extra thoroughly after the clicker incident earlier.

You can hear Ellie’s soft snores from across the room and you would have sworn that Joel was asleep too. Your mind didn’t rest, replaying the scene over and over, the way Joel snapped at you making your chest hurt each time.

“You don’t get to not make yourself a priority, you hear me? I won’t let you.”

You flinch at the unexpected sound from his corner of the room, but his voice is gentle, like he’s approaching a scared animal.

“But Ellie-” you still try to protest.

“I care about Ellie just as much as you do.” He hesitates for a second. “But I also care about you.”

You feel heat flushing your cheeks and you avert your gaze, even though it’s too dark for him to see your face anyway.

“You shouldn’t,” you mutter, “she’s the one that matters.”

“So do you,” he grumbles.

“Not like her.”

He heaves a sigh and you hear him moving closer to you in the darkness.

“Listen to me.” His tone is gruff, but you can feel the intensity behind his words. “I couldn’t- shit, I couldn’t do this alone. Just take care of yourself. Don’t be stupid. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agree in a hushed voice.

You know that this is the closest that Joel Miller will ever get to admitting that he doesn’t hate you. You try to fight the feeling, but warmth is spreading through your chest at the thought that he actually wants you around, that he’s not just letting you tag along because he doesn’t know what else to do with you.

It’s your first real night in Jackson, the first time that you’ve arrived at a place and didn’t immediately make plans on where to go next. The first night that you’re spending in a real bed in god knows how long. The first night that you don’t have to sleep with one eye open, always waiting for the next danger to find you.

And the first night in a bed with Joel. Neither of you had protested when you were assigned to one house with him and Ellie. You know what Joel and you look like, from the outside. You don’t think that you care, not really.

The house has three bedrooms anyway, so it didn’t matter. At least that’s what you thought, until you had all said good night to each other and you were lying alone in the darkness, wide eyes staring up at the dark ceiling, as you were trying to stop the anxious shivers running through your body.

It was too quiet, the mattress too soft, the room too… empty. You had gotten used to the steady breathing of two other people around you, and now that they weren’t in the room with you, everything felt wrong. What if you woke up tomorrow to find them both dead, to find yourself alone in the world once more? How were you supposed to make sure they were safe when you weren’t with them?

Before you could overthink it, you got up, checked on Ellie who was sleeping soundly and padded over to the room Joel was in.

“Can’t sleep?” his low drawl had greeted you as soon as you cracked the door open.

You wordlessly shook your head and he sighed.

“Me neither. Doesn’t feel right like this, does it?”

That’s how you ended up under the covers next to him. No touching of course, both of you keeping a firm distance. This was just so you could both catch some sleep. Just for tonight.

Except that you’re still not able to let sleep drag you under. Your body is tense, acutely aware of his presence next to you, his body heat easily traveling the short distance between you. You could bridge it just as easily, just reach your hand out to - do what, exactly?

You huff out a breath and turn onto your side, shuffling the sheets with your movement.

“What’s wrong?”

His voice is barely above a whisper and before you can open your mouth to respond, his fingers find your face and graze over your cheek in a barely there contact.

He had touched you before, of course, checking you for injuries, soothing you with a hand on your arm or a brush over your hair, but never like this. Never in the darkness of the night and never when you could sense the tension in the air between you, could almost feel his breath on your face. You have never been so acutely aware of the warmth of his fingers that’s seeping into your skin right now.

“I just- I never thanked you for taking me here, for taking care of me.”

It’s not what’s on the forefront of your mind, not the thing that’s plaguing you in this moment, but it’s still true, and much easier than admitting to him that feeling his body so close right next to yours has you practically burning up, has your fingers itching to touch him, to breathe him in.

Joel hums.

“You don’t have to. Of course I did that.”

You try swallowing the lump that suddenly builds in your throat.

“No one ever cared about me like you,” you admit in a whisper.

“Hey,” Joel mumbles, alarmed at the thickness of unshed tears in your voice, “come here, sweetheart.”

Both of his arms reach towards you and his hands splay over your shoulders to pull you into his chest. His warmth engulfs you and you feel the tension in your body subsiding as you’re resting your head over his steady heartbeat.

“We’re safe now,” he whispers into your hair. “I’ll always keep you safe.”

if you liked this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging - nothing would make me happier 🤍

#janas fics #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller angst #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #Pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedrostories

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patrophthia · 6 months

Text

attention is what i want! | theo. nott

pairing: theodore nott x fem!reader

genre: pining, one sided crushes, angst !!, complicated feelings, theo is a dick tbh, humor (my attempt at it), reader embarrasses herself (multiple time), girls girls pansy, reader are friends with the golden trio but isn’t a gryffindor, cursing, drinking, a bit suggestive in the end hehe

wc: 4.3k (idk how it got this long, i planned to write sth with like 2k at most but it kept going)

note: i wrote this while listening to attention by new jeans for two hours straight (yay pining!) i have very mixed feelings for this fic but here it is anyways!

summary: it’s no secret that you have a crush on theodore nott, theo knows it, hell the whole school knew it; maybe if they didn’t then it’d be easier for you to get over him after you embarrassed yourself in front of the whole school. at least you got a new friend because of it.

To say you had a crush on Theodore Nott would be an understatement. You never actually confessed to the Slytherin but it's as clear as days that you were into him.

And when he was as good looking as he was, could anyone really blame you?

Not really, not when most of Hogwarts found your attempt at shooting your shot with him the most amusing thing ever.

"Good morning, Nott." Your hand shot upwards the second the Slytherin enters the classroom. His eyes settling on you whilst his friends bickers behind him. "I saved you a seat."

There's snickering from behind you, hushed whispers as your classmate gossips about your pathetic attempt at getting with Theodore once more.

His eyes scans the room, finally settling on one of the two empty seats behind the class and B-lining towards it. Zabini, having lost to Malfoy at grabbing the seat next to Theodore smiles at you kindly. Maybe even apologetically as he sits next to you.

"Better luck next time?" He offers, trying to lighten your mood and you smile back, nodding. "You'll get him eventually."

And though your voice is low, barely audible and muffled; Zabini still manages to hear you huff out a: "doubt it."

"Do you think he'd pay attention to me if I dyed my hair green?" You ask, playing with your hair.

Sure, your hair would end up damaged but if it meant Theodore would spare a glance your way then you'd take it.

Harry looks at you as if you'd grown an extra head, green eyes enlarged as he tries to gauge whether you were serious or not. "Excuse me?"

"I think I could pull of forest green hair."

Hermione rolls her eyes. "No, you can't." She doesn't really mean it though, she does agree that you'd probably pull off forest green hair but she'd rather you do it for your own personal wants rather than to gain someone else's attention. "And you won't."

You only huff at her words. "Why not?"

"Because, it's stupid. You'd look stupid doing so." Mione doesn't bother sugarcoating it, she doesn't need to when you've known her as long as you have. "If you need his attention so badly then ask him out, just drop the question and get it over with."

"I'm trying to!" You groan, passing your plate with leftovers over to Ron who accepts it gladly. "I could walk naked in front of him and he wouldn't even bat an eyelash."

Ron face scrunches at the idea, finding the prospect of a naked you disgusting. "You could put up a banner," he suggests through a mouthful of food. "I'd notice someone if they put up a banner with my name on it."

And when Hermione's whacked Ron at him encouraging what she deemed was self destructive behavior, the conversation shifts to something else completely.

You're huffing and puffing when you straighten up, showing your three closest friends what you'd been working on for the last two days. "What do you think?"

Ron gasps loudly, eyes wide as he takes in the imagine in front of him. "You're crazy."

"If you'd just—" Hermione, as if it was second nature, reaches up and smack at his arm. "—learnt how to shut up, this wouldn't have happened."

It's only natural for you to frown at their reaction, brows knitted as you asked them. "Is it too much?"

Harry, and his sweet sweet soul tries his best to not hurt your feelings as he nodded. "Maybe?" He tries to soften the blow, adding on: "I think it's brilliant, it's just ... a lot."

You look over your masterpiece. Reading out the glittering paint, letter by letter and watching it as it takes shape into one of the biggest banner you've seen at Hogwarts by far.

Written in shining green paint were the words:

A-T-T-E-N-T-I-O-N, attention is what I want. Nott, go out with me?

"I mean, if anything you'll definitely get his attention with that," Harry says, blinking rapidly at the banner. "It's pretty hard to miss."

"Let's hope so."

The dining hall is louder than normal, it has always been noisy; having seated thousands of teenagers who had little to none supervision during their breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

But like Theodore has noted earlier, it's noisier than normal. And the drop of voices is significant when he steps through the large doors, loud gossips turns to hushed whispers; eyes roaming between him and a figure by the Gryffindor table.

It doesn't take him long to notice why, a dust of glitter falling down on him from above. He glances up, eyes squinting as he reads out the banner before him.

A-T-T-E-N-T-I-O-N, attention is what I want. Nott, go out with me?

The letters are bright, glinting under the candle light as if it was taunting him, pushing at his buttons for a reaction. And though, there was no name written on the banner to indicate who'd made it; he knew that it was you.

Dark eyes narrows as he zones in on you. You dressed up nicely, watching him with a pretty smile on your waiting face.

And when all he did was roll his eyes and turn towards the Slytherin table, without sparing you another look. You all but deflated in front of everyone's eyes.

You knew it was stupid, and that it was all your fault to make your love life so public for everyone to entertain themselves with, but you can't help but feel hurt at the laughter bubbling through out the hall.

You're scrambling out of your seat, rushing out of the hall when a voice shouts out. "Serves you right, pick me!"

Oddly enough, it's Pansy who speaks up; her voice loud and clearly irritated when she shouts back, telling them to go and: "Fuck yourself."

Why the Slytherin threw a dirty glare at her friend and ran after you despite the two of you not being friends —let alone having been seen together before, was a mystery to everyone.

And since Hermione loves you too much for her own good, she’s quick to scramble out of her seat, casting a spell to set the banner up in flames as she rushed after Pansy and you.

There’s a sort of guilt that Hermione feels when she finds you hunched over with Pansy’s hand running up and down your back. The two of you weren’t friends, neither is Hermione and Pansy but when a girl’s in need of comfort, it’s only normal for them to be there for her.

“I don’t get why you’re into him, honestly,” Pansy grits out, “out of all the boys in Slytherin you just had to choose the dickhead, didn’t you?”

Hermione can hear you sniffle out a laugh as she takes a seat on your other side. “Out of all the boys in Hogwarts you just had to choose the dickhead, huh?”

Pansy and Hermione are sharing a grin as you lift your head up slightly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not like I wanted to like him, you know?” You say with a small laugh. “I guess I’m just attracted to an asshole.”

“You’re guessing this now?” Pansy says with a roll of her eyes, there’s no venom in her tone, only playful annoyance. “This isn’t the first time he’s treated you like this. I’ve heard all about your … attempts, you know?”

“Really?” You’re laughing and the hurt in your tone is clearer than ever. “How embarrassing.”

“It’s not,” Hermione reassured you, “if anything I think it’s endearing.”

“Me making a fool of myself for a guy is endearing to you?”

Pansy giggles at your words. “I’ve done worse, maybe just not so publicly.” Her voice is playful when she adds on, “but this should be the final nail in the coffin right? Finally getting over that asshole after this?”

“That asshole is your best friend,” you remind her and she looks to her side bashfully.

“That doesn’t excuse him for being horrible to you,” she mumbled. “And I thought Draco was bad.”

“Malfoy is bad,” Hermione chimes in. “He just didn’t humiliate you like Nott did her.”

Pansy tilts her head to the side in thought. “Maybe. Or maybe we should just stop dating Slytherin guys over all.”

Hermione only smiles fondly at her words. “Maybe.”

You’re doing fine. Or as fine as one could be after a publicly humiliating confession. You’re still very you, smiling at Theodore every chance you get even though you’ve told your friends (now extended to Pansy) multiple times that you were getting over him.

The only BIG difference that anyone noticed after your rejection was that you no longer attempted to get closer to Theodore. You don’t save him seats, you don’t tell him good morning, and they’d be lying if they said it wasn’t weird.

“Is this seat taken?”

You look up, eyes widening at the person in front of you and nodded. “I’m saving it for someone.” You pray to Merlin that he doesn’t hear the waver in your voice as you did so. “Is there something you needed?”

He doesn’t answer you, instead placing his book bag on your desk. You try to control the butterflies caged in your stomach, fluttering at the sight of his forearm flexing as he did so. “You’re saving it for me? Like always?”

You blink at him. “… no. I’m saving it for Blaise.”

“Huh,” he hums thoughtfully, “you’re in first name basis now?”

You move to your right when he takes his seat to your left, trying to distance yourself from him. “What do you want?”

He looks at you and your pretense of being over him crumbles all over, tumbling as he nearly knocks you off your feet just how intense his gaze is. And though you’ve always wanted his attention, for him to look at you back like he’s doing now. You can’t help but feel sick to your stomach with how much you still liked him.

“Attention is what you want, right?”

What is he playing at? “Not anymore.”

“Shame.” There’s a slight smile at your answer. “I was finally ready to give it to you.”

“He said that?” Pansy repeats your words back to you, her hand moving away from your face as she dips it back into the face mask she’d mixed up. “That’s weird.”

“That’s what I thought,” you murmur, feeling Hermione kick her feet into your lap. “I’m so confused right now.”

“Maybe he’s playing hard to get?” Hermione suggests. “Even if he is I hope he knows the only hard thing he’s getting is a rock thrown at his face.”

It’s clear that she’s taken your rejection harder than you did, grumbling at the thought of him. “A text book if he’s lucky.”

Pansy finishes up your face mask and sets the bowl down. “I told him to apologise to you, not to go and bother you," she says, frowning slightly.

“You told him to apologise?” The tone of the conversation shifts, downing just the slightest bit.

Pansy avoids your eyes as she nods, “I just wanted him to say sorry for how he treated you, you didn’t deserve that. But that fucker decided to go and do something weird, I’m sorry, lovely.”

When she’s taken up the nickname lovely for you, you don’t know. But you’re too much into your head to say anything about it. “Please don’t do that. Don’t meddle with this just because you pity me. I can handle this by myself.”

“I don’t—” Pansy pauses, realising the weight of her actions “—I’m sorry, I promise I’ll leave you be.”

You’re nodding when you tell her: “thank you.”

Trying to jot down notes does nothing to soothe your nerves, and it definitely doesn’t distract you from the fact that Theodore Nott is sitting so damn close to you. So close that your thighs were touching, and that with any small move you made, your shoulder brushes against his.

Moving your chair to the right is no use, not when he’d move his just so he’d be closer to you. You’re so close you could practically hear him breathe.

It’s when your quill slips off of your desk that you have to confront him about it. You nudge at his thigh with yours, forcing them to his left only for him to look at you curiously. “Can you move?”

“Why?” He asks instead, planting his thighs where they’d been.

“My quill fell, I need to get it.” You explain, avoiding his eyes as best as you could. His attention is not good for your heart, maybe it two weeks ago, but it definitely wasn’t now.

Theodore is uninterested and unmoving when he quipped back. “And you can’t get like this?”

Not if you didn’t want to plan your face on his lap and be so terribly close to his— yeah no. You sigh, leaning forward to tap at the person’s in front of you shoulder. “Would you mind getting my quill for me please? It’s bit hard for me to reach.”

The person in front nods and leans down to get it for you with a smile. And when they hands it to you, their finger brushing against yours, you distinctly feel Theodore press himself closer to you.

“You could’ve borrowed mine,” Theodore says lowly, eyeing you from above.

He’s slightly taller than you, even when you’re both sat. Trying to prove to him (and yourself) that you were over him, and that this close proximity did not matter to you; you strain your neck up to glare at him. “You could’ve moved.”

“Maybe,” he concurs. “And you could’ve just asked for me to get it for you.”

“Like you’d do that,” you murmur with a roll of your eyes. “For me of all people.”

“For you of all people,” he repeats.

You hate how you instinctively break away from his gaze, looking at your notes as you try to calm your beating heart. Two weeks is nearly not enough to time to get over a crush you’ve been harboring for the longest time, not when you liked him so much you didn’t bother to keep it a secret to anyone and he knows it.

He knows it and he’s using it as an advantage, for what exactly you don’t know. What you do know, is that you need to get away from Theodore Nott. Or kiss him. Whichever works.

You sigh, glancing at your hands and hope that your voice doesn’t tremble when you quietly ask him. “What are you playing at Theodore?” You’re exasperated and he can hear it, he can hear the exhaustion in your voice and he tries his best not to let it get to him. “I know Pansy told you to apologize but you’re not apologizing, you’re just making things worse.”

He doesn’t say anything, though you can still feel his eyes on you. “Excuse me, Professor,” he says suddenly, his shoulder knocking yours as he stood up, “I’m feeling a bit under the weather, would you mind letting me slip to the infirmary?”

His hands are on you, holding firmly onto your wrist as he speaks. “It’s best if I had a friend to help me.” The professor doesn’t get a chance to respond before Theodore is pulling you away from the class.

Your words are jumbled, flailing as you try to match up his pace; you’re confused and against your better judgement, you trust that he wouldn’t hurt you —even if he’d done so many times before.

He comes to a halt by a hallway, it’s quiet still; students having yet left their classes.

He looks at you, dark eyes clouding with emotion and tries to get you to look at him. Practically begging for you to give him your attention before speaking. “How am I making things worse? It’s what you wanted isn’t it?”

“It is,” you say after a minute. “It’s just— this isn’t how I wanted it.

I like you, Theodore. A lot and I’ve made it so clear so many times and you always made it clear that you didn’t like me back. I finally try to get over you and you do this? What even is this? What are you trying to get at, Theo?”

He doesn’t answer you, his hand finally releasing the grip on your wrist to rest by his side.

You scoff, noting how he falls back to his pattern of not speaking to you when you’re practically pouring your heart out to him.

“Why did never ask me out?”

Your expression is puzzled, and he knows that he needs to explain himself, for him to tell you exactly what he meant but can’t bring himself to. Not when he wants to keep his pride in check.

“I did ask you out,” you tell him slowly. “In front of everyone.”

“Exactly,” his reply is breathless as if he had been pondering over this for ages, “in front of everyone. Why didn’t you tell me you like me? Why didn’t you ask me when it’s just you and I?”

“Are you serious?” You let out a ridiculing laugh. “You never wanted to step a single foot next to me and you expected me to ask you when it’s just me and you? Are you kidding me?

Did you ever wonder why I wrote ‘attention is what I want’?”

He’s speechless. And screwed. He can sense that you’re growing agitated with him, and he hates it.

“Would it have changed anything if I had asked you out between you and I?”

His silence is loud enough for you to understand his converted answer.

“Merlin, why did you bring me out here, Theodore?”

Theodore is bad at emotions. He’s bad at feelings, he’s bad at love and everything alike. He doesn’t like you and he’s pretty sure of it. Then why does it bother him so much to know that you no longer wanted anything to do with him.

“I don’t know.”

“Of course you don’t.” You meet his eyes and he knows that this is the end, you’re done with him for good. “Out of all the boys in Hogwarts you just had to be the one I liked, huh?”

“And that’s it?” Ron ask curiously. “You’re finally getting over him?”

“Mhmm,” you hum, waving at Pansy who waved at you from the end of the dining hall, her Slytherin friends pointedly looking between you, Pansy, and Nott. “Finally am.”

Ron doesn’t need to know that despite your mind being set on getting over Nott, your stomach still did somersault every time you see him —even in your peripheral vision.

And when you smile at him, much like you did to everyone else and he doesn’t smile back at you; you feel your heart break all over again.

It’s your own fault though, falling for a mere stranger who you’d only ever spoken to in classes —all of which having been conversations about school.

“Do I get reward?”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “A reward for doing something we’ve been telling you to do for ages? You wish.”

“I’ve been wishing for something else.” The mischievous look on your face is enough to clue her in on where your mind as gone, scrunching her face as she scowls at you. “Gross.”

“Are you okay though?” Harry asks you lowly. “I know it can be hard to get over crushes.” Take him and Chang for example. “So if you need anything we’re here for you.”

“I’m okay,” you tell him. “Or at least I’ll be.”

Harry offers you a smile, as kind as always. “That’s good then.”

It’d only be weird for you to visit the Slytherin common room often (courtesy of Pansy) and for you to not run into Theodore at least once.

You’re standing outside the common room, waiting for Pansy to come and get you when the door swings open and he stands there in front of you. He’s in his pajamas, an oversized sweater pooling at his hands.

“What are you doing here?”

Though you’re also in your pajamas, you feel slightly underdressed under his eyes. Only having worn a loose T-shirt and shorts for girls night.

You want to ask him what he’s doing here but it is his house’s common room so you withheld your question to yourself. “Pansy.”

He gives you a once over before glancing back into the common room, it’s roaring with laughters; a bunch of the Slytherin boys deciding to play card games as they indulge themselves with the alcohol they bought with their father’s money.

“Let me walk you in,” he offers, already turning back into the common room; expecting for you to follow after him.

“You don’t need to—” you don’t get to finish your words when Theodore throws you a sharp look. As if he was asking you to protest him on this. You sigh, following after him.

Theodore stays a good distance away, hiding you and your bare legs from the other Slytherins. He doesn’t really have to though, most of them minding their own business until Blaise chirps up to say hi.

“Hello,” you greeted him back, waving at him. Crabbe, now noticing your interaction lets out a low whistle at the sight of you. And Theodore moves closer to you, almost possessively. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Mhmm,” Blaise says, humming before turning his attention back to Enzo. “Goodnight, princess.”

There’s a snicker from Goyle, smirking as he says. “You’re stealing Nott’s girl now?”

You only offer him a smile, feeling Theodore come in over closer to you as he hurries you up the stairs. There’s a thump! from behind and you knew, without seeing, that Blaise threw a pillow at the bastards face.

Theodore doesn’t try to hide his amusement when you curse a hex in Crabbe and Goyle’s way, not when Mattheo’s laughter roared across the room at your spell.

“Thank you,” you tell Theodore, and you noticed that his lips are curled; why exactly, you don’t want to know. “Goodnight, Theodore.”

You’re halfway up the stairs when he calls your name, you turn to him. “Yes?”

“Goodnight,” he says, turning on his heel to leave.

You turn back up the stairs, only to pause and look back at him once, twice; before setting off to find Pansy.

It’s two weeks later when Theodore bumps into you again, this time; quite literally. His hands are on you, stilling you so you wouldn’t fall flat on your ass.

The dance floor is crowded, but it’s to be expected when one of the most popular students at Hogwarts (read: Blaise Zabini) is throwing a birthday party.

You’re —by extension through Pansy, a friend of his which means you needed to be there or he’d be pretty (very) sad about it and pester you about it for the rest of your life.

“Woah!” Your hands lay awkwardly on his chest, trying to push him away whilst trying to balance yourself still. “Watch where you’re going.”

Theodore straightens you up, hands lingering a little too long before letting you go. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

And though you promised yourself to let go off Theodore months ago, you can’t help but feel your heart twist at his words. Skin burning where he’d touch you mere seconds ago.

“It’s fine,” you wave him off, “just be more careful.”

“Yeah.” His tone is breathless, blinking at you slowly as if he couldn’t believe you were so close to him. “You look nice.”

You better hope so, it’s not like you spend an hour getting ready to look anything but nice. And despite your better judgment, you feel butterflies setting off in your stomach once more. But that could’ve also been caused by the mixed concoction you downed five minutes ago.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “You too, Theo.”

“Mhmm,” he hums nodding, his expression is hesitant. “Thank you,” he says, turning his head to the side and under the clubbing lights, you can easily spot the tinging redness at the top of his ears. “Do you want to get out of here?”

“What?” It’s not that you didn’t hear him, it’s that you didn’t want to hear him. Because you knew, damn well, that if he’d just repeated himself you would agree within a heartbeat.

He gulps, and repeat himself. “Do you want to get out of here?”

Maybe your heart is weak, maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s just Theodore that gets you out of there with him attached to your lips.

His hand pressing into the small of your back as you leaned against the wall, a small groan slipping from his lips when you nipped on it.

Theodore pulls back, eyes wide and roaming your face as he takes your features in; memorising the slope of your nose, the plumpness in your lips, and the apples of your cheeks as if this was the last time he’d be able to do so. And presses his lips to yours once more.

He calls out your name, a free hand reaching up to cup your jaw so you’d look at him. For you to give him the attention he so desperately wanted from you. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I know you probably hate me and I’m so sorry but give me a chance, please.”

His tone is desperate, almost begging as he did so and you wonder if he knew the impact he still had on you. He lets go of your jaw, arm wrapping around your waist, bringing you impossibly closer to him.

“Give me a chance to make it up to you,” he asks of you, mouth pressing wet kisses down your neck as he repeats himself. “Please, please, pretty girl.”

“Theo.” His kisses doesn’t stop, much less falter at your words. “Theo.”

“Mhmm?” He hums against your neck, pulling back to give you his full an undivided attention. “Yes?”

He’s a bit taken aback when you kiss him quickly, chasing your lips as you pulled back. “You have a lot to make up for.”

“I know.” The curled smile of his returns, dark eyes glinting as he looks at you. “But for now let me give you all my attention.”

— from bee: i guess reader got what she wished for at the end lol, feedbacks and reblogs are greatly appreciated!! (๑>◡<๑)

p.s this pic of mingyu is so (my) bf i love him!!

#theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott angst #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott scenarios #theodore nott imagines #theodore nott headcanons #theodore nott fanfiction #theodore nott fanfic #🧳: my writing #Spotify

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randombush3 · 1 month

Text

revocate animos (with or without me)

alexia putellas x reader

part one, part two, part three, part four

the second half of this part (it didn't fit in one post lol)

words: it's over 14k. i had lots to say.

summary: the final part, which originally had a different ending but i was told it was evil so i changed it.

warnings: it's mainly just sad, there's a bit of smut though

notes: i could give you so many excuses as to why this is being posted now but no one wants to read that so i'll just say sorry x

anyway, i got very lost along the way at points and had some serious plot crises that had me tearing my hair out. i researched children's behaviour to the point of needing an honourory qualification, and i spent the last three hours ignoring my girlfriend while i finished this off.

for as much as i put these two through (and myself tbh), i'm sad to finish it off. BUT ALSO NOW IM FREE.

have fun reading! and sorry about the length of it

London smells of dirty rain and exhaust fumes, of a homelessness crisis and inflation attempting to impersonate that of the Weimar Republic; greyish streets, cracks in the pavement, thousands of spices from all over the world. Grubby patterns, hidden by the smudging of millions of bottoms, coloured poles that used to match the train line but no longer do. You breathe it all in, eyes closed as the motion of the underground jerks you sideways, the train leaving London Bridge just as you left Barcelona. Without looking back.

You had laughed when they told you they’d send a driver to get you from the airport. The luxury of some shiny black car held no appeal when compared to the familiar Northern line, its blackened route well-travelled and your own brick-road home.

Part of this choice to ‘slum it’ is borne of your desire to return to the past; a time before the fame and the fortune, when camera flashes came from your parents’ Sony Cyber-shot and not paparazzos with a hunger to splash you across the front page of a slimy gossip magazine. There was no Alexia, then. The extent of Spanish in your life was Anya studying for her A-levels, and you’d spend time writing songs without it feeling like pulling teeth. Without having to relive some of the worst moments of your life.

Those hadn’t happened yet.

God, you were so naive then back then.

Your London shows are in Wembley. Two nights, two journeys through your album, through your heartbreak. Both are sold out.

“See it, say it, sorted,” you mouth along to the voice, pushing the handle of your suitcase upwards, rising from your seat. The doors of the tube swoosh open, the yellow line of the platform attacking your tired eyes as Highgate station is revealed to you. You hear a whisper of ‘is that Y/n L/n?’ but you don’t turn around.

The wheels of your suitcase gurgle against the bumpy pavement leading up to your house, but they grow quieter as you approach. They must sense the tension, glad to have the smoother surface of your driveway to move across as you force yourself to continue walking forwards.

A woman is standing on your porch. Her body swivels around as she hears you stop just behind her.

Leah takes in the sight of you, deciding that you definitely did not enjoy Barcelona. “I was just about to ring the doorbell, but I guess you wouldn’t have answered the door anyway,” she says with an awkward chuckle, not sure if you want to talk about how rough you look. You cried the entire flight, and refused to contact anyone once you had landed, hoping they assumed your plane had crashed and you had drowned somewhere in the English Channel.

“I got here in the morning.” Your voice is unused. It croaks, shattered.

“Let me get your bag?” asks Leah, rather firmly, leaving you no room to decline her request before she has stepped off the porch and into your personal space. She looks up at you, wondering how you manage to look so beautiful even now, hand blindly reaching out for the hard shell of your suitcase as she stares. “How’re Nico and–”

Your lips silence her before she is finished. Leah freezes, surprised this is the moment you have chosen to kiss her.

But she misses you as soon as you pull away.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, and she cringes at the self-loathing that drips from your words. A tear rolls down your cheek, but you are unsure whether it falls because you have kissed her or because you want to kiss her again. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

You must have argued with Alexia. Leah’s realisation weighs heavy on her heart. Something has to have happened for you to have made your move, because Leah had been starting to accept the idea that you were still in love with your ex and she was nothing more than a friend. She had been looking forward to your concert tonight, in all honesty, and was excited to see you again, glad to have you in her life in any way, shape, or form.

“Because,” she starts hesitantly, “because you didn’t like it? Or…”

“Leah.”

“If you wanted to kiss me again, I wouldn’t mind.”

“Leah,” you repeat, the vowels almost failing to drop from the tip of your tongue. This is a dangerous game, but the look in Leah’s blue eyes tells you that she is happy to play it. “Leah, I… I shouldn’t have kissed you?”

“Is that a question?”

You blink. “I’m not sure.”

“If it’s a question, I’d say that the answer is the opposite. And that we should go inside.” She slides her hand over the metal handle of your suitcase, warm skin covering your fingers where your grip is still curled around it. “But only if you want to.”

Do you want to?

You value your friendship, you really do; Leah has been there for you many times since you met her, never asking too many questions. She means something more than what you crave from her, and doesn’t deserve to be the woman you use to detach yourself from reality.

But Leah is looking at you with desire that has been missed, relentlessness promised by her toned muscles. Leah is looking at you as though you are the only star in the galaxy or the sun on a rainy day. Leah is looking at you like she wants to devour you, and you, with no soul left to give, resign to letting her have your body.

“This won’t change anything, right?”

It’s a mean question. You know that.

“Course not,” Leah lies.

You let it convince the both of you.

Pink glitter covers the dining table at one end, and shiny green stars are scattered on top of the brown grain of the wood on the other.

“She might be at soundchek,” Alexia explains to Nico, who is finished with his Mother’s Day creation and is now intent on FaceTiming you to show you the card he has made. “And cards are supposed to be a surprise. That’s why we made envelopes!”

“But you said my card should be put in a museum,” he replies with a frown, his nose crinkling in confusion just as yours does. “So we show her now.”

“Mi amor, that’s not how it works,” laughs Alexia, reaching out to ruffle his hair. With Elena settled comfortably on her healthy knee, gleefully pushing piles of glitter around so that it mixes with the glue smeared on her card, it is safe to say that this year’s cards are going to be successes. “Mama has promised to call when she gets home, and you can tell her that you have a surprise for her. That will build up the excitement, and make it even better when she gets to open it.”

Your son has become a cynic. “And when will that be?”

“Mother’s Day is on the 19th, so we have three days to wait.” You have purposely chosen a chartered route to Tokyo that flies via Barcelona so that you get to spend the day with your children before your fortnight in Asia to end the first half of the tour. “Do you want to write the words out for Lela once the glue has dried?”

“I don’t know what Lela wants me to say,” he explains with great concern, turning to his sister with a very serious expression. He speaks to her in English, because he knows that this card is for you. He understands that there are two Mother’s Days, though he thinks it’s because he has two mothers, and that Alexia’s day is in May. When Alexia opens her mouth to speak, Nico is quick to shut her down. “Calla, Mami, no sabes nada de inglés.”

Your legs slam together but find no available route with Leah’s body in between them.

It feels… good.

Liberating.

You haven’t brought her into your bed, which she notices but doesn’t comment on. It’s excusable to be on the sofa, to have stayed downstairs for the hours she has spent trying to make you feel better, because the clock has only just ticked its way to lunchtime. You laugh to yourself at the thought of that, amused by the notion that you have already eaten.

Leah is curious when it comes to you. That much you had expected, having been aware of her lingering gazes long before the sores on your heart had calloused into tougher muscle. She has been waiting for this resiliently, and you present yourself to her as though you are a new toy she finally gets to play with. She kisses you slowly at times, to memorise the warmth of your tongue or the jut of your chin, but she often grows impatient, wanting nothing more than to end her torture and find out what it is like.

What is it like to have a woman like you? To wake up next to you, kiss you, touch you?

How does your mind work? What do you smell like just after getting out of the shower? Does your accent ever slip, or is it really that posh?

The air in the living room is hazy now, and your eyes close in bliss as you let your sweat seep into the grainy fabric of your white sofa. Leah doesn’t crawl into your open arms as you assume she will.

She wipes her mouth.

Although Leah has enjoyed this very much, she knows that this instance has not been you allowing her to start to love you. It has been for her to help you forget how much pain you are in. Somewhere deep down, she cares, but she doesn’t try to search for the emotion.

“So,” she says with a giggle, as if you are two teenage girls, best friends who have decided to kiss so that they can practise for the real thing, “do I need to send an apology present to your makeup artist?” Sitting back on her knees, she swipes one hand down to pluck her t-shirt from the floor, pulling it on top of her naked body before sending you an exaggerated smirk and prodding the developing bruise on your neck.

“Fuck,” you groan, batting her hand away. “I completely forgot I had that thing tonight.” You also need to call your children before Alexia bans your name from her household (if that hasn’t happened already).

“That ‘thing’ being your concert at Wembley?”

“I’d have thought selling out Wembley is the norm for you now, Captain,” you tease, clearing your throat. “England have done it, Champions of Europe for the very first time.”

“You’re freakishly good at a commentator’s voice.”

“Gotten used to being my own commentator. Only Spanish streams in my house – even United matches!” You smile at your own frustration but it quickly sours as awkwardness drops on top of you. You bring your arms up to cover your bare chest, but Leah clears her throat with softened eyes and you no longer feel so exposed.

You feel safe.

“What happened in Barcelona?” You shake your head at her question. “That bad, huh?” she presses.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” you tell her, grey clouds hanging over you as your voice darkens and lowers. “Like, at all.”

“I think you should. It’s better it comes out now than later when you’ve had lots to drink and no idea who you’re ranting about it to, isn’t it? And it’s just me; I’m not going to judge you.”

“But you know her. You know her friends.” Your hands move to cover your face. Leah can have your body, but you don’t want her to have your tears. “Thank you for caring, babe, but I think I’m going to handle this one on my own.”

“Well, you know that–”

“You’re always a phone call away.” You smile, tears sucked back inside you, bottled away in glassware you store in crates labelled ‘VERY FRAGILE’. Desperate to change the subject, you adjust your position on the sofa, sitting up. Leah tries very hard not to stare at the curves of your chest. “You know, Lee, I never thought you’d be that good in bed.”

…

Alexia is in desperate need of advice.

Her muscles contract and relax, the tissues pulling on her bone, which, in turn, pulls her. She is strung along, driven perhaps by her leap in recovery and impending comeback. She almost breaks out into a jog, but the church she has dragged herself to comes into view before she can gain speed.

She had not expected this from herself.

It’s nothing special to her, though she will admit that the architecture of the building does hold some sense of divinity, but the heavy wooden door is propped open and she is drawn inside.

The Sacrament of Reconciliation, Fridays, 17.00-17.30.

Alexia checks her watch, the golden links gleaming on her wrist, catching the sunlight that filters in through the glass windows.

She catches a glimpse of white behind the doors of the Confession booth, becoming acutely aware of how empty the church is. The curtain has been pulled back, bunched to the left-hand side carefully, as though the previous handler had moved with peace.

It can’t be that bad, can it?

It’s just like therapy.

Her feet carry her forwards once more, leading her into the wooden booth. It smells old. The cushion she kneels on is blue, she thinks, but she cannot tell because it goes dark once she pulls the curtain shut.

Alexia is not a religious person. Sure, she signs the cross before stepping onto the pitch, and, like most people she knows, she is baptised, but her faith is limited to that. When she tore her ACL, she spent evenings trying to pray, trying to force her to believe in Him. It would have been comforting to know that someone had a plan for her, was watching over her carefully with the knowledge of how it was going to play out. It was to no avail.

But somehow she knows what to say, and so she does.

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” She recites the words like lines from a play, head bowed in shame as she writes her next sentences in her mind. “This is my first and, probably, my last confession.”

Silence.

She rests her hands in her lap, shuffling around to ensure she is not pressing down on her knee in any way that is harmful. It would kill her to have to push back her return to the pitch because of some stupid thing she has spontaneously chucked herself into.

“I messed up.” She laughs. “No, that is actually an understatement. I know this is a church and I really shouldn’t swear, but I fucked up. Father, I had Heaven in my hands and I threw it away as though it were meaningless. Was it greed? Was it greed that led me to do it?”

“Do what, my daughter?”

The priest sounds younger than she’d thought he would be.

“I had an affair with a woman whom I am certain I do love a little bit, but, by doing that, I destroyed a life that was perfect. Was it greed?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“Was it temptation?” Alexia tries again, desperately. Part of her yearns for the priest to tell her it was the Devil so that she can shed the responsibility. “I love my wife. More than anything, I love her. I do not think my own life is worth living if it is not in service to her, to our children, to the smile she reserves for her favourite people. I… I didn’t attempt it, but I thought about killing myself.” She swallows the lump in her throat. “Only once, but I thought it all the same. My sister called me selfish.

“It’s just – forgive me – fucked, isn’t it? I got carried away. I got lonely, I was alone. I craved something to make me forget, to pinch the gaping hole in my life shut. I relied on it to make me feel better, and it did for a time. But now it has made me feel much, much worse.

“And I am sorry! I am so, so sorry. I have grown sick of the word; I’ve used it so much that it holds no meaning anymore. It doesn’t do my regret justice, nor my quest for forgiveness, and I’m really on that quest, Father, I want to stress that to you. I lost my temper and said things I should not have said – things I don’t even believe – but I did not mean them then, and I do not mean them now.”

“You are not religious,” accuses the priest, very gently. His voice washes over Alexia’s ears like a wave of warm saltwater from the Mediterranean, and she feels comfortable enough to swim into the expanse in front of her. “Our God is forgiving, but it is not His forgiveness that you seek. I cannot give you a prayer that will make her absolve your sins, because our holy words are not spells.”

“Father,” croaks Alexia. As her lips part, she tastes the saltwater of the sea, dripping down her cheeks as though the tide has come in and there is no other option than for her to be flooded. “Please help me. I don’t know what to do.”

The priest speaks, but she assigns the voice to someone else.

The first thing you forget about a person is what their voice sounds like. It lingers like a feeling you can’t quite name; distant, distorted, enhanced by fantasy.

Alexia does not remember her father’s voice.

The realisation is crushing.

She knows his words – they are her prayers – but, like Catholics do not know the voice of their God, she can no longer hear the voice of hers.

What would her father say if he saw her like this? On her knees in a Confession booth, backed against the wall with nowhere to hide?

This is not the girl he was proud of. Alexia, of course, is not that eighteen-year-old anymore; she hasn’t been for a decade. But, recently, the legacy of that unknown Levante player has disappeared.

Alexia is so very lost.

She does not know where she is in her own city. In her home.

She does not know her place in her life, much less her place in yours – if you will still grant her one.

She has not felt the thrill of football for months, has driven herself to Hell and back, and considered giving up enough to be on the brink of actually doing it.

She has seen countless meals hit the water of her toilet, never digested, never deserving of the very thing that keeps her alive.

She has counted your sacrifices, memorising the digits of an ongoing figure so that she can punish herself with the knowledge.

She has tried to forget English, tried to improve her English, and taken vows of silence.

She has cried and cried and cried until the only thing left for her to excrete is her hot, red blood.

She has searched for a way out of the maze. She has failed every time.

Alexia is lost without you, and she knows it. Everyone knows it, perhaps even you yourself. Do you revel in that fact? Do you enjoy it?

You have a right to watch her suffer. You do, you do, you do.

Alexia runs a hand through her damp hair, sweating as she sobs in the booth next to some stranger who she will never meet again. Her mouth is dry but her cries are wet and raw, and they scrape her throat as she chokes them out, losing her breath and falling silent only to catch it and begin again. The cushion burns her knees as though she is trapped in an inferno, the darkness blazing against her skin.

The priest talks to her for a long time, not letting her leave until she has calmed down. She sniffles, wiping her nose with the back of her palm before softly pressing her thumbs to her blotchy cheeks to clear the final tears from them.

When he is finished, he instructs her to take a few deep breaths, which she does. “You are not entitled to her forgiveness,” he reminds her. He begins the Prayer of Absolution – he insists for the sake of closure – and Alexia walks away from the church no more than five minutes later.

She is still stuck in the maze, but she has restored that voice in her head that she knows will help her find her way out.

…

“So you went to church?” Olga asks with an amused smile, taking the first sip of her latte, relishing in the gentle burn of the liquid. She needs this coffee; she stayed up late last night because she knew Alexia has been struggling. There is nothing worse than being asleep when Alexia calls her for help.

“I have no idea how I ended up there,” Alexia explains, somewhat defensive about yesterday’s catharsis. “Confession is way better than therapy. There is too much accountability in therapy.”

“You have a lot to account for.”

She huffs out a breath, taking a sip of her own drink. “I know, Olga, but I cannot change the past, so what would you like me to do?” Olga doesn’t reply. The brunette parts her lips, but promptly closes her mouth when she sees Alexia’s slight discomfort. “Mama wants you to come to dinner tonight. I… I do too.”

Olga’s smile is big and genuine. “I’d love that,” she answers. “Eli is the best cook out of our friends’ parents. Everyone knows that.”

You’re in London, childless, and are watching the grand old Arsenal play (reluctantly, forced to by Leah if anything). Alexia has seen the pictures of you at the match on Instagram; she has already felt the frustration that you are most-likely never going to watch Barcelona play again unless it is to support the other team. Like clockwork, Alexia seeks to fill the gaping hole you have left in her life. Somewhere, somehow, the lines of friendship between her and Olga have blurred.

…

It takes just over a month for Leah to crack.

You appear in London every two weeks, attending meetings and events, but she has decided, once and for all, to see through your excuses. You come to London for her. She knows that, and so do you. Leah’s ego has not reached a size where she believes she is enough for you, but the facts (and Lia Wälti) tell her she is wrong.

Except, what Leah tends to leave out is that no matter how many times you let her sleep with you, she still is unable to access a certain part of your mind.

She has never been upstairs in your house because you always prefer to go to her place in St. Albans. She has never slept in your bed, nor woken up next to you.

You talk to her like she is still the same old Leah, the captain you befriended during the tournament of her lifetime, your entrance in her life intertwined with the ecstasy of winning the Euros. She closes her eyes and thinks of how you looked that summer; white England shirt, sunglasses pulled down over your eyes. Smiling, cheering. For her, she greedily claims to herself.

Sometimes, in her mind, you lift your sunglasses – you always seem to be crying when she pictures this – but Leah is only vaguely familiar with the timeline of your divorce. This is the issue.

There is a door that you have locked and refuse to let Leah find the key. It leads to heartbreak, to Nico and Elena, to a family you once had.

“I wish you would let me in,” Leah says one day. (The day she cracks.) She tears her ACL two days prior, something that makes you feel guiltily nauseous, and you have come to visit her. She knows that you had flown over the minute you had swapped custody with Alexia.

Your legs curl into your chest as you try to reduce the amount of space you are taking up on Leah’s sofa, cautious of her injured knee. Leah misses the warmth of your thighs, and wants to revoke her conversation starter instantly, pained that she has to even ignite the fire of this forbidden topic. “What do you mean?” comes your quiet reply, unwilling to disturb the peace of her living room. The peace of existing side-by-side.

“Exactly what I said.” Leah nods to emphasise her agreement with herself. “I wish you would let me in, because how do you expect me to love you if I don’t know you?”

She sees the bullet fly through the air; she sees the moment it hits you, the way you go rigid. Dead. Dying?

“It’s crazy because it usually takes years for me to feel about someone the way I feel about you, and I just… I just wanted to tell you that it’s okay to let me in. I want to hear everything, to know everything.”

“Oh.” What had you expected when you kissed her? “Oh, Leah.”

“You don’t have to apologise.” She assigns your guilt, the tears in your eyes, to your distance. Perhaps you hadn’t realised, perhaps it is a coincidence Leah has never slept in the bed you used to share with Alexia. Maybe you are unaware that Leah has never heard you speak Spanish, and doesn’t know a single thing about your life in Barcelona.

You’re a busy person, after all.

“No, no,” you dismiss quickly, shaking your head. Leah can’t help but wonder if the paranoid voice in her head is right; has she been reading too much into this? “Fuck, I am such a twat.”

But you don’t elaborate further, asking how she’s feeling, distracting her from your realisation about her realisation. Before Leah knows it, you are making her laugh harder than she has in a month, and soon, like most good things, your visit comes to an end.

Returning to Barcelona is a little weird.

You feel as though you have done nothing but check over your shoulder the entire journey, staring the past straight in the eye and wishing you could change it.

You hadn’t meant to make her fall in love with you. (But she has. Oh, she has.)

This week’s swap is no different; the same park as usual, the same pleasant weather to undergo an unpleasant task.

On the bench usually occupied by Olga, a different, blonder head comes into view.

“Irene?” you ask in surprise, wondering if she has been sent in Olga’s stead or just so happens to have brought Mateo, her son, to the very same park. You sit down beside her, somewhat pleased to not see Alexia’s henchwoman today. “Where’s the free childcare?”

The defender’s eyes narrow, as though she is debating whether or not she should tell you.

Irene has known Alexia for a long time, and, by extension, has known you for a long time too. She is calm, level-headed, and mature, much like Alexia. Except Irene hasn’t ever thought to cheat on her wife.

You are clearly in a lot of pain, and you have a right to be; Irene does not rise to your comment. “Olga has gone on holiday,” she states with practised neutrality.

“Ah, they’ve broken up.”

Eyebrows raised, she turns to you, breaking her line of sight that encompasses Nico, Mateo, and Elena. The playground is small enough, and very safe. “They were never together.” You wait patiently for her analysis of whatever the fuck was going on between them. “Olga said she wasn’t what Alexia needed. She’s on holiday with Carla, and I guess she is quite upset.”

“And Alexia?” You know Irene does not like to gossip, nor stir the pot. So you can be nosy about how she is doing.

“I think her ego was bruised, but she sees Olga’s point. She has been… better recently. She’s focused on getting back onto the pitch, and Jona is only saying good things about it.” Irene’s eyes brighten at the thought of her captain’s recovery, and her tone soars through the air. The entire team has worried for Alexia, spending their own nights tossing and turning, wondering if the old version of her will ever return. “I know you two don’t speak, but if you did, you’d get a glimpse of what it was like before.”

You can’t help your smile, and Irene does not make you feel pathetic for wearing it. “Good.”

“I heard you were in London?”

“Visiting a… friend.” Irene is not a gossip, you remind yourself. “I think I might have to stay in this country for a bit and let things cool down over there.”

She chuckles. “Whose heart have you broken?” She won’t tell Alexia, when Alexia inevitably asks about you, that you are seeing someone. Not that you have confirmed that to her.

“I’m yet to break it,” you tell her, sighing, “but I know I will, and that is much, much worse.”

“Hey, at least you have two weeks of being endlessly busy to keep your mind off it.”

Children change a lot in two weeks, so Irene then launches into an update on school, clubs, and everything else. She gets the information from Alexia, of course, who writes out a list every time you switch over. No one has ever handed you the piece of paper before, worried that her handwriting will be an unnecessary reminder of the pain she has caused you, but, for some reason, Irene does today.

You are not put off by the swirling Spanish in front of you, instead choosing to study it. You have spent hours in Alexia’s lap as she scrawls out football notes upon football notes, scribbling prompted by footage or, freakishly, her own memory. From the lightness of the indentations of the pen, you figure that Alexia is exhausted. From the half-finished sentences, you decide that she was rushing when she wrote this.

But, as much as you delight in your brief analysis of the evidence in your palms like Sherlock Holmes solving a mystery, you can’t ignore just how greatly you have missed the letters that swim between the lines (and the hand from which they were written).

Irene spares you your dignity by standing from the bench and checking on the children just as your tears begin to fall.

…

You take one last look in the mirror embedded in the sun visor, ensuring your hair is perfectly in place and your earrings match your cream, sleeveless turtleneck to poise you just between casual and smartly-dressed. A quiet grumble from the backseat draws your attention away from your reflection, though your last glimpse at your concealed eyebags and red-rimmed irises leaves you feeling a little dejected and mourning the days you’d actually get some sleep. (Or wouldn’t, smoking cigarettes on the balcony while talking Alexia’s ear off.)

“Mama, we go,” decides Elena with a huff, tugging on the buckle of her car seat.

It’s Nico’s first-ever recital tonight.

He started playing the piano in September, when his teacher at school had mentioned how he boasted to the children in his class that he was a musician: ‘if I am Catalan because my mami is Catalan, then I am musician because my mami is musician’. You felt guilty. His teacher says he is naturally talented, voice lacking surprise but praiseful nonetheless, and is proud to name Nico his youngest student at tonight’s show.

The bouquet of daisies you ask Elena to hold makes her look like a miniature carnival float, and she toddles into the venue by your side while you do mental gymnastics between the knowledge that Alexia will be here tonight and the nerves for your son’s performance. It’s nothing complicated, but you worry he will hate it. This is the only thing he does that is a nod towards you; his one deviation from his worship of Alexia.

“Mami!” squeals the walking flowers as soon as you make it to the half-full hall. You direct your gaze to the three rows your daughter refers to, every seat lined with either professional footballers or family. With a sudden rush of blood to your head, you feel out of your depth.

You’re not sure whether the hazel eyes that find yours help or worsen that.

“Keep it moving,” you mutter firmly, holding her hand so she does not make a break for it and tumble right over to the cohort of FC Barcelona and Seguras. Not wanting to get too close to them, you take your seat in the penultimate row, knowing Nico will not be able to see you over the grand piano set up on the stage wherever you sit. “You can talk to her later, sweetheart.”

She is in an obedient mood, most-likely intimidated by the tension in the air. You tell yourself it’s the stress radiating from the line of performers sitting on the front row. Nico stands on his chair, waving first to Alexia and then to you (it’s your turn with them so you are a lot less exciting right now), before he is lightly scolded by his teacher and the first child walks up the steps and onto the stage.

Five uninspiring children later, Nico is finally led up onto the stage. His teacher sits down on the piano stool and nudges him forwards. He smiles brightly at the room. You reciprocate, encouraging Elena to do the same to keep her engaged with an admittedly boring event.

“Bona nit a tothom! Jo sóc en Nicolau i tinc quatre anys i ara aniré a tocar ‘Brillia Brillia Estel Petit’.” The audience melts before him. “Mama, that means ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’,” he whispers loudly.

You send him a thumbs up. He sends you a grin back, before giggling as he climbs onto the piano stool beside his teacher.

Situated comfortably, feet dangling adorably far away from the pedals, his chubby, little fingers hit the ivory keys once, then twice.

You pray this goes well.

It does.

He plays with two hands, something you hadn’t expected, and Elena holds in her noisy yawn until after he is finished so she must have been invested in the performance. Your own hands sting after you clap with such prideful force that you are the loudest in the room, and the hoots and hollers from Alexia’s territory only make Nico even happier as he bounces down the steps and back to his seat to wait for the others to do their pieces.

After the recital has finished, you walk down the aisle separating the seats in half to get to Nico, daughter-less courtesy of a squadron of football-playing kidnappers.

“How was that?” you ask him smugly, his arms wrapping around you in a tight hug. “I knew you would be brilliant, even when you were scared you weren’t going to be. Do you know how proud I am of you?”

“This much?” He holds his hand about thirty centimetres apart. “Mami says this much.”

When he widens his hands, you gesture something even bigger.

“‘Immensely’ is the word I would use.”

“Im-men-lee?”

“Es que nuestro orgullo llena una casa sin techo. Hasta el cielo.”

“Up to the sun,” you amend, ignoring the way the voice has made you stiffen. You don’t read too much into her misuse of the collective pronoun. There is no ‘our’ in ‘affair’.

Alexia’s hand hovers by your waist for a moment, muscle memory getting the better of her before she draws it back into her body. Nico gives her a matching hug, telling her how much he has missed her.

You try not to blame yourself for his derailed childhood.

“You were amazing, petit,” Alexia says, picking him up with one strong arm and settling him on her hip. You grip the wrapper of the bouquet you are holding. “Did Mama get you a gift?”

He peers at the daisies in your hand with curiosity. Shaking his head, his confusion deepens as he studies the bouquet you are extending towards him. “They are for Mami? Flowers are for love.”

“I love you,” you tell him, not trying to make a point but instinctively prickling in the presence of Alexia.

The silence is awkward.

A few metres away, whilst entertaining the sleepy toddler on her lap, Mapi is excitedly talking to Alba. “Y/n hasn’t killed her yet,” says the defender with glee, one of your admirers. The team respected you before, never questioning their captain’s judgement nor family, but when word got out about the affair amongst the older girls, most of them began to see you as more than Alexia’s wife. A new layer to your character was revealed; you are a strong, independent, and successful woman. Football nerds sometimes forget success comes in more forms than blaugrana kits. “They made such a beautiful couple.”

“They did.” Alba watches as you talk to your son, your eyes actively avoiding the woman in front of you. “Our mother has sent Alexia over there to invite her to dinner. It killed me to see her sit alone.”

You are too used to the feeling of eyes on you that you no longer notice the weight of people’s stares, but, if this were not the case, you would know that most of the heads attached to the bodies sitting in Alexia’s rows had been swivelled towards you for majority of the recital. Pity is never a desired emotion to have offered to you, but the Barça girls can’t help but feel that way whenever they see your forehead crinkle in an attempt to understand Catalan, presuming you only speak Spanish as you have more than enough on your plate. (And, as most of the players will admit, your children speak better English than them, so one can only assume that it is your main method of communication.)

“She’s a very good mother,” Mapi comments with a small nod, sucking a sharp breath in as she begins to sympathise with you even more. Not a day goes by where she witnesses the suffering Alexia’s idiocracy has caused – as Ingrid, her girlfriend, knows very well – and does not fail to scream in frustration about her best friend’s stupid mistakes.

“She’s a very good person.”

They fall silent as they see your head tilt up, jaw clenching as Alexia begins to speak to you.

“Can you hear what she’s saying?” whispers Eli to her daughter, equally invested in the conversation. “I knew I should have sent you; Alex is too socially awkward.”

“Mami, she is talking to her wife,” replies Alba, though she remembers what happened the last time Alexia and you had spoken and the outcome of that. Maybe that commences her increasing agreement with her mother… “I guess you– Are they coming over here?!”

Even you seem surprised by how your legs carry you towards the Barcelona clan, a step behind Alexia and Nico. Hesitant would be an understatement, but most of them are too preoccupied with congratulating the four-year-old they have come to watch to notice your tight-lipped smile and trembling hands.

“Hola,” you say shyly.

Eli pulls you into her strong embrace without missing a beat. “Te he echado de menos, hija.”

You try very hard not to burst into tears.

They take you to dinner; a plan you had known about but not envisioned yourself included in. Although it’s your fortnight, Alexia (through the conduit of Alba) had previously arranged to drop Nico and Elena over to yours before midnight.

You blow off your FaceTime call with Leah.

The restaurant is on the lower level of fine-dining. It’s chic, but it does not make your children feel unwelcome. The table is set for five places, though Alba informs you that the reason for this is because the reservation was made before she broke up with her girlfriend.

“Mama, what are you going to eat?” asks Nico, slipping back into his old life seamlessly, mixing his English with the Spanish he knows everyone can understand, his legs swinging underneath the table with an enthusiastic energy. He is still too young to pick up on how far apart his parents are sitting, or how you refuse to let your eyes linger on Alexia’s tanned skin, far too much of it shown off by the tank top she sports in the humidity of the busy restaurant.

You glance around the room, searching for those who have recognised you. Under the weight of at least four curious stares, you motivate yourself to enjoy your meal.

“Not sure yet, babe,” you answer. “Alba, do you fancy sharing something?”

“Yeah, of course.” The younger Putellas smiles. Alexia knows who has lost the war.

Dinner passes with light conversation centred on very neutral topics. No man’s land is clearly the children, and you had never expected to be so desperate to continue a conversation about school lunches until the other options are how Alexia had an affair with her teammate or that your song with her favourite singer is topping the charts and explicitly about being cheated on.

Although you and Alexia both watch how many times your wine glasses are refilled, Alba lets loose, as does Eli (probably to ease the stress on her heart that her girls force upon her). Their cheeks redden and Nico begins to yawn, Elena already curled into your side halfway between dreams and reality.

“Should we head out?” you ask it to the table, but the only functioning person is Alexia, really, and so you close your eyes to avoid having to make eye contact.

“I should probably get Mama and Alba into a taxi.”

“If you call one for them, I will call one for us?” Your suggestion is instinctive; an old habit reminiscent of many similar nights, back when there was love and happiness and a relationship that didn’t feel like walking on a floor made of broken glass. “Or did you drive here?”

“No, but you drove,” comes Alexia’s reminder. Internally, you face-palm. Parking the car before dinner seems like years ago; something feels different now. “But if you don’t feel up to it, I could drive you home. I haven’t had much to drink and I have nothing else planned for tonight. Elena is practically in a coma anyway.”

You laugh – a softened version of it so as to not rouse the dead weight of your daughter.

“Are you sure?”

It’s late.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

I don’t care.

“Mama,” Alba slurs, pulling her mother in close. “The saint has given her sinner a second chance.”

It may not be as quiet as she thinks it is. Alexia, occupied, is deaf to the comment. You are not.

This is not a second chance.

This is a lift home.

The last time all four of you sat in a car together was the day you found out about Alexia’s affair.

You had suffered then – are still suffering now – but your anger was hot and sharp and new. Fresh wounds.

Now, though more scabbed-over than healed, those wounds no longer seem to gush blood; you entertain Alexia’s stiff small-talk.

She asks about the tour, never veering too far off the road of practicality and shared custody. When does it resume? Which has been your favourite show?

“Wembley is like playing El Clásico in Camp Nou,” she determines, not needing to ask about that because she knows you too well.

Your memories of the London shows involve a naked Leah Williamson. (If only she knew that!)

“Yeah, London was great.”

Awkwardness is part of Alexia’s personality; something you are fairly certain you still love. She is shy, though it perhaps comes off as stoicity, and she has never been good at making conversation. You know she hates it, and you know that her eyes, Alexia’s eyes, are gazing at you every time she thinks you are not looking.

She is weary about the desire darkening her pupils, but she does not do well to hide her hunger nonetheless.

“Go into the carpark,” you instruct as you approach your building.

Wordlessly, she presses the correct pin into the pin-pad, never having forgotten it.

She parks the car beside a new-looking Mercedes. It’s not a car for children, and she imagines it reeks of cigarettes – there is no way you have stopped smoking.

It belongs in the carpark; in your little world of celebrities and male footballers; of money and fame and fortune. (One could argue you lack the latter, what with your current situation.) Alexia’s life has never moulded with yours.

Perhaps it never will.

Perhaps she slept with Jenni because they are equals, you think. Because Jenni understands Alexia in a way you cannot.

“Mami,” cries a quiet voice from the backseat. You stop staring at the grey, concrete walls, snapping back to reality as Alexia shifts to turn her attention to the source of the whimpering. “No quiero que te vayas.”

“Lela, me tengo que ir.”

“Pero–”

“You could always come up to say goodnight to them?”

It starts off innocently.

Of course it does. Of course you are nowhere near forgiveness, more likely to forget about the crushing affair before you excuse any of her actions. Sometimes, you wish for amnesia. Sometimes, you refer to the tab open in Safari – ‘is there a drug that makes you forget?’.

Alexia is granted a tuck-in and a story for each child, glad that their rooms are separate so that her time in her home is prolonged. The walls are familiar, the floor is the same. There are new pictures in new frames, but the old ones have not been removed. If you had ever wished to take photographs of your relationship down, you have never acted on it.

She realises you must not spend a lot of time here alone. Maybe you cannot bear it. Maybe your life in London is more important to you than she had thought.

Anyway, for as much as she subtly noses around and draws out the night, she has no intention of overstaying her welcome, sure that she probably did that the minute she stepped inside.

In fact, she is on her way out, under the assumption that you will not want to speak to her.

“So you’re back to playing?”

“Sí.”

A doorway conversation.

You’re English. You’re very polite. Alexia knows this, tries to not get her hopes up.

“Does that mean you don’t want a taste of this ‘97?” You hold the bottle up to her, the cork lying on the granite worktop with the incriminating suggestion that you have already had a glass.

“We play the day after tomorrow.”

“Oh, Ale, this is a good one.”

How many times have you said that to her before? The same tone, the same look in your eye; red tinting your lips, one hand on a lighter because you smoke when you’re drunk, even if you refuse to touch the cancer-sticks when you are sober.

“Was this a gift?” she asks, drawn into your magnetic field like a flimsy paper clip; thin, worn metal trying to piece the pages of her life back together. “Or have you been making ridiculous purchases again?”

“I can assure you that it is not ‘ridiculous’.” You moan in delight as you take a sip from a glass you subsequently hand over to her. “Gosh, that is divine, and you are simply going to dissolve when you taste it.”

Dissolve she does, but one can attribute that to the company.

The contents of the bottle dwindles quickly, paired with a vulnerable retelling of her ACL recovery (sans suicidal thoughts and huge, huge regret about the affair – she doesn’t want to bring that up, seeing as you are clearly trying to forget about it), and the warm breeze of the Barcelona nighttime. The salty air from the mediterranean mingles with cigarette smoke, though Alexia softly says that you really should stop.

You hesitate on your next puff, but you inhale it all the same. “I like my wine smokey.”

She opens the next bottle for you.

The wine glasses are soon discarded, pouring becoming shaky and difficult.

“They sleep all the way through the night here,” observes Alexia, surprised that no little hands have knocked on the glass door leading to the balcony. The last time you had reached for the wine, you’d moved closer to her. You have not yet returned to your original seat on the other side of the rattan sofa.

You raise your eyebrows, under the impression that they were both sleep trained. “They don’t at yours?”

“Elena keeps trying to sleep in bed with me.”

“Maybe she likes you more,” you suggest with a light, alcohol-infused laugh. “She must have been upset to find her place filled by your friend.”

“No,” murmurs Alexia, “it has never been filled. Though I don’t think you can say the same.”

You swallow the stickiness of the wine running down your throat.

“Not in our bed. My bed.” You fight yourself. “Our bed.”

“In Highgate?”

“Anywhere,” you breathe.

“It’s been months,” croaks Alexia, your hand pressed against her stomach as you slowly lean into the feeling only she can give you. “Months.”

You kiss her. Time folds in on itself, and you are transported back to when every touch was electric; when nothing was tainted. The pain of the past months, the heartbreak, momentarily fades into insignificance as you lose yourself in Alexia’s warmth.

Her fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, afraid that this moment might slip away too soon. The taste of wine lingers on your lips, and she craves the softness of them – she has been craving them since July.

“Well, now it has only been seconds,” you whisper as you pull away.

With a sense of urgency, she chases your mouth once more, strong arms pulling you on top of her, manipulating your body against her with no hint of uncertainty.

Alexia knows you well.

Her touch lacks curiosity and exploration. Her hands are experienced and confident in their movements, and she has hoisted you up and brought you to your bedroom without needing to have been told that this is what you want.

“Is this what you want?” she asks anyway.

“Please.”

And she really doesn’t make you beg.

Your hands roam her body with a primal hunger, instinctive touches to the most sensitive parts of her, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Her back is tense, muscles flexing as she pushes your clothes off your skin, her own following their path soon after.

Parted legs and soft moans.

She slots herself between your thighs.

Her tongue is determined, fierce. Sloppier because she is drunk, but, then again, so are you.

Your fingers repay the favour.

“More,” you request just as she pulls away.

“Is it in the same place?”

You nod, panting.

There is a playful glint in Alexia’s eyes as she finds the strap just where she left it. As she secures it in place, you wipe the sweat from your brow, forcing your mind into the dirtiest of thoughts to ward off the building regret.

The room is dimly lit, and the air heavy with desire. Your heartbeat pulses in the silence, the thrum of the organ drums that guide Alexia’s slow, deliberate steps back towards the bed, kneeling atop the scrunched sheets.

She positions herself between your legs once more, and you can feel the heat of her body radiating against your skin. She leans in closer, her breath hot against your neck, sending shivers of anticipation shuddering down your spine.

With trembling hands, you reach out, nails digging into tanned, taut skin. You pull her closer to you, urging her to take whatever she wants.

You want her to have you. You want her to make it hurt less.

As Alexia presses inside, a jolt of pleasure courses through your body. You cry out, the sound igniting a blazing inferno within her that grows hotter the moment you ask her to move. Feverishly, her hands move over your chest, finding purchase on your breasts with a dormant possessiveness as her hips begin to drive the strap in deeper.

Your breath hitches in your throat as you surrender to the overwhelming sensation, encompassed by someone so divine that you begin to separate yourself from all things wrong with this situation. The headboard thuds against the bedroom wall as she pounds her thrusts into a rhythm, and you shut your eyes as you quietly ask her to kiss you.

Tears cascade down your cheeks, but you do not know to whom they belong. Her tongue smothers your moans, and her hips begin to snap into yours more urgently, with more desperation. The pressure builds inside of you, and you feel as though you might explode.

You feel as though this is the end, and you are glad that here is where your misery terminates.

You’re glad, you’re really glad.

Your back arches, your chests pressing together, large hands holding you close to her.

And then it all comes crashing down.

Everything.

You wipe your eyes once the orgasmic bliss subsides, seizing your wine haze as the tide goes out and destroying the blindfold that had deprived you of seeing things straight. Right now, with the pleasant ache between your legs, you can’t quite bring yourself to regret it, but you know you will. You haven’t forgiven her; you’re not sure that it is possible.

“You can shower, but you can’t stay here.”

…

Nico knows that he is special. He is lucky, and he is loved, and he gets to go to a very nice school that Mateo (his ‘cousin’) claims is fancy.

He likes his teacher. She reminds him of someone he once knew – you have suggested the nursery helpers back when he lived in London. He is not sure if you are right, but he doesn’t remember what London was like so he tries not to think too hard about it.

Nico’s friends, like Pau who is sitting beside him, all think it is really cool that he can speak English. Pau says she hears his mother on the radio sometimes, but Nico hasn’t yet grasped the concept of fame past the annoying camera flashes and big, sold-out stadiums. He dislikes fame as he knows it, anyway, because the cameras hurt his eyes and the stadiums are so loud that he has to wear ear-defenders that squeeze his skull a bit too much.

“My mum is from Bilbao. My dad is from Barcelona,” states Paula as she swipes a crayon over the sheet of paper her drawing is on. Green wax slowly stains the white to form ‘grass’. Everyone is drawing their family today, although Nico hasn’t yet started, waiting for his teacher to circle their table so that he can ask for another piece of paper. “And this,” Paula carries on, squiggling brown hair onto a smaller version of the stick-figure father, “is Ander, my big brother.”

“Who is that?” Nico asks, pointing at the fifth figure on the page, guessing that the fourth and Pau-sized person is, in fact, Pau.

“My sister! She’s called Nerea, and she plays basketball.” Pau promptly makes an orange circle the size of Nerea’s head, which floats in the air between her and her sister. “My mum says Nere is going to be a lesbian, but I don’t know what that means.”

“My mums are lesbian!” he blurts out, excited enough to garner the attention of his teacher. When she appears, he grins at her sweetly; the kind of smile that has melted many hearts, though Nico is unaware of how many people know he exists. “More paper, please.”

“Nico, you haven’t even tried with your first one.”

She isn’t harsh at all, but he has slowly learnt to stop asking follow-up questions. Six months of exasperated ‘I don’t know, Nicolau’s has taught him that.

He shrugs. “Okay.”

He learnt what a shrug was the other day, when Mapi told him off for doing it to her. (“Don’t shrug your shoulders at me, Nicolau Putellas!” she had chided playfully. “All I asked was which of your mamas’ houses we need to go to.”)

“Nico, what’s ‘lesbian’?”

“Mama says football is lesbian. Basketball might be lesbian! That’s why your sister is lesbian.”

“My mum says that lesbians kiss girls.”

“Mama kisses girls! And Mami. And they used to kiss each other but now they don’t speak and me and my sister swap houses.” Nico begins drawing it out for Paula when she peers at him, befuddled. “Here is Mama’s.” A big square, a glamorous-looking woman inside of the blue shape; a stick with a circle on the end of it; the notes he sees in his piano music floating in the air. “And…” he says, tongue sticking out as he concentrates on the opposite half of the page, “here is Mami’s.”

He draws a football. He picks up the red crayon too, and uses both the blau and the grana simultaneously. “Mami plays football for Barça.” He draws two lines on Alexia’s t-shirt. 11. “Mami made me get 11 at football.” Nico had originally worn the 10, but then the affair had come to light and Alexia was suddenly deep in conversation with his coach and apologising to the boy Nico then had to swap shirts with.

Then, he drops the crayons in his hand and searches for the stack near Paula. He selects the purple one, gripping it tightly, his friend still listening to him with intrigue.

“This is me and Lela.” Two stick figures are drawn in the middle of the page; the middle ground between each of the squares.

Nico sometimes feels stuck between it all.

When Mami got very sad, he and Elena went to stay with Mapi and Ingrid for a few nights. He held his little sister’s hand as much as he could. He always tries to remind her that he is right there with her.

Mami once told him that it was his turn to protect Elena. Nico hasn’t forgotten that.

“I keep Lela safe.” He has encouraged her, slightly selfishly, to call him ‘skipper’, which he has picked up from the Lionesses. Luckily, Alexia has not told him off for it because she doesn’t know what it means. “Lela is my little sister. She is a baby. She doesn’t remember what it was like when Mama and Mami loved each other, but I do.”

The purple crayon scrapes on the page as he presses it into the white, colour rubbing out in the shape of a heart. “Lela and I are together tot el temps. Mami tries to take me from her sometimes, but I don’t let her.”

His story – and ability to make Paula pay attention for longer than ten seconds – has already attracted the quiet attention of his teacher, but she moves closer as Nico continues. The four-year-old leaves out how Alexia is usually inviting him to training with her. Since Elena has yet to show any interest in football, it remains her and Nico’s special thing, and, of course, his mother misses him when it is not her turn.

You benevolently give your permission if you have no prior plans. It is upsetting that the only hindrance to extra time spent together is the little boy who once worshipped Alexia Putellas like a god.

“Nico, why did you want two pages?” asks Paula curiously, assuming he is finished now that his whole family is displayed on the piece of paper.

He frowns. “Because now I have to do this.” And with that, he tears the sheet in half.

Paula’s mouth drops open in surprise, as does his teacher’s.

“What’s wrong?” comes a mature voice, a hand placed on his shoulder just like it is when the other children in his class cry. Nico doesn’t cry. He is strong and brave, like a little soldier. “Did you not like your drawing?”

“No,” he replies neutrally, “half can live with Mama, and half can live with Mami.”

“But now you are ripped down the middle.”

He traces the jagged edges of the halves of his life. One of his legs is on your side, the other on Alexia’s.

“I know, but it’s okay. I don’t cry.”

Alexia does, though, when his teacher talks to her that afternoon.

…

“I slept with Alexia,” you confess quietly, comforted by the sound-proofing of Anya’s home-studio. She asked for help with her album; your success might be contagious, she insists. “Last week, when Nico had that recital.” You clutch your mug protectively, as if she will strip you of the right to drink your tea to punish you for your crime.

Anya is unsure what you would like her to say. You search her face for anger, but do not find it.

“If Gio were here, she’d probably slap you.”

You snort, almost spilling hot liquid all over yourself. “You two are like my mothers, and you’re the nicer one by far.”

“God, you are such an idiot.”

“And a slag.” She waits for your next admission with excitement. “I also slept with Leah Williamson.”

“Do you think you and Alexia are just destined for polyamory?” Her amusement is quite pleasant, but one thing wasn’t dulled by the wine that night and you have been dying to tell someone about it.

Your knee bounces up and down as you gear up for it, having thought it through

“I think we are destined for each other.”

Song-writing be damned, Anya fully removes her headphones, placing the equipment beside her keyboard before letting out a small, exasperated laugh. “You are in love with Alexia again,” comes her accusation, with no real malice behind it.

“I never stopped being in love with Alexia. She just made it a lot harder to love her.”

Is that an understatement?

“Hey,” you say with sudden energy, sitting upright and grasping at your phone, tea wobbling over the lip of the mug and running down your wrist. “Should we go to Bali in August?”

…

You avoid both of your footballers right until the World Cup camps roll around.

Leah doesn’t get to go, subjected to the ACL curse. Alexia’s call-up is not necessarily unexpected, but you do find yourself wondering how many more betrayals her friendship with Mapi León can handle. (Mapi is on her last straw, but she knows her friend really needed the win after her hellish year. The Champion’s League was never going to sate Alexia’s hunger to be the best at football – possibly an overcompensation for her terrible relationship skills.)

Your children, this time, are delivered to the park by their very own mother. Alexia beats Leah in this sense, because she has a valid excuse to see you without confessing feelings you do not want to hear.

“I have something for you,” she says just after she has finished her goodbyes, pressing a small box into your hands. Her voice is filled with nerves and you are intrigued, hating yourself for being so. “Don’t open it until you get back home.” Her eyes meet yours for a moment. I’m sorry, they seem to say. “Alright, have fun in Bali, and don’t forget that I legally have custody but I am not going to go to court to battle you for it as long as you put them in Spain kits for Spain matches.”

She could, if she wanted to be difficult, have you send Nico and Elena to New Zealand during her weeks. It would be very unreasonable, but the contract your lawyers drew up still stands.

“They were delivered yesterday. I think it’s going to be a struggle to convince them to put on the worst kit ever.” You still don’t forgive Alexia for cheating on you, but there has come a point where acceptance replaces the animosity. Nico’s teacher has been the catalyst in this step forward. The developmental pamphlets she had thrust in your faces were enough for the two of you to come to a mutual agreement of increased civility (that maybe, maybe was only made possible by the fact that you have very recent memories of each other’s orgasms). “But, yes, I agree to your terms. Don’t forget that his favourite player is Alessia Russo, however.”

“He is in a phase where I am ‘uncool’! It’ll pass.”

“If you say so, Alexia.”

“Anyway,” she carries on, rolling her eyes. “Open it when you get home.” She… presses a kiss to your cheek? “I’m so sorry, mi amor.”

You blink back your surprise, but she is gone before you can reply.

The small, neatly-wrapped box sits in the palm of your hand, the corners edging off your skin and sticking out as you stare at it. Nico and Elena continue their (unsupervised) playing, but you manage to call out a warning for ‘five more minutes and then we’ve got to pack’ while you examine Alexia’s gift.

Is this how Pandora felt?

If you open it, what will be unleashed?

Alexia, before now, hasn’t actively pursued your forgiveness. She has given you the time and the space you had broken-heartedly requested, nodding as you communicated your wishes to her through someone else, never before able to confront the face that tore up your life before your eyes.

There was a time when all you ever wanted to do was talk to her, but she tried to forget about that when she realised the extent at which you went to avoid an interaction. When she had understood your desperation to be left alone fully, she began to breathe. The step backwards gave her room to examine just how royally she had fucked it all.

She now feels a bit more capable of tackling the clean-up, working with a much clearer mind. Everyone is relieved that she hasn’t killed herself, or, at least, that she is keeping those thoughts at bay.

You realise that she has bought you a ring, and regardless of whether you wear it or not, she wants to tell you that she is sorry.

...

IT'S NOT OVER YET! THIS WILL TAKE YOU TO THE SECOND HALF

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #woso #woso fanfics #randombush3 #leah williamson x reader #woso imagines #barca femeni #alexia putellas #alexia putellas imagine

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illubean · 4 months

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Hi hellooo <3 I love your blog and since I have a thing for this bug-eyed boi, I wanted to ask you to please write a headcanon or a small one-shot (whatever you are comfortable) about teenage!illumi SOMEHOWWWWW having a secret friendship and he meets reader in the forest etc :)

Assassins Don't Have Friends

Characters: Teenager!Illumi Zoldyck Type: Fluff, oneshot, Teenager!Gn!reader

this turned out kinda long >.< idk how to feel about it tbh

Warnings: mention of human trafficking kind of?

Illumi Zoldyck was a perfect assassin and a perfect son. He never showed fear, vulnerability, was excellent at his job and followed all the rules to a t. Or so everyone thought.

It wasn't long ago that Illumi had went on the job that would unknowingly change his life, maybe about three months give or take. He was assigned to take out a member of the mafia known for trading illegal goods. Apparently he had owed the man who hired Illumi money and had no means of paying it. He was to dispose of the target swiftly and silently.

After the job had been done the young Zoldyck somehow failed to notice the figure in the corner, who had been watching him with surprised and tired eyes. Upon realizing he was not alone, the boy was quick to pin the figure down, ready to take their life at any given moment. Now that he was up close to this person, he realized it was another kid around his age, wearing tattered and dirty clothes. The part that intrigued him most is that they didn't seem afraid of him.

The mysterious person only smiled at him, eyes softening with admiration as they spoke.

"Thank you for saving me."

The young assassin stared blankly in confusion. Saving them? All he did was his job and you just happened to be there, he didn't really try benefiting you on purpose. Illumi lowered the needle he had pointed at the persons neck, eyes narrowing before he responded.

"What are you talking about?"

"That man you killed. I was just auctioned off to him and needless to say he was a horrible man, so thank you. I'm Y/n by the way."

Illumi got off of Y/n, turning around to leave before speaking up once more.

"I didn't kill him for you, I was doing my job. I should kill you too for being a witness, but I'll let you go this once."

The Zoldyck boy began to embark on his journey back home before he heard footsteps running to catch up to him.

"I never caught your name? Who are you anyway?"

He continued to walk, not once turning to face Y/n.

"Quit following me."

"But I have nowhere to go-"

"I don't care where you go, just get away from me."

It was silent for a few moments as the teens continued to walk. Y/n ignored Illumi's demands as they neared a path that stretched through a vast forest. At the end of the trail there was a large mountain. Illumi knows he shouldn't have led this stranger so close to his home, but something inside him wouldn't let him push them away.

"You still haven't told me your name. Are you like a secret spy or something? Geez we've been walking for so long- don't tell me we have to walk all the way up that mountain!"

The young assassin stopped when they got to the base of the mountain, causing Y/n to run into his back with a small 'oof'.

In front of them was a large stone wall with metal doors in the center.

"This is as far as I can allow you to get. I shouldn't have let you follow me for so long but frankly you don't pose any threat."

"Aww, I think you just let me follow you so far because you like me! Noowwww can I finally know the name of my new friend?"

Y/n smiled at the stoic male in front of them, blinking and awaiting a response.

"Assassins don't have friends, now leave."

Illumi approached the seven large doors of his home and began to push them open before pausing.

"It's Illumi."

He entered through those doors while Y/n stood confused for a few moments before realizing.

That was his name.

While the doors were closing he heard a voice yell from the opposite side.

"Okay Mr assassin! I'll come back here here every day to see you!"

{Pov switch? kinda?}

And that's exactly what you did. Every day for about a week you showed up at the foot of the mountain, sometimes convincing Zebro to call the butlers quarters.

After Illumi found out about this, he finally went down to meet them. This time you looked much cleaner, holding a small basket with a cloth over it.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"I told you I would visit every day, didn't I? Oh, and this is for you. I managed to make a little money by fighting so consider this as a "thank you'. Y'know, for killing that guy?"

You held out the basket, gesturing for the boy in front of you to take it. He lifted the cloth to reveal some baked goods underneath. Illumi sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You can't keep trying to call the house. I told you assassins don't have friends."

"Welllll can't you make an acception for little ole me?" you asked, batting your eyelashes at him. "It could be our little secret!"

Without a word, Illumi grabbed one of your wrists and began walking into the forest surrounding his home. He stopped as the both of you came to a clearing, sitting down against the trunk of a tree.

"You're annoyingly stubborn."

You only smiled before sitting down next to him, reaching into your basket and pulling out two custard buns.

"Well it seems to work," you started, offering him one of the buns. "We're friends now, after all."

Illymi accepted the sweet treat with a sigh and ended up sitting there with you for hours. At some point you had both agreed to meet there once a week.

After these visits Illumi began developing a soft spot for you. He anticipated the days you would show up and the time you got to spend together.

Maybe he wasn't a perfect son.

He had secretly been seeing you without his family knowing and you were beginning to break down those walls of his.

Maybe he wasn't the perfect assassin.

Because after all, assassins don't have friends.

#hxh 2011 #hxh x reader #hunter x hunter #hxh #hxh illumi #illumi zoldyck #illumi x reader #illumi hxh #illumi x you #illumi x y/n #illumi zoldyck x reader #illumi

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kawataslvr · 1 month

Text

Summary : More of a crack fic tbh, no real warnings apart from cursing. YOUR ONLY 2 YEARS YOUNGER BTW

A/N : I didn’t know what to write but didn’t wanna not write 😔, off topic but i actually rlly like the idea of Shinichiro X Waka’s younger brother.

“YOU WERE WHAT.” really, the words had slipped from Shinichiro’s mouth, he was going to have more than one Imaushi on his ass now.

Wakasa slammed down his hands on the work table in the back of the bike shop, it was closed by now. It was late.

Shinichiro had no idea how to respond, this was a horrible way to confess he'd been involved with his brother for so long.

Through a sex joke.

———

Wakasa chuckled as the two discussed his younger brother “He was practically shoving it down his throat. I'm sure he liked it.”

“I was shoving it down his throat last night.” Shinichiro said bluntly, and quite confidently and loudly at that.

Wakasa’s smile had never DROPPED faster.

———

Which is what led to this situation. “It was just on instinct I promise!” Shinichiro tried to cover it up.

“INSTINCT MY ASS.” He looked at the ravenette straight in the eyes with a furios expression.

“It really was! If you had said that about anyone else I would've said the same thing!”

It was late and Wakasa was tired, he was about to head home anyways.. he let it slide under his radar, for now.

———

Wakasa finally got home and saw his younger brother on the couch sleeping, with the tv on. You probably had fallen asleep watching whatever show was on at the time.

Debating whether to wake you up and ask you about Shin, he ended up doing it.

“mmmm.. yes Wakaa?” you looked up at the older dude, yawning and sitting up. Still very noticeably half asleep.

The only thing you were focusing on was getting this over as quickly as possible before so you could go back to sleep, clearly not in a good state of mind.

“Are you and Shinichiro together?”

“mm.. yeah we are..”

Wakasa felt his blood BOIL.

“Have you two done anything together?”

“mhm..”

Silence filled the room, you flopped back down and laid down on the couch to go back to sleep again.

If it wasn’t for the fact Wakasa didn't wanna wake you again, he might’ve even started rampaging.

But, he let you sleep.

He wanted to confront you and Shinichiro.

At the same time.

———

You woke up on the couch with a blanket and pillow on you, and Shinichiro sitting down on the matching loveseat beside the two seater you were laying on.

Amd Wakasa on the other couch, you shot up a little too quickly from your seat seeing the scene.

You were used to waking up to Wakasa’s friends at the house, but Wakasa looked so mad.

So serious.

“Y/N, you finally woke up.” Wakasa’s tone sounded dead panned.

You rubbed your eyes awake glancing at Shinichiro then back at Wakasa, you had an idea of what he found out about.

“So, Shinichiro.. mind explaining why you broke bro code?” you froze, fuck, did Wakasa already find out? Shinichiro stayed quiet for a few seconds.

“You told me that I should try experimenting with more than just girls!”

“SO YOU GO AND FUCK MY BABY BROTHER?” Wakasa shot back immediately, he’d always been a lazy guy, he wanted to punch the dark haired man more than anyone else in the world.

“I DON’T GET TO CHOOSE WHO MY HEART LIKES!”

“BUT YOU CAN CONTROL YOUR FUCKING DICK!”

“YOUR BROTHER HAS A NICE ASS!”

The room went silent, your face turning a bright red from embarrassment. Wakasa’s turning red from anger.

Shinichiro quickly regretted his words, hating how things kept slipping in and out of his mouth, almost like he did inside yo—

Wakasa lunged at Shinichiro, and he would've hit him if you didn’t grab hold of the ravenette and move him towards your body.

“Y/N what the hell!” Wakasa said angrily, Shinichiro couldn’t help but laugh at the scene.

“C’mon Wakaaa he clearly likes me more, especially the way I treat him at ni—“ This time you were the one to hit Shinichiro.

A harsh slap across the face, a few seconds after and a proud Wakasa till the situation calmed down.

Wakasa, still furios about all the sex jokes Shinichiro made, but coming to terms with the relationship between you two.

“If you touch my brother again I’ll snap your neck in half Sano.” You and Shinichiro gave a light laugh, “I’m not joking. A pillow between you two right now.” He stood up and put the pillow you were previously sleeping on and set it between you and the older.

“Wakasa!” you protested grabbing the pillow and throwing it at him, Shinichiro started laughing again. Wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close to his own.

“Get your hands off him you fucking—!”

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punkeropercyjackson · 1 month

Text

It's finally here!!!

Graphic design is my passion LMFAO but as i said i would do a while back,i've created a masterpost of all the Jason Todd content that's worth your time!This is rather long but he's existed since 1983 so!!

Base edit is my little sister @mayameanderings and tagging @coffeemilkcatz and @nanaonmars since they said yes when i asked if they wanted me to!Let's dive in then!

Batman 408-426,Detective comics 568-582,Superman annual 11,New Teen Titans 18-31,Blue Devil 19,Action comics 556 and 594,Batman Annuals 10-12 and Batman(The cult)for pre-reboot Robin!Jason my beloved

Nightwing Year One 101-106,New Teen Titans 55,Nightwing 10(1997)and Legends of the Dark Knight 100 for Dick and Jason siblinghood,Gotham Knights 34 for the short story of him and Alfred and Detective comics 790 for Bruce telling Cass about him as it takes place on Jason's birthday

Lost Days aka the Red Hood prologue

Under The Red Hood(2010)-The original comic is good in it's own right but the movie is leagues better written(Rare comic book adaption exception lmao)

Robin 177 and 182-183 for tha actual Tim and Jason beef instead of 'replacement' and 'enemy to caretaker' bs

Azreal:Death's Dark Knight 3(Can't give commentary on this one since i don't know Azreal like that,sorry)

Red Hood and The Outlaws(2016).Unlike the Utrh comic vs the Utrh movie,the original Rhato has nothing positive like the reboot

Not TECHNICALLY Jason BUT Duke is his favorite brother and Stephanie's the only Batfam girl he's truly close to so you should also stan them since he'd want you to /lh

Red Hood:Outlaw for the confirmation that Red Hood loves black women from infinity to infinityyyyy(meaning his love interest Dana Harlowe is introduced and featured as an mc in this run)

Urban Legends 1-6 for his return to the Batfam-Messy tbh but i do enjoy parts of it!

Task Force Z for him and Stephanie being a vigilante team and it has a prelude,that being Detective comics 1041-1043

Unkillables and Joker:The Man Who Stopped Laughing for Jayrose goodies and more of the above

Gotham War if you feel like turning off your brain to look at good art and laugh at dogshit writing

Red Hood:The Hill is his current run and when our queen Dana comes home from comics limbo!!!

The following is a misc list that's not required to include in your Jason knowledge but HIGHLY recommended you do just for fun!

Tiny Titans 23,29,33,39,45 and 47,Bombshells 46,60 and 62,Bombshells United 18-24,Lego Batman:Family Matters,A Death In The Family 2020,Batman:The Adventures Continue,Batman/Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 5-6,The Doom That Came to Gotham 2023 and The Teen Titans Go episode 'The Best Robin'(Pre-Reboot Robin Jason rights!!!).Also look up 'Nobody cares about Tim Drake' if you don't know what that is,you'll love it

Jason also appears in the Lego DC Super Villains games that i highly recommend as well especially because my girlfriend is a mega fan of it and i don't know much about Lego Batman 3:Beyond Gotham but please avoid the aformentioned original Rhato,Red Hood:Outlaws and the Gotham Knights game as they feature extremely problematic writing not limited to but including racialized misogyny and ableism and do disservice to Jason himself anyway so you wouldn't want to consume them to begin with if you want to like him.I have mixed feelings on the Arkham Knight and Injustice games series' but they are objectively fairly good so i wouldn't say no to giving them a shot to see if you like them

And for the finale we have Wayne Family Adventures-Definitely a good read but to be totally honest it does Duke DIRTY and it sucks so much of DC to have marketed as his series to not only not follow through at all and make it an ensemble cast instead but ALSO deprive him of his actual characterization and story to make him a demure weak black boy stereotype.I won't judge you at all for liking it if you decided to read it or have already but kindly keep this in mind and consider joining me and my mutuals in our rewrite of it to give our Signal of Hope and Chaos the writing he deserves or at least support us through likes and reblogs!Happy Jason readings and have a good day💕

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wonuwrites · 20 days

Note

are you still looking for MTL suggestions? how about MTL likely to have the rest of the group scheme to get them a date.

so like Most = the guy with zero rizz. he's shy or awkward or both but he needs all the help he can get. or he's the dummy who doesn't know he's in love. the members all "casually" DM you on the same day to see what you're doing on the day that he has open.

Least = this guy pulls. the members don't even know who he's out with, or if it's the same person every time, just that he's always out. the members trying to get him a date would actually backfire by throwing him off his game. their hijinks would be disastrous and he would be mortified but his blushing is so cute you still agree to a date. this man cannot be stopped.

Always looking MTL suggestions and sooo excited for this LOLOLOL. Thank you for asking for a MTL <3

Warnings: mostly fluffy but def some will be suggestive. *Cough Cough MINGYU Cough Cough*

A/N: I hope I did this the way you wanted if you wanted it to be written. also I'll be adding "songs" I was listening to while writing each of their parts to their name. For example:

Wonwoo (song linked is Message In A Bottle by Taylor Swift)

just doing so bc sharing music is a love language of mine and getting 13 chances to do that is awesome imo <3 LOL

before we begin I do want to say something: I do think all members have a bit of rizz to them. I think if they were presented with an opportunity they would kill it. I mean, they have MILLIONS of people who love them because they are them. The way I wrote this is based on my interpretations on how they've done things with Nana Tour and GoSe episodes. Please note this may differ from what others may see. Please let me know what y'all think after reading it. <3 ok let's start :D

M O S T

✫ Woozi *song note: this song has nothing to do with this one shot but ye*

Jihoon is one of those weird ones where he can charm people like nobody's business but idk I feel like he is really into his work so dating or anything like that is at the bottom of the barrel at the this point. I can see if he were to have a crush on someone, he would love them from afar because he doesn't want to ruin things with you but also not with his work. Due to this thought process is why I have him at first. He would NEED the members to step in because honestly, he could be okay with just loving you from afar. I could see members setting up blind dates for him actually. I could see all 12 of them trying so hard to be a wingman but honestly it was up to him whether or not he would want to have extra commitment at the time or not. Let's say a blind date did happen and you were the apple of his eye and all the members were in on it. I feel like it would be the most adorable yet most awkward date because of nerves and everything like that. He thought you were pretty and tbh, so did you. You thought he was cute as hell (which you are right.) If the date went well, he would def be the one to ask you for a second date and your number if he didn't already have it. <3

✫ Jun *song note: I'm obsessed with this song.*

I was debating on putting Jun and Jihoon at most for the longest time. Like I said in my Authors Note, I do think all of them have some type of rizz or whatever but Jun is one of the more quiet and shy members. The reasons I have him second is because I feel like he would like people that intimidate him at first meeting? haha. According to his K Profile he likes "someone who looks pure. He also likes sexy girls." So take that as you will. Anyways, I feel like he'd be a bit shy if he liked someone at first and would really be in his head about it. The members would literally drag him to your first date and if there was an outing with you they would always make sure you two were near each other. After a few awkward moments of adorable giggles and glances at each other, you both went on a double date with one of the other members (tbh probably Soonyoung or Minghao) and it was at that moment all the anxieties had went out the window. Over time, he became more confident and comfortable with your budding relationship. so sorry this is all jumbled, I had no inspo for this one :(

✫ Seungkwan *song note: the last NCT 127 I genuinely liked :(*

Seungkwan is pretty extroverted but he gets into his head a lot so out of all the members I can actually see him asking one of his hyungs to help him out. LOL. He just trusts his hyungs for the most part and he really wanted to be yours but he was afraid. He would try to act confident at all times but when it came to you he was a shy bean. He would probably have Seokmin or Jeonghan help him out if he were to personally ask for help. ngl, I can also see Mingyu trying to help him out as well but it would be more of a "I want Boo Seungkwan to be happy and I'm tired of him not making a move." After the guys planned a date for y'all, similarly to Jun his anxieties lightened up. He was enchanted for this moment and he was hoping you were also enchanted.

✫ S Coups *song name: this was high school and i miss hearing it on the bus*

Look, Seungcheol has got rizz, we all know this. HEAR ME OUT THO. There was a thing I saw a few weeks ago where he said he was sad because one day he would break million of carats hearts when he gets married which :') (PRECIOUS.) So because of this I feel like that's his mentality right now where he doesn't want to hurt anyone plus his main focus is Seventeen. I feel like he'd be the member where if he had a crush on you, he rather admire from a distant instead of hurting you because idol life and fear of what dating news would be like. I feel like Seventeen would hate seeing him hurt himself in process of trying not to hurt you but they could see his unintentional cold shoulder to you would be killing you inside. One day, Joshua couldn't handle it anymore and just texted both of you to meet at a restaurant to meet up and just see how things go. Which it did as everyone but you two assumed would. help this gives me a one shot idea. if someone wants it pls let me know xo

✫ Hoshi *song note: ngl I might make a oneshot with Soonyoung with this song in future*

Soonyoung is such a wild card so I put him in a category of "could go either way" along with Minghao and Wonwoo. With Soonyoung I feel like he is someone that would not have trouble in dating or getting numbers but I also know he is a bit more shy and reserved around others that he doesn't know so he wouldn't mind if other members got involved. I feel like he'd be more chill about their help then Wonwoo and Minghao. I think it wouldn't even matter which member or members were to help him out. He'd just be grateful for the support from them. If it was from members, it would mostly be a blind date where neither of you really knew each other but if you were friends with one of the members already he'd be a bit more comfortable. If your date was because of him, expect a very blushy Soonyoung who would be smiley the whole time because someone as special as you agreed to spend a few hours with someone like him.

✫ Minghao *song note: this is my fave song atm*

Minghao like I said in Soonyoung's part is part of my "it could go either way" line. I feel like unlike Soonyoung it would matter who helped him out because I feel like he'd ask for advice from the older members or the 97 line on what he should do. I feel like he would want to pursue you but he would be nervous about rejection which... who in their right mind would ever reject him?! Anyways, that would be why he would go seeking for help. I feel like once he got over that hurdle of self doubt and lands a date with you with the help of Jun he would be such a gentleman and you would wonder how in the world you were able to meet someone as amazing as Xu Minghao.

✫ Wonwoo

The final member of the "it could go either way" is the handsome as HELL member Jeon Wonwoo. (yes they are all handsome as hell but I am so whipped for him it's not okay.) With Wonwoo, I feel like he would admire from afar for a while and debate on if he would want to pursue someone or not. From what I've read online, it takes him awhile to get used to people which is why it would take him a month or so to see what he wants. Which is why his members would get involved. Some members, ie Hip Hop Unit (especially Seungcheol) might get impatient with is prolonged plan and would message you and invite you to an event with them. While at the event, they would try to subtly make sure that you both were near each other the whole time. I can see Seungcheol smirking if you both started to talk throughout the night and ignoring everyone else in the process. Mission accomplished.

me after i saw this gif

✫ Jeonghan *song note: I'm not even sorry about this song. it's a bop*

Now we are getting into the "members that don't need help" category. I feel like it is perfect to start it off with Yoon Jeonghan. Jeonghan has such a loving personality and has rizz that makes anyone blush. Don't believe me? Watch him with Hyungwon from Monsta X LMAOOOOO Anyways, I feel like if he likes you he would tease you like a school yard kid. Some might find it strange but it would win you over and have you tease him back as well. Bottom line you both would be leaving said conversations with new phone numbers in your phone afterwards.

✫ Joshua *song note: Help this song just gave me inspo for a Joshua one shot o.o*

Hong Jisoo is such a flirt, if you don't agree you can argue with the freaking wall. He would have you kicking your feet by just saying hello LMAO. He might act shy but we know homie is an extrovert and honestly I could see him pulling an Ariana Grande with you. "I see it, I want it, I got it." but of course make it *gentleman-y* He would come up to you first and would ask you questions and would just have you smiling and honestly as would you. Anyone looking would have thought y'all have known each other forever.

✫ Vernon *song note: this song is song of all songs*

Hansol doesn't need ANY help when it comes to dating but he's similar to Wonwoo where he is very selective to who he dates. He's the type of guy if he likes somebody, he will tell them or just pursue him. I can see him being one of the most casual members when it comes to asking you to go on a date or to be his. He'd ask you what you like to do and then would say something along the lines, "oh cool, would you like to do that sometime with me?" He would be all smiles if you said sure and honestly, it would surprise some of his members how good he was at getting dates. But then again, they all were obsessed with his charms as well so????

✫ Dokyeom *song note: hot people are swarats. (Swifite x Carats)*

For the final three we are in the "they def fuck" category LOL. I know Seokmin seems like a wild card pick but hear me out. I feel like even though he is introverted, he is also outgoing and not afraid to make connections. Plus he is part of the 97 group chat and idk to me the majority of that line just drip with rizz and able to get dates. I feel like Seokmin is similar to Jeonghan where his loving personality and just how he is makes people swoon. At first you were hesitant when you first became acquainted with him. You thought he was too good to be true. When you told him that, he would be taken aback and do everything in his power to show you that he was serious about you. idk how i feel about this one, I might come back and rewrite this or do a drabble later

✫ Dino *song note: this is my husband. yes he makes baby making music.*

pls don't tell him wait~~ sorry. anywhore. LEE CHAN fucks but also is a lover boy. I could end it there but that would be boring and Dinonara's deserve better. To be fair, if it wasn't for Wait he would not have been this low but Wait was just wow. Chan just has an aura where he would be such a tease to his significant other or his future partner. I can see him being a mashup of Mingyu, Jeonghan, and Joshua. He would be such an annoying flirt and would laugh or smirk if it made you flustered. Even if it came of cocky, it worked pretty well on his behalf. His members still would tease him regardless of the outcome too.

✫ Mingyu *Song Note: :) :) :) I love this song*

Kim Mingyu. This man fucks and it's delulu to think he does not. It's honestly weird when I think about Mingyu. I mean this respectfully when I say he gives such fuck boy x house husband vibes and sometimes it pisses me off. That's an aries for you tho. LMAO. Anyways, it's almost impossible to not fall in love with Mingyu. Not only is he super attractive but he also is just genuinely so nice which is why he would not struggle. Even if it is easy for him, if he was with you. He was with. you. He would be so down bad and would constantly compliment, flirt, and just love you. It would be as simple as basic math to him.

this took so much longer than I thought it would. I hope I did it the way you wanted me too <33

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spaceshipellie · 10 months

Text

we were never just friends

ellie williams x reader

part four (part one, part two, part three)

summary: modern!ellie, both in their mid twenties. ellie and reader have been friends for years, their friendship has always been somewhat flirty but nothing has ever happened. not yet anyway…

warnings: angst, fluff, smut, eating out and fingering (r receiving), scissoring, ellie and reader being saps, minors and ageless blogs dni

author’s note: this is the last part 😪 i’ve had so much fun writing this and all of the lovely comments and reblogs have made me giddy tbh i really appreciate them 🩷

word count: 3.6k

“i slept with ellie.”

there was silence after you spoke. you could hear a pin drop. you couldn’t even detect an emotion on kate’s face, she just stared blankly at you.

“kate,” you whispered, trying to jog her to say something.

“i heard you.”

another silent pause.

“i’m really sorry.”

“are you?” she snapped.

“yes! i know this is really fucked up but–“

“but what? please tell me why you thought now was a good time to say something.”

“i tried,” your voice sounded pathetic, knowing she was right but you still attempted to explain yourself.

“i tried to tell you before and i wanted to tell you as soon as i got home but you were at your parents and i didn’t want to call i wanted to tell you in person and…” everything you said came out in one hurried breath.

“…and, i know it’s useless but i am sorry.”

kate looked down at the ground, her jaw clenched and she just slowly nodded, taking in every word.

“do you regret it?”

“i-“ you really thought your voice would follow through with a sentence but it didn’t.

“you know, i think if you were really sorry, and really regretted it, you would have tried harder to fucking tell me, but you didn’t.”

“kate.”

“no, just stop,” she paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts whilst you just stood there, afraid to speak.

“i think you love her.”

you felt like you’d just been shot.

“what?!”

“why do you seem so shocked? you do, don’t you?”

“no, i…” you sighed, defeated, “she’s my best friend.”

“yeah.” kate’s voice was quiet.

˚ · • . ° .

— ellie’s pov —

your flight was leaving soon and you hadn’t said anything to ellie about telling kate. she knew you were going to but the wait was killing her. then again, it wasn’t her relationship so she couldn’t expect you to tell kate. what if you’d changed your mind? what if you wanted to make things work and just forget everything that happened at the weekend? what if you didn’t want to see ellie anymore because it was too awkward?

she was pacing around her bedroom, panicking. she sent you a text to say have a safe flight then immediately muttered “you fucking idiot” to herself and threw her phone at the bed so hard that it bounced off and landed on her guitar amp. the screen cracked and most of it went black. fucking perfect, she thought. just what i need. a stupid broken phone.

her thoughts felt claustrophobic as they shouted at her from every direction. she just wanted to know what you were thinking. how you were feeling. were you feeling as worked up about this as she was? what were you doing right now? why were you still going on this holiday? maybe you didn’t go and any minute now you’d burst through the door.

a little time had passed, about four songs to be exact whilst ellie tried to drown her mind out with angry music. you weren’t bursting through the door and her text only said sent and not delivered. you had to be on that fucking plane. ellie turned the volume up, nearly to the point where her eardrums hurt.

why did you have to make her feel this way? why did you have to be so sweet, and kind, and pretty, and funny, and smart, and loving, and the best person she had ever met. it was actually pissing her off. how fucking dare you be all of those things, then kiss her, fuck her, and leave like it was nothing? it was fucking bullshit.

˚ · • . ° .

— your pov —

you couldn’t get a flight home until two days after you’d made your confession and it was agony. you and kate had broken up that night but had to still share the same hotel room as they were fully booked. however, during the day you did your own thing. which is why you were now sat in some random cafe alone, depressingly sipping on a milkshake.

“boy trouble?” you heard a voice right by you. were they talking to you? you quizzically flicked your eyes from staring down into your drink to look up at this older woman behind the counter. she was giving you a sympathetic smile. did you really look that sad?

“not technically,” you grumbled.

“technically? honey, it’s either a bad situation or it isn’t.” she laughed.

you slurped the end of your drink, the straw making a loud noise.

“i’m having girl trouble.”

the woman hummed in acknowledgment.

“let me get you another one of those, i’ll be right back.”

she made you a new milkshake and placed it in front of you.

“now, what’s troubling ya?”

you didn’t know if you wanted to explain it all to this random stranger, considering it was all quite fresh. but then you thought, hey, you could do with getting it off your chest and you would probably never see this person again so why the hell not. you took in a breath before you spoke.

“i cheated on my girlfriend with my best friend who i think i’m in love with but now i’m on holiday with said girlfriend who is no longer my girlfriend because on our second day here i told her about it and now i’m stuck here until tomorrow waiting to fly home.”

your voice came out very matter of factly and the woman, who was leaning on the counter, blinked a few times, processing.

“gosh,” she said.

“i know,” you sipped your drink.

“darlin’ you’ve got yourself in quite a mess here.”

“you think?” your eyes widened to emphasise the sarcasm.

“so where is the girl-sorry, ex girlfriend?”

“no idea, but we still have to share a hotel room until we leave.”

“oof. where is this best friend?”

“at home in wyoming.”

“when did… it happen? if you don’t mind me asking.”

“at the weekend.”

“damn.”

“i’m fucked, aren’t i.”

the woman took in a breath to gather her thoughts.

“maybe, maybe not. depends on what you want out of this.”

“what do you mean?”

“i mean, this friend of yours, you said you think you love her?”

“ye–i mean, i don’t kn–fuck, yes. yes i do.”

“and,” she dragged the word out, “do you think she loves you too?”

you shrugged and slapped your arms down on the counter.

“i don’t know! every time we try and talk about it it’s like we’ve forgotten how to fucking speak! i don’t know what to do!” your voice had gotten louder and more shrill. other people in the cafe could definitely hear you now if they wanted to pay attention. the woman smiled the way a mother would at her teenage daughter going through her first heartbreak.

“honey, i think you need to tell her how you feel.”

you took another sip, pausing.

“but what if she doesn’t feel the same?”

“then at least you’ll know.”

you grumbled, taking another sip.

“have you spoken to her whilst you’ve been out here?” you immediately felt a pang of guilt.

“no.”

the woman patted your hand.

“you can’t run from it forever, honey.”

once again your straw made a gurgling sound as you finished your milkshake.

“it’s on the house.”

“what? no, it’s fine, i can pay.”

“nope. this one’s on me, i insist.”

“are you my fairy godmother or something?” you laughed.

the woman laughed too and jokingly put her hands up in surrender before leaning them back down on the counter.

“just an old gal who wanted to make sure you were ok.”

“thank you, i really appreciate it.”

you smiled at each other before she walked off out the back. you decided to stop being a wimp and messaged ellie.

you

11:36am

hey els, hope you’re ok. i just wanted to tell you that i told kate, we broke up, but i can’t get home until tomorrow night. can we please talk when i get back?

˚ · • . ° .

you found an array of things to fill your day with but everything was coated in a fresh layer of anxiety because ellie had not replied. she might be busy, she might be working, she has a life, you thought. either that or she hates you.

you and kate barely spoke when you went to bed. it was incredibly awkward and you questioned whether or not you should have gotten a second room in a different hotel but for only two nights it still seemed like a stupid expense. you just had to get through this, then you could maybe put this whole thing to rest.

when you woke up the next day, kate was already gone. your flight was at 4pm so you’d see her soon enough to go to the airport. what a shit show, you thought. you rubbed your eyes and grabbed your phone. still no text from ellie. the anxiety in the pit in your stomach hadn’t let up. this was really out of character for her, she’d never gone this long without replying to you. sure, she was pretty useless with her phone in general but never with you.

˚ · • . ° .

“come on, we need to go,” kate huffed, checking her watch as she stood in the doorway of your hotel room.

“yeah yeah, i’m coming.”

the taxi drive was dead silent. the wait at the airport was dead silent, both of you just putting headphones on. you tried to sleep on the four hour flight but it just wasn’t happening. having to sit still was bad enough.

when you landed and were standing outside with your suitcases, you both stopped and looked at each other.

“i’m not gonna pretend like this isn’t really awkward,” kate spoke first.

“yeah,” you lightly kicked the ground, “again, i’m sorry about all this.”

“me too.” more silence.

“well, goodbye,” she said, her voice lifeless and sad.

“bye.” and with that she left. it all felt very weird and you felt sad. more so because you had hurt kate in a way you didn’t intend to, but what was done had been done and you could only really focus now on what lay ahead.

you got back to your apartment just after 9pm and threw your stuff down, not wanting to deal with it. you checked your phone again. still no reply.

“right, i can’t take this,” you muttered to yourself and aimlessly grabbed your phone and jacket before heading over to ellie’s place. on the walk over you tried to prepare what you were going to say.

“ellie, i need to tell you that–no, no…ellie, this whole thing has made me realise i–fuck,” you were getting frustrated. someone walked by and gave you a strange look as you were talking to yourself in public but you didn’t care and gave them a strange look back. you reached her place and tried to call her to tell her you were outside. voicemail. excellent. you buzzed the apartment intercom, over and over and over until you gave up. nothing. she wasn’t home.

“fuck this,” you cursed, wracking your brain for where she could be. it was a saturday night. hazy’s, you thought.

you beelined there and of course, it was busy. you couldn’t see her so you pushed your way to the bar. a familiar guitar riff played in the background. the band you went to see together were playing again. how stupidly poetic.

“nadine!” you called. she span around.

“hey! i thought you were supposed to be in california?”

“i am, i mean i was, look it’s a long story. have you seen ellie?”

“yeah, she’s here somewhere…oh, she’s over there,” nadine pointed.

you thanked her quickly before rushing over. you caught sight of her over someone’s shoulder but when she came into full view you saw a girl talking to her.

you felt sick. it’s too late, you thought. she hated you and she wanted to move on from it. although, she didn’t look the way she usually did when she was flirting with girls in bars, she kind of looked bored, so maybe everything was fine. you told yourself whatever story you wanted to hear and walked up to her.

“ellie.” her head snapped to look at you. her face looked confused but also…hopeful?

“what the fuck, how are you here?”

“who’s this?” the girl chimed in. you stared at her wishing she would fuck off. you knew you were one to talk but the feeling still stood.

you and ellie both said, “i’m her,” and “she’s my,” at the same time before pausing.

“you’re my what?” her eyes fixated on you.

“please can we just talk?”

“sure,” she said, pushing herself off the wall she had been leaning against and walking towards you. the girl rolled her eyes and disappeared.

you started to walk outside, ellie following behind. your palms felt clammy and your stomach felt like it was about to burst as you still had no idea where to start. once outside and out of the way of anyone you stopped and turned to face her.

“ok ok ok,” you chanted to yourself before leading with, “i’ve been trying to come up with the right way to say this but–“

“where’s kate?” she interrupted.

“she went home.” you felt nervous at how she suddenly sounded a bit pissed off.

“why are you back from california?”

“why would i stay there?” you questioned, confused.

“i don’t know, maybe because you were so excited to go on some romantic fucking getaway with your girlfriend where you’ve probably been fucking and–“

“ellie,” you shouted, trying to get her to stop, “i haven’t, i mean we didn’t do anything! i swear.”

“then why did you go?” she yelled.

“i fucking panicked, i–ok i’m not gonna try and excuse it because that was shitty of me but also why have you been ignoring me?”

“i haven’t been ignoring you.”

“you have, ellie, i messaged you ages ago and you never fucking replied!”

“i broke my phone.”

“when?”

“wednesday.”

“ellie, it’s saturday, why didn’t you get it fixed?”

“i don’t know! i haven’t gotten around to it, anyway does that matter?!”

“yes because if you did then you’d know that i told kate, we broke up a couple days ago, i’m never gonna see her again, i’ve had the worst few days of my life thinking you hated me and didn’t wanna talk and i know it’s all my fault and i’m a fucking idiot but–“

she kissed you.

her warm hands grabbed your face and she kissed you, hard.

you broke apart, gasping for air, her hands still on your face and yours holding her bent elbows for stability as you felt like you could honestly collapse in a heap.

“i don’t think i’ve ever fucked up this colossally in my entire life. well, except for that time i crashed my car into a–“

“will you shut up?” she smirked.

“yeah, no, yeah, sorry.” you stuttered and she kissed you again.

your hands tangled themselves in her hair and hers traveled down to your waist, pulling you tight against her.

“take me home?” you mumbled into it. she smiled and grabbed your hand, practically running back to your place, only because it was closer than hers.

her hands were all over you as you fumbled with the keys to get into your apartment. as soon as the door slammed shut she pushed you up against the nearest wall. you moaned as your back hit it.

“you’ve been driving me insane,” ellie mumbled against your lips.

“i couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“oh yeah? tell me what you thought about.” she started kissing your neck, her hand slipping under your top to touch your waist.

“your hands,” your cheeks felt hot. she slipped her other hand down to squeeze your ass and chuckled when it made you lean your hips into her.

“anything else?”

“ellie,” you pleaded, feeling embarrassed.

“i wanna know.”

“ok, i thought about how fucking annoying you are when you-“ you yelped as she grabbed your thighs, picking you up, your legs wrapping tightly around her.

she hastily made her way to the sofa and sat down so that you were now straddling her lap. your hands tugged at her hair as you kissed, making her groan. her hands grabbed your ass, making you grind into her. they then slide up your back, pushing your top up as she mumbled, “take it off.”

you ripped your top off and as you’d been traveling all day you hadn’t bothered with a bra so your tits were already out, pressing against her. her hands never left your body as she moved them to cup your boobs, squeezing and brushing her thumbs over your nipples.

“take your jeans off.”

you smirked and climbed off her lap and stood before her. you slowly started to unzip your jeans and slip your thumbs beneath the waist band, ready to push them down. her eyes were gazing all over your body as she licked her lips. you took your time pushing your jeans and underwear down just to tease her. the second they were off she leaned forward and grabbed you, pulling you back onto her straddling her lap.

“you’re eager,” you teased.

“don’t,” she laughed slightly before kissing you. she knew she was but she didn’t care. her hand glided down your back, going over the curve of your ass before you felt her fingers slightly part your wet folds.

you instinctively pushed your body further into hers and she dipped a finger in, slowly moving it in and out with ease. you moaned against her mouth.

“more.”

“now who’s eager.”

your hands gripped her shoulders harder in warning. she fingered you for a little longer until she suddenly moved her hand away, gave your ass a light tap and said, “sit on my face, baby.”

you both wasted no time getting into position as she lied back on the sofa and you hovered over her face. she wrapped her hands around your thighs and pulled you down, licking a long stripe up your cunt.

“fuck, you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to do this.”

her words made you try and squeeze your thighs together but her hands held them tightly in place. her tongue swirled circles on your clit making you breathlessly let out a string of curses.

your knuckles were turning white as you gripped the back of the sofa and you struggled to hold your body upright with how good she was making you feel. so good in fact you didn’t notice that she had moved one of her hands off your thigh until you felt her finger slip into your dripping cunt again. she curled it and worked it inside you alongside the torment of her tongue on your clit.

“oh fuck i’m gonna come.”

she kept her rhythm as your orgasm washed over you. your body went limp above her and she moved her hand up to your waist to support you as you shuffled back down her body. you gave her a tired, sloppy kiss.

“why am i always naked before you?”

“it’s hot,” she laughed.

she then sat up, pushing you up to be in her lap again before saying you should move to your bedroom. you giddily nodded and she pinched your ass as she followed you. she was walking so close her front was practically against your back anyway.

as soon as the bed was in sight she spun you around and kissed you before pushing you back onto it. you giggled as you leant on your forearms looking up at her as she started taking her clothes off. once naked, she leaned over you, lips back on yours, helping you shuffle up the bed. your hands were raking down her back emitting a moan from her. she was then pushing your legs apart and positioning herself so that your cunts were pressed together. you both let out a loud moan as she started rocking her hips.

“fuck, baby,” she groaned.

“feels so good, el.”

her fingertips were digging into your skin, supporting herself as she fucked herself into you. the sounds that filled the room were animalistic and filthy.

“i’m gonna come,” her voice cracked. the sight of her struggling to keep her eyes open above you was enough to send you into your next orgasm.

“m-me too.”

she collapsed on top of you, her face buried in your neck and you trailed your fingertips up and down her back, both of you panting. after you both took a moment to catch your breath she lifted her head to look at you.

“you’re so fucking beautiful,” she said, brushing a piece of hair away from your face.

“so are you,” you smiled, which made her blush.

“stop,” she laughed.

“you always get so weird when i compliment you but sorry baby, you really are.”

she closed her eyes for a second and subtly nodded, accepting it. you took her hand and started absentmindedly playing with her rings. you both looked at each other for a moment, taking in the fact that you were here again, in each other’s arms, but this time it was different. you didn’t have to worry about anything. you could just enjoy it.

“ellie,” you started, suddenly feeling that anxious pit in your stomach again.

“yeah?”

“i think…i think i love you.”

there. you’d said it. you had stopped being afraid and you’d told her.

“actually i think i always have.” your voice was soft and her eyes melted. she placed a light, loving kiss on your lips.

“i think i’ve always loved you too.”

you both laughed but this time you didn’t have to shush yourselves. she suddenly started attacking you with kisses all over your face and neck and you laughed louder.

“can’t believe we wasted all that fucking time,” you joked. she smiled.

“i guess we better make up for it.”

˚ · • . ° .

tag list: @ximtiredx @mattm1964 @robinismywifee @gold-dustwomxn @rolly-pollie @sapphicproblem @harrysslutsstuff @letsreadsomesins-shallwe @ellitelesbo @emothurman a couple other people asked me to tag them but it won’t let me and i’m not sure why so sorry about that!

#spaceshipellie fics #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie x reader #ellie smut #ellie tlou #ellie imagine #the last of us #ellie fluff #ellie angst #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams fic #lesbian #best friends to lovers

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shima-draws · 2 months

Note

OK, so thinking about a Sanlu au where Luffy is a Pirate King who gets so many marriage requests but does not want to get married. And so he instead insists that he gets to choose his partner through a contest where all the princes and princesses of like the countries around them or other pirates can like bring him a meal and if he likes it, you get married. The problem is that whenever people bring him food he'll just eat it and move on.

And so obviously the vinsmokes are like. Oh s***, we should get in on that. New Ally? And so they try with some of Sanji's others brothers, but none of them like work because they just made their cooks make their meals and everything.

Then eventually sanji, who wants to escape hears about this. And he knows that he can cook so he makes this amazing meat dish He is ready to present his meal towards the Prince in hopes of like maybe escaping his country and living there with Luffy. But like as he's on the way there, there's like this little girl who's starving, and so he gives her the meal instead. It was a one in a million shot anyway.

Anyway, either Luffy sees him doing this or if this was like the true test for kindness for all his partners, and sanji passes the test. Luffy's like get bring this man to me! So sanji goes before him, and luffy asks if he has a meal for him. All sanji has is like, this old sandwhich that he made for himself for the journey here, and sanji tells luffy that. Luffy tells him to bring it to him anyway, and after a lot of protests, he does. Luffy finally eats it and says that its delicious. He and sanji definitely get married.

Sorry for dumping this on you, but your artwork made me literally fall in love with sanlu so I wanted to share this middle of the night idea with you lol.

SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP ANON THIS IS EVERYTHING.......I'm a SUCKER for AUs like this, ones that kinda give off that Cinderella vibe? The whole 'Well if I have to get married to a random stranger I'm gonna do it my way' trope is always so fun to explore

Luffy's one requirement for a spouse being that they have to cook well is SO on brand for him tbh. I feel like that's something that would be canon too. (Thinks about a situation like that in canon where Luffy's like well nobody can cook better than Sanji so I'll just marry Sanji! And Sanji double takes like wait what hold on a second--)

Even funnier would be if Luffy just met Sanji's brothers and was like. I don't like their vibes they seem mean. And all three of them being SO offended at that lmao

SANJI GIVING HIS DISH TO A STARVING GIRL THO AAAHGFHFHF THAT'S SO. CLENCHES MY TEETH he's so selfless and giving he would absolutely give up all of his dreams just to make sure someone doesn't go hungry I am GOING to cry. And Luffy immediately noticing that, pointing at Sanji and going "Him. I want that one" AGHHH 😭😭😭

ALSO YES THE CALLBACK TO WCI with Sanji's little lunch basket...the food is a total mess it's been rained on and dropped and looks awful but Luffy eats it anyway and says it's delicious...and Sanji's like oh oh oh I think I'm in love with him. Uh-oh.

DON'T APOLOGIZE THIS IS SOOO ADORABLE I'm so glad I got you hooked on Sanlu they are so underrated!!! Going slightly off topic here but I think it's really funny how predictable I am when it comes to getting into new media. Step 1 I watch a show and slowly discover who my Favorites are. Step 2 I end up shipping those favorites together. Step 3 I make that everybody else's problem. Also that ship almost always ends up being the less popular one for some reason?? Which is SO funny to me. Looks at Trustedpartner/Diode, Yujikiri and Tododeku as the most obvious examples of this along with Sanlu

ANYWAY anon I really want to write this can I write this. No guarantees to me actually finishing a full blown fic but oh my godddd this is such a cute idea and is so in character for both of them I'm weeping real tears

#Shima answers questions #I'm going to blow up this is SO THEM!! SO SANLU #I love them so much hahfhghfsanda #I love Cinderella-esque AUs anon you're a GENIUS #Sanlu #One Piece #Lusan #Luffy #Sanji #Monkey D Luffy #Black Leg Sanji

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gemini-stories · 4 months

Text

remember me | j.wy x reader

synopsis: the years may have passed but he always remembered you. even when you didn't. pairing: wooyoung x fem!reader genre: idol!AU, friends to strangers to partners to lovers (?), smut (minors do not interact!!) warnings: idol wooyoung, idol reader, smut, face riding, cunnilingus, protected vaginal penetration (wrap it before you tap it), oral (female receiving), reader is bitchy, one sided pining, wooyoung is dumbly in love. if I miss anything pls let me know! word count: 7.6k ish a/n: tbh I wanted to get out of my comfort writing zone and decided to post my first fic here! this was supposed to be a one shot but it was getting too long for my liking, so maybe a part 2? anyways I'm open to any feedback and criticism so don't be shy to let me know and if you'd actually like to read the second part (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

─────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

The first time Wooyoung saw you was at the Junior Local Dance Competition you both participated when you were both 10 years old. He was dancing for the first time in front of a public after he started dance lessons three months ago. He messed up the steps. He was so nervous that he forgot a step and after that the whole choreography was a mess. He was on the floor sulking, in a corner backstage, far from anyone.

“I knew I'd find you here crying,” you said with a warm smile.

Wooyoung raised his glance towards you.

“I’m not crying!” he said embarrassed, crimson blossoming on his cheeks.

“Yet. You’re upset and in the crying corner.You were about to cry if i wouldn’t have come here.”

“Crying corner?” he asked, looking at the pink ruffles of your dress.

“We all come to this corner after our first performance. Usually everyone’s first performance is bad. Like really bad. So everyone who wants to cry and wants to do so alone comes here.”

He brought his knees to his chest and hid his face. “So I was really bad. Maybe I should quit before it’s too late.”

“Hey,” you lightly pushed his shoulder, your voice calm, “if we all were to quit, no one would come to this competition again. You should’ve seen me here the first time, I was a disaster,” you chuckled.

Wooyoung was emotionless. You seriously had to lighten him up somehow, otherwise he might mean what he is saying. You wished someone would have cheered you up when you were in his place four years ago. Now, you felt it was your duty to do it for someone else, so they wouldn’t go through a spiraling of self doubt at such a young age.

“Look, this was your first year, right?” you started cautiously. He slowly nodded his head and you took it as a sign to continue. “I bet next year you’ll even win the competition if you don’t give up now!”

“What?” he finally looked at you suspiciously.

“Practice every day and snatch the first place from me,” you said in the most serious way possible.

“How do you even know if you’ll win today?” he asked, laughing in your face. There it was.

“Well, I know I can win today, so you have to do it next year,” you grinned with a smile from ear to ear. “Pinky promise and all!” you extended your arm, fluttering your pinky finger.

Wooyoung looked at you puzzled. But why not, he thought. There was no guarantee you’d win today. So, he put his pinky into yours and you two sealed the promise with your thumbs.

“You can’t go back down now,” you said while getting up. “You have to win next year. Of course, you’ll have to beat me for that..but we made the promise, so work hard.”

Wooyoung was still as puzzled until you left. Does this mean he can’t give up now?

He got up and went to search for his parents in the audience. His parents waited for him with a sad smile, telling him he still did great and not to think about any mistake. He thought how you didn’t smile sadly at him.

Then you came on stage. With your pink ruffle dress and glitter makeup. The audience clapped, wishing you good luck. It all went to silence and the music started flowing through the whole stage. And you started dancing. Wooyoung could only compare your dance to angels flying on the stage. You graciously moved on the song, smiling and lip-syncing to the song.

You noticed him in the audience and you thought you should show him how confident you are. How confident he should be next time as well. You decided to improvise by getting closer to the edge of the stage, where he was sitting. You winked at him, sticking out your tongue and turned around to continue your choreography. The audience cheered.

Wooyoung was damn stunned. Did you just wink at him? Did anyone notice? He looked around but everyone seemed to think it was part of the dance. Maybe it actually was part of the dance. Your facial expressions were matching the mood of the song, which was very cheery.

You finished your choreography with a courtesy and the whole public erupted in applause and cheers, while you went backstage.

You were right. You did win.

You fulfilled your side of the promise and now it was Wooyoung’s turn. He didn’t give up. He continued going to the dance classes. He thought about your performance every day. How confident and pretty you looked on stage, like the stage was your home. Like you were born to be on stage. He thought about how everyone in the audience was looking in awe at you, admiring the way you moved and clapping and cheering and smiling. And he thought that’s exactly how he wants them to look at him.

So he went to class after class after class for the whole year. He thought about his promise every day, motivating him to go forward. Quickly enough, it was time for the Junior Local Dance Competition. He was confident in his performance this year. His dance teacher complimented him so many times in the past months, even telling his parents how quickly he made such a progress. He was confident. Confident that he could beat you? Not so much. But he still had a promise to fulfill. Just you wait!

But he ended up being the one to wait. On the podium. With the first place medal in his hand. Alone. Because you were not there. He won but you were not there to see it. You didn’t come to that year's competition. Neither the next year’s. When he won again. Or the next, when once again he won.

He thought he’ll never see you again. He thought about your performance that day. About how happy everyone was watching you. About how happy he was watching you.

Until you were dancing on the stage in front of him again. At the Regional Competition he attended when he was 14. You were dancing on a rendition of a popular pop song. Smiling and lip-syncing, while the audience was clapping and cheering for you. As he once remembered. Of course he’d recognize you and your smile, because you didn’t change at all. In reality, you changed a lot. You were taller, with shorter hair than he remembered, and not wearing the pink ruffled dress.

You won. He came in second. He didn’t lose the competitions in a long time. But he was not upset because it was you. You won. You were there.

He wondered if you remembered him. You didn’t. You congratulated him for his performance telling him it was amazing after the awards were given and everyone went backstage. You didn’t bring up your promise and neither did him. Because immediately after you went to a group of girls, laughing and jumping in happiness. He looked at you and your group longingly. It’s been four years, of course you wouldn’t remember him and the stupid promise you both made when you were 10.

He looked at you taking pictures with the girls. He recognised one of the girls. She was also attending the local competition every year and she briefly attended his classes as well, where she asked for his Instagram. She thought Wooyoung was a great dancer. She also thought he was very cute. That night he wondered if he could find your social media, maybe she would be following you. The girl had hundreds in her following list on Instagram and he didn’t know your name and neither did he see your picture in any tiny icon.

He was almost going to give up when that girl posted an update. A picture from the regionals. And you were in the picture. Smiling so wide that your eyes closed and holding up the first place medal. The universe listened to his prayers. You were tagged in the picture. Jackpot!

He looked at your profile picture. Of course he was never going to find you, your picture was a cute bunny cartoon munching on a raspberry. Then he saw your name. He thought it was such a pretty name, suiting you perfectly. Your profile was not private so he spent the rest of the night looking at your pictures. That’s how he found out why you haven’t been attending the local competition in the last few years - you moved to a neighbouring city. Still in the same region, hence why you were at the regionals. You still attended the competitions in your city. And won every time. You were on a winning strike for sure! He wondered if you’re still as confident. Your posts were pictures from everywhere and everything you were doing. Dance practices, competitions, hanging out with friends, pretty sunsets and bunnies.

He really wanted to follow you but he was scared. What if you would recognize him now? And think that it was rude he didn’t recognize you!

After a few minutes and not that many thoughts, he made a new account, hiding his name and followed you.

He was so happy. Not only did he see you today. But he found your name. He was thinking that maybe, just maybe if he wins next year you’d recognise him and remember him.

You didn’t. The next year at the regionals, you won again. And you didn’t recognise him. Again. He looked from afar. Again.

After that year you also started to post pictures and videos from singing lessons. He guessed you were training now to be a singer as well. Your voice changed so much, from the tiny voice you had when you talked to him when you were 10 to your voice now at 16. You had a beautiful singing voice too. You were going to make a great artist.

The next year you didn’t show up at the regionals. That proved his theory you were probably a trainee now and didn’t have time to go to competitions anymore.

He ended up winning. Once again you were not there to witness it.

But someone else was. They made him a proposition he couldn’t say no to. And that’s how he became a trainee as well.

Your last Instagram post was a picture of you with your eyes closed from smiling, captioned: “see you at my debut stage:)”.

You were going to debut.

At 18 you debuted in a trio with two other boys your age. Rhythm was your group's name. Very fitting, one could say. You all had great rhythm, were well synchronised, with powerful vocals, and energetic choreographies. You took the country by storm. The general public adored your group's music. The general public adored you. You and the boys. Your group was everywhere, interviews, radios, talk shows, music shows. And you were winning every time. As you once said.

You opened a new and official Instagram account and stopped posting on the old one. Wooyoung still followed your old one from his secret account. He started posting nature pictures with a tad bit of poetry in the captions. It was nothing too big, too deep, or too poetic. Just some of his thoughts that once in a while he felt the need to get out of his chest. He updated the profile picture to be his hand in a pinky promise stand. He thought it to be extremely fitting.

Wooyoung followed your every step, watching all the performances and interviews. He was so proud. He knew you’d be a star. You gave him courage and confidence once and you kept instilling it in him, in his trainee days and once he debuted as well.

He debuted a few years later in an 8 members boy group - Ateez. They were gaining popularity fast, even though their music was in its own niche, with a unique concept. He was dying to be on the same stage as you. Maybe just maybe you’d recognise him.

You never did.

“Y/N fucking mentioned us!” Hongjoong screamed entering the dance practice studio.

“Shut up!” San raised his eyebrows, his eyes almost bulging out of his sockets. He couldn’t believe it.

Wooyoung’s jaw dropped and he wasn’t able to close it yet.

Hongjoong held his phone up as proof. “Look!”

They all gathered around him, looking down at his phone. There you were, your smile too big for the small screen. It was a video from last night’s radio interview that Wooyoung didn’t have time to check yet. He couldn’t believe he didn’t see it first. He started smiling as soon as Hongjoong pressed play.

“So, Y/N, you always give amazing song recommendations. Any new music we should start listening to?” The radio host asked you.

You chuckled and Wooyoung was ecstatic waiting for your answer.

“I wouldn’t say new music, but these days I caught myself listening to Ateez a lot!”

The boys screamed. “OH MY GOD THAT’S US! IT’S US”

Wooyoung just kept smiling. That means you listened to him too. Maybe you even watched their music videos. Maybe even their performances. Maybe even..

“Ateez you say?” the host nudged you to continue, a little bit impressed as you usually wouldn’t recommend groups.

“Their songs really put me in a good mood, you know. And motivating. Also the lore behind their concept? It’s soooo good! I even caught myself watching fan theories and explanations so I can understand it, that’s how caught up I am,” you said laughing.

A general sound of gasping erupted in the room. Wooyoung was shocked. You definitely watched the music videos. He was more than curious to know what you were thinking of them.

“You know they are all very handsome, do you have a favourite between them?” such a sly question.

The room was silent, everyone expecting your answer. Wooyoung saw a tiny bit of blushing in your cheeks that went away in less than a millisecond. You were a pro at these interviews.

You licked your lips and answered, “You know I try to not show favouritism,” you giggled hiding your face, “but Hongjoong writes and produces a lot of their songs. I’d love to have a collaboration or something on a future song. I think it would turn out to be amazing!”

“Fuck.” Wooyoung muttered under his breath.

“No way!” Hongjoong exclaimed. “Did I hear right?”

“Bro,” Mingi patted his shoulder. “There’s no way. No way. She said your name. She wants to collaborate with you? For a song?”

“It’s nothing official though. It might never happen.”

Hongjoong said, trying to stay calm, looking at Wooyoung, seeing how his shoulders deflated. Something he does when he’s on the verge of sulking. Hongjoong knew how much Wooyoung admired you. He never explicitly expressed it but it was obvious. He’d always listen to your group’s songs and your solo songs especially. He’d always smile fondly when you’d appear on TV, and he was always extra nervous when you would share the same stage. Wooyoung didn’t have to say anything, Hongjoong would notice. The same way he noticed now that your answer did bother him, more than either of them would expect.

What bothered Wooyoung even more was how a few weeks later you contacted their manager to go forward with a song collaboration. Your answer wasn’t just for the show. You really did want to collaborate with Hongjoong on a song.

Wooyoung was furious. But not with Hongjoong. he deserved the attention and this would be such an opportunity for him. He was furious with himself. Maybe if he went to you when you were 14 to say “hey, remember me?” he wouldn’t regret it so much. Like what even is he expecting now? For you to what? Name drop him in your interviews? He needed to get a grip.

“I don’t know, I feel like that part comes in too early, you know? Maybe we can add five beats before it to prolong the pre chorus just a bit?” you said scrunching your eyebrows.

It was already your eighth time sitting in the studio with Hongjoong. You were surprised how well you two clicked. You didn’t lie in the interview when you said you were impressed by their songs. But you did always find it hard to work with new people. You were comfortable with your people, and the point of this new album was for you to get out of your comfort zone. That’s why you wanted to try something new. New sounds, new choreos, new videos. If all the collaborations were to go as smooth as with Hongjoong, the new album will be a piece of cake.

It was easy to talk with him and express your ideas. He was eager to listen and implement all your suggestions but was not afraid to implement bold decisions of his own either. You loved that.

“No, nevermind. It sounds weird as fuck. I don’t like it.” you sighed. “I’m sorry I know we changed this specific ten seconds a billion times today.”

“No sweat! That’s why we’re here. That’s why I’m here.”

There he is. Sweet Hongjoong. No matter how bitchy you are about the song he would help you fix it.

“I’m sorry, I think I’m a bit in a slump today and that’s why I don’t like anything.”

“What’s bothering you today?” he asked while still looking at the screen.

You groaned loudly. “They are pressuring me to find a partner for the dance segment I want to perform for the end of the year awards.”

“Anyone on your mind?”

“Not one person,” you closed your eyes, leaning your head on the couch. “Anyone on yours?”

“Actually yes,” he said, turning in his chair.

At this you perked you head towards him. “Really? Who?”

“One of my team members. He’s fucking good.” Hongjoong smiled.

“Hongjoong, you are the best thing that happened to me!” you beamed.

Hongjoong was so excited. He could finally make it up to Wooyoung. He avoided talking about his studio sessions with him around, although the others would pressure him A LOT. Asking him everything. He always kept everything brief. But many times it sounded like he had something to hide. Which he didn’t. He didn’t want to make Wooyoung upset, that was it. Hongjoong, like the others, would look at you as you were - their senior. With a lot of respect and admiration. But Wooyoung always looked at you with more, with pride and happiness. You definitely meant more for him than what he wanted to show.

“Hey man,” Hongjoong entered Wooyoung’s room, finding him in bed on his phone, “great news!”

“What’s up?” Wooyoung asked, concentrating on his phone, playing a game.

“I might have booked you a dance segment at the end of the year award ceremony.”

“Cool.” Wooyoung said unimpressed, still focusing on his game. He trusted his leader’s decisions. If he told him he had to dance at the awards, he was going to dance.

“A dance segment with Y/N,” Hongjoong smiled.

“What?” Wooyoung finally paused his game and looked at Hongjoong. “Absolutely not.” he shrugged as if it was the most expected answer.

“The fuck? Why not?” Hongjoong was flabbergasted. Why would he say no to such an opportunity?

“Our dancing styles don’t match,” he blinked.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Deadly,” he said, returning to his game. His heart beating faster and faster. What the fuck is he doing?

“Well too late. It was already discussed and agreed between the higher ups. Everyone loved the idea.”

Wooyoung paused his game again. He was opening his mouth to protest but Hongjoong cut him off. “Y/N is waiting for you at 8 in the morning at her dance studio. I’ll share the location with you. Don’t be late!” and he left. Leaving behind a confused Wooyoung.

What just happened?

He was going to see you. Talk with you. Dance with you. No. This was not supposed to happen. He convinced himself he had to see you from afar and that’s it. His heart was going crazy. How was he going to survive this?

He was late. Oh, so late. He couldn’t fall asleep last night. He was too nervous, too excited. He was thinking about you the whole night. He even looked at your old profile, something he didn’t do in a long time. And so he fell asleep. But it was too late because as he fell asleep, he had to wake up and so he slept through his alarm.

“I am so sorry!” he shouted the moment he barged through your dance studio.

You were on the floor, doing some warm up exercises. He was 47 minutes late! How disrespectful. You slowly got up while he hurriedly left his bag in a corner and ran to the middle of the room. He was gasping for air, definitely ran to get here.

You stared up at him. He was a head taller than you but you were not going to feel smaller. You looked him up and down and went back to look in his eyes.

“What? Your coffee date with your girlfriend ended up later than you expected?” it was wrong for you to make assumptions and you knew it. But you were oh so angry! You hated hated people who were not keeping their promise.

Wooyoung choked on his words. He should’ve apologised. Said it won’t happen again. Instead he said: “I don’t have a girlfriend,” while keeping his eyes on yours.

“That’s your private life,” you blinked, “and I don’t care about it. I only care for you to be here on time. Dance. And leave. Hongjoong is a great guy, don’t disappoint him.”

Wooyoung raised his eyebrow. Indeed, Hongjoong is a great guy, but why would you say that?

“Let’s not waste any more time and start,” you turned to reach for your tablet.

Your dance was a beautiful choreography on a melodic hip-hop classic rendition. The choreographer did a fantastic job. You worked with him on previous projects and you really really wanted this number to be touched by his creative vision.

The only downside… he was living in New Zealand. That never stopped you before. He used to send you videos of the choreographies and you’d send him videos of you dancing it and ask for feedback. It worked fantastic before and it will work fantastic now.

Or so you thought. The choreography was not too difficult. It was intricate with many details that you really loved focusing on. You used to learn the steps very fast, maybe in a couple of hours, but this time it turned out to be more intricate than you expected.

The two of you spent more than half of your allocated time just analyzing it. Pressing the replay button over and over and over again. Changing the speed and trying to absorb everything to the smallest detail.

Both of you were extremely focused and everything seemed to go on the right path. You were confident this will turn out well even with the slightest hiccup in the morning.

You were wrong.

The moment the two of you started to physically learn and count your steps, everything that could have gone wrong, went wrong.

Wooyoung’s body was not listening to him. He was too much in his head, nerves, guilt, stress, fear, of failure and disappointment, everything was just overwhelming him. He felt as if his body was separate from his mind. The two doing their own thing. And he was in the middle, trying to bring them together and failing miserably.

You, on the other hand, were frustrated. With yourself and with him. With his delay this morning that gave such a wrong impression on him. He is sloppy, careless and unreliable. That’s what you told yourself the whole morning while trying to watch the choreography video. It didn’t help that when you started actually dancing he was making such…stupid mistakes. Then you went completely spiraling. Why did Hongjoong recommend Wooyoung? It was obvious he had no idea what he was doing. Was he setting you to fail? Was that his plan?

You literally had to slap yourself to stop thinking. Which startled Wooyoung from his self-destructive thoughts as well.

You grabbed your phone, quickly typed a message and resumed your practice in no time.

Around an hour later, your phone was blinking. A sign that you got a new message that was not silenced by your do not disturb status. That could only mean one person.

“Let’s take a break,” you said looking at your phone, “20..no 15 minutes should be more than enough.”

It was the first proper sentence, besides some counting, any of you spoke in hours.

“Ok,” was all that he could say as you left the dance studio in seconds.

He didn’t know what to do. He would’ve liked to get some fresh air but he was not familiar with the building and had no idea how to get on the roof. He didn’t want to get lost or anything. He decided the best idea was to ask you next time.

He ended up just rewatching the dance video, mentally noting some moves. Then slowly practicing and watching himself in the mirror. He was doing great. Way better. As he usually was doing when learning a new dance. Why wasn’t he like this the whole morning?

15 minutes sharp later, you opened the door, stretching your back with your arms above your head.

“Did you spend your whole break here dancing? Why didn’t you rest?” you stopped yourself, inhaling, then adding coldly. “You know what, it’s your time. You are responsible for it.”

“I am really sorry I was late this morning.”

And so you continued your rest of the practice.

After Wooyoung returned to his dorm, took a shower, and laid in his bed, contemplating how miserable he felt right now, he thought there was no way you were not going to complain to Hongjoong about today. And he was going to return home and scold him so so much. And not in a good way.

He knew the best way to get over it was to dance. So, in his tiny room, he got up and continued practicing the steps. Tomorrow will be better.

It was not.

He was so tired from not sleeping the previous night and from a double dance practice yesterday. Of course he overslept.

He was late.

Only 10 minutes.

But he was late.

You were lowkey furious. Was he testing your patience? That must be it. Otherwise why would he be late on your second day of practice. After you already made such a big deal about it yesterday.

When Wooyoung opened the door, gasping for air and ready to apologise, you immediately cut him off.

“Don’t even. Let’s just start.”

Sloppy, careless and unreliable.

And so you continued your practice in the next few days. Wooyoung was dying inside. He disappointed you but you were so mean.

“Don’t you know how to raise your hand?”

“This is a six count not eight. Can you even count? ”

“Did you learn to dance yesterday?”

“People will start falling asleep.”

“Why are you like this?”

And so much worse.

Wooyoung would clench his jaw in anger and just swallow his words.

You were indeed mean. You knew that. You did have extremely mean dance teachers growing up. Which was very toxic and haunted you your whole life. Apparently it still did.

You did start making these comments out of pettiness because you were annoyed with him. But then you noticed he wasn’t replying back. In the beginning he would only apologise. Then you noticed how his jaw would clench, how his nostrils would flare, how he’d roll his eyes, how he would deeply sigh. He was getting annoyed. But, nevertheless, he was not making any mean comments back. You did want to get a reaction from him. See what he had to say.

Sloppy, careless and unreliable.

And spineless too?

Your phone blinked notifying you of a new message. And so you announced the 15 minutes daily break.

You left the practice room and went to the familiar dimly lit storage room.

The moment you closed the door behind you, you felt yourself being lifted up and placed on the drawer nearby.

Your lips immediately parted, sinking in the kiss. You loved Hajun’s kisses. They were always exactly what you needed when you were stressed and annoyed. Which was a lot these days.

He trailed kisses on your jaw and down on your neck, nibbling at the cusp between your neck and shoulder.

“How is your pretty boy today?”

You rolled your eyes.

“I don’t wanna talk about him,” you rolled your eyes, unbuttoning his pants.

“But that’s your favourite topic these days,” he said, playing with the waistband of your sweatpants. “Almost like foreplay.” He yanked your pants down to your ankle in a swift movement, placing deep kisses on your lips.

He quickly put a condom on, aligned in front of your entrance, and pushed himself inside with no warning.

You gasped and bit your lips to keep quiet.

“He’s just..driving me..crazy,” you breathed.

“So sloppy.”

Thrust.

“So careless.”

Thrust.

“So unreliable.”

Thrust.

“So spineless.”

“Spineless?” he groaned, increasing his pace. “That’s new. What did he do?”

You rolled your eyes in unison with your hips. “It’s what he didn't do. No matter what I say, he only gets annoyed but doesn’t talk back.”

He put his hand under your shirt, caressing your bare torso, moving up towards your chest.

“Sounds like you want someone to put you in your place.” he cupped your breast, pinching your nipple in between two fingers. “Am I not good enough for that, love?”

You met Hajun a few months before your debut. He was training with you briefly, until he realised he is not cut for the entertainment industry. He was not sad or anything, rather happy. Studied to enter a good med school and never regretted his decision. The two of you became close friends. Venting each other’s frustration. Until one day, you both figured out the best way to vent. A kiss here, a kiss there, and then you were fucking on his couch. No strings attached and ready to break this deal whenever one of you was over it.

You were stressed through the roof because of your upcoming album. He was stressed through the roof because of the exam season. All this stress combined and you were bound to see each other often. And fuck often.

“Oh, please,” you moaned in his mouth, “you never knew how to put me in my place.”

After a week of practice, you and Wooyoung filmed your dance and sent it to the choreographer for feedback. He immediately video called the two of you to deliver his response.

Which was a disaster.

He said your chemistry was lacking big time. No synergy whatsoever. And that you basically looked like amateurs.

“Look guys,” he continued on the screen, “I'm not trying to discourage you. I’ve seen this happening a lot. With people that never danced together. Or never met before dancing.”

Wooyoung stole a glance towards you. Your face was expressionless, carefully listening to the choreographer's points.

“In order to make my dancers have a more natural chemistry, I ask them to do a different dance. Don’t worry, it’s really short. I reckon in two weeks you’ll master it and can get back to your original dance. Just go with it and stop fighting it.”

Once the call ended you immediately got a message with the video of the new choreography you were told to do.

The video started with a sultry melody. As for the choreography? It was very sexually suggestive. Your original dance had a lot of touching and caressing, so it made sense why you needed perfect chemistry for it to not look weird. But this new one? It was something you never did before. A lot of floor steps that were very intimate. And oh so suggestive. How were you gonna pull this off?

Wooyoung was panicking. He didn’t touch you like this before. And he wasn’t sure he was gonna be able to without his hand trembling.

“Ok, let’s start I guess.”

You avoided looking in his eyes for the first time. You felt a blush creeping on your cheeks and fought against it. You were a professional. This is nothing.

That night Wooyoung looked through your Instagram page. He didn’t get it. You used to be such a nice and sweet girl. And you still were as sweet. Just not with him.

He wanted to check the comments of your last before debut picture (very stalkerish) when he finally did it. Instead of pressing the comment button, he pressed the heart.

“No, no, no”

He got up in panic and did the best thing he thought of doing. Revoked the heart. It’s only been a few seconds. The notifications for sure didn’t come through. Right? And even if it did, what are the chances you are still active on that account? Right?

You were.

You loved scrolling on your old account. You barely interacted with anyone on it and that’s why the notification startled you.

It was from a photography and poetry account. You never even noticed when this account followed you.

The latest post was a picture of the sky through a cracked window from two days ago with the caption ‘your words are grazing my heart like broken glass does to my skin.’

You liked it in a heartbeat, then followed the account.

Wooyoung’s phone vibrated in his hand. He got the notification of you following his secret page from your old account.

“Shit.”

The new choreography had some tough moves. In which both of you needed to rely on your own strength but also on each others’.

One of these steps was requiring you to be on your knees on the floor. Wooyoung to slide on his back through your legs. Grabbing your thighs and lifting you and himself, while carrying you on his shoulders, and then dropping you to his arms.

It was definitely an uncomfortable move that you had to practice a lot. It was risky too. And it wasn’t even the worst.

And so you did. With every touch and caress from Wooyoung burning above your skin.

The same way every snarky comment from your side burned in his mind.

Of course you couldn’t help yourself. You would get even more critical and sarcastic the more you would feel threatened. And heated.

After you went on your break, Wooyoung decided he desperately needed air to cool down. Jesus it was only the first day you were trying the new dance and it was killing him. How could he help himself when his skin tasted yours like that.

He listened to your directions about going on the terrace you once gave him. Your building was huge and he couldn’t believe the whole floor was for you and your group. He turned left and left again. He heard a loud thump right before turning right on the tiny hallway. A faint sound continued to be heard. He approached the door, wanting to make sure nothing wrong happened.

His hand stopped on the door handle when he heard an almost imperceptible moan. The moaning continued in unison with the faint thumping. Mystery solved. And his cue to get back to his objective.

Much needed air. He didn’t need to know people were having sex when he was barely trying to stop a boner himself.

Cold air was blowing over him on the small balcony terrace that was as secluded as you mentioned.

Wooyoung stayed there for what felt like just a minute or so, when another man also joined him on the balcony.

They only glanced at each other to acknowledge each other’s presence. Men. The other man took out a pack of cigarettes and lit one up. Puffing slowly.

“I know it’s a myth but cigarettes after sex are still the best.”

Wow too much information, much?

At least Wooyoung knew that this guy was one of the people in the storage room. Not that he wanted to know that.

“So you’re the pretty boy, huh?”

“No?”

What was wrong with this guy?

“Look, there are only two people that ever come on this balcony and I sure as hell didn’t tell you about it.”

The realisation hit Wooyoung like a brick.

“Isn’t your break over?”

That motherfucker.

Wooyoung left Hajun before he could wipe his smug smirk with a punch.

Not that he could be mad that you were having sex. You were a consenting adult woman. But while on the clock? While training and practicing? How was that professional?

When he returned to the dance room you immediately rolled your eyes. The break was already over for a couple of minutes.

“Seriously what is your deal? You want to test my patience or what? Can’t you be on time once? This is so unbelievably unprofessional! We agreed to 15 minutes!”

“Seems that 15 minutes wasn’t enough for either of us,” he said barely a whisper trying to stay calm.

What did he just say? You were flabbergasted. Is he starting to finally talk back? What a horrible moment for that. And what even was that comment?

You decided to ignore it and just continue your practice from where it was left of.

Both of you were unprofessional. And both of you were blaming each other for it. You were blaming him for being such a pain in the ass and making you so frustrated, you couldn’t help but reach for Hajun. He was blaming you for being so mean and making him so nervous that he couldn’t function properly.

With every dance move, every touch he was exploding like fireworks. His shirt and sweatpants felt like paper. He was feeling every trail of your fingers on him as if you were following a gasoline path and igniting flames that were burning and consuming his being.

He was fine. He was fine. He was fine.

Just a tiny little boner.

Fuck.

He couldn’t ask for a break now. You were already pissed and he was sure you’d kill him (metaphorically or not) for daring to request to stop the practice so soon.

You were on fire too. Although making many mistakes, Wooyoung’s touch was so caressing every time. So soft. That you barely felt his contact through your shirt and sweatpants. As if feathers would gently kiss your skin, too afraid you may break.

You needed more.

He was laying down on his back. You were on top of him, trying to dance a new move that looked awfully much like dry humping him.

You are fine. Why are you so horny again?

You are a professional. Which is why you continue rolling your hips.

Dry humping is nothing. It’s driving you crazy.

Not even when you feel him getting harder under you. You don’t want to stop.

You are fine! You need to stop.

“Are you ok?” you ask.

“Huh?”

“You seem to have a small problem.” it was feeling anything but small. “Down there,” you deadpanned.

Wooyoung was mortified. How, why, and when. He was making sure he was subtly arranging himself in between moves when you were not looking.

You lowered yourself on your elbows, getting closer to his face, and staring into his eyes.

Wooyoung immediately blushed, frozen in place. You could almost chuckle at his reaction. But you had to keep the appearances.

“Don’t worry, it’s a normal bodily reaction,” you whispered close enough for your noses to almost touch, “not many can resist.” you smirked.

You fucking smirked.

Wooyoung was so turned on he was certain he would’ve cummed in his pants if you wouldn’t have gotten off him and suggested to continue with a different move.

He was so embarrassed though. Not only he still had to deal with his boner. You were aware of it. And he was painfully aware you were.

You were on your knees. For the move when he slides in between your legs. Until now, the easiest move and the least promiscuous.

However, when he slid in between your legs this time, his head got stuck in your baggy sweatpants.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. Jesus fucking christ. You are mocking him again.

“So sorry. I think for this move i should take off the big pants. Don’t worry, I wear short leggings underneath.” you said winking.

Fucking winking. How much were you going to embarrass him today?

Your short gray leggings, more specifically booty short leggings, were thin and more or less you were wearing them as underwear. But Wooyoung didn’t need to know. It was your turn to mentally blush.

You were back on your knees and Wooyoung slid with no issues on the floor this time. Booty short leggings for the win!

“Wait, I want to check what I need to do with my left hand. I don’t want you fucking drop me.”

You bent over reaching for your tablet.

He could swear you were doing this on purpose. I mean how could you not, your crotch was not even 10 centimeters from his face. He was doing god’s work trying no to look. But he couldn’t help but notice the damp spot in between your legs. Which looked so goddamn delicious.

“Are you ok?” Wooyoung asked to which you didn’t pay much attention. “You seem to have a small problem.”

“What?” you asked, straightening yourself and looking down at him between your legs.

“Don’t worry, it’s a normal bodily reaction,” he whispered sultrily, getting closer to your core, “not many can resist.” He fucking smirked, making eye contact and immediately dragging his mouth over your damp spot. Payback time.

You stopped a gasp with your hand over your mouth.

Wooyoung continued licking your spot while maintaining eye contact. The look in his eyes being so different now, from the sloppy, careless, unreliable, spineless person from earlier.

You couldn’t believe you got so wet earlier. That he got you so wet. You admit he made you very aroused with that small dry humping session but that aroused? That you started to leak through your leggings? This will be the last time you don’t wear underwear!

With each lick you were getting wetter and wetter, and your leggings soaked with your arousal and his saliva, until the leggings became paper thin and you were feeling every flick of tongue.

Wooyoung was circling around your clit with lewd slurping sounds.

The movement was making you crazy enough that you started gyrating over his tongue, making you want to moan. But you muffled the sounds with your hand over your mouth.

He was feeling so good.

Wooyoung grabbed your thighs, pulling them apart, which made you lower yourself on him even more.

You could barely stand straight.

You were eaten out before, with no clothed barrier whatsoever. But like this, with your thin leggings sticking to your sensitive parts, soaking up your arousal and his saliva, with his tongue pushing harder and harder to make up for it? There was something about it that felt more sensual than any other oral session you received.

Wooyoung was enjoying this as much, if not even more, than you. Savouring every lick, every slurp, every drop. As if drinking sweet mead from the gods themselves. You were tasting as sweet as he ever dreamed. Not that he had dirty dreams about you. Or at least not that often. How could he not though? You were on his mind every day. And then you started to show the sexier version of you with the newer comebacks. And then he heard you moan on another dude’s dick in a storage room. How could he resist without imagining anything? With knowing how sweet you can sound. He wanted to hear you sound like that. Your sounds to be the anthem of his life. If only you could take that goddamn hand from your mouth and moan freely.

You felt the familiar knot in your lower belly and clenched on nothing. You grabbed Wooyoung’s hair with your free hand to steady yourself. He gasped from the sudden pull of his hair. He didn’t expect it. You didn’t expect him to make such a delicious sound either. You wanted to hear more.

You continued rolling your hips with more confidence now, chasing your high. So close, so close.

And then you exploded, feeling fireworks going off. You collapsed on your back on top of Wooyoung, gasping for air. What just happened?

Wooyoung swiftly got up and lowered himself on top of you. He was looking so hot with his face glistening from his sweat, saliva, and your arousal dripping on his chin. He licked his lips while watching you with dark eyes.

You couldn’t help but stare at his lips and tongue. Which just made you cum.

“If you needed help, all you had to do was ask,” he grinned, a big shit-eating grin. The asshole.

You blushed the whole way home. You blushed the whole getting ready for bed routine. You blushed the whole time trying to fall asleep. You blushed the whole time scrolling on your phone trying to fall asleep. You blushed when you got a notification that your favourite poetry account just posted. You blushed looking at the picture - a steamed shower glass with a finger drawn heart. You blushed reading the caption - ‘your taste is the poison that kills me; your sounds are the hymn that bring me back to life.’ The universe was laughing in your face. part 2 | © 2024 gemini-stories All Rights Reserved.

#ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez x reader #wooyoung fic #wooyoung fanfic #smut #ateez smut #wooyoung smut #wooyoung x reader

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urf1lterr · 11 months

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afterglow | pedro pascal [2/3]

"tell me that you're still mine, tell me that we'll be just fine, even when i lose my mind"

previous chapter: [1]

summary: being nominated for an oscar was a dream come true, until you had to spend the rest of the night near your deceitful ex who still loved you.

pairing: actor!pedro x actress!reader

genre: acting world!au, enemies/exes to lovers ?? au | angst, fluff, fighting, mature

word count: 15k

status: 2/3 complete

author's note: SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT LOVES. even though its gonna be three parts lol i still want you to want more. i've been confused on my writing because tbh- i feel like i could do better and keep rushing with these storylines and end up regretting them AFTER they are posted lol. not edited- it really isn't.

"Let's cut the chit-chat and get some real answers, why did y'all breakup?"

"Andrew!"

"Three days have passed, she's fine now," he defended, shrugging as Florence shot him an irritated look by his prying behavior.

It has indeed been a few days since the terrible night that consisted in you meeting your favorite artist, crying beside her, running awkwardly away right after, having a screaming match with your ex, and then passing out in the car.

So, you couldn't deny it wasn't a memorable night.

The past three days could've been better to say the least if your management team stopped spamming you with text messages concerning the fight, maybe even ignoring the loads of pictures of your crying face.

Oh, the pictures. Not a fun sight to see.

Luckily for you, the pictures were only ones inside the party near Andrew- not Pedro. Unfortunately, though, your picture was turned into a 'crying in the club' meme.

You couldn't exactly be mad over it, you loved memes.

Thank the Lords the paparazzi were clueless and never ended up catching your argument with Pedro or you wouldn't know how to cover it up.

You could never get away with the typical 'friends fighting' after he shouted how much he loved you.

And bless the celebrities near you for minding their business.

To clear up your meltdown, you took it upon yourself to send out a quick tweet the next morning with a "i'm sorry i'm an emotional drunk. one second we're talking about 500 days of summer and then...well you already know how THAT ends."

In that moment you couldn't care less if people believed you or not, this was going to pass fast anyway.

Now here you were, sitting in front of your kitchen bar as Andrew and Florence decided to pay you a visit because they missed you- or so they say.

Realistically, they wanted to see if you were still a hot mess.

Which you weren't, obviously.

Shailene would have tagged along, but she was busy doing grown up things, such as working on her latest project Andrew claimed which was a slight bummer. She was the mediator, now who else was going to stop the arguments calmly between your two friends.

Florence disagreed, shaking her head. "You can't just ask her that, it's impolite."

Sighing, Andrew sent you an apologetic glance. "Okay, I am sorry." Not taking his eyes off you, you could feel his curiosity and eagerness from the other side of the kitchen. "But we're all thinking it."

Judging by how unresponsive Florence became, you could tell she wasn't going to fight him on this. And well, she was secretly on his side because your fight with Pedro was seriously excessive.

She just wanted to know what he could've done to make you so angry, it didn't make sense to her if he did cheat. He didn't seem like the type, but some people do the most surprising things- so she couldn't really tell.

"Do you want the last reason or all of them?"

Widening his eyes, Andrew shares a glance with Florence for a swift second before finding your eyes. "Last reason?"

"The last fight we had that led us to finalize our breakup."

"Finalize," he giggled, leaning on the marble counter. "This isn't a divorce process."

"For a person who is so concerned about my relationship crisis, you seem to be catch on to the most irrelevant stuff."

"So you admit you still want to be with him," Andrew declared, giving a smug look as you tried to process his words. "If you're still stressing over him, it means you don't want to let him go."

"I never said I was stressing over hi-"

"Did she or did she not just claim she was undergoing a crisis-," Andrew interrupted, slightly raising his voice. "-a relationship crisis, to be exact."

Florence sheepishly looked your way, capturing your stern expression before slowly nodding.

Your male friend clapped his hands loudly before bursting out a wider grin, happy someone had his back. "There we have it, if he's on your mind that much to turn into a crisis- you still love him!"

Furrowing your brows, you didn't know how to respond. It was true, you had many moments where Pedro agitated you even when you haven't been near him for quite some time.

But isn't being wound up over an ex part of healing?

Truth be told, you knew your feelings for Pedro hadn't completely disappeared, but love? You weren't even sure love existed by your past experiences.

"I do not love him," you hiss, vigorously snatching the water bottle on the counter and aggressively opening it. "How can love be real? It's baffling."

"Questioning the real question with a question," he sneers, making Florence and you become confused as ever. "You're so in love him."

Florence cuts in, squinting her face in puzzlement. "Wait- what's the real question she's supposedly questioning with a question?"

"Love!" he cheers happily before placing his hand on his palm, dreamingly gazing at you. "You have your doubts on what love may be, but without knowing it you're having them because you're questioning your love to Pedro since you're too scared to admit you still love him."

"I don't get it."

Rolling your eyes, you swiftly turn away and head towards your living room to lay on your couch. You were not in the mood to have someone else tell you what your feelings were when they weren't you. "I'm done with this conversation."

Hearing a low slapping noise, following an irritated hiss, you could make out Florence's displeased voice. "See what you did! Now she's not going to tell us."

"So much for moral support, you really are nosy," Andrew fought back, whispering loudly.

A minute or two went by since you couldn't make out what they were saying before rushed footsteps soon made their way near you as your friends awkwardly smiled, hoping they didn't upset you too much.

Because they really wanted to know the drama.

Pushing him roughly from behind, Florence sent you an innocent smile as Andrew landed near your side of the couch, trying his best to hold his composure and not turn back around and start another fight.

Placing a light hand on your shoulder, you blankly glance at it before meeting his attention. "We just wanted you to know we totally understand if you aren't comfortable...expressing your past-"

"Get your hand off me and let's get this over with so you two can leave already."

Florence quickly sat right beside Andrew, both not offended with your statement because they were fully aware of how annoying the were becoming.

Before you could say anything, Florence quickly spoke aloud. "Start from the beginning!" Andrew slowly looking back to her, he sent her a confused look. "So we aren't lost, of course."

Laughing lightly, you nod before adjusting yourself on your seat. It was going to be hard to remember all the details clearly because there really wasn't an exact time issues occurred, it kind of just naturally appeared here and there.

Now that you think of it, majority of the tiny disputes during the earlier days of your relationship were probably on the same level as when you two were splitting, but maybe the dense ones created towards the end really made it hard to continue.

"If I'm being totally honest, we never really had problems when we first started dating. He was really great," you begin, clutching onto a pillow you found right beside you. "And he would always make sure to watch me make it inside my house before leaving, that was when I knew he wasn't some fling."

Andrew smirked, nodding proudly. "Classic move."

Smiling at the thought, you focused your mind to uncover the ugly truths that slowly tore you two apart.

"But then one day, I wanna say a few weeks after our second anniversary, we just started...fighting?"

Tilting your head, you look down as sad memories began pouring through your mind completely. "It wasn't our usual small fights over who left the bathroom floor wet or dropping his ipad in the pool-"

"-you dropped his ipad in the pool?" Florence coughed, bewildered by your scandalous actions.

"He wanted to know if it was waterproof," you defended.

"Was it?"

"No," you nervously reply, avoiding their eyes. "But he had it backed up and I bought him a new one!"

"That was kind of a bitchy move," Andrew muttered, catching your pissed gaze. "But at least you made up for it!"

Maybe it wasn't that great of an idea to just throw it in, but he did say he was really curious and wanted to dump it under the sink.

"Anyway," you start back up again, making Andrew lowly sigh in relief. "Our fights were never that serious, or at least not until he started filming for that new tv series he joined."

Florence spoke up, lightly questioning "The Last of Us?"

Nodding, you shrugged. "I guess it's normal to say the time apart did cause a rift in our relationship, but it wasn't too bad. He always made sure to call and facetime at least once every two days."

"But one day when he was visiting during his week break he just...snapped?" you frowned, not even wanting to visualize the tiny argument.

You had to for your own good.

"He had been home for maybe two days before he suddenly became moody. Like- his attitude was insane, I have never seen him like this ever," you sigh, closing your eyes for a second before continuing. "He didn't want to go out to eat, didn't want me to make him food, and when I offered to have it delivered he slammed the bedroom door on my face and claimed he was going to bed."

"Woah, why would he do that?" Andrew asked, seriousness splattered all over his face.

You wish you knew.

"Not sure, I just thought maybe work was stressing him out so I wanted him to have his alone time to clear his mind."

"Did that work?"

Sitting up straighter, you send a sorrowful smile. "For the rest of that week-yes. He ended up apologizing to me when I tried going to bed and said his manager was being tough on him for some scenes they had done."

You remember the moment you walked inside your bedroom, disappointed that he was awake. Not wanting to cause more tension, you planned to sneak under the covers and deal with the incident in the morning.

But his arms slowly wrapping over your waist as you had your back facing him said otherwise. Pulling you closer, you remember the soft "please don't be mad at me" he whispered near your ear, making sure you felt his tight embrace as if to prove you were his.

That night ended with you turning your body over to face him, accepting his open arms as a way to answer his pleading way of forgiveness.

Like always.

"Once he went back to work, we still talked- but I could tell he wasn't fully engaged like he always was," you sulk, remembering the first time you caught him not listening. "It got to the point where I purposely stopped answering his calls."

Your friends quickly send you a shocked look, you continue before they could intercept. "I couldn't handle his lack of attention, I would rather have him panic from the rejected calls than just tell him why I was upset."

It wasn't your best move, but you were frustrated. It wasn't fair that he was the one who got to treat you poorly and you had to accept it.

You admit, maybe if you communicated with him about these issues you could've prevented many future arguments and even saved your relationship.

But you were human and sometimes humans act human.

"Then what happened?" Andrew asked, a curious appearance plastering his face. "You continued ignoring him?"

Laughing lightly, you shake your head. It was the plan, but plans don't always work out. "Actually, he secretly took a flight back home one weekend and confronted me."

Gasping, Florence jumped up in her seat and moved her leg under her. "No way!"

"Yes, way," you sheepishly reply, embarrassed at the memory. You can still picture the way Pedro stood in your shared bedroom as you stepped out of your bathroom, jumping at the sight of him.

Standing with his arms crossed with his bags thrown by the door, he was determined to figure out what was going on with you.

"I wouldn't say we engaged in a heated argument, but it was surprisingly really emotional."

Andrew leaned his body closer, too interested not to let his questions slide. "Were you guys never emotional? I feel like every couple experiences those moments together- it's what makes them stronger."

It should've made you two stronger, but instead it made you weaker without you realizing it.

"Pedro and I had our minor instances, but it never involved problems we were facing," you began, sighing slightly. "All I remember was finding him standing near the bed with no emotion- none. I couldn't read what he may have been feeling, he just looked so....empty?"

"Empty? That's not good." Florence commented.

"That could mean a lot of things, not necessarily anger," Andrew added, trying to make you feel better.

"I knew deep down he was mad, as he should be- I was the one ignoring him," you defended him, taking full responsibility over your childish actions. "But I could tell he was more hurt that mad."

"What did he say?"

"What's going on?" Pedro questioned, his eyes not daring to leave yours as you freeze- stopping your attempts at brushing your wet hair, extremely confused as to why he was here.

He wasn't supposed to visit for another month, or so he said.

"Pedro?" you squint your eyes, still not sure if he was really in front of you or maybe you were daydreaming. You were high off many shots of espressos, it's finally hitting you. "Is that you?"

Still staring plainly at you, he stays right where he was. In any other circumstances he would have run up and wrapped his arms tightly around you, but this night was different.

He looked disorientated, out of place. His eyes lacked intensity as his body followed, looking as stiff as ever. Even his breathing matched his energy, calm yet unsettled.

You left him confused and he did not like that. "Answer my question."

Batting your eyes faster, you realize what was going on and where he was. Gasping, you do the exact opposite of what he wanted. "What the hell are you doing here?! You're not supposed to be home- you could get fired a-"

Taking a hold of your arms, he stills you and ignores your rambling. "What-" he begins, moving his right hand to the back of your neck and forcing you to focus on him only. "-is going on?"

Freezing, you try to back your head away from his grip but he tightens his grasp, making sure to not be too rough so he doesn't actually hurt you- he would never do such a thing. "I don't understand-"

"You haven't been answering my calls, what else is there to understand?" He sternly recalls, not wanting you to bullshit your way out of this. "So you either have been ignoring me on purpose to be petty or this is your way of hinting you don't want to be with me anymore."

Shaking your head frantically, you try to talk but he cuts you off again. "-And don't say you've been busy. You and I both know I would have figured out if you had added projects to your schedule- your mom tells me everything."

If this were a good time, you would have laughed at his side comment regarding your mother, but it wasn't.

"Not everything," you spit out, causing him to squint his face and release his hands from you.

"Are you trying to tell me something? Are you not happy? Is that why you've been avoiding my calls?" he questions, tilting his head in bewilderment, not liking your attitude at the moment. "Because if you really don't want to be with me you should've told me sooner than leaving me feeling fucking clueless while I'm out in another country working."

"I'm not saying I don't want to be with you-"

"But you aren't denying it," he intercepts, firmly nodding in realization. "I get it, I'm just glad I know now and won't have to wait another month to finally understand how you're feeling."

Walking away from you, Pedro walks towards his bags and reaches down for them. You scoff at his disturbed demeanor. There is no way you should be the only one at fault here- you both made mistakes.

Pushing his backpack off his hands, he watches at it lands on the floor before instantly finding your eyes. "Are you seri-"

"Just because I'm avoiding your calls doesn't mean I want to end our relationship" you shriek, glaring at him as his eyes soften at your hidden truth.

Your angered expression and stiff posture hits him like a brick, there was something really bothering you and he was too oblivious to acknowledged it until you began overlooking him.

Taking a deep breath, you watch as your boyfriend intently examines you as if he's trying to read your impractical mind. Sometimes, he wished you would speak up when something was bothering you, in fact- he has told you many times in the past to do so.

But the idea of patiently waiting until it erupts is what he's sure you've normalized in fear of desertion. Or maybe refusal of reality- the two of you weren't perfect.

"What's going on?" He calmly questions again, dropping any signs of fury and replaces it with worry and concern. Reaching out to you, he softly clasps your shoulder before moving in a few inches. "Am I making you upset?"

Slapping his hand away, you cross your arms over your chest in agitation. "I'm mad at you!"

Blinking a few times, he couldn't believe how fast you spilled and chaotic your energy was. He's never seen you act this hysterical and to be honest, he was really debating asking if you were on your period or not. "Why?"

Pursing your lips together, you release your arms and let them fall on your sides. "You know why!" With that, you turn your back to him and make your way back to your bathroom to hide.

At this point, you felt it was acceptable to act unbearable- he left you feeling insignificant and you weren't going to hold it in anymore.

If you stayed there any longer you knew you would break down into tears. Showing your vulnerable side this early into an argument was too easy, you have to show how bold you were in order to get your point across.

Or anger across.

But it was really hard to hold a grudge, he was just so- loving, despite your recent incidents. Deep down, he did care about you and wanted to validate your feelings- or as best he could.

Grabbing anything you could find near your sink, you begin opening some moisturizer and splatter it around your hands to keep you busy. You could feel Pedro come inside your shared bathroom but you don't dare to peep his way.

"Honey- please," you heard him release a soft sigh as he stood behind you, watching through your huge mirror in front of the two of you. He could make out your distressed appearance and you were absolutely not fine. "You can't just steer clear from this, we need to talk about it-"

Slamming the poor jar on the counter, you swiftly twist your body to his front and feel all the rage taking control. "But did you want to talk all those times I called you?! No, you didn't give one fuck about me or Leia!"

"You named your dog after Princess Leia? That's smart," Andrew butted in, grinning. "You know, since he's in the Mandalorian and Star W-"

"We get it."

Maybe it was wrong to bring your beloved corgi into such a serious topic, but she was abandoned by her father too.

"I did talk to you! I made sure to call you whenever I had time an-"

"I'm glad I made it into your schedule- but maybe if you considered adding some compassion and empathy it wouldn't feel like I'm just another business call you hate!"

Panting, you send daggers his way as his eyes widen. Did you just say he doesn't care about your calls? Impossible- he loves your calls, it makes his days better.

"You aren't a business call and you know that. Honey, please understand- hey!" He cuts himself off once you finally had enough of his poor attempts to defend himself, trying to flee but he ends up being quicker on his feet and yanking you back to his arms.

But once you were wrapped around him, even though it was for pure captivity and not warmth, you instantly broke down. He didn't know you were in tears until he felt his shirt become damp and still then he just thought you were trying to spit on him out of anger.

Hearing your tiny whimpers, he immediately glanced down and lifted you up to catch a clear view of your face, despite your protests and blockings. "Baby, I-I didn't mean to make you cry-"

"You don't mean a lot of things," you spit out, swatting his hands that dared to reach your face. You weren't in the mood to make up, all you wanted to do was sleep your troubles away, especially with the draining work day you had.

Continuing your pulling, Pedro began becoming annoyed with your strong protests against his affection. Isn't this what you wanted? "Why won't you let me hold you? I want to console you, can't I be your boyfriend for the night and tomorrow you can continue hating me?"

"You see my tears and now you want to hold me but admit we'll still be out of place tomorrow? That's acceptable for you?" you laugh ruthlessly, allowing space to be brought in front of you. "Do you hear yourself?"

Groaning, he rubs his face hard before speaking his mind, trying not to sound too furious and scare you. "What do you want me to do? I admit, I did lack some energy-"

"Some?" you snort to yourself, your face still wet.

"Don't interrupt me," he declared, shaking his head at how rude you were becoming. "I wasn't the best partner, okay?! There, I admit it, but you don't understand how it is working constantly and not being able to see family and friends and-"

"It's like you don't even know me at all," you ignorantly chuckle over his nonsense and walk towards your bed.

What a way to dismiss your feelings.

"That's not what I meant," he sighs, following after and stopping you from opening your covers and hiding underneath them. "It's just hard being away from everyone I love, I'm in a different country. It's not like I can drive an hour away and suddenly see them!"

"I can't do that either!"

"Can't you just please, please, please- consider that my mindset is not good right now," he declares, his eyes filling with sadness as his arms slowly find your waist. Taking a deep breath, you watch as he looked up at the ceiling before biting his lip. "I know I am not being the best partner right now- or for the past few months, but I am trying."

As soon as uncertainty flushed your face, his hands tightened as his expression deepened into an emotion you never seen him explore before- dejection.

"I can't promise you I'm suddenly going to wake up and give you 110% every interaction we have," he began, his voice lowering as he tried to keep his emotions in check. "But I confess- I am being a little shit and I am willing to work on that. Just please- please don't push me away. Try to understand my situation."

He wasn't wrong, his life switched around once he accepted the role of Joel Miller and you should've known from the start he would face some difficulties. Maybe you were being too self-centered and invalidated his feeling too, not just him.

Sometimes he wasn't good with words when expressing himself and made you feel as if you weren't as popular as him, but you knew it was never his intention to hurt you like that. He had a heart and loved to use it.

Fighting over work should never be a reason to be miserable especially when it's how you both get your income.

"I-I understand," you lightly speak up, watching as his eyes light up by the sound of your now calm voice filling his ears. "I just want you to know that it didn't make me feel good-"

"Of course it wouldn't make you feel good, I was being horrible," Pedro intercepted, pulling you into a tight hug and landing his face in your neck. "And if I wasn't thousands of miles away I would totally spoil you with kisses and chocolates as my sorry."

"Chocolates are still in favor," you joke and feel him softly swat your bottom in disapproval.

Pulling away, he leans his face closer to yours and plants a sweet kiss upon your lips before backing up an inch and whispering softly, "I love you, you know that right?"

Smiling, you slowly nod and surprise him with a deeper kiss before answering him back with a familiar, "I love you, too."

"You better," he smirks, pulling his body on top of yours, hearing your light squeaks once your back hit the mattress and his lips snuck their way into the crook of your neck.

"Did you end up getting chocolates?" Andrew immediately questioned once you finished your long recollection of memories.

"That's not important," Florence rolled her eyes.

"I mean he did promise her it."

Chuckling at his curiosity, it amused you how focused he was about some candy. "Yes, he did- for like a month and then I got over them."

"Understandable," Andrew replied, looking down at his lap.

Florence jumped over him, making herself sit closer to you as he winced at her sudden movements. "Then what happened?! I mean, there had to be more right?"

"My god woman, I hope you're not working for TMZ," Andrew joked.

She shushed him before leaning closer to you, signaling you to continue on with your memories. "After that fight, things became pretty normal again. We would call each other with far more energy than before and he would even fly back home often to keep our communication strong."

"And how long did that last?"

Frowning, you took a small breath. "Like three months- then we started fighting more."

"Over?"

Rubbing your face, you groaned. "He went back to lacking energy! But that's not even the worst part."

"Please don't tell me he cheated," Andrew begged, covering his eyes with his hands while pulling a sorrow look. "I would never be able to look at him the same."

"I don't know if he did cheat- but I did find out two months before we ended things that he stayed the night at his exes."

Loudly gasping, the company you had began freaking out with their jaws dropping- literally. Florence angrily furrowed her brows, "you've got to be kidding? How is that allowed in a relationship?- It's not!"

Crossing your legs, you shrug as a way to answer her. You really did wonder what was going through his head when he did that. Sadly, you couldn't believe a word he said after you found out what he did.

Maybe that's why you were fine with ending things- because the trust was slowly disappearing.

"Not to mention he would always be with her and ditch plans with me," you form a tight smile, trying not to make things awkward but it was too late.

Who could possible hear this and not feel embarrassed for you? Classic move on his part to follow the 'being friends with my ex is okay' stereotype, but it only left you feeling unwanted and flawed.

Were you not good enough to be in his arms all those times he ditched you for her? And why couldn't he tell you what was really going on- unless he was truly hiding something unspeakable.

"Spill the beans."

Hearing a door slam, you jump up in a daze. You could feel sleep still linger on your body as you crank your neck to the side, capturing the bright '12:47 pm' located on top of your nightstand.

Slowly yanking your body up, you don't stretch as you hurry out of your room to the living room in search of the mysterious person who was either your missing boyfriend or an intruder.

Catching sight of his bright yellow t-shirt as he opens the refrigerator, you could feel your body boil up. "Where have you been? You snuck out last night without even telling me- do you even understand how worried I was?!"

Watching as he gradually turns his head to face yours, Pedro closes the fridge before leaning against the kitchen counter- completely relaxed despite your current state.

"I was out with friends," he declared, grinning to try and take pressure off from you- it didn't work. "I'm sorry, I will tell you next time. I didn't mean to worry you, my love."

Placing your hands on your hips, it pains you that you secretly don't believe a word he's saying. Normally, if this were the case, he would text you if you were sleeping or call you in the morning to inform you with what he'd done.

He did neither one.

Maybe you should test him? Ask him questions and see if he'll freeze up?

"And who were you with?"

He smiled, grabbing a cup from the pantry while easily answering, "Diego and Oscar- we had a couple of drinks and Oscar thought it would be best I stay the night."

Nodding swiftly, you examine him to see if there were any signs of him lying- there weren't. Fuck, you forgot he was an actor. It's literally his job to control his emotions! "And why didn't you call or at least send a simple text?"

After hearing your words, Pedro sends you a small smile before gently placing his cup down. Walking up to you, he opens his arms. "Baby, is that why you're so upset? Because I didn't call?"

Before you could answer, he engulfs you in his arms before swaying you both around. Feeling vibrations as he let out light giggles, you instantly dropped any suspicions you may have had because he had to tell the truth- he would never lie to you.

It's surreal how easily you could throw any convictions out the window when he touched you. It's like he jogged your memory.

"Well, why didn't you at least text?"

Removing his head from your neck, he squeezes you waist and sends you an amused smirk . "Because I was insanely drunk and if I would've used my phone it probably would have resulted in me leaving you hundreds of drunk voicemails confessing my love for you."

"And that's bad?"

He chuckled, shaking his head before pinching your side. "No, but it sure as hell is annoying."

Standing up straighter, you cautiously nod at his answer and watch as he lovingly smiled down at you. "Okay, I believe you."

"Did you really believe him?" Andrew asked.

"I call bullshit," Florence confidently declares, strong on her view that Pedro was not an honest person.

"Let me finish the story!"

Loud footsteps could be heard near your hallway as you stood behind the oven, trying your best to not burn these damn chocolate chip cookies.

Such a basic recipe yet so complex- it was truly aggravating.

"Y/n? Where are you?!" you heard you assistant squeal from a distance.

Trying to properly put your mitten on, you murmur a small "kitchen" before preparing yourself to open the oven. The amount of times you burned yourself thinking it was cool enough not to wear protection-

Point is- always wear protection.

Opening the oven door, you pull the tray of freshly baked cookies towards you as the footsteps became clearly audible. Right when the cookies were in your grip and being lifted, you heard your assistant yelp-

"Pedro was caught leaving his ex's house two days ago."

Throwing yourself up into a standing position, you forget about the tray of cookies until you feel the burning sensation upon your left arm. You accidentally pulled the tray too close to you. "Ow!"

Instantly panicking, your assistant rushes to your side in support and grabs a towel to fill with ice. Pressing downwards on the wound, you wince at the pressure that was building.

"What the hell are you talking about?" you still question, extremely curious to uncover what this situation was.

His ex? That's absurd, he hasn't dated anyone in years when you first met. It's definitely not like he was in contact with them when you made it official, he was always firm when it came with communicating with past relationships.

That was a big no-no, especially when one of your ex's tried reaching out after your last movie dropped. Pedro made it very clear how unhappy he was when he made an appearance at your premiere- your boyfriend not daring to leave your side and even blocking your view whenever your ex had the chance to gawk you up close.

At the time, people thought Pedro only attended because he was close with the director and has always been friendly with other actors. Little did they know he was being extra friendly with you behind the curtains.

"Someone snapped photos of him outside of her door! It looks like he just woke up, too." Grabbing the phone from her hands, you pull it closer to your face and watch what the screen uncovered.

There he was, your boyfriend of two-years smiling brightly as he steps outside her door in the clothes he wore the night before. The same ones he manipulated you with about being with Diego and Oscar that night.

Not just that, but peering on the side of the door was indeed his tall, beautiful ex who definitely aged like fine wine. Hell, she was gorgeous and everybody knew that.

And the fact that they broke up due to their long distance, at the time, did not help this situation. Now that they lived a few cities away, what now? Were you just a doormat he could walk all over and eventually throw away whenever he wanted something new?

Placing a gentle hand on your shoulder, you refuse to take your eyes off the screen as your assistant begins speaking. "Did you know he slept over?" Glancing up, she takes your downcast face as an answer and swiftly pulls you in a tight hug. "Oh no, I'm so sorry."

You were sorry for yourself, too. How could he lie right to your face so easily knowing he was doing it- intentionally. And the most fucked up part was he probably knew you would believe him- just like all the other times you did.

"I saw that picture!" Andrew exclaimed, bewildered at his recollection. "I thought the paparazzi caught him lacking after a hook-up- damn, I wish I would've known you were together sooner."

"Same, I would have unfollowed him," Florence added. "And nobody would've known it was because of you- since you two never been public."

Forcing a smile, you give her a tiny nudge on the arm. "Gee, thanks for being so considerate."

"Continue!"

"Open the god damn door, y/n. You are being overdramatic- it was one night! Nothing happened!" Pedro yelled, pulling the car handle harshly as you searched through your bag that sat on your passenger seat- looking to see if you had everything you needed before your flee.

Let's just say, things were pretty...eventful once you discovered his scheme.

For starters, after bawling your eyes out on your poor assistant's shoulder, she made her departure in order to clean up the spare bedroom she offered you to take if you weren't comfortable staying at your own place.

You accepted.

Once she was out the door, you fled to your bedroom and grabbed any suitcase close by and began stuffing it to the brim, not caring how disorganized it was professing as you reached for more clothes.

You were almost done packing your second bag full of makeup and bathroom necessities when you heard your front door open. Jumping up, you felt your eyes widen once you heard your name being chanted on by your boyfriend. "Y/n?!"

"Fuck," you whispered to yourself, drastically glancing around your now messy bathroom to make changes to your plan- only take things you really need.

Seconds pass and you find yourself zipping your bag and rushing out the door, that was until your body roughly collided with another- causing you to drop your belongings and land on the floor. Groaning, you hesitantly rise, immediately finding your boyfriend's body nearing yours as he pleads to help you off the ground.

"Baby, I'm sorry! I didn't see you coming out," he apologizes, using his fingertips to clasp your forearms to level you. "Look, I need to tell y-"

"Get off of me," you grit, forcibly slapping his palms off you, causing him to cease and stare stunned. He has never seen you once be this aggressive. Sure, you would reject his embrace whenever you two fought here and there, but slap? Not ever.

Brushing roughly past him, you gripped your larger suitcase by its handles and made a beam to the closest exit. You couldn't be around him, not when thoughts of him being unfaithful constantly drowned your head.

A strong tug of your makeup bag made you halt your movements, not by choice, as Pedro made sure to tighten his grip to prevent you from leaving. Glancing down at his now white, clenched hands, you glare. "Let go."

Shaking his head, he stared you down- irritated that you would just pack up and leave so quickly without even hearing his side of the story. Yes, he should have told you what really happened that night- but he knew how you'd react.

It was better to keep it sealed until he was ready to unveil- or so he thought.

"You let go," he hissed, raising one of his hands and smacking yours with it. You hate how much stronger he still was while only using one hand while you had two- fuck his strength and your poor muscles.

Groaning, you dig your feet onto the ground harder as you continue your tug-a-war charade with your selfish boyfriend who didn't seem to believe space was an understandable coping mechanism after he shattered your small heart.

"Fine," you yelp, shoulders falling slightly as he eases his grip- still holding on though. "We both let go on 3."

Tilting his head, he suddenly grew suspicious by your random middle ground. He knew you well enough to know you don't give up that easily, especially when he's fully sure, by your bolting efforts, you saw the picture. "How do I know you won't just run off after?"

"You're faster and stronger than me, you'll catch me eventually."

Internally agreeing, he knew you had a point. Even if you did escape, your little legs weren't going to get you far- he knows from all the times he tackled you down after you countlessly would steal his food.

"1," you begin, eyeing him to see if he would follow.

"2," he stared at you back, cautiously watching your every step.

Taking a deep breath, you count again. "3!" With that, you release your grip from your bag and watch as he still clutches on to the strap. "What the hell- we agreed on 3 we'd both let go!"

Nervously chuckling, he placed the bag on the ground and sheepishly smiled at you. He was glad to see you finally calming down. "Sorry, I didn't think you would actually do it."

Sending him an annoyed glance, he scratches the back of his neck for assuming you wouldn't follow your word. "Trust me, I always tell the truth."

Wincing at your cold tone, he frowns by your hard demeanor. "About that- I was going to tell you-"

Softly placing a hand over your head, you release a sound of discomfort and miss the way his eyes wander in curiosity.

"Can we talk about this after I take my supplements? I am not feeling too good," you cut him off, slowly touching your forehead as you watch his concern grow. "I forgot to take them this morning."

"You know you get bad migraines when you don't take them," he declared, sighing as he raised his hand and began softly rubbing your temple in ease.

He believed you were being serene because you weren't livid and allowed him to stop you from leaving- how wrong he was.

"I know but I had a crammed morning-"

"This is why we need to hire someone to walk Leia, we don't have enough time majority of the week!" he exhales, making you stare at the floor for the point taken. But there was no way you'd hire someone to walk your dog, that's ridiculous and a waste of money. "We'll talk after, let me grab them- stay here."

Sadly nodding, you allow him to flee towards your bathroom in search for your medicine. Peering you head a few inches to the side, you wait till the coast is clear before slowly, but firmly, grabbing your once lost bag and dashing out of your bedroom.

"I almost forgot about Leia," you muttered to yourself, instantly feeling bad at the thought of how quick you were to forget your baby. How terrible of a mother were you.

And what even was more mind blowing was how Pedro didn't catch your innocent acting. Truthfully, he must be trying to be extra helpful so you would believe him. Too late.

Finding your white corgi near the kitchen, you whistle lowly for her to follow as you peddled your way to your garage. "C'mon doggie, if daddy notices our escape plan he won't let us leave that easil-"

"Y/n?!"

Jaw dropping, you shoot a glance of panic to your dog, who only blankly stares back, before rushing to your parked car. "Just like Batman and Robin- now jump in," you hushed, opening the back seat so you could not only throw your bags back there- but also your tiny-legged corgi who struggles at first, but eventually makes it in.

Once you jumped into your seat and turned on the car, you catch a breathless Pedro rushing out through the door to your side. "Fuck."

"You tricked me!"

"You slept with another woman, asshole!" you yell back, glaring as he rolled his eyes- outraged by how unreasonable you were becoming. All he wanted to do was sit you down and have a normal conversation about this, but instead you kept running away.

Once again, he thinks you need to work on your communication skills.

"You used your failing health to your advantage- how sick are you?" he yelped, offended.

"They were gummy supplements!"

Touching your car door, he sternly peers at you as you quickly lock your doors in case he tried opening it. "I did not sleep with another woman," he started, inhaling strongly before releasing it. "Why would I do that when I am in a committed relationship? Huh? Do you think I am capable of cheating?"

Shrugging innocently, you pull a sarcastic face. "Not sure, I do know you're capable of lying- maybe infidelity is the cherry on top?"

Mouth gapping, he sends you a look of hurt and for a second you feel terrible by your choice of words. In your heart, you wanted to take it back- but your head thought otherwise.

"I would never be unfaithful to you- that's not who I am," he firmly states, feeling like absolute shit that you would even accuse him of being with another woman when you were all he thought about every single second of the day.

Dryly chuckling, you nod along to his words. He feels his heart ache, as if hundreds of knives jabbed through the delicate muscle by your painful mien. Did you really think that lowly of him?

"That's who you are to me now."

Once those words flew out of your mouth and he was able to process it clearly, he paused. Whole body turning stiff and cold, he scolded you profoundly before fiercefully charging towards your car door and pounding for entrance.

It was like a nerve was touched and he was not willing to be forgiving anymore. You struck him hard and he knew you meant it out of pure anger- not genuinely, but his awareness soon became replaced with treachery and he so badly wanted you to pay for your foul words.

Mentally checking off your items before departure, you inhale sharply before lowering down your car's mirror and pressing your garage remote- allowing the door to gradually rise and Pedro to panic.

Cursing in his head, he couldn't let you drive away or else he might never see you for days and he couldn't bear the thought of you moping around in agony without at least hearing from him- the man in the picture- what actually happened that night.

Pressing on the lever and angling down to reverse, you nervously press on the gas and allow your car to drift back as your poor dog watched through the backseat his dad embarrassingly urging you to not go.

You prayed the neighbors couldn't hear a thing, if the cops came you're sure you would never go out in public for at least six months.

Realizing that it was now or never, you see from the corner of your eye a figure running towards the back of your car before a loud thump was heard.

Shakily, pressing on the brakes and putting your car on park, you jump out in horror by the sight of legs near your back tires.

You hit him.

"Shit!" you gasped, involuntarily sprinting- as if your body just knew how to react- and dropping down to your boyfriend's lifeless body-

"You ran him over?!" Andrew and Florence shrieked, interrupting your storytelling, causing you to glare and shush them.

"Shut the fuck up- it's getting to the interesting part!"

Hugging his body tightly, you could feel your face began to fall down and your body slowly begin to tremble. In a matter of seconds, you just knew your garage wasn't going to be a pretty sight to see.

Hitching your breath, you run your hands to your boyfriend's chest and shake him softly in hopes he would open his eyes- he didn't. With tears flushing down your face, you sniff as you grip onto him harder. "Please w-wake up," you begin, trying your best to keep your touch on him but you were a jittering mess. Not being able to stay still, you press your ear over his chest to see his he still had a pulse.

Sighing in relief, he did.

Squeezing his face, you frown as his expressionless face stills. Realizing he might have passed out over a concussion, your lips begin to tremble as you finally breakdown in tears and cradle him.

Leaning over from his side, you bend your body and embrace his head into your neck. "I am such a-a fucking idiot," you squeak, your eyes shutting as you don't have the power to keep them open. "I-I love you- I should've just stayed and t-talked-!"

Cutting yourself off, you ironically feel like the lifeless one despite your literal unconscious boyfriend being in your arms at the moment. Bitch, you really had the nerve. Swiftly kissing his cheek, you plunge yourself into his neck and cushion him with your body- being as fragile as ever when handling him.

Quivering in misery, you keep a strong grip onto him before you felt pressure along your side. "It's been minutes and you still haven't called 911? I could've been dead by now."

Screaming, you instantly drop the figure once on top of you and force your thighs to back up, causing you to sit perplexed on the concrete floor.

Glancing back up, you find your boyfriend brightly grinning your way, using his arms to hold his upper portion up as you looked back in confusion. Didn't you hit him?

"I was my own stunt double for some scenes," he speaks up, smiling to himself proud as you continued staying still, confused as to what had just happened. "As long as you have the right mentality- you can take a pounding."

Registering where he was going with this, you scoff and quickly allow your feet to hit the ground. Following after you, Pedro jumps at your unpleased sight and watches as you cooly open your back door to let your dog jump out before marching towards the door to your house.

"Wait? Are you mad at me for that, too?" He calls out, tilting his head in question and proceeds to get his answer by the slamming of the door behind you. "Never mind."

Angrily storming through your hallway, you accidentally run into the wooden desk placed against the wall. "Ugh!" you scream, turning around and giving it one hard kick before making your way towards your destination- the kitchen.

"What did the desk ever do to you?" Pedro mumbled to himself, stopping right by it once you were out of sight and fixing it back up against the wall, making sure the books settled on top were nested properly before going after you.

"So that's why one of the legs is chipped? I noticed that-"

"Shut up, Andrew."

"Sorry, go on."

Finding you near the blacked marbled kitchen bar, Pedro ceased his movements. To be honest, he was nervous to confront you. Not only did you find out he slept at his ex girlfriend's house, but he made you believe he was dead.

This was not going to end well.

"How could you do this to me?" He hears you ask, you back being in his peripheral view as you leaned your body over the counter, hands gripping the ends roughly.

"Do what?" he idiotically responds back, mentally slapping himself for having the audacity to question something he surely knows.

Slowly turning around, capturing his soft yet worried eyes, he catches onto your tear ones and breaks down on the inside. "Tell me the truth." you gulp, averting your eyes to your feet as you sense him bobble his head. "Did you sleep with her?"

Choking on air, he frantically shakes his head in dismay, not believing you would actually think that despite the past half an hour of him comprehending that you might so. Maybe he just couldn't believe it would ever come out of your mouth- but this whole situation made him nauseous.

Steadily finding his balance, he inched towards your frail body as you kept your contact with the floor strong, not daring to move it even when the sight of his shoes play in your mind. "Honey," he lowly calls out, lifting his fingers to your chin and hastily bringing your vision to his own. "No- I did not sleep or engage in any sexual nor romantic activity with her."

"Then why did you go to her house and not tell me?!" you cried, nudging his hand off your face, him immediately aiming towards your waist to still have you near. "Why would you do this to me? Why would you sleep over when you know how I would feel?"

"I can't tell you," he confesses, whispering softly. Feeling your face fall, you erupt into tears again as you lift up your palms to hide behind them.

Hiccuping, your hands twitch as they support your weight and force you to fall on top of the counter and continue watering your tears there. Everything was unfair and he couldn't seem to realize how bad your fights have progressed throughout the months.

"If you really care about me," you whimper, still behind your hands as he rubs circles on your waist. "You would consider my feelings and understand why I should know what you did with her."

Sighing, he releases you waist and rubs his forehead in frustration. Pedro wasn't the type to hide things in relationships. In fact, he was amazing when it came to expressing feelings and being honest while you were the same- but you typically took longer to reveal your troubles than he did.

But no matter how loyal he was to you, it wasn't his place to share someone else's business no matter who the association may be.

"I know, baby. I know- believe me," he whispers, pulling you in for a hug and lifting you off the counter as your sobs were felt among his chest. It broke his heart. "But I can't betray her, she needed me and trusted me to see her. I can't just deceive her."

"But you can do that to me?" you reply, catching him off guard as he shuts his eyes tightly by how accurate you were being. "It's okay, I understand."

"No," he shakes his head, groaning before staring you down. "You don't understand, hell- I don't understand this either. But what I need you to know is I did not kiss, flirt, wink, tease, or touch her in any sexual way. We did not have sex - there was no removing of any clothing-"

"Then why did you sleepover?!"

"She needed me," he simply replies, causing you to laugh ridiculy.

"I needed you and you left me," you spit out harshly, not believing how he could defend himself and think you would ever fine with it.

Grunting, he runs his hand over his hair before pouring all of his stress onto you. "What do you want me to do? I told you what happened- she needed me, I helped her, it took longer than expected so I fell asleep on the couch- do you want to touch my knotted back for proof? Because you can!"

"Why am I the one being yelled at?" you respond, watching his face fall in disappointment.

Staying in your position for a minute or two, you continued examining him as he did the same, not knowing where this was headed. That was until he motioned with his hand for you to move closer.

"Come here."

Furrowing your brows, you pause at his words. Did he think hugging was going to solve all of your problems- because it wasn't. "No-"

Feeling his arms glide up along your upper body and finally wrapping around your shoulders, he pressed you up against his chest into the warmest bear hug you might have engaged in.

It was...peaceful.

Sighing, he felt your body soften by the touch. Relaxing, you closed your eyes as he made it his mission to not ease up on his grip. "I didn't do anything with her," he whispers, laying his face comfortably on your shoulder. "I promise, I love you."

Sadly, his confession made you break down more as tears flooded your face and your body fell upon his grip. Easily wrapping his palms on the back of your head, he cradled you tightly and never left your sight once the rest of that day and week.

And that's how that fight ended- with you trusting his sweet nothings and letting him take over your body with his hugs and kisses because he somehow made you believe him.

Every single time.

You wish you could have moved on from that topic that night as you allowed him to show you how much he loved you, but unfortunately that wasn't an option.

Especially when paparazzi exploited more pictures with him and his ex the following weeks later.

"And what about your last fight? You know- the one that ended things," Andrew started, making you halt. "What happened then?"

Quickly standing up, you brushed your sweatpants down before sending him a tight smile. Now that you talked about sad memories you hadn't really thought of in months, you knew the mention of your last fight would only break you.

You weren't ready to undergoing the same pain you felt that night.

"I didn't know these talks about my past would take a toll on me, but they have. I don't want to talk about it, but I appreciate the two of you checking up on me- I really do, but I think its time for me to take a shower and maybe nap- it's been a tiring day."

Feeling your discomfort, Florence and Andrew exchanged a weary glance before looking back up to you, hesitantly nodding. Probably an intense memory, they were determined not to mention it again unless you came forward.

"Alright- but give us a call if you ever need a shoulder to cry on or just plain old company!" Florence smiled, wrapping her arms around you for a quick hug before pulling back. "We can even have a sleepover."

"Count me out on that one," Andrew joked, bending down to give you the same hug. "But for real, you can cry on my shoulder any time."

"Thanks," you giggle, soon following them towards your front door as they say goodbye to your dog before departing in their own cars.

What an emotional day it has been.

"Do I really have to go? It's no use- I already seen the film. I don't want to rewatch it," you whine as your manager hushes you.

Walking down the side of the theatre, you clutch onto the oversized, black leather jacket you were wearing as your manager and assistant walked on either side of you, directing to to the entrance of a random theatre in the city.

Since the Oscars, nothing has really changed. It's been about three weeks now and there wasn't chaos anymore- it seemed like news about that night had already faded.

Regularly, you did chat with Florence, Shailene, and Andrew on the phone- individually at times throughout your past weeks- but nothing too crazy.

You all had your busy schedules and your manager was still being as hardworking as ever trying to exploit more of you to the press and on the screen. Safe to say, every time she had news it would always be something impressive.

Except for today, when she proudly announced after barging into your house during breakfast that there was a new film premiere you had to attend.

It's not like you opposed the idea- but you watched the film when the production team invited you to their private screening. It would be useless watching it again.

But as persistent as ever, your manager claimed there would be great press and directors attending the public's premiere, following with "an Oscar-nominated actress like you must make themself remembered."

As dramatic as always- but at least she was highly active in your career.

She did everything to make you get noticed, especially when you were at your lowest point mentally after your breakup.

Now onto past relationships, you hadn't heard any news regarding Pedro since you last saw him. Not that you wanted to, but for some reason he was still on your mind. Due to the fact you did sit with your friends ranting about your shared troubles, that's likely the reason.

But all jokes aside, you seriously can't stop thinking about him.

However, you were too scared to admit this to anyone. You tried telling Florence, but every time you mentioned his name she would immediately disregard him, pissed by how he treated you.

Which you loved that she had your back, but you needed someone else to have his own- oddly.

Maybe it was your head deep in thoughts that revealed how you were feeling, but your assistant seemed to notice that you weren't okay- mentally.

After checking in and finding a small crowd, you accepted that maybe most of the audience were in their seats already despite the film starting in almost an hour. Nudging you once your manager left to find one of the producers, you glanced at her as she motioned you to move towards the wall.

"What's up?"

She made a face, practically laughing at your question before continuing on. "Why don't you tell me 'what's up?' The whole ride here you've been silent and I know it's not because you were tired- you slept all afternoon, what's really up?"

Chuckling, you roll her eyes at how nosy she was being- but you knew she only wanted to help you. After working together for years, it was a ritual both of you performed: don't let the other be sad.

Surprisingly, it worked every time. She would hide you from people who upset you while you let her have more vacation days whenever she felt the same.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're thinking about him, huh."

Eyes widening, you shake your head quickly as she laughs at your poor attempt of denying her idea. But she knew right from the moment you got lost in your head that he was the one to blame.

"Don't worry, I won't tell," she whispered loudly, causing you to shove her as she laughed louder.

"Shut up, someone might hear you," you hiss, watching as she tried holding her breath to stop herself from cackling again. She just looked like a fish in need of water.

"Don't think about him then," she teased. "If it's making you lost in your thoughts! Wait- why is he in your head? I thought you hated him?"

Coughing, you shake your head. "I don't hate him- I could never."

"Never?" she raises a brow in shock. "I think we're seeing some progress here. You're falling back in loveeeee with him."

"No way," you scoffed as she grinned heavily. "I'm just thinking about the Oscars since that was the last work-related event I've been to since today and you know- he was there so he ended up in my mind...for a little."

She slowly nods, teasing a smug as makes it pretty clear she did not believe one word you said. Your assistant has seen everything, so she is quite familiar with your thoughts regarding Pedro.

She knows when your happily, sadly, angrily, and crazily daydreaming about him. In this case, she's stuck between happily and crazily- not seeming to find any hints of fury and sorrow through your expressions.

But definitely warmth and frustration- all due to him not being able to leave your head.

"When are you just going to admit you still love him?" She blurts out, causing you to snap your heard towards her. "Everybody sees it, you obviously have a soft spot for him if you let him be near you."

"Near me? He's never near me," you laugh. "And I never show signs I want him back, I don't. I made it clear for months now after perfectly avoiding him at all costs."

"Yeah, but he's still on your mind- that must mean something," she declares, causing your small grin to fall into a tight line.

That must mean something.

Did it?

Shaking that thought away, you reject her idea. "It means he traumatized me."

"It means you're in denial and scared to be with him again," she replied, placing her hands on her hips. "Look, I just know you two are meant to be. Next time you see him, talk to him. Tell him how much you care for him- even if you don't want to admit it in a lovey-dovey way. It can be friendly!"

Giving her a strange look, she lowers her energy quickly before looking around the room, making sure no one saw how enthuastic she became.

"You get the point!" she rolls her eyes. "Just be nice, maybe the both of you can form a friendship or just drift apart knowing there's no hard feelings."

"But there is hard feelings," you declared, pointing out the obvious.

There is a reason why you two broke up, like there is also a reason why you despise him. It all comes down to history and actions, which you've both experienced- which is why, again, you broke up.

"Just..." she started, thinking about it for a second before sending you a sincere glance. "-give it a shot. If you don't hate him, like you said, it wouldn't be terrible to be civil."

Slowly nodding, you understand where she's coming from. This tension between Pedro and you was getting old, and the fact it was only you adding fuel to the non-existent fire since you've broken up is sad.

Especially when all he's been around you was sweet and considerate of your feelings, leaving you alone when he felt your energy- except for that one night, but you have to admit that was your fault for riling him up.

The roughness of heels came marching your way, forcing the both of you to instantly lift your head- finding your manager striking a fake breaming grin with two men beside her. She was trying too hard.

"Girls! This is Greg and Shawn- the writers of the film!" she exclaimed, fluttering her lashes rapidly as both men awkwardly raised a hand, waving it.

Releasing a tiny chuckle, you do the same as your assistant walks closer, sticking out her hand to fully gain their attention and introduce herself.

What can you say- she was a charmer.

Wrapping an arm around your shoulder, your manager slightly pulls you closer to the strangers and strangely bobbles her head- preparing whatever gibberish was about to spit out of her talkative mouth.

"Y/n- the boys thought it would be a great idea to sit in the vip selection among other A-listers- isn't that just lovely? We are very grateful for your offer-"

Boys? Oh god- now she was bonding for her hopeful chances of getting a call for an audition.

Compelling a sweet smile, you feel the only possible response you could give them was a meaningless 'thank you so much' after she literally put you on blast to communicate more. The funniest part about this situation was- you already watched the film!

Clearly you never met these writers- but instead the director himself! Your manager should be satisfied enough with that.

"Would you look at the time,-" Greg- you believe, softly gasps while raising his arm to examine the tiny apple watch planted. "Guests are probably filling up in their seats by now, terribly sorry- but we should probably go."

"I hadn't realized how close we were to showtime- we certainly must continue off our conversation after the film is over!" Shawn proclaims, making your manager nod far too quickly. "I look forward to meeting again."

With that, the two men inclined their motions of farewells before taking off down a dimmed hall, likely finding the exact destination set to premiere their comedic film.

Sighing, you send daggers to your managers who barely blinks before coughing out a swift, "What?"

"You really couldn't wait till after the film was over to sweet talk them?"

Dramatically rolling her eyes at your annoyance, she waves you off by your sudden introversion. It was her job to throw her best compliments about you too them, and she knew you were still too young to understand that everything she did was for a cost.

You.

"C'mon grumpy, let's locate the theatre before you start whining that your feet hurt, too."

Feeling your mouth slightly drop from her remark, you hear your assistant cackle right beside you, using her right palm to hold in her giggles while you mentally prepared for what comeback to throw her way.

You got nothing.

Huffing, your legs followed hers as she guided the two of you towards the same hall the men approached minutes before. The closer you've walked, the larger the capacity gathered around.

For such a low-budget film, it sure did gain quite the crowd.

As the rolling of the ending credits flooded the screen once you sat the last two and a half hours trying to act as if you didn't know what was coming next, you wish you had it in you to say the second time made up for the first- but it didn't.

There we have it, tonight was just not your night and endlessly enough- you couldn't blame it on some silly excuse of watching the same film over again.

Not even your assistant's sneaky offerings of her red licorice lifted your blues- and that speaks enough volume to say the least.

"That wasn't so bad, now was it?" the whole-heartedly voice of your manager's voice filled your ears as the three of you sat in the same lobby as before, still not finding a way to escape a cold room.

Oh how you abominated the sharp hits of the air conditioning- it frankly made coming to the theaters a horror unless layers of clothing and a blanket was tagged along.

"Why can't we leave? The film is done and people are walking out."

"We still have to talk to Shawn and Greg!" your manager declared, presenting a look of pure determination to get her way with their levels of skill.

Groaning, you throw your head in absolute exhaustion. Fairly, if your manager hadn't had made such an early visit during the morning hours you're sure you would've been in a better mood.

It was like the more you interacted, the less energy you had to give.

In order to survive the next few hours, you needed your phone or who knows how your fake laughters will sound.

And you call yourself an actress.

Sliding your hand to the back of your pockets, you wait for the feel of your large iphone to surface- but that moment never comes. Swiftly, you check your leather jacket ones just in case you slipped it there without realizing.

You didn't.

Anxiously glancing towards your assistant, your trembling hands find her arm. "Have you seen my phone? It's not on me."

Examining your hands before meeting your eyes, she shrugs it off. "Relax, no need to have a nervous breakdown- I'm sure you left it in the car with your bag-"

"No, I had it on me during the previews."

"We did go to the bathroom, too- why not just go check those two places?" she suggests. Concerned filled you, hoping nobody was capable of actually stealing your phone- it would be such a hassle getting another one. "I'll check the bathroom, you check our seats."

Agreeing, the two of you sneakily escape your manager when her back was turned, unpleasantly speed walking down the familiar hall before parting ways to your needed locations.

Opening the thick, black doors and striding up the long runway, your eyes are met with the same darkened seating area you were in less than twenty minutes ago.

Then and there, you use this desertion in power- running towards the middle rows consider 'vip' and begin your inspection. Fuck, you wish your had some form of light to help- you couldn't see shit.

Sliding your fingers among the seat, you lift up the cushions in hopes it mysteriously pops up, but all you find is pieces of popcorn and gum glued down.

Gross.

Feeling your eyes begin to water, you were sure you were seconds away from crying like a little kid over the loss of your beloved possession before you heard a deep voice call out for your attention.

"Is this yours? I heard it ringing when I came back in and- uh," the person froze, not having the ability to finish off their sentence as you gradually lifted your body off the floor into their view.

Hopelessly praying the stranger was regarding your phone, your eyes search for their hands first and there it was- your phone!

The corners of your mouth lift up, as well as the creases around your eyes as you internally cheer for your discovery. However, it faltered once you noticed a familiar tattoo laying on one of their palms. Moving your eyes up, you're sure your smile completely disappears once you recognize those brown eyes.

How did you not catch onto his voice from down there?

"Uh- yeah- that's mine," you nervously reply, choking on your words that probably made you sound like you were about to lose consciousness by how strung you were, and hesitantly reach out for the device.

Pedro quietly lets you grab it, not saying one word as your hands collide for a split second before the object was back in your own. You didn't miss the name that appeared on the lit up screen when touched- your assistant must have tried calling you to see if the phone would ring in the bathroom.

Smart.

Avoiding awkward farewells, Pedro swiftly turns around and makes his way down the theatre stairs, not daring to continue on with the barely existing conversation you shared. He's leaving, that fast?

Thinking about all your past interactions, he would always try to chat with you- even when you did give him the coldest shoulder of all time- because that's who he was: kind.

But now he's...walking away?

"Hey- uhm," you begin, following clumsily after him, almost tripping on one of the steps as he reaches his final steps and doubtfully turns your way. Once you stood another step ahead of him, you feel that swirling feeling in your stomach again.

You were nervous- you've never felt this way around him during your breakup- never.

Adjusting your arms inside your jacket, a small smile is extracted out of you as you watch his stay flat. He did not look interested one bit and it frightened you to death. "Thanks for finding my phone- I-I was really scared there for a minute."

Not reacting to your little laugh at the end, he replied- dull. "I didn't know it was yours, I would have given it to guest services if so."

Ouch, you're sure you're hurt expression was recognizable on the outside as much as it pained you on the inside. He really did not want to talk to you, even when you're showing your appreciation.

He really was over you.

"I know," you squeak out, not missing the way his eyes tiredly scanned your own as his body stood there stiff as ever. "I just wanted to thank you, that's all- you saved me a lot of trouble."

Coldly laughing from that, he nods. "I'm sure I have."

Your body tingled with rage as he carelessly ignored your warmth and threw jabs in return. "What's with the attitude? I'm doing nothing wrong here- I'm trying to be friendly."

Inching up, his face presents a sullen one and you immediately feel intimated by the height he owned and used as his advantage. Just the first few seconds before he spoke alone made you feel his displeasure. "And what about all those times I was friendly? I received shit so forgive me for allowing you to experience the same treatment you give others."

Loss for words, you were speechless and didn't know what to say back. For one, you were alarmed by his hard demeanor he gifted to you. Second, humiliation soared throughout as he called out your imperfections.

In other words, he wanted you to know you were a bitch.

"And I take that back but-"

Pedro was about to burst out laughing in front of your face, but he held himself together in sake of your feelings. Can you believe that, despite the misery he still cared for your state of mind. "Taking back isn't apologizing."

Sneering, you cross your arms as his eyebrows furrowed in irritation. "Apologize for what? You were the one who fucked my life over."

Scoffing, he shakes his head in vexation by your lack of empathy- as always. "Countless of times we would contemplate our faults and how we could move on and now you're discounting your wrongdoings- typical."

Pedro did not want to have another unpleasant argument with you, especially in a public setting again, and decided it was best to just walk away. If he kept his mouth shut, he wouldn't make this altercation worse.

Meeting his broad back, you lightly gasp as he ignores you altogether and makes his leave far too early for your liking. Charging towards him, you feel his back solidify once your fingers yank him to a halt.

You were not done with this conversation, but you did know once you got home you were definitely going to regret how toxic you were radiating in the room.

"Typical? What do you mean by that?"

"Knock it off and let me walk away, y/n," Pedro warns, still facing his back towards you after blocking your attempts of moving him. "We both know how badly this will end."

You know, but for some reason you don't want him to leave. Was that so bad?

"No, I wanna hear exactly what you have to say about me- maybe it'll make me recognize the ignorant ego I have."

"You're talking out in anger, you're trying to cause a fire that I won't let you ignite," he simply replies, his eyes still not found by his hidden appearance.

Very poetic.

Scowling profoundly, you don't realize what you're doing until you're finally met with his provoked display after. Stalking around his body, you stand in front of him and jab a finger towards his chest. "You're preventing me from bettering myself, isn't that what you always wanted?"

Leaning down until his face with inches away from yours, you make out his hard features clearly now. His face expressed discomfort as his eyes creased while lifting- even his lips stayed hard as a rock. "I'm going to tell you one more time, let me go."

Ignoring his cold shoulder, he inhaled a sharp breath before taking matters into his own hands. You don't want to listen? Fine. But he wasn't going to let you drag him into this any further.

Right as you push another finger up against him, your wrist was taken and roughly pushed down by your side as Pedro's body practically belted against yours. "Get off me!"

"Not until you stop fucking around," he grunted, immediately widening his eyes in realization. He knows you don't like when he casually curses directly to you- even when he doesn't harm. "Sorry- I-I meant when you stop playing around."

Praying that a smile doesn't escape you, it made you feel some type of way capturing his manners and how even though you two were on rocky terms- he still had some respect for you.

"Why are we even fighting right now?" you sigh, slowly softening your muscles in forfeit.

"You tell me- it sounds like you want my attention," he casually replied, releasing your hands and stepping back an inch. "Considering you won't let me leave."

"I'm just trying to have a normal, polite conversation! Is that so wrong?"

Softly laughing, he shakes his head in disappointment. "You don't get it."

Scrunching your face, you become lost by his words. "Get what?"

Scanning the wall before meeting your eyes again, Pedro motions his hands between the two of you. "What do you think will come out of us having a conversation? Acquaintances? Maybe a friendship?"

Thinking about it for a second, you feel your head eventually nod as he squeezes his eyes shut in return. Was that not what he's been trying to do- end in good terms? "It's what's healthy for us."

"Us?!" Pedro groans, sending you a tired gaze that had you weak to the knees. "There is no 'us' anymore. You made that perfectly clear after causing a scene last month in front of your friends."

"I didn't plan on that happening a-"

"I'm even letting go the bigger scene you caused inside the after party- isn't that enough to understand why I feel this way?" he adds on, frustrated that you would think otherwise.

You were the one who caused the attention and brought a bad look on his name. He should be shouting at you like you would have done to him if the roles were reversed.

"I'm not saying we should get back together, all I want-"

"-is a friendship? Some sort of relation that won't make us strangers?" he interjects, causing you to stay silent. That was all he needed to understand what you really wanted: not to let him go. "Look, we had our history, but I don't think it's good we keep in contact anymore."

You swear you felt all air leave your body as your face felt cold. Was he breaking up with you- in life itself?

"I-uhm don't- I don't understand," you cough, scared to make a bigger fool out of yourself. You're sure you probably look like a ghost by how much color you've lost since his recent reveal and again- you were grateful this room was dim. "Why can't we at least be friends? Not even that- why can't we at least know we have each other in our lives? Why end up as strangers?"

"What do you mean? We hadn't talked to each other in almost a year till last month! We basically are strangers," he exclaimed, causing you to look down at your feet as your heart ached.

He wasn't wrong- you just hadn't realized he's been right. And to blame was you, not him. You pushed him away in the first place, he was only kind enough to oblige.

And it was surely pathetic how now you wanted him back in your life, even if it meant not even talking just to assure yourself he still had your back.

He didn't.

"Y/n..." he sadly muttered, trying his best not to hurt your feelings as you were still continued to stay downwards- not wanting to disclose more hurt. "You didn't even say happy birthday to me, how can you be considered a friend? Friends don't do that, not to me at least."

This caused you to glance back up to him, disagreeing immediately as to what he was trying to get at. Of course you knew it was his birthday, you celebrated two with him in the past! "I didn't want to make things weird-"

"You never do but still avoid me like the plague and breakdown whenever I'm too close to your liking. I'm sorry for trying to do what's best and leave us in the past,-" he explains, closing his eyes in discomfort, "-but I can't keep letting this go on. I'm too old to be going back and forth as if this is some high school relationship- it's not."

High school relationship- you never knew simple three words could have you shrinking in guilt.

"And I know things will be easier for you when the time comes- I won't be around to nag you," Pedro tries to lighten up the mood but you can't break the line upon your lips. You were emotionless and it made Pedro upset.

Why would he be upset? You finally deserved learning your lesson after treating him as if he was nothing to you. But despite all your flaws, he still cared for you.

He cares so much that he's willing to let you go so you can do better things in life- without him.

Trying to find the right words to say, you give up. There isn't much to discuss now that he wants nothing to do with you.

You fucked up- for real this time.

In fact, you shouldn't even be hurt- you wanted this. Or at least that's what you thought before last month when he wasn't on your mind 24/7.

Maybe it was the way he begged for your forgiveness after not seeing each other for so long that made you realize how badly you adored him nearby.

Maybe it was the attention he was giving you after you continuously rejected his pleads, furthering the argument until he stormed off in the end.

And maybe you should've took his concluding estrangement announcement seriously before he left you last month.

But just like they say, you never know what you have until it's gone.

"I see," you quietly respond, slowly nodding as a faint grin forms among Pedro's lips, appreciating your cooperation over this mess. "Maybe it is best if we stray away from each other- you can even delete my number."

"I already have," he accidentally blurts out, not realizing how bad that sounds until he hears it himself and cringes. Your sufferable reaction didn't make things better.

"You know what," you fake a laugh, trying to calm your voice as you feel it about to crack any second. The tears were heading your way- you just knew it. "Fuck you."

Pedro's face falls, taken back by your inappropriate language. "Excuse me?"

Noticing your rushed attitude, he wanted to stop you and tell you everything was alright. That everything was going to be easy and how the two of you would get passed this.

But he knew he'd be lying.

"You heard me, fuck you," you casually slip out, scoffing as his eyes darken. "For someone who's so kind to others, I would have thought you would know what words were right to say."

"You're one to talk, sweetheart," he chuckled, staring at you in repulse. "Every time you talk you always have to neglect someone else, I'm fucking glad I don't have to witness that ever again."

"Me too, my family was right- you are a joke who wasted my time."

With that, you make your leave to have the chance of having the last word. Maybe if you left this room faster he would forget about your comment. You knew it was harsh but you didn't know what else to say.

You wanted him to hurt- but to what extent?

Your arm was instantly tugged as Pedro pulled you back, not letting his grip go as his face was still filled with resentment. "And your team was right, you are a bitch."

Freezing, you stare at him in shock as his face doesn't fall once. What the hell is he talking about? "Get away from me or else-"

"Or else what? Weren't you the one physically blocking me from leaving minutes ago? What has changed?" he tries to smirk, manipulating you into believing how ruthless he could be when really he was dying to tell you the act he was pulling. "Cat got your tongue?"

Your face felt hot with rage as you yanked your arm off his hand, catching him by surprise as you glared at him. "I'm so glad I never took you back, you're fucking pathetic."

"And I'm insanely glad you didn’t, saved thousands returning that fucking ring."

Those twelve words made you halt and even made Pedro speechless. By the staggered look planted on his face, you could tell he didn't mean to say that.

Ring? As in, an engagement ring?

Weakly failing to stand straight, you felt your voice crack. "You were going to propose?"

Shaking his head, he swiftly backed away. "I need to go." Before you could stop him, he was already out of the theatre and probably near larger gatherings of people that would only prevent you from talking about this more.

Holding your face with your hands, you couldn't even cry. You didn't know what to do, you were utterly lost for words.

If he was really going to propose like he hinted at, what meaning did your last fight have? Nothing made sense and you don't know how you could move on from this now that he wanted you out of his life completely.

Hearing doors open, you instantly averted your gaze in hopes he had come back in and planned to properly finish what he started.

Instead, you manager came barging in while gripping onto your assistant's wrist harshly.

"Where the hell have you been?! I've been looking for you everywhere and to find out your stupid assistant-"

"Don't you dare disrespect her," you sternly cut her off, watching as her face falters by your sudden tone. "If you're here to pester us some more, feel free to walk home."

Laughing in shock, your manager tilts her head at your rudeness. "Excuse me? It wasn't my fault your assistant wondered off. After everything I have done to protect you and your career you feel the need to throw me out-"

"Did she hurt you?" you cut her off, focusing on your assistant who has gone quiet. You notice the redness on her small wrists before she slowly nods, looking down in fear your manager would try something else.

"You're fired," you simply state, pushing past your frantic ex- manager as you lightly guide your assistant out the door.

You ignore the rage your ex- manager unveils as you make it back to the lobby. Ignoring the waves random people sent your way in hopes of finding your destined car sooner so you could help your assistant with her injuries and be home already.

And in bed to think about what the fuck just happened tonight.

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